The Governess

by Camille Oster

  Another thought made her want to shudder, the idea of some old and cobweb-covered skeleton lying in one of them. She was being fanciful, but this was also a castle with many secrets. The idea there was one to her room was horrifying, but then why would anyone use it. If anyone did, it would be Thomas playing pranks on her and she had learned a long time ago that children relished playing pranks on their governesses.

  "Have you been in any?"

  "Lots. One goes all the way down to the river, but it's very dangerous." That was a long way down, Estelle thought. "It had a metal grate on it though. The one here is behind that bookcase," he said, pointing toward the edge of the wall. "You have to pull the last book on the second to bottom row to open it. "Do you want to look?"

  "Now is not the time to be distracted. We have Roman Emperors to conquer," she said, giving him a stern look.

  Thomas sighed and returned to the books. He was a lovely boy, although easily distracted, but boys generally were, in her experience.

  *

  Estelle stayed away from the rose garden and spent most of her time in her room or in the parlor, where Balog would serve her tea in the afternoon as Thomas was out exploring or reading passages she had assigned him. She had been here long enough that she was starting to feel the loneliness and desolation of the place. A walk down Pall Mall in London with its bustling traffic, milling shoppers and even costermongers seemed welcome now—when it had seemed all too much while she'd been living in London. It couldn't be said she was a city person. She liked village life, but perhaps found her situation here a little too isolated.

  Sunday service was also something they didn't partake in and on some level she was relieved. It reminded her too much of her father and the things she'd lost. Dutifully she said her prayers at night. She knew most of the Bible, so she wasn't concerned that her faith would suffer from an absence from church for a few months. Saying that, she was interested in exploring the little church she'd seen in the village, with its dramatic spire and slanted roof, but perhaps like other places here, she wasn't welcome.

  The door opening surprised her, but she expected it was Balog coming to collect the tea service. But it wasn't, someone broader and taller stepped into the room, and Estelle instantly felt nervous when she saw the count appear. Had he known she was here? Was she again somewhere she shouldn't be? She rose.

  Looking at her, he stopped moving and was still for a moment. "Miss Winstone," he said, his voice deep and almost labored. She still couldn't tell whether he had stumbled across her or if he'd known she was here and had sought her out. Did he want to have that discussion regarding her return?

  "My lord," she said and curtsied quickly.

  Breathing in sharply, he held his breath, still seemingly forming his words. "I spoke perhaps with a sharp tongue the other day," he said.

  Estelle didn't know how to reply, so she didn't.

  "The rose garden is not something I wish to revive," he continued, looking bored with the conversation.

  "I see," she finally said. "I had not intended to offend."

  "I understand."

  It would be a shame, because it looked like he had some wonderful plants—that just needed tending. But it was his home and if he wished a garden to decay, he was perfectly within his right to do so.

  "The garden comes with memories," he said, "ones I don't want."

  That was obvious to her now that he said it. The garden had belonged to his wife and if their relationship had been bad, or in some way contributed to the woman's obvious unhappiness, then she would understand. "Of course," she said, smiling tightly. "It wasn't my intent to be insensitive."

  He looked at her for a moment longer and Estelle didn't quite know what to do with her arms. Then he turned to leave again. Well, at least she hadn't overstepped some unknown cultural line. If she were ever to put a question like that to him again, she would start with a pre-query asking if the topic was a sensitive issue. "Also, you should perhaps know we are receiving visitors again. A Countess Vaczy. She and her entourage will stay for a few days."

  Without anything more, he turned to the door. "Uhm," she said, trying to catch his attention.

  Grudgingly, he turned. "Yes?"

  "Is there any particular way you wish me to act?" she said in an attempt to clear up some of the uncertainty in how her position was to be conducted here.

  "How do you normally act?"

  Clearly, he wasn't used to having governesses around, she surmised. "Well, I would understand if you wish for me to remain in my room for the duration of the visit, except Thomas' lessons, of course. Some employers wish for me to be less seen, while others are more inclusive. It is really up to you how I should act. I am happy to stay clear, if you wish."

  "That shouldn't be necessary. I doubt there is anything about you the countess will find offensive. You should introduce yourself. We are not so formal here, I think you must understand."

  With a quick nod of his head, he was gone, having had enough of their conversation, it seemed.

  The idea of visitors was both compelling and not. This was another culture and her etiquette had been called into question once. The last thing she wanted was to offend the count's visitors, but then she was also craving company as Thomas was eager to be away from her at the earliest opportunity, as boys tended to do.

  Still, something about this visit sat uncomfortably. Although she did suspect the professor would join them and that did please her. He was a nice and understanding man, and didn't look at her like a troublesome stain in his house, like the count sometimes did.

  It was interesting that he came and apologized to her, although he hadn't actually apologized, just stated he'd been sharp in tongue. Saying that, she did feel better for it. It was still a shame he refused to revive the roses. Perhaps she could suggest that the plants be dug up and donated elsewhere. The hostile villagers came to mind, but she couldn't quite bring herself to image giving them over there. The professor had a lovely garden which would be even more beautiful with some roses. It wouldn't be difficult to prune them down to transport easily. Roses could handle a brutal prune. It would free the count of the plants that clearly distressed him while also letting someone else enjoy their beauty. She would have to find some point where she could suggest it.

