by Syrie James
It had a kind of graceful old-world elegance about it. Her family’s new home in New York City seemed cold and brash in comparison. Overall, though, the effect was that of a stylish grand dame holding her head high despite wearing shabby clothes.
My father never did much except drink, gamble, spend money like water, and chase after women. Longford’s statement had even deeper impact now that Alexandra knew the full circumstances. Polperran was a fine old house that was deteriorating, and looked like it had been stripped of some of its saleable belongings. Like so many of the peers she’d met during the Season, Longford’s fortune had clearly been compromised.
“Would you care for something to eat, Your Lordship?” Mrs. Mitchell’s voice interrupted Alexandra’s musings. She noticed that the butler had exited.
“I shall wait for supper,” Longford replied. “I leave it to you, Mrs. Mitchell, to get Miss Watson settled.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Miss Watson, you are in good hands. Mrs. Mitchell has been with us for—how long is it now?”
“Over thirty years, my lord. Since before you were born.”
“And how lucky we are to have you at the helm,” Longford replied sincerely. With a brief nod to Alexandra, he added, “If you will excuse me, I have much to attend to.”
Mrs. Mitchell dipped a curtsy. Alexandra’s training leapt to her aid, reminding her that she was a governess in the presence of a peer. She similarly curtsied as Longford turned and left the room through an adjoining door, leaving her alone with Mrs. Mitchell.
“Well, Miss Watson,” commented Mrs. Mitchell, looking Alexandra up and down. “I must say, we’ve never had an American governess before.”
“I’ve never worked in an English household before,” Alexandra admitted.
“Then we shall both be testing new waters. May I show you to your room?”
“If you would, thank you.” Alexandra started for the grand staircase, but Mrs. Mitchell was headed in another direction.
The housekeeper paused and glanced back at Alexandra. “You may use the main stairs whenever you’re accompanying one of the children. Otherwise, it is preferred that you use the servants’ stairs, as we do.”
“I see.” Alexandra’s skin prickled with shame and annoyance. She was in unfamiliar territory and didn’t much like it. The last time she could recall using the servants’ stairs was when she was a child, playing hide-and-seek with her sisters.
“How old is this house?” Alexandra asked, as she followed the housekeeper through a rear door into a sizeable but dingy inner hall.
“The original part of the house dates back to the sixteenth century, before the first earl took residence. It has cellars, but no real basement, so the kitchens and servants’ hall are on the ground floor. Many of the family rooms are upstairs on the first floor, where they have the best views.”
The house, she noticed, had not been updated with gas lighting, unlike the houses she’d visited in town. “How many rooms are there?”
“Fifty-three, though not all of them are open nowadays.”
“It must be difficult,” Alexandra observed tactfully, “to manage so large a house with such a small staff.”
“Oh it isn’t easy, I’ll grant you that. As I’m sure you can guess, we’ve had hard times of late, which call for harsh measures. We’re down to two housemaids and one footman. We’ve managed to hold on to the scullery maid, one stable boy, and a gardener, thank the Lord, and a woman comes in from the village twice weekly to help clean. For years, Mr. Hutchens has served as both butler and valet, and I have a great many more responsibilities than I used to. But we get by. We live more simply these days, no house guests and no parties—there’s just His Lordship and his sisters to think of. When he’s in London, it’s very quiet indeed. But I couldn’t ask for a better master, he treats us well and fair.”
Mrs. Mitchell led the way up a plain, narrow back staircase, continuing, “Now as to your duties. You are to begin tomorrow. The girls’ schedule is as follows: Martha gets them up every morning. Breakfast is served in the nursery at eight thirty a.m. Lessons begin promptly at nine. The girls’ bedtime is eight o’clock, after which you have your evenings free.”
“Am I to be in charge that entire time?”
“Of course. Except for their afternoon rest time. Naturally, you’ll have one Sunday off a month.”
Alexandra’s stomach seized. To be responsible for two girls all day long, every single day, with only one day off a month! It began to dawn on her that she hadn’t thought this through very well.
