A Laird for the Governess
Auteur·e
Catherine Tinley
Lectures
19,2K
Chapitres
18
Chapter One
‘I must speak with you, sir.’
Alasdair looked up, his brows knitting with frustration. ‘Mrs MacLeod, there is nothing so urgent that it cannot wait until later, when I have finished reading.’
Mrs MacLeod drew herself up to her full height, outrage evident in the line of her body and the expression on her face. Since she was at least a foot smaller than Alasdair, the impact was perhaps rather less than she had intended. ‘Sir, I must insist! It is about your daughter.’
Now he was alert. ‘Something ails Mairead? What is the matter?’
‘Well, yes and no. We both know she is a sickly, weak child—’
He winced at the description, his right hand silently gripping his precious copy of Dante’s Inferno until the knuckles turned white.
‘—and has been since her sickness, but she is six now, though she may look like four.’
‘Your point, Mrs MacLeod?’
‘Now then, no need to take that tone with me, Alasdair MacDonald. You may be the Laird and I the housekeeper, but I skelped your backside many a time when you were a child yourself. Usually for stealing cakes from the castle kitchens.’
Alasdair could not help it. Despite himself, he grinned. Setting down his book, he leaned back in his comfortable armchair. ‘Very well. You have something to say about Mairead and I might as well hear it.’
Mrs MacLeod’s eyes narrowed, then she nodded, as if satisfying herself that he was in earnest. ‘I am no teacher. Nor am I a nursemaid. She needs more now than what I and the others can do for her.’
Alasdair shrugged. ‘I have tried many times to find a governess for her. You know how difficult it is to attract strangers to the islands. Is there no-one in the castle fit to take over teaching her? What of looking in Stornoway, or over in Skye?’
Mrs MacLeod was shaking her head. ‘There is no-one befitting her. She is daughter to the Laird and she needs a proper education. Despite being sickly, there is nothing wrong with her mind. I declare she has my head turned with questions I cannot answer, “But why is the sky blue, Mrs MacLeod?” “Why do the flowers go away in winter?” “Why am I six now?”’
A pang of guilt went through him. Six years. Six years since Mairead had arrived in their lives, mewling like a cat and sucking her fists. More than five years then, since Hester...
‘Sir?’
I cannot teach her myself. It pains me to be in conflict with her.
‘I shall write again to the agency in Edinburgh. Perhaps they will find someone suitable this time.’
‘And if they do not?’
He shrugged. ‘You must do the best you can. She is only six. How hard can it be?’
The half-growl, half-exclamation that emerged from Mrs MacLeod at this gave him to understand that his answer was unsatisfactory. Having no other reply to give her, he simply waited until she turned on her heel and stomped off.
Turning to his book again, he was vexed to discover his attention for reading was gone, like mist off the loch. Picking up a pen, he began drafting yet another letter to the employment agency in Edinburgh. Maybe this time they would find someone willing to take on a stubborn, sickly child on a remote island on the very edge of the world.
Yet again, Miss Lydia Farnham, governess, was in trouble. Despite taking a post with a quiet family with—she had specifically checked—no young gentlemen, vexation had found her once more. It had found her in the form of the Honourable Geoffrey Barnstable, who was much less honourable than his title suggested. An uncle to her charges, and unmarried, he had taken to visiting at odd hours, demanding to see his young nephews to ‘check how they were doing with their book-learning’.
In reality, Lydia knew he had come to discompose her once again and she was becoming increasingly tired of it. ‘Good day, Mr Barnstable. How may we assist you?’
‘My dear Miss Farnham! As always, it is a delight to see you—and in such looks!’ He bent over her gloveless hand, smearing it with a wet kiss. Shuddering, she crossed the room to ring the bell for tea, surreptitiously wiping her hand in a fold of her printed muslin dress. The sooner she could get a housemaid into the room with her, the better.
The Honourable Geoffrey had, thankfully, moved to the table where the young Barnstable twins were bent over their slates, working diligently through their arithmetic. ‘Good boys. Well done,’ he said generally, then turned back to Lydia, rubbing his hands together. ‘I declare you are a marvel, Miss Farnham. Brains as well as beauty!’ He gave a sickly smile, revealing snuff-stained brown teeth.
‘Please be seated, Mr Barnstable.’ She indicated a straight chair a good three feet from her own armchair. He would hopefully find it difficult to molest her from there. ‘The boys are good students and a credit to their family.’
