Elizabeth Mansfield (16 page)

In the wet garden, near its overflowing pond, Jackie discovered a little frog. Since it was a delicate creature, and only three or four inches long, it could not jump far enough to escape capture. Jackie pounced on it with glee. He cupped it in his hand and studied with boyish interest its mottled green back and pale underside. But soon that interest waned, and he wondered what naughty use he could make of the creature.

The answer was not long in coming. He promptly hid the frog in the pocket of his trousers and came stealing up the stairs to the schoolroom. Hiding behind the doorjamb, he peered inside. Miss Whitlow was busy in the far comer, showing little Peter how to buckle his shoe. The baby was curled up on the window seat, napping. But his sister Florrie was just where he hoped she’d be. Jackie smiled wickedly. She was conveniently seated where he could get at her—at the worktable bent over a slate, struggling to copy a row of capital letters.

Jackie remained in the hallway until he’d removed his outer garments and heavy shoes. Then, with the frog in his hand, he stole into the room on tiptoe and crept up behind her. With two swift movements, he pulled back the neck of her dress and dropped the frog down her back.

Florrie’s bloodcurdling screams reverberated through the entire house like a shrill alarm bell. Even the cook came running up from the belowground kitchen to discover what had happened. The first to arrive at the schoolroom doorway was Mrs. Duckett herself, her eyes popping and her breast heaving. Crowding behind her were the upstairs maids, Rudd, the butler, all four footmen, the cook, and even the girl from the scullery.

It was a mad, noisy, ludicrous scene that met their eyes. The baby, having been awakened so abruptly from her nap, was bawling in lusty, four-year-old panic; Florrie was jumping up and down, flailing her arms and shrieking like a banshee; the governess, with Peter clinging tightly to her leg, was vainly trying to calm Florrie’s hysterics while attempting at the same time to reach down into the child’s dress to recapture the tiny frog that was taking frightened little leaps deeper and deeper down her back; and Jackie was rolling on the floor, convulsed with guffaws, reveling in glee at the turmoil he’d caused.

It took Caro almost an hour to disperse the onlookers, unfasten Peter’s grip on her leg, quiet the baby, banish Jackie to his room, settle Florrie on her bed with a cold cloth on her forehead, and restore a very frightened little frog to the pond in the garden. Only then did she permit herself to face the fuming Mrs. Duckett in the downstairs sitting room.

“Well, Miss Troublemaker, here you are at last,” the woman said angrily, still fanning her overheated cheeks. “Is everything settled down?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Caro assured her, “All’s quiet now.”

“And now, missy, what ‘ave ye to say for yerself ?”

“Say for myself?” Caro looked at her mistress with sincere surprise. “Why, nothing, ma’am. What is there to say? It was a little boy’s prank that got out of hand, that’s all.”

“So
that’s
how it seems to ye, eh? Well, missy, let me tell ye, it don’t seem that way to me! Ye should never ‘ave let Jackie out in the rain in the first place.”

“It was only a drizzle. The boy had been cooped up indoors for days.”

Mrs. Duckett threw down her fan in disgust. “I
don’t
want to hear
excuses,
missy. I hold ye completely responsible for the entire foofaraw.”

Caro shrugged. “I’m quite willing to accept responsibility, ma’am. I am Jackie’s governess, after all. I fully intend to talk to the boy ... to try to make him understand that all God’s creatures, even frogs, should be treated kindly. But since no permanent harm was done, I don’t think any other punishment is called for. I trust you will agree.”

“Not by a long chalk I don’t! It ain’t Jackie but
you
who should be punished. Yer carelessness gave me a terrible jolt, and ye’ll pay the price of it, missy, like it or not.”

“Price?” Caro put up her chin. “What price?”

“Ye’11 ‘ave no Thursday afternoons fer a month. That’s the price. An’ it’s a light punishment, considering the fright ye gave me.”

Caro paled. “You must be joking!” she gasped.

“If that’s what ye think, ye’re fair and far off. I ain’t a jokester when it concerns my children.”

