“The master is away a lot, and it’s quiet then.” The girl shrugged. “It might be worse. Although lately …” Dorcas cast a swift glance at the door.
“Lately?” Vanessa prompted.
“I must fetch the toast.” Dorcas hurried out.
Plate in hand, Vanessa wandered along the row of silver chafing dishes, stacked with eggs, slices of bacon, sausages, kedgeree and devilled kidneys. Blythe came in wearing a white pinafore over a blue and white dress with a dropped waist. She was fast outgrowing it, for the skirt didn’t cover her knees.
“My, you do look pretty this morning, Miss Blythe,” Vanessa couldn’t help saying. Her skin was the color and texture of a peach. The child would surely grow up to be a beauty.
“Good morning, Miss Ashley.” She tugged at her skirt.
Vanessa examined the hem. “If we have it let down, you’ll get another season’s wear out of it.”
“Oh? I’d like that.”
“Do you fancy some of these scrambled eggs? I’m sure they’re delicious.”
“No, thank you.” Blythe selected a roll and went to sit at the table.
“We begin English studies later in the morning, after I’ve seen your father.” Vanessa sat opposite. She put a forkful of egg into her mouth, savoring the buttery flavor.
Blythe screwed up her nose. “Miss Lillicrop was fond of poetry. She read it a lot.”
“Yes, poetry is important but literature is also.” Vanessa wondered if Miss Lillicrop had taught botany. She seemed to have a fine grasp of entomology for she drew beautiful butterflies in exquisite detail.
Mrs. Royce made another appearance. “Your father insists you eat eggs for breakfast, Miss Blythe. And be sure to drink your milk.” She motioned to the maid. “Serve Miss Blythe some eggs.”
Blythe’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I don’t like eggs.”
Mrs. Royce said, “But you know you have not been well. The doctor has instructed an egg a day.”
Vanessa gave Blythe a reassuring smile. “I’ll see you in the schoolroom at eleven.” She put down her napkin and pushed back her chair. “In the afternoon, we’ll begin a new story, and then you can show me more of the gardens.”
She left the room as Mrs. Royce said, “Please eat some egg, Miss Blythe. If you don’t, I’ll have to inform your father.”
Vanessa remembered passing the library on her first day and located it without difficulty. She entered the room, finding it empty. It was designed for masculine comfort. Bookshelves filled with tomes covered all available wall space. A tan leather chesterfield and two chairs were grouped in front of the fireplace, and a tiger skin covered the floor in front of the hearth. The Times, The Daily Telegraph and the Penny Press lay on a table, and the aroma of cigars and pipe smoke lingered in the air.
A variety of magazines was stacked in a rack. Vanessa sorted through The Gentleman’s Magazine, Punch, The Strand, and the London Sunday Journal. She selected Punch and the Penny Press to take back to her room.
She roamed the shelves searching for suitable books and found several on botany, including one by Lord Falconbridge on Lepidoptera. She piled them onto a mahogany table, along with the books and the notes she’d fetched from her room. Searching further, she spied Plato’s Symposium and climbed the ladder. It was just out of reach. Not wishing to climb down, she leaned across. Her fingers touched the binding, and she leaned farther. She almost had it.
“You read Ancient Greek, Miss Ashley?” Lord Falconbridge asked behind her.
Vanessa jumped, and her foot slipped off the rung. She lost her balance and fell into a pair of strong arms.
He set her on her feet.
The imprint of his touch remained as her heart beat madly. She huffed a wisp of hair from her eyes, sure her face was crimson. “Not with any degree of expertise, my lord.”
His lordship moved the ladder, climbed up, and took down the book she’d been trying to reach. He held it out to her. “Are you all right? I’m sorry I startled you.”
Still thoroughly disconcerted, Vanessa took it. “I’m fine, thank you.”
He moved to the table and looked through the books she’d selected. “You are interested in reading Darwin?” He looked surprised as he put aside Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of the Species. “You aren’t bothered by the religious ramifications of his evolutionary ideas?”
