The Observations of a Curious Governess

by Viveka Portman

  What would Mr Reeves think of me, if he knew I’d withheld my resignation and accepted a bribe? Would he still admire me? Would he still wish to walk about the grounds with me? I could not help but think that he would not.

  ‘How are your charges here at Stanton?’ he asked after a moment of silence. I smiled then, recalling the delightful Alexander and Helen. ‘They are very well, and such lovely spirits. I’ve never met a boy so eager to learn.’ Mr Reeves nodded, and I spent a little more time regaling a particular lesson in which Master Alexander had surprised me with his wit.

  Soon it was very nearly time to depart, as I needed to undertake lessons with my charges.

  ‘It was wonderful to see you here, Mr Reeves,’ I said truthfully.

  He looked down at me, and once more I was taken aback by his masculine grace.

  ‘I am glad to see you looking so well, Miss Swan,’ he said. ‘It has done me good to see you comfortably placed.’

  Did he truly mean that? A pinch of guilt struck me, for in truth I was not comfortably placed at all. My sex had begun to seep its moisture once again, and my acceptance of the gold guinea hung over my heart like a like a leaden weight. I smiled, but it felt forced.

  He frowned, just slightly, as if noticing my ill-concealed discomfort. ‘I bid you good day then, Miss Swan,’ he said as I turned to leave.

  ‘Good day, Mr Reeves,’ I offered a smile and polite bob, and was mightily surprised when I found my hand encapsulated in his, refusing, albeit most gently, to let me leave.

  ‘Miss Swan, Martha…’

  My skin prickled at his familiar address, and though I loved to hear my name spoken by those fine lips, it was almost indecent for him to do so here.

  ‘Mr Reeves?’ I turned and faced him, ‘What is the matter?’

  ‘I…’ He glanced away, his cheeks dusted bronze. ‘I cannot remain silent. I wish that you would return to London. Forgive me this outburst.’ His gaze met mine once more. ‘But Stanton isn’t a place for you.’

  I felt myself stiffen. I dislike fiercely being told what to do, even by one as kind as Mr Reeves. ‘I understand your concern, Mr Reeves,’ I began almost coolly. ‘Yet there is nothing for me in London. I have no dower, my family cannot afford to present me in society, and thus making a good match in marriage is unlikely. I shall not remain in London and be kept, and kept poorly, by my father, who struggles to support my mother and sisters. It is best that I am out of the terrace, for my family and for myself.’

  Mr Reeves’ face took on an anguished expression. ‘Would that I could marry you.’ His tone was gentle. A paroxysm of utter longing rocked me, nearly into insensibility. I felt a tear spring into my eye.

  ‘Mr Reeves…’ Did he know how much I had yearned to hear those words? Yet why did he say them now? He knew very well we could not afford a marriage. ‘Would that I could marry you, Mr Reeves. But you know the truth of it. Matters have not changed.’

  I hoped he could taste the truth in what I said. His hand tightened about mine. ‘I shall make money, Martha, so that I can one day marry you. I do not care for your accursed dowry. But will you wait?’

  Bitter laughter seemed to burn up my throat. ‘Wait? I can do nothing but wait. No man shall ask for my hand, penniless as I am. I have a fine position here, and here I shall remain.’ I hesitated, nearly unwilling to speak what I must. ‘I would wait for you always, Mr Reeves, as I am sure you know, but what of your father? Certainly your promise to marry me should be discussed with him.’

  A shadow fell over Mr Reeves’ countenance, and yet I continued. ‘I am certain he wishes you to marry well, not to marry a Swan girl, who can offer nothing to your family.’

  ‘I shall marry you with or without his permission. Since you left London I have thought of nothing, nay, not anything or anyone else.’

  ‘Then you are being foolish, Mr Reeves.’ I said, then lamented the wounded expression that crossed his face, thus I softened my tone. ‘What you suggest is impossible, or extremely unlikely at best. Please, let us remain friends.’

  He brought his hand up and kissed my palm, the sensation of which made those rude parts of me slacken and pulse.

  ‘Of course. Forgive my outburst,’ he smiled ruefully.

  ‘You are forgiven,’ I smiled, glad that the awkward moment had passed. ‘I really must be at the library now. My charges will be waiting and most impatient.’

