Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Claire made her way down the main road through Bath proper, keeping her cloak tucked around her face. She could not stop fussing with it while her gaze flickered left and right, trying to notice anybody looking too long or hard at her.

She had grown up in Bristol, in Flogsend House, a beautiful townhouse that was scarcely half an hour away. Her father had taken her to Bath many times. She had been known in society; it was not a foolish fear to worry she might be recognized.

But she hurried along the cold, frosty cobbles, keeping her head down. The one thing about being a governess was the freedom. A fine lady of the Ton was noticed walking alone, but a governess was not, and Claire always made sure to dress simply but prettily, enjoying the freedom that came with her role. A lady wore fine things like she was born for it and would never dream of wearing even a plain night dress. Claire let herself blend into the background with that as an advantage.

She had attended the Haberdash Bookshop several times in the last three weeks to acquire new reading material for Lady Florence when the use of a carriage was permitted. Lady Florence was not confident enough to request the books from anybody else, and she was afraid of judgement or words getting back to Lady Katherine about her reading material.

Claire did not know Lady Katherine well enough, but she could guess that a woman of her rank did not want her great niece to be reading about lovers who fall to taking their own lives out of a desperate love for one another.

"Miss Gundry!" came the call of Mr Lawrence Kent, the store owner. He wore a jaunty hat tucked down at an angle and a fine, red sash along the length of the hat. True to his name and appearance, he had been a haberdasher before retiring to open a bookstore when the war had happened, and a need for hats lessened while the need for escapism through books heightened. Everybody wanted to buy the latest account of the Battle of Waterloo only six months prior, and every bookshop wanted to be the one selling out copies and bringing in the profits.

Mr Kent nodded his head at her.

"Good morning, Mr Kent," she greeted, nodding and resisting the urge to curtsy.

"And a cold, blustering one it is, my dear," he said. Age lined his face, but his smile was friendly, and she felt comforted around him. "I might assume you are here to pick up a certain edition of a book for Lady Florence?"

"I am indeed." She smiled broadly as he produced a book wrapped in brown paper and slid it into a fine velvet box. "You are ever so kind as to have helped us acquire this edition. It must not have been easy."

"Indeed, it was not, but I have my connections." He winked and tapped his nose as Claire handed the payment over. She had bought the book from her own wages and did not mind, for it must have been some time since Lady Florence had received a gift. "Miss Gundry, if I may suggest, do have a look around and find something you like for yourself. If you are interested in the new biographies of any of the fallen captains or generals in the Battle of Waterloo, we have those. The writers worked quickly to ensure we had the latest material prepared."

"Thank you." She bowed her head in gratitude before moving deeper into the shop. He was right: she did deserve such a gift for herself. She bypassed the biographies he mentioned. Perhaps it was uneducated of her, but she did not care for the war heroes. Claire thought they were valiant but did not need to read a book on them.

She much preferred the classical literature near the front of the shop and went over to bury her afternoon in those stacks. Emma, one of the most recent Jane Austen novels, had come out in the last year. Claire had heard a few things about it from the other maids who could read, and she was interested. Emma, the main heroine, sounded an independently witty woman who could hold her own while being a hopeless romantic.

I would like to read such a book, Claire thought.

The bookshop reminded her of her father's old library in Bristol. It was small and quaint, well-stocked and loved, and where there was no room, books were stacked artfully. It was cosy, with armchairs dotted about, as Lawrence had no problem with customers trying before buying. In fact, he often encouraged it.

Just as she had found Austen's name on the shelf, she overheard Lawrence greeting another customer. "Ah, Lady Granting, how lovely to see your smiling face this morning. I dare suggest you are here for your order of the poetry books your husband is fond of?"

"Indeed, I am, Mr Kent. You are ever so observant when it comes to your customers!"

Claire tuned out the rest of their conversation as she hid her face, suddenly interested in those war biographies, just to hide from Lady Granting, a Ton lady she had once known. A lady whose house she had frequented several times in one summer for afternoon tea as they gossiped over suitors with other women.

Her heart raced. I cannot be recognized! Ton ladies are always catching people out.

But as she whimpered in panic, trying to think about the unladylike action of outright crouching to the floor, Lady Granting walked past without sparing her a glance. The bell above the door tinkled, signalling that the woman had left, and Claire remained anonymous.

Oh, she thought. Lawrence Kent gave her a funny look, and she realized she had hunched in panic. She straightened her back, giving him a nervous smile.

