A Very Unusual Governess Read online

‘Yes, yes, I know it. We had settled on a six months’ tenure there some time ago. But it is in the heart of the countryside, over twenty miles out of London. I have other engagements, invitations I have accepted, commitments that would make it impossible for me to spend the autumn at Wychford. You must make other arrangements, Lady Penkridge.’

  ‘I, sir? I’m afraid you are under a misapprehension. I brought the girls to England as a favour to your sister-in-law. But I now have to think of my own concerns. You will have to cancel these commitments of yours. I leave London in two days’ time for the north.’

  Edward gazed at her blankly. ‘You can’t!’ he said.

  ‘I can and will. I agreed to bring the girls to England, but my task ends there. As Julia said to me, they will now be entirely your responsibility.’

  ‘My responsibility! Oh, yes, I can imagine Julia said that! This is all her confounded doing!’

  ‘Mr Barraclough! Are you completely devoid of feeling? Your sister-in-law is at this moment lying on a bed of pain—’

  ‘That is nothing compared with what she has done to me! And what was Henry doing all this time? Why hasn’t he come up with a better solution? Dammit, he’s the girls’ guardian!’

  ‘Your brother was naturally more concerned about his wife. And, as I understand it, you are also your nieces’ guardian.’

  ‘However, there is a substantial difference between us—Henry is married, and I am a bachelor!’

  ‘That is why Miss Froom is here, Mr Barraclough. By a fortunate coincidence Julia had written to her some time ago to engage her services—’

  ‘Fortunate! There is nothing fortunate about any part of this catastrophe!’ muttered Edward.

  Lady Penkridge ignored him. She went on, ‘And I fetched her yesterday to join us. I am sure you may safely leave the girls in her hands. She comes with the highest possible recommendations. All that will be required of you is to take charge of the household at Wychford.’

  ‘But I live in London, dammit!’ Edward almost shouted the words. ‘And I already have plans for the autumn! Why the devil did Henry agree to this cork-brained idea? Just wait till he gets here. If he wasn’t my own brother, I swear I’d call him out!’

  Lady Penkridge rose. ‘I am sorry that your reception of my news has been so unfavourable, Mr Barraclough,’ she said frigidly. ‘Particularly as you express yourself in such immoderate terms. But there is nothing I can do about it. I leave London in two days. You have that time to make your arrangements. And now, if you don’t mind, I shall collect the girls and return to the Poultney Hotel. Good afternoon.’

  She gathered up her things and waited stiffly for him to send for Harbin to show her out. With a considerable effort Edward pulled himself together. It would do the girls no good at all if he antagonised this woman. Lisette was to come out in the spring, and for all he knew Lady Penkridge might have considerable influence among the London ton. He took a breath and gave her a charming smile.

  ‘You are right, ma’am. It was quite wrong of me. It’s just that…’ He took another breath. ‘It’s just that I was a little upset at the notion that I would have to abandon all my friends, break the promises I have made, leave London and bury myself in the country for eight or nine weeks at least, with only my two nieces and their governess for company. And all within forty-eight hours. Absurd as it might seem to you, I was just a little shocked.’

  He drew another breath and forced himself to smile again. ‘But you have been very kind. I am sure Julia would wish me to show you our gratitude. May I call on you at the Poultney this evening? I should like to offer you and my nieces dinner there, if I may.’

  Edward’s charm was potent when he chose to exercise it, and Lady Penkridge was no more immune than many another lady in the past. Her manner was perceptibly warmer as she said, ‘Thank you. Yes, the…the girls would enjoy that. And so should I. At what time?’

  That evening Edward exerted himself to erase the unfavourable impression he had made on Lady Penkridge with such success that she began to wonder whether Julia had after all been mistaken in him. They parted on the best of terms, and after an exhausting two days of rearrangements, meetings, notes of apology and excuses, Edward saw Lady Penkridge safely launched on her journey north, then set out for Wychford accompanied by his nieces and Miss Froom.

