Sylvia Andrew – A Very Unusual Governess (страница 10)

‘It won’t! I swear it won’t. I just have a feeling…Cousin Marjorie, please do this! I know I am asking a lot. I can’t even explain why it is so important to me. Perhaps it’s the escape I’ve been looking for. Please help me!’

Lady Dorney hesitated, started to speak, then stopped again. Octavia waited in silence. At last her cousin said, ‘I’ve tried to persuade you so often to escape that I suppose I can hardly refuse to help you now. And I haven’t actually made any plans for the autumn, nor for the winter either. I don’t imagine I’ll be missed at Lutworth…’ She sighed, then sat up and said with decision, ‘Very well! I’ll do it! I’ll stay for two months. But I think I am as mad as you!’

With Lady Dorney’s help Octavia was on her way back to Wychford less than a week after her first fateful visit there. Will Gifford was once again her companion on the journey, but this time he would return to Ashcombe without her. At the back of the gig was a small valise with a selection of Octavia’s simplest dresses. Her hair was severely drawn back under an unadorned bonnet, her cape was of drab grey cloth plainly cut, and her gloves and boots serviceable rather than elegant. Lady Octavia Petrie, youngest child of one of the richest families in the south of England, and heiress in her own right of a handsome estate, had been replaced with simple Miss Petrie, newly engaged governess-companion to the Misses Barraclough.

A casual observer would not have known just how nervous she was. Her outward demeanour was composed and quietly confident. But the spirit of adventure had not disappeared. Inside Octavia was an unholy mixture of anticipation, apprehension, surprise at her own daring, and exhilaration at her escape. Two months. Two months to find out what she really wanted of life.

If anything, Wychford seemed more welcoming than ever. The day was overcast, but as the gig approached a fleeting ray of sunshine was reflected in those extraordinary windows. The house was smiling its quizzical smile. Lisette was hovering on the lawn, clearly waiting for her arrival. And as Octavia stepped out of the gig, Pip climbed down from the nearest tree. They took her over, Pip leading her to the door like a small tug in charge of a clipper, Lisette giving orders to the housekeeper.

‘We’ve given you a room near mine,’ said Pip. ‘Not exactly in the tower but nearby. Did you know that the old lady who used to live here was a witch? Mrs Dutton wasn’t here then, she lived in the next village, but she says all the villagers here were frightened of Mrs Carstairs.’

‘Really?’ As they went through the oak doors Octavia once again had the strange feeling that the house was enfolding her, welcoming her. ‘I think she must have been a good witch, Pip,’ she said, smiling. ‘Wychford is a friendly house. Don’t you agree?’

As a daughter of the Earl of Warnham Octavia had been accustomed all her life to the deference due to her rank and her wealth. But it was not difficult now for her to maintain her ‘disguise’. She was neither arrogant nor conceited, and she had more than her fair share of charm. Her normal, easy, matter-of-fact manner served her very well with everyone at Wychford. Everyone, that is, except the master of the household. She was still very much on trial as far as he was concerned, and more than once Octavia found herself biting back an unbecoming response when he made one of his critical remarks.

Fortunately he was frequently away on short visits to London. She learned that there had been three Barraclough brothers. John, the eldest and father of Lisette and Pip, had inherited a wealthy plantation on Antigua. Henry, the second son, also had land in the West Indies and was still over there. But Edward Barraclough, the youngest, had had little taste for plantation life, and when he had inherited a fortune made in banking by his uncle he had travelled the world. Now he apparently intended to settle permanently in England. At the moment he was attending meetings in the Foreign Office, advising the experts there on affairs in the Americas.

There had been some sort of plan for Lisette to marry the son of one of their neighbours in Antigua. But John Barraclough had suddenly changed his mind and decided to bring both girls over to England, where Lisette would be presented to London society. They had been busy with arrangements for the trip, when tragically both parents had been killed when their carriage had gone off the road, and the girls had been left orphaned. Their guardians, John’s surviving brothers, had decided to carry out John’s wishes, which was why they were now in England. But, the day before they left Antigua, Mrs Barraclough had slipped and broken her leg, and the girls had had to sail without their aunt. So the present plan was that the girls should live at Wychford in the care of a governess-companion until Mrs Barraclough could join them all there.