It was … disheartening, she thought, to have not been recognized. While it secured her identity and kept her safe from gossip or stares, and she had buried her past self for a reason, it was saddening to realize just how truly invisible she was. How easily forgotten. If Claire had overheard anyone asking if a lady recalled Lady Claire Garner, would people know her? Would they remember her name?

With her heart sinking, Claire thought she had buried herself too well. It was her intention, of course, but it hurt to feel so insignificant to those she once surrounded herself with. Was she really so forgettable?

"Viscount Archibald White. Interesting choice." A male voice behind her had Claire spinning around; her lips parted in surprise. People rarely talked to her while she shopped. A man with grey-streaked hair and dim green eyes looked at her almost nervously. It was a man who looked like he had seen a few terrible things, which had taken a toll on him. Despite the gray in his hair, he was still young, perhaps only a few years older than her, in his early thirties. He nodded at the book she had pretended to look at to hide. "I knew him well."

"Oh," she said, blinking. "I wasn't—I'm not …" She sighed helplessly.

"Will you be buying it? No doubt it shall be half fabricated. I do not think the book mentions how White couldn't hold his liquor but pretended he could or was a terrible sap at heart. A full romantic, that one was. Or that, no matter what, he fought for his men to his last breath."

Claire was wide-eyed, nodding. "I was looking for Emma," she whispered, as if she had done something wrong.

"Oh," he said, laughing, and although he spoke of clear grief, he still had an easy smile. "Is she your friend?"

"Rather a book," Claire answered, smiling. "It is one of Austen's latest."

"Emma, the book! Of course, how foolish of me." He gave her a quizzical look. "Do you recognize me at all?"

She shook her head, and perhaps she would have, but her mind was scrambled, still on Lady Granting. Only as she thought about it did her panic rear its head again. Do I know him from my former life, too?

The man saved her the honour of giving herself away with a guess when he said, "I am Graham Courtenay. I worked alongside your employer, Ernest Barnes, in the army. He is a terrific medic."

So, the rumours are true, she thought, as she held out her hand.

"I have not visited Little Harkwell for a while, but I do believe I saw you in passing during your first few days there."

"Ah, your memory is vast, then," she said.

"Either that or I do not see enough people to easily remember faces. I work in Bellott's Hospital. I'm the chairman there."

"Very impressive," she answered, nodding. "I—Well, you know my occupation, of course. I am Lady Florence's governess."

"I have heard it is quite the job."

"It can have its challenges."

"Have you done it before?" Graham asked.

Claire shook her head. "I … I have not. But Lady Florence is a bright young girl. She causes nobody any problems whatsoever and is a very keen learner. I saw the acquisition advertisement in a news sheet. I was hired by the housekeeper the very next day."

"You must have impressed them," Graham noted, folding his arms over his chest, nodding at her. "Mrs Sanford is not one to be easily pleased."

Claire found herself smiling brightly. "That is true, but I heard rumours that she was awfully fond of the French language, which I happen to speak exceedingly well. I greeted her in French and had her rather impressed."

"That shall do it," he said with a laugh.

"Although, I cannot help that while the housekeeper is impressed, her employer—and mine, I suppose—remains a mystery. You say you worked alongside him as a medic?"

Graham's expression flattened, and she couldn't figure out why, but he spoke as brightly as ever if not even more than before. "Yes. Indeed. We met during our time in the service."

"You must have saved countless lives," Claire said, awed.

"I hope so," he said. "I am not one to boast. I take pride in my work, which is why I agreed to step down as a physician and be the chairman. I wanted to continue making a difference in larger ways. There is a certain beauty in patching men up while others are wounding them. We all fight for the same side, of course, soldiers and medics, but are we not just patching up the gun wounds they are causing the other side? I do not know if that makes sense at all. You know, they are firing at us, and we patch up our men, hoping we do not lose them. But we are firing at them while their medics are hoping for the same. But war is war, I do suppose."

"Yes." She shifted, unsure of what to say. She did not really know this man or how to offer him comfort, but she felt deeply and respected every man who had fought in the king's army. "Your service has—"

"Ah, I have been thanked many times for my service." He winced but laughed it off.

"I was going to say your service has been hard, I am sure, but it is a joyous thing you have returned to those who care about you." She gave him a small smile, and he looked at her strangely as if she was a puzzle to figure out.