  As they left London behind them, he saw that something of his own gloom seemed to have affected the rest of the party. Lisette was gazing sadly out of the window, Miss Froom was sitting with a gimlet eye on Pip, and Pip herself was quite remarkably subdued. Edward roused himself. It was not his nieces’ fault that he had been forced into exile. The poor girls had had a terrible time in the last year, first with the upheaval caused by the accident and the loss of their parents, and then the business with Lisette and Arandez. And now this…

  ‘I dare say you would like to hear a little about Wychford,’ he began.

  ‘Has Aunt Julia bought it?’ asked Pip.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Philippa,’ said Miss Froom. ‘Your aunt will have leased it through an agent. It would be unnecessary to buy it when you are to stay there for such a short time.’

  Edward regarded Miss Froom. This wasn’t the first time she had put the child down, quite unnecessarily. He would have to keep an eye on her. Pip’s lively interest in everything she came across was one of her main attractions, and he didn’t want it suppressed. He smiled warmly at his little niece as he said, ‘I’m afraid you’re both wrong. There’s more to it than that.’

  Pip’s face brightened. ‘A story, a story! Tell us, Edward!’

  ‘Well, when we first heard about Wychford it belonged to Thomas Carstairs. Thomas owned some plantations in the West Indies, and he and his wife became friends with your grandfather. Some years later—just about the time you were born, Pip—Mrs Carstairs came out to see us again after her husband had died. She promised your father then that we could all stay with her at Wychford when you and Lisette were old enough to come to England.’

  ‘Like a good fairy at a christening!’

  Edward smiled. ‘Something like. Though she looked rather more like a witch than a good fairy.’

  ‘Will she be there now?’

  ‘No. She died not long ago—’

  ‘And left the house to us!’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘Philippa, how many times do I have to tell you not to interrupt? And get back down on to the seat, if you please!’

  Edward felt a spurt of irritation. Pip was standing on the seat, leaning half against him and half against the cushions at the side of the carriage. It wasn’t safe, and Miss Froom had been perfectly right to object, but he had been pleased to see Pip once again her lively self. He ignored the governess and went on, ‘That would have been quite wrong. Mrs Carstairs had no children, but she had other family. She left the house to her niece.’

  ‘A niece? Like us?’

  ‘Mrs Carstairs was about eighty, so a niece would be much older, wouldn’t you say? Probably even older than I am!’

  ‘Have you met her?’

  ‘No, I’ve only dealt with her agent, a Mr Walters. But you must let me finish my story. I visited Mrs Carstairs several times at Wychford, and when I was last there, and told her you were all coming to England this year, she remembered her promise to your father.’

  ‘But she’s dead!’

  ‘That’s true, but she stipulated in her will that Wychford was to be available to the Barracloughs for six months after your arrival.’

  ‘That’s a very strange condition, Edward,’ said Lisette.

  ‘Mrs Carstairs was a very strange lady. But I liked her.’ He fell silent, remembering the last time he had seen the old woman.

  She had been wrapped in shawls and huddled in her chair, obviously ill. But her gipsy-black eyes had been fiercely alive. She had looked at him hard, and then she appeared to make up her mind. She said, ‘You’ll do! The house likes you and so will she.’

  Puzzled, he had asked, ‘Who is “
she”, ma’am?’

  Whereupon she had given one of her cackles and said, ‘Never you mind! But she will. Eventually! Make sure you come back here! But there! I know you will.’

  Edward had been tempted to dismiss her words as the wanderings of an old lady whose life was almost spent. But they had stuck in his mind, and now here he was, about to return to Wychford, just as she had said…

  Chapter Two

  Some thirty miles away, Mrs Carstairs and her house were also the subject of discussion between Rupert, fourth Earl of Warnham, and his daughter, the Lady Octavia Petrie. The day was cool, and Lord Warnham, who was in his seventies and felt the cold, pulled his shawl closer round his shoulders and gave his daughter a worried frown. In his gentle way he said, ‘I wish your Aunt Carstairs had not left you Wychford, Octavia. It was most inconsiderate of her. I knew it would be a burden!’

  ‘But, Papa, I assure you, I don’t find it any sort of burden.’

