by April Munday
“Have you made your choice?” he asked, knowing she hadn’t.
She blinked and he knew she had forgotten their reason for being here. Her finger stroked the page on which it rested and his eye was drawn irresistibly towards it.
“No.”
“Then I shall sit in that chair until you have, then carry it upstairs for you.”
He sat in the chair that afforded the best view of her hands and spent the next few minutes watching her turn the pages. How long would it be, he wondered, before another man found the same pleasure and perhaps others in her company?
He knew that she was happy here, but what was that compared to marriage? There were few enough opportunities for a governess to meet men of her own rank. Finch wondered if he should provide those opportunities for Mary. Even if keeping her here would be the best thing for him and Freddie, would it be best for her?
Mary had a faint smile on her lips as she turned the pages and the sight of it gave him almost as much pleasure as her fingers.
She looked up at him.
“Is something wrong?”
“Wrong? No. I was just lost in thought.”
“Not a pleasant thought.”
Finch thought again about her leaving them.
“No, it wasn’t a pleasant thought. I realised that I am being selfish.”
“Oh. You’re the most generous person I’ve ever met.”
“And that is itself a form of selfishness.”
Mary laughed.
“You told me once that you were shallow, but you think far too much about what you do and why you do it.”
“Perhaps.”
When he said no more, she returned to the atlas, but the mood was broken and she no longer smiled.
As if to disprove her, he examined her dress in more detail, pleased with the way it clung to her thin body. She might not be a good seamstress, but the fit was good. She wore no jewellery and he set his mind to working out how she might be persuaded to accept some from him.
“This one, I think.”
It took him a moment to remember that she was choosing an atlas.
Finch put the unwanted atlases back in their places. As he picked up the one he was to carry upstairs, he deliberately brushed against her fingers. He had been right; a young man would find them very desirable.
Mary’s favourite part of the day was when she sat alone with Finch in the drawing-room after Freddie had gone to bed. Finch invited her more and more frequently, making it clear that she could refuse. He had given her her own sitting-room so that she might have some privacy in the evening. At first she had thought him simply polite, now she knew that he enjoyed her company. Finch would be writing letters or reading and she would read or sew. Sometimes he would remark on something and read it aloud to her and they would discuss it; sometimes she would read to him; at other times they would talk about Freddie’s progress and her plans for him. Often they sat in an easy silence.
The only cause for distress was that these evenings were so few. Finch was a sociable man and was often invited out or had supper parties at home. However little he treated her as a servant, she could not be invited to these. On these evenings she was grateful for her sitting-room. They would be spent reading the lowest kind of novel she had been able to obtain from the circulating library; it was the only way she could manage to distract herself completely.
One evening as they sat together after dinner, Mary noticed that Finch was staring into the distance as he did so often. She had been reading aloud, but she stopped so that she would not disturb him. There had been other occasions when he seemed to be examining something in the corner of the room, but this time he seemed to be so affected by his thoughts that she felt tears prick her eyes.
Eventually he came back to himself. Noticing her own sadness, he smiled.
“I apologise. I was quite ill during the spring and sometimes I’m affected by thoughts of the things I should have done, but did not do and the things I did and should not have done. Someone was injured as a result.”
“Manufactories are dangerous places,” said Mary, recalling that he had been in Ireland studying a new industrial process in the spring.
“Indeed,” agreed Finch.
She felt, however, that he had not been talking about a manufactory.
She touched the rosary in her pocket.
“But you are otherwise recovered?”
He was much stronger than he had been when she had arrived. She had noticed then how quickly he had tired when he had played with Freddie. He still tired, but could play longer.
“Not entirely recovered, no.”
He stared into the distance again, but this time she knew that he was still aware of her.
“A man is more than his body and less than his soul. My body broke and my mind could not bear it. My friends looked after me until I was well enough to return here, but I caused injury to one of them.”
“I suspect that pains you more than it pains him.”
Finch said nothing, but stared past her. Mary found herself praying for him.
“I have been sick in my mind for some time. So sick that my body could not recover. I’m no longer sure that I make the right decisions.”
“All is well in this household,” said Mary. “Freddie is happy and healthy and Lady Caroline has made sure that you have not gone too wrong.”
“Lady Caroline has been invaluable.”
She thought he slept then, for his eyes closed and he said nothing, but he had simply been thinking again.
“Every man should have a female friend who will tell him when he’s making a mistake,” he continued.
“I fear Lady Caroline is not gentle.”
“She loves me too much to be gentle.”
“Is that the nature of love, then?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Forgive me. I forget sometimes that you have no one.” He paused before he went on, as if searching for the right words. “I know that you love Freddie. Would you allow him to make a mistake by being so gentle that he did not understand your correction?”
“No. But he is a boy and has to be told things plainly or he will not understand them.”
Finch smiled.
