by Diane Gaston
* * *
Dinner came to an end, and he again escorted her out of the room, but did not feel like ending the time with her.
When they were out of earshot of the footmen, she said, ‘I enjoyed today so very much, my lord, and the dinner. I thank you for both.’
He should bid her goodnight.
‘Come to the drawing room with me,’ he said instead.
They entered the room where Ellen had broken the vase earlier that day. He walked directly to a cabinet against the wall.
‘I am having brandy, if you do not mind.’ Although he was unsure why he was asking the governess for permission.
‘I do not mind at all.’ She took a seat on one of the sofas. ‘Might I have a glass, as well? It has been a long time since I’ve tasted brandy.’
His brows rose in surprise. Most unlike a governess.
But appealing in its boldness.
He poured her a glass and one for himself and joined her, choosing a nearby chair.
In the candlelight her skin glowed and her features softened and he felt intimate with her, even though he vowed he would not touch her.
She took a sip. ‘I think it so beneficial that you spend time with Pamela and Ellen. You saw what marvels you created today. You saved a little girl’s pride and you sparked some life into one who dares not stray off the path of what is expected of her.’ She smiled. ‘And you introduced her to horses!’
‘I think you make too much of nothing.’ He’d done what anyone would do, surely.
Except perhaps his brother. Curse him.
‘I think not.’ Miss Tilson’s eyes shone with admiration.
Do not look at me like that, he thought. It is too dangerous for both of us.
She took another sip of her brandy and appeared unrepentant for enjoying it. ‘Tell me more about your tour of the estate.’ He had spoken of it at dinner. ‘Was all well?’
Had he betrayed his worry when speaking of it at dinner? He ought to merely say yes, all was well, but there were no servants listening and he was grateful she’d changed the subject.
‘The estate manager says matters are not good. My brother apparently neglected the estate and the workers are unhappy. They are not as productive as the estate needs and my brother spent so lavishly that there are not many reserves to offset any future problems.’ Saying this out loud somehow made him feel the worry more acutely.
‘Your brother neglected the estate?’ she responded. ‘How?’
He took a sip of his brandy. ‘He neglected the buildings, including the tenants’ houses, which are apparently in some disrepair. I am uncertain how bad things are in that area.’
‘No wonder the workers are unhappy,’ she said.
‘The repairs must be made, obviously, but that will take time and something must be done to encourage the men to work hard enough for the estate to produce enough revenue.’ He downed the rest of his brandy and stood to pour himself another. ‘That is why I must stay. At least until after harvest, Ben, the manager says.’
‘Of course you must stay.’ Her voice was sympathetic. ‘The workers need you.’
He laughed drily. ‘That is what Ben says, but I am at a loss as to what I can do. They are reluctant to talk to me.’
‘Make it impossible not to.’ She made it sound so simple.
‘And how am I to do that?’ He sat again. ‘I was not bred for this. My brother was the one who was to inherit. I was merely sent to the army.’
She sipped her drink and seemed lost in thought. Finally she spoke. ‘You commanded men in the army, did you not?’
‘Yes, I commanded men.’ And sometimes sent them to their deaths.
‘There must have been something you did to make your men follow you into battle,’ she went on.
‘What has that to do with running an estate?’ he snapped.
She finished her brandy and rose. ‘Forgive me, my lord.’ Her voice lost all its sparkle. ‘I simply thought that commanding soldiers and commanding workers might be similar, but I see I spoke out of turn. I should retire.’ She started for the door.
He caught her arm before she entered the hall, putting himself dangerously near to her, breaking his vow not to touch her.
‘I did not mean to speak sharply, Miss Tilson.’ Her lips were too tantalisingly close and her muscles melted in his grasp.
She held his gaze and it felt as if energy was sparking between them.
He released her. ‘Yes, it is probably best you retire for the night.’
She nodded and her voice softened. ‘I hope you sleep well. I am certain you can solve these problems, Lord Brookmore. I’m of a mind there is nothing you cannot do.’
She turned and left.
He walked back to his brandy and swirled the liquid in the glass, his body humming for her and his mind turning.
Was it so very different commanding workers and commanding soldiers? Was she correct? Could he do this?
* * *
Garret stayed awake half the night thinking of how he commanded his regiment in those last years and how he’d dealt with his company before his rise in rank. He’d never given it much thought, had merely done whatever he felt needed to be done, said what needed to be said. He realised finally that, before everything else, he ensured his men’s needs were met. Whenever humanly possible, he made certain they had adequate food, shelter, clothing, medical care, if needed. He kept them in muskets, ammunition and powder. They rewarded him by following his orders and fighting bravely in battle.
There was no reason he could not do the same for his workers. He’d incur whatever expense necessary to repair their houses and equipment and to keep them in necessary supplies. No one on the estate should go hungry or suffer cold or endanger themselves by working with faulty equipment. This was his obligation to them, his duty, just as it had been with his soldiers.
How had his brother not seen this?
* * *
The next morning at breakfast, Pamela jabbered about horses and journals and Ellen complained about both. Ellen again asked Garret to tell the story about breaking the tulip vases. Finally as they were leaving the Tower Room, Garret had a chance to say something privately to Miss Tilson.