  ‘How can that be? You tell me that you must go to see it next week. All that way through the countryside to see a house that can be of no conceivable use to you! Of course it is a burden. She should not have done it. If she had consulted me in the matter I would have advised against it. She cannot have thought of the worry it would be to you to possess a house like that.’

  ‘Papa, it is no worry at all! I am very happy to be the owner of Wychford.’

  ‘But you cannot possibly keep it. You have no notion of what it means to look after a large house!’

  ‘I look after this one, Papa.’

  ‘That is quite a different matter, my dear. This is your home, and you have me to protect you.’

  Octavia Petrie permitted herself a wry grin. It might be her home, but it was her father who needed protection. Even the most trivial of problems worried him. Much as she loved her elderly parent, she found shielding him from unnecessary distress far more demanding than looking after a house, however large it might be. She set about reassuring him.

  ‘Wychford won’t cause me any trouble, Papa! You know it won’t. The Barracloughs are to rent it for six months, as Aunt Carstairs wished. The agreement is signed and sealed, and so far I have had nothing at all to do. Mr Walters has dealt with it all.’

  ‘Walters is a good fellow. An excellent man of business! But he has done no more than he should. It would not be at all the thing for a lady to be concerned in property agreements and such matters. But I still cannot like it. Your Aunt Carstairs should have left her house to someone else. You would do much better to stay at home with me next Tuesday and let Walters get rid of it for you.’

  Octavia smiled. Her father must be unique among parents. No other man would find it distressing that the youngest of his eight children, twenty-two and still single, had been left a large estate, including a house, by her godmother. But Lord Warnham’s intense dislike of any threat to his unvarying routine quite blinded him to the advantages of such a handsome inheritance. Octavia hardened her heart and said firmly,

  ‘I am not so very young, Papa. I shall be three and twenty next spring. And I really shan’t find it a burden to make a simple visit to Wychford. I merely wish to see the house before the Barracloughs arrive. It will take less than a day.’

  ‘A day! You must not be so foolhardy! It is all of ten miles.’

  ‘Fifteen. But it is still quite light in the evenings and the roads are good—’

  ‘You would subject yourself to travelling thirty miles in one day! I will not hear of it! Even with a closed carriage—’

  ‘Oh, I would take the gig. I’d like to drive myself. Will Gifford would accompany me, of course.’

  This suggestion so outraged the Earl that it took several minutes of Octavia’s most skilful coaxing before he could be brought to resign himself to her absence. Eventually he said wistfully, ‘I suppose you will have to go, but I shall miss you.’

  ‘I hardly think so, Papa. Have you forgotten that Cousin Marjorie arrives tomorrow? You like her, don’t you?’

  ‘She is a very pleasant person, certainly, and plays whist and cribbage better than you do. You know you can be a little impatient, my dear. Yes, I like Marjorie.’ He sighed and added, ‘I can see you are quite set on this escapade, Octavia, so I shall say no more on the subject. But I do wish that Mrs Carstairs had not left you her house. I cannot understand why she did!’

  ‘Nor can I, Papa. Though…she did say when she was last here that Wychford would like me.’

  The shawl dropped off her father’s shoulders as he sat up and stared. ‘Wychford would like you? A house liking someone? What a very strange thing to say! But then, I was often puzzled by the things she said. She did not resemble your dear mama at all.’

  ‘No, indeed! Harry and I were afraid of her when we were children. We used to call her the Witch of Wychford. But I got to know her better when she was here last spring, not long before she died. She…she seemed to understand…’

  Octavia fell silent. It was true that there had been something witch-like about her mother’s half-sister. Though nothing had been said, she, of all the family, had seemed to divine Octavia’s growing restlessness, her boredom with life at Ashcombe. Octavia had found Mrs Carstairs’s gypsy-black eyes resting on her more than once and had wondered what the old lady had been thinking. But it had certainly never occurred to her that her godmother would leave her Wychford.

  ‘Understand? What is there to understand?’

  ‘Nothing, Papa. Nothing at all.’

  ‘A very odd person. Why should she leave you her house?’ He was obviously still struggling to understand. ‘What do you need a house for? Surely you’re happy enough here?’

