Authors: Linda Newbery
Reaching the highest point of the track, I glanced about me; and saw now that my track descended into woodland, dense and dark. The stationmaster had mentioned no wood; but perhaps the omission could be ascribed to his hurry to finish work for the night. I hesitated; then, as sure as I could be that I had made no mistake, continued on my path down into the valley and the shadows of the trees.
Darkness swallowed me; the branches arched high overhead; I saw only glimpses of the paler sky through their tracery. My feet crunched beech mast. I smelled the coolness of mossy earth, and heard the trickle of water close by. As my eyes accustomed themselves to dimmer light, I saw that here, on the lower ground, a faint mist hung in the air, trapped perhaps beneath the trees. I must be careful not to stray from the path, which I could only dimly discern; but before many
minutes had passed, wrought-iron gates reared ahead of me, set in a wall of flint. Though I had reached the edge of the wood, my way was barred. The gate must, however, be unlocked, as my arrival was expected.
I peered through the scrollwork of the gates. The track, pale and broad, wound between specimen trees and smooth lawns; I had some distance still to walk, it seemed. The mist clung to the ground, and the trees seemed rooted in a vaporous swamp. I tried the fastening; the left-hand gate swung open with a loud, grating squeal that echoed into the night.
At the same moment another sound arose, competing for shrillness with the gate’s protest: a sound to make my heart pound and my nerves stretch taut. It was a wailing shriek that filled my head and thrummed in my ears; close enough to make me shrink against the gate, which I pushed open to its fullest extent against the shadows of the wall. Whether the cry was animal or human, I could not tell. If human, it was a sound of terrible distress, of unbearable grief. I felt the hairs prickle on the back of my neck, my eyes trying to stare in all directions at once. Instinct told me to hunch low till the danger passed. Dropped into such strangeness, I had acquired, it seemed, the impulse of a wild creature to hide myself and survive whatever perils were near. The metal bit into my hands as I clung to the gate. Attempting to retain a clear head, I reminded myself that I was unfamiliar with the sounds of the countryside at night. It must be a fox, a badger, some creature yowling in hunger or pain.
The next instant, all my senses quickened again as I discerned a movement in the shadow: a movement that resolved itself into a cloaked figure – slender, female – rushing towards me. As I had not seen her approach, she must have been lurking by the wall. In the confusion of the moment, the thought flitted across my mind that this might be a ghostly presence – the setting, the eerie light, the ground-veiling mist that made her seem to advance without feet, all contributed to this fancy. Since she appeared intent on collision, I reached out both hands to ward her off; but, unswerving, she grabbed me by one arm. I saw that she was not woman but girl – an adolescent girl, with hair wild and loose under her hooded cloak – and no ghost, but a living person, breathing, panting, alarmed. For it must have been she who had shrieked.
‘Help – please help me!’ she begged, tightening her grip on my arm, and peering close into my face.
At once a different instinct was aroused – for now I must be protector, not prey. ‘Madam, I am at your service,’ I assured her, looking around, steeling myself to confront possible attackers.
‘Where is it?’ she implored me, her eyes searching mine. ‘Where?’
‘Madam – miss! Please explain what is distressing you, and I shall gladly give what help I can.’
Thinking that I might take her with me to Fourwinds, where assistance could be summoned, I tried to free myself from her grasp in order to close the gate behind me, but she seemed equally determined that it should stay open. For a few moments
we struggled; I was surprised by her strength and tenacity. I tried to shake her off; I almost flung her from me; but she was like a terrier set on a fox, and would not be detached.
‘Have you seen him?’ she pleaded.
‘If you might stand back and allow me to—’ I began, but she burst out with, ‘No! No! I cannot stop searching, while he is roaming free—’
‘Who?’ I enquired, looking about me again.
‘The West Wind!’ she replied, in a tone of impatience; and she tilted her head and gazed about in anguish, as if expecting a gusting presence to manifest itself above our heads.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The West Wind!’ she repeated. ‘He must be found – captured, and secured!’
The poor young lady must be deranged, I realized, suffering from fits or delusions – had escaped, maybe, from some institution. For why else should a young woman of her tender years be out alone at night, so far from habitation, and on such an extraordinary mission?
