Chapter Six
WOULD CHARLOTTE EVER accept her?
Grace heaved a sigh and dipped the tip of her pen in the ink well to begin a letter to her friend Hannah Fletcher. Having put the girls to bed not long ago, she was now free to indulge in the pleasure of correspondence. Only yesterday she had received a long letter from Hannah, every word of which seemed to reach across the miles that separated them with tender concern and sympathy. It was not the same as being able to sit down for a long heart-to-heart talk, but it was the closest thing they had.
How Grace longed to see her friends again! After leaving school, she had never found another person in whom she could confide so freely. Governesses lived in a twilight position, beneath the families who employed them yet above the servants. Any familiarity with either group was frowned upon. She had not minded a great deal, until recently.
But now she found herself growing to care for Phoebe and Sophie Kendrick more deeply than she had for any of her past pupils. Was that because they were growing up without a mother, as she had? She sensed what they needed and longed to supply it. She would like to have done the same for Charlotte, if only the girl would let her. But the harder she tried, the tighter Charlotte closed herself off. Perhaps Hannah would have some advice on how to handle the situation. She’d always had a sensible head on her shoulders.
Writing feverishly, pouring out her frustration, Grace reminded herself she ought to be grateful that she had won over the other two girls. She had also been fortunate to gain their father’s support, though she was not certain how far that might extend.
The nib of her pen scratched softly over the paper as she wrote about the day Charlotte had coldly refused to ride around the estate with her father and sisters.
Later I heard muffled weeping and found Charlotte curled up on the window seat watching the rest of the family ride off. I spoke to her as gently as I could and asked if she had changed her mind about going.
She jumped up with such a glare I feared she might strike me. Then she replied that her feelings were none of my concern and demanded to be left alone. Much as her harshness vexed me, I was moved by the hurt and sadness in her eyes. I believe the poor child makes herself more miserable than anyone with her spite against me.
Ever since that day, she and Charlotte seemed to be in a state of armed truce that threatened to erupt in open warfare at any moment—rather like the tense situation in Europe as Napoleon returned to power. Grace did not want war to come again so soon. She thought of Hannah, whose master was an officer recently returned home after years of service in the cavalry. Neither did she want hostilities with Charlotte to escalate. But she could not purchase peace at the cost of her authority over the Nethercross nursery.
As Grace paused to let the ink dry she heard faint sounds from the nursery. Ever since Sophie’s nightmare, she had left her bedroom door slightly ajar at night in case the child called out for her.
That was not what Grace heard now, though she wondered if it might be Sophie murmuring in her sleep, begging those she had lost to come back. Laying aside her pen, Grace rose and crept toward the door, her ears straining to make sense of the whispers drifting in from the nursery.
It wasn’t Sophie talking, at least not only her. All three of the girls seemed to be carrying on a hushed but emphatic conversation that was growing louder than they could have intended. Grace was about to call out for them to get to sleep when she suddenly picked out a familiar word from the girls’ furtive exchange. That seemed to be the key, making the rest come clear.
“...must stand up to Miss Ellerby,” Charlotte urged her sisters in a fierce whisper that carried clearly to Grace’s ears. Was the child so intent on making her point that she did not notice her voice had risen? Or did she not care if the governess overheard her? “Otherwise she’ll do just as she likes and turn Papa against us.”
“You’re just put out,” Phoebe countered, “because Papa sided with her the other day and because he’s pleased with me instead of you for a change.”
“I didn’t care for Miss Ella at first.” Sophie scarcely bothered to lower her voice at all. “But I do now. She understands about things.”
“You two are impossible!” Charlotte hissed. “She’s turned you against me as well.”
“She has not,” Phoebe snapped. “You’re doing that all by yourself.”
“I’m not against you, Charlotte.” Sophie’s plaintive little voice sounded choked with tears. “Why are you so angry with me? I’ll try not to like Miss Ella if you don’t want me to.”
Grace had heard quite enough. She’d overlooked Charlotte’s criticism and insolence, hoping to win her cooperation with kindness. Clearly that had not worked. She was not about to let the child take out her frustration on her sisters.
Striving to sound more confident and controlled than she felt, Grace pushed open her door and strode into the nursery. “Girls, I’m afraid your whispering has grown too loud to ignore.”
