by Fanny Finch
Thinking about it was painful.
“Thank you, young man,” she replied with a smile to the boy. She tossed him a coin and took the paper from the child before beginning the short walk back to her apartment.
She had been lucky to find this housing. It was affordable on the modest savings she had managed to keep from her previous position. It was also located in a good spot for other positions, although Delia felt quite certain that she would not get another job as a governess.
At this point, her best opportunity would be as a housekeeper or a maid. The pay would be less, but any work was acceptable for her now. All of her ambition seemed to have been drained by the angry red face of her former employer.
On her way back, Delia stopped at a small shop in the middle of the busy street and bought some milk and bread. Across the road was a beautiful bakery, filled with luxurious sweets. Those were the sort of things that her mother and sister could buy, but not her.
Surely Thea would be more than willing to help her if Delia told her the situation, but she was too ashamed. What was more, could a duchess associate with a disgraced woman? Could they even interact slightly? Likely not.
Society was cruel enough to separate families, and Delia had no doubt that her blight would not be accepted should she attempt to reach out to her parents or elder sister.
Her younger siblings, even her sister Georgette, had hardly spoken to her at all since they moved up in society. It was disheartening, but she knew that it was the way of things.
When she reached her room again, Delia opened the paper and had a look through before turning to the advertisements. She saw an announcement that caught her eye.
The Duke and Duchess of Sandon have welcomed a healthy baby boy by the name of Edward James Tyndale. The child is said to be the perfect image of his father and a joy to all who meet him.
Delia smiled. She had a nephew. Thea had asked her to come for a visit during her pregnancy, but Delia had been unable to due to her work. She didn’t like asking for too much time off, and she had already visited once, when Thea was still early on.
But now the baby had been born. A boy! Delia imagined that his father and mother were both thrilled by his appearance. Thea would make for such an excellent mother, Delia had no doubt.
She wondered how their lives had taken such different turns, but accepted what had been thrust upon her. She would have loved to become a mother, but it seemed unlikely.
With that, Delia flipped to the advertisements for different positions and found two that she was qualified to apply for. Both were governess positions, despite knowing that she might as well apply to be a housekeeper.
One of the advertisements, however, was for only one child, an eight-year-old girl. Delia considered herself quite capable of a duty like that and it would be easy for her to get such a position even without a prior employer’s reference.
She wrote the letters and, once more, made her way outside to send off these hope-filled attempts to gain new employment.
After leaving them to be sent off, Delia ran into another renter from the same housing she lived in.
“Miss Caulfield, how nice to see you,” Miss Hansen greeted politely.
“And you as well, Miss Hansen. It is a lovely day for a walk, is it not?” Delia said, making small talk.
“Indeed. However, I am on my way to a new position. I’m early of course. It is my first day, so I intend to show them how responsible I am,” Miss Hansen said with a nervous laugh.
“Oh, I am very happy for you. It is a good position?” Delia asked, wondering what sort it was.
“Indeed. Well, perhaps not so grand, but fine enough for me to be sure. You know I am too old to remain at home,” she said.
Delia cringed, thinking about the misery of such a position. Miss Hansen could not have been more than five years her senior, and yet she was a burden in the home and considered a spinster as yet unmarried.
“But I am perfectly content to be a maid. You know, I actually had two offers,” Miss Hansen continued.
“Two? That is very fine for you,” Delia replied, masking her jealousy.
“I only tell you because you mentioned that you were seeking employment. Now, I do not know if being a housekeeper is agreeable to you, but they are a wealthy enough family. They want educated women and are willing to pay for it,” Miss Hansen continued.
Delia considered this. She had no desire to be a housekeeper, but it sounded like a better opportunity than most housekeeping positions. Educated women were rarely invited to such a thing and she wondered if maybe it was because they expected their housekeeper to run other things as well.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Delia finally said.
“Oh, I know. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I chose the other. I cannot say I entirely trusted that it was true. But, nevertheless, if you would like to find out, I am happy to give you their information. As I have not sent a formal refusal, I could send one and also recommend you if you wished it,” Miss Hansen promised.
Delia thought about it for a moment. She was rather desperate. And yet, she was so passionate about children and seeing them educated. Could she really deny that dream and work for someone she did not even trust as they were described to her?
“Would you allow me a day to consider it?” Delia asked.
“I shall give you two. However, these positions do not last long, and I cannot keep them waiting when I intend to refuse. So do be hasty in letting me know,” Miss Hansen urged.
Delia nodded in a promise that she would.