With the gate closed at last, I thought it best to humour her. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea where to look,’ I answered.
She turned her head rapidly this way and that; she gazed at me again. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, almost rudely.
‘My name is Samuel Godwin, and I am on my way to Fourwinds. A Mr Ernest Farrow lives there.’
‘Oh! To Fourwinds!’ she repeated, as one struck
by an amazing coincidence – although we were, presumably, in the grounds of that very house. For a few moments she stared at me; then, abruptly, her manner changed. She stepped back, making an effort to breathe more calmly; she straightened herself and seemed to grow taller; she became, in effect, a different person. ‘Then – you are my new tutor.’ She extended a hand to shake mine, as formally as if we were being introduced in a drawing room. ‘I am very pleased indeed to meet you – I am Marianne Farrow, one of your two pupils. Let me lead you to the house, and introduce you to my father and sister.’
Devoted to Mr Farrow though I was, I could not deny that he had some rather exasperating habits. Chief among these was his failure to communicate matters of pressing interest to others in the house. It was typical of him that he did not think to mention that an art tutor from London would be joining us at Fourwinds until two days before the young man’s arrival.
My employer summoned me to his office, then, as was his wont, carried on writing, bent over his desk, without so much as glancing up at me. Used to his manner, I waited patiently. The delay allowed me to study the details of his appearance: his meticulous attire, his close-curling dark hair, his frown of concentration, and the strong fingers that gripped the pen. The bold, angular script that issued from the pen-nib was a part of his character.
After a few moments he looked up. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, bestowing on me the briefest of glances; at once his attention was back with the papers on his desk, which he began to tidy into folders and drawers.
‘There is to be an addition to our household, Charlotte! A bedroom must be prepared, and all made ready. A Mr Samuel Godwin will be taking up residence here, to instruct Juliana in drawing and painting, and to carry out some commissions I have in mind. He is a young artist, trained at the Slade School of Art – I have the highest expectations of him. He will be with us on Monday afternoon. Please tell Mrs Reynolds to make arrangements.’
Clearly, no further information was forthcoming; he expected me to have no opinion on the matter. Giving me a nod and a smile, he picked up a letter, tutted with impatience at what he read there, then, when I gave a modest cough to attract his attention, seemed surprised to find that I was still in the room; his eyebrows rose quizzically.
‘For how long,’ I enquired, ‘will this Mr Godwin be staying?’
‘Oh, I have engaged him for an indefinite period,’ he replied. ‘The art lessons will take place daily. Juliana needs taking out of herself, and we will all appreciate a change of company.’
‘Marianne loves to draw and paint,’ I reminded him.
‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘Well, she can take part in the lessons too.’
‘Are the young ladies aware that Mr Godwin is expected?’
‘No, I haven’t yet mentioned it,’ said he, taking an envelope out of the bureau drawer, and writing an address with rapid slashes of his pen. ‘I shall tell them
at dinner. If you prefer to tell them sooner, please do.’
Dismissed, I closed the door behind me, and stood for a moment on the half-landing before going down to the morning room. If I confess that my first reaction was of displeasure, this may seem surprising; our life at Fourwinds was uneventful, with Mr Farrow often away from home, and few visitors to break our seclusion. The arrival of a young man from London might be expected to provoke interest and expectation. Certainly, when I conveyed the news to my two charges, Marianne was greatly excited. ‘An artist!’ she exclaimed, several times, as though our new arrival were closer akin to deity than to mortal man. ‘Is he famous? Is he handsome, do you suppose? How do you picture him, Charlotte? I think he must have luxuriant dark hair, and a bold twinkling eye. What will he think of us? And he comes from London! – I fear he may find us rather dull. Are you not afraid he will, Juley?’
Juliana said little, and I even less. Mr Farrow’s purpose in this arrangement was, I found, perplexing. He could without much difficulty have engaged a tutor to come to the house in the afternoons, as often as he thought beneficial; it hardly seemed necessary for the artist to come and live with us. Yet it was characteristically generous of Mr Farrow, once having thought of a scheme, to spare no expense in carrying it out. His daughters were everything to him; and, as usual, this thought provoked in me a flash of warmth, sharpened with envy. Such is my lot; these jealous pangs are the cost of my happiness here – or, if it is
not complete happiness, it is the nearest to it I have ever known.
