Corey McFadden (6 page)

She patted Emma on the hand, noting that the girl’s hand was ice cold and that she suffered it to lie beneath Joanna’s like a dead fish.

“Well,” Joanna said brightly, looking around her for the first time. “Tell me what you have been studying so far.” She noted with relief that the room seemed well equipped for scholarly pursuits. There was a large, well-stocked bookshelf along one wall, and an enormous standing globe took up an entire corner. A large desk at the end of the room must be meant for the governess, Joanna thought, making a mental note to move the children’s desks closer to her own. The room was clean, not a speck of dust anywhere, and it was warm enough from a fire which burned briskly in the fireplace along the far wall. She realized that Emma had not answered her and turned back to the child questioningly.

“We haven’t been studying anything, miss. You’re our fourth governess since we’ve come here and no one stays long. I just read books to Tom. That’s all we do.”

Fourth? Joanna had been told two governesses had preceded her. Well, perhaps Mrs. Sneed had not placed the other one. It barely mattered now. Not only did she have nowhere else to go but she would not abandon these children now, not if the hounds of hell made their home here.

Further questioning revealed that at least the child’s reading selections were sound, if a bit adult for them both. Joanna was pleased to find that the schoolroom library was large and varied. One or two gently-phrased questions produced the information that the books and other schoolroom furnishings had come from their parents’ house in Yorkshire, now closed up and sold.

Joanna decided to devote the morning to geography, the very size and bright colors of the globe enticing her. She was pleased to note that Emma was quick and attentive, though the girl was so quiet it was difficult to gauge her actual enthusiasm. Tom said nothing, sitting silently, rarely even changing position, an unusual thing for a seven-year-old. Joanna could see that he was watchful, though, and when she referred to a spot on the globe his eyes followed her hands. It was impossible to know how much, if anything, he understood, but his eyes were not vacant; if anything, they still held their expression of dark mistrust.

Finally, there was a timid tap on the door and Annie came into the room. Emma and Tom both stood without being prompted. “May we be excused, Miss Carpenter?” the girl asked in her small voice.

“Of course, Emma, and I will see you both here after your dinner,” Joanna replied.

“If you please, Miss Carpenter,” came Annie’s voice, if anything even tinier than Emma’s, “Mrs. Davies wishes to know if you’d care to have your dinner sent to your room or to the governess’s parlor?”

Actually, Joanna would have preferred to eat in the kitchen with no bother about formality. It had been a long time since her tea and toast and she found herself ravenous. She hoped this household was not going to prove as stingy on food as it appeared to be on candles.

“I
think the parlor will be fine for today, Annie. And would you ask Mrs. Davies if she has the time to dine with me? Tell her I should be glad of her company.” Propriety be damned, she didn’t wish to eat like a hermit in some dark little room tucked away somewhere in this sepulchral house. Besides, she needed information immediately.

“And, by the way, Annie, could someone fetch me from my room when dinner is served? I’ve no idea where you keep the governess’s parlor.” Joanna smiled warmly at the girl and was rewarded with a broad grin in return. Annie turned to go and the children followed, quiet and orderly at her heels. It was unnerving to watch them. In three hours’ time she had not heard a raised voice or even so much as a giggle from either of them. Emma had given her a tight, tentative sort of smile once or twice, and Joanna supposed she ought to count that as enough of a victory for the first morning, although a grin from Tom would have been worth far more.

Now that she was alone she walked over to the window. Her glance had strayed to it once or twice during the morning, and the dancing brightness had held such promise. A truly glorious sight met her eyes. The house sat high on a bluff that overlooked the sea. In the distance, as far as her eyes could see, stretched the blue water, with the sun, which must be overhead now, glinting fiercely off the waves. Although she could see nothing of the beach below, she knew what she would see when she could get free of this house—miles and miles of sandy, rocky coast, with inlets and coves, all for glorious exploring and painting.

With a sigh she turned away from the gladsome sight, telling herself that surely she would be able to leave the confines of the house soon. Feeling like a prisoner with one small window onto the outside world, she left the room, stepping again into the gloomy dark of the hallway.

* * * *

“He was married for a time, you see. But it—well, it seemed—that is, Mrs. Chapman died in childbed. I suppose it’s been about five years now....” Mrs. Davies broke off and turned her attention to her boiled potatoes.

