by Abby Ayles
An older woman with a tight-fitted blonde bun and keys jingling at her waist came rushing forward. Isabella had no doubt that she was the housekeeper of the manor.
“Lord Bellfourd, can I be of service to you, sir?”
She was frantically looking between the new lady stranger and the Marquess of Bellfourd, son of the Duke of Wintercrest.
“Mrs. Peterson, please let me introduce Miss Watts, our new governess. I was out on an evening stroll when I found her in some distress.”
Immediately, at Mrs. Peterson’s request, a groomsman came forward and took the portmanteau away. He left the room with it, Isabella hoped to her own room. She, however, noticed that Mrs. Peterson had not addressed her or even looked at her directly.
“I do apologize for your inconvenience, Lord Bellfourd. The governess was meant to arrive much earlier in the evening. Mr. Larson and I were just discussing sending out someone to inquire after her only a few moments ago.”
It was a little irritating to Isabella that she was being treated like a child and discussed without any acknowledgment of her presence.
“I was left at the entrance, Mrs. Peterson, with no one to see me to the house,” Isabella chimed in, tired of being ignored.
Mrs. Peterson looked at her in shock, like she had just noticed her for the first time. Finally, she turned back to the Marquess.
“Thank you again, Lord Bellfourd. Is there anything else I can get for you before you return upstairs?”
Isabella could see his countenance sink at the mention of his proper place above the servants' quarters. The situation was confusing enough on its own, but why had he given her a false name? Why hadn’t he told her that he was the Duke of Wintercrest’s son?
She may not have been entirely well-versed in all the peerage, but she had certainly done her research before leaving and had learned that the Marquess of Bellfourd was the oldest son and heir to the Duke of Wintercrest.
Lord Bellfourd turned to her and, giving a slight bow, began to bid her goodnight, probably something he should not have done. His eyes stopped at her feet though, maybe coming to his senses she thought, and looked up at her questioningly.
“Miss Watts, there seems to be something coming out of the hem of your gown.”
Isabella looked down in fear to see the chain of her locket sticking out and dragging along the ground.
“Oh dear,” Isabella said, crimson with shame.
She pushed her skirt with her folded hands in front of her, as if the act would hide the charm dangling below. It was bad enough that she had obviously made a fool of herself, calling the Marquess a footman, but now she had the added shame of showing the jewelry she had sown into her dress for safe keeping.
No doubt, in the short time they had been together he had surmised she was not only naive and rude, but also very odd.
“It is very dear to me and I feared to lose it in traveling,” she stammered, most embarrassed.
Much to her horror, and the horror of everyone in the room, Lord Bellfourd bent down and removed the last of the chain from her hem. He stood and held it out for her to take. Without looking him in the eye, for fear of crying, she let the chain fall into her gloved hand.
“Thank you, Lord Bellfourd,” she said softly, with the most profound curtsy she could manage.
“I will bid you goodnight, then,” Lord Bellfourd responded, not wanting to make the young Miss Watts any more embarrassed. “Good evening, Mrs. Peterson.”
The whole room waited till he was out of the hall before resuming their seats and whispering amongst themselves.
Isabella finally met the gaze of the housekeeper, who seemed to be measuring her, once the room went back to hushed speaking and clanking of dishes. Without so much as a word, she turned on her heels, pausing only once to beckon, in an irritated fashion, for Isabella to follow.
Utterly put in her place, Isabella did her best not to look at the side glances around her as she followed Mrs. Peterson out of the servant dining hall.
Chapter 4
Isabella listened silently on her hastened tour from Mrs. Peterson, the weight of her locket heavy in her hand. Mrs. Peterson insisted that the trip must not? be a quick one since she had arrived much later than expected.
She cared not for the fact that Isabella had been left on the side of the road with no help getting to the manor.
“You will be situated in the west wing of the manor in the extra servants quarters in the attic. Your student's room, nursery, and school room are also located on that side of the manor. There is no reason for you to venture outside that wing without express permission, is that clear?”
“Yes, of course,” Isabella responded, now leaving the lower levels of the servants’ quarters and up to the main floor. Not stopping on the main floor, Mrs. Peterson immediately turned and went up the second set of stairs, then a third, and finally, a fourth.
By the fourth set of stairs, the ascension was steep and narrow. The final floor was, no doubt, the attic space used for overflow staffing. The ceiling was scarcely tall enough not to rub against Mrs. Peterson's high bun.
She walked two doors over and bade Isabella enter. The room was unquestionably smaller than the one she had at home, but not at all displeasing to look at.
The footman had kindly deposited her trunk at the end of a small, but comfortable looking bed. It was dressed in a simple quilt decorated with embroidered flowers.
The footman had also been kind enough to light a fire in the small fireplace that was to the right of the bed. To the left of it was a little, round port window in the pointed arch of a spire.
In front sat a small table and one plush, but ragged looking, chair. No doubt, it had been moved up when no longer suitable for the main house.