“Perhaps I am still a boy, then, and Lady Caroline fears I will not understand.”
“Now you are laughing at me.”
Instantly he became serious again.
“Never, my dear Miss Wilding. If I am rude, and I know I have been, it is because I am not used to sharing my home with a young woman.” He blushed. “I beg your pardon. I try to extricate myself from one insult by making another.”
“Mr Finch, I am not insulted.”
How could she be when he had called her ‘dear’ and talked about sharing his home with her?
“When I thought about getting a tutor for Freddie, I had an idea about the kind of relationship I would have with him. I did not have time to think much about the relationship that you and I would have.”
Mary held her breath. Did he regret the freedom he gave her or the time he spent with her?
“Do you regret what you have done?”
“Far from it. I have found my time spent with you more rewarding than I can say, but I wonder if you can say the same.”
“How can you doubt it? Since my parents died I have had no one with whom I can discuss the things that we discuss. You have been kind enough to read and discuss things at my suggestion. I knew nothing of science until you guided me to it and gave me some insight into so many theories and experiments.”
She stopped, suddenly afraid that he would say that it was selfishness on his part to ensure that her breadth of knowledge was sufficient to share with Freddie.
“I’m glad you have enjoyed it as much as I have. You have a quick mind and you have led me to some interesting places. You asked me two questions last week which I took up with my father and he thinks we have come up with something that will make one of the processes in the manufactories more stable
.”
Mary could hardly breathe, she was so happy.
“I have received a new scientific text today from Prussia,” he continued. “It is quite advanced, but I thought we might work through it together.”
“Thank you. I should enjoy that.”
He rose.
“Then I must bid you goodnight before I insult you again by falling asleep.”
“Goodnight, Mr Finch. It has been a most pleasurable evening.”
“Yes, it has, hasn’t it?”
He bowed and left her alone. Mary took up the book she had been reading and continued where she had left off.
One morning Finch came into the schoolroom. Sending Freddie to practise at the pianoforte he greeted Mary.
“I’ve had a letter from my father,” he said. “He wishes me to go to Birmingham. There’s something of import we must discuss, it seems. Since Freddie sees his grandfather so rarely, I’m taking him with me.”
“I see.”
They would be away at least a month, if not two. How would she manage here without them?
“I expect to be away some time and I don’t want Freddie to be without his lessons or you, as I shall be in the manufactories for much of the time. Would you come with us?”
How like him to request where he could order.
“Of course. When do we leave?”
“Lord Meldon is giving a ball at the beginning of September and I must stay for that, so I think the first or second week of September.”
That was enough time to plan what she should take with them for Freddie’s lessons.
“I’m sorry to be such a demanding employer. You shall have some holiday at Christmas to make up for it.”
“I have no need of a holiday, for there is nowhere for me to spend it.”
“Oh, that’s...”
“You have plans for Christmas. I understand.”
“It’s not that. I do have plans, but I don’t like to think of you here alone.”
He seemed distressed by something, so she helped him, even though she hated the idea of being here alone as much as he seemed to hate it for her.
“I shall have the library and the pianoforte. I might even spend some time with my drawing. And study, of course, so that Freddie doesn’t catch me up.”
“You should meet my friend Miss Arbuthnot. She loves to study. In fact, I think I shall invite her to dinner so that you can meet her. Freddie can practise being in society, for he knows her and she is very forgiving.”
Briefly Mary wondered if this were the woman whose company he sought out, but a moment’s reflection told her that this could not be the case. A governess could not be introduced to such a woman. Miss Arbuthnot must, then, be a friend. What a strange man he was to have female friends. She had wondered at first if he and Lady Caroline were lovers, but it had become clear to her that theirs was a friendship of several years standing. Did he count other women among his friends?
“You will like her, I’m sure,” he said hesitantly.
Mary’s heart lifted.
“I am also sure.”
Sophia’s visit was a great success. She laughed and joked with Freddie and discussed literature and politics with Mary. Finch was grateful that she gave no sign of being in love with him still, although he could not hope that she was not. He had not spoken to her since he had asked her to write to John. She had done so willingly and he had hoped that she understood her true feelings now, but he couldn’t be certain. Although he told himself that he was not avoiding her, he knew that he was. From a man who had promised her friendship, it felt like bad faith. He had seen her at dinners and balls, but they had not spoken. He almost wondered if she were avoiding him as much as he was avoiding her.
At Mary’s request, Freddie was allowed to stay with them when they went into the drawing-room after dinner. Finch had been surprised by his son’s confidence as he had conversed with Sophia, but now he was impressed by his manners as he made sure that both women were comfortably seated with coffee before he took his own seat. Once again Finch was grateful to Mary for the changes she had wrought here. His home had always been his sanctuary, but it was increasingly where he wanted to be. Even though Meldon was in London, his friend was out less. They met rarely to play cards in clubs, although each time that he met Meldon and the countess at Meldon House they played cards and drank whisky together. He didn’t quite feel that he was intruding, but the nature of the friendship had changed. He found himself turning down invitations so that he could spend an evening in peace at home. Only Louise had the power to make him leave the house with a light heart. He gave little thought to his reasons for not inviting her here more often.
