by Edith Layton
“Looks like she’s seen a ghost, don’t she?” Alfie said, shaking his head sadly as they left Miss Comfort’s room.
“Shhh, Alfie, please,” Victoria cautioned, fearing they were still within earshot of the diminished older woman.
“Oh, Miss Victoria,” Sally breathed in alarm, “are you scairt of ghosts?”
“Absolutely,” Alfie said blithely. “It’s why she din’t come to visit us here in all this time, don’t you know?”
And so as they went down one arm of the long double central staircase to meet with Mrs. Haverford again, Victoria protested her innocence in the matter of her aversion to undead spirits, as Alfie teased her about her horror of meeting up with night-walking specters and to reassure her, both Bobby and Sally loudly voiced disclaimers of any knowledge of the merest shadow of any shade hovering within the great Hall. The several conversations ended abruptly when they reached the bottom of the stairs. For then both a spotted spaniel and some unidentified fuzzy moplike creature Sally vowed was a dog came hurtling, claws scrambling and sliding across the marble floors in their attempts to elude a panting footman, to achieve sanctuary in Bobby’s arms. That they achieved bliss there as well was undeniable, for eyeing the roiling, tumbling beasts lapping at his brother’s face, Alfie sighed, “’E keeps finding ’em about the place and bringing ’em into ’is bed. ’E don’t need covers no more, ’e don’t, but ’e’s starting to stink like a kennel for all ’e thinks ’e’s clever spraying ’em with the bay rum ’e begged from a groom. Now ’e smells like a groom in a kennel what fell into a vat of flowers.”
Victoria remembered a large black dog she’d seen trailing the children sometime during their walk through the Hall, but he’d gone by the time she’d turned around to ask them if he was gentle with strangers. She’d enjoyed the company of small dogs in the city, and always regretted there’d never been a place for one in London above an apothecary’s shop. But she was city-bred and had never known a beast the size of the one she’d spied. Now she saw that Bobby likely had a collection of dogs in every size and style imaginable, and even some, she thought, eyeing the shaggy creature the footman was gently detaching from his new young master, quite unidentifiable.
As she then followed her eager young guides to the rose sitting room to meet with her new employer, Miss Dawkins thought in that moment she’d never been so content. It was not only due to the dazzling wonders of the great Hall, for the children, their laughter, even the merriment of the dogs, all contributed to her feeling of well-being, a sense of having found at last, after much travail, a safe harbor from the storm, a place where she could be herself and build a good life.
But there was no such place on the earth, she remembered suddenly, if there was no such place in her heart. For the door to the rose sitting room swung open and she saw the eighth Earl of Clune, dark-visaged and all in dark colors, like the shadow he cast over her realistic chances for happiness in the future, and as strong and substantial as the yearnings the sight of him brought back to her. And being unlike the rumored haunts of his house in every other way as well, he was thus as real as her fears of him and of herself were. Then, compounding them all, he smiled and came forward to take her hand and say, “Welcome, Miss Dawkins, to my home.
“We’re pleased to see you,” he continued, as she rapidly withdrew her hand from his firm clasp before he could detect how cold it had grown. “It’s very good of you to come so soon—it will make it a smoother transition if Comfort’s substitute arrives as she packs to leave. Thank you.
Victoria averted her eyes from his long dark gaze and managed to murmur some polite agreement. She would have been far less frightened, although not a whit more comfortable, had she known that she herself would be packing in a sincere attempt to leave by the next afternoon.
10
Everyone was rushing in different directions. The footmen who weren’t tearing off into the kitchens to find vinegar and spirits were being dispatched to the housekeeper’s larders to unearth salts and blankets. Maids were dashing every which way, some waving their aprons like giant white fans in response to the earl’s call for “air,” and some, skirts held high, were running off to the stables to be sure the cleverest groom on the swiftest horse was sent to the doctor’s straightaway. Only the children, Miss Dawkins, and of course Miss Comfort were absolutely still.
The earl was holding Miss Comfort in his arms, and though he’d held many another female close to his heart, it was fair to say that he had never disliked it so much before, nor ever been so alarmed or confused by it, no, not even when he’d been barely sixteen and beginning, with the help of an unexpectedly obliging dairy maid, to succeed in furthering his education beyond his wildest dreams. But the old woman had just begun to ascend the steps to the coach that was about to bear her away to her distant cousin Emma’s house, when she’d stopped, staggered, and then fallen down insensate. He had caught her up in his arms just as she’d started to crumple, and now his mama was shouting instructions at all the household staff who’d come to see his now-insensible burden off on her travels, and the drive in front of the Hall was swarming with distracted people.
Finally, with a grimace of annoyance, the gentleman swung around and strode back into the house with Miss Comfort. “She’ll do better in her bed,” he called over his shoulder as he ascended the stair. As he approached the woman’s room, he was relieved to note that she was still breathing, and as he placed her upon her coverlet, he was tangentially bemused by the fact that he seemed to be making a habit of carrying unconscious governess-companions off to their beds these days, but unhappily, they were either the wrong sort or it was for the wrong reasons.
