A Silent Ocean Away

by DeVa Gantt

  No one spoke as the carriage passed through the main gates and rolled along the cobblestone driveway. It stopped in the shade of the oaks, where the company of four alighted, each acutely aware of their station in life. With stomach churning, Charmaine allowed Harold Browning to escort her up the short, three-step ascent, across the porch, and to the only set of oak doors.

  The butler was awaiting their arrival, for the door swung inward before they could knock. “If you will kindly step this way,” he said, “I shall tell Miss Colette you are here.”

  The spacious foyer had a lofty ceiling, crown moldings, an ostentatious chandelier, marble floors, and an enormous grandfather clock. Directly opposite the main entryway was an elaborate staircase. Its ornate railing followed curved steps up to a wide landing, above which hung a stunning, life-sized portrait of a young woman. There, the stairway split in two, each rising to opposite wings of the house. Overlooking these were huge mullioned windows, capturing the afternoon sun and bathing the awed assembly in its golden light.

  They were led through the north wing and into the library where they were invited to make themselves comfortable. Volumes of books lined three of the four walls. A huge desk, sofa, and armchairs graced the center of the room. It was dark within, but not unpleasantly so, for the dimness embraced the cool ocean breezes that whispered through the open French doors.

  Loretta settled in a wing chair. “It’s quite humbling, is it not?”

  “Yes,” Charmaine murmured, doing the same.

  “And did you notice the painting in the foyer?” Loretta asked. “I wonder who the beautiful young lady might be?”

  “That is Miss Colette,” Harold offered.

  Loretta smiled. “Well, Charmaine, now we know why Mr. Duvoisin married her. I don’t think you’ll have a problem convincing Mrs. Duvoisin to hire you.”

  Charmaine was astounded. “Why do you say that?”

  “Didn’t you study her face?”

  “I didn’t have time!”

  Loretta’s smile deepened. “It’s something you should have seen immediately. If the painter captured his subject, as I’m certain he did, Mrs. Duvoisin is a warm and loving individual who will recognize the same qualities in you. She should be very pleased when we leave today. I doubt she’s had many applicants who are as young, caring, and vibrant as you.”

  Charmaine began to respond, but the door opened, and the woman of the portrait preceded Paul Duvoisin into the room: quintessential femininity and rugged masculinity, Colette and Paul Duvoisin, stepmother and stepson. Their relationship struck everyone instantaneously. They were close in age and looked more like husband and wife. In truth, they would have made the most handsome couple gracing Richmond society. Yet theirs was a stranger connection. All eyes traveled to the doorway in expectation of Frederic Duvoisin, but he did not cross the threshold.

  Colette broke the suspect silence with a gracious “good afternoon,” the French lilt in her voice enthralling. She suggested they move to the adjacent drawing room, where it was brighter. This room looked out onto the front and side lawns with two sets of French doors thrown open. It contained a brace of sofas, a number of armchairs and end tables set along the perimeter of an intricately woven Oriental rug, and a massive fireplace, seemingly out of place in a house situated on a Caribbean island. Above the mantel hung a portrait of a man holding a small boy upon one knee, with another boy off to one side. But Charmaine’s gaze did not linger there. It was drawn to the grand piano of polished ebony, unlike any she had ever seen, nestled in a corner of the room, between the two doors that opened onto the foyer and library.

  As Harold Browning made all the introductions, Colette encouraged everyone to sit as she herself had done. She was clad in an unadorned, yet becoming gown of pale blue. Her flaxen hair was pulled to her nape, framing her face. Her slate blue eyes were spellbinding, her nose slim and delicate, her lips full and inviting. But it was her smile that brought all the exquisite features to life and, as Loretta Harrington had averred, put everyone at ease, everyone that is, except Charmaine.

  Colette sat with hands in lap, lending complete attention to her guests, while Paul elected to stand close behind her, feet planted apart, much like that day on the Raven. It was as if he were protecting her from some unknown misery. His darkly handsome features contrasted with her graceful fairness, and once again, Charmaine thought of them as husband and wife.

