Rules for a Proper Governess

And then Macaulay: He don’t say no to the ladies—but his heart’s in the grave. Remember that.

Blast it.

After dinner, when Cat and Andrew had a nap—at least, they pretended to until Bertie was out of the room—Mrs. Hill sent up word, asking Bertie to come to the library on the first floor.

When Bertie entered the dim room, Mrs. Hill, in her usual severe black, was standing in front of the rows of bookcases that rose to the ceiling. “A governess needs to know what she’s teaching her charges,” she said as soon as Bertie entered. “I know there’s Mangnall’s Questions, but a solid education is much easier to defend than memorization from an answer book. And if you want an education, my dear, this is the best way to go about it.” She swept her hand to indicate the rows of books around them.

Bertie took in the leather-backed tomes that marched along every wall up to the very high ceiling, and quailed. “You want me to read all these? Are ye mad? That’ll take me the rest of me life!”

“If needs must,” Mrs. Hill said in her no-nonsense voice. “Mr. Edward Davies—Mr. McBride’s brother-in-law—is determined to take our children from us, and we can’t have that. If you have to read every book in this room to fool him into thinking you’re a real governess, I will stand here until you do so.”

“Oh, Lord.” Bertie turned in a circle, taking in all the books, which seemed to spin around her. “What if I don’t understand any of them?”

“No matter. As long as, when Mr. Edward is nigh, you can trot out a few phrases such as Carlyle tells us . . . or Herodotus’s views on Ancient Egypt are . . . you’ll do well.”

Bertie’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know what’s in all these books, Mrs. Hill?”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Hill said without shame. “But I’m not pretending to be a governess, am I?”

“I’m not pretending,” Bertie said. “I am one—now.”

“Well, you’d better be one with everything you have, my girl. I don’t like Mrs. McBride’s brother, I can tell you. The first thing he’ll do is send Andrew off to some cold school in the north of England. Porridge three times a day, shivering by himself in a narrow little room, which they say will make a man of him.”

Bertie doubted Andrew would stand for being shut by himself in a narrow little room—he’d find some way to pick the lock or climb out the window—but she took the point. “What would they do with Cat?” Caitriona definitely wouldn’t benefit from being put into a cold room alone. While Andrew was always trying to burst out of himself, Cat retreated deep inside herself where no one could reach. It would not be best to put her somewhere without warmth, without people who understood and cared about her.

“Miss Cat would be educated in Mr. Davies’ home,” Mrs. Hill said, her nostrils pinching. “With a governess who’d fill her head with all kinds of nonsense, such as a true lady being too delicate to speak above a whisper and so weak she can barely lift a teacup. Then they’ll send Miss Cat to finishing school to complete her ruination.” Mrs. Hill’s lips pressed together, rage in her eyes.

Bertie liked that rage. “Well then,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I’d best get to reading, hadn’t I?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Hill gave her a look of vast gratitude. “Thank you, my dear.”

“All the same,” Bertie said, looking up at the books again, her imagination stirring to life. “I have an idea.”

Sinclair left chambers at seven that evening and paid a visit on his way home to Detective Chief Inspector Lloyd Fellows in his comfortable home in Pimlico.

The DCI was one of the Mackenzie clan Sinclair’s sister had married into, and the Mackenzie Sinclair felt most comfortable with. Though Fellows, a half brother to the rest of the Mackenzies, had spent his childhood in the slums of the East End, and Sinclair had lived in a well-kept house, raised by his respectable older brother, Sinclair and Fellows had both made their way up in their professions by hard work and bloody stubbornness. Both also were in the business of the law—Fellows caught villains breaking the laws, and Sinclair helped put them away. They shared a mutual respect, as well as a bemusement at being drawn into the very scandalous Mackenzie family.

Fellows had married earlier in the year to the youngest daughter of an earl—Lady Louisa Scranton. Louisa’s sister, Isabella, had married a Mackenzie herself—Lord Mac, the painter.

Louisa smiled warmly as Sinclair entered, greeting him with a kiss on his cheek. Her red hair glimmered in the lamplight, and her gown couldn’t hide her increasing girth. Louisa was expecting sometime in the early spring.

“Lovely to see you, Sinclair,” she said warmly. “How are dear Cat and Andrew?”

“Dear Cat and Andrew are very well, thank you,” Sinclair answered, waiting for Louisa to sit before he took the chair she indicated. “They have a new governess they’ve taken a liking to, and so the house has stayed more or less intact for the last few days.”

“Yes, the new governess,” Louisa said, giving Sinclair a shrewd look. “Eleanor told us about her.”

Sinclair blinked, though he knew he shouldn’t be surprised Louisa already knew about Bertie. “It’s gone around, has it?”

“In the Mackenzie family?” Louisa shot him another smile and began pouring out tea. “Of course. Everyone from Hart’s manservant to Beth’s scullery maid knows you’ve recently employed a young governess with a charming Cockney accent.”