  ‘You shall make very fine governess, I think, Miss Swan,’ he said, a tell-tale note of longing still flavouring his words.

  ‘Why, thank you. I do try.’

  ‘Speak with me, however, if you ever find Lord Stanton’s address of you inappropriate.’

  I remembered the lewd conversation at last evening’s dinner, and worried my lip. ‘Of course,’ I agreed, though I would do no such thing. The last thing Mr Reeves needed was to fly into a chivalric rage over some vulgar slight by Lord Stanton to me, and lose his position of trust with His Lordship.

  ‘Good day then, Miss Swan.’

  ‘Good day, Mr Reeves.’

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday 16th June 1813

  Over the next few days, on my morning constitutional walks, I was met in the maze by Mr Reeves. It transpired that he was staying in the vicarage not far from Stanton, the vicar being his cousin on his father’s side.

  On these walks Mr Reeves would regale me in tales of His Lordship’s tenants as well as vicar and his wife. I had naturally seen them at the church on a Sunday, but I’d been granted no formal introduction. The wife was by all accounts a naturally gregarious woman, gifted at healing, who seemed quite at odds with her stern and pious husband. It amused Jonathan, as much as I, that her light spirit contrasted so starkly with her husband’s, and we made jest of the union between them.

  I find Vicar Reeves’ sermons most pious. Last Sunday, he had, perhaps, lingered overlong on history of Job, a biblical tale I feel focuses too heavily on heavenly retribution rather than worldly good deeds and salvation. It irritated me, as I believe there are many more pertinent chapters in the Bible to be used in the presence of Lord Stanton than those Vicar Reeves had chosen. After the two hour-long sermon (during which Lord Stanton actually fell asleep!), I could understand why Mr Reeves took leave of the vicarage early in the day. If indeed Vicar Reeves was as tiresome in conversation as he was in sermon, I’d scarcely be able to keep my eyes open at breakfast.

  This morning on our walk, I had just thought to enlighten my companion to this amusing thought when a sound most ill fitting our walk reached my ears. A grunt and a cry, followed by the unmistakeable symphony of flesh against flesh.

  ‘Nancy …’ I heard the scoundrel mutter.

  ‘Oh yes!’ she giggled in reply.

  I froze in the morning sun, and there was no way I could hide my reaction to the sound. Nor could I ignore poor Mr Reeves’ expression of mounting shock. I looked to my left; we had long passed the maze and the walled kitchen gardens, and were now at the orangery. The door to the orangery was open wide, and the sounds of rut came loud and shameful from it.

  ‘Good God!’ Mr Reeves cursed. ‘Who in Heaven’s name is that?’

  ‘What?’ I said, taking his arm and offering it a none-too-gentle tug. ‘I can’t hear anything. Let us return to the maze, I believe I saw a peony flower’ It was a shamefully weak lie, but I could not allow Mr Reeves of all people to witness the magnitude of scandal that occurs within Stanton.

  He seemed as immovable as stone however, and looked sternly towards the orangery. ‘Who the devil would dare behave so? Miss Swan, I suggest you return to the house. I’ll call this rutting devil out!’

  I felt verily sick. ‘No, Mr Reeves, really, we ought visit the peonies!’ My tone changed to pleading.

  If Mr Reeves discovered Lord Stanton in flagrante delicto with the wet nurse, no doubt he would insist that I return to London and my father immediately. I loathed the notion of returning to our decaying terrace there. Of course, in time, I would find another position as go
verness, but one that offered me such handsome recompense? It was unlikely – especially so with the wars in France and their effect upon the economy.

  So stunned was I by this realisation that I had an inopportune moment of lamentation. How quickly I had forgone my moral virtue for money!

  ‘Curse the peonies, Miss Swan! No doubt you have a randy footman and slattern maid who must be outed. Such behaviour during hours of employment, I cannot fathom.’

  I could fathom it – had I not touched myself and eased those same feelings during daylight hours? I looked askance at Mr Reeves’ impossibly deploring expression and wondered, wickedly, if he would ever do so.

  ‘I have no notion of what you speak. Come, Mr Reeves, it is time we returned to the house.’

  Mr Reeves looked at me astonished then back towards the open orangery door. ‘I call you out sir!’ he bellowed.

  The sounds of rut instantly ceased. The garden grew quiet, except for the loud hammering of my heart and the untimely commencement of birdsong.

