The Governess

by Camille Oster

  As he rose, she met his eyes and saw a dark and lonely depth in there, one she recognized keenly. It hurt knowing he knew what it felt like. Every lonely and forgotten minute she had been left by herself when the families around her went about their business of loving each other. How could he know what that felt like, but he did.

  Without thinking, she took a step forward until they met. His lips were warm and soft, and relief flowed between them in this kiss. For this moment, she wasn’t alone. They were together. She had found him.

  Light fingers touched her cheek as her lips explored his. His chest pressed to hers, beckoned for more. A firm hand at the nape of her neck, he deepened the kiss, invading her mouth, exploring and savoring.

  Fire lit along her body, pooling at her core. Instinctively, she knew what this desire was. She wanted more.

  Slowly, he broke the kiss, his forehead to hers. It felt like she was losing him even as he was right there. He kept his lips out of reach, while hers positively ached for more.

  “Miss Winstone,” he said, her name like cold water drenching her. What was she doing?

  “I’m sorry,” she said, stepping back, mortified at her own behavior.

  “Don’t be sorry, but unless you leave now, I will not leave you in the pristine condition I’ve found you.”

  Swallowing hard, she tried to compose herself, tried to order her thoughts that were still tangled up in soft deliciousness. She had just thrown herself at him and he had basically told her to back off. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, her feet carrying her away before she knew what she was doing.

  Chapter 27:

  * * *

  As mortified as Estelle was at her own behavior, it wasn’t mentioned the next time she saw the count. She was still utterly confused by herself, having done exactly as he warned her not to. Luckily for her, he seemed forgiving of this misstep. It would never happen again, she vowed to herself, although she would secret that memory away and treasure it—someday when her embarrassment was perhaps not so keen.

  Besides the blaring misstep, and once her panic had settled, Christmas day was wonderful. It was just the three of them, with the cold meats the servants had left. They stayed together in the salon and after it had grown dark, they went out on one of the ramparts and tried Thomas' new telescope.

  "The skies are clearing," the count said, turning to her. "I must leave again soon. Government will commence its duties again before long."

  "Must you go?" Thomas complained.

  Estelle didn't want him to go either. There was, even considering the kiss, such a lovely camaraderie between them all. This had been such a comfortable time with short days and long evenings, sitting by the fire. There was no need to entertain anyone. They all did as they pleased, but they did it together. It was sad to think a period like this, a happy period, was coming to an end. But she couldn't forget that she didn't belong here; that was the point he'd taken pains in making. Still, she would remember this fondly for the rest of her days.

  Things would now change for everyone. All would go their separate ways and perhaps Thomas knew that as well, and wished for this to continue a while longer. The count's duties called and as soon as the roads were clear, he would set off.

  "I can see," Thomas said excitedly. "I can see the moon. It is so strange."

  Iciness was sneaking into her coat and the cold air stung her nose. Still, she would rather be there with them, than warm inside.

  The count's eyes shifted to her in the darkness and held her captive. Perhaps it was best that she start thinking about her future. Tearing her gaze away, she tried to think of the things she missed about home. A shaky breath drew cold air into her lungs.

  "I will go inside," she said. She didn't want to, but knew instinctively that it was time to draw away from this comfort she had found, and the temptation that belied it. Distance was now needed for her to regain her equilibrium.

  The snow crunched under her feet as she left, turning to see the count watching her as she stepped through the doorway into the castle interior. Did he feel it too, the fact that this was the end? Perhaps there was nothing wrong with a family that only lasted a few days and it could be appreciated for its perfectness.

  Estelle returned to her room instead of the salon. It would be too painful to spend more time there now that the decision had been firmly made and accepted. This period was over and she had to sort herself before things became too painful, or she again gave herself over to temptation.

  Sitting herself by the fire, she stoked it and placed another log on. The flames danced in front of her. Some fires were not supposed to be fed. They burned brightly and then faded. But the memory of them burned well beyond.

  *

  The staff returned the next day. The snow had stopped and the weather that had brought it had finally cleared. There was a brightness to the day, the snow sparkled and blue skies shined above.

  Standing in the doorway, Estelle and Thomas watched as the count's horse was prepared. "The roads should have been cleared," he said, wearing a thick coat and gloved hands. The horse was eager to set out—a beautiful chestnut of incomparable breeding. "I will return," he said and he seemed to speak directly to her. There was something in his eyes, a promise, and Estelle's heart clenched painfully.

  Please don't make promises, she wanted to say, but it felt like he was.

  "We keep the castle safe," Balog said, placing a pistol into the count's pack. "And pray for a safe journey."

  Wolves, Estelle thought. An image of wolves stalking him made her insides waver, and she was pleased he had the pistol. Really, she wanted to tell him not to go, but that was neither her place nor her right. She was just the governess, no matter what promise she might read into his eyes.

  Thomas ran after him as the powerful horse trotted away. The road had been cleared, the snow skimmed to the side, and it would stay that way until it started snowing again.

