The Governess Was Wicked

by Julia Kelly

  She opened her mouth to answer when the door banged open and Miss Carrington’s tall, imposing figure filled the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  Both Elizabeth and Miss Jucinda jumped at the anger in the woman’s voice.

  “Beatrice, this is Miss Porter. She has been teaching the Nortons’ children,” Miss Jucinda said, sliding her eyes over to Elizabeth in silent apology.

  Miss Carrington glowered at them both as she stepped into the room. “I am fully aware of who this woman is.”

  That was when she saw that Miss Carrington clutched something in her hand—a sheet of paper covered with angry, slashing rows of ink.

  No.

  Elizabeth’s heart was in her throat as she turned to Miss Jucinda. “You’ve been very kind to me—’’

  “How dare you come to this establishment—this respectable establishment—and spread your filth!” Miss Carrington boomed.

  “Beatrice, I don’t understand what you’re going on about. Miss Porter and I were having a perfectly civil conversation about finding her a new position,” Miss Jucinda said, rising to her feet.

  “Have you asked her yet why she’s seeking a new position?” Miss Carrington asked.

  Miss Jucinda hesitated. “We hadn’t gotten to that part of the interview yet.”

  “And did you ask her if she had a letter of reference from the Nortons?”

  “I have none,” Elizabeth said, loud and clear, bringing the sisters’ attention back to her.

  Miss Jucinda’s eyes widened. “No letter of reference?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. There was no use hiding it.

  “But why?” the lady asked.

  “Because”—Miss Carrington raised the note she gripped in front of her and shook it—“she was consorting with a gentleman in a manner unbecoming and completely inexcusable to this establishment.”

  Miss Jucinda paled. “Are you saying—?”

  “That Miss Porter was caught with the family physician while the very girls whose education and moral compass she was charged with guiding were asleep just one floor above her.”

  Miss Carrington strode forward and shoved the piece of paper in her face. “Do you deny that anything Mr. Norton wrote to me this morning is false?”

  Elizabeth knew she had a choice. She could break down, cry, and accept the shame that she was supposed to feel for having broken the one rule every unmarried woman was meant to follow, or she could accept her fate and refuse to tarnish the memory of what she’d had with Edward.

  She’d lived just a little bit, but it was enough. It wasn’t as the novels she read led her to believe. Things didn’t simply lock into place as soon as the heroine realized that she loved and could not live without the hero. Life was messier and more uncertain, but it was more vibrant and exciting too. The moment Elizabeth had wrapped her hand around Edward’s neck and pulled him down to kiss her in the darkened kitchen, she’d decided that a simple, quiet life where nothing happened was not enough.

  With that one kiss, she’d unlocked a door that had never been opened. And when she pulled Edward into her tiny bedroom and undressed him one waistcoat button at a time, she’d walked straight through it. He’d given her just a taste of what her life might have been like if she’d been luckier. She’d learned that the touch of a good, tender man was temptation itself, and she would gladly choose that seductive path again if it meant just a little more time with Edward. She may never see him again, but she was glad for the choice she’d made.

  And so she looked the Carrington sisters in the eyes and decided she would not feel ashamed. “I have no letter of reference, Miss Jucinda. I apologize for that, but I will not apologize for any of the rest of it.”

  “Oh my!” Miss Jucinda said right as her sister said, “You’ve brought shame upon this agency, Miss Porter!”

  “I feel no shame. I’m sorry if that is not acceptable, but I won’t lie to you.”

  “You’ve broken every rule that governs your position,” Miss Carrington hissed, snatching up a copy of Miss Carrington’s Guide for Governesses from the bookshelf. “Were the teachings in this book not clear enough for you?”

  “They were quite clear,” she said, growing angry at the sight of the very volume that she had come to resent so much over the past months, “but I found them lacking.”

  Miss Carrington reared back as though she’d been struck. “This book has been read and followed by dozens of women who have educated some of the finest ladies in England. The fault lies not with the book but the reader.”

  “That book teaches us to be compliant and invisible. You want the women who read it to blend into the wallpaper and nothing else.”

  Miss Jucinda rose to her sister’s defense now. “The book is a very fine guide.”

  “It does more damage than good,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head. “You teach us to shrink inward, never hoping, dreaming, or thinking for ourselves.”

  “A governess should have no hopes and dreams,” said Miss Carrington.

  Elizabeth would have thought that those words would make her furious. Instead, all she felt was sadness that this was the life that these two women wanted for the girls who came to their door, desperate for a way to survive.

  “You’ve transgressed in the worst way possible,” Miss Carrington continued, “and your soul will never be clean again.”

  Miss Jucinda nodded. “I pity you, Miss Porter, but you’ve fallen too far for even my help.”

  The two women looked as though they expected her to sink to her knees and ask for absolution. They wanted to play judge, jury, and God over her, but Elizabeth refused to repent for what she’d done. She knew without having to ask that there was no possible scenario in which Miss Carrington’s Agency would assist her in finding a new position, and she didn’t need to stay here and listen to such abuse.

  “I’m sorry you think poorly of me,” she said, gathering up her woolen shawl.

