Not From the Stars (His Majesty's Theatre Book 1)

by Christina Britton Conroy

  He threw her at her father. She cried out as Anthony Roundtree dragged her inside, and downstairs to the kitchen. The maid, footman, and cook stood tensely. Hearing the commotion, her Aunt Lillian Roundtree scurried down the stairs, still in her nightdress.

  Roundtree shoved Elisa toward his sister. “Lillian, I want her scrubbed and her hair combed. The governess arrives tomorrow.”

  Elisa pleaded, “Please father, where have you taken Billy?”

  “That wild beast has gone to auction. If you ever ride again, it will be on a proper lady’s mount, with a sidesaddle.” He stomped up the stairs.

  Elisa stared after him. “Billy’s gone to auction? A sidesaddle?”

  Lillian, frail and shivering, started to cry. A young maid handed her a handkerchief. “There, there, Miss Lillian, mustn’t let your brother bother you so. You know the way he is. Let’s just get you dressed…” She gently pushed wisps of graying red hair away from her mistress's face, and led her upstairs. Lillian followed like an obedient child.

  Elisa watched the strong footman fill a large pan with water and put it on a back burner to boil. He and the cook pulled the iron bathtub from its hooks on the wall.

  The cook gave Elisa a glass of milk. She drank it down and asked for more. The cook laughed as she poured more milk, then wiped the white moustache from Elisa’s upper lip. “Sit luv, y’ had no dinner.” The cook broke two eggs into a sizzling pan of grease, then put a thick slice of bread to toast over the fire. The eggs crackled and minutes later, the cook dipped the toast into a bowl of drippings. She put the toast onto a plate and flipped the orange yoked eggs on top of it. Elisa gratefully devoured it all.

  After breakfast, Elisa was deposited in a tub of hot water. An able house maid scrubbed her clean. A hopeless bundle of nerves, her Aunt Lillian stood to the side, fussing with the lace on her cuffs, pulling at her copper curls, and talking nonsense.

  Cleaning did little to improve the girl’s chewed and calloused fingers. Her naturally coarse light red hair was washed with a strong solution of hemp root, maiden vine, soft cabbage cores, and honey. After it was rinsed, two full cups of lanolin were needed to soften it for combing. Elisa cried, as the maid and the cook took turns inching combs through the tangles. Some were so bad they needed to be cut out. When they finished, a full three inches had been trimmed off the bottom of her now bright copper locks.

  To avoid her hair tangling again, it was parted in the middle and pulled into two tight braids. Finally, dressed in an everyday frock and high-button-shoes, Elisa watched her old boots and britches get tossed into the fire.

  “But, what will I play in, Aunt? I can’t go onto the moors like this.”

  Lillian wrung her hands. “You’re not to go on the moors, dearest. You’re to stay in the house and become a lady.” She proudly patted her coiffed copper hair, delicately streaked with gray. “You’ll have your hair combed every day. You’ll stay clean and learn proper manners.”

  “But ladies don’t do anything.” Elisa reached under her skirt, trying to loosen a tight garter.

  “Stop that!” Lillian pulled the skirt back over Elisa’s knees. “Please child. You have always worn frocks to church. Now you must wear them every day. You won’t mind, after a while. Sir John is adamant. We must do as he wishes.”

  “Why aunt? Why must we do as he wishes?”

  “No questions, child. Young ladies must be seen and not heard.”

  “But…,”

  “Silence!”

  The next day, Anthony Roundtree and his sister stood stiff and silent. Elisa, dressed in her best clothes, was marched into the drawing room to meet the governess. Afraid of doing anything wrong, Elisa glanced up at the dour woman in black, then stood perfectly still, with her feet primly together and her hands at her sides. She looked very pretty. Sir John was pleasantly surprised. He spoke to the governess as though Elisa were not in the room.

  “She looks sweet enough, Kimball, but you mustn’t be deceived. She’s a hellcat.”

  Kimball raised her long nose and spoke with singsong condescension. “I trained your three nephews, My Lord. One little girl will hardly prove a challenge.”

  Elisa hated her. She knew men could be cruel. Women had always been kind to her. This woman was different.