  ‘Mr Reeves!’ I cried in dismay. ‘We must go.’

  ‘Not until I’ve seen this randy goat out. I know Stanton is a man of certain reputation, but even he could never condone such debauchery during daylight hours.’

  How terribly wrong he was! I felt a maddening urge to laugh. I realised the situation had become urgent, and that insane need to laugh grew. Mr Reeves took a step towards the orangery door, and began to remove his jacket in preparation – I believe – for fisticuffs. I had to stop him discovering how wicked His Lordship was! What a ridiculous situation!

  ‘Oh goodness,’ I cried, feigning a swoon. ‘Mr Reeves, please! I feel suddenly most unwell. Oh! I fear I may fall.’

  True to his sense of chivalry, Mr Reeves turned an anxious eye towards me. ‘Miss Swan?’ he asked, and as he turned from the orangery door I saw Lord Stanton himself, dressed in no more than a shirt, peer out. His hair was dishevelled and, Devil take the man, his shirt front held up by his accursed piece like a pole in a marquee. I caught his eye, and brought a hand to my forehead.

  ‘Mr Reeves, I implore you, your hand! I feel I may faint.’

  ‘Of course Miss Swan.’ Mr Reeves strode towards me, and I saw His devilish Lordship offer me a quick wink and nod before receding into green haven of the orangery once more.

  The relief nearly made me giggle. Mr Reeves must have thought me slightly mad, but he took my arm and offered his strength as I continued to feign a pathetic weakness in order to ensure his assistance. He threw an annoyed glanced back at the now-silent orangery. ‘Well, at least the filthy beggars have stalled their indecency for now. I take heart from that. Make no mistake, I shall be speaking to Lord Stanton about this.’

  I coughed to disguise another insane giggle. ‘Really, I have no notion what you speak of. Truly, I heard nothing out of the ordinary,’ I lied.

  In truth, poor Mr Reeves looked at me if I were destined for Bedlam – it lasted but a moment, however, before his gaze softened. ‘Dear Miss Swan, you must indeed be feeling unwell. Let me take you back to the house.’

  * * *

  This night, I found another golden guinea on my bureau, beside another of His Lordship’s cards. This time, penned in a lovely hand were the words:

  Thank you.

  Well, dearest reader, what I have become? Accepting coin for silence, does it make my ears whores?

  ****

  Friday 18th June 1813

  Well, what scandal! I had thought in my naivete that I had seen it all – clearly I was mistaken. What I have seen this day hardly compares in its grotesquery.

  Again I was plagued by that awful longing betwixt my legs. I have grown in strength however, to deny those urges when awakened – but as my charges napped, I found I could not find respite in my rooms. My sex on these occasions becomes dewy, and thoughts of amoral scenes cross my mind. I find that a brisk walk is one of the few things that can rid me of the thoughts and longings. So I took myself for a stroll this afternoon.

  I took myself about the gardens to little avail, and thus returned to the library in the belief that a novel or some other form of mind-improving literature may ease me.

  For all Lord Stanton’s faults, I admit that his library at Stanton is a marvellous one, the books and room of an excellent sort. Most times when in the library, I have searched out books that may assist in my teaching of the children, rather than for my own enjoyment. However, today I found myself browsing a shelf, only to discover a book that had not been replaced. This in itself was highly unusual, as the staff at Stanton usually leave nothing out of its place. The book lay innocently enough on the shelf. Habit bade me to pick it up, and return it to its correct position. It was heavy and clearly well-thumbed. I looked at the author, and frowned; the name was unfamiliar. Quite curious now, I opened it to discover what manner of book it was. It was a book of poetry. I am fond of fine poetry. I often find that it eases the fractious mind through its thought-provoking stanzas and beautifully scripted rhymes.

  Absently I turned a page and read ‘An Essay on a Woman’, by a man named Wilkes. I vaguely remembered the name from somewhere, but I was not strong with late century poets in my personal repertoire. Intent upon my reading, I stepped back from the bookshelf to get better light from the window, while my mind began registering the words on the page. Throbbing panting breasts… pricks, cunts… hymen bursting. Words I had never thought to see written upon a page. My heart started to pound and my body roared with heat. Scandalous words, words I’d scarcely ever heard uttered filtered into my mind, making my sex swell with longing. My hands tightened about the book, my eyes absorbing each terrible word with incredible speed. I found myself unable to withdraw from the text, and it was at that most inopportune of times the door to the library opened.

