Chapter Three

T he door from the hall opened into what proved to be the parlor. High ceilinged, and airy, with two long windows either side of a doorway that must lead out onto a terrace, its modernity bestowed upon it a cold atmosphere that matched the face of the woman seated by the empty fireplace.

Ruth Treloar, for it must have been she, set down the book she’d been reading and rose to her feet. A tall, hard-faced woman with graying brown hair scraped back from her face tightly enough to give her skin a stretched look, she wore a navy-blue dress of rich satin augmented by a demure lace fichu about her throat. She was not an unattractive woman, but her pale gray eyes, shining with the hardness of diamonds, pale lips, and cheeks just touched with rouge gave her the distinct look of a harpy from the Greek mythology Caroline’s father had been so fond of reading aloud to her.

She looked Caroline up and down, an expression of polite puzzlement on her face that had Caroline’s heart sinking into her muddy boots.

“Miss Caroline Fairfield, Ma’am,” the butler said.

She gave him a curt nod. “Thank you, Ennion.”

Caroline executed as neat a curtsey as possible, considering her bedraggled appearance. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Treloar.”

Mrs. Treloar seemed to have been struck dumb for a moment by Caroline’s appearance, but, within seconds, she gathered herself. “Good afternoon, Miss Fairfield. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Not a shred of recognition or welcome in her voice, only cold disdain, presumably that Caroline had dared to present herself in such a condition. Well, she should make sure her servants’ entrance was in a better state.

However, biting back that riposte, Caroline schooled her face to bland impartiality and smoothed her rumpled skirts. The only thing to do here was to brazen it out. “I believe we have a mutual friend in Mrs. Beauchamp of Carlyon Court.”

The frosty expression remained. “A mere acquaintance, not a friend.”

Caroline ploughed on. “She wrote to me saying you were much in need of a governess and that I was to come down as soon as possible to fill the post.”

Recognition at last dawned in those cold gray eyes. “Oh, of course. I had quite forgotten. Please forgive me, but I had no idea she would write to you and have you come down here so quickly. Most obliging of you.” Still no hint of warmth showed in her face, although she now indicated a severe, upright chair. “Perhaps you would care to take a seat?”

“Thank you.” Caroline settled herself on the edge of the chair, back straight, in an attempt to look more efficient than she suspected her appearance implied.

Mrs. Treloar folded her hands over the book in her lap and addressed the butler without once glancing his way. “Ennion. Have some tea brought in.” He departed on silent feet.

Caroline mirrored her hostess’s action of folding her hands, although she had no book herself. “I had wondered if Ysella—Mrs. Beauchamp—was mistaken in your need, or that you might already have engaged a governess. Her letter suggested your need was urgent and that speed was of the essence.”

Mrs. Treloar shook her head. “There has been no mistake. We had to let the old governess go very suddenly, and have not yet found a replacement. You have French? And play the pianoforte?”

Caroline nodded. “I have had a very competent education, first at home with a governess, and then later at school in Bath. I play both the pianoforte and the violin, and I speak and read French to a high standard, and, thanks to my father, have some Latin and Greek as well. He believed girls should have as good an education as a boy.”

Mrs. Treloar raised a thin eyebrow. “That’s as may be. You will not need your Latin and Greek for my daughter, Henrietta. My daughter has left the schoolroom behind her now, but her grandfather and I would like her to continue to speak French and improve on her skills at the pianoforte. As well as teaching my nephew in the mornings, I would like you to be Henrietta’s companion and ensure she learns all the attributes a young lady requires.”

No question of whether it suited Caroline or not. She had to remember that she was now an employee, and her wishes would no longer be taken into account about anything.

The door opened, and Ennion returned with a tray of tea things which he set on the table beside his mistress.

“You may go, Ennion. I will pour.” As discreetly and quietly as before, the butler melted away.

“Now,” Mrs. Treloar said. “Do you take milk with your tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Caroline took the proffered cup and sipped the hot liquid. Good China tea, at any rate.

Mrs. Treloar fixed her with that cold stare over the rim of her own cup. “The boy, my nephew, is nine years old. He has no parents. Both of them died very inconveniently before he was three years old.” Spoken as though she thought they’d done it on purpose, out of spite. “My father-in-law, Sir Hugh, stands as legal guardian to the child. However, as Sir Hugh has been bedridden these past two years, in practicality, it is I who act as his guardian in all but legal terms. It falls upon me to decide his education. He is a weakly child, prone to all the childhood illnesses and more, and it is my opinion that he should be educated here, at home, where I can keep my eye upon him. He is to learn mathematics, composition, use of the globe and history, as well as French and a little music. As you have Latin, he can learn that too. An improvement on Miss Hawkins, who was not accomplished in the Classics.” She tutted. “Not accomplished in very much, it seems.”

