The Folly at Falconbridge Hall (2 page)

“It’s almost time for afternoon tea,” Mrs. Royce said. “I’ll take you to your room, Miss Ashley.”

The housekeeper shut the nursery door and led Vanessa down the corridor.

Her new charge seemed quite subdued. Vanessa wondered if the girl spent much time shut up in the day nursery with the maid. She planned to change that immediately. A child should be outside in the fresh air in the cooler part of the day. Vanessa had spied a lovely shady folly through the trees, like some ancient relic from the past. She hurried to catch Mrs. Royce, who was walking briskly along the corridor.

They climbed up a narrow stairway.

“How many on the staff here?” Vanessa asked to break the silence.

“Twenty house staff. Dorcas is the head maid. The butler is away at present.”

“I didn’t see a footman.”

Mrs. Royce firmed her lips. “We have none.” She stopped and threw open a door. “This is the schoolroom.”

It was a good-sized attic room with comfortable chairs, a table, a child’s desk, and a slate blackboard on a stand. “Excellent,” Vanessa said with satisfaction.

At the end of the corridor was Vanessa’s bedroom, its sloping walls covered in a daisy-patterned paper and hung with pressed flowers in frames. The white-painted iron bed had a floral coverlet, and a writing desk stood beside it. An upholstered chair was placed near the fireplace, which had a wide shelf above the mantel where Vanessa could put the few things she’d brought with her. A rug covered the floorboards. The small room looked snug. Surprised at her good fortune, Vanessa said, “How nice. I shall feel very much at home here.” The curtains were closed, and the room stuffy. She crossed to the window and drew them back, looking down over verdant lawns and trees to the picturesque folly. Its circular roof was supported by decorative round columns, and it overlooked an ornamental lake.

“I do hope so.” Mrs. Royce firmed her lips. “Blythe needs stability.”

Had she lacked it thus far? Unsure how to reply, Vanessa found she wasn’t required to, for Mrs. Royce, who appeared to be a woman of few words, already stood at the door. She gestured. “We have all modern plumbing here. There’s a lavatory and bathroom for your use on this floor. Tea will be brought to your room at four. From tomorrow, you shall take it in the schoolroom with Miss Blythe.”

As soon as the door closed behind the housekeeper, Vanessa rushed to open the window. A sultry breeze wafted in, but she relished the light and the fresh air.

In the bathroom, she found the bathtub had a mahogany surround, and hot and cold water issued forth from a noisy gas geyser. Delighted, Vanessa resisted the urge to bathe and made do by washing her hands. She looked into the mirror and cringed when she spied the dark smudge on her nose. Her eyes went large with alarm. What had the viscount thought of her! She scrubbed her face with a washcloth until it glowed and sponged her hot neck with cool water.

Her trunk had arrived while she was in the bathroom. Having recently discarded her mourning clothes, she changed into a fresh grey skirt and white blouse, cinching it in with a wide belt. After tidying her hair, she dabbed on a little lily of the valley scent, adding some to her handkerchief.

She removed her few precious possessions from the trunk, arranging her pearl-handled brush and comb set on the dresser, beside her mother’s miniature, wrought by her father’s hand with love in each stroke of his brush. Gazing at it brought tears to her eyes. She dabbed at them with her handkerchief then bent over the trunk to take out her father’s books on art and her mother’s history books, along with her own. She arranged them on the shelf, adding the pretty shells she’d gathered from the Cornish shore.

Having unpacked her few gowns and underthings, she sank onto the bed. It was still hard to believe her comfortable life by the seaside was gone. That it had come to this, a servant in another man’s house. Her parents would not have approved, but what choice did she have? Her mother had been an educated woman with an interest in politics. She had joined with many like-minded people in her fight for women’s rights. She had been sought by politicians and reformers alike. Women had crowded into the parlor for meetings. Her father felt less passion for her mother’s causes. He would cast them a fond smile before disappearing into his studio to paint.

The tea tray arrived soon after a bell pealed through the house. Feather-light, fluffy scones with plum jam and a wedge of fruitcake accompanied the pot of tea. She savored the last drops of a good, strong cup and poured another. Every crumb consumed, she felt much livelier afterwards.

Vanessa slipped out to explore the enormous house. She passed room upon room with curtains drawn. On the ground floor, she walked through a doorway into a burst of sunlight and blinked, finding herself in a conservatory, a long glass room on the sunny southern side of the house.

A scream chilled her blood.

Heart pounding, Vanessa hurried forward. In amongst large tubs of bright orange cumquats, a table was laden with delectable treats. Blythe sat alone nibbling a piece of iced cake and swinging her legs.