“Luncheon is served in the nursery at noon, and dinner at five o’clock. As I mentioned, the girls have already dined today, so I’ll have something brought up to your room shortly.”
“So I won’t be eating with the servants? Or with Lord Longford?”
“Dear Lord, no!” Mrs. Mitchell sounded astonished at the very idea. “I don’t know how these things are done in America, Miss Watson, but I imagine you are an educated young lady of the middle or upper class?” She glanced questioningly at Alexandra, who nodded in confirmation. “Well then, you cannot dine with the servants. And His Lordship never dines with his sisters, let alone the governess. He generally takes his meals in his study.”
Alexandra struggled to conceal her disappointment. It sounded like she wouldn’t be seeing very much of His Lordship. And it was becoming more and more clear why he hadn’t had much to say about his sisters. Apparently, he didn’t spend much time with them.
Upon reaching the first floor, Mrs. Mitchell led the way down a corridor past numerous closed doors, finally pausing and opening one of them. “This is the schoolroom.”
“You have a schoolroom?”
“The fifth earl had a large family. Twelve children, ten of them boys, who were educated at home until they came of age or went to university.”
Alexandra glanced in from the threshold. The muted light of early evening shone in through the single window, illuminating a small chamber outfitted with two rows of desks with connected bench seats. A large blackboard rested on an easel. The faded blue walls were bare except for a map of England hanging from a peg. On a low table stood an old globe, several slates, and a small pile of dusty-looking books.
“You may use this room or the nursery for teaching French and such things—I leave that to your discretion.”
French and such things? Alexandra thought it a strange way to describe the curriculum, but the opportunity to ask about it was lost, as Mrs. Mitchell moved rapidly down the hall and entered the next room.
“Here we are. This has always been the nanny’s room, but as we have no young children at Polperran House now, it’s where the governess sleeps.”
The small room was one of the ugliest Alexandra had ever seen. A brass bed outfitted with a thin, faded quilt took up one corner. A cradle occupied another. A frightful wardrobe and dresser that looked hundreds of years old competed for space with two hard-looking chairs, a table, and a writing desk. Numerous small pictures crammed the walls—religious paintings, engravings from books, and ancient embroidery samplers.
The only two bright spots were the fireplace, with its wood mantel and sturdy screen, and a window seat that, framed by fraying draperies, looked out onto a large overgrown garden fronting an expansive green vista.
“I hope you’ll find it comfortable,” Mrs. Mitchell commented.
“I’m sure I will.”
They peeked into the room immediately adjacent, which could be reached both via the hall and through a connecting door. The former night nursery, Mrs. Mitchell explained, it had been converted into a bedroom for Lillie.
Next door to that was the day nursery. Although as old and outdated as the rest of the house, it was a large, airy, light-filled chamber, and one of the nicest rooms Alexandra had seen thus far. Immense windows took up nearly the entire north wall, providing an impressive view of the verdant landscape. The floor was covered by a faded red rug embellished with a gold lattice
pattern. An upright piano held yellowed sheets of music. In the center of the room stood a round table of scarred mahogany, outfitted with four chairs. A large, elegantly outfitted dollhouse stood proudly beside a toy box brimming over with wooden soldiers, dolls in frilly dresses, and other old toys.
This, Alexandra realized with a kind of fascination, was a room where Lord Longford must have passed many hours as a child.
“You will take your meals here with the girls,” Mrs. Mitchell announced, “and may also use it for teaching, as you like. I’m sure you have a curriculum in mind, but the one thing His Lordship insists upon is that they practice the piano for at least an hour every day.”
In fact, Alexandra didn’t have any specific curriculum yet in mind, but she didn’t want Mrs. Mitchell to know that. “Why did the last governess leave?” she heard herself blurt.
Mrs. Mitchell hesitated. “She said she missed her family, so she found a post closer to home.” Returning to the former subject, she went on: “Now, as to afternoon activities for the girls. Fresh air is encouraged, but it goes without saying that they’re not to leave the property at any time without permission from myself or His Lordship, and without you as escort. Lillie is not fond of horses, but Lady Julia likes to ride. The last governess didn’t often allow it, but if you find time in your lesson plans, Lady Julia may take her horse out for an hour or two on the grounds, if the weather is fine.”