“I have not as yet read it, my lord.”
“When you do, perhaps we can discuss it further. I approve of all of these, except for this one.” He held up a favorite of her mother’s. “Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus. I trust you’re not planning to turn Blythe into a suffragette?”
Discomfiture flooded her face with heat. “It is for my own pleasure, my lord.” She wasn’t aware he knew about her mother.
He gestured to the settee. “Please sit down, Miss Ashley.”
“I thought you might like to see what I have planned.” She gathered up her notes with shaking hands. “This is a list of subjects I intend to cover and the books I brought with me.”
Sitting in a chair, he took the notes and read them. Without comment, he flicked open the books.
She took a deep breath. “My lord, I have to tell you I had not thought of botany. I’ll need some time to prepare.”
“I gathered as much,” he said, without looking up. After several minutes, he closed the books. “These seem appropriate.” He gave a brief smile. “No need to concern yourself. I will teach my daughter botany.”
Then why hadn’t he mentioned it? Did he enjoy making her feel awkward? She bit her lip before a note of outrage escaped. She’d spent hours worrying about botany lessons before falling asleep. She was sure it had caused her disturbed dream. “I would like to learn something of botany, myself. I became quite interested in the subject in Cornwall.”
“You may attend the lessons if you wish.”
“Thank you.”
“Your choice of reading material is unusual, Miss Ashley. I too enjoy reading the Classics. Shakespeare also.”
“Shakespeare is a favorite.”
“Which of his works particularly?”
“Henry V.”
His brows rose. “I would have thought some of Shakespeare’s more romantic plays, As You Like It or Twelfth Night, would better suit your taste.”
“History interests me more than comedy.”
“Indeed.” His blue eyes studied her as he rose. “I think we’ve covered everything. What do you plan for Blythe this afternoon?”
“I understand that Blythe has been under a doctor’s care. I thought a walk in the fresh air would build up her strength.”
“An excellent notion. But please refrain from entering the wood.”
“Poachers, my lord?”
“We have had a poacher or two setting traps in the past, but I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. Some months ago, a young woman from a nearby village went missing. Her body was found in Falconbridge Wood. She had killed herself.”
Vanessa drew in a sharp breath. “How tragic.”
“A very sad matter. It is not spoken of because I’d prefer Blythe not know.” He turned away to the door.
It shut behind him, leaving Vanessa alone. She was horrified. What would cause a woman to do such a thing?
Chapter Three
Vanessa rose before breakfast and dressed in the divided skirt she’d worn when cycling in Cornwall. She rode around the estate enjoying the titter of swallows in the trees, past the gnarled old apple trees, the grass dotted with fallen fruit after the harvest, and along the lime tree walk. The wind had risen in the night, the air sweetly scented with fallen blossoms covering the ground. As she followed the gravel drive, she thought about what she had learned from the Penny Press the night before. It had proved to be an old edition. An article was critical of Queen Victoria’s son, Edward, the Prince of Wales, who led a life of notorious luxury and was known to have had a number of public affairs, most notably with the celebrated beauty and actress,
Lillie Langtry, as well as Mrs. Alice Keppel. The prince had been pursing society beauty, Clara Montague, daughter of the Hon. Clive Montague, cabinet minister, before she married Viscount Falconbridge of Falconbridge Hall. A grainy picture showed an elegant Clara at the Ascot races, wearing a wide-brimmed hat lavishly decorated with feathers and flowers. What a handsome couple Lord and Lady Falconbridge must have made.
Vanessa rode back toward the shed, planning to change before breakfast. She startled two female servants walking up the path. They stopped to stare at her riding by, speaking in hushed voices.
Vanessa hesitated before returning to the house. She hated that she was watched and criticized. She’d never before come under such scrutiny. This world was so formal and so different to the carefree life she’d lived. When she entered the kitchen, talk abruptly ceased only to begin again when she left the room. She straightened her shoulders and refused to let it upset her.
