“Oh, Maria, I am sorry. He had no right to do that to you.” Aunt bowed her head in shame.
I said nothing. My cheek stung, my body ached all over where the boot had pummeled into my flesh; I felt nothing but shame.
Aunt’s fingers smoothed the hair from my brow; their coolness like a calmative effect. What she said next shocked me. “If you are pregnant, you will have to marry him; unless he is already…” Her anguished face was a reflection of my feelings inside.
“I didn’t do a thing!”
“Maria, you have lied to me all too often.” Aunt’s voice remained calm. “This is serious, be honest with me, don’t be afraid to tell me the truth just this once.”
“I swear to you, Aunt, a man never touched me!”
Aunt Pam pressed her lips hard together, shut her eyes, and hung her head. “Then explain to me, why are there bite marks on your neck.” She left the room without another word spoken.
Chapter Twelve
I barely slept. Only when my cousins arose and their voices followed the shutting of the front door and the squeak of the lane gate, did I make my safe entrance into the living area. In one hand I had my trunk, and beneath an arm I had my small wooden chest, containing my artworks.
“I’ll make a brew,” said Aunt, avoiding eye contact.
With a soft murmur, I said, “Yes please.” I felt like a stranger, for the air in the room still wreaked strongly of Trevor’s accusations.
“I’ll put on some oats.”
“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.” I hoped to hear Aunt reprove me as she always did if I didn’t want to eat breakfast; there was not a word said. I added, “I have packed all the clothing I need. You can keep the rest.” I deposited the trunk at my feet, and unable to bear Aunt’s coolness, I blurted, “We only kissed, that was all.”
The silence was overcome by the sound of a measure of oatmeal going into the saucepan and topped up by water. The pot’s bottom did not make a sound as it touched the stovetop. Aunt vigorously stirred its content.
“Does he love you?” she asked, not turning about. The silence prevailed again.
I swallowed, shrugging, not that Aunt could see. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell.” Before last night, I’d thought love was when a man kissed a woman. I had learned yesterday that close contact with a man did not necessarily mean that that was love. Davenport’s friend, Hans, had been a fine example, for he had only wanted to do things to me that only lovers supposedly did but without the emotion.
“A man who respects you and your family is the one who loves you. He will do the right thing by you and ask for your hand in marriage.” Aunt now looked directly at me before her gaze shifted to my bruised cheek.
I bowed my head. “That answers my question.” Albert Davenport didn’t love me.
“You have a lot to learn about men. If a man tries to have intercourse with you before marriage, it is not love. Think of it as a lucky escape that you did not lose your innocence. I would suggest that it be best”—she took a deep breath—“that you avoid this person from now on.”
“I never want to see him again,” I cried. I knew there would be a time when he and I would come face-to-face again.
“Good, that is what I want to hear.” Aunt Pam sounded more upbeat as she prepared the teapot. “I suggest you use this.” Aunt Pam reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an old snuff tin. She opened the lid to reveal a pale-colored ointment of some sort. “This is what you have to do.” Aunt came over and dabbed some of the cream on her finger and then touched the ointment on my sore cheek. “One of the ingredients is witch hazel, which will help repair the bruising; the rest is a formula I made up last night to match your skin color.” My aunt blushed as she smeared the ointment onto my neck. “Keep putting this on and no one will be any the wiser.”
After Aunt and I said our reserved farewells, I was picked up by Johnson in a trap, and deposited at the servant’s entrance. Awaiting me there was a young man who had the job of taking my trunk right up to the nursery floor. The servant placed the case before an opened door near the closed one of the nursery. He gave me a nod and left me to step inside my quaint little bedroom. In a corner was a bed already made up, where a cedar chest stood at the base of it. There was a washstand with a towel and a ewer full of water, and hanging above this arrangement was a meager little mirror on the wall. In its reflection was a wardrobe. Never had I possessed my own wardrobe, and in this I placed my precious wooden box.
