The Governess of Penwythe Hall

by Sarah E. Ladd

  Commotion out in the corridor drew their attention, and Delia turned. The undertaker, a tall, sinewy man with wan, sunken cheeks, stood in the doorway.

  Mr. Steerhead’s face reddened, but his eyes didn’t leave the newcomer. “I must go. You two ready the children as discussed.” Within moments he fled the space, the undertaker on his heels, leaving Delia alone with Mr. Simon.

  She stood and prepared to leave the chamber, but the curious expression on Mr. Simon’s face made her pause. “You look satisfied.”

  He tilted his dark head to the side and tapped the papers against his hand. “I’d be lying if I said this didn’t ease the burden of relocating to Cornwall. It’s a godforsaken part of the country. I can’t say I have the least desire to travel there.”

  She looked to the seal on her letter but did not open it. The meaning and intention behind it settled on her like a heavy cloak. “Poor Mr. Twethewey. He was desperate to make sure his children are cared for and comfortable.”

  “There was nothing poor about Mr. Twethewey.” Mr. Simon’s lips curved in what could only be interpreted as amusement. He tucked the packet inside his coat and stood, the whites of his eyes flashing bright in the room darkened by the clouds outside the window. “He wanted us to do what he wanted us to do. Nothing more. At the end of the day, we are all just trying to protect our own future and that of those we love. Are we not?”

  His words struck her as odd.

  Under normal circumstances, Mr. Simon was a man ruled by emotion and empathy, but in this moment, indifference tinged his words. She gathered her black skirts and preceded Mr. Simon to the cool paneled corridor. “My goodness. You sound like an opportunist.”

  A throaty chuckle emanated. “I’ve never claimed to be a saint, Mrs. Greythorne, but neither am I an opportunist, merely practical.” Mr. Simon fell into step with her, and they traversed the wide corridor. He angled his head toward her, as if taking her into his confidence. “None of us could have prevented this unfortunate occurrence. It’s sad but a reality. I know you worry for them, but they’re not the first children to lose their parents. I lost my father when I was no older than Johnny, and both of your parents are dead. We survived, and I daresay the experience has shaped both of us. The children must continue to live life, to thrive, and we will do what we can to assist them.”

  They continued in silence for several paces before they made their way through a narrow doorway toward the main foyer. “I’ve no doubt you’ll do exceptionally well in Cornwall. After all, you’ll be able to see your family.”

  She forced a smile and nodded as a thread of discomfort tightened within her at the mention of family. Yes, her sister and brother still lived in a small village not terribly far from Penwythe Hall, but her mother-in-law’s image—and the echo of her stark warning—burned brightest in her mind.

  “And how long has it been since you have seen your family?”

  “Three years.”

  “See there, that should give you some comfort. Besides, we’ll still work side by side, and as far as I’m concerned, that is the best incentive for staying on.”

  Delia warmed at his words of solidarity and his affectionate smile. Her relationship with Mr. Simon was a complicated one—one she did not fully understand. At times his manner was cool and aloof; at others she imagined that their relationship could blossom beyond mere friendship. After years of working by his side, she had learned to adjust to his swinging moods and varied sentiments, but in this moment, under these circumstances, she was grateful for his companionship.

  Most governesses did not have the luxury of having an equal in the household as she did in Mr. Simon. She was no servant, but neither was she on the same footing with the family. Mr. Simon was the only other individual of her station, and she found great comfort and camaraderie in that. And despite everything else, at least their comradeship would continue.

  She slowed her steps as they passed the downstairs drawing room. The two French doors stood ajar, and she glimpsed the coffin atop a table, with Mr. Twethewey’s body lying in wait within. Black baize draped the walls, furniture, and even the window, blocking out all traces of the afternoon’s gray light. Gold candlelight flickered and danced in the ebony space, making the room seem alive instead of what it was. The tall professional watcher who’d been hired to sit with Mr. Twethewey’s body paced behind the table, the thud of his heels striking the polished floor.