  “Miss Ryan,” Colette began, “how do you like our island?”

  “It is very beautiful,” Charmaine answered.

  Colette saw herself in Charmaine. Without warning, she was reliving her own arrival at the Duvoisin mansion nine years earlier, those overwhelming feelings that assaulted her as she entered this very room. Of course, her meeting was not an interview for the post of governess. On the contrary, she was to meet Frederic Duvoisin and make a first impression. Even now, she could feel the quickening of her pulse and the racing of her heart when he turned to greet her. He had been exceedingly handsome and extremely intimidating. The intensity of his regard had pierced her soul. He had taken her breath away. Yes, she knew what it was to feel ill at ease in the presence of the Duvoisins. She extended a smile to Charmaine. “You’ve been here for…three days now?”

  “Four,” Charmaine corrected. “We arrived Monday morning on the Raven.”

  That’s where I’ve seen her! Paul mused, her elusive face suddenly recalled and attached to the unidentified woman in the captain’s cabin. But her hair had been unbound—long, and curling about her face, and down her back. That’s why he hadn’t been able to place her immediately. Now it was clear how she had come to be on Jonah Wilkinson’s ship. She’d traveled from Richmond. He wondered if John knew her, perhaps met her on the vessel before its departure. But, no, he reasoned, she wouldn’t be acting the trapped rabbit if she had met his brother first. Then again, John may have put her ill at ease for the entire family. It’s a shame she wears her hair pinned up…She was so lovely with it down and unruly.

  “…isn’t that correct, Paul?” Colette was asking.

  “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  “Miss Ryan has seen the most beautiful parts of Charmantes if she has seen the beaches,” she answered, turning in her chair to better look at him.

  “Yes,” he murmured, but said no more.

  Charmaine shuddered under his scrutiny, wondering if she had offended him in some way, for his scowl had darkened. She was grateful when the door opened and another woman joined their company, turning Paul’s attention aside.

  “Agatha,” Colette greeted, “please, come and meet our guests.”

  The woman was older, yet every bit as striking and statuesque as Colette. Her dark auburn hair was coiled in a thick coiffure. Her face possessed high cheekbones, perfectly shaped eyebrows that arched over piercing green eyes, and a long aristocratic nose, which ended above expressive lips. She swept into the room with an air of authority and smiled pleasantly at the assembly.

  “I didn’t know you were entertaining visitors today,” she said in a thick English accent. “Do you think this wise after Robert’s instructions of yesterday?”

  “Agatha, I’ll adhere to your brother’s advice when it is reasonable.”

  The woman responded by insisting on refreshments. She rang for a servant, who was instructed to prepare a pitcher of lemonade.

  Introductions were once again made. Charmaine learned Agatha Blackford Ward was the sister of Frederic Duvoisin’s first wife, Elizabeth. Recently widowed, she’d taken up permanent residence on Charmantes in order to be near her twin brother, Robert Blackford, the island’s sole physician, and her closest living relative.

  “Miss Ryan is inquiring about the governess position,” Colette finished.

  Agatha Ward’s manner, which had been decorous and welcoming, grew rigid. “Really? She seems very young.”

  Paul cleared his throat. “I believe Colette is conducting this interview, Agatha. Why don’t you allow her to ask the quest
ions?”

  The older woman was startled by the polite reprimand, but maintained her aplomb as she went to the door and received the arriving tray of lemonade. She poured a glass for everyone, and took a chair near Colette.

  Colette regarded Charmaine once again, her gaze assuasive. “May I ask about your background, Miss Ryan?”

  “Please, call me Charmaine.”

  “Very well, Charmaine. Where have you been employed?”

  “I’ve been working for the Harringtons these past three years, since I was fifteen.”

  “And your duties there?”

  “For the most part, I acted as companion to Mrs. Harrington.”

  “And before you began working there?”

  “I attended school in Richmond. In addition to reading, writing, and mathematics, I am quite proficient in a great many scholastic disciplines.”