Aside from that, the only other furniture was a small table, for basin and water pitcher, and a petite cabinet closet. Though none of the furniture matched and the walls were only a pure whitewash, the room was warmed by the fire and cozy.
Isabella was grateful to see the space she could call her own after the long trip with such close quarters.
Mrs. Peterson waited, arms folded in front, while Isabella inspected the room. When Isabella turned back to her, she didn’t have a moment to speak before Mrs. Peterson began.
“Your breakfast and basin of water will be brought to you every morning. You will eat your breakfast here, luncheon and tea will be served with Miss Jaqueline and her nurse, and dinner will be brought up to you here, promptly at nine o’clock.”
“I won't be taking my meals downstairs?” Isabella asked, a little surprised that she would be expected to hole up in her room any time she was not with her student.
“Of course not. You are not one of the staff, you are the governess. Your meals will be taken here, where it is good and proper.”
It was easy to see that Mrs. Peterson found propriety very important.
“I was told that your father was Baron Leinister,” she continued.
Isabella was slightly disappointed that her upbringing was already well known.
“Yes,” was her simple reply.
“Well, I am sure you understand that things are different now. You are not a guest of His Grace, but a paid worker. You are expected to do your job and to do it to the best of your ability. You will not have a lady’s maid. I trust you expected this and can take care of yourself.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Of course, I would never have presumed otherwise.”
“Very well, then. As I said, warm water and your breakfast tray will be brought to you in the morning at seven and seven-thirty, respectively. I will come to get you at a quarter to eight to meet Miss Jaqueline. At ten, you will be presented to His Grace and introductions to the rest of the family will follow, as he dictates. He will tell you what duties are expected of you while you stay.”
It wasn’t hard to miss that Mrs. Peterson was not pleased that Isabella had already acquainted Lord Bellfourd before the designated time.
“You have from three o’clock onward to yourself, as the nurse will take her duties then. You may explore the grounds outside, as long as you are not infringing on the family. You are expected to accompany Miss Jaqueline to church with the family every Sunday morning, and then you are free to use the afternoon as you wish. Many of the servants use the opportunity to go into town, which is about a mile's walk. All other expectations will be given to you by His Grace in the morning.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Peterson,” Isabella said, now feeling very exhausted from her journey. “Could you also please tell me how I might mail post?”
She seemed to think this over for a minute, undoubtedly weighing what was proper for such a situation. Of course, mailing post along with the members of the household would not be acceptable. She wasn’t quite sure whether leaving it in the servant's hall, as the other staff members did, was quite right for her either. Finally, though, it was what she settled on.
“There is a basket on a small table next to the service entrance. Letters may be left there to be posted.”
She bid Isabella a crisp goodnight and left the room. Isabella sat for a few moments on her bed, taking it all in before finally opening her still-gloved hand and replacing the locket around her neck.
Feeling like herself again with her treasured locket adorning her neck, she set about unpacking her belongings. It took some effort to get all her gowns into the small cabinet and she realized again how ridiculous she must have seemed to the marquess, forcing him to lug so many belongings.
For lack of a better place, she lined up her treasured novels along the wall between the cabinet and the metal headboard of the bed.
With most of her last possessions in their places, Isabella managed to get herself undressed, only the third time she had done so on her own, and slipped beneath the soft cover of her bed. She was grateful for a room with a fireplace.
She stared dreamily into its dwindling embers as she wondered if that was why she had been placed in a room so far away from the other staff. Had it been for the extra comfort of the fire? Or was it the access to her pupil’s side without interfering with others in the house? Or simply to give her a physical reminder that she was no longer one of the lords and ladies who lived in such a lavished manor nor one of the staff that served them?
Her last thoughts as she fell asleep was if this had been how her father felt when out to sea. Adrift, with land in front and land behind and nothing but a lone ship to carry her. Would she spend the rest of her days lost out at sea as a solitary island or could she find a way to make it to a shore, no matter the one she chose?
The next morning, Isabella woke early to the darkened grey sky greeting her through the small porthole window. She was surprised how well she had slept, no doubt due to exhaustion from the long journey. She was afraid that she might have overslept, as she was not used to waking early. She sat upright with a bolt and quickly tip toed over to the small clock that alone adorned the fireplace mantle.
She poked at the fire, finding a few coals warm beneath the ash, and did her best to use the fuel provided to get it going again. Once there was a small flicker of flame, Isabella turned, hearing a slight knock at her door.
She opened it to find a maid standing with a pitcher of steaming water and basin. She stood aside to let the girl in to set it down on the small stand next to her bed.
“Thank you, that looks lovely, miss…” Isabella trailed off waiting for the girl to introduce herself. She was very young, not more than sixteen.
“Just Betsy, Miss Watts,” she said with a thick Scottish accent and a curtsy.
“Are you Scottish, then?” Isabella asked.
“Aye, most of the lower staff is, Miss Watts.”
