Prudence (13 page)

‘Your clothes have been taken to the wash-house, Miss Hursley. They will be cleaned and dried. I trust you have other warm garments to wear? If not, you have only to mention the matter and I will find you something.’

‘Oh, dear,’ uttered Prue faintly. ‘I had not thought of that. I am so used to that particular costume, you see.’

‘So I had supposed. Only I do not wish the master’s wrath to fall upon my head, if he should discover that you had been improperly clad for the weather.’

The blanketing comfort of Prue’s semi-dreaming state began to dissipate. There was a note in the woman’s voice that struck a distinctly unpleasant chord. And threw Prue’s tongue into action.

‘But it has nothing to do with Mr Rookham!’

The woman’s face became pinched. ‘Has it not? It seemed to me that the master was finely agitated over your welfare.’

Prue stared up at her, mute. A slow pulsing started up below her breast, and the heat was abruptly uncomfortable. There was a look of superciliousness in the housekeeper’s face, which added immeasurably to her unease.

‘Mr Rookham is—is very kind,’ Prue ventured, trying for a calm note. ‘I am indebted to him for this unlooked-for mark of thoughtfulness.’

‘Is it unlooked for, indeed?’

Prue’s enjoyment was shattered. She dropped her eyes. ‘Is there a towel, Mrs Polmont? If you would be good enough to pass it to me, I may get out of the bath.’

A thin smile crimped the woman’s mouth, but she did as she was bid, collecting a large towel that had been thrown over the screen, which readily enveloped Prue as she stood up to receive it. With a gratifying sense of triumph, she found herself able to look the housekeeper directly in the eyes.

‘Thank you, Mrs Polmont. You may retire, for I can manage for myself now.’

‘As you wish, ma’am. But the gown? Shall I find something suitable for you to wear?’

‘No, I thank you,’ returned Prue with dignity. ‘I am sure I have a gown that will serve the purpose.’

The parrot look pinched the creature’s face. ‘If I read the master aright, ma’am, I take leave to doubt that you possess any gown suitable to his purpose.’

With which, Mrs Polmont dropped a curtsy that seemed to Prue smugly ironic, and withdrew. Still as a statue, the towel clutched about her, Prue waited until she heard the door open and close. Then she let her breath go and buried her face in the warm towel, her heart pattering against her ribs.

There could be no mistaking that dreadful creature’s meaning. But she was wrong. She must be wrong! If Prue was to believe in the implication, she had only one recourse. To flee from Rookham Hall as fast as her legs would carry her.

Wholly unaware of what she did, she stepped out of the bath and began automatically to rub herself down with the towel. Her mind was all chaos, her pulsebeat awry.

She would not believe it of him! Was Mrs Polmont jealous that she should suppose her employer to be angling to make Prue his
mistress
?

The word burned in her head. For that was what the spiteful female had meant her to understand. Merely because he had arranged for her to have a bath? But he had only laughed at her when he met her in the gardens! There had been nothing amatory in his demeanour. How could there be? She must have looked a shocking wreck.

No, it was ridiculous. She knew Mr Rookham for a man of simple kindness. Had he not kept her here at the outset, when all common sense must have dictated that he should send her packing?

A horrid doubt assailed her. Why had he not dismissed her? She recalled his entry into the schoolroom that first night. He had behaved in an inexplicable fashion towards her—gruff and not at all ‘kind’. And then there had been the business of the parlour. Mrs Polmont’s suspicions must have been aroused then, for had she not smirked in that knowing way? Were there grounds for it?

Prue wondered uneasily if she was being stupidly naïve. It was not the first time Mr Rookham had behaved towards her with undue particularity. Why had
she not questioned this business of making her take a bath? Well, because she had been touched by it. And she had been so very cold and uncomfortable that her wits had gone begging.

She felt hot all at once, and realised that she was standing so close to the fire that her naked skin was roasting. Prue glanced down at the lines of her own figure. The familiar lumps, with which she had lived without complaint these many years, were all at once ugly. Tears started to her eyes, but a species of rage rose up in her breast.

