A Very Unusual Governess

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 him? 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.’

‘That’s soon explained. I never met anyone I wanted to marry!’

‘You’ve never been in love?’

‘Not really.’

‘Never?’

Octavia gave a small smile. ‘When I was younger I thought I was. With a very handsome young soldier, called Tom Payne—tall, blond, blue-eyed, and full of fun. He came down here on leave with my brother in the summer of 1812, and he and Stephen got up to such scrapes that I don’t think I stopped laughing for the whole of that fortnight. I’ve never forgotten it.’

‘That’s hardly my idea of a great romance! Did he make love to you?’

‘Of course not. I was only fourteen! I don’t think it entered his head. But if he had lived…I might have met him again…’

‘He was killed?’

Octavia nodded. ‘At Waterloo. Both of them. He and Stephen together.’ She paused then went on, ‘I got over it, of course. Our acquaintance had been too short for real heartbreak. By the time I went to London for my come-out I was quite my old self. But…I never had an offer there that I wished to accept.’

‘Oh, come now! That is absurd! You can’t have been short of choice! You’re not only a very pretty girl, you are rich and related to half the best families in England. You must have attracted any number of eligible young men!’

‘Perhaps so. But not one of them attracted me!’

‘You were surely not still pining for Tom Payne?’

‘Oh, no! It wasn’t that exactly, but…but he was always my ideal—blond, blue-eyed, and fun. And no one quite measured up to him. Compared with Tom they were so dull! I couldn’t face spending the rest of my life with any one of them. And then London was noisy, and dirty…and full of scandal…’

‘Then your mama died and you left town.’

‘Quite without regret.’

‘And you decided to stay at Ashcombe, to put off even considering marriage until your father could manage without you. I said at the time it was a mistake, if you remember.’

‘But there wasn’t anyone else! Harry couldn’t stay—he was already in the Army—and the rest of the family were married and established elsewhere. Papa would have had to move in order to live with any of them, and you know how he hates change. He even refused to move to Warnham Castle when Grandpapa died.’

‘So your brother Arthur took over the family seat. I must say, the Castle is more Arthur’s style! How is he?’

‘Much the same as ever. Pompous, opinionated and prosy! Sarah is expecting another child, and Arthur is full of hope that she will give him a son at last.’

‘How many daughters has he?’

‘Four.’

‘And no son. His poor wife. She won’t get much sympathy from Arthur if she fails him again. I can quite see why your father wouldn’t wish to live in the Castle with Arthur! But I still don’t see why you had to sacrifice yourself?’

‘I assure you, ma’am, it was no sacrifice—at the time! But now…I feel trapped!’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Sometimes I feel quite desperate!’

‘You need to get away for a while. Could you not visit one of your sisters?’

‘What? To be a nursemaid to their children rather than to my f—’ She stopped short. ‘Rather than manage Ashcombe for my father? Here at least I only answer to him! But…with your help I shall have a brief holiday—all of eleven or twelve hours.’ She got up and walked about the room. After a while she turned and said with an impatient gesture, ‘Oh, pay no attention to me, ma’am! I wasn’t forced into my life here—I chose it. Marriage would not be the way out. From what I have seen of my sisters’ husbands, I would merely exchange one form of boredom for another.’

‘You still haven’t met the right man,’ said Lady Dorney with a smile. ‘He’ll turn up, you’ll see!’

‘That is romantic nonsense! At fourteen I might have believed in fairy tales, but at twenty-two I’ve given them up. No, when I no longer have Papa to look after, I shall turn into a crotchety old maid living at Wychford with a pug and a downtrodden companion, and children will think me a witch, as I did Aunt Carstairs!’

‘She had the air of one, certainly. She had a way of looking at people…I only met her once, but I felt she knew what I was thinking before I did myself! What is this Wychford like?’

‘I’ve never seen it. My aunt never invited any of us there, she was something of a recluse. I shall see it for the first time next Tuesday. I’m so relieved you’ll be here to look after Papa. I know how tedious it can be…’

Lady Dorney looked at Octavia in astonishment. ‘My dear girl, you are quite wrong! I shall look forward to it!’ She laughed at the expression on Octavia’s face. ‘You needn’t look at me like that, Octavia. I am quite serious. I love looking after people, especially someone as sweet-natured and gentle as your Papa.’

‘Really?’

Lady Dorney took Octavia’s hand. ‘Since Dorney died there’s been such a…a hole in my life that I sometimes hardly know what to do with myself. Coming here might seem dull to you, but to me it’s most enjoyable! Indeed, I’d be happy to keep your father company for longer than a day if you wished! Now, tell me how you intend to travel. How far did you say it was to Wychford? And what do you know about these Barracloughs? Might there be a charming young, blond, blue-eyed Mr Barraclough who will “amuse” you?’

Octavia laughed. ‘If only there were, ma’am! But, according to Mr Walters, the Barracloughs are a sober, upright and highly respectable family. And since there are only two daughters, there are absolutely no prospects there for me, I’m afraid. In any case, I shan’t meet any of them—the Barracloughs won’t be there. They’re not due at Wychford for another week at least.’

Meanwhile, some three miles from Wychford, the ‘sober, upright and highly respectable’ Mr Barraclough, grim-faced, got out of his carriage, which was leaning drunkenly to one side, examined the broken wheel-pin and swore fluently and comprehensively. Three heads popped out of the window, one interested, one nervous and the third dressed in a black bonnet, its feathers quivering with outrage.

‘Mr Barraclough! Sir! You forget yourself,’ said the black bonnet severely. ‘Lisette! Philippa! Sit back this minute and put your hands over your ears.’