“You know, things are not easy for women like us,” Miss Hansen said with deep empathy. “We have very little to recommend us and nothing to keep us going. When we are fortunate enough to find an employer, we must stay no matter the circumstances.”
The words wounded Delia in a way she could not express to Miss Hansen. She had had such a position, such an opportunity. And it was her own fault for losing it.
“Yes, you are correct,” she replied.
“But that does not mean that we are hopeless in finding that first position that will help us continue on. Certainly, we may find that our employers are unbearable, but we will bear it,” she said with a grin of hope.
“Indeed, we must,” Delia sighed with a false smile of her own.
“I think you have a great deal to offer, Miss Caulfield. Anyone would be fortunate to hire a woman such as you,” Miss Hansen complimented.
Delia was touched. She barely knew Miss Hansen but these words of encouragement were needed and deeply appreciated at that time. She was thankful to hear such kindness in the world when it was so rare.
“You are too kind, Miss Hansen. And I am certain that your new employer will be glad for you,” she said in reply.
“We shall see about that. I am perfectly equipped for the cleaning and cooking, but I have heard that employers often expect other duties of their housekeeping staff. For instance, I could never run the general affairs. Do you think they will wish that?” she asked.
Delia hadn’t considered whether or not she would be asked to do more.
“I don’t know. It is possible, I suppose. But I imagine if they wanted other affairs cared for, they would have advertised as much. After all, if we are mere housekeepers, what can they expect from us?” Delia asked the question that was hurtful and annoying, although ever present.
Miss Hansen simply gave a look of understanding. With that, she glanced at the sky.
“I must be off, Miss Caulfield. But I wish you all the best. Whatever you decide, inform me as soon as possible and I shall ensure that you are given a place if you wish it,” Miss Hansen said decidedly.
Delia nodded and said her own farewell while watching the young woman run off.
She returned to her apartment and felt the longing of her past return. She dreamt about what could have been, and soon, Delia drifted into a deep sleep.
Chapter 2
Mark Collingridge, the Earl of Dulshire, m
ade his way to the door of his home with little thought. He had somewhere important to be and could not waste time.
“Oh, my lord, what do you expect me to do with this child?” asked the housekeeper, Mrs. Andrews.
The desperation in her tone and her fragile state frustrated the Earl. The woman was paid to care for the house. He understood that her responsibilities did not necessarily include children, but what was he to do?
Grace was hardly a difficult child. She could entertain herself, and there was no reason for Mrs. Andrews to make such a fuss. If only the Earl could get the hysterical woman to believe that.
“Mrs. Andrews,” the Earl began, “I shall hardly be gone for long. I have no doubt in my mind that you are more than capable of caring for Grace.”
The expression on Mrs. Andrews’ face fell in despair. It was clear that she disagreed with the Earl more than her words could allow. She was in a bind, stuck as a result of her position. She had to do whatever she was ordered.
The Earl felt satisfied, knowing that there was little else Mrs. Andrews could say. He put his hat on his head and stepped out the door into the world.
As he left, he heard Mrs. Andrews chiding the child and telling her to go read while she got some work done. It was hardly an ideal situation.
However, when the previous governess had made off with the young chef’s assistant and a batch of silver, he had little choice in the matter. The young man and woman had been prosecuted by the law. The chef had already replaced his assistant. It was now the duty of the Earl of Dulshire to handle finding a governess for his daughter.
A quiet man, the Earl was not one for going to clubs except at the necessity of appearances. Oftentimes, however, he did not stay long. He simply made the expected visit, had a glass of brandy or smoked a cigar with the other men, and departed.
It was not that he disliked the company of others. Rather, the Earl was not a man who enjoyed frivolity and for those of his ilk, frivolity seemed to abound.
Often wondering about the depth of the others in his circle, the Earl of Dulshire would attempt to talk about things of a more important nature, only to be disappointed in the fact that the other men had no desire to discuss such things.
So he would move on and try to join the conversation in whatever direction it happened to take.
But now, the Earl loaded into the coach and left his home. It was not for a gentleman’s club or a game of billiards which he was very skilled in. Instead, the Earl was on his way to pay his weekly tribute.
The ride was short enough. The churchyard was quiet, which was why he enjoyed making the journey early on Thursday mornings. There never seemed to be anyone but the minister present, and the minister often left him alone, knowing he did not care to speak.
The Earl slowly got down from the coach and walked past the church building. Behind the white wood of the Lord’s house was a rusted gate, too low to be of any real purpose.