*****
Vanessa and Blythe settled into their routine. Lessons in the morning, lunch followed by a walk in the gardens, and the afternoons taken up with Blythe’s music lesson with a visiting teacher, reading or an art lesson with Vanessa.
When Lord Falconbridge gave notice of a botany lesson at three o’clock, Vanessa decided to attend.
He put on his glasses, stood at the blackboard, and picked up a stick of chalk. “I must confess I know more about Amazonian vegetation than Britain’s flora and fauna.” He turned to the board. “Now we’ll begin with ….”
An hour passed, and the lesson altered focus with Blythe’s insistent questions about his upcoming expedition. He described the supplies they needed to take with them—bedding, tents, mosquito nets and medicines—and the mules and the native bearers they’d acquire before entering the Amazon. Once Blythe had run out of questions, he began to talk about the butterflies, animals and bird life that inhabited the jungle.
Vanessa was riveted. No wonder his lordship was eager to return.
“Do they really have snakes that big?” Blythe’s eyes were like saucers.
His lordship appeared to be enjoying himself just as much as his daughter. “They are called boa constrictors. They squeeze their prey to death and swallow them whole.”
Blythe gave a wild squeal. “Tell me about the leopards again.”
“All right. But next time the lesson must be about flora rather than fauna,” he said, with a sheepish glance at Vanessa.
She looked down with a smile. It could not be described as botany, but he had spiked the child’s interest and drawn her out of herself. Vanessa only wished her lessons had the same result. Blythe usually said little, completing her sums and spelling without complaint. Increasingly, Vanessa had felt there was something wrong. The child was unnaturally glum, even though there were no black-draped mirrors or signs of mourning in the house. Surely, losing her mother some time ago would no longer lie at the heart of this sadness. Her father clearly doted on her.
*****
At lunch the next day, Blythe looked heavy-eyed. She yawned.
“Didn’t you sleep well last night?” Vanessa asked.
Blythe shook her head. “It was too hot.”
“Yes, it was. Surely the weather must change soon.”
“Soon we shall have autumn winds then winter frosts and snow, I suppose.” Blythe toyed with her plate of custard.
“I like the autumn. The leaves turn beautiful colors like ochre, crimson, and amber.”
Blythe’s mouth pulled down. “I hate it.”
“Hate is a very strong emotion.”
“My mother left us in autumn. I remember because I was pressing leaves in a book.”
“Oh, my dear!” She reached across and patted Blythe’s hand. She was unsure if she meant her mother had gone away or she had died. Lady Falconbridge wasn’t spoken of, and Vanessa had yet to learn the circumstances of her death.
“Mother waved to me from the carriage, but she never came home again. Her portrait is in the upper corridor, wearing a green dress. She was very beautiful.”
“I must go and see it.”
“She died in Paris. That’s in France.”
The child’s flat, unemotional tone disconcerted Vanessa. “How sad. I am sorry.”
“I never saw much of Mother,” Blythe said, a catch in her voice. “She was always very busy.”
“I expect she had a lot to do.”
Blythe wiped the tears clinging to her lashes. “I didn’t mind her going out all the time. She made Father unhappy when she was here.” Her face crumpled. “And I don’t think she loved me.”
Concerned, Vanessa moved her chair closer and placed an arm around Blythe’s shoulders. “Of course she did. How could she not love you, silly?” She gave her a squeeze. “Why, you are so loveable, and all mothers love their children.”
“Do they, Miss Ashley?”
“Of course they do,” Vanessa said firmly.
Blythe rested her head against Vanessa’s bosom and cried hot tears. Holding the child’s sobbing little body, Vanessa bit back her own tears. Blythe had carried this for such a long time. Society couples often weren’t very involved with their children. She stroked Blythe’s hair and tried not to despise her mother. Marriages failed, and it was impossible for others to cast blame, but the neglect of a child was unforgiveable.
“You have elf-locks.” She smoothed back the thick black locks that had come loose from Blythe’s braids.
“What are elf-locks?”
“Your hair is tangled. Have you heard the fable of Queen Mab and her night fairies? They created mischief while everyone slept. Mercutio says so in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliette. This is that very Mab that plaits the manes of horses in the night; and bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, which once untangled much misfortune bodes.”