Unlike you, who bring shame to them with your odious behaviour.
‘Yes, yes, I do not doubt it.’ He sat, but leaned forward, his eyes sweeping across her, lingering on her chest. ‘And how are you, Miss Farnham. Are you happy here?’
‘I am content, sir.’ Resisting the temptation to adjust the lace fichu she had tucked into the neckline of her dress for modesty, she reflected briefly on her own answer. Apart from his visits, she generally was content here. The boys were easy students, Lord and Lady Barnstable sensible employers—although Lady Barnstable could be rather demanding—and her wages were decent. Her retirement fund remained small, but this was the longest period of paid employment she had had since her father’s death, five years before.
When she had first become a governess, she had not anticipated that the greatest challenge to her ongoing employment would be the unwanted advances of dishonourable men. She had managed to fend Mr Barnstable off for nearly a year already and, if the housemaid would but hurry, she might escape his clutches for another day. Lady Barnstable, the Honourable Geoffrey’s sister-in-law, had not yet descended and would no doubt still be enjoying her morning dish of chocolate in her bedchamber. Which was exactly the reason Geoffrey was here so early.
‘It pains me that so beautiful a lady should be hiding away as a governess.’ Reaching across the gap between them, he took her hand.
Instantly, she snapped it away. ‘Sir, please do not—’
It was too late. Leaping from his chair, he was beside her, bending over her threateningly. ‘Lydia! My dear! You must know that I am mad with love for you!’ Hauling her to her feet, he enveloped her in a tight and entirely unwelcome embrace. He smelled of onions, snuff and old sweat.
‘Stop! Sir! Do not!’ Conscious that the children would also be distressed by what was happening, she pushed at him as hard as she could and stamped on his foot for good measure.
‘Ow! I say, no need for that, my girl!’
‘The children!’ she managed to say. She was trembling from head to toe.
Why does this keep happening to me?
It worked—to some extent. Looking a little shamefaced, he adjusted his cravat, sending a sickly smile towards the boys. ‘Miss Farnham and I were just having a little wrestle.’
A little wrestle!
Lydia closed her eyes briefly. Oh, where was Sally? Or Rose? Or any of the housemaids? It seemed like an age since she had rung the bell, although it was probably only a few minutes.
He stepped towards her again and she took a step back, feeling the edge of the chair behind her. ‘Lydia! Your modesty does you credit, but I should have made myself clearer. I want no mere dalliance. I am devoted to you. You must know it!’
Was he actually planning to make her an offer of marriage? Surely he would think a mere governess beneath him?
I could not marry him—no, not even for the financial security it would bring. He is abhorrent to me.
‘Sir, I appreciate the sentiment, but I cannot return it. I—’
‘But only listen, my darling Lydia!’ He took both of her hands in his own. His were small, puffed with fat and slick with sweat. ‘I have found the most perfect apartment in Mayfair. You can live there and want for nothing. You will have jewels and furs, and servants to command!’
As it dawned on her that his offer was insulting in every way to her character, her morals and her respectability, he pressed on, oblivious. ‘My dear! Say yes and come with me this very day, for I can wait no longer to have you in my bed!’ Closing the space between them, he embraced her once again and this time she was not quick enough to turn her head to avoid him. His hot mouth pressed on hers, his teeth banging painfully on her lips and his arms closing around her like a vice. Overcome by fear, she whimpered, bringing her hands up to push ineffectually against his paunch.
Dimly, she heard the door open.
Thank goodness!
He would surely have to stop once the housemaid made herself known. They all knew of the Honourable Geoffrey’s fixation with the governess and had helped her defuse his ardour on many previous occasions. Never had he tried to kiss her before, though.
‘What on earth is going on? Miss Farnham! Geoffrey!’
Instantly, Geoffrey released her and Lydia sagged in relief. Her head was spinning and her senses entirely disordered. He stepped away from her and she collapsed in a heap on the armchair, trembling.
Lady Barnstable marched into the room, clearly outraged. ‘Boys, go and find your nurse. You are excused from lessons for the day.’
Needing no second invitation, the twins scampered out of the room without looking back. Lydia had the presence of mind to take one last look at them. She would never see them again, she knew.
‘Geoffrey, I thank you for your visit. We shall see you tomorrow, perhaps.’ Lady Barnstable was all icy disdain. Geoffrey adjusted his cravat once again, muttered a word of farewell to his sister-in-law and took flight, closing the door behind him. Like the coward you are, Lydia thought bitterly.
