The Truth Behind the Governess
Author
Carol Arens
Reads
19.5K
Chapters
18
Chapter 1
An insect, barely seen in the midnight shadow of the porch, skittered across the toe of Clement Marston’s boot. He gave it no notice.
It was all he could do to find his next breath. To hold together when all he wanted to do was shatter.
The woman walking behind him was not holding together. Her soft weeping sounded as mournful as the ship’s horn wailing in the harbour.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the house they’d walked away from. Saw the light in his sister’s chamber window go out.
A fist grabbed his soul, squeezed with no mercy.
Alice Jayne would no longer need the lamp. His sister was dead.
‘She is with her husband now,’ he murmured, seeking to give and take what comfort was to be had in the thought. Alice Jayne had loved the man against society’s approval. Three years past she had run away with her sailor, giving up the title that might have been hers except for love.
‘Sir, let me take one of the babies,’ the woman sniffled.
‘Not yet, Miss Logan.’
His sister’s girls were protected from the biting cold and rain under the coat draped over his shoulders. No need to expose them to the elements while walking to the carriage. He could not protect them from the tragedy of losing their mother, but he could protect them from the weather.
Miss Logan climbed into the carriage first, assisted by the driver. Once the nurse was settled he handed her one baby, then the other. The lady cooed over the infants while he settled on the other side of the carriage.
‘Oh, Mr Marston.’ The nurse, who only days ago had simply been the neighbour across the hallway from Alice Jayne, blinked wet eyes at him. ‘What shall become of these sweet children?’
Clement was not certain.
At twenty-one years old he was ill equipped to be a father. But his brothers were even more ill equipped than he was. Duncan, having only recently inherited the title of Baron Granville, lived the loose life of a very wealthy society bachelor. So did his youngest brother, Eldon. Neither of them cared for anything beyond their next secret liaison.
‘Your sister was my dearest friend, Sir.’ Miss Logan patted the bottom of one blanket, her fingers trembling. ‘I would like to ask...may I stay on as their nursemaid?’
He stared blankly at her. The woman was asking him to make a decision about the future of his sister’s children as if he was the one in charge. As if he had some sort of plan.
As of two days ago, his plan had been to go to the Isle of Wight and search for insects. It was what entomologists did, discovered interesting things about unusual insects and then published their findings. Their names then became respected by their peers.
A nip of self-pity made him wonder if the ship’s wail, mournfully pressing against the windows while the carriage bumped over dock stones, belonged to the ship he had purchased passage on.
It would be at the harbour already, he knew, having planned every detail of the trip with great eagerness. It was to be the first step towards becoming a renowned entomologist. He had long dreamed of finding an insect which was the rarest of the rare.
One of his nieces whimpered. Miss Logan murmured to the baby which seemed to be the signal for the other one to whimper.
He reached across. Miss Logan handed one of the babies over to him.
Feeling sorry for himself was quite unworthy in this moment. It was, however, an easier emotion to cope with than crushing grief.
He had spent several days with his sister while she fought her battle against childbed fever. During it all he had not given a great deal of attention to the infants. Noticing how Miss Logan had cared for them with such devotion, he had asked if she would take the position of nurse until Alice Jayne recovered.
She had not recovered, though, and here the lady sat, waiting for his answer.
‘Touch her cheek, she will suck on the tip of your finger, Sir. It helps sometimes.’
For a moment, perhaps. But at some point the girls would need to feed. He assumed Miss Logan had somehow taken care of it during the week since their birth. He had not heard them crying.
Clement touched the soft curve of the baby’s cheek. She turned and latched on to his finger with more force than he’d guessed a tiny infant would have. Of course, when it came to infants, guesses were all that he had.
‘How did you manage this past week, keeping them fed?’
Miss Logan closed her eyes, biting her lip while she shook her head. ‘I do not dare say. If I do, you will send me away and I...’ Hugging the baby close to her heart, she rocked it. ‘It will break my heart, Sir.’
‘Have you recently lost a child, then? Fed these in its place?’ It seemed a logical conclusion.
‘It is something of the truth, Mr Marston.’ It seemed for a moment as if she would not go on, but then she did. ‘I did lose a child, but not in the way you think. I was not wed, so...so I could not keep him, not if I wished for him to have a decent life.’
The only sound was of jingling tack and surf breaking against the sea wall while he gathered his wits in the face of her confession.
‘I appreciate your forthrightness, Miss Logan. Do not fear that I will judge you. Truly, I am grateful you helped my sister and her children.’
‘She was a dear friend to me, your sister. I see her in you, Sir. Both of you the very souls of compassion. But it broke her when her husband’s ship went down with all hands lost...only five miles from the harbour, too. A wicked tragedy. All of Liverpool grieved. I wonder if it is why Alice Jayne did not find the strength to rally.’
‘If you wish to feed the babies now, I shall look away.’
‘Thank you. They are getting restless.’
He looked out of the window, watching the rain streaking through the light of a streetlamp and the dark, vague shapes of masts bobbing in the harbour.
Fabric rustled. ‘Here you are, my sweet little dove.’
After a short moment Miss Logan said, ‘We are covered up, now.’
All he could see of the child were her booties peeking out from under the blanket draped over Miss Logan’s shoulders. She sounded utterly content.
The baby girl in his arms grew ever restless.
Never in his life had he felt as helpless as he did now.
‘Did my sister name them?’
He ought to have known a thing like that.
‘She would have, but the labour was long and when she was finished, she could not speak much. She held each of her girls, though, kissed them, but then, well...she did not know much after that.’
Such was her state when he arrived. He hoped his sister had felt him at her bedside, but could not be certain. The doctor had encouraged him to speak to her as if she might rally and answer. Still, they had both understood there was little hope she would survive.
‘We shall call this one Alice, then.’ He bent his head, kissed Alice on her smooth forehead. ‘And her sister shall be Jayne.’
‘Oh, Sir! Named for their mother! That is lovely.’ Miss Logan began a new bout of sniffling.
He would join her in it, but he had decisions to make.
The first was leaving Liverpool for the family home in London...and then shortly after that, leaving London.
They exchanged babies so Alice could feed.
With neither him nor Miss Logan having anything further to say, the echo of his sister’s last breath consumed him.
But, no...he must think ahead. Looking back only dragged one down into a pit of grief which was difficult to climb out of. He knew that well since it had been little more than two years since he and his brothers had lost their parents.
‘I shall purchase a home in the country. Will you come and help me care for the children?’
‘Oh, yes! You are a saint to take them...and me.’
He was not. Only a grieving brother. And a man without the future he had dreamed of.
Then he heard a sound, one he had never heard before. Contented coos and sighs issued from under the blanket draped over Miss Logan. Somehow it managed to poke a pinhole in his grief. As small as it was, it allowed a frizzle of hope in.
Life would be different than he’d pictured it, but it would be a life, just the same.
‘Perhaps, Miss Logan, we will manage.’