Caroline nodded. “I can teach him Greek, too, if you wish.”

“That will do splendidly. But I don’t want the child continuously cooped up inside the schoolroom. For his constitution, I require him to spend some of each day outside, so his lessons will only be between nine and twelve each morning.”

Caroline nodded again. Her own governess had done much the same—teaching her in the mornings and then taking her out for walks in the afternoons. Her nervousness at her first proper job began to dissipate. How hard could teaching one small boy be?

Mrs. Treloar set down her teacup. “Yves takes all his meals in the schoolroom, and I require you to do the same. Your room will be in the nursery wing, close to the schoolroom and the nursery, where Yves sleeps.” Mrs. Treloar paused. “Do you have any questions?”

*

Twenty minutes later, after sitting sipping her tea in an excruciating silence, and wondering if she should have thought up a few questions, however inane, to fill the gap, Caroline emerged from the drawing room into the wide, soulless hall and followed a young footman carrying her valises up the marble staircase.

The hallway stretched to double height, and a gallery ran around its upper edge, with corridors leading off in different directions into what must be the wings of the house. The livery-clad footman, a young man whose fresh-faced and spotty complexion indicated he could be no more than eighteen, led her down one of these corridors and through a door into what had to be the nursery wing.

“This is the governess’s room, Miss,” he said, pushing open the door and stepping back.

So, this was how a governess lived. The bedroom was better than a servant would have been given, but not so fancy as a guest room in the main house. A high bed covered in an eiderdown took up most of the room, along with a tall wardrobe, a washstand, a desk by the window, and on the floor a slightly worn rug in muted colors. Not the smart new furniture of the rest of the house, but nevertheless, comfortable looking, and enough to remind Caroline of her lost home. Most likely the contents had been demoted when the rest of the house received its modern makeover.

“This will do nicely,” she said, going in.

The footman set her bags on the bed. “Will there be anything else, Miss?”

She was about to say no, and thank him for his help, when a small tornado hurtled through the door and flung itself at the footman, closely followed by a spaniel. “Dickon!” Yves wrapped his arms around the young man’s waist and hung on.

The footman’s cheeks flared with embarrassment and he quickly peeled the boy off, his eyes going to Caroline. “I’m sorry, Miss, that won’t happen again.”

Yves frowned up at him. “I thought you’d come to play football with me along the corridor?”

Poor Dickon’s cheeks reddened even further. “I can’t do that right now, Master Yves. I’m supposed to be working.”

Caroline looked from one to the other of them. The young footman was scarcely more than a boy himself, and Yves had taken on a crestfallen, disappointed expression yet again. “Pray don’t let my presence stop you from playing ball with Master Yves, Dickon,” she said with as kind a smile as she could muster. “His aunt has just told me she wants him to have as much exercise as possible for his health, so I think a quick kickabout along the nursery corridor should become a staple of his education. If you have time right now?”

Dickon’s face broke into a smile, removing any vestige of snooty footman. “If you’re sure that’s all right, Miss?”

Yves danced from one foot to the other.

Caroline smiled. “Of course it is. You two go and play, and I’ll unpack my bags.”

Still blushing, Dickon retreated into the corridor, and Yves scampered off, presumably to find his football, his dog bouncing at his heels. As Caroline opened her valises, the thump of a ball hitting the floor and walls sounded outside in the corridor, followed by a high-pitched bark. The dog must be playing too. She smiled to herself. She could only hope that despite the loud noise, the walls and floors were thick enough for no one to hear this downstairs.

By the time she’d stowed all her belongings away, the sound of football being played had died away, so Dickon must have had to return to his footman duties downstairs. The door opened, and Yves stuck his tousled blonde head around it. His pale cheeks had flushed with the exercise.

“I say, that was very sporting of you to let Dickon play with me. Miss Hawkins used to all the time, but since she’s been gone, I’ve had Bridget looking after me, and she told me I wasn’t allowed to play football inside.” He grinned. “It’s more fun than outside. The ball can’t get away, and I love the noise it makes when it hits the walls.” He swung on the door jamb. “I love making lots of noise.”

Caroline smiled. “What boy doesn’t? I used to play football with one of my friends, when I was a girl. And, if you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll tell you a secret.”

He stepped into the room, nodding. “I promise. I’m good at keeping secrets. You can tell me anything.”

“My mother and father sent me to school in Bath when I was thirteen, intending me to learn to become a lady, but I secretly took my ball with me and would play football in the gardens with my friends. If we’d been seen, we’d have been in trouble because it wouldn’t have been considered at all ladylike.”