There was a silence. Gathering herself, Lydia stood to face her employer. Despite her trembling, she lifted her chin.
‘Well? Have you anything to say?’ Lady Barnstable’s tone was harsh.
‘There is little point in my saying anything, my lady.’ Lydia spoke quietly. ‘In such cases the woman is usually blamed, although I have done nothing to encourage Mr Barnstable’s attentions.’
Lady Barnstable snorted in disbelief. ‘You are a liar, Miss Farnham. To think that I have had such a Jezebel in my own house, teaching my precious children... You are to leave this house immediately and without any further salary. Do you understand me?’
Lydia eyed her defiantly. ‘I understand you well enough, my lady. I should not wish to remain in a household where a young lady cannot go unmolested by a dishonourable gentleman such as Mr Barnstable.’
‘How dare you tell such falsehoods!’ She leaned closer. ‘I promise you, Miss Farnham, if you dare to besmirch the reputation of my brother-in-law, I shall ensure that you never have work again with any decent family.’
Lydia had heard enough. Without another word she spun on her heel and swept out of the drawing room, leaving the door wide open.
An hour later, she signed her name in the registry at Mrs Gray’s employment agency, a place she had had occasion to visit before. Praying that Mrs Gray would have a suitable position for her, she took a seat in the waiting room, noting that there were two other young ladies already there before her, both of whom could potentially be seeking governess positions. Her heart sank. Amid the cooks and footmen, grooms and serving maids, she had hoped to find an opportunity suited to her skills and position.
Miss Anne Bolton was called in to see Mrs Gray and emerged a half-hour later, giving a small smile of what looked like encouragement. By this stage Lydia had moved to sit next to the other young lady, a Miss Smith, and they were conversing politely. After Miss Smith was called in, Lydia sat as quietly as she could, trying to keep her mind focused. Her small savings would not last long. London lodgings were so expensive! If she could find a cheap place, she had perhaps four months, maybe five, in which to find a post without having to seriously compromise her savings.
The door to Mrs Gray’s inner sanctum opened and Miss Smith walked out. Hurrying across to Lydia, she bent to share the news that Mrs Gray had offered her a temporary position in Norfolk, which was exactly where she wanted to be. Her eyes shining, she wished Lydia similar good fortune, then hurried on.
Three more prospects—grooms or footmen, perhaps—were called in, emerging with expressions relieved or disappointed, and then, finally, it was Lydia’s turn. ‘Miss Farnham.’
Her heart pounding, Lydia followed Mrs Gray into her office. The agency owner took her place behind the now familiar rosewood desk and Lydia took her seat, awaiting the inevitable question.
‘Well, Miss Farnham? Can you explain how it is that, less than a year since I placed you with the Barnstables, you are returned to me?’
Lydia eyed her helplessly. ‘I tried really hard this time, Mrs Gray. I tied my hair in the severest of styles. I wore a fichu every day and only the plainest and loosest of gowns. I barely engaged in conversation with gentlemen and avoided them as much as I could...’
‘And yet, here you are.’ Mrs Gray’s eyes softened briefly. ‘Your beauty, Miss Farnham, cannot be hidden with such tricks and, unfortunately, we both know what some men are.’
‘Then you believe me?’ She laughed sourly. ‘For everyone else seems to instantly think of me as the worst of temptresses.’
‘Who was it this time?’ Mrs Gray frowned. ‘Never say it was Lord Barnstable? I thought it safe to place you there, for it is said he is devoted to his wife.’
‘Well, he is,’ Lydia replied shortly. ‘His brother, however, has taken to visiting their home with increasing frequency.’
Mrs Gray’s eyes widened. ‘The dishonourable Geoffrey! I might have known!’ She shook her head. ‘I apologise, Miss Farnham. I should have anticipated this.’ She sighed. ‘The difficulty is, no matter where I place you, there will be some heedless man who may eventually start pawing you.’
Lydia shuddered. ‘But what am I to do? I cannot change my face, nor my figure. How I wish I were ugly, or a wizened old hag!’
Mrs Gray laughed and patted her hand. ‘We both understand the propensity of the world to judge by appearances. I, too, have suffered—although not for any beauty!’
‘I can only imagine!’ Mrs Gray’s skin was dark, her family clearly originating from somewhere in Africa, and yet she had succeeded in building this, one of the busiest hiring agencies in London.
There was a pause, as the two women silently acknowledged each other’s struggles.
