The Observations of a Curious Governess

by Viveka Portman

  He placed me down, and I took in the swept-clean floorboards, some of which needed replacing. There was an old faded couch, upon which a white sheet had been draped, so that I may recline upon it. I walked about the room, noticing the light play through the dirty windows. The old curtains still hung by the windows; they were red velvet once, I suspected. One day, I should be mistress of this modest but fine home, and I would replace the red with striped blue damask.

  My heart grew suddenly grew heavy. Ten years was a very long time indeed.

  I thought again of all the extra income I had been offered, and how those monies may assist my own dream. Yet I would not deny my sisters a future. I could not. If I could perhaps give my sisters what I earned under the original terms of my employ, and keep the supplements for a future with Jonathan… but would that assist in any significant way? After all, how could I possibly explain the increase in funds without arousing suspicion? It was a terrible situation, to be certain.

  I bit my lip; those irrepressible tears seemed to burn behind my eyes again. Jonathan looked at me then and swept me back into his arms. He squeezed me to him, kissing my cheek and stroking my neck.

  ‘Oh, my darling Martha, please do not be sad.’

  ‘Ten years, Jonathan …’ my voice broke. ‘Ten years …’

  He shushed me gently and carried me to the couch. ‘Do not think of those ten years. Think of now, my darling. Now we are together, in our home. Now – and we shall come here as often as we may …’

  I closed my eyes and envisioned the room as I should have it, carpets on the floors, paintings upon those walls. There would be no peeling paper, no dust or cracked plaster. We would sit there, Mr Reeves and I, and speak of intelligent matters, laugh and entertain. It would be wonderful.

  I reached up and curled my fingers through his hair, drawing him down upon me. My sex slickened to feel his rigid phallus against me.

  ‘Oh Jonathan, this is too much. Too much for me to take,’ I moaned and kissed him, tasting his sweetened lips again.

  ‘Martha … I …’ I could hear the reluctance in his voice.

  ‘You are not going to deny me in our own home are you?’ I teased.

  He broke away and smiled at me then. ‘No, I should never do such a thing.’

  We disrobed completely on this occasion, Mr Reeves taking the time to carefully untie my dress and laces, whilst I took my leisure undressing him. His chest was more beautiful than a sculpture. It was broad, dusted but lightly with dark hair, and it narrowed to his hips which gave way to strong, muscular legs. Indeed, he could have been my very own Achilles and I his willing Penthesilea.

  When I stood naked before him, and he before me, I had a moment of pure revelation. There was nothing tainted about our union. We were married within our hearts. For that one moment, I cared not if we were discovered, for I was not ashamed of what I felt or what I did with Mr Reeves. I was his betrothed, and he was mine. I cared not for the formality or public declarations.

  Swiftly, Mr Reeves moved down upon me as I reclined on the couch. My quim was swollen and slick with need, I verily craved to feel his thick member imbedded there and to lose my sensibilities in his passionate rut.

  ‘Please,’ I whispered, as his hands slipped between us and fondled gently that secret wet place. ‘Oh please, do not delay.’

  He smiled, and settled down atop me more comfortably now, his weight easing my legs apart and his staff nestled close to my opening. He bowed his head and kissed my forehead, before his body surged like a tide and I found myself sharply, but sweetly, impaled.

  My sex was still unused to such things, but I relished the short discomfort and welcomed him with a gentle gasp. Jonathan did the same, and lingered there, still and locked within my opening, until I relaxed about him and we finally began our dance. Like some primal dancer he moved slickly in and out. I could feel myself stretched on each entry, and that bright need intensified on each occasion. I looked up at Jonathan as he gazed down upon me.

  ‘You are my Heaven on this Earth Martha,’ he whispered, his brow creased in pleasurable concentration. ‘My, sweet, tight, warm Heaven.’

  He gave a more forceful lunge, which pushed a cry from my body. His movements became faster and harder; our derelict home echoed with the symphony of our pleasures. Flesh sounding against flesh, beating like a timpani drum, accompanied by the musical moans and gasps such furious coupling elicited.