With a heavy heart, I sat on the bed. My thoughts dwelled on the night previous, of what I had said to Davenport, and of the carnal position we had gotten ourselves into. It would be a matter of time before he would confront his aunt about the baby; the very reason my trunk sat in the middle of the floor. I thought it unwise to unpack it, because when his aunt found out who had breached her trust, that person, who happened to be an imposter nursemaid, would be thrown out of the house.
A single window proffered me the same bearing to that I had seen from Davenport’s french doors. Gauging from where I looked out, I was most probably situated somewhere directly above him. I could just catch sight of the table and chairs that were placed immediately outside on the balcony, and looking beyond the gardens, I saw that my vantage point, due to my room’s height, allowed me more of the lonely castle scene beyond. Included in the view this time were the lifeless chimney tips of Clearwater Manor.
I wondered about the present inhabitant of that building who was beneath the ground of some foreign place, thinking it odd that a man would leave his wife behind in favor of exploring the world. The only times I had seen Ewan Davenport was when he had ridden past the cottage. He had always looked sad, not at all looking like a man who enjoyed life, as one would think a lady killer would. I thought of his nephew, who had identical features to his own—it was hard not to think the two relatives had similarities too when it came to the joys of the flesh.
“Never mind about him,” I spoke to the emptiness.
I opened the nursery door and saw Millie sitting beside the baby’s crib. When she looked up she gave me a smile, but I saw her eyes were in shadow. She placed a finger to her lips to warn me that the baby was asleep.
“Oh, Maria, am I glad that you have arrived,” Millie whispered. “He has been crying nonstop, until, thank heavens, the last half hour.”
“Do you think he could be ill?” I whispered back. I had no clue as to why a baby would cry, apart from feeding time and changing soiled nappies.
“I think he is pining for his mother.” Suddenly, the child awoke and let out an ear-piercing scream.
Millie reached over for the porcelain baby feeder and offered it before the baby’s mouth. He moved his head away as if to shun the fake nipple with disgust. “It’s not like the real thing eh, my love?” Millie looked sympathetically at the grumpy little face squealing up at her.
“Please let me have a hold,” I insisted, feeling sorry for Millie. I stooped down and grabbed the baby in my arms, and as if by a miracle, he stopped crying. He looked up at me with glistening crystal-like eyes and whimpered before gurgling happily.
“My word, he loves you, Maria. You must have a knack for babies!”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t really been around them,” I said awkwardly, yet I felt comfortable holding the little boy.
“You are a natural, my dear. Now you can put your God-given talent to good use as a full-time nursemaid.”
“Wait a minute! I thought I was just helping you.”
“No, no! The nursemaid’s job is to take care of the baby. At the moment, I am serving as one, but now that you are here, I can continue with my other responsibilities. The other woman who was supposed to have arrived yesterday morning never turned up. It didn’t take me long to convince Lady Charlotte that you were someone I had kept in mind, just in case. So you can count yourself lucky, because a nursemaid position is always reserved for those with a lot of experience.”
“Oh,” I said, trying
to sound enthusiastic. I knew to be a nursemaid was a high position of trust. Millie had put me forward in her eyes as someone she had faith in, but why me? We hadn’t known each other for long. Despite my lack of confidence, I thanked her.
“It is my pleasure, my love. You have a good heart, and see…the baby knows you have one too. I’ll train you up until you are the best nursemaid money can buy. Fancy that one of these days you may be wanted all about the land, or better still, the whole wide world!”
My thoughts turned to Davenport as I anticipated the moment he would charge into the nursery, bawling down at all who were present, why he was denied the knowledge of his son’s existence. Certainly, Millie’s trust in me would forever more evaporate, along with my employment prospects for blurting a forbidden secret to the very person I wasn’t supposed to.
“Why mustn’t Mr. Albert know that his child is here?” I asked.
