The Observations of a Curious Governess

by Viveka Portman

  ‘Ceecee, I shan’t stop …’ the other female voice said.

  ‘No, never stop …’ Lady Stanton’s tone was pleading.

  There was something about these words that made my stomach swoop. I didn’t understand what was going on behind that door, but I knew one thing above all else – I should move on. Listening any further would garner me no friends.

  Perhaps I had just experienced something akin to that Latin concept of instinctus – an unconscious impulse and understanding – that I had read about once in my father’s library. For I knew, without knowing, that what I had heard was not fit for gentle ears. There was a definite carnality in the tones being spoken. At a party once in London, I’d heard whispers of a similar nature between a matron and her footman. I’d dismissed it as all very vulgar, and never thought of it again – but I remembered it now. I remembered the heat and longing in their voices. Not at all dissimilar to what I’d heard now. Yet, why one woman, Lady Stanton no less, should ask for another’s touch in such a pleading fashion was unfathomable and, I suspected, something most wicked. Thus it was, without any hesitation, I turned and left, abruptly hurrying up the stairwell as fast as my dress and tightened stays would allow.

  I am an innocent and most chaste woman – there is not one who could possibly refute this. I strive for nothing more than improvement of the mind and that of my sex, and I shall remain so until death. Yet I am not completely unworldly with regards to those shameful matters of which we never speak.

  As I have confessed, I am naturally most curious and I have found no boundaries to this curiosity. My readings on recent discoveries of biology have enlightened me to the mechanics of reproduction, at least on a superficial level. I know that males of most species are cursed with an at times insatiable drive for reproduction – and that the females are naturally much more demure. Knowing this, I have had the misfortune to witness on occasion low women going about their business as I have commuted from social visits about town. Their ribald calls to the male sex, their shamelessness in manner and slatternly dress. These women certainly did not seem demure, did they? Thus I could not help but wonder if I had mayhap overheard incorrectly? Had the most refined and proper Lady Stanton been craving for the touch of another – and a woman at that? Or was I mistaken?

  For certain, I must have imagined it.

  Certainly I must.

  Or perhaps I was suffering some wicked delirium sent from the Devil to punish me for eavesdropping? Or was it simple fatigue after all my exertions over this new and exciting day? I simply do not know.

  ***

  I am ashamed to admit the moral fortitude of Mrs Hester Chapone, which I have spent years carefully nurturing has failed me today. I fear that my attempt in assessing my young charges failed due to my inability to remain strong and focussed. Though it disappoints me to admit, I could no more stop thinking of the overheard conversation that I could stop breathing.

  After a dismal attempt at assessment of the intellect of my charges, I shortly found myself dismissed to dress for dinner. As is the custom amongst certain families, the governess eats alongside the family, rather than with the servants. I had been unsure whether my connection with a noble but impoverished house would have been much noted by my employers, but clearly this was so.

  I dressed in one of my finest gowns for dinner; a light muslin sprigged one, which my sisters had told me was very fetching. A housemaid came to assist me with my hair. She was a quiet nondescript sort, with an accent that hailed from somewhere quite north.

  ‘Evenin’ Miss Swan. I’m here t’ help you dress, Mrs Roberts sent me. I’m Jenny.’ She bobbed a welcome.

  I smiled at her with warmth. I did not wish her to think that I had airs and graces above my station –despite my breeding, I like she, am a mere employee of this great house. It’s something I must not forget, especially around the serving folk.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said as she laced me into my stays and expertly coiffed my hair. I suspect this plain young Jenny may have aspirations to become a lady’s maid, so careful and attentive is she.

  ‘How do you find Stanton?’ I asked, as she wound one of my locks and pinned it delicately.

  The maid looked startled to be addressed with such a question. ‘I …’ She hesitated, frowning at my hair. ‘I find it verra well, they’re kind here.’

  ‘Well, I am glad to hear it.’ I replied, and ended my questioning as the dinner bell rang.

  Jenny led me to the dining room. I should have been able to find it perfectly well myself, but I allowed the girl the privilege of introducing me to the footman, who announced my entry to those already in the dining room.