“What was that unearthly scream?” Vanessa asked, gazing around. The answer to her question came from a gilded birdcage. A large brightly plumaged bird sat on a perch and called again.

“That’s the macaw Father brought back from South America,” Blythe said.

Vanessa went over to the cage. With a crimson breast, bright blue and green feathers, and a decidedly beady eye, the bird was truly magnificent. It turned its head to study her. “Might it want something?”

“It would like some nuts I expect.”

As Vanessa had no nuts to offer it, she returned to the table. “I’ve been exploring.”

Blythe nodded.

“You have a lovely house.”

“Thank you.” The child turned her attention to her glass of milk.

“It’s nice to sit in the sun, isn’t it?” Vanessa said, hoping to draw the child into conversation.

“I suppose it is.” Blythe gave her a quick glance. “I’m taking tea with my father.”

“Is this a special occasion?”

“Yes, we don’t do it often.”

Feeling like an intruder, Vanessa turned to go.

The contrast of this room with the rest of the house was stark. The sun touched the glossy leaves of the potted plants, turning them vivid green, and the air smelled of earth and fragrant orchids. Outside, a bluebottle batted in vain against the glass. Vanessa might have entered a tropical forest. She couldn’t help searching the cathedral glass ceiling for butterflies and smiled wryly as she turned to go.

“You find something amusing?”

Lord Falconbridge stepped through the door. She hadn’t expected to see him until their appointment tomorrow. He had removed his glasses and now wore a marine blue coat with a striped cravat at his throat.

“Do sit down, Miss Ashley.”

“No thank you, my lord. I’ve had my tea.” She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, hoping he’d dismiss her so she could continue her reconnoiter of the house.

He pulled out a chair for her. “If you don’t sit, I shall have to remain standing, and I wish to have my tea.”

“Thank you.” She sank onto the chair he’d offered her.

He sat next to his daughter and leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other. The bright light revealed lines at the corners of his eyes, probably from his time spent in a hot climate. She dropped her gaze, aware that his lordship’s intense blue eyes searched her face with more interest now than they had on their first meeting. It was so concentrated a gaze that her fingers curled, and she resisted straightening her collar. She could only be glad she’d dealt with that smudge.

He could hardly be admiring her profile. When her father had painted her portrait, he always transformed her retroussé nose into one of classical proportions.

“Mother had a similar coloring to Miss Ashley, didn’t she, Father?” Blythe said.

“Your mother’s hair was auburn,” he said. His voice lacked any sign of grief. Blythe, too, showed little emotion when she mentioned her mother. Perhaps Lady Falconbridge had passed away many years before. “Miss Ashley’s is reddish-gold rather like a
Hypanartia cinderella
,” he said, nodding to her.

“From Peru,” Blythe said.

“Is it?” Vanessa asked, transfixed by his lordship’s blue eyes.

“Yes, and you share your first name with the
Vanessa cardui
, a butterfly with a strange pattern of flying, a sort of screw shape. Like this.” He made a circular downward spiral with his finger.

Was he teasing her? She looked at him suspiciously. “I trust it’s only my name that reminds you of it, my lord.”

He smiled. “Butterflies are quite fascinating in their diversity, Miss Ashley.”

She wished he didn’t always sound as though he was giving a lecture. Might he be visualizing her under glass?

Vanessa attempted to change the subject. She didn’t care to be compared to his lordship’s butterflies. “Do you like to read, Miss Blythe?”

Blythe’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes. I love books.”

Pleased, Vanessa said, “We can enjoy them together.”

“Then I shall allow you free reign over my library, Miss Ashley.” His lordship put down his cup. He pulled one of Blythe’s locks, stood, nodded to Vanessa, and strode from the conservatory.

Blythe and Vanessa stared after him in silence.

Vanessa felt strangely flat. Had her appearance disappointed him? She hadn’t been employed for her looks, surely.

She had decided to return to her room when Blythe spoke. “My party frock is pink. What color is yours?”

Vanessa widened her eyes. “I didn’t bring one. There will be little reason to wear it.”

“Father has invited guests next week. There will be music.”

“Oh. Well, how nice. But governesses don’t go to parties.”

“Miss Lillicrop did.”

“Did she?”

Thick black lashes hid Blythe’s blue eyes from view like a shutter over a window. “I watched her from my window. She danced on the terrace.”

Vanessa would have loved to ask with whom, but Mrs. Royce appeared with the maid to clear away the tea things.

“What books have you read, Blythe?” Vanessa asked.