  “Which school?”

  “St. Jude’s.”

  Colette’s eyes lit up. “St. Jude Thaddeus…patron saint of the hopeless.”

  “Yes,” Charmaine concurred in surprise. “Many people don’t know that.”

  “The hopeless do,” Colette breathed. “Are you Roman Catholic, then?”

  “Yes. My mother was devout, and I try to follow her example.”

  Colette nodded in approval. “And have you had any further education? Attended a lady’s academy, perhaps?”

  Charmaine hesitated, but Loretta quickly interceded. “Charmaine’s education continued throughout her years living with me. She enjoys fine literature and music, is proficient at needlepoint, and is able to sew her own clothing. She knows a great many dance steps and demonstrates a fine hand at the piano. In addition, you’ll find she embraces all the finer points of decorum you will expect her to impart to your daughters.”

  “I see,” Colette replied. “And do you speak French?”

  “Do I have to?” Charmaine said in alarm.

  “No.” Colette chuckled. “It is not a requirement. I was just hoping we could converse in my native tongue.”

  Charmaine sighed, but her relief was momentary, for Agatha spoke once again. “You may not be interested in my advice, but I feel it would behoove you to search for someone more mature when considering your children’s education. Miss Ryan may very well know all the things Mrs. Harrington insists she does; however, that does not ensure her capability of conveying that knowledge to the children. I’ll warrant her education has not included pedagogic training. With Frederic’s money, you could procure the most learned professor to instruct the girls and Pierre. Why rush into such a decision? Why not advertise in Europe?”

  Charmaine’s face fell. She could not fault the woman’s observation. In fact, what she said made perfect sense. Why would Frederic Duvoisin hire someone like her when his money could purchase so much more? To her utter dismay, Paul spoke next, and his remarks were no less devastating.

  “Perhaps Agatha is right, Colette. Father can well afford the most expensive tutors money can buy, as he did with John, George, and me. When Pierre gets older, it will greatly benefit him to have learned what a true scholar can edify. Why not hire someone like Professor Richards? Thanks to Rose’s husband, our education was expansive, and we were well prepared for university. Miss Ryan, on the other hand, has acted as a lady’s companion for three years. For all her education, where is her experience with children? It appears to be deficient.”

  “On the contrary,” Loretta argued. The conversation had taken a wrong turn, and it was time to intervene. “There have been many occasions when Charmaine has been left in charge of my grandchildren for days at a time. She is excellent with them, and they beg to come and visit just to spend time with her.”

  Charmaine was momentarily stupefied, and Paul noted her unguarded surprise. So, Loretta Harrington is playing games here. No matter, I can play, too. “Still,” he pondered aloud, his eyes sparkling victoriously, “Miss Ryan seems better equipped to fill another role in this house—something less demanding than running after three young and energetic children who are active from morning ’til night. Perhaps a maid?”

  “I am quite strong, thank you,” Charmaine snapped, “and capable of running after three children. Before I began working for the Harringtons, I used to lend a hand with the orphans at the St. Jude Refuge. I was good at it. I enjoyed playing with them. It wasn’t that long ago I was young myself.”

  “Exactly,” Colette interrupted irenically. “I am seeking more than a governess for my children. As Agatha inferred earlier, my health is not what it should be. And when I am not feeling well, I want to know I have placed my children in capable hands, hands that will do more than educate them. The governess I hire must be energetic, loving, and compassionate, and eager to engage in all those impetuous things that young children do. I want my children to run free, I want them to learn to ride a horse and swim in the ocean. I want them to dance—to live! I don’t want them closeted in their nursery day in and day out, never enjoying Charmantes’ gentle breezes. We live in a paradise. I want my children to embrace that paradise—to grow healthy in body as well as in mind, to be happy. Do you appreciate what I’m saying?”

  Her rhetorical question was not directed at anyone in particular, but rather everyone in the room. The query held for a moment.

