by Lucy Wild
He moved on, walking past the playroom connected to the nursery. In here also there was not a hint of discord. It was infuriating. Of course, he knew in his heart that the sight of young women playing merrily with the doll’s house and the hobby horse was a sign that he was carrying out his job to an excellent standard. What other finishing school in the country could post such success rates? But knowing that his littles were coming along so strongly did nothing to prevent the sense of boredom he felt from becoming overwhelming.
After a brisk walk through the rest of the house, he passed out into the grounds, taking in the morning air and telling himself he should feel grateful. They were a credit to his teaching methods.
He walked back to his study, finding the maid had left the post on his desk in his absence.
‘Dear Sir,
I write to thank you for the excellent results we have seen in our daughter Cecilia. She is no longer a burden upon her ailing mother but instead assists around the house, eager to please in every way. I have no doubt we have you to thank…’
He set the letter aside and picked up the next one whilst recalling Cecilia. It took him a while to place her for it had been two years since she had left. She had been quite unruly when she arrived. Not bratty as such, just unwilling to listen to anyone but herself. That had changed soon enough. Regular spankings for each misdemeanour, the shame of nappy wearing in public, being rocked to sleep in the cot each night, drinking from Miss Flanders breast. Soon she was like a little lamb, meek and mild and ready to mould into a daughter the Fairbrothers could be proud of. Pleasant as it was to hear of her progress, he received many such letters each week and the praise heaped on him grew tiring.
Dear Mr Westall,
I cannot begin to express my amazement over the change in our daughter. I had my doubts when she went away. If I am honest, the cost of your services suggested a quack of the highest order. Yet the results speak for themselves. She is now betrothed to a peer of the realm and I have no doubt we have you to thank…”
Always the same. I have no doubt we have you to thank. Rummaging through the letter pile, he picked out another. He knew all about Jennifer and her upcoming marriage. It had been in the paper every day for a week. The girl many had thought would never even debut due to her tomboy attitude to life was to marry Sir Peregrine Morris of Bond Street, a man more than thirty years her senior. He hoped she would be happy. Once her layers of defence had been stripped away, it had become clear all she truly desired was undiluted love and affection, something Morris was sure to offer her.
Dear Sir,
I write on behalf of the Benevolent Little Foundation of the United Kingdom. As you are no doubt aware, those littles heading towards retirement often end their days in one of our little almshouses. But we are stretched beyond capacity in recent years and are writing to the proprietors of all little schools to ask for just a pound a year to help the services we provide. As you know…”
He stopped reading, turning to his journal and making a note to send two pounds off to the Foundation. He knew of their work, having visited a number of the almshouses himself to observe the conditions therein, finding the sight of ancient littles in playrooms of the late 1700s style more than a little surreal. But that was the price of this method, there would always be some who outlived their husbands. He turned to the next letter.
Dear Sir,
I beg you will help me and I know not where else to turn. My husband’s daughter is a brat. There is the word sir and I see no other way to say it. Since clapping eyes on her, I knew she needed a firm hand and a strict manner to rectify her insidious behaviour. He will not allow me to discipline her in the manner befitting her behaviour, nor is he willing to take on the task for himself. As such, I feel I have little choice but to turn to you and beg you will take her on. Money is no object and I have heard the most wonderful things about your establishment.
The letter went on for some time but he only skimmed over the details. His heart had already begun to beat a little faster, that hint of excitement he knew so well every time a new student was heralded. The writer listed flaw after flaw in the girl but he had no doubt she exaggerated. They always did. Nonetheless, she did sound like a handful and it had been some time since he’d had a challenge worthy of his skills. Could Laura Rothsfield be that challenge?
He drafted a response and rang the bell on the corner of his desk. Within seconds a maid appeared.
“Take this letter to the address listed there. There will be a shilling in it if it is there by nightfall today.”
“Yes sir.”
She ran off with the letter leaving him to muse. If the letter was with them by tonight, they would reply within a day or two. She might be there by the end of the week. The thought excited him. It had been some time since a new enrolment and one that sounded like she might be a proper challenge too. He just hoped she knew what she was letting herself in for if she came here. She sounded like someone who had never in her life undergone any form of punishment, let alone that of the corporal variety which was his personal and professional speciality. She would soon learn if she misbehaved that the consequences could be severe. He smiled as he silently hoped she would misbehave, that if he was lucky, she might misbehave rather a lot.
Chapter 3
Lord Rothsfield ducked as a perfume bottle flew over his head.
“Sent away?” Laura screamed in disbelief, picking up another bottle from her dressing table and hurling it towards her father. “Like a leper? Ashamed of me are you father? You should be ashamed of your new wife, the whore.”
“I’m not ashamed of you my angel,” Lord Rothsfield replied. “It’s just that Maria believes…I mean we both feel you might benefit from a formal finishing school education.”