“
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
is my favorite.” The girl’s face flushed with pleasure.

“There are many wonderful stories, and I promise we’ll read a new one every few weeks.” Vanessa ran a list of texts through her mind.

“How nice you seem,” Blythe said in her cool little voice. “Will you stay longer than Miss Lillicrop?”

“I certainly plan to,” Vanessa said, her curiosity aroused.

Mrs. Royce spoke from the doorway. “Your music teacher is waiting, Miss Blythe.”

“Goodbye.” Blythe climbed down from the chair and left the room.

“I gather Miss Lillicrop was the former governess?” Vanessa asked the housekeeper.

“That is correct.”

“She didn’t stay long?”

“A few months.”

“Did something happen for her to leave so soon?”

“You’d best ask the master about that.” Mrs. Royce’s tone made it quite clear she would discuss it no further.

Left to her own devices, Vanessa walked out into the garden.

*****

Julian glanced out the window and saw his new employee cross the terrace with a determined stride. She had been a surprise. He was glad women had dispensed with the bustle; he liked the natural sway of a woman’s hips. He had met Miss Ashley’s grandfather, the Earl of Gresham, but never her father, the ne’er-do-well younger son who had cut himself adrift from his family and left his daughter penniless. Julian found the former earl to be too haughty for his tastes, couldn’t see beyond the end of his long nose, and the elder son now in possession of the title was no better, or so he’d heard. He returned to his ledger, this wouldn’t get his work done. He had much to do before departing for the Amazon.

*****

Vanessa took the path that seemed to lead to the lake. The air was still and hot, and all the flowers and plants in the garden beds drooped. She entered a thick copse of trees where the overhead branches blocked out the sky, and moments later, emerged beside the lake. As she approached the folly, a welcome fresh breeze blew the damp curls from her brow. It was a most unusual structure, the Grecian columns intricately carved with leaves and flowers. Steps led up to the arched front overlooking the water. Inside, she found a rather decadent looking crimson velvet chaise longue, several wicker chairs and a table. A nice place to bring Blythe for a picnic she decided.

Vanessa returned to her bedroom. She curled up in a chintz chair, her chin propped in her hand. Her new employer filled her thoughts. She’d never met anyone like him. She was glad to find him so interesting, but was there something cold blooded about killing insects and placing them under glass?

Blythe seemed too subdued for her liking. It might be due to shyness, but she doubted it. She would have to wait and see. Vanessa considered herself to have been a luckier child than Blythe, having been blessed with a loving mother until fully grown. She had enjoyed far more freedom, which mattered more than material things. How carefree she’d been, at least until the last year when things had gone terribly wrong.

At the thought of her parents, she pulled out her handkerchief and allowed herself a moment’s reflection on the past.

Vanessa sighed, dried her eyes, and moved to the desk to prepare the lessons. When satisfied with the list, she placed it inside the desk drawer. When she tried to close it again, the drawer stuck. She pulled it out farther and peered inside. At the back was a scrunched up piece of paper. Smoothing it out on the desk, she discovered it was a detailed drawing of a butterfly, its wings colored crimson, just like the one in his lordship’s study. It would appear that the previous governess had drawn it. So finely detailed, it gave clue to her expert knowledge of butterflies. She replaced it and closed the drawer. What would cause such a competent person to leave Falconbridge Hall so suddenly?

She stumbled along the shore as the mist swirled around her, blocking everything from view. Waves thundered onto the shingle, and she could taste the salty sea on her tongue. She should enjoy it, being home again, but all of a sudden, she flailed in the dark water, fighting her way to the surface. She came up gasping and tried to strike out for the body floating out of reach. Her father’s panicked, grasping hands drew her down with him.

Vanessa woke sweating, gasping for air, her heart thudding. She struggled to prop herself up onto her elbows. Attempting to calm herself, she searched for familiar objects, but the room seemed strange. The frail tendrils of the dream clung to her, fading as she realized where she was. The pretty quilt folded at the end of the white iron-railed bed, the patterned curtains stirring at the open window. Her new room. She drew in a deep breath and her heartbeat slowed.

Sweaty and hot, she threw off her sheet, thinking of the weeks and months surrounding her father’s death. It had followed soon on her mother’s, both succumbing to influenza, and left her destitute.

Vanessa was deep in mourning when her uncle, the new earl, had come to offer her a home with him and her aunt. She had never met her grandfather, the Earl of Gresham. Her father was his second son, cut off after he married her mother and took up painting as a profession. Her uncle was a stranger to her and only doing his duty. She’d refused him. She preferred to make her own living, even if it meant working as a servant. He had then made enquiries on her behalf and had found her this position.