She headed straight toward Sophie’s bed and put her arms around the tearful child. “Charlotte, I am not prepared to tolerate any more of your troublemaking. I know you do not want me at Nethercross, but that is your father’s decision, not yours. You are wrong if you suppose I am trying to turn him against you.”
The child did not argue with her openly as Phoebe would have done. Instead, she retreated into petulant silence that seemed to crackle like thin ice beneath Grace’s feet.
“Hush, Sophie.” Grace stroked the child’s hair. “Your sister is not angry at you and I’m certain she did not mean to upset you. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?”
After a long, fraught moment, Charlotte spoke. “I’m sorry Sophie. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I know you aren’t against me.”
“No one is against you, Charlotte,” Grace insisted as she continued to comfort Sophie. “But I must insist you give me your obedience and respect. Otherwise, I shall not be able to take you with us when we visit the Cadmores.”
She tried to keep her voice calm, so as not to provoke the child or further distress her sister. But her statement of the consequences Charlotte would suffer for her continued insolence roused the girl from her petulant silence. “Keep me home from the Cadmores? You wouldn’t dare! I would tell Papa the instant he returns from London and he would dismiss you at once for treating me like that.”
Might this action cost her the position she was coming to enjoy more every day? Charlotte’s threat made Grace hesitate. Up to this point Lord Steadwell had been surprisingly supportive. But that support must have limits. Past experience warned Grace that parents always came to the defense of an aggrieved child, without a thought for how difficult it made her job. Why should her new employer be any different?
Yet she could not bring herself to back down. She was not asking anything unreasonable, after all. Charlotte’s attitude was not only causing trouble for Grace, but also upsetting her sisters. It was also for her own good. If Charlotte continued on, expecting to have her own way without regard for the feelings of others, she would one day find herself much worse off.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Grace chose her words with care. “But I must stand firm. I do not mean this as a punishment but a choice you are free to make through your own actions. If you wish to accompany us to the Cadmores, I have made clear what sort of behavior I expect from you. I hope you will make the wise choice.”
Charlotte gave an angry. “Hmph!” Then she pitched down onto her bed and turned her back on Grace with as much noise as possible.
“That didn’t sound very promising, did it?” Grace whispered to Sophie.
The child shook her head.
“Thank you for speaking up for me,” Grace pressed a kiss upon Sophie’s forehead. “That was kind and brave of you.”
First Phoebe, now Sophie—not since her friends at school had others come to her defense like that. Surely she owed them and herself the same. She only hoped that standing up to Charlotte would not cost her this opportunity to care for children she was rapidly growing to love.
After a tumultuous week in Parliament, Rupert was more eager than ever to get back to the peace of the countryside and the loving company of his children. Having ignored the danger of Napoleon’s return to power, the government had finally come to its senses and committed to putting troops in the field. Rupert feared their reluctance to act might have given the little tyrant a worrisome advantage.
As his carriage drew up to the house, he spied Charlotte waiting by the front door. She must have been watching for his arrival so she could come out to meet him, bless her heart.
When he climbed out of the carriage, however, he was not greeted with the warm smile he expected but by a pale countenance and flashing eyes.
“What is wrong, dearest?” He held his arms open to her. “Is one of your sisters hurt or ill?”
The thought of harm coming to any of his daughters threatened to rip his heart out.
“Oh, Papa!” Charlotte hurled herself into his arms, her slender frame heaving with sobs. “It’s M-Miss Ellerby. She’s... h-horrible! Why did you h-hire her?”
So this tearful outburst was Miss Ellerby’s fault? All Rupert’s earlier misgivings about the governess came roaring back.
“There now,” he sought to comfort his daughter. “What has Miss Ellerby done to upset you so?”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and ushered her into the house. It took little encouragement for Charlotte to unburden herself. The upshot seemed to be that the governess had denied her the opportunity to visit Dungrove.
“Surely it was not her place to say whether I could go. You were the one who accepted the invitation for all three of us, weren’t you, Papa? Miss Ellerby should never have forced me to stay home without consulting you.”
What could Charlotte have done to merit such punishment? In the past, his eldest daughter had always been impeccably behaved, never giving Mademoiselle Audet any trouble. Missing out on that visit would have been a severe deprivation for her. Charlotte had talked about little else since Mrs. Cadmore extended the invitation.
Pulling out a handkerchief, Rupert pressed it into his daughter’s hand. “Never fear. I will get this sorted out. Go tell Miss Ellerby I wish to speak to her in my study.”