Mrs Gray nodded firmly. ‘I know your character, Miss Farnham. And I know you are a skilled teacher. Now, where can I place you...?’
She closed her dark eyes for a moment and placed both sets of fingertips on her temples. Lydia held her breath, sending up a silent prayer.
Finally, Mrs Gray opened her eyes again. ‘You should understand, Miss Farnham, that I have already placed two governesses today.’
Lydia nodded. ‘I made Miss Smith’s acquaintance. She told me of her posting to Norfolk.’
‘A temporary post, but it suited her. The other young lady I have sent to a family in Bedfordshire. That leaves me with only two options for you, Miss Farnham.’
I have options? ‘Yes?’ Lydia breathed.
‘I frequently get requests for temporary governesses and nursemaids for the duration of the Season. Such posts begin around March and last until June. You might come back in March and see if I have any possibilities.’
Lydia’s heart sank, although temporary work was better than nothing, she supposed. ‘And the other option?’
Rising, Mrs Gray walked to the table on Lydia’s left and lifted a pile of letters. Finding the one she wanted, she brought it back to the desk. ‘As I recall, Miss Farnham, you were governess and nurse to young Master Pickering for a time, is that correct?’
‘It is.’ John Pickering had been thrown from his pony and been paralysed from the waist down at the age of nine. He had been a difficult challenge, Lydia recalled, as his moods would swing towards darkness on many occasions.
‘And you were able to manage his care?’
‘I was—although I will admit I found it challenging at times.’
‘Was that why you left?’
‘No! I loved looking after John. It was not that. It was...’
Mrs Gray eyed her steadily.
‘John’s older brother developed a—a partiality for me. His mama, naturally, did not approve.’
And I was blamed on that occasion as well.
‘Ah, yes. I remember now.’ Mrs Gray opened the letter and Lydia’s gaze dropped to it. Might this be the answer to her prayers? ‘I have here an appeal from a friend who owns a similar employment agency. In Edinburgh.’
‘Edinburgh. Scotland?’
‘Yes. Would you have any objection to Scotland?’
‘Well, no, of course not. It is just—I have never even been to the north of England. I—’
Mrs Gray set the letter down. ‘It is of no matter. Perhaps we should focus on getting you a posting here in London, for the Season.’
‘But no, I—can you tell me more about the family in Scotland?’
‘Very well. They live on Benbecula, a remote island, I understand—in a place called Ardmore. No, I have not heard of it either. The Laird is widowed and his only child is sickly and does not walk. Her name is Margaret, although she is known as—’ she consulted the letter ‘—Mairead. I am not sure I have pronounced that correctly. The child is six years old.’
‘Margaret.’ Despite herself, Lydia’s heart went out to the unknown child. She knew well how hard little John had found his affliction and she had developed a good understanding of how to help him with his black moods. But the Laird...
‘A widower?’
Mrs Gray sighed. ‘I understand you. He may be just as challenging as some of the other men you have encountered, but I have always found the Scots to be less tolerant of bad behaviour in their men. There are good people and bad people everywhere, but—and I shall be frank with you, Miss Farnham—I find the young men of the ton to be among the most self-indulgent, the most arrogant I have encountered. There is something in the manner of their raising—the larks they kick up at University, the gaming hells and places of dubious reputation they frequent here... I believe it encourages some of them to believe they are entitled to behave in whatever manner they wish. My understanding of rural Scotland—and rural England, to be fair—is that they adhere to stricter standards of moral behaviour. In that sense I believe you will have a better chance of being safe from unwanted advances outside the city.’
‘I see.’ Lydia thought about it for a moment. It made a certain kind of sense. ‘What would the salary be? And are there any allowances?’
Mrs Gray smiled. ‘I admire a woman who has a good head for the important questions.’
She named a salary that was three times what Lydia had been earning in London, making her gasp. ‘Why so generous?’
‘They live so remotely that they have struggled to attract prospects to their island. The child has never been properly taught and has physical challenges as well. The Laird’s generosity makes sense.’ Mrs Gray went on to detail the other benefits—a tea allowance, days off and even an allowance for books.
Lydia, herself a great reader, breathed in amazement. ‘A book allowance? How wonderful!’
‘Yes, well, it will be difficult to call into Hookham’s Lending Library when you are living in Ardmore,’ Mrs Gray pointed out drily. ‘So, shall I write to Edinburgh to confirm you accept the post?’
Lydia nodded firmly. ‘Please do.’