  Chapter 12:

  * * *

  As per usual, Thomas saw company coming along the road across the valley. It was a convoy of four carriages and also a number of riders. From up here, they looked like a centipede meandering along the road.

  "They'll be here soon," Thomas said as he looked out of the parlor window.

  "Do you know the countess?"

  "I have met her once before," he said, "but I don't remember much about her."

  They stood and watched for a while as the carriage approached. Estelle had no idea what to expect, but perhaps the house would come alive for a while with this number of guests. Balog's staff had been cleaning furiously ahead of this visit, although the count had seemed unperturbed. In fact, Estelle had not seen him at all. If she hadn't known better, she would have assumed he was absent.

  "I suppose we'll have to greet her," Thomas said, leaning his elbows on the window sill.

  "Maybe there are some children coming to visit, too," Estelle said, hoping for Thomas' sake that he would have some company.

  "She doesn't have children," he said matter-of-factly.

  That was a shame. They disappeared out of sight, which meant they had started climbing up the side of the mountain. It wouldn't take them long.

  Where were these people from, Estelle wondered. It would be interesting to see others from the count's social circle. Perhaps he was a little more personable with them. Some gentle born men were like that, cold to all but their peers. It could be that the count was one of those men.

  They went to the entrance hall to wait for their guests' arrival. Thomas stood by the door next to Balog and Estelle stayed a few steps up the stairs. The house staff were lined up to gree
t the guests, but the count wasn't present. Perhaps this was not an eagerly awaited visit for him.

  The noise of the carriages prompted Balog and one of the footmen to open the large doors and Thomas stepped outside, performing the role of host. From her perch, Estelle could see the countess getting out in a voluminous silk taffeta gown in golds and browns. It worked very well with her golden skin tone. Her hat sat off center on her head, velvet with brightly colored plumes. She was pretty, with blond hair and a finely boned face. She did look how Estelle would imagine a countess, shiny and beautiful.

  Her light and smooth voice echoed in the entrance hall as she stepped in, although Estelle didn't understand the spoken Hungarian. Thomas bowed and the countess looked amused, placing her hand under his chin as he rose up again.

  Finally, Count Drezasse appeared out of his study, standing straight and unsmiling as he awaited his guests. He smiled briefly as the woman approached and more exchanges occurred, the count kissing her hand. Again, Estelle understood nothing of what was said. There were others in the party, two other men and another woman. They all retreated to the salon and the staff dispersed.

  Thomas had found something to distract him amongst the visitors' carriages outside and disappeared, leaving Estelle standing on her own. It wasn't unexpected that she hadn't been introduced; it wasn't her place to be introduced to guests. She was just the governess, after all.

  Not having anything else to do, Estelle retreated to her parlor, where she sat the entire afternoon without tea while Balog and his staff were seeing to the guests. It was understandable as, no doubt, they had much to see to—rooms to prepare and a large supper, not to mention copious horses to stable. Unfortunately, as all were too busy to serve her, she went without.

  *

  After dark, Balog informed her that supper would be served in the dining hall at seven and she was to go to the salon before. Well, that was what she surmised from his instructions. She was a little surprised to be included, but was pleased because she would not have liked having been overlooked for supper as well.

  Five minutes to seven, she walked into the salon, where the party of guests were seated. A fire warmed the space and candles lit the walls. They looked over at her with curiosity as she walked in and Estelle didn't like the attention on her.

  "You must be the governess," the countess said from her seat. "Your presence has been mentioned. From England, I hear." Her English was confident, with a soft accent, indicating the woman was well traveled.

  Estelle walked a little closer to the woman. She was clearly beautiful, with smooth, even skin and fine features. "Yes, I am Miss Estelle Winstone."

  "A pleasure," the woman said holding out her hand. Fine jewels sparkled on her fingers and Estelle shook her hand lightly as the etiquette she knew dictated. "You are a long way from home."

  "Yes," Estelle responded brightly.

  One of the men started speaking Hungarian and all attention turned to him. Estelle retreated to one of the chairs along the wall and sat down.

  A few minutes after, the professor arrived and greeted the countess with a deep bow. He then spoke at length with one of the men.

  The countess rose first when the dinner bell sounded, followed by the others. The professor finally spotted her and gave her a curt bow before following into the dining hall. Estelle walked through last, seeing Thomas sneaking out of the butler's pantry. "Cook is very grumpy," he said with amusement as he sat down next to her.

  There was a defined order to where they sat. The count at the head, the countess next to him, and then the other guests. Estelle and Thomas had to sit near the empty side of the table, where the former Countess Drezasse's chair sat empty.

  Wine flowed and food was served, plates covering most of the table. Estelle could see why the cook was feeling a little stressed. She would have been cooking for most of the day. Conversation also flowed, but none of which Estelle could take part in. Instead, she observed and saw the countess place her hand on Drezasse's arm at one point. It seems they knew each other well. Estelle supposed that when he wasn't here, there was a society he fit into, one this woman was a part of.