  My heart stuttered, and I looked in abject horror from the door to the scandalous book in my hands. Lord preserve me! No one should ever see me reading such content. I had a moment of pure debility, in which I found myself unable to release the book and put it back. After a second, I scampered backward towards the window curtains, for the time to return the book to its shelf had passed.

  As I covered myself behind the curtains, I instantly regretted my decision to hide. I ought just have placed the book back on the shelf and gone about my business. No one would be the wiser, unless they took abnormal interest in the readings of a governess. Now however, I was hiding behind curtains with the incriminating book. What a fool!

  I glanced down at the book again, as the sounds of footfall and the door closing reached my ears. As I have mentioned, my treacherous and weak will towards the desires of my loins has been fuelled of late, and shall be no doubt ignited further by the content of that wicked book.

  The new occupants of the library let out feminine laughter.

  ‘You are looking very fine this day, Bess.’ The voice was that of Her Ladyship.

  ‘Why thank you Ceecee.’ There was laughter in Miller’s voice. ‘Pray, why have you taken me from my duties?’

  ‘Taken you from your duties?’ Her Ladyship tutted, ‘I am your duty.’

  ‘So you are.’ There was more conspiratorial laughter.

  What could she possibly mean? Then I recognised them – the voices, that is. The same teasing tone. I understood at that moment that Her Ladyship had been speaking with Miller the first time I had overheard that peculiar conversation.

  I found myself creeping closer to the gap in the curtains to see them, then instantly wished I had not – for the sight that met mine eyes was one I could never have imagined, not even in a Sapphic poem.

  Her Ladyship’s hands dwelt, most inappropriately, upon the bust of Miller. Lady Stanton’s small, white hands, bedecked with several shimmering rings, folded themselves around the breasts of her maid as if sampling some round, ripe fruit.

  ‘You are such a balm to me, Bess,’ she whispered, and brought her lips to the throat of her maid, just above her collar. ‘I know not what I should do without you.’ />
  Her words were spoken so softly and with such thick emotion, I felt a reciprocal pity for the lady swell in my bosom. I watched Miller then, her eyes fallen to half-mast. She lowered her head, and captured her mistress’ face in her hands.

  ‘Ceecee, you should do well enough without me, I am certain,’ she said, then lowered her head and kissed her mistress. Their lips touched tenderly, before the act deepened with desire.

  I watched it this interaction with fascination and amazement. One of the ladies, I knew not which, moaned. There was as much affection within this scene as passion – something I hadn’t even imagined could exist betwixt two women.

  ‘You know how things are, Bess. If it weren’t for you and the children… I’d…’ Lady Stanton whispered, and was silenced by Miller’s lips once more. ‘Let me love you, let me show you how very much I care for you.’

  Miller offered Her Ladyship a genuine smile. ‘I have always known how your marriage is, and I shall always offer you solace. I always have. You need not act out your affections, for I know them, and reciprocate them.’

  Her Ladyship shook her head. ‘I love you, Bess, and this day shall be yours. I want to see you lose your sensibility while I kiss you betwixt those delectable thighs,’ Lady Stanton whispered, her hands finding their way to the twin mounds of her maid’s bust once more.

  Well, this was quite the wicked revelation! I had thought I had verily seen and heard all in my short employ at Stanton. Clearly, I was mistaken. I could not believe that Her Ladyship wished to kiss her maid there, in that most forbidden place. I had not even thought such an act existed. What would it taste like? I wondered. And heaven forbid, what would it feel like?

  Then, for just the briefest of moments, I imagined Mr Reeves doing such to me. My loins wetted and I bit my lip. Would Mr Reeves taste and kiss my secret dew, as Lady Stanton so clearly wished to do to her maid? What would he say? Longing verily rocked my body. I wanted him to do as such, I realised. Heavens forgive me.

  Curiosity be damned, but I had to see this scene. So I craned my neck to observe them better. Miller’s own hands left her sides, and curled around Her Ladyship’s breeding belly. They embraced a long moment, the maid, taller than her mistress, offering solace and comfort. As well she should. Her Ladyship must indeed need it, married to a cad such as Stanton.