“So you are ashamed of me. All you care about is that whore of yours, not your own flesh and blood.”
“Please do not call my wife a whore.”
“She is a whore. She beds you for your money doesn’t she? Whore is the only word for such a person. Whore, whore, whore.”
He turned away from her as another bottle smashed into the wall on the far side of the landing. “The decision is made. He will be here to collect you this afternoon.” Pungent aromas of rose and sandalwood filled the air as he walked away leaving Laura to stew in her fury.
By the time the clock chimed in the entrance hall she had an idea. The sonorous tones were still echoing as she leapt from her bed and ran down the backstairs. She wondered why she had not thought of it sooner. If she were to find Robert, the gardener who often flirted with her, despite the age and class gap between them, she might be able to prove to her father the dangers of crossing her, the things she might do in revenge.
She found Robert amongst the rhododendrons, pulling out the few weeds that had managed to survive in the gloom underneath. “Afternoon miss,” he said, standing up and inclining his cap. “Looking as beautiful as ever today.”
She looked at him. Late forties or early fifties, once handsome, though those looks had now faded somewhat, his hair showing hints of grey, his beard flecked with white. His arms were still thick with sinew though, his folded up shirt sleeves revealing his muscle to her gaze. Father will be furious, she thought.
“Would you take a walk with me Robert?” she asked. “There is a flower I have found which I wish for your help in identifying.”
“Of course miss. I am your servant.”
“Yes, you are aren’t you?” She began to walk across the lawn with Robert following. “If I were to tell you to do something, you would do it, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course miss.”
They reached a mossy path which led into a copse of birch trees surrounding a fish pond. Beyond the pond there was a clearing and it was here that Laura stopped.
“Is this where the flower is miss?” Robert asked.
“You’ll see it in a minute,” she replied, stretching up on her tiptoes and planting a soft kiss on his lips.
“W
hat are you doing miss?” he asked, blinking as he pushed her away from him. “You’ll get me in trouble with your father.”
“I won’t tell him if you won’t,” she replied, grabbing his arms and kissing him again.
She had never kissed anyone in passion before but she’d read about it in countless books and felt certain she knew what to do. She thought of her father’s face when he found out she had kissed a gardener. And of course he would find out for she was going to tell him right now.
“What are you doing?” she asked as Robert slid his arms around her, holding her body against his. “Unhand me at once.”
“Not yet,” he replied, pressing his lips back against hers. As his tongue plunged deep into her mouth, she felt him stiffen against her, a firmness digging into her from his trousers which alarmed her.
“I must get back to the house, father will be looking for me,” she said, pulling her head back from him, though she remained unable to wriggle out of his arms.
“You have a flower to show me first,” he said. “You cannot go until you have shown me.”
Laura felt suddenly terrified. She had gone from being in charge of the situation to feeling totally out of control in the blink of an eye. She looked into the eyes of the gardener and decided there was only one course of action open to her.
“I have wanted to kiss you for a very long time,” he said, still holding her in place. “Now I have something to show you if you are willing?”
She nodded but as soon as he loosened his grip on her arms she brought her knee up hard between his legs. As he fell to the ground, he groaned in pain but Laura ignored him. Instead she turned and ran, sprinting out of the wood with her hair streaming behind her. She could hear Robert crashing through the branches and when she looked back he emerged with a snarl on his face. “You shouldn’t start what you can’t finish,” he called out, one hand between his legs as he winced at the effort of running.
At that moment a figure stepped in front of Robert, holding out his foot. Robert tripped straight over the foot and stumbled to the ground, rolling to a halt as Laura slowed, wondering who on earth that was.
“Quite right,” the figure said. “You shouldn’t start what you can’t finish.”
The figure turned to face Laura and she frowned, looking into the eyes of a man she had never met before in her life. He was around thirty years old though his eyes suggested in those years he had seen many things, not all good. He did not smile, indeed he looked angry at the very sight of Laura. She felt a tremble pass through her as his eyes seemed to bore deep into her soul. He wore a greatcoat despite the heat and his top hat seemed so solidly affixed to his head as to be part of his hair rather than a removable object.
“Good day to you Laura,” he said, stepping over the prostrated gardener and walking over to her. “My name is Edward Westall. You will call me Papa.”
Chapter 4
When Edward arrived at Rothsfield House he did not expect to encounter Laura straight away. Passing through the gates, the carriage slowed to a stop and he rapped on the roof. “Move on will you?”
“There is someone heading into the wood over there,” his driver called back. “Might be your student.”
Edward opened the door and looked out in time to see a young woman vanishing into the distant treeline. Behind her a man followed. Interesting, he thought. That could be no one other than Laura. From the description given in the letter he had a rough idea how she looked but the haughty way she walked into the wood as if she were in charge of the entire world. It could only be her. Well she would soon learn.
“I’ll walk from here Gerald,” he said, stepping down onto the grass. “Wait by the house for us. Be ready to leave at short notice. I feel they may protest.”