“I see.” It struck Alexandra as odd that Mrs. Mitchell referred to Julia as Lady Julia, but referred to the younger, mysteriously missing girl, as simply Lillie. Was it a slip of the tongue?
“I should add,” Mrs. Mitchell went on briskly, “that the horses are for the family’s use only.”
Alexandra said nothing. Although her mother had imposed horseback riding lessons on her and her sisters, believing it was a necessary skill for a member of the British nobility, Alexandra hadn’t taken to riding the way Madeleine and Kathryn had. Even so, she felt her hackles rise at this stipulation, which implied that she was somehow less worthy than the girls she was meant to teach.
The last room Mrs. Mitchell allowed Alexandra to peek into was Julia’s bedroom, just around the corner. It was more luxuriously appointed than Lillie’s, the wallpaper blooming with pink roses. Julia lay on the bed atop the pink satin comforter, looking at a magazine.
“Do you mind? I am reading.” Julia glared at them in annoyance. “Close the door, would you?”
“Yes, my lady.” Mrs. Mitchell shut the door with a sigh. “Well, Miss Watson,” she commented as they moved back down the hall, “you must be tired after your journey. Would you like to rest, or shall I call for your dinner?”
Alexandra realized that, despite her nap in the carriage, she was indeed tired. It had been a long day. “Dinner would be very much appreciated, thank you. I think I’ll go to bed shortly after.”
“I’ll have something sent up immediately.” Reaching Alexandra’s room, Mrs. Mitchell paused. “Normally, this is the moment where I’d say, ‘I’ll leave you to settle in.’ But as you have nothing to unpack . . .”
“About that,” Alexandra interjected. “I should probably explain: all my things were recently stolen. I have nothing but the clothes on my back. Even this hat is on loan from Lord Longford’s landlady in London.” As soon as she uttered the last phrase, Alexandra wondered if she’d made a blunder. Was it known that he rented rooms while in town? But Mrs. Mitchell didn’t even blink.
“There’s no need for explanations, Miss Watson. His Lordship has already given Mr. Hutchens and myself an overview of your circumstances, and requested that I make you as comfortable as possible.”
“Did he?” That was thoughtful.
“I’ll take a look in the servants’ cupboard, to see if one of the maids who used to work here left behind a nightdress. I’ll round up a few other things as well.”
“Thank you.”
Martha soon appeared with broth and sandwiches. By now, the sun had set, and the fireless room had grown chilly. Even the shawl Alexandra had bought in London wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Finding an extra quilt in a drawer, she wrapped herself in it and ate by the light of a single candle at the corner table.
When she’d finished her meal, Mrs. Mitchell returned with a white cotton nightgown that, although plain and well-worn, looked clean. She also gave Alexandra three embroidered handkerchiefs, an old handbag, and a gold-rimmed hairbrush and comb, which she said had belonged to the late Countess of Longford.
Alexandra expressed her thanks, then said, “It’s so cold. Is it possible to have a fire in my room?”
Mrs. Mitchell frowned. “His Lordship has requested that we only light fires in rooms as necessary. Since you’re about to retire, I see no need. I’m sure two quilts on the bed will suffice.” She turned for the door.
Such frugality! Alexandra wasn’t accustomed to it. “Before you go, could we try to find Lillie? I’d love to meet her before I turn in for the night.”
“There’s no telling where Lillie might be hiding, Miss Watson. She’s old enough to put herself to bed. You’ll just have to wait until morning to meet her.”
Chapter Nine
Anxiety combined with unfamiliar surroundings caused sleep to evade Alexandra for many long hours. It seemed that she’d finally just drifted off when she was startled back into consciousness by a loud wail.
She lay in bed for some minutes, listening. It soon became apparent that someone was crying. Bitterly. It was coming from the room next door.
