The Earl's Runaway Governess, page 10
‘Mrs Cullen, I must say I admire you for doing what you did.’ Marianne touched the older woman’s hand. ‘And I think it was extremely clever of you to barter with the wine!’
‘Well,’ the cook explained, ‘none of us likes wine. Thomas prefers my beer what I brew, and apart from a little sherry at Christmastide I never touch alcohol. So it seemed as how nobody would need it!’ She preened a little. ‘I know I’m a good cook—not that I’m guilty of the sin of pride, because all I know I learned from my own ma—but I was never bookish or smart. But I’ve kept this house fed, I have, and not a shilling in the place ’cept what Thomas can get for the eggs and the cabbages!’
* * *
Ash slammed his fist against the door. Safe in the sanctuary of his room, he finally gave free rein to the anger and frustration within him. What in hell is wrong with these people? John had become ill and civilisation had vanished from the entire house!
Fanny, it seemed, had no common sense whatsoever, and was not in the least way able to manage a house. She had failed to ask John to tell her how to apply for funds, had failed to collect rents from the tenants, had failed to pay the servants, and had even failed to ensure that there was money for food! Lord, when he had known her before he had suspected she was bird-witted, but he had not known the extent of it! Why on earth he had ever thought himself to be in love with her he could not now understand.
He knew that he himself had never held such responsibility as this before, but at least he was trying to make the best of it. Fanny, it seemed, had avoided making any decisions and simply relied on others to find solutions.
Today, when he had finally realised that John’s prized case of Grenache wine was to have been bartered for ten shillings’ worth of meat and some spices—a fraction of its true value—Ash could happily have smashed every piece of china in the house!
Truly, he could not blame Mrs Cullen, her lachrymose daughter or the beef-witted Thomas. They had no idea of the true value of the wine they had been happily giving away for trinkets these past months. The local merchants did, though.
And Miss Bolton had angered him, too! He reflected on this, for really he could not immediately say why. Like him, she had been in the dark about the shenanigans that had taken place. And her intervention, he had to admit, had had a calming effect on the other servants, and had ultimately helped him discover the truth.
He reviewed the incident again, and this time he identified what it was that she had done. She had...she had managed him—as if he were a schoolboy or a recalcitrant toddler!
By God, and he had let her!
He shook his head in bemusement. Then, with a sigh, he took what he needed from his strongbox and went in search of his steward.
* * *
Finally, Mrs Cullen and Aggie had calmed down. Over tea, Marianne had engaged them in discussion on a range of topics aimed at reassuring them that they were valued. She’d praised their hard work, sympathised with the difficulties they’d faced trying to run the house alone, and marvelled again at their ingenuity in bartering with the local tradesmen. She had also persuaded Thomas to remove the wine from the cart until Lord Kingswood indicated what he wanted to do.
In recent years, at home, Mama had encouraged her to intercede in issues with the servants, and that training had stood her in good stead today. A gem like Mrs Cullen—such a good cook, and one whose loyalty to her post was unquestionable—could not be allowed to walk out. Marianne dared not think about Lord Kingswood’s response if he were told there was to be no dinner.
The door opened abruptly and there he was. They all started, almost guiltily, though they had done nothing wrong. He filled the doorway with his height and his breadth, simply his presence.
‘Mrs Cullen...’ he began.
She eyed him warily. ‘Yes, my lord?’
Oh, I do hope he does not say something unhelpful! thought Marianne.
She took a quick breath, as if to say something herself—she knew not what.
Immediately that blue gaze swivelled towards her. ‘You have something to say, Miss Bolton?’
‘No, no. Nothing at all,’ she mumbled.
His eyes narrowed, but after a moment his attention moved back to the cook. Marianne let out a grateful breath.
‘I apologise for my misapprehension earlier.’ His tone was clipped, but it was an actual apology. ‘I had no idea,’ he continued, ‘of the situation with regard to the local tradesmen. I wish to make it clear, though, that from now on there is to be no bartering, and that none of my wine is to leave this house without my permission. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
He placed a roll of banknotes on the table. Mrs Cullen’s eyes grew round.
‘You will purchase whatever supplies are needed and you will keep a ledger of all the costs. Cronin, my steward, will deal with this until a housekeeper is appointed.’
‘Oh, I have a ledger already,’ said Mrs Cullen cheerily. ‘I wrote down everything we gave away, and what we got for it. Would you like to see it, my lord?’
His eyes closed briefly, as if he were in pain. ‘No,’ he said faintly.
‘Can we still sell the extra eggs to the village grocer, though?’ asked Aggie daringly. ‘Only, we don’t need them all, and we may as well make a few shillings from them, my lord.’
Lord Kingswood looked taken aback. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘You may discuss it with Cronin. Now, with regard to the nine bottles of prime Grenache currently resting outside in the back of a cart—’
‘Oh, Miss Bolton has already instructed Thomas to return them to the wine cellar,’ offered Mrs Cullen, in a mistaken attempt to be helpful.
‘Has she, indeed?’ he asked, a deceptive mildness in his tone.
Marianne could feel herself flushing. ‘That wasn’t quite how it happened—’ she began.
