A Most Unusual Governess (10 page)

And then Lucy, with a handful of her precious daisies, ran over to Sarah, saying, 'Miss Davenport. Miss Davenport!'

The spell was broken. Sarah turned from James and gave her attention to the little girl whilst James, grateful for the interruption, strode over to the labourers. He loosened his cravat as he went. It had become too tight during that one stretched moment by the side of the lake. Miss Davenport drove him to distraction. But she was his niece's governess, and as such she was under his care and protection, and there was also a chance she was something much worse than a governess. And yet even if those problems were somehow swept away, he would not be able to act on his feelings because he had already as good as proposed to Margaret Leatherhead.

As he thought of Margaret his spirits sank, though he could not think why. She was a young lady from an old and well-respected family; a meek, respectful, quiet and biddable beauty who would make him a perfect wife. And yet the idea of a perfect wife suddenly and unaccountably made him frown, as though something was wrong with it. But that was surely ridiculous. What could be wrong with having a perfect wife?

His eyes once again found Sarah, who was taking the daisies from Lucy.

*You promised to show me how to make a daisy chain,' Lucy reminded her.

Sarah smiled and, kneeling down on he grass beside Lucy, proceeded to show her how to thread the daisies together. As Lucy added more and more daisies to the chain, it seemed to James that it was like the chain that bound him to Sarah; because there was no denying the attraction that

bound them together - however dangerous that attraction might be.

* * * *

Sarah's feelings were firmly under control again by the time she walked back to the house. The guests had departed, leaving her alone with Lord Randall and the children.

That was a lovely day,' said Lucy, taking Sarah's hand as they made their way across the smooth green lawn to the Grange.

'Rather!' said Peter, tired but happy.

'Perfect!' declared William grandly.

'I want to thank you for today,' said Lord Randall, detaining Sarah as the children ran into the house. It was an excellent idea for the children to join us. I hadn't realised how much they would learn from mixing with adults, or how much they would learn in other ways besides. William made

a good stab at rowing, and so did Peter. I'd forgotten that I could already handle a boat at their age.'

'It would be good for them to learn,' said Sarah,

He considered. They can both swim - yes. It's something they should be able to do. Ill arrange for it.'

Sarah was disappointed that he had not thought of teaching the boys himself, but still, if he had realised there was more to life than the schoolroom then she was pleased. She couldn't hope for everything at once. Lord Randall's manner towards the children had relaxed greatly since his arrival at the Grange and she realised that it could not have been easy for him to make such a big adjustment in such a short space of time. After all, he had been giving orders to hundreds of seasoned men just a few short months before.

'And you didn't think Lucy was too young?' she asked.

'Lucy surprised me. She's very sensible for a child so young. And good at making daisy chains,' he said, a smile softening his face as his eyes dropped to the daisy chain adorning Sarah's slender wrist.

Sarah lifted her hand and the chain slid further up her arm.

As he watched it glide over her golden skin, raising the downy hairs, James felt the attraction again. Realising that the situation was becoming dangerous, realising that the temptation she unknowingly offered him simply by being herself was becoming too much for him to bear, he made her a bow, saying, 1 must not detain you,' and strode off towards the stables.

And Sarah, wishing she knew not what, inclined her head and followed the children into the house.

* * * *

After all the excitement of the afternoon, Sarah was happy to sit and hem a handkerchief that evening in her room. The mellow evening light was casting a warm glow over the gardens, and sitting on the window seat Sarah could both hem her handkerchief and make the most of the view.

She had almost finished when there was a knock at the door and Mrs Smith, the housekeeper, entered. 'Excuse me for bothering you,' she said, seeing that Sarah was busy, 'but I just wanted to

make sure that everything went well this afternoon. Lord Randall is in the stables, and I don t want to disturb him.'

Yes, it was very well arranged. The refreshments you sent down to the lake were enjoyed by everyone.'