  Delia shivered at the sight and hurried to rejoin Mr. Simon, who had continued on without her. Oblivious to the scene she’d just witnessed, Mr. Simon gave a little laugh. “This is turning into quite a production. Seven souls are going to descend upon Penwythe Hall in a matter of days. I can only imagine Mr. Jac Twethewey’s reaction.”

  “Surely he will welcome us. Mr. Steerhead said Penwythe Hall is quite large. Besides, I am sure the late Mr. Twethewey has made it worth his brother’s while.”

  “You give the dearly departed a great deal of credit. You weren’t here when this rift occurred between the two brothers. True, I didn’t know all the details, but it wasn’t a pleasant time—that I can say with certainty.”

  They continued to the second floor of Easten Park, on which the nursery and schoolroom were located. As he turned to enter the schoolroom, Mr. Simon paused. “You still look upset.” He nudged her arm playfully. “Don’t look so glum. You always tell the children to seek out adventure. Consider this an adventure of your own.”

  She offered a smile and swallowed the discomfort of the fearful memory of her in-laws before she continued down the hallway. Adventure would be just what the children needed, but she wanted nothing more than peace.

  She looked down at the packet in her hand. There was money in it. She knew without even opening it. Money was always a step toward security, and did she not have dreams for the future, to one day open her own school for young ladies? After all, the children would not need a governess forever. At some point she would be alone again, searching for her place in the world.

  Even so, the money within this packet seemed like blood money—a man’s final, desperate attempt to care for his children—and an ominous chill raced down her spine.

  Only a few years prior she’d witnessed firsthand how far a family would go to protect its own, and now she was teetering on the edge of that old world. How she wished their journey would take them north, even farther away from her past, instead of hurling her headlong toward it.

  Cornwall.

  It was in her blood, and she feared she’d never escape its hold.

  With a sigh she tucked the letter beneath her arm and headed toward her chamber. She did not know what the future held, but at least she would not be alone.

  Chapter 4

  “Are we really going to leave Easten Park?”

  Delia paused in packing her valise and glanced over her shoulder at the three ebony-clad young ladies—Julia, Hannah, and Sophy—sitting atop her bed.

  Under normal circumstances, her charges were not permitted inside her personal chambers, but now their father was dead. Life as they knew it—and the rules that governed it—was forever altered. Nothing was normal, and nothing would be so for a very long time.

  Delia forced cheer to her voice as she turned to retrieve a long-sleeved gown of charcoal linen from her wardrobe and smoothed the ivory lace lining the neckline. “Yes. We’ll leave at dawn’s light. Mr. Steerhead has hired a bigger carriage for the ride. In two days’ time we’ll be in Cornwall.”

  “I’ve never been to Cornwall.” Hannah sulked as she leaned her nut-brown curls back against the pillows on Delia’s bed. “I think it’s terrible that we have to go so far away from everyone we know.”

  “Cornwall is a lovely place,” Delia said, finding it increasingly difficult to keep her tone buoyant. “Do you not recall the story we read of the mermaids near the coast? Mr. Steerhead told me Penwythe Hall is a little more than a mile from the sea. Won’t you like to see the sea?”

  The girls stared at her with blank expr
essions.

  In the silence guilt descended.

  Of course they were not eager to see the sea, nor anything else besides the home they knew and loved.

  Delia cleared her throat and placed a pair of white silk stockings in her valise before sitting next to the girls. She covered Hannah’s small hand with her own. “I know you miss your father and are sad to leave, and ’tis normal to feel that way. But for now, it’s best that we approach this situation positively. Your father loved you very much, and it was his desire that your uncle Jac care for you. So that’s what we shall do. I’ll be with you every step and will not leave you for a second.”

  “I remember Uncle Jac.” Julia crossed her arms over her chest. Her scowl transformed her normally cheerful countenance to one quite dark. “He’s a horrid man. Why would Father send us there?”

