4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

T hough the sun had not yet risen, Gregory was already awake, shaved, and dressed. He was a creature of habit, and the timetable set forth by his time in the army was one he stuck to rigorously. He did not see the point in putting off the day, wishing to keep himself as busy as possible. Allowing himself the indulgence of lying about in bed was out of the question, no matter that he was not currently in active service.

Besides which, he had a heavy task set out for himself today, and he preferred to dispense with it early. It would be easier, after all, to get it done whilst his three incorrigible daughters still slept. With a determined set of his jaw, he gave himself one last look in the mirror, and then dismissed his valet, who silently withdrew.

On booted feet, Gregory went downstairs, taking up position in the small library that he used as an office. The fire was not yet lit, and the rooms were still chilled in the grey pre-dawn. He did not mind; he was used to a degree of discomfort, preferring it to being overly pampered. He reached for the bell-pull next to the fireplace, then took his place in the hard-backed, leather-upholstered chair behind the small but heavy desk.

It was some moments before a servant answered, a sleepy hall boy of no more than twelve. The household was used to Gregory rising early, but not to being summoned at this hour; it was typically only a scullery maid and a hall boy awake now, quietly moving through the house to wake the other servants and light the fires for the morning.

"You rang, sir?" he asked timidly, not used to addressing the colonel.

"Please send for Mrs Byrd at once," Gregory replied. He expected it would be some moments before the governess was roused and made herself presentable.

It was wholly unexpected, then, that she appeared within only a few moments. It was more expected, however, that she appeared already wearing a travelling dress and pelisse, a simple poke bonnet on her head. Mrs Byrd entered the library with her head held high, but her shoulders slumped the moment she saw the colonel's face.

"Good morning, sir," she said politely enough, but her voice was strained.

"I shall not shilly-shally about, Mrs Byrd," Gregory said in quick, clipped words. "I see that you have already packed, wasting no time. Good."

"I thought it best I leave before the girls wake," she explained. "I did not see the point in lingering after yesterday's...events."

"Too right you are," Gregory agreed. Reaching into his desk, he withdrew an envelope that he had prepared the night before. "I believe this is all that is owed to you," he said, handing it over.

With well-mannered reluctance, the governess hesitated when reaching for her remaining wages, as mentions of anything pecuniary were always a little vulgar. Her practicality as a servant won out, however, and she eventually snapped it up, tucking it into a deep pocket.

She did not move immediately, shifting about before Gregory's desk. He had already moved on, not seeing the point in drawing the whole business out with any sort of emotional farewell.

"Was there something else?" he asked, his attention already turned to locating his pipe. It had been a trying morning already, and he was fond of a turn about the grounds before breakfast, pipe in hand, to settle his mind. He located it, then withdrew a worn tobacco pouch from one of the drawers.

"I wonder if I might inquire if there was any sort of reference included in your generous packet?" Mrs Byrd asked, lowering her voice a little.

Gregory glanced up, his brow furrowed a little as he went about the business of packing the bowl of his pipe. It was a particularly good blend, enriched with vanilla and spice, and he was perturbed at not being able to savour it.

"And what sort of reference should I have included, Mrs Byrd?" he asked, making no such effort at modulating his voice in deference to the hour or subject. "As far as I can tell, you have made no progress with my girls at all. They are just as wild, wilder even, than when you first arrived."

"Well, I'm not sure I would agree," Mrs Byrd objected without much conviction.

"Wouldn't you?" Gregory shot back, clamping the stem of his pipe in his teeth and replacing the pouch in the drawer forcefully. "I daresay I haven't seen any indication to the contrary. They've no manners at table, they do not paint or embroider, and the only French I've heard from them does not bear repeating."

"I can hardly be blamed for all of that!" the governess protested.

"Then who, precisely, is to blame?" Gregory asked practically. Taking up a small bit of reed, he lit it from the candlestick on his desk, and used it to light his pipe. He puffed a few times, encouraging it to burn, filling the library with the warm smoky smell. "As I recall, that was precisely why you were hired; indeed, I do believe that is the entire point of a governess."

"That may be so, sir, but I was not hired to tame a bunch of wild bantlings!" Mrs Byrd's voice cracked a little as she spoke.