“Thank you, Papa.” The child wiped her eyes and immediately brightened. “I knew I could rely on you.”
Rely on him to do what? Rupert wondered.
Charlotte ran off up the stairs at a pace for which she might have scolded her younger sisters. Meanwhile, Rupert headed to his study with a sigh. He had hoped to escape all the trouble in London by coming home to peaceful Nethercross, but it seemed there had been conflict brewing here as well.
He had barely reached his study when Charlotte returned, followed by her worried-looking governess.
“You wished to see me, sir?”
“I did, Miss Ellerby.” He rose and gestured for her to take a seat.
When Charlotte headed away again with an ill-concealed air of triumph, he motioned her to stay. “I understand there has been some... difficulty in the nursery this week, which resulted in you forbidding Charlotte to accompany the other girls to Dungrove. Is that correct?”
Miss Ellerby’s brow furrowed deeper. “Not entirely, sir.”
“Then perhaps you could explain what occurred.”
“Very well.” Miss Ellery shifted in her seat. “For some time, I have felt that Charlotte resents my presence at Nethercross. She often complains of my teaching methods and finds fault with much that I do.”
“That’s not true!” Charlotte cried. “Besides, it has nothing to do with what happened.”
Rupert was inclined to agree, but Miss Ellerby spoke up with quiet insistence. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I believe your daughter’s attitude toward me has a great deal to do with this situation. May I continue?”
When Charlotte tried to protest, Rupert silenced her. “You were able to tell me your side of the story without interruption. Your governess deserves the same opportunity. Pray go on, Miss Ellerby.”
She gave a nod of thanks. “Matters came to a head on Monday evening, when I overheard Charlotte criticizing me to her sisters and urging them to disobey me.”
“Did you hear that, Papa?” Charlotte demanded. “She admits to eavesdropping on us.”
“The girls were supposed to be asleep at the time,” Miss Ellerby explained. “But their whispers grew so loud, they became impossible to ignore.”
While Rupert kept Charlotte quiet with a sharp look, Miss Ellerby explained the choice she had given his daughter. When she finished, he stood silent for several tense moments, digesting all he had heard from both sides and deciding what to do.
At last he spoke. “I must apologize, Miss Ellerby, for my daughter’s conduct.”
It was difficult to judge which of the two was more shocked by his words, Charlotte or her governess. Both regarded him with open mouths and wide, wary eyes.
Taking advantage of their silence, he continued, “Perhaps I also owe you an apology, Charlotte, for placing so much responsibility on your young shoulders that you became reluctant to surrender it. That was not fair to you.”
“But Papa,” Charlotte wailed, “how can you take her part over mine? She has turned you against me, just as I feared she would!”
Rupert shook his head. “Nothing could be further from the truth, my dear. This is not a case of taking sides. I am trying to do what is best for everyone. You are a clever girl and mature beyond your years, so I hope you will understand that I am thinking of you as much as anyone. I do not want you to be unhappy, but as Miss Ellerby tried to make you see, that will be your choice. From now on, I expect you to obey her as you would me and respect her likewise.”
“But Papa...”
“Is that understood, Charlotte?”
“Yes, Papa.” The child’s obedient but resentful tone made Rupert hope he had not lost her affection altogether. “May I go now?”
“You may.”
Charlotte rose and curtsied to him, then to her governess, like a wooden puppet. Her features were frozen in a neutral expression that he feared might mask turbulent feelings. It reminded him of Miss Ellerby. Might that be another reason the two had gotten off to a difficult start—because they were too much alike?
As soon as his daughter left the room, her governess let out a shaky breath. “Thank you for what you said to Charlotte. I know it cannot have been easy for you to disoblige her.”
Rupert made an effort to chuckle but it came out more like a sigh. “I only hope I have not made matters worse for you.”
When she thought back on it a full fortnight later, Grace still had trouble believing Lord Steadwell had stood up for her when his daughter all but demanded her dismissal.
Not that his actions signified he had any particular liking for her, she insisted to herself. He had been defending the principle that his daughters should respect the governess he had hired to care for them. No doubt he also recognized that Charlotte needed to learn more consideration for others. All the same, his defense of her gave Grace added confidence in her authority. It made her feel valued at Nethercross in a way she had not in any of her previous positions. If only his lordship’s actions had had as positive an effect upon his daughter.