The governess’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I do not deserve—nor can I accept—such a punishment.” Besides, I am promised to my aunt Lady Whitlow, on Thursday.”

“Well, hoity-toity! Don’t think ye can flummery me with yer la-di-da relations!”

“I don’t mean to flummery you, Mrs. Duckett,” Caro said firmly, “but I don’t mean to lose my Thursday afternoons either. If you insist on this so-called punishment, I shall have to give my notice. The decision is yours. Meanwhile, if you’ll excuse me, I shall go up and see how Florrie is doing.” And she turned on her heel and stalked out.

Mrs. Duckett stared after her, nonplussed. She’d never had a servant talk back to her in that way, and her resentment lasted for several minutes. Then she remembered the governess’s threat to give notice. Losing Miss Whitlow’s services was something Mrs. Duckett did not want. It belatedly occurred to her that she might have gone too far. Had she painted herself into a corner? She didn’t want to back down, but neither did she want to lose the best governess she’d ever had... and at such a bargain of an annual wage. She would have to do something to save the situation, but one thing she knew: she couldn’t back down. Not Mrs. Amelia Duckett. She’d have to think of something else. But since Thursday was only two days off, she had to think quickly.

Later that evening, while finishing a late dinner, she posed the problem to her husband, who was, as usual, barricaded behind his newspaper. “It ain’t that I’d mind ‘er goin’ off to Her precious Ladyship aunt,” she explained after giving a detailed narration of the day’s events, “but it’d bruise my pride to back down after all I said.”

Mr. Duckett lowered his newspaper, his expression revealing a sudden interest. “This Thursday, ye say? It says here in the
Times
that there’s to be a balloon ascent from St. George’s Field on Thursday.”

His wife glared at him. “An’ what has that to say to the purpose?”

“Why don’t ye take the littie ones to see it? That way, you’d be taking the children off her hands, see? Then, with no one left at home, there’d be no reason yer little governess couldn’t take herself off to this aunt o’ hers.”

Mrs. Duckett regarded her husband thoughtfully for a moment and then smiled at him with admiration. “What a good idea, Dan’l!” she exclaimed. “Damme if I don’t do that very thing!”

“Good,” he muttered, and retired behind the
Times
again.

“But who’s to tell ‘er? If I say she can go, it’ll be just like backing down.”

“Don’t tell her,” the man advised, not looking up. “Just leave the house. She’ll take the hint.”

“But what if she don’t? What if she stays ‘ere at ‘ome? She’ll give me ‘er notice the very next day, if I’m any judge.”

One of his hands reached out from behind the paper to pick up his brandy glass. “Do you want me to do it?”

Amelia Duckett peered across the table in surprise. “You?”

Mr. Duckett lowered his newspaper, carefully casual. “I can come home early, find her here without the children, and tell her she can go off.”

“Would ye do that fer me, Dan’l? Come home early an’ all?”

He shrugged and ducked back behind the paper. “Why not?”

She rose from her chair and went round to his. Leaning down, she planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Ye cin be a good man,” she chortled in cheerful relief as she strolled from the room, “when ye’ve a mind to be.”

When the door closed behind her, Mr. Daniel Duckett lowered the paper and reached again for his brandy glass. Instead of raising it to his lips, however, he turned it round in his thick fingers, gazing thoughtfully at the darkly colored liquid still left inside. A small smile turned up the comers of his mouth. With any luck, he thought, Thursday would turn out to be a fine day for a balloon ascension. And for some other activities he had in mind.

TWENTY-ONE

Thursday dawned with a darkly clouded sky. Mrs. Duckett kept peering out her window periodically all morning, checking the weather. If rain came, there would be no balloon ascension, and all her plans would go awry. By midmorning, however, the sky had lightened somewhat. It was just enough to give hope but not enough to give assurances.

Nevertheless, she went ahead with the plan. She’d avoided Caro all day Wednesday. Now, close to noon on Thursday, she sent her abigail up to the third floor with the request that the governess dress the children for an outing. “Ye mayn’t b’lieve it, Miss Whitlow,” the much-abused maidservant confided, “but the missus says she’s gonna take all the children to see the balloon ascent, just by ‘erself. She really thinks she can manage ‘em without you along.”

