His words were yet again met with silence.
He cleared his throat. “Of course the rooms will need to be cleaned and arranged to suit your needs, but you’re welcome to venture up there. There’s a library, a schoolroom, a handful of bedchambers, and a small parlor.”
“My father’s room?” asked Julia.
He almost breathed a sigh of relief when one of them spoke. “Yes. The last door at the hall’s north end.”
The children exchanged glances, and gradually they began to speak with each other again. He even heard a giggle.
Jac focused his attention back on the tutor and governess. “I will be absent for some of the morning, but instruct the staff on how you’d like the rooms arranged. Also let them know what items need to be purchased. They’ll be awaiting your instruction.”
“Of course.” Mr. Simon’s gaze was direct. A little too direct—and confident—given the circumstances.
“Where are you going to be today?” Sophy asked, her bright eyes wide and still fixed on him.
He looked at her, amusement eclipsing his uneasiness. Already he’d noticed that she did not shy away from conversation. Jac liked that about her. “I’m actually going to visit a relative of yours.”
“We don’t have any other relatives here.” Hannah shook her head, lowering her bread to the plate. “Father said the only family we had was you and Aunt Beatrice and her family.”
“Oh, but you do. You might not remember, but my aunt Charlotte, your great-aunt, lives in a cottage here on the Penwythe property. I’m going to tell her of your arrival. I’m sure she will want to come by and meet you all.”
“I’ve met her before.” Liam nearly interrupted Jac’s last words. The youth looked fully at Jac for the first time since he entered the morning room. “She visited us once when Mother was alive. It was a long time ago, though.”
A vague memory of the older woman going to visit Randall shortly after her husband’s death in an attempt to smooth the rift surfaced. It had been unsuccessful, but apparently it had left an impression on Liam.
“I stand corrected.” Jac smiled. But the boy did not return it.
Jac stood from the table and straightened his waistcoat. “I’ll be off then, but in the meantime, just let Mrs. Bishop or Andrews know if you have any questions.”
Chapter 9
The sun was already high in the blue Cornish sky when Jac traveled the path from Penwythe House to Fairehold Cottage.
This particular day should have been spent in the north orchard, assessing the drainage and overseeing the ditch digging, but the work would have to continue without him. A somber task awaited him, and the sooner it was completed, the better.
When he arrived at the whitewashed gate marking the cottage’s entrance, he pushed it open, noting the need for a groundskeeper to repair a broken hinge, and wove through the tulips and hyacinth—their symmetry and vitality a testament to his aunt’s careful tending.
He bypassed the main entrance and entered through the kitchen door, where he found his aunt sitting poker-straight in the breakfast room, alone, bread and jelly before her, tea in hand.
She looked up as he entered and lifted her chin to study him more closely. “You’ve shaved since yesterday. Good. The master of an estate should never be seen with the scruff I saw on you yesterday.”
“I was busy,” he teased, knowing how it irked her when he was less than presentable.
“A proper valet would ensure you never left the house in such a state. What happened to your valet, again?”
“Aunt Charlotte, you know there are no funds for a valet now.” He rested his hand on her shoulder and plopped a kiss atop her white mobcap. “Besides, why would I need a valet when I have Andrews?”
“Bah.” She snorted at his attempt at a joke, but she covered his hand with her own. “Now sit down. You’re earlier than normal today.”
“Yes, but I knew you’d be up.” He followed her bidding and sat next to her. Alis, her maid, placed a cup of tea in front of him before he was even fully seated.
“Will you eat?” Aunt Charlotte asked, resuming her breakfast.
“No, I’ve eaten, but look at what I’ve brought you.” He glanced back to the door to make sure Alis had rounded the threshold before he reached into his satchel and pulled out a bundle. “Cook made these this morning and insisted I bring you one.”
Amused, Aunt Charlotte chuckled as she beheld the bundle of tarts. “Don’t let Alis see these. You know how it vexes her when food is sent. She thinks the cook at Penwythe judges her cooking and finds it wanting.”