  “Get out before anyone sees you,” hissed Miss Carrington. “And don’t think for a moment that I won’t be informing the other agencies in London of your behavior. You’re ruined, Miss Porter.”

  That was a slap straight across her face. She’d gambled on the Carringtons’ wanting to keep quiet about one of their governesses misbehaving, but if they spread word around town Elizabeth might never work as a governess again. That, more than anything else, made tears prick her eyes, but she refused to let these unbending women see her cry.

  With a stiff back, she dipped into a shallow curtsy and walked straight out of Miss Jucinda’s study, stopping only to pick up her things from the stern maid.

  The door of the agency slammed behind her with a heavy bang, locking her out in the cold.

  The tears began to spill down her face. She could have all the bravado in the world, but it would do her no good if she was starving or on the street. She had to find a position, or at least something that would pay her room and board.

  But mostly she needed help, and there were only two people in London she trusted to ask for it.

  Elizabeth wiped her eyes and started briskly down the street. She couldn’t waste time feeling sorry for herself. There was too much to do.

  She ducked into the first hotel she spotted, a rather grand affair just off Rochester Row with gilding on the massive doors and an entryway that rose up two stories, only to be topped with a scene of the heavens painted on the ceiling. She swept her eyes across the lobby filled with fashionable travelers. Strains of French, German, Spanish, and Italian mixed with the English of Britons traveling to London. In the far corner she spotted what she was looking for: a small writing desk.

  With all the confidence she could muster, she approached the desk and pulled out the chair. The ink and pen were already prepared. She plucked up a sheet of paper and quickly dashed off a note asking Mary and Jane to find a way to meet her at t
he tea shop that afternoon. Then she copied it, blotted both, and folded the papers with sharp creases. Elizabeth addressed the two missives and looked up from her work.

  Almost immediately, a boy no older than eight or nine and dressed in the hotel’s livery stepped up to her elbow. She smiled at him. “Hello there.”

  “Good morning, miss,” he said, dipping his head in a way that told her how seriously he took his position.

  “Can you see to it that these two letters are delivered?” she asked, handing him the notes and a few coins as payment.

  The boy’s eyes lit up, although whether it was the money or the responsibility that caused the change of expression, she couldn’t be sure. “Right away, miss.”

  She watched the little boy run out of the lobby with a smile. Then she wrapped herself up for the walk to Mrs. Salver’s Tea Shop, and began the long wait until that afternoon.

  Chapter Eight

  Governesses don’t love. They educate. Their greatest ambition should be the respect of their employers. Hoping for anything else is foolish.

  —Miss Carrington’s Guide for Governesses

  Edward sat in the back of a cab, waiting to be delivered to the doorstep of the home of Mr. and Mrs. Formby. The weight of obligation pressed down on him. He was dressed for dancing on that cold February evening, but there was nothing merry in his heart.

  For the past two weeks, he’d hand-delivered a letter every morning to Elizabeth. Every one of them had been returned in the afternoon’s post without a word. In his frustration that morning, he’d gone so far as to forgo Crane and wait by the servants’ entrance for the cook as she went out to the market early in the morning. She’d jumped at the sound of his boots on the pavement, her hand flying to her ample bosom. “Who are you?”

  He held his hands up, the letter dangling from his fingers. “I don’t wish to harm you. I just want to deliver a letter to someone living here.”

  The woman peered at him, her mouth a thin line of disapproval. “Why don’t you send it by post rather than skulking about in the dark?”

  “The letters I’ve given Crane keep being returned. If you could just give this to Miss Porter.” He held out the letter that contained so much of himself on the page and yet was not enough. It would never be enough.

  “Miss Porter?” said the woman, understanding and scorn dawning on her face. “You must be the doctor. Mr. Crane warned us about you. I don’t want to lose my position.”

  “Why would you lose your position for simply speaking to me?”

  The woman shot him a look that told him she thought he was a dolt and flounced off toward the mews that ran along the back of the house.

  Now, sitting in the cab, Edward tried to think of his next step. He was determined not to let his hopes and dreams about Elizabeth go until he had exhausted every avenue. If only he could speak to her . . .

  He needed to make arrangements. That was some of what was written in his letter. The rest of it told her how he admired her, how he loved her.

  Edward had wasted years holding her up on a pedestal high enough to scrape the clouds. Now he understood that he didn’t want to idolize her. He wanted a life with her. He wanted her books scattered across his home—their home. He wanted to hear her push him and challenge him. He wanted to wrap himself around her in bed at night. He wanted to hear her gasps as he plunged deep into her, finding his quiet center amid all of life’s noise.

  The cab jolted to a halt, and Edward fortified himself with a deep breath. He had one task tonight, and it lay inside.

  It took him nearly an hour to find Dr. Menser amid the sea of men in evening clothes and women in colorful gowns. Dodging an impressively wide skirt, Edward managed to make his way across the ballroom to his mentor’s side. Nerves jangled in him as he greeted the man.

  “Dr. Fellows!” The elder doctor was in good spirits, no doubt encouraged by the glass of champagne he held. “I’d hoped to see you here tonight.”

  Edward bowed deep to Mrs. Menser and her niece.