  Sir John raised one thick eyebrow. “I hope you are right. I’m touring the mines then going abroad. In six months I’ll return.” He stood and everyone jumped to attention. “Kimball, if you can do what you say, you will be well rewarded. Good day to you all… Roundtree, a word.” Roundtree followed Sir John out.

  Kimball turned to Lillian. “I will take complete responsibility for the child, Miss Roundtree. You need not trouble with her from now on. It’s best if she does not see you at all for the first month.”

  Elisa’s stomach cramped violently. Her eyes went wide.

  Lillian opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.

  “After the first month, if you wish, she may be presented once a day, perhaps at tea time.”

  Elisa’s pleading eyes forced her aunt to speak. “What about Sunday services, Miss Kimball?”

  Kimball glared. “You are Anglicans, I suppose?”

  Lillian shrugged in despair.

  Elisa thought of kind Father Folen and the sweets he gave her after services. He let her talk as much as she pleased. Other adults scolded that she should be seen and not heard. When the church was empty, Lillian stayed to gossip with Mrs. Folen and other ladies.

  Kimball rolled her eyes. “Very well. You will tell me what time she must be readied. I trust there is a Catholic Church in your village?”

  “Oh, yes, just down the…,”

  “Fine. I shall attend mass. Immediately after, the child must be returned to me.”

  Elisa and Lillian sighed with relief.

  “Miss Roundtree.”

  Lillian jumped. “Yes, Miss Kimball.”

  “Be so kind as to show me to my room and have tea and sandwiches sent up. When I am refreshed, I shall visit the nursery. Miss Elisa, you will show me your embroidery and your penmanship.”

  Elisa’s mouth fell open. “Pardon Miss, but I haven’t done either.”

  Kimball stiffened. “Surely you can read and write.”

  “I read all the time, Miss. But I haven’t written much, and I don’t like embroidery.”

  The governess clenched her jaw. “Well, perhaps Sir John was right. You will be a challenge after all.”

  Elisa nervously bit her finger.

  “Show me your hands.”

  She tentatively held them up.

  Kimball turned them back and front, looking at the chewed nails. “I shall break you of that habit, this week.”

  Chapter Ten

  Elisa bent over her study desk, copying the endless lines in her penmanship book. She was unaware of raising her left hand and slipping a fingernail between her teeth. Whoosh! The sting of Miss Kimball’s switch flicked across her hand. Shaking the stinging hand, Elisa returned it to the desk top. Knowing tears would earn her an extra stroke, she blinked furiously and continued her work. When she bent too far over her book, Whoosh! The switch struck her shoulder, making her sit up straight.

  After penmanship, came embroidery. Elisa believed that she might, someday, want to write someone a letter, but she knew that she would never want to decorate a handkerchief. Unfortunately, needlework was Kimball’s passion. She was determined that Elisa have something to show Sir John, when he returned. Elisa found complicated stitches fun to learn, but boring to repeat. Sloppy stitches were pulled out and re-sewn. A third re-sewing earned her the switch across her hands.

  Elisa was always hungry, but mealtimes were horrible. If she put an elbow on the table, that elbow felt the switch. If she scratched her knee, again she felt the switch. If she dropped or spilled anything, the rest of the meal was taken away. When she dared to complain, the governess's cruel scolding brought her to tears. Over and over, she was forced to recite an apology:

  “Please
forgive me. I’m a foolish girl who must learn better manners.

  I promise never to speak out of turn, again.”

  Elisa could read very well, but could not tell Kimball how she had learned. She remembered following the words when her aunt read her Pride and Prejudice. By the time she was four, Elisa had been reading on her own. Kimball allowed her full range of the old but ample house library. Elisa was pleased, until the governess, bored during long dark evenings, insisted that Elisa read aloud to entertain her. Reading aloud meant lessons in elocution with punishment for mistakes. Elisa had a quick ear, so her thick Yorkshire dialect soon smoothed into acceptable upper class English.