Throwing back the covers, Alexandra rose and wrapped herself in her shawl. Treading cautiously in the darkness, she moved to the connecting door that led to Lillie’s room, but found it locked. On the other side of the wall, Alexandra heard a sharp female voice, although she couldn’t make out the words. The sobbing ended abruptly.
Alexandra issued out into the hall, where she met Mrs. Mitchell in her dressing gown and cap, carrying a candle. “Was that Lillie crying?”
“She just had one of her nightmares,” Mrs. Mitchell stated matter-of-factly. “She’s fine now. You may go back to bed.” With that, she headed down the hall toward the back stairs.
Alexandra stood there, awash with curiosity. Lillie was in her room at that very moment. The temptation to open her bedroom door and sneak a peek was almost irresistible. But Alexandra worried that such an intrusive step by a total stranger might frighten the girl more than the nightmare that had already disrupted her sleep.
Alexandra returned to her own room and climbed into bed, shivering beneath the quilts as she pondered the realities of her new circumstances.
She was employed by an earl who was evidently broke and leading a double life. She was to be in charge of a fifteen-year-old girl who’d hated her on sight, and a twelve-year-old girl who suffered from nightmares and was too shy to show her face. She was to live in an ancient, deteriorating house, in a kind of limbo—neither a servant nor a member of the family. Her wages were a pittance. Her wardrobe was stultifyingly plain.
What a mortifying descent from all that she’d known previously!
Worse—far worse—than any of the material discomforts was the knowledge that for three long months, she would have to continue pretending to be someone she was not. And for all that time, she would be separated from sisters.
Alexandra sighed as she lay back against her pillow. It wouldn’t do any good to feel sorry for herself. One of her father’s maxims suddenly came to mind: “The best cure for depression is hard work.” That was the ticket. Tomorrow, she’d find out what the last governess was teaching, and come up with some kind of plan.
And hopefully, she’d meet the mysterious Lillie.
Alexandra was awakened by the sound of heavy draperies being thrust open.
“Good mornin’, miss,” Martha said, before quickly disappearing from the room.
Outside the window, the morning sky was a vibrant, cloudless blue. Alexandra rubbed her eyes and yawned.
She’d just been having a dre
am, which still hovered, web-like, at the corners of her consciousness. It was so lovely, she struggled to remember it. She’d been in a beautiful green park, strolling with a man. A faceless stranger, but someone she adored. They’d been having a pleasant conversation, talking and laughing.
He’d stopped and had gently drawn her close. Then he’d kissed her.
Not that Alexandra knew much about kisses. But her imagination had conjured up something delightful. In the dream, the man’s lips had pressed against hers softly and tenderly. Something low and deep inside Alexandra warmed even now at the memory of it.
A sudden, new awareness made Alexandra gasp aloud. It wasn’t a faceless stranger who’d kissed her. The man in her dream was Thomas Carlyle, the seventh Earl of Longford.
Alexandra’s cheeks flooded with heat as she curled up in bed, sternly reprimanding herself. Why was her subconscious mind inventing romantic interludes between them? Such thoughts and dreams were unwelcome. She didn’t want to be kissing anyone.
Yes, she was attracted to him—but the attraction was certainly one-sided. They might have enjoyed a few conversations in town and on the train, but the closer they’d gotten to Polperran House, the more moody and aloof he’d become. He’d seemed relieved to turn her over to Mrs. Mitchell the moment they’d arrived.
Besides which, she worked for him now. She had to maintain a certain distance from him, remain professional. Jane Eyre notwithstanding, it was against some unwritten rule for a governess to become romantically involved with her employer.
Even though she wasn’t really a governess. Even though she was an heiress to an immense fortune, which gave her a pedigree in her own right, considered by many as the American equivalent to an English noblewoman.
As Alexandra rose and got dressed, she pondered the problem. She’d taken this job with the best of intentions, but she was here under false pretenses. If only she could tell Longford who she really was, it would be such a weight off her conscience. It had been too risky to tell him in London. Instead of paying for her to stay at Mrs. Gill’s, he would have surely sent her packing. But now that she was in Cornwall, hundreds of miles away from her mother’s grasp, would it be safe to reveal her true identity?