Blythe gave a watery giggle and wiped her eyes.
“It’s getting in your eyes,” Vanessa said. “I’ll brush and braid it for you later.”
Blythe uttered a heavy sigh and leaned against her. “Will you read to me?”
“I suggest we begin another book,” Vanessa said. “How about The Light Princess? It is a story about a princess who floats in air and has to be brought down before the wind carries her off. Alas, she cannot cry, and a cure must be found to break the curse.”
“Oh, yes, please.”
“Have you eaten enough?”
Blythe nodded with an eager smile.
“Let’s go then shall we?”
In the schoolroom, she fetched the book. When she settled down and opened it at the first page, Blythe moved her chair closer.
They were still reading it some hours later as Blythe interjected often with questions, which resulted in lengthy discussions. Vanessa’s throat grew dry, and she was glad when Dorcas brought in the tea things.
She was relieved the story distracted Blythe from her sad thoughts. It was light-hearted and perfect for what the child now needed. She would think of other books in the same vein.
After tea, Vanessa removed Blythe’s braids and brushed her long ebony hair. The door opened, and Lord Falconbridge entered.
“Father!” Blythe leapt from her chair, her long locks flying as she ran to him. “We have been reading the most interesting book.”
Vanessa handed the book to him, hoping he would not disapprove of something so nonsensical.
He looked carefully at Blythe then nodded and handed it back. “Carry on, Miss Ashley.”
*****
While Blythe was with her music teacher the next afternoon, Vanessa cycled to the village. Passing an inn called The Black Horse, and a blacksmith’s, she crossed a small stone bridge where the river that ran through Falconbridge land gushed over rocks. A fine row of Georgian houses graced the south side of the green. On the northern side was the small cluster of shops. As she turned the bike and sped toward them, shopkeepers and their customers paused to watch her. Women gossiping in the street pulled their shawls closer and stared. Trying to ignore such a surprising r
eaction, Vanessa rode past the post office and butcher to reach the general store. There was a teashop next door with a fine bow window, and a farrier and stables further up the street. A sign over the door of the general store read: Mr. Fernley proprietor. She parked her bike against a lamppost and entered intent on purchasing the few items she needed. The store offered a variety of services and products from grocery items to buttons and silks, hosiery, stationery, hardware, medicines and even toys. The heady aroma of fresh baked bread wrestled with the less attractive odors of boot polish and coal. A vacant barber’s chair sat in a corner. With the growth of Clapham Junction only a few miles away, she wondered if Mr. Fernley’s business still thrived.
“You’re from the Hall,” the red-haired Mr. Fernley said, smoothing the white apron at his waist.
“Yes, I’m the new governess.” She was not surprised he knew for news traveled fast in small villages.
A pretty lace collar and a small bag of lavender for her underwear drawer caught her eye, and she added them to her other purchases of hair pins, stockings, pencils, needles and thread the right color blue to match Blythe’s dress.
Mr. Fernley packed her cloth bag with the items and handed it to her.
“Got quite a history, that place,” he said.
“Has it?” Vanessa waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged and took her money.
“What’s that contraption you’re riding?” an elderly man asked her as he came in.
When she explained, he laughed and shook his head. “It will never replace the horse.”
She wondered what he would make of the new horseless carriages she had read about in the newspaper. They were tarmacking the roads–the article said–in anticipation that they would one day replace the horse.
Returning through the Falconbridge Hall gates, she met the groom, Lovel, a crimson scarf tied around his neck, and his bright shirt open, displaying a tuft of dark chest hair. He led a horse that had lost a shoe along the carriage drive to the stables. Was she being fanciful or did he give her a look which seemed to strip her clothes from her? Uncomfortable, Vanessa dropped her gaze. When she raised her eyes to look after him, he was still watching her. He grinned and doffed his hat but thankfully didn’t stop to speak to her.
The Folly at Falconbridge Hall Page 3