  “You remember Margaret, don’t you?” asked Mrs. Menser.

  “Miss Dunn, it is a pleasure to see you again.” He turned his attention to Menser. “Might I have a word with you?”

  Menser cast an arm out over the dancers waltzing across the floor. “We’ll talk later. Why don’t you waltz now?”

  “Margaret is an excellent dancer,” said Mrs. Menser hopefully.

  Naturally, his friend Gray took that moment to stroll up, a glass of claret in his hand. “Yes, why don’t you dance, Fellows? The lady certainly looks eager.”

  He was going to wrap his hands around his friend’s cervical vertebra and strangle him if he wound up stuck waltzing with Miss Dunn.

  Gray just smirked.

  “Under any other circumstance, I’d be happy to dance with Miss Dunn, but I really must speak to Dr. Menser. It’s a matter of some delicacy,” he said, sending his mentor a significant look.

  Comprehension bloomed over Menser’s face. “Ah, yes. I heard that there’s a thriller of a game of faro going on in the cardroom right now.”

  Edward nodded sharply, bowed to the ladies once again, and then followed as Menser pushed through the crowd to the cardroom.

  They were hardly in the door when his mentor turned and crossed his arms. “Is this what I think this is about?”

  “I’ll take the position.”

  The words came out so much easier than Edward had expected. America had been his goal for more than two years, and yet he knew that his future and his happiness were right here in London. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind of the man he could be if Elizabeth was at his side.

  Menser peered at him. “You are sure? This is quite an abrupt change of plans so close to when you are supposed to sail. Are you certain it’s not just cold feet?”

  “I’ve never felt so certain of anything in my life.” Edward said the words with every ounce of conviction he felt.

  “Tell me when to start and I’ll start,” he said.

  Menser began nodding slowly. “I’ll make arrangements. Come see me Monday and I will discuss the particulars of the lectures you’ll be picking up this spring.”

  He exhaled long and slow. “Thank you.”

  Menser tipped his belled champagne glass at him. “Oh, and I hope you’ll bring whichever woman helped you make the decision around one of these days. I should like to meet her. She must be quite something to knock such a single-minded ass off his plans completely.”

  Edward could hardly help the smile that spread across his lips. “She is. Now I just have to convince her to have me.”

  “Tell her you love her,” said Menser. “That’s always a good start.”

  One gray Wednesday afternoon two weeks after her unpleasant encounter with the Carringtons, Elizabeth set out on foot from her boardinghouse for Mrs. Salver’s Tea Shop. She knew she’d be early, but it had been nearly five days since she’d last spoken to Mary and Jane. She could have written, but she was conserving every shilling, and postage was simply too dear. Hand-delivering her letters was out of the question in case rumor of her indiscretion made its way back to her friends’ respective employers. She didn’t want to embroil them in her scandal.

  She arrived just as the shop was opening, nearly an hour before her regular appointment with her friends. They’d always met on Wednesdays, their afternoon of freedom from the rigors of their respective positions. This was their treat to each other, a chance to exchange stories, commiserate, and be themselves for a few hours without having to worry about the demands of children or employers.

  Except all of that was gone now. Elizabeth had nothing, save the dull ache that spread through her chest whenever she thought of Edward. All she had to do was stay away for another two months, and he’d be off to New York. If she could do that, his ambition to research would be preserved. He would be able to do
the thing he loved more than anything else in the world, and she’d be happy to have given him that with a free conscience.

  If only she could begin to pick up the scraps of her own emotions so easily.

  With a shake of her head, she pushed open the shop door. A bell jangled to announce her arrival, and Mrs. Salver popped her head out of the doorway to the kitchen. “Miss Porter,” said the older woman, who wore an apron covered in flour over her clothes at all times. “You’re early today.”

  “I’m afraid I am. I hope that you won’t mind if I waited for Miss Ephram and Miss Woodward?”

  Mrs. Salver flapped a hand at her as she bustled out from around the shop’s counter. “You settle yourself down at the table by the window, and I’ll bring you a cup and some scones. They’ve just finished baking.”

  With a grateful smile, she did as she was told, pulling out the copy of North and South Edward had given her. Her fingers smoothed over the marbling on the cover. She knew that she shouldn’t carry it around in her reticule—it was a constant reminder of Edward—but she couldn’t help herself.

  “That’s a very fine book you have there,” said Mrs. Salver with a nod as she set a pot of tea to the side so that it would steep.

  “It is,” she said before opening to the spot she’d marked with a ribbon and letting herself sink back into the world of Margaret Hale and Mr. Thornton.

  Just about an hour later, Mary pushed through the door to the tea shop, shaking out an umbrella. Elizabeth looked up from her book, startled to see that it had started raining.

  “What a miserable day!” Mary dropped into the chair next to her with a huff.

  “Miss Woodward!” cried Mrs. Salver as she set a fresh pot of tea in the center of their table. “Take the hat off. I’ll dry it in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. S,” said Mary, unpinning the black hat with its broad brim from her mound of chestnut hair. “I thought I’d be blown away today.”

  Elizabeth poured Mary a cup of tea while she waited for Mrs. Salver to leave. She pushed the cup across the table. “There you are.”