  “That being understood,” she proceeded. “I have just a few more questions for Miss Ryan. Your family”—she paused as if she knew she were headed for stormy seas—“you have not mentioned them. May I ask why the Harringtons have accompanied you all the way from Virginia?”

  Charmaine bowed her head. For all her hours of practice, the memories were incredibly painful. “My mother passed away last year. My father left us long ago. I don’t know where he is.” She raised glistening eyes to Colette. “If it weren’t for the Harringtons, I don’t know where I would be today. They have been very kind. They are my family now.”

  Very good, Loretta thought, honest and to the point. One look at Colette and she knew Charmaine had touched the woman’s heart.

  “I’m so sorry,” Colette murmured, embracing a moment of silence. Then she was speaking again. “I would like my children to meet you. I shall base a portion of my decision upon them. Would you indulge me, Miss Ryan?”

  “Please, call me Charmaine. And, yes, I was hoping to meet them.”

  Agatha stood. “Shall I have Rose bring them down?” she asked.

  Colette nodded and the older woman departed.

  “Rose Richards, or Nana Rose as the children call her, is our nursemaid of sorts,” Colette explained. “She’s been in the Duvoisin employ for nearly sixty years, raising not only Paul and John, but their father as well. Rose’s husband, Professor Harold Richards, educated two generations of Duvoisin males. She is a dear woman,” Colette concluded, “but getting on in years. Certainly not the person to run after three youngsters.

  “Now, let me tell you a bit about my children. The girls are the oldest and turn eight the end of this month. Although they are identical twins, they are completely contrary to one another, as different as night and day, so you shouldn’t have any trouble telling them apart. Yvette is precocious, unlike her sister, Jeannette, who appears quiet and shy. My son is two and a half, usually a troublesome age to be sure. Not so with Pierre; he’s very dear and brings only happiness.”

  The door opened, and a pretty girl with pale blue eyes entered the room. Her flaxen hair was only half plaited, but she seemed oblivious to it as she surveyed each stranger and singled out Charmaine. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Yvette,” her mother reproved. “Our guests will think you’ve no manners. That is not the proper way to introduce yourself.”

  “But I don’t want to introduce myself, Mama. I would like her”—and the girl pointed a finger toward Charmaine—“to tell me who she is.”

  “Yvette,” Paul corrected curtly, “pointing at someone is not polite, either.”

  Yvette scowled briefly, then plopped into a chair, sulking.

  C
olette ignored her and invited Jeannette and Pierre to join them. The young boy immediately ran into his mother’s outstretched arms. When Jeannette, Rose, and Agatha were settled, Colette proceeded to introduce her children to the visitors. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Harrington of Richmond, Virginia—”

  Yvette perked up. “That’s where Johnny lives.”

  “—and this is Miss Ryan, a friend of the Harringtons.”

  “Do you live in Richmond, too?” Yvette asked.

  “I grew up there,” Charmaine replied.

  “Do you know my older brother?”

  “No, I’m sorry to say I don’t.”

  Yvette was not deterred. “Do you think you could track him down?”

  “Yvette,” her mother chided, “that’s enough.”

  The girl smiled sweetly. “But, Mama, you said the Duvoisin name is well known. Maybe Miss Ryan could find out where Johnny lives.”

  Charmaine laughed. “I suppose I could, if I tried.”

  This seemed to please the girl. “Good, because when you go back to Richmond, I wonder if you might take a letter to him. I’ve wanted to write to him before, but Mama says she doesn’t know where to send his post, and Father…well, he and Johnny had a terrible—”

  “Yvette!” Paul barked. “Our guests have no interest in such matters!”

  The girl rolled her eyes and turned aside in her chair, pouting the harder when Rose Richards cornered her. “Next time,” the elderly matron whispered as she began brushing Yvette’s golden hair, “you’re not to run out of the room until you look presentable.”

  Charmaine’s eyes traveled to Jeannette, who had remained ever so quiet. The girl smiled timidly and said, “You’re very pretty.”