Mrs Smith looked pleased. 'Oh, good. I must say it's a pleasure to have some life about the Grange again,' she said. 'And how good it is to see Mr Dominic looking so happy again - although, Mr Transom I should call him. Many's the time I've seen him and the master rowing on the lake. When they were boys, they always used to play together. It was such a pity when there was all that business about Miss Yardley, but then, it's good to see it's all blown over now.' She did not usually spend her time in gossip, but the boating party had put something of a strain on the household, which had got out of the way of arranging entertainments, and she was in a rare mood to talk. 1 did think for a while after Lord Randall told Mr Transom he couldn't marry Miss Yardley he'd never be happy again.'

Sarah looked up from her stitching in surprise. It was the first time she had heard of Miss Yardley.

'Not but I'm sure Lord Randall was right,' said Mrs Smith hastily. It was not her custom to talk about Lord Randall, his private life being none of her affair, and she did not allow the servants to gossip about him either. But she had let the words out in an unguarded moment and she wanted to make sure that Sarah did not think she was implying any criticism of him.

Sarah's attention, however, was caught. She had taken to Dominic, who had been good company, and asked in surprise,
‘B
ut surely Mr Transom doesn't allow Lord Randall to run his life?'

1 don't know about running his life, but his lordship always helps his friend when he's in a scrape.'

1 hardly think the desire to get married can be considered a scrape!' Sarah smiled.

Mrs Smith pursed her lips. That depends on who the intended is,' she replied. She didn't want Sarah to blame Lord Randall in any way: Lord Randall, to Mrs Smith's way of thinking, was beyond reproach. 'Miss Yardley is a very vulgar young woman.' Then, remembering that she had never met the young woman, she justified her comment by adding, 'One of the new families. No pedigree. And a father in trade.'

'Hardly a reason for calling her vulgar,' returned Sarah, feeling that Lord Randall had used his friend very ill. The poor young lady can't help it if she doesn't have a pedigree.'

'She wasn't poor,' said Mrs Smith, misunderstanding Sarah's remark. She shook her head. 'No. In fact Miss Yardley was very wealthy by all accounts, with a dowry of thirty thousand pounds. But quite beneath Mr Transom, whose mother was related to a marquess, no less.'

'And did Mr Transom love her?' Sarah asked, laying her handkerchief to one side.

'Oh, yes. His face lit up whenever he spoke about her. She was a charming young lady; pretty; lovely in every way. But not fit for Mr Transom, of course, and his lordship told him so. "Unequal marriages never work," his lordship said. I heard it from Mr Transom himself.'

'But why did Mr Transom not tell him to mind his own business?' demanded Sarah.

'He couldn't do that!' Mrs Smith was shocked.

Why not? If he loved Miss Yardley he had no business abandoning her on the say-so of his friend.'

'Ah, but Mr Transom has always been the weaker of the two,' said Mrs Smith with a shake of her head.

Then it is wrong of Lord Randall to have taken advantage of him,' declared Sarah.

Who knows? It was probably a good thing.'

'A good thing to tell Mr Transom he can't marry a charming young lady, simply because she isn't his equal in birth?' demanded Sarah. 'No, indeed. It was wrong of him. Very wrong. And it was foolish of Mr Transom to let him.'

'Still, Mr Transom seems happy enough now,' said Mrs Smith, returning to her earlier comments. 'And a good thing, too. Never a better gentleman has there been than Mr Transom - unless it is the master.'

As to that, Sarah thought, picking up her handkerchief as Mrs Smith left the room and stabbing it with her needle, we will have to disagree.

But why should it matter to her that Lord Randall disapproved of unequal marriages? she asked herself.

She was uncomfortably aware of the answer to that question, but no good could come of allowing her feelings to follow that path, so taking up her needle again she devoted herself to finishing her handkerchief and, with a determined effort, pushed all other thoughts out of her mind.