"As I recall, I told you from the outset that the girls were in some difficulties, having lost—lost their mother," Gregory said, faltering only a little and recovering himself quickly. "And you assured me, in the most unequivocal terms, that it was nothing you could not handle." He paused, pulling open another drawer and withdrawing a folded letter. "In fact, you wrote when you accepted the position, 'I have no fear of misbehaving children, having successfully tamed more than a few in my years as a governess to Lord Henley. I shall see to it that your girls will be fit for the finest dining rooms without delay ,'" Gregory read out, holding the letter up.

Mrs Byrd blanched a little as he read, her mouth pressing into a grim line. "I obviously was mistaken," she said. "But I beg you, have some compassion: I will never be able to take another position without a character from you."

Gregory considered, leaning back as much as his straight-backed chair would allow. He reached up and took his pipe in one hand, taking in Mrs Byrd, then replaced it between his teeth. "Very well," he said, withdrawing a sheet of paper from the centre drawer. "I shall not be unkind, but neither shall I be needlessly flattering. I wish that you had only shown so much pluck when it came to my girls."

Mrs Byrd made a small sound, which caused Gregory to look up at her from beneath his brow as he wrote. She did not say anything, but her meaning was clear: As far as she was concerned, there was not enough pluck in the world to bring the Hillmot children to heel.

Gregory finished writing quickly, signing it with no flourish. He folded the reference over and sealed it with a wax wafer. He passed it over, Mrs Byrd taking it in both hands. She turned toward the door, then paused for a moment, looking back at Gregory as she turned the letter over in her hands.

"I wish you luck, Colonel," she said with a lingering look. "I suspect you will need it."

Gregory said nothing to that, and Mrs Byrd was gone without another word. He waited for a few moments as she cleared the hallway, on her way back to York and to the agency from whence she had come.

After the muffled sounds of her leaving had ended, silence reigned in the house once more. There was only the ticking of the grand clock in the main hall to break the stillness, and the occasional chirping of a bird that heralded the coming sunrise. It was a peaceful moment, but Gregory took no pleasure or comfort in the stillness. If he were still for too long, his thoughts would gain a foothold, and their constant companion lately was grief.

Not wishing to allow himself to be idle long enough for that to happen, he tapped out his pipe, replacing it on the desk for now as it cooled. With a slap of his knees, he fairly sprang from his chair, the legs squeaking a little against the wood floor as he did so. His stride was long and confident as he left the library, crossed the large main hall, and then climbed the stairs.

Once at the top, he automatically turned right, down towards the nursery where the girls all slept. He made no effort to moderate his steps, having no intention of letting his daughters laze about abed, particularly after they had driven off yet another governess. Though he was not inclined to tolerate any impertinent comments from Mrs Byrd, he could not fully refute them. He also knew that he had his own hand to play in their poor manners: After his wife had died, he had felt unmoored, moving through life, but not really living it, and his daughters had likewise been cast adrift.

The door to the nursery was slightly ajar, and quietly, he pushed it open, fully intending to rouse his errant daughters. The scene within, however, made him pause. All was still and silent, save for quiet snuffles as the girls slept. With one hand on the door latch still, Gregory surveyed the beds. All were tucked up tightly, sleeping soundly, faces unlined with conflict or worry.

At one end of the nursery, the door to the governess' alcove was open, showing an empty room on the other side. It would have to be filled, and quickly, as Gregory himself knew very, very little about what it was to properly rear girls. He had some idea of the basics, what their accomplishments should be, but beyond that, he was completely at a loss. It had never occurred to him that he would have to do so on his own, without his wife by his side.

Opposite this alcove, against the other wall, as far as possible from the others, Florence's bed stood. She, too, was wrapped up tightly in her blankets against the cold, the fire behind the screen in the hearth having gone out through the night. The fact that she had to sleep in the nursery still was a source of constant fighting between father and daughter. She insisted that she was too old to still sleep within, and Gregory held firm that when she conducted herself like a young lady, she would be treated as such. It was a stalemate, with neither willing to yield.

Despite his irritation at the trio for their conduct, and particularly for their having driven off another governess, Gregory could not bring himself to wake them just yet. Quietly, he withdrew, closing the door behind him. He sighed, retreating back down the hallway whence he had come. Mentally, he began preparing the advertisement he would put in the York papers. No doubt it would spark no small comment from the neighbourhood that the latest governess had fled like all the others, but there was nothing to be done about it. He did not know what sort of person could possibly begin to take on this task, however.

Perhaps I would be better served by asking for a lion tamer, he mused grimly.