Octavia pieced this all together from what she learned in her first week at Wychford. Not from Lisette, who tended to be somewhat reserved, but from her sister. Discretion was not a word in Pip’s vocabulary. Once she had decided that Miss Petrie was a friend, she confided everything she knew of her family’s affairs quite freely.

One fine autumnal afternoon, after a morning’s work in the schoolroom, Octavia and Pip were walking in the woods behind the house. Lisette had stayed behind to finish a book she was reading.

‘You know, Miss Petrie, I think Uncle Henry was quite glad when Aunt Julia broke her leg,’ announced Pip.

Shocked, Octavia stopped short and looked at her. ‘What was that?’ she asked.

‘I said that I think Uncle Henry was glad Aunt Julia had broken her leg,’ Pip repeated patiently.

‘But that’s a dreadful thing to say, Pip! How could he be?’

‘It meant that he had to stay behind to look after her. Uncle Henry didn’t want to come to England, you know, and Aunt Julia’s broken leg meant he had to stay in Antigua a bit longer.’

‘But…I’m not sure I understand. If your Uncle Henry was so reluctant to leave the West Indies, why was it necessary for him to come at all? Surely your Aunt Julia and Uncle Edward would have been enough?’

‘That’s what Uncle Henry wanted. But Aunt Julia wouldn’t hear of it. She said Edward couldn’t be trusted to do the thing properly without the rest of the family to keep an eye on him.’

‘Tell me, if you call your uncle “Edward”, why don’t you call your aunt “Julia”?’

‘Oh, we couldn’t! She’s much older than he is! She looks a bit like Miss Froom.’

‘Really?’ Octavia was surprised. Older than he was, and looking a bit like Miss Froom? It seemed a most unlikely wife for Edward Barraclough.

Pip went on, ‘She and Edward don’t like each other very much. It’s easy to tell when people don’t. They’re always extremely polite to each other.’

Octavia pulled herself together and decided it was more than time for a proper governess to stem these confidences. ‘Philippa, you should not tell me such things. What happens between husband and wife is not for the outside world to know.’

‘What do you mean?’ Pip looked puzzled at first, then bent over in a fit of giggles. ‘Miss Petrie! You don’t think…You don’t think Aunt Julia is married to Edward, do you?’

‘Of course I do! Isn’t he?’

Pip went off into another paroxysm of giggles. ‘He’d rather die! He said so! Aunt Julia is Uncle Henry’s wife! And I once heard Edward telling Papa that he would never know why Uncle Henry had married such a sour-faced prune!’

Octavia bit her lip and managed to say severely, ‘Philippa! You must not, you really must not, repeat things like that, especially not to me! I’m sure your uncle would be very vexed to know that you had heard his words, and even angrier to know you were repeating them! Or even talking about him at all!’

‘Would he?’

‘Of course he would!’

‘Then I won’t say any more. I like Edward. But let me tell you this one thing. He isn’t married, Miss Petrie. Lisette is sorry for him. She thinks he must have a broken heart, but I think that’s rubbish. Some of the prettiest ladies in Antigua made a fuss of him, but he never paid them any attention. I was glad, I didn’t like any of them much. I want him to marry someone nice.’ She looked confidingly up at Octavia. ‘You would do very well, Miss Petrie. I’d like Edward to marry you. You’ll have to set your cap at him.’

Octavia gasped. What would the child say next? Choking back another urge to burst into laughter, she said sternly, ‘That’s enough! You must never let me hear you use such a vulgar expression again, Philippa! Where on earth did you pick it up?’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘To accuse someone of setting her cap at someone is not at all the thing. It’s not only vulgar, it’s unkind. You mustn’t use the expression.’

‘Edward used it. When we were talking about governesses. He said he didn’t want some pretty flibberty-gibbet whose sole aim was to set her cap at the first eligible bachelor who happened along. I don’t think he meant himself, though he’s very rich, you know. Lots of people have set their—’ Pip caught sight of Octavia’s frown and corrected herself. ‘Have tried to make him like them. Why don’t you want to?’