Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess

by Christine Merrill

  ‘Not as we do,’ said Lily, warming to the idea. ‘There is an entire section of it, plants brought from China. Lilies, for me. And poppies. And a lotus in a pond with fish. And there is a little pagoda that Father had built, just for us to play in.’

  Edmund grinned. ‘Mother said it was a waste to have the only folly in the garden be expressly for us. But Father is of the opinion that such buildings are perfect for children, but quite nonsensical for adults.’

  Lily lifted her chin proudly. ‘He says that it is not necessary to improve upon the beauty of nature by sticking a building in front of it.’

  ‘What your father said is quite true. If one has a sense of the arrangement for the plants themselves, then one hardly needs more than a bench on which to sit and enjoy them.’ It stuck in her throat to agree with the man. But in this, at least, he was right. And if it helped to gain the cooperation of the children, then she would ally herself to the devil. ‘You sound very proud of your father’s work. And very knowledgeable. You must give me a tour of the grounds.’

  ‘It is hardly proper schooling to be wandering in the garden.’ Edmund had remembered his place, and was trying to sound as stern as any schoolmaster, and convince himself that fun could have no part in learning.

  She smiled at him. ‘Is that your opinion, Master Ed, or some philosopher’s? I suspect that the sunshine of Greece was sufficient for Plato to teach.’

  ‘Please?’ The sound of little Sophie’s voice surprised them all. ‘May we go to the garden?’

  They all turned to look at her, and she seemed to shrink for a moment, as though she realised that speaking above a whisper had called unwelcome attention to herself. And then she squared her little shoulders and spoke again. ‘May we play?’

  And there was such a look of desperate hope on her little face that Daphne knew it would be impossible for Edmund to object. ‘There. See? Your little sister wishes it as well. There can be no harm in one day of sunshine, can there? You can show me the plants, and then you may sit under a tree, and learn philosophy as it was first taught, with plenty of fresh air. Come.’ She opened the door, and gestured them out into the hall, then closed it behind them and headed for the main stairs.

  She had managed to detach them from the room, but they lagged even further behind, once they realised the path she had chosen. ‘We always take the back stairs,’ said Lily.

  ‘This is shorter.’

  ‘But we always take the back.’ Her voice managed to be both firm and shrill. Daphne turned and stared at the wide-eyed little girl. Was it fear of the accident site that made her balk, months later?

  She turned to them, each in turn, and saw the same nervous expressions. It would not do to upset them. But did it do them a service to foster an irrational fear? She shook her head. ‘Today, I think it better that we take the main stairs. Directly down, out the front doors and on to the path to the garden. Much shorter than going all round the house. You will be outside and playing in no time.’

  She smiled to show them that it was all right. ‘If you are afraid, then I shall go first.’ Little Sophie was cowering behind her sister, as though the thought of it was equal to the worst terror of her young life.

  So Daphne reached out a hand to her. ‘Come. Sophie and I will show you. Sophie, you take the banister, and I will hold your other hand. My family assures me that I am as hard to move as a marble statue, once I get an idea into my head. You will be protected on both sides.’

  The girl hesitated for a moment, while desire and fear warred within her. And then she stepped forwards, and wrapped her fingers around the banister until they were as white as the stone. With the other hand, she took Daphne’s fingers in a death grip, and closed her eyes.

  It made things tricky, if the child meant to take the stairs without looking. But who was she to argue? So she took a step forwards that almost lifted the little girl off her feet. The child’s hand loosened on the rail enough to slide, and her little feet hurried to keep up with Daphne’s.

  She kept up a running commentary, to put the girl at her ease. ‘See? Or you would, if your eyes were not closed. Not difficult at all. Only stairs, just like the ones at the back, but safer because they are not so narrow and steep. And you do not need a candle to light the way.’

  And then they were in the hall, safe and sound. Sophie opened her eyes in wonder. She turned back to her brother and sister, and her smile was so radiant that for a moment Daphne felt like a true governess, one that might know nothing of Socrates, but still managed to teach a very important lesson.

  The older children hurried the last few steps with a relieved sigh, and ran ahead to open the door in front of them. She smiled to them in encouragement. ‘Go on. You can find the garden better than I. Race. As fast as you can go. Without dropping your books, of course.’ She tried to be stern, with little success.

  The children shot past her and out the door.

  She turned to follow them. But the words ‘Miss Collins!’ echoed behind her, bringing her to a full stop.

  She turned to see Lord Colton standing perfectly still in the hallway behind her. ‘My lord?’ The fact that he could approach without her noticing made his continual scrutiny most disturbing. She took a step away from him, fearing that he might try to re-enact the scene of the previous day.

  But the weird, seductive light in his eyes was overwhelmed by anger, and his lips were bloodless white, until he spoke. ‘If you are to spend any time in this house, you will learn that I value the safety of my children over all. I will not have them upset, or put at risk in an effort on your part to prove some foolish point.’

  She bristled in return, her fear of him forgotten. ‘I did nothing to jeopardise the safety of the children. We merely walked down a flight of stairs.’

  ‘The stairs are dangerous,’ he sputtered, obviously uncomfortable.