“Please call me Isabella,” she encouraged. “Shall I bring my basin down when I am done?”
“Oh no, Miss…I mean Isabella. I shall come and fetch it up when I brin’ your breakfast tray.”
“That is very kind of you; I am sure it is tedious work to go up and down so many stairs.”
“Dinna fash. I dinna mind it one bit. It’s a much more enjoyable task than the others.” Betsy turned to leave after another short curtsy, but paused just a moment. “I dinna mean to be a bother, but I was a’wonderin’ if you happen to need help with your things, dressin’ and hair, I mean to say. I would be happy to help you.”
“That is very considerate of you, Betsy, but I would hate to ask more of you than you already do, or give you additional tasks. It may take some practice, but I believe I will soon learn to do it on my own.”
“You see, you would be doin’ me a favor if you let me,” Betsy continued. “I want to be a lady’s maid one day for a fine house. May’haps even this one. I need the practice first, you see. I heard that you were raised as a lady, so I thought you might help me. Tell me if I was doin’ somethin’ wrong and the like.”
“Well, I suppose I could use some help to make something simple with my hair.”
“Aye, that would be great practice for me if ye would allow it.”
“Mrs. Peterson won’t be mad? I had the feeling she didn’t want me speaking with others very much.”
“It’s not like that. She is just verra particular that all are in their place and none try to be more than they are. It makes it pretty impossible for a lass like me to make much more o’ herself. But what she dinna ken won’t hurt her much.”
“Well, if you are sure we won't be caught,” Isabella hesitated. “I suppose it would be fine. I would love to do what I can to help you.”
Isabella meant it sincerely, too. It was the first friend she had made in the house and any way she could help Betsy she was willing to. It reminded her of something her father used to say, “a small act of kindness can open the door for great friendships.”
Isabella used the warm water to wash and freshen herself before dressing. She found a soft green colored cotton morning dress that she paired with a dark, velvet green spencer jacket. Though the dress was very modest in cut, she still fretted over its look as a practical dress.
She was, after all, hoping to put the right foot in front of His Grace after clearly blundering things with the Marquess the night before. She smartly tucked a fichu into the top of her green gown before putting on the spencer jacket.
Though she had the fire going relatively well, she feared she would never get used to the chill that always seemed present in this northern country. Tucking a cream handkerchief into her long sleeve, she finished just in time for Betsy to knock at the door again.
She came in and set the tray down on the small table beside the port window. Before eating, Isabella sat in the only chair facing the window while Betsy pulled her hair back into a tight chignon. She left a few of Isabella’s dark ringlets out to frame her face. Isabella did her best to feel around to assure Betsy she had done a fantastic job, as there was no mirror present in the room.
Seeming happy to have gotten some practice in, Betsy thanked her again then took the water basin and left Isabella to eat her breakfast alone.
She had just finished her toast and rejuvenating cup of tea when a knock came to her door again. This time, it was Mrs. Peterson, and she was very accurate with her timing. Without so much as a good morning, she turned on her heels, expecting Isabella to follow after.
Isabella supposed that this was a common habit of Mrs. Peterson. Not only did she feel everyone had their place to be, but also the use of words that didn’t need to be spoken were a waste of time. She quickly walked to catch up to Mrs. Peterson for the second time in two days to start her new beginning as governess.
Chapter 5
Isabella made her way down the narrow stairway and ended on the second floor of the main house. She followed Mrs. Peterson along the Turkish-rugged hall listening to the soft pads of their feet on the ground and swishing of skits.
She was surprised that, for such a large house, filled with not only the family of the house but at least a hundred servants downstairs and not all t
he tables were even full, it was so quiet.
Where was everyone else? She had expected to see maids bustling about and hear the clank of breakfast silverware in the distance, but it was complete and utter silence as she walked. Perhaps it was just that the west wing of the manor was far off from the rest of the house, she thought to herself.
The wing was basically a rectangle shape with a walkway that outlined the rectangle. Off the walkway, numerous doors sprouted along the walls.
The middle, however, was open, with four enormous chandeliers hanging down from the ceiling. Isabella took a second to look over the railing on their walk and saw the most magnificent ballroom she had ever set her eyes on. It took up the whole of the bottom floor.
The chandeliers, as well as at least a dozen standing candelabras dotting along the floor, were all covered with sheets, as was a section in the far corner that was no doubt used for a live orchestra. She imagined royalty might very well dance in that hall on occasion.
As she walked, she learned that her quarters were the farthest west and left edge of the manor, her small port window looking out at the left side of the property.
She had gotten so mixed up walking the downstairs corridors that she hadn’t realized which way she was facing. She remembered seeing the front of the manor in the dark and mentally pictured the three sections. Her left side held the grand hall and a significant amount of what she assumed were guest rooms above it.
The middle section was, no doubt, the main part of the house with studies, libraries, sitting and drawing rooms. Most likely, in a house this size, it also boasted a smaller hall for more intimate affairs and the various dining rooms.