“Oh, how dreadful for the poor man,” Joanna sighed, her own potatoes forgotten.

“Er, yes, of course it was.” Mrs. Davies looked a bit peculiar.

“I should think he’d have wanted to remarry. At least, he’s young and he would want children....” Joanna stopped, coloring, aware her comment might suggest that she herself was on the lookout for a rich widower.

“Oh, I don’t think he’d want to remarry, dear,” Mrs. Davies replied, now decidedly uncomfortable.

They ate in awkward silence for a moment. Joanna was anxious to hear more of this odd household, but reluctant to appear a gossip.

Finally, the woman sat back and gave Joanna a long perusal. Then with a small shrug she went on. “I suppose if you are to stay here you should understand things a bit. It might make it easier to accept the—situation as it is. Sir Giles—he was Mr. Chapman then—and his wife did not get on well together. Violet Chapman and Lady Eleanor were inseparable, like peas in a pod they were. They had been friends for years. Indeed, Lady Eleanor introduced them to one another. Mrs. Chapman was a bit older than he was, and Sir Giles was—odd man out. There
was no love lost, you see.”

“No, I do not see,” said Joanna, sitting back as well. The food was sticking in her throat. This was a strange bunch of cold-hearted people! “Why would he care that his wife was good friends with his stepsister? Not that it’s any of my business, I suppose.”

“It was not just that they were friends, dear. Lady Eleanor is—rather abandoned in her pursuit of pleasure, and Mrs. Chapman and she—well, I suppose I should just say that Mrs. Chapman chafed at the confines of marriage and Lady Eleanor rather egged her on...” Mrs. Davies trailed off. She sat forward again, rather red in the face, and made for the potatoes.

Joanna just stared at her. She was aware of the implications of this rather elliptical conversation. And while she certainly would never consider herself a prude, it seemed the drift was unsavory to say the least.

The potatoes exhausted, Mrs. Davies looked up. She patted her mouth daintily with a napkin. “I tell you this, Miss Carpenter, not because I approve of household gossip, which I do not, but because I have hopes that you will stay with us. You don’t seem frightened or disgusted by the boy, and I actually heard little Emma tell Annie that you were very nice. So you see, I am encouraged.” Mrs. Davies gave Joanna a warm smile. “But I think you will find this a cold household, and you must accept that if you stay. Sir Giles and his sister, when they are here together, which is not often, are not on good terms.”

“How long have you been here, Mrs. Davies?” asked Joanna.

“I’ve been with the Chapman family for many years, since before Henry Chapman—that was Sir Giles’s father—married Lady Eleanor’s mother.” The woman’s lips tightened. “I’ve been here long enough to see him turn from a happy, handsome lad into an embittered, cold man, so I would beg your tolerance of us, Miss Carpenter. There is much to be forgiven here, but there are reasons to forgive.” She eyed Joanna speculatively, as if weighing her reaction.

“Why did the other governesses leave, Mrs. Davies?” asked Joanna, unwilling as yet to offer to forgive anything about this family.

The woman looked at her in surprise. “Why, they could not tolerate the boy’s idiocy, Miss Carpenter. Although I must say he’s no real trouble and none of them gave him a chance.”

Joanna said nothing, wiping her mouth on her napkin. She couldn’t for the life of her see what there was to run away from in little Tom. He was, if anything, quieter and more mannerly than boys his age of normal wits.

“Well, my dear, I hope I haven’t frightened you off,” said Mrs. Davies, patting her hand. “I’ll be off now, for I need to talk with Cook about supper. Please don’t brood on anything I’ve said. I simply want you to understand things so you won’t find it too odd.”

Odd? Any odder and it would be the demented section of Old Bailey!

“I am really not too concerned with the master and mistress, Mrs. Davies,” Joanna said with a touch of asperity. “I assume I’ll be seeing little enough of either of them, and as you say, if I keep the children quiet when they are here, I suppose we’ll get along tolerably well. I am, however, terribly concerned about these poor children. I imagine the catacombs in Rome are cheerier than this house. Why on earth is there so little light?”