  ‘Miss Martha Swan,’ the same handsome footman called as I entered. I threw him a thankful but modest smile and curtseyed to the other diners.

  Lady Stanton was seated regally at the end of a large glossy table that veritably groaned under the weight of a heavy arrangement of flowers. Her lady’s maid, Miller, whispered something into her mistress’s ear, bobbed, then made to exit the room.

  I thought it strange to have the lady’s maid in the dining room as the butler and footmen need only be present. Still, I am learning the customs of this house and ought to reserve my judgements for a later time.

  As I observed the room, I saw Alexander, the eldest child, seated a few places up from his mother, an empty space – presumably for myself – beside him. At the other end of the table, a dashing man with sparkling blue eyes beamed appreciably at me

  ‘Miss Swan, may I introduce my husband, Lord William Stanton,’ Lady Stanton said formally.

  I offered a polite curtsey and inclined my head with modesty. ‘I am honoured to meet you,’ I said, though I fear my voice trembled.

  Lady Stanton inclined her head and continued. ‘Please, Miss Swan, if you would be so kind to sit beside Master Alexander.’ Lord Stanton gestured to his son.

  I bobbed once more and moved swiftly towards the child. He looked relieved that I had come – though I am sure this was just fanciful thinking on my behalf.

  ‘Miss Swan, this is Alexander’s first time eating outside the nursery. I fear he is a little nervous.’

  I looked down at my charge. Indeed, he looked rather pale and queer. No doubt the shift from nursery to dining room was daunting for one so young, with parents such as these.

  My hand sought out his small one under the table. Though the weather was clement, his hand was veritably frozen. I squeezed it affectionately, hoping to ease and perhaps share sympathy at the nervousness I similarly suffered.

  The slightly amused voice of my gentleman employer interrupted my thoughts. ‘How have you found your rooms, Miss Swan?’

  Dreadful heat flooded my cheeks – a cursed weakness of mine to be sure. I loathed being caught in a daze. I drew up my fan and masked my response immediately.

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ I replied.

  I dare say, at that moment Lord Stanton grinned at me. Certainly there could be no other description. I felt my breath hitch in surprise and fanned my cheeks once more.

  ‘I think you shall find the bed to your liking. The beds in Stanton offer a comfort like no other.’ He offered me another peculiar grin.

  I fanned my cheeks a third time to hide my discomfiture and averted my eyes modestly, quite unsure how to respond. I was certain there was some other meaning behind his words, but I simply didn’t grasp it.

  Thus at length I replied, ‘Indeed, after a long day’s travel, one tends to find any bed to one’s liking. I shall be no different I suspect.’

  Lord Stanton roared with laughter. ‘Well said, Miss Swan, I shall remember that.’ Yet again, I had the uncomfortable notion I had missed some entendre behind his words.

  I glanced towards Lady Stanton, who seemed be watching me most carefully. Her eyes were shrewd and assessing, and did not demure from me once. Did she know I had overheard her in the parlour earlier? I struggled to refrain a grimace at the notion.

  ‘I believe your grandfathe
r and mine were acquaintances, Miss Swan,’ Lady Stanton said after a moment, moving her thoughtful gaze to her husband.

  I caught her gaze and nodded. ‘Yes, I believe that was so,’ I agreed. ‘My grandfather, God rest his soul, was a fine man – and one I should very much liked to have met.’ I paused and sipped at my wine. It was no doubt very fine, but I could find no benefit in it – not to my palate nor mind. ‘He was a very austere and well revered gentleman,’ I added. ‘I have found a paucity of such gentlemen in London. Indeed it is a pleasure to have come to the countryside to escape them.’

  For a moment Lady Stanton stiffened, before His Lordship bellowed with laughter once more. I found my bread suddenly felt lodged within my throat. What possibly could have caused such rude amusement? I was beginning to think that Lord Stanton was not the gentleman I had initially perceived him to be.