He pressed his finger to his lips. “I’ll not tell a soul.”
As silence descended once again, Jac sobered in light of the grim news he was about to deliver. He cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the table. “As a matter of fact, I do have news.”
She cut her pale-blue eyes in his direction. “I could tell by the manner in which you are chewing your lip. Has old man Tallack made another bid for the north meadow? I do wish—”
“It’s about Randall,” Jac interrupted, the sudden need not to draw this conversation out any longer taking over.
She snapped her mouth shut. Her rheumy eyes widened, and she assessed her withered hands folded primly before her. “Now there’s a name I’ve not heard pass your lips in quite some time.”
His heart pounded more intently with each passing second. He did not want to share this news. Not at all. He reached over and placed his hand on hers. “He’s dead, Aunt.”
Her sparse eyebrows jumped. She drew a slow, shuddering breath, and for several moments she said nothing. She stared at the white cloth covering the table for what seemed like minutes, and then whispered, “A great loss indeed.”
He gave her silence to digest the news he’d just delivered.
Moisture filled her eyes, but after a deep breath she straightened her shoulders. Always proper. Always controlled. “What happened to him? Did he take ill?”
Jac swallowed, finding the words more difficult to say than he thought he would. “No. Not ill. He was injured in a riding accident.”
“I see.”
He gave a slow nod. “Apparently he lived for two days after the incident, but he had significant internal injuries.”
She lifted her teacup with a shaky hand and held it before her. Jac thought the steaming liquid would spill, but it didn’t.
She returned the dainty cup to the saucer, tea untouched.
They sat in silence for several moments, the weight of regret pushing on him now more than ever.
How many times had Aunt Charlotte urged him to make this right with his only brother?
How many times did he deny her?
“And his children?” Her question pulled him from his dark thoughts. “What is to become of them now? Do you know?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Jac drew a deep breath, trying to bring energy back to his tone. “That is the other part of my news. They are here.”
“What?” She jerked, causing her pearl-drop earbobs to swing excitedly. Her hand flew to her mouth. The color that had drained now flooded her high cheeks. “Here?”
“Yes, all five of them. At Penwythe Hall. They arrived late last night. It appears that despite the disagreements, Randall decided I should be the guardian for his children.”
The corner of her lip quirked, and she tapped her head, as if thinking of a great secret. “Deep down, your brother knew your worth, just as you knew his.”
“Worthy or not, there are now seven more people living at Penwythe.”
“Seven?” She gaped. “Why so many?”
“A governess and a tutor came with them.”
“Heavens,” she exclaimed. “Penwythe is a large house. It was never meant to be empty. It needs life in it.”
Jac huffed, straightening his coat’s broadcloth sleeve. “Large, yes, but it’s hardly prepared to house seven more people in its current state. It needs repairs. And a great deal of them. You know b
etter than anyone the strain the recent years have put on the old place.”
“And yet it’s always survived.” An expression of peaceful pride settled over her, and she looked to the window.
He wished he could share her optimism.
“Come,” she said suddenly, swiping a tear from the corner of her eye. In a shaky rustle of emerald taffeta, she rose to her feet, pushing against the table for support, the weight causing the china and eggcup atop it to tremble. “Take me on a walk through my garden before you take your leave. I need air.”
He jumped from his chair and rushed around to assist her. He offered his arm, and once she was steady, he retrieved her heavily ruffled bonnet from the hook, waited as she placed it atop her silver curls, and then led her from the breakfast room out into the morning sunshine.
“When do I get to see my great-nieces and -nephews?”
“You are welcome anytime at Penwythe, Aunt. You know that. You need never wait for an invitation. Say the word and I will send the carriage ’round.”