On the surface, Charlotte appeared to do everything her father had asked. She had not criticized or corrected Grace once since that evening and there had been no more late-night whispers against her. Charlotte seemed to have grown even more protective of Sophie, perhaps to reassure the child that she was not vexed with her. Or could it be a covert tug-of-war for Sophie’s affection? Grace would not have put it past her, for she sensed Charlotte was biding her time, watching for a mistake she could exploit.
For her part, Grace tried not to appear as if she exulted in Lord Steadwell’s confidence. Instead, she made an effort to let bygones be bygones. And every night, she prayed that Charlotte would lower her bristling defenses and give her an opportunity to draw closer.
Hearing the nursery door close softly behind her, Grace spun away from the window, where she had been staring out at the drizzly day brightened here and there by blooming crocuses. The girls had worked so hard of late on their studies that she had promised them a whole afternoon to do as they pleased. She’d hoped the weather would be fine so they could go outdoors, but it had not turned out that way.
Phoebe had gone off to the stables. Charlotte asked politely if she might go to the kitchen for a cookery lesson. Grace consented, though she wondered whether it was only an excuse for Charlotte to get as far away as possible from the nursery. Sophie had not been able to decide what she wanted to do. Or perhaps she refused to say, hoping to steal off on her own.
“Sophie!” Grace scrambled toward the door. She recalled a story Lord Steadwell had told her during their first meeting about how the child had wandered off once before and not been found for hours.
Her heart seemed to seize in her chest when she looked down the corridor and saw no sign of her youngest pupil.
“Where are you off to, Sophie?” she called. “Please let me come with you!”
An instant later, a small fair head popped out from around the corner. “I decided to go exploring. Would you really like to come along?”
“I would.” As Grace advanced toward the child, her pulse gradually slowed. “This is such an interesting old house but I have seen little of it beyond the nursery.”
Sophie seemed pleased with the idea of having a companion for her explorations. She held out her hand to clasp Grace’s. “I can show you heaps of things you’ve never seen before. There are lots of pictures of people. Papa says they’re relations of ours who lived long ago. Some of them wore such odd clothes.”
As the child chattered on, Grace had an idea of how she might teach history to Sophie and her sisters by relating dates and events to their oddly dressed ancestors. No doubt the family had played a part in shaping their times, just as Lord Steadwell did now, faithfully attending Parliament when he would rather have remained in the country with his children. Grace had come to admire his diligence and sense of duty.
Sophie led her along narrow corridors and wider galleries, up unexpected staircases. In one room, Grace marveled at an enormous bed hung with rich brocade draperies.
“Who sleeps here?” she asked Sophie. “Your father?”
His lordship never put on any great display of his wealth. Grace often forgot what an enormous gulf separated her position from his.
“Papa doesn’t sleep here.” Sophie giggled as if her governess had made a deliberate jest. “Nobody does. This is the King’s bed. I can’t remember which king, but one visited Nethercross and slept here long ago. Papa told me. You can ask him.”
“Indeed I shall,” Grace mused. Perhaps his lordship could explain to her how the history of his family connected with that of the kingdom.
“That is my favorite picture.” Sophie pointed to a magnificent portrait that hung above the marble mantelpiece. It showed a lady wearing a coral-colored gown in the style of the Stuart royal court with voluminous skirts and lavishly puffed sleeves. Her dark hair hung in masses of thick ringlets with a fringe of wispy curls over her brow.
“Papa told me her name was Sophia—almost like me. She was my great-great-great-great-great-grandmama.”
Grace smiled as Sophie counted off the number of “greats” on her fingers. Now that Lord Steadwell was away in London so much, she no longer made such an effort to keep from smiling. Nor did she bother to wear her father’s old spectacles during the week. The girls all took it for granted that she was plain and never seemed to notice her appearance any more.
“She is lovely.” Grace noted a strong resemblance to Sophie’s father in the lady’s raven hair, dark eyes and elegant features. “And such a gown. It may look odd to you but I imagine Cinderella might have worn one like it to the prince’s ball in your story.”
“Do you think so?” Sophie’s eyes grew wide. “Would you like to see it?”
“See what?” asked Grace. “I can see the painting already.”
“Not that. The gown.” Sophie seized her hand and drew her into a smaller chamber that must once have been a dressing room.