My hard-won equilibrium was likely to be upset by the intrusion of a stranger. The circumstances of my life have taught me to keep my own secrets, and to respect those of others. With few acquaintances, I value those I can trust; these number very few, and are to be found within the confines of Fourwinds. I did not look forward to admitting a newcomer to our circle.
After a period of reflection, however, it occurred to me that I might find companionship in the new arrangement. Someone in my position can be rather isolated in a household; neither a member of the family, nor one of the domestic servants, she occupies a somewhat in-between role. Mr Godwin would find himself similarly placed. I allowed myself to conjecture that he and I might walk in the gardens together, or enjoy quiet conversations in the drawing room after the girls had retired to bed.
This foolishness was most unlike me, and experience has taught me that high expectations are frequently thwarted; therefore, I prepared myself for our Mr Godwin to be disagreeable, arrogant, or weak-featured, to have an irritating laugh, or odious breath, or a pompous, self-regarding air. Thus, I was pleasantly surprised when he entered the vestibule of Fourwinds. It was late at night, so late that I had assumed he would not after all appear until the morrow. Mr Farrow had retired to his room, and I was roving the house in search of Marianne, who had
slipped away while I was reading. No hooves had been heard approaching, nor the rumble of wheels, so I was startled when the front door opened to admit both Marianne and a somewhat bemused-looking young man. Marianne was flushed and excitable, and I knew at once that she had had one of her wandering fits. It was my fault; yet how could I prevent such escapes without either dogging the poor girl’s heels like a shepherd’s collie, or keeping her under lock and key?
‘Charlotte!’ she said, coming towards me eagerly. ‘Here is Mr Godwin – I found him outside. Such a long walk he’s had – all the way from Staverton!’
The newcomer stood, hat in hand, just inside the door. Like most visitors to Fourwinds, though there are not many, he was gazing about him in some surprise at the height and space of the entrance hall, having expected, I suppose, a traditional country mansion, which this most assuredly is not.
‘Good evening, Mr Godwin,’ I said, extending my hand. ‘Welcome to Fourwinds. My name is Charlotte Agnew – I am companion to the Misses Farrow, and Marianne’s governess. What regrettable inconvenience you have suffered by having to walk! You must be very tired.’
We shook hands while I made this speech. His hand was warm, his grip firm. He was a tall young man, well-built but not stocky, with springy hair, rich brown in colour, brushed back from a shapely forehead. His eyes were grey, his nose straight and his mouth determined; when he answered, his voice was deep and well modulated.
‘I am very glad to meet you, Miss Agnew,’ said he. ‘No, I am not tired in the least. I preferred to walk on such a beautiful night. But I am sorry to disturb your household so late.’
Though certainly not the flamboyant figure Marianne had imagined, Samuel Godwin was pleasing in person and manner. Although Juliana had yet to set eyes on him, I saw that he had already made a good impression on her younger sister. While I made enquiries about his baggage, summoned Mrs Reynolds to serve his supper and asked her to call Juliana from her room, Marianne watched attentively, her eyes resting with fascination on his face, then turning to mine. Yes, I thought, she is quite engrossed with him, impulsive creature that she is, after an acquaintance of some five or ten minutes.
Mr Godwin gave a detailed explanation of the circumstances that had delayed his arrival, and apologized again; I assured him that it did not matter in the least, and that we were pleased he had arrived safely. With Marianne following, I showed him to his room, which was on the second floor, on the east side of the house, with a view over the gardens and the lake. Afterwards we returned to the dining room, where Mrs Reynolds had set out a meal of cold meat, cheese and pickles. After pouring him a glass of wine, and another for myself, I sat with him at table.
‘Marianne,’ I said, as she seemed inclined to linger, ‘your sister has not come down. Will you go and tell her Mr Godwin has arrived?’
She nodded, and left us.
‘I have never seen a more beautiful house!’ Mr Godwin remarked. He looked around him at the clean stone arch of the fireplace, at the bay window with its cushioned seats, and the heavy curtains that fell to the floor; he stroked a hand over the smooth-grained wood of the chair adjacent to his. ‘Everything chosen with such care! Mr Farrow is a man of very decided tastes. That was evident when I met him in London.’