"Indeed," he said. "I must allow you to get on with your shopping and finding this Emma lady."

Claire laughed softly. "And I hope you buy your friend's biography. You can tell me all the things that have been missed, should you ever wish to talk about them. Grief can take its toll." I would know, was what she didn't add onto that. I have lost enough people in my life.

"Thank you, Miss Gundry. Enjoy the rest of your day."

He tipped his head at her before she continued to browse, but she noticed how Graham Courtenay cast one last glance at Viscount Archibald White's biography before ducking out of the bookshop.

Finally, she found Emma, still laughing at the man for thinking she was looking for a person.

***

"Your manners are utterly abhorrent, girl."

Claire startled as she heard the shout echo down the hall. It came from the music room and sounded much like Lady Katherine. Claire was rather afraid of the woman—she reminded her of the stern mamas who were only interested in the richest, highest ranked husbands and pushed their daughters onto them, only ever interested in that, rather than what their daughters wanted.

She thought back to when Winnie and Daisy chatted in the cellar, to discussing the Barnes' return to a high rank.

Claire hurried down the hall to the music room, where she found Lady Katherine pacing back and forth, and a hunched-over Lady Florence sat at her piano, sadly plunking away at a few of the lighter keys.

"Heavens, Florence! You are giving me a headache!" Lady Katherine shouted.

"Perhaps if you left, then you would not hear it," Lady Florence countered, frustration in her voice. "I must continue to play if I am to be good and be successful in my debut! Should I not focus on impressing a husband?"

"Right now, your focus should be on not causing me any grief, yet here you are. Your lack of manners is outrageous. Did your mother teach you nothing?"

"Do not speak of my mother, please, Lady Katherine," Florence sniffed, her head hung.

"Lady Katherine, what is happening?" Claire asked, interrupting the two women. Lady Katherine whirled around, her long ringlet of a ponytail flying to her other shoulder. "I do not think Lady Florence deserves such harsh words. She is only practicing what I have taught her and instructed her to do. Her cousin, his lordship, is happy with her progress—"

"He is?" Lady Florence asked.

"And I have invited him to watch Lady Florence play soon. She wishes to impress the man who is her legal guardian. Surely you understand that."

Lady Katherine gaped, her painted lips in a pout. She wore a fanciful day gown in a green colour that complemented her chestnut-brown hair, the same as her son's. A few elegant strands of grey streaked through it. Her cheekbones were high and prominent, but her features made her look cruel and shocked as she stood in the midday light.

"Surely I understand that?" she gasped as if she could not dare to believe someone would ask her such a thing. Claire worried that she had overstepped and went to apologize, but before she could, Katherine shook her head, throwing an arm out towards the door.

"Leave," she ordered, and Claire clutched her chest.

"I am sorry—"

"Not you," Lady Katherine sighed. "Her. This insolent child! Grief does not excuse pitiful manners, girl, and you shall do good to remember that."

Lady Florence stood up, her face twisted in silent anger, as she balled her fists. She spared a glance at Claire, who nodded gently, her face apologetic, before she fled the room, the sound of her tears trailing after her.

"Lady Katherine, I think that—"

"I am the lady of this household," Lady Katherine hissed. "I run this household. I was born in this house and have reclaimed it with everything I have. I have fought for my title once again, and I shall not have an insolent little child question where I may go in my own house!"

"Please, Lady Katherine, she was merely practicing her pianoforte. The earl had suggested it be one of the instruments she learns, and Lady Florence is already very proficient. I am very proud to be her governess."

"If you are so proud, then you shall have no problem hearing that Lady Florence is in a very vulnerable state. She is malleable, and if you are her governess, as good as you say you are, then you must be firm with her. She cannot be coddled and excused over grief or childish indulgence. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Lady Katherine," she said, bowing her head, wondering if this was how mamas spoke to their debutantes when instructing them how to behave at the seasonal balls. I would not know, she thought. She did not agree with the instruction, for Lady Florence had done nothing wrong at all.

"There is to be a dinner party next week," Lady Katherine said, lifting her chin as if once again haughty and in charge. She marched over to the doorway, leaving despite having already ordered Florence out. "Ensure the child's attitude is fixed before then."

"She is your niece," Claire whispered, but Lady Katherine had already left, showing no sympathy or care for her own family.

Perhaps the rumours were true. Perhaps Lady Katherine had done some cruel things to regain her title, but who was Claire to judge when it came to doing what one must?