  After a moment of obscene snorting and gulping at his ale, His Lordship recovered – yet it was Lady Stanton who spoke. ‘Forgive my husband, Miss Swan, you will become used to his unusual humours.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Did you not get out much in London society when you were there?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, my family – as you are most certainly aware, have little in the way of finances to support society outings – and I have no interest in them regardless. My passion, Lady Stanton, lies firmly in the realm of improvement of the mind, education and the acquisition of knowledge, not the gossip and intrigue of society.’

  At this, the rude Lord Stanton slapped his thigh with mirth and guffawed once more. ‘Ceecee, you have chosen the whitest and purest rose of London to educate our children! How you have found one so blessedly untainted by the gossips, I have no notion – but well chosen, dear wife.’

  Lady Stanton smiled and inclined her head, and after a continuing moment of peculiar mirth, the Lord resumed his meal and thus his wife, my charge and I did the same.

  When the sweets were served, Lord Stanton spoke once more. ‘It seems we have another acquaintance in common, Miss Swan, aside from your grandfather’s friendship with my wife’s.’

  I looked at the man and then back at my food and frowned. ‘Indeed? Pray, who may this mutual acquaintance be? As I have said, I did not get about much in London and am therefore most surprised that we could know anyone in common. I rather prefer books to company, I’m afraid.’

  The gentleman smiled, ‘He said as much himself.’

  I felt a little something twist in my lower stomach.

  ‘He?’ I asked, ‘Please, do not tease me. I am anxious to know, of whom do you speak?’

  I felt the eyes of all Stantons on me then.

  ‘Are you familiar with a Mr Jonathan Reeves, perchance?’

  That peculiar twist in my stomach tightened once more. Of course I knew of Mr Reeves, the one – nay only – man I should ever have wished to marry.

  I took some time before answering. ‘Of course, his family had a terrace not far from my London home. The Reeveses are a fine family.’

  ‘Fine but poor,’ Lord Stanton shook his head. ‘It’s a damnable shame so many good families went to ruin with these wars.’

  I thought about the senior Mr Edward Reeves, Mr Jonathan Reeves’ elderly father, and felt an uncompromising pinch of sadness. Yet I couldn’t allow Lord Stanton to suggest these gallant and most amiable men were somehow tarnished by their situation. For I did not think thus, and nor should anyone who knew them.

  ‘Not ruin,’ I replied, ‘They are still very fine men. I know the Reeves sons are working well towards replenishing their family’s wealth, and with luck shall be most successful in their endeavours.’

  Lord Stanton nodded sagely his sparkling eyes shrewd upon me. ‘Indeed, and well spoken Miss Swan.’

  I hesitated, knowing it rudely forward to ask, but curious nonetheless. ‘How is it that you know the Reeves family, Lord Stanton?’

  The Lord threw back a glass of wine and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Mr Edward Reeves oft came to Wiltshire to assist with my tenants. I have little interest in those matters, so he was very helpful in that regard. He has a way with the common folk, you see, that I do not. He’s getting on in years now, so in his stead, his son assists me; the young solicitor, Mr Jonathan Reeves.’

  I felt a small, insignificant burst of happiness at the notion of perhaps seeing Mr Reeves again, but flattened it swiftly. We were nursery friends, and I have ever admired him. Still, it would not do to allow the return of overly amorous feelings towards Mr Reeves – handsome, dashing, clever and witty though he may be. The fact still remains that his family are poor, and my family are poor. If Mr Jonathan Reeves were to ever solicit me in courtship he would be a very great fool indeed. No, as a young solicitor he does not have the finances to make a marriage betwixt us function. I have always been aware of his high regard for me, and have never made secret of my regard of him. Yet romance or marriage has not been an option for either of us – and we have made it something of an unspoken agreement. Of course, Mr Reeves will rise in fortune as his career progresses, and still has the hope of making an advantageous marriage to some wealthy bride or perhaps a wealthy widow out of mourning – and I am certain one day he shall. I, on the other hand, have declined domestic life for one of learning and improvement of the mind as a governess, which will help supplement my sisters’ dowries. I do not resent my choice. I am not a beautiful woman and my sisters have better chances at advantageous marriages than I. This is simply a fact of my existence and is unlikely to change - but nor do I care for it.