  Estelle returned to the castle while Balog stayed outside with Thomas. Moving to her parlor window, the count came into sight before long, riding down the plowed road, a retreating figure across the snow-covered valley.

  Her emotions were a conflicted jumble. Everything he'd warned her against, she was at risk of—maybe even in threat of seeking his bedchamber in the darkest parts of the night. That loneliness she had seen in his eyes haunted her, but he had been very clear about what she shouldn’t do. Contrary to the comfort they had found, he was not hers and never would be.

  She didn't even dare consider what that comfort could represent. There was the catch he had so strictly warned her against, and she forbid herself to fall prey to it. Come spring, she was leaving here, to never return.

  In a sense, it would be easier if the count stayed away, but she positively ached for his company. Her decision to separate herself only carried her so far. The ache for him still persisted, even if she kept her distance.

  It was time to get back to her duties, to educate Thomas. Maybe it would even serve him to do some dancing lessons, although she could imagine his displeasure. Her job was to prepare him—not to entertain him. Dancing lessons it was.

  It might prove difficult to get musicians here, so the music box would have to do, even if it carried some very poignant memories for her. Could it be that there was another which played a different tune? She hoped so.

  *

  The safety she felt in the castle fled with the count's departure. The corridors all became darker and the noises of the castle more pronounced. It seemed as if the color was slowly seeping away, failing to shine now that the count had gone.

  A noise drew her out of her reading, although she hadn't managed to take in a single word in some time. She just kept staring at the page while her thoughts carried her away.

  A quick knock on the door of the parlor and Balog entered to announce a visitor. The professor walked into the room, dressed in a crème-colored suit. "Ah, Miss Winstone. A lovely sight," he said, reaching his hands for hers.

  Estell
e rose and greeted him. "I see you have managed your way out of your house. I hope the snow has not been too heavy."

  "It is positively banked around the house, covering part of my windows. But it is not a pleasurable call I make. There has been terrible news."

  Estelle's heart clenched so painfully, she wondered if she might faint. Thoughts raced through her mind. Had something happened to the count? Had the wolves attacked? Or was it someone else?

  "Another girl has gone missing," he said, his face grave with concern and worry.

  "No," Estelle said in a gasp. "No, not again." Tears prickled the back of her nose and she started pacing around the room. Balog entered with tea. She didn't feel like tea with news like this. It was utterly devastating, even if she didn't know a single one of these girls. "This must stop," she stated.

  "It is terrible. I understand the count has left again," he continued carefully. "Have you noticed any strange behavior at all? Anything odd or out of the ordinary?"

  "No, of course not. The count is a lovely man." One that had warned her to stay away at almost every opportunity, a traitorous part of her mind said.

  "One never knows what hides inside the heart of a man."

  But he had been so wonderful, so warm and giving, she wanted to say. "I am sure that is simply coincidence," she stated. "He left only yesterday."

  "Funnily, the girl disappeared at the same time."

  "It cannot be. Count Drezasse has duties he needs to fulfill, committees he attends."

  "But we don't know that for sure, do we? It is only what he tells us."

  Estelle's heart twisted inside her chest. No, it couldn't be. There was no such monster inside the count's heart. She would have noticed. How could she share such a time with a man and he hide such things from her? Through his eyes, she had seen into his very soul. "No, you are very much mistaken, Professor. And such distracting thoughts will blind you to the real culprit. Surely someone must be brought to investigate."

  "This is not London, my dear. There are no such detectives here, but we must flush this man out. In the meantime, you must take care. You know my worries for you, stuck in this castle with a man who seems suspiciously linked with these disappearances by his behavior."

  Unable to speak, Estelle didn't know what to say. She wanted to flatly protest, but the professor seemed adamant in his suspicions, his mind set to believe the count was responsible.

  "Again, I urge you to leave this place behind," he pleaded.

  "I cannot," she said. "Thomas would be here alone." She could never leave the boy here alone. Never.

  Chapter 28:

  * * *

  Estelle couldn't help the professor's warning and assumptions getting to her. He was correct in that the disappearance tended to coincide with the count's departures, but she couldn't bring herself to believe he was responsible. Or perhaps it was that she wouldn't allow herself to even explore it. If it were true, she would almost feel culpable, in a way, as she had known this man and she had been completely unable to tell she was dealing with a monster.

  But if she stuck to her belief that he could not be responsible, the madman was yet roaming around, and she and Thomas were now alone in the castle. The levity she had felt over Christmas had dissipated and the castle felt dark and cold. The days were very short and often dull, and night encroached much too early.

  There were too many shadows in the castle, too many nooks and crannies, and the fact that she couldn't trust the walls to hold people out, with the rabbit warren of hidden corridors and entrances, made it so much worse.

  As with the other lost girls, there was no trace of this one, or at least Balog had no news to relay. The professor didn't return, although she'd had seen the men from the village searching across the valley. It was horrible, but it was likely a fruitless task even before they’d started. Whoever was taking these girls was not leaving them where they could be found. They couldn't keep doing this again and again.