He left Miss Comfort to the ministrations of his mama and the housekeeper and her minions, and went off to the study to wait upon the doctor’s arrival. The children, he noted with approval, had all gone off with their new governess, so that they were neither underfoot nor over excited by the odd occurrence. He felt twinges of guilt as he waited for the physician, for he’d never cared for Miss Comfort and had been delighted at the thought of her absence from his mama’s home, even if it were only to be for a few weeks or months, or however long it took for Miss Dawkins to find other suitable employment, as she’d agreed. Still, he couldn’t deny he’d been grateful those years ago when he’d first left home to seek their fortune and his mama had written to say that she’d found a relative willing and able to come help with the other children. But he hadn’t liked her when he’d finally met her, and didn’t doubt the feeling was mutual. She suffered him, he imagined, only because he provided for his mama so handsomely.
Miss Comfort was the sort of female, he mused as he sat at his predecessor’s desk and stared at papers he did not see, who made a man feel masculine in the worst sense of the word. Her femininity was used as a barrier to easy acquaintance, she caused males to be acutely but uneasily aware of their gender, and she was in some fashion like a spindly gilt chair or a frilled and pink boudoir filled with scent. In her presence a fellow always felt uncomfortable: too large, too loud, too ungainly. Her attitude toward males, he’d often felt, was very much like some females’ attitudes toward dogs. He’d often heard charming young ladies sigh that they loved dear little puppies so, that it was a shame that they had to grow up to become great slobbering brutes. Even Theo, not the most observant chap, had reflected on how it was odd that Old Cold Comfort had seemed to like him when she’d first met him only a few years before, but now that he was a man, she appeared to disapprove of the transformation. Since that transformation had not been especially splendid, his cousin had forborne to comment, but there’d been truth in the perception.
But the earl certainly didn’t wish the old woman any harm, in fact he so much wanted her well enough to go ahead with her plans that when his mama, accompanied by the physician, finally requested audience with him, he ushered them into his study personally. Then he stood and waited so eagerly to hear the doctor’s pronouncement that the fellow could be forgiven
for thinking the new earl had a sincere and pronounced attachment to his newest patient. Then the fact that his diagnosis of Miss Comfort’s condition caused the earl’s face to darken confirmed the doctor’s diagnosis of the gentleman’s fondness for the old woman, and so he said very quickly (for being a young chap just starting a new practice in the district, he wished to be pleasing).
“But with rest, sufficient rest and good nourishment, I see no reason, my lord, why she shouldn’t be completely herself again. In my opinion,” and here he paused, for he was still a very young man and regrettably also a small and thin one at that, so that he often worried that his opinion might not carry much more weight then he did, but then he went on hurriedly, “and I doubt I’m mistaken, although of course, you may call for another opinion, I understand you have a physician in London, but I hear nothing amiss with her heart, nor do I see problems with any other bodily part beyond that which her years might most naturally account for, and so it’s simple and plain exhaustion, I believe. She hasn’t been sleeping well, nor eating well either, you know.”
“No, I didn’t,” the earl commented. “But how long before she can travel, for example?”
“Oh, Cole,” his mama sighed, as the doctor said thoughtfully, “I see no reason why she shouldn’t be able to embark on the trip she’d planned,” and the earl’s face brightened, while the doctor, being a punctilious young man, paused to give an exact estimate, but then became morose when the physician ventured to say at last, “oh yes, there should be no problem with that in, say, two or three months.”
After the physician had left, most impressed with the compassion the earl had shown toward his servants, since there wasn’t a doubt, the young doctor thought with approval, that the nobleman was most unhappy with the news that the poor old woman would have to remain bedridden for some weeks to come, the earl’s mama, no more perceptive than the physician, but better acquainted with her son, sat and grieved with him.
“I blame myself,” she sighed. “I do, Cole. For from the first, after I’d met Miss Dawkins, I hinted and hinted about how I wished I could provide sanctuary for her, but that of course I couldn’t, not when I already had a companion. It was too bad, I kept saying, that a trivial thing such as our fear of gossip might mean the end to such a sweet young child’s chances in life. I kept sighing over the inequality of it all, in that we could take in the Johnson children, and though it would be counted an eccentric deed, it could be dismissed as a mere act of charity, especially since we’d found someone to foster them, yet Miss Dawkins’ very youth and beauty condemned her to our neglect. I kept harping on the fact that sheltering her, especially after those rumors about young Theo, would only fuel speculation about your motives, Cole, since everyone knew I already had the longtime services of a companion who was also a qualified governess. Then, I’ll admit it, I mentioned Comfort’s other relatives half a dozen times, and at least half a hundred times I just dropped a word, mind, just a word, about how she’d earned a nice pension, and kept wondering aloud about whether that cottage she was always going on about retiring to when the time came mightn’t still be available.