‘I am going to speak to the workers,’ he told her as they entered the corridor. ‘I now know what I need to do.’
She smiled at him. ‘I knew you would sort it out.’
‘What you said helped,’ he added.
She looked about to ask him what he meant when the children pulled her away to the schoolroom.
He’d tell her more tonight after dinner. He expected to have a lot more to tell her.
Garret hurried from the breakfast room to Ben’s office, eager to put his plan into effect.
* * *
Over the next few days Rebecca was pleased to hear Lord Brookmore speak about his efforts on behalf of his workers. He’d taken command, just as she’d suggested, but the best thing of all was he’d spent time meeting with as many workers as possible, hearing their concerns and promising to address them.
He also rode into Grasmere to purchase journals for the girls and he sent a seamstress from Ambleside to sew more garments for her.
He still ate breakfast with her and his nieces, so he was practically the first person she saw each day. In the evening they ate dinner together and talked over the day’s events. Her esteem of him continued to grow.
She encouraged him to do most of the talking, lest he ask her about her lessons with the children. She was an abominable governess. Oh, she managed to fill the time with the girls, but she had no idea if what she was doing was anything like she ought to be doing. She skipped from one sort of lesson to another, usually finding some excuse to explore the gardens with the girls or visit the horses.
This morning, though, Rebecca was as restless as a stormy sea, and no
wonder. She’d dreamed of the sea, of the shipwreck, of the mother clutching her children to her. Only she was the mother and the children were Pamela and Ellen.
She’d woken in terror and could not return to sleep.
The walls confined her this day, even more so because the day was as beautiful as any she’d ever seen. The sky was vivid turquoise with puffs of white clouds as decoration. The mountains sparkled with green and the flowers in the garden danced in the breeze. The air was brisk, chillier than a normal summer, but, still, she could not bear to stay inside.
‘I thought to take the girls on a walk today,’ she told Lord Brookmore, although she’d merely thought of it that minute. ‘Where can we go? Somewhere we can see something new or unexpected.’
He thought for a moment. ‘Rydal Water is near. An easy walk from here. You can make your way around the lake and see birds and fowl. It is not difficult to find. You won’t get lost.’
She turned to the girls. ‘What say you, young ladies? Shall we walk to Rydal Water?’
‘Yes!’ Ellen shouted exuberantly.
Pamela said nothing.
Lord Brookmore gave her the direction to the lake and shortly after they finished breakfast she and the girls donned their hats, half-boots, walking dresses and jackets and started off.
Being outside in the fresh air and sunshine helped Rebecca’s restlessness a bit and the children did not demand much of her. Ellen skipped ahead, stopping to examine every flower and insect, and kept up a constant narrative on what she saw. Pamela, like Rebecca, seemed lost in her own thoughts.
How much better it was to inhale the scent of elderflower and wild garlic than the chalk dust and paper of the schoolroom.
They walked over a hill—or rather Ellen ran—and finally they could see the lake below, mimicking the blue of the sky even down to the reflections of the clouds in the water.
With a laugh, Ellen ran down the hill and Rebecca and Pamela quickened their pace. The water’s edge was not accessible at the hill’s bottom, but they found a path that seemed to circle the lake. Rydal Water had an island in the middle, a green spot amidst the blue water.
As they walked around the lake, it was easy to stay close to the water, although occasionally rocks or shrubbery separated them.
‘What is that?’ Ellen pointed to a bird that just took flight.
‘A heron!’ Rebecca told her. ‘See its long legs and beak?’
They spied a red squirrel and an otter, and Ellen was beside herself with excitement. Pamela seemed to relax, as well, stopping to examine leaves and flowers and picking up stones to take home with her. Rebecca cleared her mind and let the peacefulness of the day calm her.
‘Think of all you will be able to write in your journals,’ she said to the girls. ‘And to tell your uncle.’
He would listen interestedly, as if each word his nieces uttered was very important. What sort of man cared what little girls said?
A fine man.
Rebecca imagined the expression on his face as he listened attentively to her, too, when they conversed at dinner. He’d become important to her.
‘Look! Look!’ cried Ellen. ‘A swan!’
The elegant creature, so white it shimmered, swam at the water’s edge, which was down the slope from the path where they walked.
Ellen raced towards it. ‘A swan! A swan!’
‘Slow down!’ Rebecca shouted. She raced after her.
‘Stop, Ellen!’ her sister cried.
But the child ran too fast to stop. Ellen tripped when her feet hit the stones at the water’s edge and, as she struggled to keep her balance, she stumbled into the water.
She fell in with a splash, crying out. In her effort to stand, she pushed herself further into the lake and soon was flailing into deeper and deeper water.
Pamela screamed.
Rebecca ran into the water, reaching for Ellen, who floated further away. Reeds beneath the water tangled in Rebecca’s feet and she fell beneath the water’s surface.
Suddenly she was back in the Irish Sea, the sounds of splintering wood and human screams muffled under the water. Her feet gained purchase on the bottom and she pushed herself out of the water, now up to her chest.