Two sides of the room were lined with tall cupboards that almost reached the ceiling. A third wall was hung with two large looking glasses. Sophie moved from cupboard to cupboard, peeping inside each.
“I think this is the one,” she announced at last.
“One what?” Grace threw wide the cupboard door to find Sophie lifting the lid of a large trunk. “Careful you don’t jam your fingers. Are you allowed to be in here, going through all these old things?”
“This is it.” Sophie lifted up the bodice of the elaborate lace-trimmed gown from the portrait. “Smell.”
The child inhaled deeply, prompting Grace to do likewise. The wholesome sweetness of dried lavender wafted up from the open trunk along with the faint pungency of cedar, which must have kept the moths at bay all these years.
“It is very fine.” Grace took one of the sleeves between her fingers and caressed the rich fabric. “Just imagine wearing something like this.” Her voice trailed off in a wistful sigh.
“You don’t need to imagine,” Sophie thrust the gown toward Grace. “Put it on.”
Grace drew back in shock as if she’d been invited to commit murder. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Why not?” The child looked perplexed.
“Because... it doesn’t belong to me.”
“You aren’t going to steal it,” Sophie persisted. “And nobody has worn it for years and years. Poor gown! Imagine how sad it must have been to lie in a trunk all this time, even if it does smell nice.”
Grace tried to return the gown to its proper resting place, but her hands refused to cooperate. “Sophie, you know gowns aren’t living things with thoughts and feelings.”
“I know.” The child did not sound persuaded. “But I wonder what it might be like if they did. What if the gown remembered being worn and taken out places? Wouldn’t that make a good story?”
Such were Sophie’s powers of invention that Grace fancied she could hear the rustling pleas of the old gown, begging to be worn and admired one more time, if only for a few moments. What would it hurt, after all, to indulge the child’s harmless whim?
“Very well, then,” she murmured. “I will put it on, but only for a few moments over the dress I’m wearing.”
As it turned out, that looked ridiculous—the tight, long sleeves and prim neck of her rust-brown dress protruding from that luxurious confection of damask and lace. The gown might as well have stayed in its trunk as be worn that way. At Sophie’s urging, Grace slid off the bodice of her dress and let it fall around her hips, hidden by the volume of the old-fashioned skirts.
“Kneel down,” said Sophie. “I’ll fasten your hooks.”
Though part of her protested, Grace obeyed.
“Look in the glass.” Sophie clapped her hands as Grace rose from the floor. “You are like Cinderella. That means I must be your godmother.”
Grace turned and looked at the reflection of a woman she barely recognized. The vivid coral hue of the fabric brought out the color of her eyes and brightened her complexion, making it look more like fresh cream than cold wax. The delicacy of the lacework highlighted her fine features. The unexpected pleasure she found in her appearance made her eyes sparkle and her lips relax into a winsome smile.
Was it wicked vanity, as she’d so often been told, to be pleased by her reflection in the glass? It did not feel wicked. It felt joyful and free, as if she had been released from a tight, dingy prison.
Her fragile bubble of happiness did not last long.
“Do you hear footsteps?” She spun toward the door, her heart hammering so hard it made the lace trim around the gown’s neckline tremble. “Someone is coming. I must get out of this!”
How could she have forgotten the danger of casting off her protective disguise?
“I don’t hear anything. And your cap doesn’t look right with that gown.” Before Grace could stop her, the child reached up and grasped one of the long white lappets. Then she pulled it off, bringing down Grace’s tightly-pinned hair in the process.
“Sophie!” she cried in dismay.
“Sophie?” another voice echoed. “Are you in there?”
Panic froze Grace to the spot as the door swung open and Charlotte rushed in.
The instant she caught sight of Grace, her eyes bulged and she let out a piercing scream. Grace’s nerves were wound so tight, she screamed too.
“Run, Sophie!” Charlotte tried to drag her sister toward the door. But Sophie dug her feet in.
“What’s wrong with you, Charlotte? It’s only Miss Ella. I think she looks as pretty as a princess, don’t you?”
Charlotte peered at Grace in stunned disbelief. “Miss... Ellerby?”
“That’s right.” Grace snatched up her cap from the floor and tried to cover her hair with it again.
If she had been caught committing a dreadful crime, she could not have been more consumed with shame or fear for her future. She had no doubt Charlotte would seize this opportunity to get rid of her.