“And then when you and Alfie told us about the Ludlows and their ghastly walls filled with servants, Comfort saw how distressed I was. When she finally ventured to say that she might clear the way for Miss Dawkins by leaving to visit her relative until matters were settled, I practically leapt at the suggestion, and exclaimed over how clever it was until she sent word to them announcing she was coming. And I only offered the footman an extra guinea for an immediate answer, and when she got it, I actually helped her to pack. Oh, fie, Cole, I feel a beast now. Poor Comfort, as soon as she wakes from that potion the physician gave her, I must assure her that she is, was, and always shall be welcome here.”
Her son refrained from replying “Is she?” as he was tempted to do, and was thinking of a suitable noncommittal reply when he heard an excited conference in the hallway grow louder when it arrived at his door. Before the tapping had even begun then, he called, “Enter,” and saw three distressed young people obey his command.
“She’s only packing. She’s only set on leaving, and she won’t stop, no matter what I say,” Alfie reported in exasperation.
“Oh, poor dear,” Mrs. Haverford cried, rising. “But the doctor said she mustn’t set foot from her bed for at least a week. I must talk sense to her. She can’t take on such a trip in her condition and at her age.”
“’Er age and ’er condition?” snapped Alfie. “It ain’t like she’s Miss Comfort or nothing. Fact, if she was like ’er, she’d be a sight safer, but where’s a smasher like ’er going to find a safe place to anchor now she’s burnt ’er bridges behind ’er?”
“It’s Miss Victoria who’s leaving now, ma’am,” Sally wailed plaintively, as Bobby added in amplification, “Aye, my lady, she says as how she only came ’cause Miss Comfort was leaving, and now she can’t stay on. She mustn’t stay on now, is ’ow…how she says it.”
“No matter what I says,” Alfie said angrily.
“I must speak with her,” Mrs. Haverford exclaimed.
“No,” her son decided, “I must. And I shall.”
“Ah, well then, now that’s settled it,” Alfie sighed contentedly as the earl strode past him to the door.
* * *
Miss Dawkins found her packing a very simple task. Her things, after all, hadn’t had a long enough tenure in her bureau drawers or wardrobe to have gotten into the bad habits of sprawling or relaxing into difficult positions, and so were easy to refold neatly. And the one or two stray tears that fell into her linens and slippers scarcely took up any room at all. She hadn’t bothered to close her door, and she stowed her things away again in her portmanteau in plain sight of the world, for the moment she’d realized that Miss Comfort was staying on, she’d decided she was leaving, and had hurried to finish packing before anyone was assigned the embarrassing task of telling the new governess she was redundant.
She had only the faintest glimmering of an idea as to where she would go, although she was ready to tell anyone who asked that she was exactly sure of her future course. The Ludlows’ Manor was out of the question, of course; if life had been difficult there before her desertion, it would be impossible to bear after it, and likely impossible in actuality as well, since she doubted they would take her back at all. She could not, would not, land herself upon her mama, to jeopardize her already tenuous position. But she had some money saved, and she would, she imagined, go back to London, register with the Misses Parkinson again, find another rooming house similar to Mrs. Rogers’, and perhaps she’d meet up with some precocious children and… And then she shook her head and took in a deep and resolute breath. For damp clothes, she decided with some real annoyance with herself, would be the devil to get wrinkles out of when she unpacked at last, wherever she landed.
“The Johnson clan is monstrously spoiled here, I know, but I scarcely thought they were that bad,” a deep voice commented dryly and with the slightly slurred sibilance which had never ceased to echo in her mind. Victoria looked up to see the earl leaning against the doorjamb.
“It’s never the children…” she began.
“No, I didn’t really think so,” he said, straightening and coming into the room after carefully closing the door a few inches so that while it was still open, they were more private.
Her eyes widened, and despite her desire to be cool, she backed a pace from the portmanteau she’d been trying to close as he loomed over her. He looked at her keenly and seemed discomfited himself for a moment.
“I don’t ask permission to enter your room,” he explained at once, taking his black gaze from her and looking around the chamber which she’d already stripped of all her personal belongings, “since obviously, it’s no longer your room, is it? And I imagine,” he said, lowering his voice, “it’s not really anything to do with your duties here either. It’s me, isn’t it? I never explained matters fully to you, did I? But then, I’ve never
had a moment alone with you since that morning in your delightful landlady’s parlor, have I? Hush,” he said, raising his hand. “Those are rhetorical questions. I should think that as a governess you ought to know them when you hear them.
“Really, Miss Dawkins, I assure you, you have less to fear from me now than you have from our famous nonexistent ghosts. It’s true that at our first private meeting I did ask an impertinent question of you, although,” he mused with a contagious smile lightening his dark face, “there are those that would claim an English nobleman can never be impertinent, not even with his creator, or else he’d never have been created a lord of the realm in the first place. And I hope,” he added with unmistakable laughter now coloring his voice, “that there’d be a great many who’d rush to defend my further point that it was a flattering offer rather than a demeaning one. But nevertheless, no matter how you parse it, it was only an offer, Miss Dawkins. Never a command or a claim or a demand.