Lord Kingswood crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. ‘Really? Do enlighten me. How did it happen?’
‘I merely thought that Thomas should not take it away until after—I mean until you had decided—I mean—’
‘Is it normally a governess’s role to direct the house servants, Miss Bolton?’
She dropped her eyes. ‘No.’ There was a short pause. Then she looked up at him again defiantly. ‘But this is not a normal situation.’
That elicited a bark of laughter from him. ‘I confess you have me there! Very well, I shall indulge you—this time.’
He turned and departed, leaving an awed cook and her even more awed daughter, exclaiming over the roll of banknotes before them, and a governess feeling confused, relieved and unexpectedly charitable towards him.
Chapter Ten
The next two weeks saw changes at Ledbury House. Mr Cronin, the new steward, arranged for a chimney sweep, as well as for workmen to come and make the necessary repairs. The sound of hammering, sawing and off-key whistling filled the house, and Marianne and Cecily struggled to complete their lessons in peace. Cronin also employed three village girls to help in the house, and Marianne, quite without Lord Kingswood’s knowledge, found herself directing them.
There had been no option, she felt, but to take matters in hand. Lady Kingswood was uninterested, though mildly pleased that her comforts—and Cecily’s—would be seen to. Mrs Cullen was willing, but found herself unable to say which tasks should be tackled first and how.
After being called to pass judgement on a heated debate between the new maids as to which of them was to clean the dining room—Mrs Cullen had accidentally given them all differing and confusing instructions—Marianne had taken charge. It was rather more involvement than she would have liked—for she was used to working with a competent housekeeper—but she managed to get them working co-operatively, and the main parts of the house began to look a little better.
Mr Loveday, the Earl’s valet, was as particular about his master’s dress, needs and comfort as he was over his own appearance. He would allow no one but himself to wash or mend any of Lord Kingswood’s clothes, and his appearance in the kitchen always caused consternation among the maids, who eyed him with awe.
Aggie confined herself to the kitchen and scullery, helping her mother with the cooking and expressing relief to all who would listen that she no longer was forced to go above stairs.
The village girls were hardworking and polite, and knew how to clean and tidy. They were unpolished, however, and needed the guiding hand of a good housekeeper to help them develop additional skills and understand correct behaviour. Marianne did her best, but it could not substitute for the intense training that she knew they required. And even the three of them still were not enough.
Tentatively, she decided to speak to the steward about it.
She came away feeling impressed. He seemed to be a man of sense. He had thanked her for her assistance with the maids and indicated that Lord Kingswood’s London secretary had been tasked with finding a housekeeper, a footman, a groom and two more maids. Marianne had been relieved to hear it.
He had also confirmed that Lord Kingswood had indeed requested a tour of the estate and had asked that she accompany them. He himself was becoming acquainted with the wider property, meeting the tenants and poring over paperwork, and he now felt well-informed enough to lead the tour—if Miss Bolton might be free to accompany him and the master after nuncheon? Lady Kingswood, unfortunately, would not accompany them, having given him to understand that she could not possibly forgo her afternoon rest.
Marianne had agreed, and now looked forward to the trip with a little trepidation. She and Lord Kingswood had reached an unspoken truce in the past two weeks, and she had found herself adapting to her new life with surprising ease.
No one seemed particularly interested in her past, which was a relief. One of the benefits, she thought wryly, of being a governess was that she was, in a sense, a nonentity. The servants did not presume to question her, as she was above their touch, and the family did not question her as she was below theirs. She sat perfectly in the shadow world between upstairs and downstairs, free to move across both worlds, yet not fully belonging in either.
Dinner times had become a little less fraught, as Lady Kingswood seemed to have become gradually reconciled to her fate—on the surface, at least. Marianne had enjoyed a few light conversations with her, and with Cecily, and Lord Kingswood occasionally joined in with suitably bland comments.
Lady Kingswood was not a person of information. She enjoyed talking of fashion and hairstyles, and whether Gowland’s Lotion or Catharmian Water was best for the complexion. She was fascinated by the fashion plates in La Belle Assemblée and Ackermann’s Repository, and was itching to commission more dresses for herself and her daughter,
‘For, depend upon it,’ she had declared, ‘we shall be into half-mourning before we know it, and I shall need at least four grey dresses. Of course now that I have money of my own I shall go to London and organise it myself!’
Marianne thought that Lord Kingswood had rolled his eyes briefly at this, but he had made no comment.
The chimneys had all been cleaned, so they were now able to sit in relative comfort in the evenings. There was a decent library in the house, although Lady Kingswood was herself not a reader, and seemed to disapprove of books. Marianne had nevertheless persisted, enjoying conversations with Lord Kingswood about books they had both read, and exciting Cecily’s interest in reading some of the books discussed.
Last night, though, Lady Kingswood had decided to put her foot down, and it had not ended well.
‘I really must insist,’ she had said to Marianne, ‘that you do not allow Cecily to read too many books. Why, she could end up with brain fever!’
Marianne had been taken aback. ‘Brain fever?’ she had repeated foolishly. ‘From reading?’
‘Nonsense!’ Lord Kingswood had responded. ‘How could she get brain fever from reading, Fanny? The idea is preposterous!’