Vanessa had no idea what time it was. Leaving the bed, she stumbled to the open window. The quiet gardens lay under a net of silver gauze. A breeze carried a bouquet of wisteria and that of white roses growing on the trellis below. Falconbridge offered a different kind of charm. More ordered than the seashore. After that disturbing dream, she was glad of it. Her breathing calmed.

A bell was ringing. Vanessa leapt out of bed. She had fallen into a deep sleep and slept late. She donned her dressing gown and hurried to the bathroom, for a hasty wash. Once dressed, she rushed from her room.

Vanessa hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, not knowing where to go because a tray had been sent up to her room the night before. Mrs. Royce appeared out of a doorway.

“Good morning, Mrs. Royce. I just wondered where—”

“I’ll take you to the breakfast room.” Mrs. Royce cast an approving glance over Vanessa’s navy dress with its spotless white lace collar and cuffs, simply adorned with her mother’s gold watch on a chain. “You will be glad of the night’s rest I expect.”

“Yes, I…” Vanessa followed Mrs. Royce. She’d begun to understand the housekeeper neither expected a reply, nor desired it. She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Royce,” she said, addressing the housekeeper’s narrow black bombazine-clad back, “where might my bicycle be stored?”

“Capstick placed your two-wheeled machine in one of the outbuildings. He’ll show you where.” Mrs. Royce firmed her lips with a look of distaste. “I do hope those modern fashions don’t take on here. They will encourage loose morals.”

“From my own experience, I haven’t found you have reason to worry, Mrs. Royce,” Vanessa said. She noticed they were not heading towards the servant’s quarters she’d found yesterday. “Do I eat with the family?”

“It’s been the practice here with no mistress in the house for the governess to dine with the family, although his lordship often takes his meals in his study.” She shrugged her thin shoulders in disapproval of this arrangement as she halted at the breakfast room door. “Cook likes everyone to be prompt.”

Vanessa glanced through the doorway at the long mahogany table and sideboard where a maid added hot water to the teapot. A row of French windows opened onto the terrace, the view partly obscured by green damask curtains. When she looked back, Mrs. Royce had gone.

Vanessa walked into the room. “Good morning.”

A soft blonde curl escaped from the maid’s cap as she turned. “Good morning. I’m Dorcas, miss.”

Vanessa smiled, recognizing the accent. “
Myttin da
, to you, Dorcas. You hail from Cornwall too?”

The maid grinned. “I was born there. I miss the sea.”

“One does, doesn’t one?” Vanessa said, feeling a tug at her heart. “Have you been at Falconbridge Hall long?”

“About three years.”

“You like it here?”

“The master is away a lot, and it’s quiet then.” The girl shrugged. “It might be worse. Although lately …” Dorcas cast a swift glance at the door.

“Lately?” Vanessa prompted.

“I must fetch the toast.” Dorcas hurried out.

Plate in hand, Vanessa wandered along the row of silver chafing dishes, stacked with eggs, slices of bacon, sausages, kedgeree and devilled kidneys. Blythe came in wearing a white pinafore over a blue and white dress with a dropped waist. She was fast outgrowing it, for the skirt didn’t cover her knees.

“My, you do look pretty this morning, Miss Blythe,” Vanessa couldn’t help saying. Her skin was the color and texture of a peach. The child would surely grow up to be a beauty.

“Good morning, Miss Ashley.” She tugged at her skirt.

Vanessa examined the hem. “If we have it let down, you’ll get another season’s wear out of it.”

“Oh? I’d like that.”

“Do you fancy some of these scrambled eggs? I’m sure they’re delicious.”

“No, thank you.” Blythe selected a roll and went to sit at the table.

“We begin English studies later in the morning, after I’ve seen your father.” Vanessa sat opposite. She put a forkful of egg into her mouth, savoring the buttery flavor.

Blythe screwed up her nose. “Miss Lillicrop was fond of poetry. She read it a lot.”

“Yes, poetry is important but literature is also.” Vanessa wondered if Miss Lillicrop had taught botany. She seemed to have a fine grasp of entomology for she drew beautiful butterflies in exquisite detail.

Mrs. Royce made another appearance. “Your father insists you eat eggs for breakfast, Miss Blythe. And be sure to drink your milk.” She motioned to the maid. “Serve Miss Blythe some eggs.”

Blythe’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I don’t like eggs.”

Mrs. Royce said, “But you know you have not been well. The doctor has instructed an egg a day.”