“Perhaps she can,” Caro said, but without conviction.

“Huh!” The abigail sneered as she departed. “Very likely that is.”

Caro sank down on a chair, wondering what this news signified. Mrs. Duckett had made no further reference to her “punishment,” but the fact that “the missus” was taking the children away for the afternoon surely meant that she’d given in. The woman would not expect Caro to stay at home if the children were not there, would she?

The governess brought her four charges—their faces washed, their coats brushed, and their shoes shined—to the bottom of the stairs at the appointed time. Mrs. Duckett, dressed to the nines in a bright green walking gown, a velvet pelisse, and an elaborate bonnet trimmed along the brim with a whole row of plumes, ushered the children out the door without meeting Caro’s eye or exchanging a word with her. But she did speak to the butler in the governess’s presence. “Rudd,” she said loudly, “do not expect us before five.”

Caro, more confused than ever by her mistress’s peculiar behavior, nevertheless was determined to follow her usual Thursday schedule. She would take her three hours, as she always did, and let the chips fall where they may.

She clothed herself in her usual Thursday finery and hurried down the stairs just as the clock struck two. After making the second turning, she was startled to come face-to-face with Mr. Duckett again. This time, however, she had the distinct impression that he’d been lying in wait on the landing. “Mr. Duckett,” she exclaimed, dropping an awkward curtsy, “good afternoon.”

His answer was a leering smile.

His expression frightened her. She tried to brush by him and continue down, but he blocked her way. “Excuse me, sir,” she said tightly, “but I must pass. I am late for—”

“It’s my understanding that ye’re not to have Thursday off, not for a while,” he said, grinning.

She frowned at him. “I have no such understanding, sir. A period of three free hours on Thursdays is a condition of my employment.”

“Is it indeed? Well, I’ve no objection, I assure ye. Such a pretty little poppet as you should have ye way. All I ask is a bit o’ yer time.”

“My
time!
Now?”

“Yes, m’dear, now. “‘Tis an opportunity we shan’t get very often.” Without warning, he reached out, grasped her waist in his two thick-fingered hands, and pulled her to him. “A perfect opportunity.”

“Mr.
Duckett!
”
Gasping in shock, she tried to push away from him. “Let me
go!
”

“Come now, my girl, smile at me. I’ve never seen ye smile.”

“Dash it, Mr. Duckett, release me
this moment!
”

But Mr. Duckett, pinioning her hands behind her with one of his own, took her chin in his free hand, lifted her head, and lowered his own. In horror, she realized that this repulsive man was about to kiss her! She wrenched her chin from his grasp and turned aside. “What are you
doing!
”
she gasped, struggling to free herself.

“I been waitin’ fer this chance, y’see, countin’ the hours like a deuced boy,” he murmured, tightening his hold on her.

She tilted her head back as far away from him as she could. “Do you want me to scream and cause a scene?”

“No one’s here,” he chortled. “I gave the staff the day.”

This news alone was enough to turn her blood cold, but even more frightening was his hand, now grasping her bodice. Despite her obvious revulsion and the furious struggle she was putting up, he was reaching for her bosom. In desperation, she put all her strength into one last attempt to shove him away. It was an abrupt movement and took him by surprise. Keeping his grip on her bodice, he nevertheless tottered backward. Caro took that opportunity to wrench herself free. But he didn’t completely let go, and she felt a rip of fabric at her bodice as she backed away. But he, close to the edge of the lower stairway, lost his footing in his backward movement. She saw him reach out with his hands, but there was now nothing he could grasp to stop himself. With a sharp cry of alarm he tumbled down, heels over head. It was a wide oak stairway with eighteen steps. She watched in horror as he bumped down four steps ... five ... six. She feared he would roll down all eighteen, but at six the rolling somehow stopped. He lay absolutely still, with his head lolling fearfully and his arms and legs spread wide over the entire width of three steps.