“Ah, today’s not the day. If they only arrived last night, they’re meeting enough new people and must get settled.” She paused at the budding pink camellias and tenderly touched the fragrant petals before she continued down the brick path. “What is their disposition? Surely this is quite an adjustment.”
He recalled their somber expressions at the breakfast table—Liam’s hard stare and Sophy’s curious glances. “They are in mourning and quite somber, so I don’t think it’s fair to judge them quite yet.”
“Will they accompany you to church tomorrow?”
He looked to the east as he considered her question. “I have not spoken with their governess about it, but I assume so. If they are to live here, then they’d best be acclimated as soon as possible.”
“Quite right. Children are far better at adjusting to these things than adults are. ’Tis best to set expectations right away. Ah, but it will be good to have children at Penwythe once again. Have Mrs. Bishop set out a picnic on the front terrace tomorrow, and I will spend time with them then.”
As Aunt Charlotte stood from her blooms, Jac assisted her on the uneven brick path. He smiled at her, a practiced, calm smile he’d learned to employ when apprehensive.
“Don’t fret, Jac.” She patted her withered hand against his cheek and met his gaze. “Time reveals all, heals all. Don’t lose heart. God’s ways are not ours. Have I not learned that myself, time and time over? I recall very well taking in my own sweet nephews. As you will remember, it was not always easy, but oh, where would I be today without my Jac? All will work together for good, my boy. All will work together for good.”
Chapter 10
“Aren’t you coming?” Delia paused in the doorway to the library. “Mr. Twethewey asked for the children to come down to the drawing room to meet visitors—a family called the Collivers, I believe.”
“I heard.” Mr. Simon did not look up from his stack of books. “You take them. I’ll stay here and finish this.”
Delia tilted her head to the side, pressed her lips together, and watched her friend and colleague as he reached for another book.
Managing the children’s emotions throughout the past couple of days had been difficult, and Mr. Simon’s inexplicable dour mood added to the challenge. Her every effort toward positivity and cheerfulness seemed thwarted by his blatant pessimism, and now his refusal to assist in this matter teetered on rudeness.
She wiped the dust and dirt from her hands, untied her apron, and shrugged it from her shoulders. She’d manage on her own.
Despite the fact that her cheeks already ached from forced smiles, she feigned enthusiasm and sought the children, who were gathered in the small parlor. “Your uncle has requested that you join him in the drawing room. He has guests to whom he would like to introduce you.”
Groans circled the tiny space.
Delia ignored the grunts of protest and helped Sophy to her feet. “Come on now. Your uncle has been nothing but gracious; we owe him this much. His neighbors are our neighbors now. Come. Let’s move quickly.”
She urged them all to their feet and guided them down two flights of stairs. Voices grew louder as they approached the drawing room, and with quick, practiced movements she straightened ribbons, smoothed hair, and brushed dirt from gowns and sleeves as they neared the door. After a morning of selecting chambers, organizing furniture, and cleaning spaces, their appearance was far from pristine, but nothing could be done about that now.
They paused at the entrance, and she examined the children’s faces, each a unique mixture of trepidation and interest, and lowered her head to look them each directly in the eyes. “Remember your manners. And be polite. Everything will be fine.”
After patting her own hair and straightening her gown, Delia entered the sunlit room before the children.
She’d not been in this room during daylight hours yet. What had appeared dark and almost sinister last night was now bright and inviting. Tall windows lined the west wall, broken by two sets of painted French doors that opened to a terrace. A large pianoforte was positioned in the far corner, and paintings of all sizes adorned the emerald walls. The large marble fireplace stood opposite the windows, and two settees and several chairs formed a sitting space around the fire, where Mr. Twethewey and two guests now sat.
Mr. Twethewey stood as they entered and stepped forward. His dark, curling hair was brushed to the side, and his clean-shaven jaw boasted the same square shape as his brother’s. Instead of the workman’s attire he wore upon their first meeting, a fine coat of dark-gray broadcloth hugged his athletic torso, and a crisp white cravat made his skin seem quite tanned.