Marianne found herself in the unusual situation of agreeing entirely with Lord Kingswood, while also wishing he had not said what he had.
‘But, Ash!’ Fanny had replied. ‘You must know the dangers of overthinking—especially for the female mind. Why, I declare if I have to think too hard on anything it quite wears me out!’
Lord Kingswood had uttered a bark of laughter at this. Catching his eye, Marianne had realised that they were of one view on the supposed dangers of reading, and of Lady Kingswood’s ability to think. But she knew he ought not to say so.
Unable to help herself, she had sent him a warning look. This time, instead of responding with anger or resentment, he had twinkled humorously at her and allowed Lady Kingswood’s comment to go unchallenged.
Yes, thought Marianne now, if we are all careful we can get along together quite nicely.
Cecily’s education was proceeding well. Without Lady Kingswood’s knowledge, and in addition to the gentle arts that Lady Kingswood favoured, Marianne was teaching Cecily about the topics the girl was actually interested in—including the basics of politics and history. She had also started introducing brief lessons on household management and budgets. Lady Cecily would not be completely at a loss on these matters when she grew up—not if Marianne could help it!
Surprisingly, Lord Kingswood had developed an easy friendship with the girl—forged over Cecily’s love of horses. He encouraged her to canter, to gallop and even to take fences—despite her mama’s fears.
Marianne, herself a competent horsewoman, enjoyed seeing Cecily’s increasing confidence—and her more relaxed relationship with her guardian. She liked Cecily, seeing in her a reflection of her younger self, devoted to her mama and with a good heart.
Marianne picked up on the girl’s sadness at times, too—it was important to remember that bereavement was still playing its part for all of them in different ways.
Half-mourning.
Marianne reflected on society’s traditions as she donned her cloak and bonnet for the ride out with Lord Kingswood and Mr Cronin. Black cloak over her plain black dress. Her bonnet simple and unadorned. She had not thought to change from black to traditional grey when Mama and Papa had been dead six months.
Soon, she realised, it would be a year, and under normal circumstances she would be expected to take up her old life again—to wear whatever colours she wished, to socialise and laugh and act as though her world had not, in fact, fallen apart on that fateful day. It would be her twenty-first birthday in April, and if Henry had been a caring, generous guardian she might have enjoyed a special celebration aimed at replicating what her parents might have given her.
Thankfully, as a governess, she could continue to wear drab colours and fade into the background and no one would think anything of it.
She remembered her younger self with some bemusement. Who was that happy, merry girl? The one who had occasionally danced and laughed and flirted at the Assembly Rooms, her evenings there filled with dancing slippers and curls and ball gowns? It seemed like another life, another person. Yet truly she did not miss that life. The only parts she did miss were Mama and Papa. And the feeling of being loved.
* * *
‘And this is the third and final farm, my lord.’
Mr Cronin drove the gig down a leafy lane towards a farmhouse of warm red brick and thick thatch. As well as the house itself Marianne could see outbuildings and labourers’ cottages. The whole estate was not dissimilar to home. It was, perhaps, slightly larger in acres, so it surprised her that many of the labourers’ cottages looked uninhabited, and that some were in poor condition.
As with the other two farms, the farmer had been warned in advance of their arrival, and he and his family were waiting to greet them. As had also been the case at the previous two farms, Lord Kingswood handed her down from the gig before striding forwards to introduce himself—this time to Mr and Mrs Harkin and their numerous offspring.
The next half-hour followed the same pattern as before. Marianne drank tea with the farmer’s wife and learned what she could about her family and the farm, while Lord Kingswood and Mr Cronin dealt with matters of business with the farmer over home-brewed ale. Mr Cronin had already collected the rents—although Lord Kingswood had apparently told him not to request the full amount.
‘For which we are most grateful, miss, as you may imagine!’ declared Mrs Harkin. ‘My husband has set aside every penny that is due, of course, but now that we haven’t to use it all it means we can buy our William—he’s the fourteen-year-old, miss—an apprenticeship with Mr Calvert the wheelwright. He’s a good lad, our William, and it will make me so proud to see him with a trade.’
‘I am sure,’ agreed Marianne with a smile. ‘And what a lovely home you have made for your family!’
‘Well,’ said Mrs Harkin confidentially, ‘we were worried when the other Lord Kingswood died and it looked like all would go to rack and ruin, but now the new Earl is here and he shall no doubt set all to rights!’ She leaned forward to touch Marianne’s hand. ‘And what a handsome gentleman he is, do you not think?’
Marianne had no answer to this, though her heart had developed the most inconvenient habit of thundering and racing whenever she was in his company. Awkwardly she felt her colour rise, and she murmured something about not having noticed particularly, while pretending to be distracted by choosing which sweetmeat to have.
Later, she repeated a carefully edited version of the conversation to the two men, as they returned to Ledbury House.
‘Their most pressing need, according to Mrs Harkin, is seed for this year’s crop and labourers to sow it. Their fallow fields are due to take grain, and last year’s grain fields to be used for pasture, and Mr Harkin, according to his wife, has neither the workers nor the seeds he needs.’