‘You’d do better to tell them to get out as quickly as they damn well can, Miss Froom,’ said Edward brutally. ‘I cannot promise that the whole lot won’t topple over any moment. Out with the lot of you!’

‘But there’s too much mud on the road!’

‘Better muddy shoes than bruised bottoms! Out with you! You first, Pip!’ Ignoring Miss Froom’s gasp of outrage at his language, he lifted the youngest of the three occupants out and swung her over to the dry verge of the road. ‘Now you, Lisette. Don’t hang back, you’ll be perfectly safe with me.’ Lisette was lifted and deposited next to her sister. ‘Miss Froom?’

‘Thank you, Mr Barraclough, I’ll get out by myself,’ Miss Froom said with dignity.

‘As you choose, ma’am,’ said Edward with ironic amusement. But when Miss Froom landed in the pool of mud and would have slipped he caught her by the waist and bundled her to the side to join the others, where she stood, ramrod straight, bristling with indignation.

He left her there while he went back to examine the damage done to his carriage. Meanwhile, Pip took advantage of the situation to scramble up the nearest tree where she perched on one of the branches. When Lisette looked up and saw her she gave her a very sweet smile, but Miss Froom exclaimed loudly, ‘What on earth do you think you are doing, miss? Get down this instant! Get down, I say! Mr Barraclough, tell that child to get off the tree. Look at her! I must protest—’

‘Protest all you wish, Miss Froom, it won’t do you any good,’ he said impatiently. ‘I have more urgent things to do than listen to you at the moment. If you can’t control the child, then I suggest you leave her up there. She’s perfectly safe.’ Then, turning his back on her he shouted, ‘Jem! Jem! Where the devil are you? How bad is it?’

Scarlet-faced, Miss Froom drew a deep breath, pursed her lips, and sat down on a nearby tree trunk. ‘Sit here with me, Lisette,’ she said coldly. ‘And you may take that silly smile off your face. I do not find your sister’s disobedience at all amusing.’

‘She’s not really disobedient, Miss Froom,’ said Lisette earnestly. ‘Pip always looks for somewhere to perch. She likes being high up. Papa used to call her his little marmoset…’ She bit her lip. ‘She…she used to make him laugh…’

‘That may be, but if I am to be responsible for her that child will have to behave like a young lady, not a street entertainer’s monkey! My previous charge, the Lady Araminta, was younger than Philippa when I first started to teach her. You would never have found her up a tree, she was a model of good behaviour. But then so were all her sisters and brothers. The Marchioness, their mother…’

Both girls sighed. They had known Miss Froom for a mere three days but they had already heard more than they wished about the Marchioness of Ledbury and her perfect family.

After Miss Froom had finished on the subject of the Ledburys she turned her attention to Lisette. ‘Try to act like a lady, Lisette! Put your feet together and sit up straight. That is better. Now! You may list for me the kings and queens of England in order of succession. We needn’t waste time while we are waiting to continue our journey.’

‘I…I don’t know them.’

‘You don’t know them?’

‘Not…not like that. In a list.’

‘William the Conqueror,’ shouted Pip. ‘He shot an arrow into Harold’s eye!’

Miss Froom ignored her. ‘Then you will have to learn. What about the prophets of the Old Testament?’

‘The prophets? Er…J…Jeremiah…’

‘In order, if you please!’

‘I…I can’t do things like that, Miss Froom. It’s not the way Mama taught us.’

‘I see.’ Miss Froom’s tone suggested that she thought poorly of Mama’s methods.

‘Her lessons were fun, and we learned a lot!’ said an aggressive voice from above.

‘My methods of instruction are directed towards the acquisition of knowledge, not fun,’ said Miss Froom coldly. ‘Lady Ledbury fully approved of them. At the age of ten the Lady Araminta could recite all the…’

‘The Lady Araminta sounds a dead bore to me,’ muttered Pip rebelliously. ‘And so does the Marchioness of Ledbury.’

‘What was that, Philippa?’

‘Look, Miss Froom! Edward is coming! I think the carriage is ready,’ cried Lisette hastily. ‘Come down, Pip, dear. We shall soon be on our way.’

Mr Barraclough reported that the pin had been replaced, and they could now complete the last three miles of the journey to Wychford. ‘So, we’ll be off! Into the carriage with you! Miss Froom?’

They set off once again. But the silence was oppressive. Mr Barraclough looked sharply at Miss Froom’s pursed lips and pinched nostrils, and then at Pip. ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked.

‘Philippa is a very rude, undisciplined, ill-mannered little girl,’ said Miss Froom sharply.

Pip sat upright, looking mutinous, and Lisette put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘She didn’t mean to be rude. She’s tired, Edward. It’s been a long day. I am sure she is sorry. Please forgive her, Miss Froom.’

There was silence. Mr Barraclough said, ‘Miss Froom?’

‘I do not mind so much for myself, though it is not what I am used to,’ said Miss Froom stiffly. ‘But when an ignorant little girl criticises the family of as great a nobleman as the Marquess of Ledbury, whose family goes back hundreds of years—’

Mr Barraclough, too, had heard his fill of the Ledburys. It was his private opinion that the Marchioness would have done better to pay less attention to her children and more to her husband. Ledbury’s amours were the gossip of London. But he said, ‘Yes, yes, it is absurd. You should not regard it, Miss Froom. In future you must try to guard that unruly tongue of yours, Philippa. Now, do you see the house?’

Chapter Three

They had just passed through some gates. Ahead of them was a long drive that wound round a lake. Pip leaned out dangerously and shouted with excitement, ‘I can see it, I can see it! Edward, it’s lovely! It’s got funny little windows—and look! Barley-sugar chimneys and a tower! Can I have a room in the tower? Please let me have a room in the tower!’