  Constant berating slowly wore down Elisa’s spirit. During the first days, she asked to go outside. Since there was no manicured garden Kimball felt was appropriate for a young lady to take exercise, Elisa was forced to stay indoors. When she reasonably suggested that exercise was healthful, Kimball placed a book on her head, ordering her to cross the room a hundred times. Each time the book fell, ten crossings were added. Many nights Elisa fell asleep exhausted, frustrated, and totally miserable.

  Five months passed and Sir John Garingham’s return approached. Kimball became even stricter. She had been promised a bonus if Elisa behaved like a lady, and was determined to earn it. Knowing he would look at Elisa’s hands, she massaged her fingers with lanolin. Her nails and cuticles had healed and grown out evenly. Caning her palms sometimes left them red and swollen. Now, every time the girl committed an offense, a mark was made on the chalkboard. At the end of the day, when she was in her nightdress, that many strokes stabbed the backs of her thighs.

  Elisa had no idea who Sir John Garingham was, or why everyone was so afraid of him. Every time she asked, she was told it was none of her concern. Since he had turned her life from heaven into hell, she felt it was very much her concern.

  One night, shortly before his return, she lay in bed with throbbing legs, trying to understand. Why was this happening to her? What had she done wrong? Was she going to be thrashed every night for the rest of her life? She sobbed into her pillow. Whoever Sir John was, he wanted her to be a lady. That was why he sent for a governess. If Elisa pleased him, perhaps he would send Kimball away.

  Yes! That must be it. A surge of hope set her tender heart racing. Perhaps he’ll bring Pony Billy back. Elisa decided to do her very best. If Sir John was pleased, all would be well again. For the first time in weeks, she curled up happily and fell asleep.

  *

  Tea with Sir John Garingham was a complete success. Dressed in an expensive new frock, pristine high-button shoes, her hair in soft lustrous curls, Elisa looked like a beautiful Dresden doll. She behaved perfectly. She smiled, kept her eyes demurely low, spoke only when spoken too, used all the correct utensils, sat like a lady, and spilled nothing. She had composed a poem, written it out with exact copperplate strokes, and embroidered a handkerchief. Sir John nodded with stern approval and slipped Miss Kimball an envelope. Anthony Roundtree and his sister sighed with relief as they escorted him to the door.

  Elisa waited breathlessly for word of her reprieve. Instead, she heard Kimball’s voice. “Back to the nursery, Miss Elisa. We have lessons to finish.”

  Elisa froze. This could not be true.

  Kimball glared. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  “But, I did well.” The little girl boldly stood her ground. “I behaved like a lady. Now he’ll send you away.”

  Kimball’s lips spread into a smirk. “Is that what you thought? If you did well, my job would be done?” She laughed in a way that made Elisa shudder. “You stupid child. This was a test to insure my permanent employment. I am here to stay.”

  “No!” Elisa flew upstairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. Too late, she remembered that the key was on the outside. Kimball’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Knowing there was no other escape, Elisa threw open a window, hiked up her skirt, and climbed onto the trellis. The fabric caught on the thorny rose canes. Violently pulling away, she ripped the expensive needlework.

  Kimball appeared at the window above her. “Come back here at once.”

  Elisa frantically tore the skirt, lost her footing, and fell to the ground.

  Kimball screamed. “I’ll give you the beating of your life.”

  Like a terrified doe, Elisa ran through the woods onto her beloved moors. She rushed blindly, without direction, until she collapsed, shivering, against a rock. A freezing rain started to fall, first gently then harder. She was miserably cold, but stayed where she was. Death would be a welcome relief.

  *

  When Elisa opened her eyes, every part of her body ached. A maid looked up from her darning. “Yer awake, then?”

  Elisa tried to speak. Her tongue felt thick. Her limbs were too heavy to move.

  The maid called down the stairs, “Miss Roundtree! Miss Elisa’s awake.”

  Aunt Lillian scurried in. “Oh, dear child. How do you feel? You must try and eat something, today.”

  Elisa had been missing for two days before a shepherd found her on the moors, soaking wet and burning with fever. The doctor had been called and the fever broke within hours. He expected her to recover quickly. When she lingered, day after day, refusing food, and crying for no apparent reason, he feared she had lost her sanity. Every time Kimball came into the room, Elisa screamed and burst into tears.

