Miss Plumpton indicated a letter in front of her. ‘I have just received some shocking news.’ She looked directly at Mary. ‘About your father.’
Mary felt the blood drain from her face. The room seemed suddenly to be spinning. ‘What—what news?’ She gripped the sides of the chair with both hands, as if doing so would anchor her to reality.
‘This letter—’ Miss Plumpton’s tone dripped with disdain ‘—is from a Miss Sarah Lutton. Is the name familiar to you?’
‘What? I—no. I do not recall anyone by that name.’
‘The letter is confusingly written, filled with ink stains and on cheap paper, but I have deciphered it. It seems that this Miss Lutton is housekeeper at Houghton St Giles Vicarage, to which your papa has lately been assigned.’
‘I see. What of Papa? Is he—is he unwell?’ Mary could hear the tremor in her voice.
‘Worse!’
Mary gasped. ‘No!’ Papa!
Miss Plumpton tutted. ‘You may show me no airs and vapours, Miss Smith. He has not perished.’ Her tone was clipped, her expression one of severe disapproval.
‘But—you said worse than unwell. I—’
‘Honestly, it would be better if he had simply been taken ill. Or even, might I suggest, if he had died. This is much, much worse!’
Mary had quite given up attempting to understand her teacher. Entirely bewildered, she simply begged, ‘Please tell me what is in the letter.’
‘Your papa—a seemingly respectable vicar—has been taken up by the constables!’
‘Impossible!’
‘And yet, here is the proof.’ Miss Plumpton held up the letter. ‘The housekeeper says they took him for nothing less than treason.’
‘Treason! Treason? Let me see that letter!’
The teacher relinquished the paper and Mary quickly read through it, her mind racing. Papa had, it seemed, been caught in the possession of papers rightly belonging to the War Office and was even now being held in the local Bridewell, pending adjudication from the magistrate. As he was being taken away, he had begged Miss Lutton to write to the school, saying that all would surely be quickly resolved. Due to the magistrate’s being only part time, Miss Lutton explained, she understood Mr Smith’s case would likely not be heard until the next Quarter-Day session at Easter.
‘But Easter is particularly late this year!’ declared Mary aloud. ‘There has been some muddle here. My papa is no more a spy than you or I!’
Miss Plumpton sniffed. ‘As to that, considering your behaviour since you darkened my door, nothing would surprise me. I know your father to be somewhat eccentric. Such people are capable of anything!’
‘Fustian! My papa is kind and gentle, and loves only to read his books and serve his parishioners.’ Frowning, she muttered, ‘I must go to his aid!’
She stood, as if she could instantly transport herself to Papa’s side.
‘You may go as soon as you wish,’ said Miss Plumpton evenly. ‘Your fees are paid monthly and I have no hope now of receiving the fee for February.’
Mary gaped at her. ‘You surely do not mean to turn me out! You have read this letter, too. It may take until March to get this misunderstanding resolved and my father released. Until then I shall need a home!’
Miss Plumpton’s lips tightened. ‘Your fees are paid until the end of January, no more.’
‘But it is nearly the end of January already.’ She added, in a pleading tone. ‘Please allow me to visit my papa and find out more details. I must try to secure some assistance for him. When I come back in a week or so, I shall keep to my room. You have no need to teach me.’
Miss Plumpton’s expression grew shuttered. ‘I do not intend to feed someone or put a roof over their head for nothing! This is a business, not a charity.’ Her tone brooked no disagreement. ‘Take the letter. You may go.’
‘But—’
‘Go to your room, Miss Smith!’
Angry fire blazed within Mary. She placed both hands on the desk and eyed her teacher directly. ‘I shall not! You call yourself a God-fearing Christian? How can you? How dare you throw me out on the streets with no friends, no safety! Is this the true face of the Plumpton Academy for Young Ladies?’
Miss Plumpton’s eyes narrowed. ‘Never let it be said that I failed in my Christian duty.’ She lifted a pen and wrote something on a piece of paper, holding it out to Mary. ‘This is the direction of Mrs Gray’s employment agency. There may be some family desperate enough to hire you as a companion—or, more likely, a scullery maid! I for one would not have you above-stairs!’