  By the look of him, he didn't revel in the company, but he didn't mind either. The professor looked much more relaxed, speaking at length, even holding the whole party's attention with clearly amusing anecdotes.

  The food was wonderful, all strange dishes. She did try everything, although a few of the dishes weren't to her taste.

  "And where in England are you from?" the countess asked across the table, taking Estelle unawares. Everyone was staring at her.

  "Up along the border with Scotland."

  "And your family is respected? I understand English governesses come from good families."

  "We are related to the Baron of Westlinghouse. My father was a vicar."

  The countess smiled as if she was amused. "A vicar. That is a priest, I believe. Extraordinary they marry and have children. Your parents are married I presume?"

  "Yes."

  There was a snigger around the table Estelle didn't understand.

  "Here we believe families distract from religious duties. Held to a higher standard," one of the men said. She hadn't spoken to him before, but his English was very good. So it hadn't been that he couldn't introduce himself; he had chosen not to. He was still staring at her with his brown wavy hair and sharp features.

  "We do things a little differently," she said, feeling self-conscious under their scrutiny.

  "The English tend to deal less in absolutes," the professor said with a smile. "Some would say they take a more enlightened view on the wellbeing of their clergy."

  Estelle was grateful he supported her.

  "The clergy is about sacrifice, not wellbeing," the sharp-featured man said.

  "But then we would be without the delightful company of Miss Winstone," the countess said, almost teasingly.

  It felt as if there was a conversation going on that she didn't understand, and she was at the center of it. As if they were debating whether she should be there in their company or not, or she could be reading into that. She couldn't put her finger on it. By observation, everyone was cordial, but there was a discomforting undercurrent.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, Estelle wondered if it was time to return to her room, but the professor insisted she stay.

  "Can't let them chase you away, my dear," he said conspiratorially as they walked back into the salon.

  Why would they want to, she wanted to ask. She assumed it was because they saw her as beneath them. It wasn't that unusual, and perhaps the count would now reach the same conclusion and withdraw his standing invitation to dine with them each night.

  That would be a shame, because her days were quite lonely. Not that she relished the count's company, but she needed some.

  The professor handed her a glass of the peach liqueur she'd had the other day. Unfortunately, she couldn't remember the name now. She sat next to the professor as the conversation reverted back to Hungarian. The count sat in a chair close to the fire, saying very little. The light of the fire danced over his features.

  "Not your regular social butterfly, is he?" the professor stated quietly so only she could hear. "I don't think he likes people generally. Some of the people out in these remote places develop strange ideas. By far too much inbreeding. They're all related, you know. Makes for aberrant children. Not our lovely Thomas, of course. Speaking generally, you understand."

  The professor was revealing a side to him she hadn't seen before. It seemed he didn't like these people. She'd assumed he was a part of their society, being a gentleman, but maybe their society was as stratified as English society tended to be.

  Chapter 13:

  * * *

  The next evening, the music room had been completely aired and cleaned, and the instruments were all tuned. Thomas sat next to her as they listened to the woman traveling with the countess, a Lady Novak, who played the piano beautifully. It was an elegant instrume
nt made of dark mahogany that had been polished since Estelle had seen it last.

  Someone must have come to tune it. There had been an unusual number of people coming and going during the day, to see to the comforts of the guests.

  The count and his guests sat in the first row, while she, Thomas and the professor were relegated to the second row. Everyone seemed to converse lightly as the woman played. She was clearly gifted and they clapped at the end of each piece.

  Thomas wasn't entirely impressed and hated sitting for so long. He was learning the drawback to adult entertainment: that for a child, it was inordinately dull.

  "Do you play instruments?" she asked the professor after a while.

  "Only as much as I ever had to. It was not something we generally held a passion for in my family."

  "And your family is from Budapest?"

  "Yes, for generations back."

  The music stopped and Lady Novak made an elaborate curtsy.

  "Cards, I think," the countess said, standing.

  Meanderingly, they returned to the salon again, which was more comfortable than the music room. Everything was still where they'd left it and Estelle took a seat close to the fire while the countess returned to the card table. It was now Thomas' time to retire, so with an overly formal farewell, he left.

  Estelle wondered if she should perhaps retire as well. The count's guests enjoyed themselves until very late in the night, and Estelle personally found little amusement in it. The professor was again talking to one of the gentlemen. He seemed very confident in these situations, and she envied him that. The light banter these people engaged with, including what she saw as flirting, was conversation she didn't really know how to conduct.

  After a while, she noticed that the countess' eyes kept flicking over to her. Then she stopped as if whatever she'd been thinking of fleeted away. With a heavy breath, Estelle returned to simply sitting there and doing nothing. Her mind wandered to Thomas and the things she should plan for the following week. "Miss Winstone," the countess said, "why don't you come join us for a game? Mr. Damas seems to be a little too excitable to play just now." Estelle assumed she meant a little too drunk.