  Hiding in the hallway, Kimball watched the maid carry away Elisa’s untouched luncheon tray. She glided to the bedside. “Not a sound!”

  Elisa cowered under the covers.

  “I have an arrangement to offer you.”

  Elisa’s eyes opened wide.

  “Sir John promised me a bonus, if I whipped you into shape, quickly.”

  At the word “whip,” Elisa grimaced.

  “I was very harsh with you, but it was accomplished. He was pleased. If he learns how ill you are now, he will be extremely displeased.”

  “Why does he care?”

  “I have no idea. You have no breeding, no pedigree. This estate is worth little, but that is none of my affair. What is my affair is my position in this house.” Pursing her lips, she took a deep breath. “You are extremely intelligent. Anything you wish to learn, you learn quickly and well. Those things you do not wish to learn…” She rolled her eyes. “Well… here is my offer.”

  Elisa listened eagerly.

  “I cannot promise never to cane you again…,”

  “Then there’s no arrangement.” Although pale and thin, the girl had a will of iron.

  Kimball was secretly impressed. “Very well. I will present what you must learn in order to become a lady. I will not allow sloth, but you may learn at your own pace.”

  “May I go outside?”

  “There is no suitable place…” The girl glared, and the governess clenched her jaw. “Yes.”

  “Every day?”

  “Weather permitting, every day.”

  *

  Throughout his daughter’s illness, Anthony Roundtree had been frantic. To keep her from running away again, he nailed her two large windows closed. A small side window was allowed to open for fresh air. A stronger lock was put on the outside of her door. He never visited her or asked how she was feeling. He was only frightened that she might die. Once she was out of danger, he seemed to forget she existed.

  Kimball was true to her word. The cane vanished. Her ridiculing tongue became a cruel substitute, often reducing Elisa to tears. When Elisa dared to defend herself, she was denied food. Every afternoon, before tea, Elisa ran outside, breathing the sweet air of her Yorkshire Moors. She never felt the exhilaration of riding her pony, but having been a prisoner in her room, she never complained.

  Warm weather arrived and Elisa’s room became stifling. Her father refused to remove the nails and open the windows. That, plus the isolation of the estate, drove Kimball to seek employment elsewhere. Elisa was thrilled when she left. Other governesses came and went, but Elisa controlled them all. She had
a dozen hiding places filled with books and candle stubs. Entire days flew by with a stash of bread and cheese and a good book. Now, if Elisa was sent to bed without supper, the servants slipped her food, or let her out at night then locked her back in, before morning.

  Twice a week, a music mistress from the village taught Elisa to sing and play the piano. The woman was kind and an excellent musician. Elisa loved the lessons and learned quickly. After only a few months, she was entertaining her aunt and their infrequent guests. Her father and Sir John Garingham recognized that young ladies should be musical. Since neither had any appreciation, after a few bars, they either resumed their conversation, or left the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  November 1897

  Sir John Garingham rarely came to call. When he did, Elisa stayed out of sight. Often, he had no desire to see her, and she was always relieved when his motorcar drove away. Today she sat in her windowsill, looking down into the yard, watching his chauffeur polish the shiny black metal and silver chrome on his expensive motorcar. The day was cold and bright, and she longed to be outside. Past experience had taught her patience. She would hide until Sir John called for her. It was past the noon dinner hour and she was hungry. Hunger pains were preferable to the torment of sitting at the table, remembering her perfect manners, and pretending to be pleased by Sir John’s company.

  There was a soft knock on her open door. A young maid stood on the threshold. “Pardon Miss Elisa, but you and Miss Lillian are wanted ‘t dinner.” Usually fresh faced and cheerful, the girl’s eyes were red from crying. Her hair and clothes were neat, but her face was pale. Her fingers shook, and her voice was faint.

  Elisa stared at the maid. “Whatever is the matter, Annie? Are you ill?”

  Annie stood tall and stared straight ahead. “Nowt’s wrong, Miss. A’m raight as rain.” She sniffed, “Please come, Miss. Master’s waitin’.” This sounded like a desperate plea and Elisa leapt from her perch.