  Estelle shivered as she watched them. She didn't want to return to the nights where she had been so very afraid of the noises in the castle, fearing some fiend would sneak into her room.

  A horrible thought occurred to her. If there were a madman, the castle would be one of the few places he could hide, other than some cave. It was unlikely there were buildings in the village he could hide in. The castle had numerous unused rooms and if he knew a way in or out, he could go completely unnoticed.

  Discomfort lingered down her spine, making her throat tense and dry. Wasn't it a horrid thought to think that some monster was planning his next crime, and may even have her in his sights. These might be her last few days on earth.

  Folding her arms tightly across her chest, she felt like she needed to do something. Perhaps there was some way she could prepare if this monster came for her. Like Thomas, she could do with a weapon, but had precious few skills with one. Thomas' sword lessons had been utterly hopeless. She needed something else, but didn't know what.

  There were weapons around. At points in the past, this had been a siege castle, ready to defend itself against invading armies. There was even an armory, Thomas had told her once, although she had never found it.

  Come nightfall, she would be alone in her room, listening to every noise, fearing every shadow. Having a weapon would make her feel better—something to defend herself with. But where in the world did one place an armory? There didn't appear to be anything near the stables, but it could be that the armory itself had been moved, since its functions were unlikely to be necessary these days. Packed away, it could be anywhere.

  Neither Balog nor Thomas seemed to be around to ask at the moment. Perhaps she could find it on her own, or something else along the way. Weapons were often used as decoration, although the swords in the dining hall were too heavy to be useful. She needed something lighter, something she could yield.

  Leaving the comfort of her parlor, she went in search, seeking out the parts of the castle she had rarely been to. She found rooms and rooms, another parlor that was largely unused with musty smelling furniture and drapings. There was also something that looked a little like an apothecary, but dust lay across everything. Someone here had at some point been interested in chemistry or herbs, it seemed, but their activities had long since been abandoned.

  Wandering down yet another corridor, Estelle reached another room, a large room—a bedchamber. The furnishings were sumptuous and it looked a little as if someone lived there. It was too feminine to be the count's bedroom. This was the room of a woman. There were garderobes and a dressing table, and a lovely chaise lounge.

  A painting hung over the cold marble hearth, of a beautiful woman with flowing brown hair, elegantly styled. It took her a moment to realize this had been the countess' room, and it had been left exactly as it had been—just like the woman's rose garden before Estelle tackled it.

  The love for roses extended to the room, where the drapery was rose and gold. It was a stunningly beautiful room, but it was also a mausoleum. All the woman's things were still as she'd left them, as if she'd simply walked out of the room—to end her life on the bridge.

  A deep frown marred Estelle's brow. She shouldn't be here. It was an intrusion of privacy, but she didn't know if it was the count's or the woman who'd been his wife. The beautiful room belied the suffering the woman must have gone through. It seemed lush and feminine. Perfumes sat along the dressing table as did her hairbrush and pins.

  A book sat on the right side, open with a pen resting in the middle. Taking a closer look she saw it was a journal and stepped back. Was that where the woman vented her angst? Someone should have closed it, but again, it had been left exactly as it must have been when the woman had walked out.

  As with the rose garden, this was none of Estelle’s affair, but she felt the diary should be closed. Still, it wasn't her place to do so. The count had been angry when she'd brought up the rose garden and she could imagine he would be furious if she started rifling through the late countess' effects.r />
  Collecting herself, she gave a last look and walked away. It was a beautiful pen that lay in the seam of the journal, now serving only as a record of the woman who had owned it. It wrote in black ink and Estelle didn't read the journal, but clearly saw the word 'marvelous' before turning away.

  The word stuck as she quickly made her way out of the room she was not supposed to be in. What a strange word for someone to use on the day they were planning to end their own life. Sentences rushed into her mind, but she couldn't make anything fit.

  Standing out in the corridor, her mind refused to relinquish the word. Marvelous. It was such a joyous word. Soirees were marvelous. Alright, she might not be able to think of other things that were typically marvelous, but none in terms of deep-seated melancholia.

  This was none of her affair, but something refused to relent. Something was off. Taking a deep breath, she tried to think what to do. She should keep walking, but something was wrong.

  Giving to her suspicions, she carefully returned to the woman's room and approach the diary. Apparently, it were shoes that were marvelous. She read the rest. The woman, Ekatarina, as she was named, mentioned shoes and having written away about erecting a greenhouse for oranges.

  With wide eyes, Estelle stared at the page, her unconscious mind apparently processing this before her conscious mind caught up. This was not the writings of a woman in the throes of melancholia. This was the light banter of a relatively content and happy woman. Typical daily concerns. Unless this woman successfully hid her feelings from her own diary.

  The count harms women, echoed through her mind. It wasn't just the professor who had said it; Countess Vaczy had said something similar.