  It was not long, not long at all, before quite involuntarily my sex began to contract, and with each thrust he speared that sweet place high in my body. I began to writhe, climbing ever closer to that elusive height from which I could fall into mindless sensuality. Our rut grew wilder; no pretence was made of gentility or sensibility. I clawed at his back, urging him to beat into my body harder so that I may reach my crisis. He obliged me eagerly and within a heartbeat the heavens broke. Pleasurable oblivion rained down upon us as we rode wave after wave of mindless pleasure.

  For a time after, we were both wracked with small remnant paroxysms of sparkling desire. We lay chest to chest, relishing the sensation of weight and satiation within each other.

  ‘I love you, Martha,’ he said, though I could scarcely hear him above the roar of blood through my body. I smiled at him, through half-lowered lids – unable to answer, just yet.

  Finally, when I felt able to speak, I was about to offer reciprocal words of affection when a horrified cry began to crawl up my throat in their stead.

  Chapter 7

  Dearest reader, I could not have been more mortified. There is no possible circumstance that could cause a lady more distress as this. As my eyes rose, they were met by the capricious and knowing gaze of none other than Mrs Maria Reeves, the vicar’s wife.

  ‘Well, this is certainly not what I expected to find,’ she said curtly, her lips a grim line of disapproval.

  ‘Mrs Reeves,’ Jonathan gasped, pulling himself from me and dragging the sheet to cover us both. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I wished to speak with you, Mr Reeves,’ she replied, a cold flicker in her eyes.

  Jonathan inhaled sharply, which acted to broaden his impressive chest. ‘Then you could do so when I return to the vicarage. You need not follow me about in this most unbecoming and peculiar fashion!’

  He angled his body as so to protect me from her view. From this vantage, I could see her face was growing red, though with embarrassment or fury, I couldn’t yet discern. For certain, this did not appear to be the gregariously natured lady whom Jonathan had spoken of. I understood and accepted that they possessed an unusual camaraderie, rarely seen betwixt men and women. The stories Jonathan told of Mrs Reeves’ penchant for laughter and mischief were a joy to hear, but now, seeing her thus - I couldn’t wonder about something else.

  Mrs Reeves cleared her throat. ‘My manner has been neither unbecoming nor peculiar,’ she retorted. ‘I had thought to see what you two were up to. I couldn’t mistake the look in Miss Swan’s eyes when she captured sight of you at church, and when you both disappeared so mysteriously down the lane … well, I thought I ought to check upon you to ensure no vice was undertaken. I see …’ she stared at me, ‘I have come too late.’

  My face bloomed with unwelcome colour, and I could feel Jonathan tense beside me.

  ‘I would be much obliged if you left immediately,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Oh, I am certain you would be, but I shall not be leaving, not just yet. I have matters most pressing which need be discussed.’

  I could feel Jonathan’s seed spill from my sex as I jerked upwards in mortification at her words. The sensation brought yet another hot crushing wave of humiliation down upon me, and I meekly clutched the sheet where I could. Reader, I still burn red thinking about that moment, even as I write, after the event.

  ‘The time for speaking is not now. Please leave.’ Jonathan’s voice was distant.

  ‘I shall when I am ready, Jonathan. First, however, I wish to speak with … you
both.’ Her blue eyes sparkled as they caught mine, and my cheeks burned anew.

  ‘If you are so damnably adamant, at least give us a moment to dress. This is highly unbefitting for us all.’

  ‘Oh, indeed. I must agree.’ Mrs Reeves smiled wickedly. ‘And I shall allow you a moment to dress, indeed I shall.’

  With that she turned and walked from the room, the soft sweep of her skirts echoing behind as she quietly closed the dry, rotten door.

  We said nothing a moment, before Jonathan broke the silence.

  ‘I am so very sorry, Miss Swan,’ he said, and stroked my cheek. ‘I had no notion we were followed. I had thought I was careful but …’

  I sighed, trying to stem the rolling nausea in my belly. ‘We are both at fault. We should have locked the door.’

  ‘There are no keys. I shall have to get a locksmith to do that for another time.’

  ‘Indeed, if there ever is another time,’ I said.

  Jonathan’s hands found mine and he gave them a firm squeeze. ‘It will be alright, dearest. I shall never allow this disgrace to mark you or your name. Trust me,’ he implored.

  Looking into those dark sincere eyes, I could answer in only one way. ‘I do. Implicitly,’ I said.