  Still, as I listened to Lord Stanton speak of the Reeves family, I couldn’t completely quell the uncharacteristic hopefulness that swelled in my breast at each mention of his name.

  * * *

  It is late now, and I sit by candlelight in my most lovely room, yet I cannot help but wonder what is occurring in this house. The peculiar interaction between Lady Stanton and the other woman in that room, and Lord Stanton’s shockingly ribald comments, have piqued my wicked curiosity.

  As I sit recounting the day, I find myself lamenting that I have never listened to gossip in London. Oh, I know – I have had neither the time nor inclination for it, but this night I have found myself reconsidering that position. Mayhap if I had listened to the gossips, I would understand a little bit more about the clearly unusual situation in this house.

  Is it not peculiar that I, one who aspires to the lofty heights of moral fortitude, would ever think that the vice of gossip may have some redeeming features? It is indeed something I shall ponder and consider in greater depth.

  Chapter 2

  Thursday, 10 June 1813

  My position as governess has commenced in earnest now. I have spent many hours over the last few evenings preparing lessons for my young charges, both of whom are clever children, eager to learn. These lesson preparations I confess have left little time for me to diarise my daily thoughts as I had hoped. I therefore apologise for the sporadic nature of my entries, but hope at length a level of coherence in narrative shall be conspicuous to the learned reader.

  This day something has occurred that warrants a greater level of introspection and reflection. Any reader of my writings will understand that after my initial meeting of Lord Stanton, I began to have doubts about his character. My position on this account has not changed. The ribald humour and suspect double entendres behind many of his comments has lead me to believe that he may be something of a libertine in gentleman’s clothing – and today this suspicion has been proven well-founded.

  As my charges are scarcely out of infancy, of an afternoon they are required by Nanny to have a dedicated rest period. During this time, I am free to do as I wish. On previous days, I have explored the grounds and woodlands surrounding Stanton but today, I had decided to take a turn around the house itself.

  Stanton is well-known for being a beautiful building, and its recent renovations have made it something of a jewel in the crown of Wiltshire. One could really not wish for a more handsome place of employ. Ther
e are several long corridors within the house, and all are well decorated with fine art, porcelains from all around the world, paintings, Greek and Roman artefacts and carvings. Why, the collections within Stanton are as handsome and as fine as the house itself.

  I was walking up a long vaulted hall looking at the works. I like to think I have a good eye for the finer things, and had paused before marvellous marble statue of Achilles battling the Amazon Penthesilea. As a woman who wishes for independence, I have a place in my heart for the Greek heroic tales of Penthesilea and her sisters. Such strong women, with lives cut so brutally short by the men eager to dominate them. Was the fate of the Amazons not echoed countless times after, even today? Were not men still forcing women to submit to them, whether it be their daughters or their wives? Were not countless ladies, many of my own peers in fact, pushed into arranged marriages to serve men and bear children? I knew the truth of it, even if others seemed blind.

  I stared at the marble Penthesilea, her beautiful face contorted in eternal agony by a futile battle. Her breast had fallen from her dress, as she collapsed before Achilles beaten but defiant. I glanced up at Achilles’ face, so stern, enraged.

  Was every woman a Penthesilea, Hippolyta or Melanippe?

  As I pondered this profound notion I heard a most peculiar sound; a giggle, a grunt and whispers. I frowned; the very skin of my arms prickled beneath my shawl. I stood still once more, looking from the agonised face of Penthesilea down the corridor towards the sound’s origin.

  More grunting - undeniably masculine grunting.

  A gentle feminine cry.

  Something verily tightened in my belly at the sound. I found myself abandoning the statue of the suffering Amazon and begin to walk down the corridor. I confess my interest in the epic battles of the statues and the delights of the magnificent portraits that decorated the walls had diminished. I felt a peculiar sense of urgency lead me forwards towards the mysterious and strangely exciting sounds.

  Within a moment, I stopped before a closed door, certainly the home of the noises. They were much louder now and I could discern a repetitious pattern to them. A male growl followed by a reciprocal female cry, again and again. At this proximity the cries were accompanied by a regular thumping. Something more southerly than my belly warmed and my heart began to beat a tempo faster.