Isabella made her way down the narrow stairway and ended on the second floor of the main house. She followed Mrs. Peterson along the Turkish-rugged hall listening to the soft pads of their feet on the ground and swishing of skits.
She was surprised that, for such a large house, filled with not only the family of the house but at least a hundred servants downstairs and not all the tables were even full, it was so quiet.
Where was everyone else? She had expected to see maids bustling around and hear the clank of breakfast silverware in the distance, but it was complete and utter silence as she walked. Perhaps it was just that the west wing of the manor was far off from the rest of the house, she thought.
The wing was basically a rectangle shape with a walkway that outlined the rectangle. Off the walkway, numerous doors sprouted along the walls.
The middle, however, was open, with four enormous chandeliers hanging down from the ceiling. Isabella took a second to look over the railing on their walk and saw the most magnificent ballroom she had ever set her eyes on. It took up the whole of the bottom floor.
The chandeliers, as well as at least a dozen standing candelabras dotting along the floor, were all covered with sheets, as was a section in the far corner that was no doubt used for a live orchestra. She imagined royalty might very well dance in that hall on occasion.
As she walked, she learned that her quarters were the farthest west and left edge of the manor, her small port window looking out at the left side of the property.
She had gotten so mixed up walking the downstairs corridors that she hadn’t realized which way she was facing. She remembered seeing the front of the manor in the dark and pictured mentally the three sections. Her left side held the grand hall and a significant amount of what she assumed were guest rooms above it.
The middle section was, no doubt, the main part of the house with studies, libraries, sitting and drawing rooms. Most likely, in a house this size, it also boasted a smaller hall for more intimate affairs and the various dining rooms.
Then, lastly, she pictured in her mind, the east wing of the manor. She wondered if it shared a similar large hall and rooms that housed the family or if it was completely different from the beauty she was walking along.
Finally, they made their way from the bottom of the attic stairs along the straight walk, to the other end of the wing. Here, there was a small half circle alcove that led to two rooms on either side of the end of the rectangle and a grand staircase that lead down to the lower floor of the central portion. It was a sensational foyer, with painted ceilings squares, another large chandelier, and marble floors. Isabella stopped for a moment to look at the grandeur of it all.
She saw the large double doors that lead from the outside into the foyer, as well as an exquisite matching staircase opposite her. She did see a single maid dusting one of the vases that adorned the great room along with several marble statues. It was unimaginable to Isabella that this house was lived in. It looked like a royal estate, more magnificent than any she had ever seen.
“Miss Watts, if you please,” Mrs. Peterson said with impatience. She motioned to a third door from the small half circle alcove.
No doubt these rooms, closest to the main house, were meant for children. They were far enough away as not to be a bother to the lords and ladies that graced the house, but close enough to come when needed. Isabella smiled at the thought of how many little eyes had spied over the walkway banister to lavish balls below.
Mrs. Peterson opened the door without knocking, and Isabella followed in, after her. She found herself in a large room with a small library of its own on either side of a crackling fireplace. There were comfortable chairs seated near the fire, no doubt for reading.
There was a long wall facing outside to the back of the estate. Lush curtains in velvet green draped between the windows that showed vast, manicured gardens and even a large pond. Next to the windows were a small table and four chairs, probably for lunch. And all the way to the right side of the room was a child-sized table where one timid little girl was sitting quietly with her hands folded on top.
Next to the girl stood a woman just past middle age. She was wearing the cream-colored dress and apron of a nurse, as well as a bonnet with large ruffles framing her kind-looking face. She motioned for her charge to stand at the women’s entrance and the little girl did as she was told.
“Mrs. Murray,” Mrs. Peterson started, “I am pleased to introduce you to Miss Watts, our new governess. She will be relieving you of your duties during the day.”
“Ach, they are not much of duties with this little angel,” Mrs. Murray said in a thick Scottish accent.
The little girl smiled up at her nurse with affection. It was clear she didn’t understand much of what she said. She was a young girl and seemed small for her age. Very petite and thin. She had golden blonde ringlet hair and still had the round face of a small child. She looked shyly at the newcomer.
“Miss Jacqueline De’belmount,” Mrs. Peterson said a little louder than before, “this is your governess, Miss Watts.”
Mrs. Peterson, ever the proper lady, made the formal introduction to the child. Isabella laughed a little to herself. The child spoke a different language; she wasn’t hard of hearing. Isabella stood before the young girl, then kneeled down to Jacqueline’s level.
“Enchante. Je m’appelle Mademoiselle Watts.”
Jaqueline’s little face lit up. “Parlez-vous français?”
“Oui,” Isabella answered with a small smile.
This poor little girl had probably felt so alone and isolated in this house. Indeed, she was well loved by her nurse, but Isabella couldn’t imagine leaving one’s home and being surrounded by a new culture and language.
Mrs. Peterson cleared her throat, “Though all members of His Grace's family are fluent in French, the duke would prefer if the child learns English.”
“Of course,” Isabella said, standing back up.