Vanessa gave Blythe a reassuring smile. “I’ll see you in the schoolroom at eleven.” She put down her napkin and pushed back her chair. “In the afternoon, we’ll begin a new story, and then you can show me more of the gardens.”

She left the room as Mrs. Royce said, “Please eat some egg, Miss Blythe. If you don’t, I’ll have to inform your father.”

Vanessa remembered passing the library on her first day and located it without difficulty. She entered the room, finding it empty. It was designed for masculine comfort. Bookshelves filled with tomes covered all available wall space. A tan leather chesterfield and two chairs were grouped in front of the fireplace, and a tiger skin covered the floor in front of the hearth.
The Times, The Daily Telegraph
and the
Penny Press
lay on a table, and the aroma of cigars and pipe smoke lingered in the air.

A variety of magazines was stacked in a rack. Vanessa sorted through
The Gentleman’s Magazine, Punch, The Strand,
and the
London Sunday Journal.
She selected
Punch
and the
Penny Press
to take back to her room.

She roamed the shelves searching for suitable books and found several on botany, including one by Lord Falconbridge on Lepidoptera. She piled them onto a mahogany table, along with the books and the notes she’d fetched from her room. Searching further, she spied Plato’s
Symposium
and climbed the ladder. It was just out of reach. Not wishing to climb down, she leaned across. Her fingers touched the binding, and she leaned farther. She almost had it.

“You read Ancient Greek, Miss Ashley?” Lord Falconbridge asked behind her.

Vanessa jumped, and her foot slipped off the rung. She lost her balance and fell into a pair of strong arms.

He set her on her feet.

The imprint of his touch remained as her heart beat madly. She huffed a wisp of hair from her eyes, sure her face was crimson. “Not with any degree of expertise, my lord.”

His lordship moved the ladder, climbed up, and took down the book she’d been trying to reach. He held it out to her. “Are you all right? I’m sorry I startled you.”

Still thoroughly disconcerted, Vanessa took it. “I’m fine, thank you.”

He moved to the table and looked through the books she’d selected. “You are interested in reading Darwin?” He looked surprised as he put aside Charles Darwin’s
On the Origin of the Species.
“You aren’t bothered by the religious ramifications of his evolutionary ideas?”

“I have not as yet read it, my lord.”

“When you do, perhaps we can discuss it further. I approve of all of these, except for this one.” He held up a favorite of her mother’s. “
Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus
. I trust you’re not planning to turn Blythe into a suffragette?”

Discomfiture flooded her face with heat. “It is for my own pleasure, my lord.” She wasn’t aware he knew about her mother.

He gestured to the settee. “Please sit down, Miss Ashley.”

“I thought you might like to see what I have planned.” She gathered up her notes with shaking hands. “This is a list of subjects I intend to cover and the books I brought with me.”

Sitting in a chair, he took the notes and read them. Without comment, he flicked open the books.

She took a deep breath. “My lord, I have to tell you I had not thought of botany. I’ll need some time to prepare.”

“I gathered as much,” he said, without looking up. After several minutes, he closed the books. “These seem appropriate.” He gave a brief smile. “No need to concern yourself. I will teach my daughter botany.”

Then why hadn’t he mentioned it? Did he enjoy making her feel awkward? She bit her lip before a note of outrage escaped. She’d spent hours worrying about botany lessons before falling asleep. She was sure it had caused her disturbed dream. “I would like to learn something of botany, myself. I became quite interested in the subject in Cornwall.”

“You may attend the lessons if you wish.”

“Thank you.”

“Your choice of reading material is unusual, Miss Ashley. I too enjoy reading the Classics. Shakespeare also.”

“Shakespeare is a favorite.”

“Which of his works particularly?”

“
Henry V
.”

His brows rose. “I would have thought some of Shakespeare’s more romantic plays,
As You Like It
or
Twelfth Night
, would better suit your taste.”

“History interests me more than comedy.”

“Indeed.” His blue eyes studied her as he rose. “I think we’ve covered everything. What do you plan for Blythe this afternoon?”

“I understand that Blythe has been under a doctor’s care. I thought a walk in the fresh air would build up her strength.”

“An excellent notion. But please refrain from entering the wood.”

“Poachers, my lord?”

“We have had a poacher or two setting traps in the past, but I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. Some months ago, a young woman from a nearby village went missing. Her body was found in Falconbridge Wood. She had killed herself.”

Vanessa drew in a sharp breath. “How tragic.”

“A very sad matter. It is not spoken of because I’d prefer Blythe not know.” He turned away to the door.

It shut behind him, leaving Vanessa alone. She was horrified. What would cause a woman to do such a thing?