His Unusual Governess. Anne HerriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
I refuse to be miserable on a lovely morning like this. Let’s get some stuff from the kitchen and go down to the stream.’
‘Yes.’ John grinned at her. ‘At least we’ve got each other. I’ll put frogs in her bed and you can think of something to do to this lord whatever-his-name-is …’
‘Lord Rupert Myers,’ Fran said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll think of some way to get rid of them if we hate them. Let’s go fishing. It will serve them right if there’s no one to greet them when they get here.’
Sarah got down from the chaise and looked at the house. Cavendish Park was a pleasant country house, much the biggest one she’d ever visited, larger and more impressive than her father’s on the outskirts of Newcastle. She’d visited a few country houses as the guest of her school friends, but never one quite like this. It was so beautiful that for a moment all she wanted to do was to stand and stare at the mellow golden walls and long windows that sparkled like diamonds in the sunshine.
‘If you’d like to come into the house, Miss Goodrum.’
Sarah came to herself with a start. The housekeeper must have been speaking to her for a few minutes, but she’d been lost in thought—and it was difficult remembering that she was no longer the wealthy heiress, Miss Hardcastle. She’d packed that particular persona into her trunks and sent them back to her home with a letter for her uncle explaining that she was taking a little holiday and they were not to worry. All she had with her was a small trunk containing the clothes she’d purchased from Hester.
She was wearing Hester’s best gown, because she’d been assured it would be expected for her first arrival. It was pearl-grey with a slender skirt and tight bodice, and it had a white lace collar. Sarah had fastened a small silver brooch at the neck to cheer it up a little. Hester’s other gowns were not as good and certainly not what Sarah was accustomed to, but she would get used to them—and it was only for a few weeks or so.
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Brancaster. I was just thinking what a lovely house it is. You must enjoy living here?’
‘It’s a nice enough house, Miss Goodrum, but …’ The housekeeper hesitated and then pursed her thin mouth. ‘Things are not quite what they ought to be. His lordship doesn’t come down often enough and the children are left to do much as they please. The house needs a master or a mistress, if you ask me—prefer-ably both.’
‘Yes, I expect it does. A big place like this takes some running and it shouldn’t be left to the servants.’
Unaware of the odd glance her remark had brought from Mrs Brancaster, Sarah walked into the house by way of the kitchen entrance. Since she made a habit of visiting her kitchens regularly at home this did not make her uncomfortable. She might be wealthy and she’d been educated as a lady, but Sarah knew she was a long way from being one. You could take the girl out of Newcastle, but you couldn’t take Newcastle out of the girl; it had been one of her father’s favourite sayings and made her smile. She’d been so close to her father, his right-hand man, and she missed him so very much.
She supposed she was looking for someone she could admire and respect as she had Tobias Hardcastle. If such a man were to present himself, she would not hesitate to hand over her person and the day-to-day running of her business to him—but as yet she’d never met anyone who came close to filling his shoes.
‘I’ll take you straight up to your room,’ the housekeeper was saying. ‘You can settle in and then come down to the kitchen for a nice cup of tea. Miss Francesca and Master John were supposed to be here to meet you, but they slipped off early this morning. I suspect they went fishing in defiance of the marquess’s instructions that they should sit in the parlour and wait for you and their mentor.’
‘Their mentor? I thought the Marquess of Merrivale was their grandfather and guardian?’
‘So he is, Miss Goodrum. Mr John is to have a tutor and he is to be their mentor. As I understand it, he’s to be in charge here and we shall all report to him.’
It was the first Sarah had heard of this arrangement and she wondered if Hester had known. This new man might enquire more closely into her background than she’d imagined and she was glad she’d asked for the reference as well as Hester’s clothes.
‘I see. Do you know this … mentor’s name?’
‘I wasn’t listening properly when Mr Burrows told me,’ the housekeeper admitted. ‘I’d just discovered that the pair of scamps had disappeared again and my mind wasn’t on it, but I’ll find out when he arrives and let you know.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Brancaster.’ Sarah was thoughtful. ‘Do you think I could leave the tea for an hour or so? I should like to take a walk about the grounds before I unpack—get my bearings.’
‘Well …’ Mrs Brancaster looked a bit put out. ‘I’m sure it’s up to you, miss. I thought you might want to see the schoolroom?’
‘When I return you can give me directions or I’ll ask one of the footmen. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, because I know you have so much to do in a house like this—and with two new visitors it must have turned your routine upside down.’
‘It has …’ Mrs Brancaster nodded. ‘Well, off you go then. Your trunk will be taken up and you can find your own way here when you’re ready, I dare say.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I shall. I’m really quite capable, you know.’
Sarah left the housekeeper staring after her. She knew that she had perhaps risked offending her new colleague, but she’d felt as if she must escape before she did something stupid. All at once the enormity of what she’d done—and what she was attempting to do—had hit her square in the face. In her comfortable chaise with all her familiar things about her it had seemed a clever idea. She’d imagined the children were left much to themselves with just their grandfather’s servants—but who was this new mentor and what would he be like?
If he was just another superior servant, she might manage to get away with her masquerade by keeping her own counsel. If, however, he’d been placed in charge of the children’s future by the marquess, he might want to know too much about her. Sarah couldn’t afford for him to dig too deeply into her background. Should he discover she was lying, he might imagine her to be a person of low integrity and dubious virtue.
Her stomach was fluttering with nerves as she strolled through the kitchen garden, noticing how well everything was kept. If she’d expected to find an air of neglect here, she was far off the mark. What if this mentor had met Hester Goodrum in the past?
Oh, this whole thing was madness! She should go back to the house, ask for directions to the nearest post house and leave. What on earth had made her think she was capable of carrying out a masquerade like this? She hadn’t been thinking clearly, of course. Sarah wanted time out of her life, time to come to terms with what she needed from the future: should she marry for the sake of companionship or should she wait until she fell in love?
A smile touched her mouth. There was no guarantee that the man she chose would reciprocate her feelings. Sarah knew that she wasn’t the prettiest girl in the world and if she found someone she wanted, he would probably not be interested in her.
She must not rush her decision. Looking about her as she walked, Sarah fell in love with the beautiful rose gardens, the herbaceous borders and the sweeping lawns. Some of these trees must have been here for centuries. Hearing the sound of laughter coming from what appeared to be a small wilderness, she turned instinctively towards it and then stopped as she saw a young woman of perhaps sixteen years and a boy some years younger. They were sprawled out on the grass, watching as a fish cooked slowly over a smoking fire.
The camaraderie between them and the sound of their laughter caught at Sarah’s throat, making her aware of how much she missed in not having a family. They were so beautiful, so wrapped up in themselves and their amusement that she hesitated, not wanting to intrude. If she introduced herself now they might resent her intrusion into their private time and she would start off on the wrong foot.