With a muffled exclamation, Mary took the paper. Whirling around, she left the parlour with neither a polite word of farewell, nor even closing the door behind her.
Such petty revenge was beneath her, she knew, but in this moment, overwhelmed with rage and fear and worry, she could do nothing more. Hurrying to her room, she donned her boots, cloak and bonnet, then, her coin purse concealed beneath her cloak, she hailed a hackney carriage.
Mrs Gray’s agency was, it seemed, her only hope.
Chapter Three
Mrs Gray’s agency was a popular place. Mary’s heart sank when she saw the room filled with men and women, all seeking positions. On arrival she paid the fee and wrote her name in the book as directed. Almost twenty names were above hers in that day’s list—including a female who had, it seemed, high levels of education, judging by her flowing handwriting. Glancing around, Mary thought she could work out who she was.
She knew her own talents in cleaning were limited. Her only skills were reading and writing, thinking and debating. Papa had raised her as a scholar, unfit for other work.
Her heart sank as she considered her situation. Miss Plumpton—her nails dug into her palms as she thought of the woman—was determined to throw her out on the first of February. Mary needed to secure a position—any position—in order to have safety, food and warmth while she endeavoured to assist Papa regain his freedom. Hot tears sprang into her eyes as she pictured her gentle, scholarly father captive in some dank, disease-ridden cell. He would not survive long in such conditions.
She had still some coins left, though not many. Papa had entrusted her safety and her security to Miss Plumpton, who had proven herself to be as perfidious as any villain! Mary urgently needed to earn enough money to travel to Papa in Norfolk and return safely.
* * *
Time passed slowly. As each name was called, the hopeful employee would disappear into the inner office, re-emerging some time later with expressions ranging from relieved to frustrated. Mary had noticed yet another genteel-looking young lady and engaged in an exchange of polite smiles with her. The first young lady went inside in response to a call for Miss Anne Bolton and, while she was closeted with Mrs Gray, Mary struck up conversation with the other young lady. When Miss Bolton emerged, twenty minutes later, she gave them both a small smile.
Finally, it was time. Mrs Gray called her name.
Heart pounding loudly, Mary stepped into Mrs Gray’s inner office.
Afterwards, she could not have said much about the room itself, beyond a vague sense of comfort and affluence. Mrs Gray herself dominated the room. She took her seat behind the rosewood desk, eyeing Mary as she walked towards her. During their initial polite exchanges, Mary was conscious of Mrs Gray’s piercing gaze—dark eyes assessing, reading, knowing her.
At any other time, Mary would have wanted to pursue a deeper acquaintance with Mrs Gray. She was clearly a woman of substance, a successful businesswoman with an air of confident independence that quite fascinated Mary.
This is who I should like to be!
Here was evidence that a woman could have an independent income and live an independent life. Mary could only guess at the prejudice Mrs Gray must have faced not only as a woman, but as a black woman. She frowned. Had Mrs Gray’s husband ensured her success? She shook her head slightly.
Even silly Miss Plumpton had managed to set up a school without a husband’s patronage. A man was not necessary for a woman to be truly independent. Yet perhaps Mr Gray, whoever he was, had assisted or at least enabled his wife to achieve this success. Maybe, she reflected, there were good men who saw their wives as more than possessions.
Mrs Gray was watching her. She was advanced in years, calm in demeanour and, it seemed, composed by nature. The woman was wise. Mary simply knew it. Her intelligent gaze pierced through all of Mary’s carefully prepared half-truths—and she had not even asked a question yet.
‘So, Miss Smith. What position are you seeking?’
‘Anything!’ The word erupted from Mary. ‘I need a position—any position!’
‘And why is that?’
Mary hesitated.
‘You would do better to be truthful with me, Miss Smith. I have had quite enough of people lying to me today.’
Someone dared lie to her?