  It gave her a strange feeling of power to see him out of countenance. ‘And I say they are not. There is nothing about them that puts a person at risk. If one is careful, the chance of an accidental fall is so small as to be moot.’ She glared at him, hoping that he could see her knowledge of the truth, and her contempt for him, plain in her eyes.

  ‘If you think it matters what you think in this situation, then you have an imperfect understanding of your role here. I wish for the children to use the back stairs, as they seem perfectly content in doing.’ He took a step closer, until he seemed to tower over her.

  He was trying to bully her again, as he had done yesterday. And she would have none of it. ‘You say you are interested in your children’s welfare. And yet you wish for them to use the steep, unlit stairs at the back of the house.’ She smiled at him for proving her point so well. ‘Then perhaps their safety does not matter so much as you think.’ And she swept past him, and out of the door.

  The gardens were as magnificent as the children had promised, and it took only a short time for her surroundings to calm her, and blot out the unpleasant altercation in the entry hall. Most of the flowers were finished blooming. But when she wished to know how they had looked at the height of the season, she had merely to ask. Sophie would sit with her pastels, and produce hurried sketches that were riots of colour, yet impressively harmonious in their composition.

  ‘In summer, it must be truly splendid,’ Daphne breathed, for she could not help herself.

  Edmund frowned. ‘Do you really think so? Mother wished for a garden more like the ones she saw in London. She was most vexed.’

  ‘Many designers prefer a more artificial landscape, and their clients are willing to pay a great price to obey them. Your mother was interested in fashion, and the appearance of wealth. She would have followed their example.’ Daphne waved a hand. ‘She would have no patience for subtleties like this.’ And she stopped herself, wishing she could take back an opinion about the late Clarissa Colton that, while perfectly true, was quite unflattering. And it should have been quite beyond the knowledge of Miss Collins, governess and stranger to the family.
‘Or so I assume,’ she added, hoping the children did not notice her slip.

  ‘She had no patience for us,’ Edmund blurted.

  ‘I’m sure that was not true,’ Daphne corrected automatically. But in her heart, she recalled the Clare Colton she had known, and feared the children were right.

  ‘It was true,’ Lily said in a voice so small and sad that for a moment she sounded more like Sophie. She reached out and took Daphne by the hand, leading her to the China garden, to see the pagoda. But instead of going to the front so that she could stoop and enter with the children, Lily led her to the back. She pointed to scratches in the red enamel work. ‘When Mother learned that this was to be built for us, but that Father had included nothing for her, there was a frightful row. He said she could do what she liked inside the house, and with the town house and grounds in London. But that the glasshouses, the conservatory and the grounds here in Wales were his, to do as he liked. And that was that.’ Lily ran her finger over the scratches. ‘So she found a spade.’

  In Daphne’s mind it was easy to imagine hot-tempered Clare swinging furiously at the little playhouse, taking her anger out upon it. And she wondered if that had been the worst of it, for Edmund’s eyes had gone very round, looking at the scratches, as though seeing the same thing.

  Without thinking about it, she reached out to both of them, gathering one child under each arm. She said, in a resolute voice, ‘Your mother was very foolish to behave in such a way. And to take her anger out upon you or your things was very wrong indeed.’

  Lily sighed. ‘She would not have done it had it been for Sophie alone. She said we were Father’s children, but Sophie was all hers.’

  Daphne cursed Clare under her breath. She wanted to remember her cousin as blithe and beautiful. Why had it been so easy to forget that, on occasion, she could be shallow and cruel? To see the truth on the faces of the children was truly sobering.

  She crouched beside them, as their father had done. ‘Still more nonsense. You are every bit as charming as your little sister, and just as much a part of your mother.’ She pulled them into a hug, and ruffled their bright red hair. ‘And far too clever for the likes of me to be teaching, although you must have realised that by now.’

  ‘But we won’t tell,’ whispered Lily, and Edmund gave a solemn shake of his head. ‘We like you much better than our last governess.’

  ‘And I like you, as well.’ She smiled at them. ‘And I will not think anything of it, if you want to take a short break from your studies to play in the fine pagoda that your father has made for you. Winter will be here soon. Enjoy the garden while you can.’

  The two older children did not need a second offer. With a last glance of relief, they took off after their little sister in a game of hide and seek amongst the flower beds.

  Daphne smiled to herself. Perhaps she had some skill as a governess after all. For she had been right to bring the children here. Removing them from the house for an afternoon had certainly done Sophie good. Her sketches were proof of that. She was using all the colours, not just the black and red that she had used to render Clare, and drawing with lines that were smooth and flowing, not jagged and tense. It was good to know that she had happy memories as well, of blooming trees and flowers.

  And the pictures were exceptional, not just in execution, but in the subject matter. The variety was amazing, with samples from all over the world. Despite his obvious faults, Lord Colton did seem to have an eye for the ordering of the plants. He had managed to lay colour against colour, just as a painter might, and blend textures of bark and leaf, until she felt she could spend hours here in fascination. Nor had he neglected education. The plants were neatly tagged with genus and habitat as proof that they would live in harmony in the places from which they had come. It was a feast for an artist and scientist alike.