He motioned for them to come closer. “Come in.”
Delia ushered the children nearer.
“Children, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Colliver. The Collivers are our nearest neighbors and great family friends. Their estate, Bowden Manor, borders Penwythe Hall to the north.” Mr. Twethewey pivoted toward his guests. “May I present Liam, Julia, Hannah, Johnny, and Sophia. Excuse me, Sophy. And this is Mrs. Greythorne. Their governess. Where is the tutor?”
Delia found her voice. “He remained upstairs to instruct the staff on how to arrange the rooms.”
Mrs. Colliver shook her head, her auburn hair swaying about her face. “What lovely children you all are. I knew your mother and your aunt. Quite well, as a matter of fact. We grew up together. I see that look of surprise on your face, Miss Hannah. Did you not know that your mother grew up not terribly far from here?”
“I did not know it was so close,” Hannah said, exchanging glances with Julia.
“Why, yes.” Mrs. Colliver’s face brightened. “It is an hour by carriage ride, but what is that when such great friends were to be visited? I daresay your mother was much younger than I, but that hardly mattered. Your aunt and I were much closer in age. In fact, I still communicate with her often. Just this winter I spent a great deal of time with her and her daughters in London, and I received a letter from her only last month.”
Delia did not miss how for the first time in days, Julia’s face brightened.
Mrs. Colliver reached her hands to Sophy. “Now come here. I am eager to learn all about you. Oh, it does break my heart to see children dressed in mourning black.”
Sophy cast Delia a glance before allowing Mrs. Colliver to lead her to the settee and being seated. The other children followed her, and Delia stood at the door, observing so as not to intrude on the family scene.
Once the children were settled, Mrs. Colliver leaned low, her sickly sweet scent of hyacinth encircling them. “Tell me all about yourselves. What are you all fond of? Surely there is something you like to do. We must find activities here to make you happy.”
Hannah straightened. “I like to sing, and Julia plays the pianoforte.”
From the simple question and answer, a polite, easy conversation flowed between the woman and children—with one exception.
Liam’s face flushed red, and a s
torm brewed in his icy blue eyes.
Mrs. Colliver’s high-pitched prattle pulled Delia back to the conversation. “What lovely children. Of course Julia must play for us right now, and, Hannah, you will sing. A concert is just what we all need.” She waved her hand toward the pianoforte. “I doubt that instrument’s been played in years, and it will be good to hear music within these walls again.”
As bid, Julia took her seat at the pianoforte, a pretty pink flushing her cheeks—the first glimpse of a return of Julia’s normal countenance since before the accident. She pushed her long, dark curls over her shoulder and arranged her black muslin gown, and Hannah stood in front of her, hands folded demurely. Julia began to play, and as Hannah sang, a clear, haunting tone exuded from her, one that seemed much more mature than her tiny body would suggest.
Delia’s heart swelled with motherly pride as she watched the girls. How many afternoons had they spent rehearsing that very song? A strange sensation tightened her heart as the strains reached her ears.
If this song was bringing about such melancholy feelings for her, how much stronger would those feelings be for the children? She looked to their faces. Sophy and Johnny seemed comfortable enough, but Liam’s jaw twitched yet again.
As the girls sang, Delia inched forward slightly until she was just behind Liam. She placed a hand on his shoulder, intending to be a comfort, but he jerked his shoulder free and stomped toward the room’s exit.
The music slammed to a stop.
Delia opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Twethewey’s firm voice beat her to it. “Young man. You’ve not been dismissed.”
The boy paid him no heed. He was nearly to the door.
“Liam! Stop.”
At Mr. Twethewey’s raised tone, Liam’s feet halted. His shoulders rose, and his fists clenched at his sides. After several uneasy moments, he turned. Contempt darkened his young face, and his brows narrowed with more intensity than she thought him capable of.
The Governess of Penwythe Hall Page 6