“Very good sir.”
He watched the carriage roll away before making his way across the lawn towards the copse of trees. Just as he reached them, the young woman came running out, her cheeks dark with embarrassment. He was about to speak to her when the man followed, dark machinations at work on his mind. Without pausing, he held out his foot and tripped the man, bringing him to ground in seconds. He introduced himself as the man stood up and faced him. “I would unclench those fists if I were you,” he added as the man glared at him.
“She kissed me,” the man said, pointing across at Laura.
“Did she now?” Edward replied. “Naughty girl.” He turned to the girl. “Laura, come with me.”
“I will do no such thing,” she replied, turning and storming away across the lawn, cursing and complaining as she went. The man rolled his eyes and turned to Edward.
“Robert Barker,” the man said, holding out a hand. “Been gardener here twenty years and that’s the first time I felt like leaving my post. She’s done some damage to me, I swear it. Kneed me right here.” He rubbed between his legs and winced.
“You’ve seen her grow up then,” Edward said, ignoring his complaint.
“I have that. She were a difficult child and she’s only got worse. If you ask me, she needs a firm spanking to put her right.”
“Oh I could not agree more. Do not worry though, by the time I’m done with her, she will be good as gold.”
Robert raised his eyebrows. “Who are you?”
“I’m going to be her papa.”
“Papa? But she already has a father.”
“Ah, this is something quite different. Now if you’ll excuse me I am expected at the house.”
“Of course. I’ll leave you to it. Might just sit here and recover for a minute anyway.”
Edward left the gardener behind him and strode towards the house. Walking around the edge of the building he noticed the back door was open. No doubt she had left it open.
“Hello there,” he called out as he walked into the hallway within. An answering voice came almost at once.
“I say, who’s there?” It was a man’s voice. A second later a gentleman stepped out into the hallway, followed closely behind was a woman at least ten years younger than him, possibly more. “Is that you Mr Westall?”
“It is,” he replied, walking across and shaking the proffered hand. “I have come to assess your daughter Laura.”
“Of course, come through, come through. You are quite the unconventional fellow to enter by the back door.”
“It is how everyone in Amsterdam does it.”
“Is it really?” Lord Rothsfield said, shaking his head. “I did not know that.”
They settled in the parlour, Edward in an armchair and Lord and Lady Rothsfield together on a sofa opposite him, looking much as if they were about to be interviewed for a job, which Edward found most amusing.
“I read your letter with great interest Lord Rothsfield,” Edward said.
“You did?” he replied. “Do you think you can fix the girl?”
“Fix is not a word I like. I prefer to think of it as bringing out what is already inside them. Girls like Laura do not mean to be bad. They have merely had it too easy in life.”
“I told you,” Maria said, nudging her husband who turned and scowled at her.
“She is a wilful one,” Lord Rothsfield said. “Since her mother died…”
“Spare me the details,” Edward said. “They all have a sob story behind them. I have heard them all. No story is bad enough to excuse the sort of behaviour I have just observed in your daughter.”
“You have met her already?”
“I have. She is rude, impolite, obnoxious. In short, she is a brat.”
“Oh dear. Is it really that bad?”
“It took seconds to see the issue. A lack of discipline at home. You have a child attempting to act as an adult. You need an adult allowed to act as a child.”
“I am not sure I follow you.”
“It matters not. What matters is whether I agree to take her on and I am in two minds over that particular decision.”
“Oh tell me you will take her. Money is no object. My wife tells me you do the finest work.”
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“Your wife is too kind. I do my best and what more can anyone do?”
“Indeed.”
Edward leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I am in two minds because I am not certain what you will think of my methods. I am strict, some have even called me cruel. I will not spare the girl punishment if I think she deserves it. Could you handle that? Would you take her back if she posted you a sob story of her own about her mistreatment at my hands?”
Lord Rothsfield turned to his wife. “Perhaps we should reconsider.”
She glared back at him. “I will make it very simple. Either she goes with Mr Westall here or I leave this house and never return.”
Edward glanced across at Lady Rothsfield. Interesting that she should be the one demanding they let Laura go. “I can promise she will come back a different person. You just may not like who she becomes.”
“It can be no worse than who she is now,” Lord Rothsfield admitted. “If you will take her, I will let her go.”
“You would ignore her pleading to come home if you receive such a missive?”
“I would.”
“And if she ran away from my establishment and came back to you, begging that you let her stay at home?”
I would escort her back to you myself.”
“You would not visit until such time as I say she is ready to rejoin society again?”
“I will await your word sir and not move from this house until then.”
Edward allowed himself a quiet smile. This was perfect. He had the challenge he needed and best of all ,these two did not seem the type who would interfere. He had free reign to choose the treatment she needed and he already knew exactly what that was. “We will begin at once,” he said, standing up. “Where is her bedroom?”