  And without intending it, she felt a fleeting admiration for the man that had orchestrated it. It was so peaceful here. Was it even possible for the creator of such beauty to give himself over to violence?

  She glanced in the direction of the conservatory, for the garden wrapped around the wing that had the glasshouse. She suspected it was a magnificent view, even from within the house. From inside the conservatory one would be able to look out on to the terraced garden and have an illusion that there were no walls at all, but that one was suspended in a glass bubble in the middle of Eden.

  Or perhaps a glass cage. For there, framed in one of the large arched windows, was the master of the house. His palms were pressed flat to the glass, body straining as though in confinement. He was smiling as he watched the children at play, but it was not a happy thing to see. Then he noticed her observation of him and stared for a moment into her eyes. All expression on his face faded. And he turned and disappeared into the foliage on his side of the barrier.

  Chapter Seven

  When the sun began to set it grew cooler, and it was clear that they would need to come in for their evening meal. Daphne shepherded the children back to the nursery. She saw to it that they were properly washed and dressed and had the cook send them their evening meal.

  It made her smile to listen to their chattering, for the fresh air had put life into them. Even Sophie was talking, infrequently, but in an almost normal tone. But as quickly as it had come the energy seemed to fade, and she knew that it meant an early bedtime.

  Which left her alone. Once the children had gone, it occurred to her that she had heard no more from the master of the house on the subject of her interference with the children. It was almost a pity, for she wished he could have seen the ease with which they climbed the main stairs on their return to the house. They scampered up the steps as though they were not there, just as children should. She had had to give them the perfectly ordinary caution to walk when inside the house. They’d laughed and slowed, but given no thought to the possibility of accident or the fate that had befallen their mother. It had been as if she’d broken down a wall, and set them free from one of the cells their father had trapped them in. Now that they had tasted freedom, she doubted that it would be an easy thing for him to banish them again to the back stairs.

  She viewed it as a small victory against the tyrant. She marched up the stairs to her room, full of satisfaction. Of course, she had done nothing to find the truth, as yet. But to help Clare’s children was to do some justice for the woman.

  Although the stories that the children had told about their mother were almost as disturbing as the problems with their father. It was a shame to think that they had not been their mother’s first consideration. But to be honest with herself, she had never thought of Clare as a mother of three. In all the time they had spent in shopping, riding in the park with Clare’s many admirers and attending parties and balls, she had mentioned the children so seldom that Daphne had needed to consult with Miss Collins to verify their names and ages.

  While she might care for them in memory of Clare, she could not shake the feeling that her cousin would have discouraged the interest as unnecessary. But she decided to put the feeling aside as she climbed the stairs to her room, and focus on the day’s success instead of what Clare might or might not have intended. It did no good to think on it, for the state of her cousin’s mind at the time of her death was a thing that could not be known.

  She opened her door, and sensed a change almost immediately. Her room was filled with a spicy sweet scent of flowers. And there on the night stand was a crystal vase filled with red gilly flowers, baby’s breath, lilies of the valley and a sprinkling of hyacinths. She could not help the smile on her face, for the bouquet was magnificent. There were so many cut flowers in the house. She had seen orchids and roses in bowls scattered about the main rooms as though they had no worth.

  But these flowers were simple and unassuming, perfectly appropriate for the tiny servant’s room she occupied. She stepped forwards and buried her face in them, letting the feeling of the afternoon garden come rushing back to her. Then she felt along the table, searching
for a note of explanation.

  And stopped. A note was hardly necessary, for there could be only one person who had arranged for the flowers. When she had asked about a particularly fine display in the hall, Mrs Sims had said that they’d come from one of the glasshouses in the grounds. And that everything in the house was cut and displayed at the recommendation of her master.

  Timothy Colton was the only one who could have sent the flowers to her.

  She looked again at the arrangement. The flowers were an unusual mix of seasons. They looked well together, but were not common companions. Perhaps he had a meaning in choosing so. There was a language of flowers, was there not? It would render a note unnecessary, if he’d spoken to her using the plants. And if the garden was any indication, he was as comfortable speaking through them as Sophie was in talking with pictures.

  She gave a last, lingering sniff to the heart of them, and then retreated down the stairs to the library. For if any house might have a book to explain the meaning, she was sure that this one must.

  He had made it easy for her. The needed volume lay open on the main table, ready for her consultation. She looked down at the page before her. Baby’s breath meant sincerity. That was encouraging, for whatever he wished to say was truly felt. Lilies of the valley were humility, which was also good. And the hyacinths? She flipped hurriedly through the pages.

  Hyacinths said ‘forgive me’. She covered her hand with her mouth to hide the smile. It was a bouquet of apology for his behaviour towards her in the hall. He was displaying humility before a servant, but with no loss of face and without the need to admit aloud that he had been wrong. She could not decide whether to be insulted by the subterfuge or to admire the cleverness of it. If he wished, he could always deny that there was any meaning at all. It was not as if he had given her roses. There could be nothing more innocent than gilly flowers.