With a fleeting salute to the unknown deceiver, Mary sighed. ‘Very well. I am a student at the Plumpton Academy for Young Ladies. My father has paid my fees up until the end of January, after which I shall need an income with which to support myself.’
Mrs Gray raised an eyebrow. ‘Miss Plumpton plans to abandon you?’
Mary gave a hollow laugh. ‘She never liked me—I am altogether too opinionated for her. She has made it clear that I must leave at the end of the month.’
Mrs Gray wrote something on the paper in front of her. ‘I see.’ She raised her gaze to pin Mary directly. ‘What has happened to your father?’
Mary opened her mouth, but the lie about him being taken ill would not come out. She hesitated, then her shoulders drooped. ‘He has been sent to gaol.’
The agency owner’s expression remained shuttered. ‘Is he, then, a hardened criminal?’
Mary leapt to her feet. ‘He is not a criminal at all, and never was!’ Mrs Gray studied her for a moment, then made another note on the page before her. ‘Be seated, Miss Smith, and tell me the whole.’
Mary did so, stumbling a little over the part where Miss Plumpton had revealed the contents of the housekeeper’s letter. Saying it all aloud made Papa’s plight seem more real, somehow. ‘And so,’ she concluded, ‘I must go to him and try to assist him, but I shall need to earn money to do so. I—I cannot afford the stage fare to Norfolk.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I need your help. I assure you I shall work hard at whatever position I get, so that I may see my papa again.’
‘What are your talents, Miss Smith? Can you clean, or sew, or teach?’
‘I—I do not have any particular talent.’ Mary shook her head and suddenly the impossibility of it all washed over her. ‘This is hopeless. I apologise for wasting your time.’
Why did I think I could just walk in here and come away with a position, when there are so many other talented people?
She stood, determined not to give way to emotion. ‘I shall have to think of another plan.’
‘Sit down, Miss Smith.’
Mary sat, barely realising that she, who normally reacted to authority with immediate resistance, had obeyed Mrs Gray’s command instantly.
‘You understand, I think, the challenge for me in placing someone with no talents, no experience and, I assume, no references.’ Mary simply nodded, her throat having swollen with pain, making it impossible to speak.
‘Someone,’ Mrs Gray continued, ‘who has been described as—’ she consulted her notes ‘—opinionated.’
Mary closed her eyes briefly. This is dreadful.
‘And there is another problem. You had planned, I think, to seek a position here in London, then use your wages to travel to Norfolk by stage?’ On Mary’s nod, she shook her head. ‘Most servants get only two days off per month, and it would take some time to save enough to travel to Norfolk. You could not hope to be there before April or May, I think—too late to be of use to your father. Which part of Norfolk, by the way?’
Mary blinked at this sudden aside. ‘Er...my father’s vicarage is in Houghton St Giles—near Walsingham. It is north of Fakenham, apparently.’
Mrs Gray’s eyes widened briefly. ‘Oh, I know exactly where Walsingham is. I even know of the village of Houghton St Giles. I found it on a map just yesterday.’ Her gaze dropped to her notes and she ran a pensive finger along her chin.
There was a silence. In the background, a delicate clock ticked, and ticked. Mary’s attention was given fully over to the ticking of the clock and to Mrs Gray’s inscrutable expression. She held her breath.
‘Miss Smith.’
‘Yes?’ All of Mary’s hopes rested on this woman and whatever she would say next.
‘Are you a good scholar? Can you read? And write?’
‘I—yes. I adore books and learning.’
‘Hmm...’ For the next while, Mrs Gray quizzed her on her knowledge of mathematics, of geography and geometry and astronomy. Of languages, and history, and improving texts. Mary answered the questions as best she could, now feeling on firmer ground. This was her world. The world of knowledge and ideas. The world of book-learning.
‘Good.’
Good? Her heart pounding with sudden hope, Mary kept her eyes fixed on Mrs Gray.
‘I have recently received a commission to hire temporary servants for a house party in Norfolk. The house is, I believe, less than three miles from the village you mentioned. The post is for more than two months—until Easter, in fact, which probably suits your needs.’
