Crown Phoenix: Night Watchman Express

by Alison DeLuca

Chapter 6

  The Search for a Suitable Governess

  he notices went out to the papers, and in a few days letters began to arrive from various women interested in the post of governess. Virgil felt hopeful that he would find someone within the week.

  The interviews began, and his hopes dwindled. The first woman who appeared was small, grey, and “completely insignificant,” Theodosia said with disdain. “She’ll be eaten alive by that wild thing.”

  The next candidate was strong-willed enough but demanded too much money. In the library, Virgil felt his head begin to whirl as the day of interviews stretched from one, to two, three. No one applicant had Theodosia’s requirements: to be the best available, and to work for the least amount possible.

  On the fourth day, or maybe it was the fifth, Virgil rang for a cup of strong coffee and put his head in his hands. The girl had begun to look and smell like a dirty orphan, if what the servants said was true.

  Of course, she was an orphan, but at least she should have the decency to keep herself clean. Apparently, the room in which she sat stank, and so did she. He made a moue of distaste at that thought and reached for the coffee pot as Furnace brought it in.

  “Another one to see you, sir.”

  “Eh? Oh, didn’t know that Theodosia had any more interviews lined up today.” Virgil took a long swallow of coffee.

  “Actually, I’m not sure that Mrs. Marchpane read the letter for this particular candidate.” Furnace studied one corner of the desk.

  Virgil put down his coffee cup. “Oh, and why do you say that?”

  “No reason, I’m sure. Shall I send her in?” Furnace adjusted the silver coffee urn a fraction of an inch and stood back.

  Putting his cup down, Virgil cast out a long sigh. “Might as well. Can’t be any worse than the others.” He picked up a delicate biscuit from the tray and began to nibble on it.

  “Very good, sir.” Furnace bowed his way out, and when the butler left, Virgil crammed the rest of the pastry into his mouth. By God, they might be living at the back of nowhere, but that cook certainly knew how to bake! Somewhat mellowed, he reached for another biscuit and bit into it just as the door reopened.

  Virgil looked up and saw her. “What the merry devil -!” He inhaled sharply and began to choke. Blowing out a shower of crumbs, he waved one hand at the visitor. “You’re the – you can’t be – what do –”

  As he coughed again, he began to laugh weakly. “You can’t be serious!”

  The woman came in composedly and sat down on the chair in front of his desk. “Good morning, sir,” she said. “Are you indisposed?”

  Virgil coughed desperately, and he finally managed to clear his throat. “Look here, this just won’t do. We’re sorry to take up your time and all that, but you can see for yourself that it just won’t do at all. No, not one bit.”

  “What won’t do?” The woman drew off her gloves. She was dressed extremely conservatively in a gray gown with white collar and cuffs that had the appearance of being very well made. Her hair was wound on the top of her head. An ornate wooden comb, fixed behind her bun in the Spanish fashion, added a few inches to her already tall figure.

  “But, well, I mean, you’re a Black! Eh?” Virgil grabbed for his napkin unthinkingly and mopped his forehead.

  “I am from the Lampala islands, yes. In fact, I knew Mr. Pearson himself, when he first came out to my country to start his concerns.” She smoothed her skirt, and said, “Shall we begin? I can give you excellent references from several families.”

  “I’m sure that you can,” Virgil said. “But my wife would never agree to it! Look here, the salary is only forty pounds per annum.” Mentally, he subtracted ten guineas from the lowest figure he had offered to the other candidates for the job. Now she would refuse, go away, and leave him in peace to finish his coffee.

  “That amount would be satisfactory. But surely you wish to interview me, ask about my methods and such?”

  “I – there’s no point,” he said weakly. “My wife –”

  “Well, why don’t you invite her in? Of course, she will have some questions as well.” She sat back, folded her hands, and fixed him with a steady gaze.

  He didn’t know why, but somehow he found his hand going to the bell. In a moment, Furnace was at the door. “Ah, er, Furnace,” Virgil said. “Look, send Mrs. Marchpane in here, would you?”

  As Furnace withdrew, Virgil tried to regain control of the situation. “What is your name, anyway?” he blustered.

  “I am Manapalata,” the woman said.

  What kind of an outlandish name was that! “Is that Miss, or Mrs. – oh, look, this is utterly ridiculous. Why don’t we just pay your fare back, to wherever you came from, and you may-”

  “Virgil!” Theodosia snapped his name as she entered the room. “What did you promise her? Money? Nonsense. Why do you need to see me – Holy living ghost!” She gasped as Manapalata turned around.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Marchpane,” the woman said. “Your husband and I had just agreed that you must have some questions for me.”

  “Questions! What on earth would I have to ask you? Get out of our house at once!” Theodosia said. A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her, and she swayed. “Oh, my. Oh dear.”

  Instantly the woman was on her feet to offer an arm. “Here, lean on me, Mrs. Marchpane. Why don’t you sit down? It is warm in here, isn’t it?”

  “…and the second Sunday of every month, as well as half-days on Thursdays,” the woman was saying. Virgil and Theodosia looked at each other confusedly, and he shook his head as if to clear it.

  “Em, what was that?” he asked.

  Manapalata smiled faintly. “You had agreed to my requirements.”

  “But we certainly will not hire you!” Theodosia tittered.

  “You already have,” the woman said, pointing to a signed paper on the desk. “Here is our contract.”

  Virgil held up the paper and looked at it. His signature was on it, above the name Manapalata Postulate. “When did I do that?”

  “You hired her, Virgil?” Theodosia said to him in a dangerous tone.

  “You did too, madam.” Miss Postulate pointed to another signature on the page. “See there? You have signed your name as well. Now, if I could start at once, please.” She got up and looked at the Marchpanes, her eyebrows raised. They both stared at their own signatures with their mouths open.

  “Virgil,” Theodosia said in a dangerous undertone, “exactly why did you sign your name on that contract?”

  Virgil harrumphed. “Er, actually, I have no idea how, or when I signed it. But,” he added, as Theodosia made to interrupt with one of her cutting remarks, “if it comes to that, why did you sign it as well? See here?” He pointed to her name, written beside his.

  Theodosia frowned, and bent her head closer to the paper. “I really don’t remember…”

  Manalapata cleared her throat. Recovering with a start, Virgil rang for Furnace, and Miss Postulate headed to the door. Behind her, the two began to whisper to each other: “Why did you hire her – well, why did you – what on earth just happened – I don’t know – how are we going to get rid of her!”

  As Furnace opened the door and Miss Postulate left the room, Theodosia added, “No matter. Just wait until she meets that dreadful child. She won’t last the rest of the day.”