He giggled. “I should like to play football with other boys, but I’m not allowed to play with the farmworkers’ children. I’ve seen them playing together sometimes, in the farmyard or the fields, and it looks such fun. I have to make do with Dickon.” His face brightened. “Although now I have you, too. Miss Hawkins didn’t play football herself, but she didn’t mind me playing. Maybe you might play with me and Dickon? Sometimes we get his sister Patience to play too. She’s a nursery maid. A nice one, not like mean old Bridget.”

Caroline beamed. “Of course I’ll play football with you. But what about your cousin Henrietta? Doesn’t she play with you?”

Yves frowned. “She used to, but Aunt Ruth doesn’t like her to do boyish things now she’s not in the schoolroom. I like Cousin Hetty a lot, but she can be a bit boring. Probably because she’s a girl and learning to be a lady and can’t do the same things I can. Aunt Ruth doesn’t mind what I do when I’m outside.” He peered up at her. “I was wondering. What do you want me to call you?”

Caroline drew in her bottom lip. “We-ell, I suppose you ought to call me Miss Fairfield, to be polite. But my name is Caroline.”

Yves bit his own lip. “That’s a nice name. Might I call you Caroline when we’re not in lessons? And Miss Fairfield when you’re teaching me? To be polite.”

Caroline pulled a skeptical face. He seemed a very friendly child, and not too pushy. “Perhaps that would work. We’ll see, shall we?”

He grinned. “Then shall I take you to meet my cousin, now? She’ll probably be in her room getting changed for dinner. Now she’s left the schoolroom, my aunt lets her dine with them. She used to eat with me when Miss Hawkins was teaching her too.” He seized Caroline’s hand. “She only left the schoolroom when Aunt Ruth got rid of Miss Hawkins. It’s been a bit lonely without her, even though she can be boring. I suppose having a girl around is better than having no one.”

After this rather scathing dismissal of female-kind, Caroline let him lead her out of the room, down the corridor to the galleried landing and into another wing of the house. They stopped outside a door halfway along the corridor. Yves tapped on it.

“Come in,” called a voice from within.

He pushed open the door and led Caroline inside. “Hetty, I’ve brought my new governess to meet you.”

Miss Henrietta Treloar, luckily for her, had not inherited her looks from her mother. She was neither tall nor severe looking. Instead, a girl as dainty as Caroline’s friend Ysella regarded them from the chaise longue in the window where she’d been sitting sketching the view of the distant blue sea. Rich auburn hair cascaded in artful curls onto her shoulders, and the corners of wide blue eyes, very much like Yves’s own, crinkled as she smiled at her small cousin. “Yves!”

He ran to her and sat down with a thump on the chaise longue. “Can I see your drawing? This is Caroline Fairfield. Caroline, this is Hetty. I mean Henrietta. Aunt Ruth says she can’t be Hetty now she’s a young lady and not a schoolgirl.”

Hetty rose to her feet, her smile illuminating her lovely face. “Miss Fairfield, how lovely to meet you. You mustn’t let Yves take liberties with you. He’s such a rascal.” She ruffled Yves’s already ruffled hair. “My mother already informed me you’d arrived. I’m so glad to have someone to keep me company. Now I’m no longer in the schoolroom I’m finding life here a little tedious, but that might be because Yves and I no longer have Hawkie to amuse us. There’s a limit to how many sketches I can do, or how much I can play the pianoforte or read. Even though Mama wants me to do all these things.”

Caroline took her extended hand. “I shall endeavor to find interesting occupations for all of us, Miss Treloar.”

Hetty shook her head, making her curls bob. “Oh no no, don’t call me Miss Treloar. It makes me sound like an old maid. Like Aunt Agnes, and she’s a hundred if she’s a day. I should much prefer it if you were to call me Hetty, although not in front of my mother who is such a stickler for social etiquette.” She dimpled. “We three will keep our own secrets and be Yves, Caroline, and Hetty in each other’s company and Master Yves, Miss Fairfield, and Miss Treloar when Mama is present.”

She seemed to have very little in common with her mother, especially not her personality, and must, surely, resemble her late father. Perhaps there might be a portrait of him somewhere Caroline could see.

A maid in a mob cap came in. “Miss Henrietta, your Mama sent me to tell you dinner is about to be served.” She bobbed a curtsey at Hetty and then another at Caroline, eyes full of curiosity.

Hetty stood up. “I’m so sorry you have to eat in the schoolroom with Yves. I would have liked your presence at dinner to talk to, but that can’t be helped. Mama has decreed and what Mama says, goes, every time. Although I am going to endeavor to change her mind. It’s so quiet at dinner with just Mama, Aunt Agnes, and me.” She gave a little shiver. “Although sometimes Mr. Trefusis eats with us as well. But I am sure we will see each other tomorrow.”

And with that, she departed, leaving Caroline and Yves to return to the schoolroom where the dinner served would most likely not have suited the lady of the house one bit.