How nonsensical was the housekeeper’s notion. As if Mr Rookham—or indeed any gentleman in his senses!—could regard her as an object of desire. Had she not always been dumpy? Had it not forever been a case of chalk and cheese between herself and her two dearest friends? Not that Prue had minded. How could she be jealous of her darling Nell? Though Nell, who had height as well as those honey-coloured locks and pretty green eyes, could not hold a candle to Kitty. But then Kitty had been the toast of the Seminary.

To be sure, there were others who were plain and ordinary. But Prue knew herself to be among those with the least claim to beauty. She dabbed the towel to her eyes and sniffed down the idiotic tears. What reason had she to weep? She was not at risk. How could she possibly have caught Mr Rookham’s amorous interest? A man whose eye could envision the beauty of the gardens of Rookham Hall? It was absurd!

A conviction that might have sunk her into gloom had she not been distracted by the entry of Maggie, who had been attending her in the bath.

‘If you are done, miss, I’m to fetch the bath away and everything.’ The maid blinked at her. ‘Goodness,
miss, ain’t you dressed yet? Here, let me help you, or you’ll not be in time for luncheon. Them twins are to come in with that Frenchie, so it won’t be long now.’

Glad of the opportunity to take her mind off her disturbing thoughts, Prue gave her attention to dressing. Maggie, a friendly soul, chattered on as she hunted in the press for Prue’s clothing.

‘Now let’s see if you’ve a clean shift, miss. Do you stay by the fire, we don’t want you taking cold again. This one?’

Prue approved the plain cotton undergarment. ‘Yes, that will do, thank you. And you will find my second pair of stays in the same drawer.’

‘Here they are.’ The maid bustled towards her. ‘Now, do you lift your arms, miss.’

Prue felt insensibly comforted as Maggie dropped the shift over her head, twitched it into place, and set about tying her stay laces. There were no malicious words to upset her here! Impulsively, Prue put a question.

‘Do you think it strange that Mr Rookham should insist upon the governess having a bath?’

The maid laughed. ‘It ain’t for me to say, miss, but since you ask, I can’t say as I do.’

A tiny spark of hope sprung up in Prue’s bosom. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Just let me tie this lace first. Tight enough? There, then. I’ve fetched out an underpetticoat, miss. Only which gown was you meaning to wear?’

Prue went to the press and brought out the blue linsey-woolsey gown that Nell had helped her to make. It was of plain cut, and—unhampered by the dictates of fashion—had its waist set into the proper place instead of under the bosom. The bodice was modest,
made high to the throat, and it had long sleeves, fitted, but not tightly à la mode.

‘If I’m to have my say, miss,’ resumed Maggie as she proceeded to tie the underpetticoat on, ‘it’s typical of the master.’

‘Is it?’ Prue was eager now. ‘Has he done anything of the sort before?’

The maid picked up the gown and began to gather it ready to throw over Prue’s head. ‘Well, something like, miss. I remember when Wincle cut her hand bad on one of they big knives, the master come into the kitchen to find out what all the commotion were about. And I’m blowed if he didn’t set to and stop the blood hisself! Then he had the doctor sent for, and Wincle were put to bed and give brandy for the shock. All at the master’s orders.’

Prue was glad to disappear inside the gown just at that moment as the maid flung it over her head. For, curiously, this history had not the effect upon her that she had anticipated. By its evidence, she was to recognise that Mr Rookham’s thought for her welfare—and had she not supposed it herself?—had its origin in a simple care of his fellow man. A supposition that made her chest feel as if a lead weight had descended upon it.

Chiding herself for stupidity, she forced herself to listen to Maggie, who was prattling away as she helped Prue to dip her arms into the sleeves and then began to work on the buttons all down the front.

‘When that Mrs Chillingham arrived, the master didn’t turn a hair. He give over this whole wing to them straight. And he turned round and put the boy to school. Then he fetched you to the girls an’ all. There, that’s the front done.’ She gave the gown a tug or two
to straighten it. ‘No, miss, what I say is, you couldn’t find a gennelman as is more generous than the master, not if you was to hunt across the country.’

A judgement that surely put paid to the ridiculous idea harboured by Mrs Polmont. Prue was sorely tempted to try the maid with that one. But Maggie—who was busy buttoning Prue’s cuffs—would surely suppose her to be hankering for Mr Rookham’s attentions. Which, she abruptly realised with a spurt of indignation, must be just what the housekeeper meant!