  ‘Then come, allow me to help you dress. I sense Mrs Maria Reeves shall not wait overlong. She is many things, but patient she is not.’

  I cringed. My heart seemed to be having terrified paroxysms in my chest, and I kept revisiting the terrible moment that Mrs Reeves entered.

  It took a short time, and soon we were appropriately attired, if not inappropriately dishevelled. As if through some peculiar knowledge, Mrs Reeves entered immediately after. She looked at us and I fear my head fell low with my shame.

  ‘There, there,’ she said and took my hand, patting it comfortingly. ‘You are not the first, nor the last I fear, to fall for the charms of Jonathan Reeves.’

  I looked at her, slightly startled. What could she possibly mean? I stole a glance towards Jonathan and he frowned deeply.

  ‘Has he promised you passion? A future?’ she asked, her eyes knowing and shrewd. I looked from her face to Jonathan’s, to find his colour turning ashen.

  ‘Mr Reeves?’ I asked very softly. ‘Whatever does she mean?’

  Jonathan’s eyes grew guarded. ‘I cannot fathom her meaning.’

  ‘Can you not?’ she replied archly.

  ‘No, madam. I cannot,’ he retorted, the first indications of anger making their appearance in his tone.

  ‘Well, for that I am wounded,’ Mrs Reeves said, then turned to address me. ‘Miss Swan, has this gentleman – though I hesitate to use the word – promised you his hand?’ she asked.

  I said nothing, but my silence was taken for assent.

  ‘So he did me, many years ago, before I married his cousin.’

  I couldn’t abstain from a sharp inhalation of breath at her words. This was indeed news to me!

  ‘He promised me that he would save money for our future. He made me think we had one.’

  My heart renewed its wild tattoo. I couldn’t look at Jonathan. I couldn’t.

  ‘Maria …’ he said, softly, warningly.

  ‘Allow me to finish, Jonathan,’ she snapped. ‘You have taken your ruse further with Miss Swan than you ever did with I – still, this is my Christian duty. She ought to know your true intentions do not involve matrimony at all.’

  ‘That is untrue,’ he growled, fists clenching by his sides. ‘I love Miss Swan. I will marry her as soon as I can finance a good home for her.’

  ‘You loved me once,’ Mrs Reeves spoke softly. ‘You told me so.’

  I started at this. I had known Mr Reeves verily all my life and could never recall him in love with any young lady. I hesitated at this thought. No, I was wrong, there had been another lady, a Miss Stanley if I was correct. When I was at Mrs Cadwell’s Academy, there had been a hint of trouble, and I had not seen Mr Reeves for some time after. I was, of course, resigned by that stage to my lot and did not think much on it. Besides, I made a concerted effort to be far too busy with my books and learning to worry over the goings-on of my neighbours. Yet, I couldn’t recall the lady’s first name…

  ‘Maria,’ he said softly. ‘We were terribly young.’

  Miss Maria Stanley! How could I have forgotten?

  ‘Yet you promised me a future,’ she retorted.

  ‘Your father refused my offer, and my father forbade me. There was naught else I could do.’

  ‘We could have gone to Gretna Green,’ she whispered.

  Good Lord in Heaven! I felt utterly wretched at these words. Had she truly loved Mr Reeves enough to flee and shame her family at Gretna Green? How could she bear to have him under her roof now, when married to another man? Had she wept, pined and touched herself for the man she’d lost as he slept under her marital roof? Did all this happen whilst I lay in my bed at Stanton and did the same?

  ‘We could have eloped, to be sure - but as I recall, you swiftly left and married my cousin instead.’

  She gasped, and an expression of utter outrage coloured her pretty face.

  It was, I confess, too much for me to take. I felt so sickened, so terribly ashamed.

  ‘Enough,’ I gasped, looking wildly around for my bonnet. ‘I have simply heard enough!’

  I espied my bonnet upon the floor and I lurched to grab it.

  Mr Reeves’ face contorted with some indefinable emotion as I did so.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I whispered, and moved to leave. I needed space, I needed to think, to consider these things I had heard.