Ellen clung to a thin branch that protruded from the water. Just a step or two further into the water and Rebecca could reach her.
But Ellen’s cries turned into the cries of the children in the ship’s rowboat. Pamela’s screams rang in her ears like those of panicked men and women facing death. The water was cold. Like that day. Cold.
‘Miss Tilson! Help her! Help her!’ Pamela cried.
Rebecca shook her head and the thunder of pounding horse hooves sounded in her ears. The mountains and the lake came in to focus. Ellen’s hand was slipping off the branch.
Rebecca cried out and surged forward. She grabbed Ellen, but they both sank beneath the water. Ellen thrashed about, but Rebecca would not let go of her. Rebecca’s feet slipped on the bottom as she struggled to lift Ellen out of the water.
Her mind’s eye saw lifeless bodies of children floating under water. Her panic rose.
Suddenly she was seized from behind by strong arms that pulled her and Ellen towards the shore. Their faces broke through the water and Rebecca took gulps of air.
When she could stand again, Ellen was scooped from her arms and carried out of the water. Only then did she see their rescuer.
Lord Brookmore.
He placed the coughing and spluttering child on dry ground. Her sister ran to her and hugged her tightly.
Rebecca was afraid to move from the water, afraid of falling under again, but, no matter, Ellen was safe. Lord Brookmore charged into the lake again, took her in his arms and carried her to shore. When he released her to stand, he held her for a brief moment in a tight embrace before they both hurried to Ellen’s side.
Ellen’s teeth chattered and her lips were blue. Rebecca’s chest hurt from the cold water and she could barely feel her legs.
Lord Brookmore’s coat lay on the rocks nearby. He picked it up and wrapped it around Ellen. He lifted the child into his arms. ‘We have to get her warm as quickly as possible.’
Rebecca could only nod.
He carried Ellen to his horse. ‘I can’t take you both. Can you walk, Miss Tilson?’
‘I’ll m-m-manage.’ She was not at all sure she could walk, but she didn’t want him to waste time with her. Ellen must be taken home immediately.
Lord Brookmore turned to Pamela. ‘You must walk Miss Tilson home. Do you understand, Pamela? Do not allow her to stop. Come all the way home.’
Pamela nodded. The girl took Rebecca’s hand and pulled her until she got to her feet, still numb from the cold water.
Brookmore mounted his horse and placed Ellen before him on the saddle. He turned to Pamela again. ‘Make sure you do not stop. All the way home.’
Pamela held Rebecca’s hand and pulled Rebecca on. ‘Come, Miss Tilson. We have to walk home.’
It was a huge responsibility Lord Brookmore had given this little girl, the responsibility of Rebecca’s welfare. Rebecca could not bear it if she were to keep Pamela from completing her task.
Rebecca walked.
* * *
Rebecca heard the sounds of the shipwreck while she struggled to keep the pace little Pamela set for her. She could not always tell where she was. One minute she’d be drifting at sea and the next on a road with mountains surrounding her and a little girl telling her to keep walking.
Gradually the cold left her, but her skirts were heavy with water and her feet chafed against the wet leather of her shoes. She felt close to collapsing, but pushed on, so as not to become too big a burden for a little girl.
Just when it seemed she could not take another step, a gig appeared in the distance.
It pulled up beside them, driven by one of Lo
rd Brookmore’s coachmen. ‘His lordship said to come pick you up.’
Chapter Ten
Garret’s horse had made the trip to Brookmore House at great speed. He’d shouted for help and Glover and a footman ran from the house to assist him. Ellen had been swiftly placed in the arms of one of the maids who hurried her up the stairs to change her out of her wet clothes and wrap her in warm blankets.
Only then had Garret realised he was also cold and dripping water on the floor of the hall.
Brant belied his age and quickly helped Garret change out of his wet clothing and into dry ones. As soon as Garret was dressed again, he hurried to the children’s room to see Ellen.
She was sitting up in bed, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Mary, the girls’ maid, fed her some hot liquid on a spoon.
‘Uncle!’ Her face tensed. ‘I did not mean to chase the swan! I did not mean to fall in the water!’
He hurried to her bedside and crouched down to speak to her. ‘There now.’ He tried to sound soothing. ‘You did not know what would happen. Never worry. It was an accident.’
Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I am very sorry.’
He held her tiny hand in his. ‘I know you are.’ He looked her over. ‘Are you hurt in any way?’ She looked unharmed, except for damp hair and a pale face.
She shook her head. ‘I’m cold, though.’
‘That is why you must let Mary feed you—whatever it is.’ He glanced at Mary.
‘Camomile tea with honey,’ Mary offered.
‘There you go. That will warm you,’ he said.
Mary offered a spoonful and Ellen dutifully swallowed it.
‘Where is Pamela?’ she asked. ‘And Miss Tilson?’
He was asking himself the same question. As soon as he’d arrived with Ellen on the horse, he’d shouted instructions to send the gig for them. They should have been here by now.
‘I am sure they will be here any minute,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, rest and finish your tea.’