  Delia shot the oldest girl a warning glance. “I think we should all reserve judgment until we meet him for ourselves. That is what I intend to do, and I urge you to do the same.”

  Julia pinched her lips together and glared as she moved from the bed and dropped to the wingback chair in the corner.

  Hannah’s sudden, high-pitched cry pierced the afternoon calm. “Sophy, don’t do that! It’s not yours!”

  Delia whirled around to see the six-year-old child on her tiptoes, her hand in a box atop the chest of drawers. At the reprimand Sophy whirled around and tucked both hands behind her back. The box lid slammed shut. Her amber eyes were wide. “I was only looking.”

  Delia rose from the bed and moved toward the box. “You may see inside. Here, I’ll help you.” She lifted the box decorated with white and pink shells and polished gray stones and lowered it to the girl’s level.

  At the invitation Hannah jumped from the bed in a flurry of jet-black muslin and joined them.

  Delia tipped open the lid and lifted a coral necklace from the velvet-lined interior.

  “Oh, how lovely!” Hannah cooed. She took it in her small hands and held it up, letting the necklace dangle between them. “Why do you never wear it?”

  Delia smiled. “A governess hardly has need of such things.”

  “I think you should wear it every day. It’s too pretty to hide away.” Sophy, eager to see what else lay inside the perceived treasure box, pushed forward to pull out another trinket and held it up. “I like this one.”

  The afternoon light gleamed from the pendant’s silver rim. Delia’s heart squeezed in a familiar ache at the sight. She took the item from the child and tenderly ran her finger over the hair woven into the setting.

  “What’s that?” Sophy leaned heavily against Delia’s side.

  Delia slid her free arm around the child and drew a breath. “It’s a mourning pendant.”

  “Whose hair is that?” Hannah leaned forward.

  Delia tightened her fingers around the trinket and, for just a moment, allowed the memory to slip to the forefront. Chubby fists. Dimpled cheek. Fuzzy hair so blonde it appeared white. A tiny soul gone far too soon.

  Maria.

  Her Maria.

  Heat flushed her, as it usually did when she thought of her greatest loss, and with her other hand she smoothed the chain. “This is a lock of my daughter’s hair.”

  She’d told the girls little snippets about her daughter, and they’d always been curious about Delia’s life before she came to live with them—about her late husband and daughter, her childhood in Whitecross, her own siblings—but Delia found it easier not to speak of it, for speaking of it always unleashed a flood of emotions: regret, loss, fear.

  The girls remained silent as they looked over Delia’s shoulder, as if they were bound together in the grief of loss.

  With a sharp intake of breath, Delia curled her fingers over the tiny trinket. She returned the pendant to the box, closed the lid, and smiled down at the children. “We are fortunate to have each other, are we not?”

  Solemn gazes and wide eyes met her, but the words were true. They had to find comfort—and strength—in that. She would never give up on the girls, not as long as she had power to care for them, and if she were honest, the girls filled a void in her heart that, were it to be vacated, would leave a terrible scar.

  She nudged Hannah with her elbow in an attempt to jolt her from her sadness. “You’d best pay a last visit to the library and make sure you have the stories you want. The carriage ride will be a long one. Perhaps you can read to us.”

  Hannah’s eyes brightened, and she grabbed Sophy’s arm. Together the girls raced for the door, their slippers padding over the carpeted floor.

  After several quiet moments, Julia stood from the chair, her narrow brows furrowed in disapproval. “I don’t think you should do that.”

  Delia returned her attention to the valise. “Do what?”

  “Build their excitement. You’ll only give them false hope, and then they’ll be disappointed.”

  Delia lowered a linen chemise and turned. “And how do you know they’ll be disappointed?”

  “You’ve never met Uncle Jac. I have.” Julia’s brilliant blue eyes, so like those of her late father’s, held Delia’s gaze in a silent challenge.