It was evening, a few days after the boating party. Sarah was sitting beneath a spreading elm in the middle of the lawn behind the house. She had just handed the children over to Lucy's nurse as she did every evening at Lucy's bedtime, the boys passing into the nurse's care at that time until they, too, were ready for bed. The air was still and balmy. It was a perfect evening, and Sarah's occupation was perfect for it. She was reading Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, the work by Byron that had so captured the imagination of the fashionable world and that Lord Randall had lent her.

'It must be a good book, miss.'

The words took Sarah by surprise, as she had not noticed that Sam, the gardener's boy, was working near by.

'It is,' said Sarah. She had been finding it difficult to concentrate, her mind wandering back to the boating afternoon and to the intense moment by the lake she had shared with her complex employer; so that she was glad to put the book down for a few minutes and talk to Sam.

'Seen you reading it for ages now, miss. Must take a deal of reading, a book like that.'

Sarah smiled. 'Reading's like everything else. It gets easier with practise.'

Sam laughed. That's what the parson used to say. Old Mr Merriweather. Him that was here before Mr Walker. Lives down by the sea now, in one of Mr Forbes's cottages. "It only takes practise, Sam," he used to say. And my dad said so too. But my dad never could learn to read, miss, all the same.'

'Now then, boy,' came a stern voice behind them. 'Don't you go bothering Miss Davenport. She ain't got time for the likes o' you.'

It was Todd, the head gardener.

Sam gave a guilty start and picked up his hoe, which he had been leaning on whilst he talked to Sarah.

'His lordship wants those flower beds seeing to by tonight, young Sam, not by next Christmas.'

Sam, suitably chastened, returned to work.

Sorry if he was bothering you, miss, said Todd. To his mind, young under-gardeners had no business talking to educated young misses.

'He wasn't,' Sarah assured him with a smile.

Then no harm done.'

He tugged his forelock and moved away, leaving Sarah to read on in peace. The poetry was both beautiful and melancholy, and Sarah felt closer to Lord Randall as she read it, knowing they both enjoyed Byron's verse.

It was still early but, having finished the Pilgrimage, Sarah decided to go inside. She had one or two pieces of mending to do and wanted to get them done before the light disappeared. She went into the house through the side entrance, this being the nearest door to her, and then went leisurely up the back stairs to her room.

As she walked along the corridor she was surprised to see that the door to her room was open. She frowned. The maids saw to the cleaning before lunch, and there was no reason for anyone else to be there. Quickening her step, she reached the open door to see Nelly, one of the under- housemaids, standing by her window.

What are you doing in here?' asked Sarah curiously, as she set down her book.

Nelly turned round with a start. She was a plain girl, with oversized hands and feet, and she blushed guiltily at Sarah's question.

What are you doing in here?' repeated Sarah more sternly.

She had been expecting Nelly to say that she had been sent with a message from Mrs Smith, or some other such thing, but Nelly's face told Sarah there wasn't an innocent explanation for her presence in the room.

1... I forgot something,' said Nelly.

It was an obvious lie. Sarah thought for a moment before asking, What did you forget?'

The... my... . the... that is, the duster. Yes, that's what it was,' said Nelly, fingering her apron awkwardly. The feather duster.'

'And did you find it?' enquired Sarah. It was obvious by now that Nelly was lying, but having no way of proving it Sarah went along with the pretence.

Why, no, miss,' blustered Nelly. 1 can't have left it here after all.'

Then you had better go and look for it elsewhere, remarked Sarah.

Nelly threw her a sullen look, but replied simply, Yes, miss,' before hurrying out of the room.

Now what was all that about? wondered Sarah.

Walking over to the window, she opened it. A light breeze blew across her cheek, and the scent of roses drifted up from below. What had Nelly been looking at? she wondered. But she did not have to wonder for long. Walking away from the house, his hands thrust into the pockets of his breeches, was an unmistakable figure. It was Mr Haversage.