  Octavia longed to say, ‘I’m bored, Papa! I sometimes think I shall go mad with boredom!’ But she was a kindhearted girl and genuinely fond of her father, so she merely said, ‘Of course. And I have no intention of living at Wychford, Papa. In any case I couldn’t. The Barracloughs take possession in just a few weeks’ time.’

  ‘Who are these Barracloughs? Do I know them?’

  ‘Old Mr Barraclough was a friend of Uncle Carstairs. They knew each other in Antigua. They are now both dead, of course, but the present Barracloughs have some daughters, who are to be presented next year.’

  ‘That seems a very odd sort of arrangement. But the Barracloughs sound respectable enough.’

  ‘They are extremely respectable, Papa. Mr Walters has had the highest reports of their standing in Antigua, and Mr Barraclough is at present in London working as a temporary adviser to the Foreign Office. I am very unlikely to meet them. Certainly not this time, for they won’t be there.’

  ‘Well, I suppose you must go. I shall do as well as I can with Marjorie.’

  Octavia laughed at his tone of resignation. ‘You’ll do very well indeed, Papa!’

  ‘You must see to it that she has the tapestry bedroom. She likes that.’

  ‘Indeed, she does. She has used it every time she has paid us a visit for the past twenty years!’ Octavia shook her head at her father in affectionate exasperation. ‘Really, Papa! What do you think of me? The room has been ready for two days now. It only needs fresh flowers, and I shall put those in it tomorrow before she arrives.’

  ‘And a warming pan for the bed, Octavia! Remind the housekeeper to make sure the bed is properly aired!’

  ‘I shall do nothing of the sort! I have no wish to offend Mrs Dewey. If I know her, there’s a hot brick in the bed already, and it will be renewed tomorrow. You may be easy.’

  As soon as her father settled down for his afternoon nap, Octavia changed and made her escape to the stables. She collected her mare and Will Gifford, her groom, and set off over the fields. A good gallop might rid her of the feelings of impatience, boredom, weariness even, which were taking an ever-firmer hold of her spirits. Much as she loved her father, she sometimes felt an irresistible desire to get away. The fact that she had made her own trap, had chosen of her own free will to stay at Ashcombe, was little consolation now. How could she leave h
im? But she was looking forward to the following week when she would see Wychford for the first time. She began to feel more cheerful. Cousin Marjorie’s visit was something to look forward to, too. She might belong to an older generation, but she was still young in spirit, and a very sympathetic listener.

  Octavia’s Cousin Marjorie, the Dowager Lady Dorney, was a widow, and lived some distance away in the Dower House of a great estate now owned by her son. She and Lord Warnham had always been good friends and since Lord Dorney’s death a year or two before she had been a frequent visitor to Ashcombe. She spent a great deal of time gossiping about the family with him, or playing backgammon, whist, or the many other games he enjoyed. Lord Warnham liked her company and her visits had always been a success. Octavia had no qualms about leaving her father in her care.

  When Lady Dorney arrived the next day, Lord Warnham was still having his afternoon nap, so, after greeting her warmly, Octavia took her off to her own little parlour. For a while they exchanged news of the two families, then Lady Dorney said,

  ‘You’re not looking as you should, Octavia. What’s wrong? Is it this house your mother’s sister has left you? Wychford?’

  ‘Not you too!’

  Lady Dorney raised an eyebrow at the exasperation in Octavia’s voice, and Octavia went on, ‘Papa wishes it had never been left to me. He thinks it too great a responsibility. Don’t tell me you feel the same!’

  Lady Dorney laughed. ‘I am not as unworldly as your father, I’m afraid. No, I am glad for you. But if it isn’t that, why are you looking so unlike yourself? You’re obviously under some sort of strain.’

  ‘I had hoped I wasn’t showing it!’

  ‘Perhaps not to others. But I know you too well. What exactly is wrong?’

  Octavia hesitated. Then she said, ‘You’re right, it is the house. When I first heard about it, it seemed like a way of escape. But I soon realised that I couldn’t possibly take it.’

  ‘I’m not at all surprised at your wish to escape! The life you lead at Ashcombe is no life for a pretty young girl. You should have married years ago. I’ve never understood why.’