The young girl slipped her hand into Isabella's and Isabella smiled down at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“If you please, I would like to meet with my pupil and see what she already has learned.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Peterson said, already leaning toward leaving the room. Surely, she had much more pressing matters at this time. “I will return to escort you to His Grace.”
Isabella nodded in understanding and waited for Mrs. Peterson to leave. She turned to Mrs. Murray who hadn't gone yet.
“Mrs. Murray, if you have a moment before you go, would you please share with me how you and Miss Jacqueline have been spending your day?”
“I dinna mind at all. Miss Jacqueline is a verra sweet child. Sadly, she doesn’t know much to say. She does enjoy playing with her dolls. We go on walks after luncheon to enjoy some fresh air. I expect His Grace will desire her time in nature to continue.”
“That would be fine. It would give us some time to explore natural science. I understand that Mrs. Peterson wants Jacqueline to focus on learning English, but I hope you will allow me to discuss what she knows thus far from her previous education. To do so, we would need to speak in French.”
“Och, don’t you worry about that. Mrs. Peterson is a stickler for the rules. What she dinna ken won't hurt her. I will sit right here,” she said as she took a spot in a chair by the fire. “I’ve been working on some winter mittens for the wee lass. I’ll be able to hear when Mrs. Peterson comes up the hall and give ye warnin’.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Murray,” Isabella looked down into the little hand still clasped in hers, “Shall we find some dolls to play with then?” she asked in French.
Jaqueline’s small eyes lit up. Tugging on Isabella’s hand, she took her past the table and through a door that lead into a nursery. She collected some dolls and brought them before the fire at her nurse's feet, something she had apparently done on a regular basis.
Isabella followed along and took her place next to the child on the floor. While they played, they discussed where Jacqueline grew up and what she liked to do.
She was just five years old when her mother told her that she would be leaving France and spending time with her grandparents. She spoke lovingly of her mother, but from what she said, her mother seemed to be of a certain profession.
“Grandparents?” Isabella asked.
“Oh aye, Jacqueline is the daughter of the late Marquess of Bellfourd” Mrs. Murray said not looking up from her work. “Lord James, God rest him, was an honorable man. I ken him since he was a young boy of twelve. He could be a bit free-spirited, but not any more so than others of his upbringing. Two years ago he came home from a hunting expedition that had taken a turn in the weather. He never recovered from it,” she finished softly.
“Papa?” Jacqueline asked softly of Mrs. Murray, only understanding a few words of what her nurse said. She nodded to the girl.
“Your Papa was a verra good man, lass; no kinder heart could be found. You see,” she said turning back to Isabella, “about a year after his passing His Grace received a letter from a Madame De’belmount of Paris. She claimed that Lord James had fathered a child by her and had been giving her a living. She asked that the child continue to be provided for, as she struggled to do so on her own. His Grace agreed under the condition that she be brought here and raised as a proper young lady.”
“What a kindness considering her…her…” Isabella didn’t want to say with the child present, whether she understood the words or not.
“I suspect that after the heartache of loss; you see, His Grace was verra close to his eldest son, he was hoping for a chance to have a bit of 'im back.”
“And certainly he feels blessed to have her here,” Isabella said, looking down at Jacqueline who was softly singing a French lullaby to her doll.
“Many of us do,” Mrs. Murray said without explanation.
It left Isabella wondering who wouldn’t be happy to have such a polite little girl in the household. She supposed that her parentage might cause some discomfort. She would never be considered a lady of the peerage, but growing in the duke's house and having an exceptional education, she would be a fine lady someday.
Isabella spent the remainder of the morning playing with the child asking her questions here and there to see what amount of instruction she had thus far. She didn’t expect much at the tender age of six, but was surprised that the girl’s mother had spent every night reading to her from quite beautiful books.
She felt a pang of sorrow for this little girl who too had lost her mother, even if just by the separation of land. She couldn’t imagine having such happy memories with her own mother and then being forced to leave her.
“Have you written to your mother since coming here?” Isabella asked her in perfect French.
“Yes, Aunt Abigail is kind to me. She writes letters for me, and reads back what my mother sends me.”
Isabella was happy to hear that she was able to keep correspondence with her mother, at least.
“Soon, I can show you how to write your own letters and words and then you may write to your mother, all on your own.”
Of course, Isabella knew writing fluent letters, even in French, was a way off for a girl of six, but it was at least the start of a goal they could make for her education.
“Miss Watts, I believe I hear footsteps. I suspect it is Mrs. Peterson coming for ye. It is mid-morning, and I am sure His Grace is ready for you now.”
Isabella stood and made sure her skirt was in proper order. Jacqueline came to hug her waist before she left. Already, in just a few short hours, this child was endeared to her.
Isabella was out the door just as Mrs. Peterson reached the top of the stairs, much to her surprise. Without many words, however, she merely turned around, expecting Isabella to follow. Isabella shook her head with a soft laugh. She wasn’t sure if she would ever understand the complexity of Mrs. Peterson.