“Oh, yes, it is gloomy, isn’t it? I’ve lived here so long I don’t think I notice anymore. It did not used to be this way, but Lady Eleanor despises bright light and the smell of burning wax and oil. She likes us to keep the draperies closed so as not to fade the carpets and upholstery. Still, I could give you another lamp and some extra tapers for your room, if you like.”

“Yes, thank you. I would be most grateful. And for the schoolroom, too, please. I cannot imagine that Lady Eleanor will be visiting us there.”

Mrs. Davies laughed as they walked toward the door. “I imagine she'll stay as far away as she can from your schoolroom, Miss Carpenter. Say what you will about this household, at least no one will be peering over your shoulder, telling you how to do your job.” She and Joanna stepped out into the somber dark of the hallway.

* * * *

That evening Joanna prepared for bed, grateful for the extra oil-burning lamp that Mrs. Davies had sent up to the room earlier. It had been a tolerable day after all. Emma had actually giggled at something Joanna had said, and the boy had let her take him on her lap for a story before supper.

And the bath had been sublime. There was an entire room set aside on each upper floor for bathing, small to be sure, but free of drafts. An ingenious system of pulleys and a platform raised the buckets of hot water from the kitchen to each level, designed, Mrs. Davies had been proud to point out, by Sir Giles himself. Joanna had lolled about in the warm water feeling like Cleopatra on her barge, the steam rising around her, her fears dissipating in the warm, fragrant, candle-lit mist.

She knelt now on the cold floor by her bed, pleased that there was a worn but still serviceable carpet to keep the chill away. She prayed as she always did before retiring, but more and more these nights it seemed her thoughts jumbled God and Papa together and she hoped she wasn’t committing blasphemy by praying to them both. Tired and frayed, she asked for patience and guidance and blessings for Tom and Emma.

Far below her she heard the heavy slam of the door, but as it had nothing to do with her, she trimmed the lamp and slipped, exhausted, into bed.

Chapter Four

Mr. Hawton stood before Sir Giles’s desk and attempted to conceal his lack of ease behind a respectful demeanor. Sir Giles had no right to come home unexpectedly, injured arm or no. This would put a crimp into Hawton’s plans and he would have to scramble to set things right. If only Eleanor weren’t off at one of her infernal house parties. It irritated him no end that although he acted as her business partner and her stud, performing prodigious feats for her rapacious pleasure, he was still just the steward and was entitled to no crossover privileges in regard to her glittering social life.

“And I take it you have seen to her comfort, Hawton,” the master continued. “Please understand me. I expect this governess to stay, unless she is entirely unsuitable with respect to the children. If she leaves like the others, flying in the dead of night with no explanation, I shall hold you accountable.” That he had told his stepsister the same thing gave Sir Giles no qualms. It would not hurt to have everyone on their best behavior.

“I can assure you, sir,” replied Hawton, “that everything has been done to see to Miss Carpenter’s comfort, and she seemed content enough last night after her first day here, according to Mrs. Davies.”

“Very well,” Sir Giles said dismissively. “And bring me the estate books to look at. As long as I am holed up here, I might as well occupy my time usefully.”

With effort, Hawton kept his expression neutral and suppressed a slight trembling in his hands as he nodded and left the room. On his way back to his small office he made a rapid review of the situation. The records were in some disarray. He was not much of a paper-keeper, and Sir Giles had shown absolutely no interest in the books in the past eighteen months of his stewardship. Fortunately, Hawton was guilty of only small embezzlements himself, since he was a cautious man by nature and unwilling to run serious risk. Still, Eleanor was constantly pressuring him for funds, skimmed from this or that account, to cover her occasional steep gaming losses. While Sir Giles, as a wealthy, indifferent stepbrother, could be expected to turn a blind eye to the casual bad run of cards, Eleanor’s proclivities had led her into deep water recently and she was anxious that the extent of her difficulties not be exposed. Her embezzlements were more substantial than Hawton’s own and much harder to hide from serious scrutiny.

He quietly closed the door to his office behind him, then slammed his fist into his palm. Damn the man for interfering! Now he was glad that he had had the foresight to send for Eleanor this morning, uncertain of what Sir Giles’s unexpected visit heralded. He would have to do some fancy scrambling in the next short while to come up with plausible entries to cover Eleanor’s good-sized thefts. The high-and-mighty bitch had better show him the proper gratitude.