Nevertheless, the Earl opened the door slowly, allowing the creak of grinding metals, rather than simply stepping over the gate. From there, he entered the graveyard that had sat there for nearly two hundred years.
In that time, it had grown large, and the Earl had to walk farther to reach the headstone that he always came to visit on Thursday mornings. It was not one of those early graves that sat nearest the church. It was one that had been dug and subsequently filled a mere eight years prior, just days after the birth of Grace.
He knew the tombstone, but the Earl of Dulshire always tortured himself by reading the name just to be certain.
Lydia Collingridge - Beloved Wife
Beloved wife.
Those two words that still gripped his heart in their dishonesty. Those two words that wounded him for his hypocrisy. What should his own tombstone read one day? Beloved husband? Beloved father?
He was neither of those things.
He had not loved or been loved by his wife. The arrangement of their marriage, a family decision, had come when the two of them were too young to object. Too young to even know whether or not they minded.
And three years after the marriage came the night that Lydia went into an early labor. A labor brought on by their argument. Brought on as the result of his own anger and rage and her frustration. A labor that killed her.
Yes, Lydia was still tormenting him, even now. Who was he to try and move on from the guilt? It was a guilt he heartily deserved. Everyone blamed him and he knew it. Her family. Her friends. All knew that he was the guilty party for her death.
Or so he imagined. Whether or not it was so, the Earl had gone into a despair after she died. While everyone seemed to believe that it was the loss he had faced, he secretly hated himself only for the fact that he had never loved her.
And yes, it was very possible that everyone knew it.
Arranging the marriage had been one of the final acts taken by the Earl’s father before the man died. His mother had passed away when he was years younger. It seemed as though his life would always be marked by the painful sting of death and parents who knew nothing of their children.
He needed to find someone to care for Grace. A woman that could handle her better than Mrs. Andrews. Without a mother, how could he raise her?
The Earl imagined that his daughter was not going to be well off in the long run if he did not make the effort to get her a governess quickly. And yet, he had no desire to spend his time seeking for one.
Mrs. Andrews had promised to take out an ad. He wondered if she had done it or not. Most likely she had, desperate to not have to watch the child on her own.
But the Earl also considered that he ought to bring Grace out to the cemetery someday soon. She was old enough. She needed to see the site where her mother rested, difficult though it might be.
Breathing deeply, the Earl bent and set the flowers down at his late wife’s grave. The same white carnations he brought every week.
As always, he opened his mouth to speak, to beg forgiveness or give an apology or something. But nothing came from his lips. He was mute as always.
Perhaps one day he would know what to say.
The Earl stood back to his full height and turned to walk back towards the coach. He saw the shadow of the minister inside the church and did his best to go unnoticed.
Without a peep from the holy man, the Earl of Dulshire allowed the coachman to open his door and he got back into the cab. The ride back seemed heavier somehow. It always did. It always felt as though he was in a greater pain than the time before. Guilt did that to people, he knew.
They arrived back at the house and he entered. Mrs. Andrews took his coat with only the minimum of polite chatter. She would not be disrespectful, but the Earl was aware that she was annoyed at him for leaving her with the child. He wondered if he ought to address it.
But the Earl of Dulshire thought better of it and decided to get on with his own work and his own day. He did not need her negativity or anything else.
Making his way to the study, it was not long before a knock came to his door.
“Yes? Come in,” he called.
“My lord, there are letters here for you,” said Simon, the young footman.
“Thank you, Simon,” the Earl replied, ushering the young man to bring them forward.
After he left, the Earl began to open them, one at a time. The first was a request to call after the Earl and he quickly wrote a reply that he was happy to have a visitor. Never mind that this was entirely untrue.
Next, the Earl opened a letter from a distant cousin that he had met only once but who wrote to him occasionally just to keep in contact. To this as well, he replied in a letter that took longer than he wished.
The next in the pile was from a name he did not recognize.
The Earl opened the letter and found that indeed, Mrs. Andrews must have placed an advertisement in the paper.
Dear Sir/Madam,
I write in reference to the advertisement regarding the need for a governess for one eight-year-old gir
l. I am well-educated and should very much like the opportunity to train up a child in the ways of education. While I have not done such work before, I have studied for this very purpose and am perfectly equipped and capable. I am strong and hard-working. Please reply to the address on Birch Street listed on the front.
Thank you,
Miss Delia Caulfield
The Earl read the letter once more and sighed. It was not the most exciting or qualified letter. The young lady was probably just barely old enough to be out of school herself, he imagined.