What had she done to deserve that suspicion? Nothing at all! But here Prue’s conscience intervened. Had she not allowed herself licence in Mr Rookham’s company? She spoke to him with a freedom that was hardly allowable in a governess. Admittedly, Mr Rookham encouraged it. But that did not excuse her own conduct. It might well have led a lesser man to think that she would welcome his advances.

Yet these interchanges had been in private. Upon what evidence did Mrs Polmont base her suspicions then? Unless she had overheard their conversations? It made Prue’s skin crawl to think that she could have been spied upon. Was the creature prone to listening at doors? In a house such as this, it would be easy enough to prowl unseen.

Well, Mrs Polmont would have no further cause to make such ugly suppositions, determined Prue, taking a hairbrush to her hair as Maggie set about gathering the debris from the bath.

There was nothing for it but to avoid encounters with Mr Rookham. Fortunately, he did not seek her out—manifest proof of his complete uninterest! But there had been those accidental meetings when his familiarity had led her into a like ease.

It would not do. Should she meet him for the future, she would assume a mien wholly submissive. Then he would not be tempted to make game of her, and lead her into a fatal tendency to bandy words with him.

And should any sneaking wretch be disposed to try to glean an item detrimental to her reputation, they would be wasting their time!

Resolved, she thanked the maid and left her to clearing up. Heading for the playroom, she entered all unsuspecting upon the ribald taunts of Lotty and Dodo. She had forgotten whence had arisen the need for her bath. Since there was no malice in the twins’ teasing, Prue forbore to scold, instead successfully turning their attention by pointing out that Folly required their services for his share of luncheon.

She wished she had so ready a turn for her own attention, which remained obstinately upon an intrusive image of their uncle’s strong features.

From an upstairs window above the front portico, Julius watched the game of battledore and shuttlecock taking place out in the April sunshine. Every so often, a streak of orange and brown shot across the improvised court, causing the younger combatants to shriek imprecations at it, for the elder’s attention was inevitably drawn from the game.

Unable to drag himself away, Julius had remained throughout two bouts in which Miss Hursley was soundly beaten by each of the twins. What held him there was the thrust of enthusiasm with which the governess struggled to keep up. Several times he saw her stop and lean over, holding one hand to her side where her breath evidently laboured.

His nieces—drat the little beasts!—gave no thought
to the discomfort of their preceptress. All they could think of was to crow at her in triumph, berating ‘Miss Prue’ for being slow. Readily could he have banged their heads together!

He could have stopped it, merely by opening the window and leaning out with a word of command. He was loath to enquire too closely into his reasons for refraining. Miss Hursley could take care of herself. The more fool her if she allowed the brats to run rings round her in this fashion. It was all of a piece!

Unaccountably irritated, he turned away from the window, and resumed his progress down the stairs and thence to the library. His plans were behind, and he must complete the design for the furtherance of the Rockery, where he was planning to extend the layout to include a central maze.

But to his annoyance, as he set himself to the work, his pencil doodled idly and his mind dwelt irresistibly on the excessively distracting conduct of Miss Prudence Hursley.

What had she against him? Since that ridiculous episode of the disastrous tadpole collecting expedition a little more than a week ago, he had scarcely exchanged two words with the wench. Why? Because she was studiously avoiding him! That certainty could no longer be ignored.

Not that he had sought her company. What had he to do with the governess? But prior to the tadpole event, upon those few occasions when he had encountered her, there had been an agreeable exchange of badinage. At least, he had amused himself with goading her into retort. And Miss Hursley had obliged him by succumbing. So readily indeed that her present demeanour was frustrating beyond endurance!

There had been that occasion the other day, when he had come upon her seated in the sunshine in one of the cosy nooks in the gardens, reading to the twins. Their attention seemed to be divided between her voice and a desultory game with Folly, where he chased after a berry on a twig dragged playfully across the ground.

Julius had listened in astonishment as he realised that Miss Hursley had selected the gruesome story of ‘Blue Beard’ from an edition of Perrault’s
Histories, or Tales of Past Times
. Was this one of the books she had chosen to be brought from Leatherhead?