‘In Norfolk?’ Mary’s eyes widened as she realised the possibilities. ‘If my work was there then I could visit Papa on my days off!’
‘Precisely. Sir Nicholas Denny and his family live in Stiffkey Hall, near your father’s village, which is why my instincts are telling me to consider including you in the hirelings as a governess. I have learned to trust my instincts, Miss Smith, and on this occasion I may be prepared to take a chance with you.’
‘Oh, thank you, Mrs Gray! Thank you!’
Mrs Gray held up an age-spotted hand. ‘You will thank me best by working hard. I understand your need to see your father and to try to assist him, but I am placing my trust in you. Do not compromise the reputation of this agency by being too distracted from your work.’ Her dark eyes pinned Mary’s. ‘I need you to make a contract with me—not a legal contract, as men might make, but a moral contract. A vow, if you will. Placing you with this family when I know little of you is a decided risk for me. That risk becomes more acceptable if I have your word that you will complete the full term of the Denny family’s requirements, and that you will fulfil your duties with diligence and care.’
Six or seven weeks with the chance to assist Papa? Any position would be worth it! With a beaming smile, she nodded. ‘I do so vow.’
‘They may not welcome a governess who is opinionated.’
Mary considered this. She is right.
‘I can manage to be demure and dull for a few weeks, in order to assist my father.’
‘Can you?’ The keen look in Mrs Gray’s dark brown eyes penetrated Mary’s confidence.
Mary lifted her head. ‘I have no other option. I must.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘I vow to do nothing to threaten your reputation, nor that of your agency. I shall endeavour to be the ideal governess—efficient, effective and invisible. And I shall stay the full time if I am needed. Please choose me to be governess for Sir Nicholas Denny.’
Chapter Four
‘Sir? May I disturb you?’
Nicholas, who had been quite ready to say that he might not be disturbed, realised who was there and set down his book. ‘Bramber! You are returned.’ He stretched a hand out and his secretary shook it with a pleased smile. ‘Now, have you successfully concluded the business in London?’
‘I have.’ Bramber beamed with pride. ‘Housemaids, a governess, footmen, nursemaids—even an extra
groom! All appointed and all arriving in the next two days. The governess, Miss Smith, travelled with me in your coach. I thought it kinder than to force her to take the stage.’
Something in Bramber’s tone piqued Nicholas’s interest. ‘Indeed? Is she, then, an elderly lady? I would not wish for someone who cannot keep up with my sister’s enterprising offspring.’
‘Um...no. She is not at all elderly.’ The tips of Bramber’s ears had gone an interesting shade of pink. ‘In fact, she is—she is a young lady.’
‘Is she indeed?’ murmured Nicholas, remembering their previous conversation.
I should like to see Bramber settled. Perhaps this governess might suit him.
‘And she is genteel? Well-mannered?’
‘I found no fault in her,’ Bramber replied. ‘She is—’ He checked himself. ‘She behaves as she ought.’
‘I am happy to hear it. Oh, and Bramber,’ he added casually, ‘I shall need you to dine with us during the house parties. And the governess, too, as my sister’s eldest two girls are beginning to be exposed to company.’
There! That will throw the two of them together.
‘Me, sir? But—’
‘But nothing! You are the son of a gentleman, with every right to sit at the table. Besides, I shall need the reassurance of having at least one person present whom I know to be sensible.’ Curiosity got the better of him. ‘Now, go you and wash the dust of the journey away, and inform the governess, Miss—?’
‘Miss Smith.’
‘Miss Smith, that I shall receive her.’
‘Yes, sir.’
* * *
Ten minutes later, a firm tapping on the door informed him that the governess had received his message. ‘Enter!’
At first glance, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. She was a young lady of average height, neatly dressed in a cambric travelling gown. Her hair was dark and her features regular and pleasing. She was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, buxom nor waif-like. She was simply a woman. Closing the door, she walked purposefully towards him. She had a no-nonsense air that he supposed would be helpful in her profession, but he quite failed to see why she had caused Bramber to be so incoherent.
A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess Page 2