  Julia was no longer a child, like her two younger sisters. She was trapped between the realities of adulthood and the blissfulness of childhood. Their father’s death was hard on the younger two, but it was hard in a different way for the oldest sister. At just twelve years of age, she’d been forced to learn to deal with far too much.

  Delia took her time returning the treasure box to the wardrobe. She was in no hurry to fill the silence in the room with words. She folded more stockings and placed them in her satchel, making sure the bag was cinched shut before she spoke.

  “You’re older than your sisters, Julia. You have the benefit of time. I’ll not pretend you are a child. We cannot change things, and your father believed this to be the best solution for you and your siblings. You know he loved you and wanted the best.”

  “Then why would he send us there? To live with him?” Tears brimmed in Julia’s eyes, making them appear even more vibrant. “He should have sent us to Aunt Beatrice. She loves us. Uncle Jac will hate us, just like he hated Father.”

  Delia placed her bag on the bed and moved next to Julia. “I’m sure he had a good reason for making the decision he did. He probably knew something you did not.”

  Julia’s lip trembled, and she looked to the patterned rug beneath her feet.

  When the girl did not pull away from her touch, Delia wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and squeezed. “I am proud of you, Julia.”

  “Proud?” She squinted up at Delia. “Why?”

  “Because you care about your sisters and want to protect them from pain. But you must know it’s all right to be sad yourself. Don’t try to solve everything. Not in this moment, at least. Sophy and Hannah know very little of your uncle or what happened between him and your father. I think it best that it stays that way. They are too young to fully understand. Please try to stay optimistic. If for no other reason than to help them with this transition.”

  After several moments, Julia’s tense shoulder eased, but her smile did not return. Instead, she stepped toward the door, paused in the threshold, and turned. “I will. For them. But I still don’t think any good will come of this.”

  Chapter 5

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Sophy’s excited voice rose above the clatter of carriage wheels as they rumbled over the uneven road. “Penwythe Hall!”

  Ensuing chatter and giddy giggles filled the carriage, and Delia could not deny her own mounting excitement as she ducked her head to see through the window.

  “Ladies, please sit back. There will be plenty of time to see your new surroundings.”

  Delia’s words fell unheard as the girls pressed against the window, eagerly arching their necks to see through the panes.

  With a sigh Delia leaned back against the tufted seat. There was no use attempting to contain their enthusiasm, for they were as tired of travelin
g as she. The drive, which was supposed to take but two days, had stretched into three. Heavy rain resulted in rutted roads, making for a damp, jolting drive, and two sleepless nights in carriage inns had drained them all of energy and patience. To escalate the frustration, the carriage carrying the boys and men broke a wheel several miles back. With thunder growling and more rain threatening, it was decided that the girls and Delia would travel ahead.

  “I wonder what Uncle Jac will look like.” Sophy pressed her freckled nose against the window. “I bet he looks like Papa.”

  “He’d be handsome then.” Hannah arched her neck to see past her younger sister. “Do you think he’ll like us?”

  “Why wouldn’t he like us?” Sophy nearly toppled from the seat as the carriage hit a rut; instead, she fell against her sister.

  Julia shook her head, her expression cautious. “He probably doesn’t even want us to come.”

  “Of course he does.” Delia’s quick response resounded. “I’m sure he is very eager to see all of you.”

  The carriage rounded a bend and jostled through the open main iron gates, and Delia’s breath caught at the sight of Penwythe Hall. The massive structure of weathered stone and blackened iron rose several stories into the churning pewter sky. Dutch gables capped large paned windows, and numerous squat chimneys disappeared into low-hanging clouds and fog.

  She squinted to see more clearly in evening’s fading light, and her awe for the home quickly gave way to an alarming realization.

  All was silent—too silent for a house expecting guests. No light winked from the darkened windows. No sounds came from the lawns or outbuildings.

  The property appeared empty.

  “It looks like no one’s here,” Julia stated as she leaned forward once the carriage drew to a complete halt at the front entrance, showing her first bit of interest. “Maybe he’s not expecting us after all.”