“I can’t answer that. I think Lady Charlotte will tell him in her own time. It is best for us not to worry about her reason and to carry on in ignorant bliss.” Millie handed me across the baby feeder. She was amazed to see the little one fed eagerly from my hand.
As a nursemaid, now unable to leave her tiny charge alone, I was commanded by Charlotte via Millie that my meals would always be eaten up in the nursery. I was glad, as that spared me having to disclose too much of myself to the other members of staff, all who would be eagerly anticipating my answers to their many questions, namely, What in fact do you actually do here?
Although Millie kept me company during her breaks, she said she would not be able to dine with me now that her life had resumed to normality. Her evening meals would be with her family at one of the worker’s cottages nearby. She said if I wanted, the maid who brought up the meal could sit with me, but I shook my head to the suggestion without explaining that I needed to be alone for highly personal reasons.
We never questioned why Charlotte hadn’t come up to check on the baby all day. However, I was surprised to learn from my nursemaid mentor that Davenport spent a lot of time at the Dorchester’s. I wondered if he was keeping himself up-to-date with the body that I assumed had been discovered under a tree on their property; the other reason that stormed my mind left me feeling ill at ease.
»»•««
Another had day lapsed and I was exhausted; not because of the baby, since he had settled well with me, it was due to lack of sleep. I looked out the window with longing at the sunset. I wondered how Aunt Pam was, wondering if she missed me, for I missed her terribly. I also wondered what Albert was doing, wherever he was, and prayed his anger for me would fall away.
The baby was given his night feed, changed into fresh nappies, and placed into a fresh sleeping frock. I couldn’t help but feel the tug on my heart as the little one smiled up at me. I lay him down in his crib, making sure to wrap him up just as Millie had instructed me, and once he had drifted to sleep, it was then that the loneliness struck me hard.
There was the sound of the nursery clock ticking away; the only lighting apart from mine and the baby’s nursery lantern came from candle sconces in the passage. Just before going to bed, I made sure to lock the entrance to the passage for security’s sake. From the entry was the view of the only other door, which lead off into the servant’s stairway access. Pocketing the key, reminding myself firmly to remember to unlock the nursery first thing in the morning for the breakfast maid’s arrival, I did as Millie had advised—to go to bed as soon as the baby fell asleep. I made sure to keep the nursery and my bedroom door open just in case I heard the child crying.
I got undressed down to my petticoat. In the small mirror, I had to stand quite a distance back to get a view of my body from the knees to my shoulders. Although the lantern light was dull, the bruising along my arm stood out. I raised my petticoat high enough to see the bruises along one side of my body. This time I stood closer to the washstand to inspect my cheek and neck. Aunt’s ointment had served its purpose in hiding the bruises there. I had frequented the nursery wash-closet to apply the cream throughout the day; my excuse to Millie having been that I had drunk too much tea.
Sleep was erratic. I dreamed of my mother being strangled, and this time I saw the signet ring clearer than I had ever seen it. The golden beetle that held the ruby came to life. Its legs squeezed the gem so tight the stone was shattered into several pieces. Suddenly, the insect dropped to the floor in a great thud and scuttled to the wardrobe where I hid. The beetle climbed up the door, and when it was level with my ear, it whispered, its breath tickling my neck, “I know who your father is.”
I jolted awake. I looked to my right, toward my opened bedroom door. For a second, I thought I saw a shadowy movement in the passage. Quickly, I leaped out of bed only to find there was no one about, that the only entrance door into the passage was still firmly shut. To double-check, I hurried over and tested the handle. It was locked.
A prominent click had me twirling about. Terror struck me as I ran down the passage back toward the nursery. I looked about the half-lighted space, at the nursery lantern burning away steadily to the rhythm of the ticking clock, which sounded much louder than any other part of the day, its hands seemingly welcoming me as it pointed to numbers eleven and one on the dial. But it was the crib I was most concerned for. I hopped over to find, much to my relief, the baby still in his same tranquil sleeping position.