“Why don’t you play to us, Freddie?” said Mary after they were settled.
Finch sat up straighter, suddenly anxious. He knew that she had been teaching Freddie to play. His own efforts had not achieved much and Meldon, who played with real talent, lacked the patience to teach a child. It seemed that Finch was sent to purchase new music for his son each week. Every time he bought something for Freddie he bought something for Mary. The first time he had come home early from an engagement and heard her playing, he had known that she had a talent almost as great as Meldon’s. It had been easy enough to find out her taste and to buy music to accommodate it. It gave him real pleasure to hear her playing when he was supposed to be out. When she knew he was in the house she merely practised.
Freddie sat at the pianoforte. Finch thought how small he looked, but he was calm enough. The child glanced up at Mary and the governess nodded and smiled as she placed the music in front of him. She sat beside him and Finch realised that she was going to turn pages for him. This was not going to be a nursery piece.
Now he knew fear. Mary had had little time to turn Freddie into a pianist. How would the boy feel if he played badly? Then Finch relaxed; he and Sophia were the audience, however badly Freddie played, neither of them would do anything other than encourage him. Freddie started to play and Finch felt his mouth fall open; his son could play. Despite the page turn it was a short piece and he soon found himself applauding with Sophia.
“He has talent,” she said to him.
“I didn’t know.”
“Miss Wilding is good for him... and for you.”
The last was said reluctantly, but Finch knew it to be true. How had they managed without her?
“Will you sing?” asked Sophia.
“If Miss Wilding will play for me.”
He said it loudly enough for Mary to hear and she nodded with a shy smile. Finch stood and Freddie took his place beside Sophia, who continued to congratulate the boy on his performance.
“What will you sing?” asked Mary.
“The Water is Wide.”
Mary made no move to find the music.
“You know it?” he asked.
For answer, she stretched her fingers over the keys and began to play. Only Meldon had provided such a sympathetic accompaniment. The song was well-suited to his voice and he knew he could perform it well, but he doubted he had ever sung it as well as he did that night. When he turned to look at Mary, she was smiling up at him.
“A duet,” called Freddie when it was over.
Finch looked at Mary, who shrugged and hesitantly suggested a song.
“Very well,” he said.
He knew the song Mary suggested only vaguely.
“I don’t know all the words.”
“Then sit beside me.”
She already had the music in front of her.
From the first Finch knew that they were a good match vocally. Her alto blended with his baritone. She sang as well as she played and he hoped they might pass many evenings in this way in the future.
Sophia and Freddie applauded enthusiastically and Finch had an idea.
“Miss Wilding, I have heard you play and I know that you play extremely well. I do not ask this as your employer, but would you play for us?”
Mary hesitated. Had he gone too far? Was he betr
aying some private pleasure? He could not fathom the emotions that played over her face and what she said was the last thing he expected.
“Have you been buying music for me to play?”
Her voice was quiet so that Sophia would not hear.
“Well, yes. You have a great talent. I didn’t want to limit you to the little I had already. I was never a very good player, even before my hand was broken.”
“If I had known that you heard me...”
“Occasionally, when I returned home earlier than I expected. If you do not wish to play, I will not press it. I know that such pleasures can be very private. I will not listen again.”
Despite the disappointment he felt in giving the promise, Finch knew that he would keep it. He had offended her and he wanted to make it right.
“I ask only to know when you listen.”
“As long as you do not change what you play, or how you play it.”
She blushed prettily.
“If I know that you listen I can play what you like.”
“I buy you music so that you can play what you like.” A thought struck him. “Do I get your taste wrong?”
“Not at all. You are wonderfully perceptive.”
“Then consider that you are educating me.”
Mary laughed.
“Will you play for us?” he asked again.
“What would you have me play?”
“It’s entirely your choice.”
He went back to his chair and allowed Freddie to sit in his lap, while they listened to Mary play a sonata. Finch became lost in the music. For once he did not regret the damage to his hand that meant he could no longer play. Here was a woman who was sharing this music with him and with Freddie. He placed a hand on his son’s head and ruffled his hair. Freddie didn’t move; he was as captivated as his father. Finch had expected his son to fall asleep while Mary played, but he remained awake, his attention fixed on the governess. He did not fidget and did not start to chatter. Despite the presence of Sophia it seemed that this was something personal between the three of them.
When it was over, Mary insisted on taking Freddie up to bed. The child made no protest, but bowed to his father and Sophia and made as if to leave the room. Then he ran back to Finch and kissed him. “Goodnight, Papa.”