  ‘Martha, please, don’t go. We ought to discuss this,’ Mr Reeves implored and grasped my hand tightly, forbidding escape. I looked at him longingly. How I wished that the circumstances were different! I wished that devilish Mrs Maria Reeves were not there, and had not made her terrible confession to me. How I wished I could have lain longer in ignorance.

  But I am not ignorant, and I am no fool.

  I stared down at his hand capturing mine. ‘Release me at once, sir!’ I said, and tugged my arm. He released me as if stung.

  I did not wait to hear what was said next. I fled, through the woodlands and back to my rooms at Stanton, to exhaust myself with tears.

  ****

  I fear I was in something of a state that evening, my low spirits obvious and impossible to raise. My inability to feign enjoyment in my meal aroused great curiosity in my employers and my young charge, who seemed genuinely perturbed by my lack of humour.

  Nanny came to take young Master Alexander not long after the sweet course, which left me with the Lord and Ladyship. I fear my eyes were reddened from my weeping.

  ‘Miss Swan, do you fare ill? I should have asked earlier, but did not want to do so in front of Alexander,’ Lady Stanton asked.

  I looked down at my untouched plate of pudding. ‘Why, thank you, Lady Stanton. I am … under the weather, perhaps,’ I suggested. ‘The sun was too strong on my stroll from church this morning.’

  Lady Stanton nodded sagely. ‘I do not know how anyone can bear the summer sun.’ She looked towards her husband with eyes as unreadable as an ancient text.

  Lord Stanton’s glittering eyes met mine, as if he were trying to decipher some peculiar meaning. ‘I trust you will be well, then?’ Or ought I call for the physician?’ he added. There was, perhaps, a minute expression of amusement that glittered in his eyes. The rogue – what did he mean by it?

  ‘Indeed, no. An early night and I shall be well by morning. Thank you.’

  I did not tarry long after the meal, but returned to my room and prayed for a good night of sleep – which, unsurprisingly, evaded me. I am very sorry to write it, dear reader, but for a week after that terribly humiliating incident with Mrs Reeves I was lost – lost in my own maudlin musings and heartbreak.

  Naturally, Mr Reeves continued to come to Stanton to conduct his business with His Lordship, but I avoided him. Thus, I refused to take my morning constitutionals and spent lon
g – interminably long – hours in the library, throwing myself into lesson development for my charges. If anything positive came from that dismal week, it was the high quality of my charges’ learning. They thrived under my fastidious attention and care. I slept fitfully, and when I did I was confronted by dreams of a most carnal and obscene nature. Inevitably, I would wake more exhausted than before.

  ****

  Sunday 25th July 1813

  Lord Stanton’s birthday party came and went yesterday, and I found benefit in the timely chaos that it created. The activity surrounding the occasion was a most welcome distraction. The house veritably rang with the sounds of extra staff; at times there was so much noise I forgot I was not in London. This activity kept my mind from straying to those subjects my heart bled to reflect upon. My charges understandably were wild for disruptions, and suffered from an overabundance of energy which left me with very little by the end of a day. I believe I was not alone in finding the party a blessed interruption from our standard lives. For afterwards, I noticed a most significant shift in the cordiality betwixt His Lordship and Her Ladyship – a most pleasing turn of events.

  Despite their having the party within Stanton’s grounds, I naturally did not attend. Instead, I attempted to give lessons in the nursery of the house, so that the children were suitably entertained and did not disturb the guests in the revelry. The party was surprisingly quiet and refined. I had expected something rowdier perhaps, yet those friends and acquaintances of the Stantons who I observed from the nursery window seemed very proper and gentile – not at all as I would have imagined Lord Stanton’s acquaintances to be.

  Of Lord and Lady Stanton that day I saw naught – not even at supper. I heard some sort of a ruckus downstairs, when a young lady appeared to faint after observing the paintings on the landing, but I do not know the particulars and nothing has been spoken of it since.

  This morning, however, with cleaning and tidying to be done, no one from the Stanton household seemed moved to attend Sunday services. For myself, however, I personally had no excuse, having not overindulged the day before – but I did not wish go, lest I see the unwelcome spectre of Mrs Maria Reeves, and her peculiar style of gloating. I am certain the good Lord will forgive me on this occasion, the sorry sinner that I am. My melancholia at Mrs Maria Reeves’ revelations has not abated.