There, however, was a telltale sign that someone had been in the room prior—it was a fragrance. With trembling hands, I grabbed the lantern and set out to do an inspection of all the rooms. The schoolroom, with its blackboard, desks and chairs, with an alphabet mural running along the top of one wall, sounded just like the nursery with its clock ticking away. I checked the wash-closet, and a couple of small storage rooms. None had the scent of the fragrance present. Finally, there was one other room. This one I regarded with trepidation—it had been the governess’ bedroom. Slowly, I opened the door. I stepped into the darkness. The lantern painted the walls with warmth, illuminating the same items of furniture that I had, except their sizing was of a much grander scale. I shuddered to think the woman who used to sleep there had been hanged for murder.
The story I had heard was she’d been the lover of the Evercrest housekeeper. Her lover had disguised himself as his deceased aunt, who had been the original housekeeper to the Davenport’s, and having been her only surviving relative, had kept her death hidden after she’d passed away in hospital. This imposter had also been the governess’ partner in crime, according to Charlotte Parker’s testimony in court. Her story was that she had found the governess standing over the Davenport couple’s bodies, holding a blood-coated, saber-tipped rifle. Yet, the death of the imposter housekeeper, lying in his own pool of blood nearby—assumed to have been dealt to by the hand of Lord Davenport—had no importance over that of an earl and his American heiress wife.
I prepared to close the governess’ room door and shrug off the thought that the shadow in the passage had been her ghost, when a subtle fragrance that I had smelled in the nursery touched my nostrils. I had heard of stories where a scent of a dead one would suddenly appear in a room where they had once occupied; the reminder of such a claim prompted the door being firmly shut and me sprinting back to the nursery. It was hard not to think of Vera’s claim that the governess haunted her room, yet, despite my determination to push her fear-inducing accounts aside, I found it hard to go back to sleep. I chose instead to station myself in the armchair beside the baby, who was sleeping peacefully in a world of his own.
“Sweet dreams, little Alby,” I whispered. A name I’d secretly chosen for him; the knowledge kept between me and the governess’ ghost.
Chapter Thirteen
Loud knocking awoke me, fortunately not the baby. I leaped from the armchair to see that the clock read seven o’clock. The knocking still persisted as I ran to unlock the door. I was relieved to find the breakfast maid standing there, looking at me with concern.
“Sorry, miss, for disturb
ing you.” She gave me a shy smile. “Here is your breakfast, and a lot of milk that Jackson said you like to have.”
I grabbed the large tray, and quickly noted a small teapot, cup and saucer, a large jug of milk, two thick slices of toast with separate saucers of jam and butter, along with a steaming bowl of porridge. With a smile, I thanked her, and asked her what her name was. She introduced herself as Sally.
She dropped her gaze to my boots, and asked, “You are friends with that pretty girl, Jenny, aren’t you?”
“Why do you ask?” I said politely, my fingers digging into the breakfast tray. Did Sally know about Jenny’s reputation for being promiscuous? Was she going to judge me with the same brushstroke?
“The reason I ask is that I’ve seen you and her together in the village, and well…yesterday I saw her waiting downstairs.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me that she was here?” I exclaimed, noting the girl’s look of panic. I softened my approach with a calmer voice. “I would have hurried downstairs to speak with her.”
Sally looked puzzled. “My apologies, miss, I best be off.” She hurried away before I had a chance to ask her more questions about my friend.
Poor Jenny, she would have walked all the way there to speak to me, to pass on a message from my aunt. How could this household deny her the right to do so? Perhaps the lady of the house had rules regarding visiting times for servant’s guests. Hopefully, Jenny would have been enlightened on the appropriate times to return again.
The warm milk was gently poured into the baby feeder. I had to chuckle at how Millie had instructed the maids that the milk had been for me, not the secret baby. However, what was the excuse being given for my staying up there in the nursery in the first place? Millie was to explain this to me when she arrived later on with our morning tea.
The Heir to Evercrest Hall Page 15