Nina Coombs Pykare (2 page)

Betty lowered her voice and glanced around. “I weren’t here when it happened, but I heard Nurse tell it right after. She was looking through the drawers of his chest, cleaning them out and she put her hand under a pile of clothes - and there they was!”

Betty’s brown eyes grew so round and wide that Jennifer had difficulty smother-ing her laughter. “What were
they,
Betty?” she prodded gently.

  “Worms, Miss! A great pile of worms. All slimy and crawly.” Betty shuddered. “Nurse like to have had hysterics. She went screaming out and to her room where she fellinto a swoon.”

Jennifer could not help mentally applauding Nurse’s practical side. To fall into a swoon in
this
room would be to invite almost certain injury.

“And the next day,” continued Betty, obviously enjoying the story to the hilt now that she had embarked on it, “Nurse vowed she was leaving. Her health, she said, just couldn’t stand the strain. What with that terrible monkey and all.”

“Monkey?” inquired Jennifer, realizing that her job was taking on new dimensions.

“Aye, that heathenish creature.” Betty shuddered again. “He looks like some poor little old man, he do, all withered and shriveled up. And them children - they treats the poor thing most terrible.”

“Where
are
the children?” asked Jennifer. She might as well see these little monsters right away. No use putting off the inevi-table.

“Mr. Parthemer, he left orders they was to be taken on a walk so as to give you time to settle in.”

“That was very considerate of him,” said Jennifer.

  “Aye, Miss. Master, he be a good man. If only he didn’t have such a thing about candles. Well, Miss, I’ve showed all here. Mayhap you’ll want to go back to your room and unpack afore dinner.”

“Yes, I shall,” said Jennifer. “And thank you, Betty, for being so helpful.”

Betty cast modest eyes downward. “We all likes the master, Miss. And we wishes him good. If so be you can help his children, we’d all be that pleased.”

With a smile Betty let herself out of the room. Jennifer turned to the valise on the bed. Thoughtfully she opened it and shook out her clothes. The Parthemers dressed for dinner, no doubt, and so, perforce, must she. It was a matter of moments to choose between her two “good” gowns, both of which had been made over from Mama’s. She chose the brown in prefer-ence to the blue. For, though Betty’s affection for her master seemed clear of any taint, Jennifer could not forget the Earl of Linden, and so decided on the drabber gown.

  She would just hang it in the wardrobe, she decided, to allow some of the wrinkles to fall out before dinner. She turned the knob and was immediately attacked by a gibbering creature that scrabbled wildly at her. Fortunately Jennifer was not given to hysterics. After a moment of initial fright, she realized that the terrified creature in her arms was “the terrible monkey.” He was obviously in great fear and Jennifer set herself to calm him, speaking in gentle, soothing tones and patting his trembling back. After some moments the creature ceased trembling and, removing its little arms from around her neck, leaned back to peer at her from bright black eyes.

“There, there,” said Jennifer. “It was very unkind of whoever shut you up in there. No wonder you were terrified.”

The little creature surveyed her once more and then buried his face in her shoulder. Jennifer left him there as she went about putting away the rest of her belongings. He was very light, actually, and clung to her quite easily.

She had finished unpacking and was sitting in the chair near the window, stroking the monkey when the door opened suddenly and the children burst into the room. “Watch out,” called the littlest girl, a hardy, sturdy child of about four. “He bites.”

“I think not,” replied Jennifer calmly. “He knows that he has found a friend.”

She looked at the other two. The older girl was well built and sturdy, too, around eight or so. Both girls had brown hair and dark eyes. The boy, however, somewhere between them in age, had his mother’s pale hair. But his eyes, though blue like hers, were bright as the summer sky - and somehow hard.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” said Cass-andra to her brother. “Peterkins can’t scare anyone.”

“He can too,” declared Mortimer, obvious-ly annoyed at this sisterly gibe. “He can bite and scratch something fierce.”

“I am not going to ask you who was so unkind as to shut poor Peterkins up in a dark closet.” Jennifer raised a warning hand. “I do not want to know. But I think I should tell you that I find such treatment of poor animals very unladylike and ungentlemanly.”

“We ain’t ladies nor gentlemen,” declared the boy.

“Indeed, that is quite true,” observed Jennifer serenely. “But my job is to teach you to behave as though you were.” She looked at the girls. “It is quite possible that either or both of you may marry into the aristocracy. And I should like you to be prepared so that you might be comfortable in such a life.” She was very much aware of two pair of dark eyes regarding her curiously.

“Humph,” snorted Mortimer. “You’re wasting your breath on them two.”

“Those two,” corrected Jennifer complacently.

Mortimer bristled. “I’ll talk how I want,” he declared. “You ain’t my Papa.”

“Indeed, I am not,” agreed Jennifer. “But I am confident that he wishes you to be raised so that you may take a proper place in society should such an opportunity be offered.”

Mortimer had no reply for this, but turned away to scowl at the wall.

Cassandra   approached   uneasily   and Jennifer saw that the girl was unsure of herself. “A
real
lady?” she asked painfully. “Do you think I might be a
real
lady?”

“Of course,” replied Jennifer, judging that matter-of-factness was the key here. “People may be born with titles or marry them. In either case ladies must
learn
to be ladies. No one is born with the proper knowledge.”

Cassandra’s eyes gleamed.’ “If you teach me
that,
if that’s why you’ve come, then I won’t play no more tricks.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Jennifer warmly, touching the child’s hand. “But you must realize that I will need to correct you. The way you speak, and walk, and act.”

Cassandra nodded. “I see that. I’ll listen. I
want
to be a lady, you see.”

Jennifer nodded. “I see. Then first remember, ladies say, ‘I won’t play any more tricks.’“

“I’ll remember. And please, Miss, would it be unladylike to call me Cassie?”

The dark eyes pleaded for understanding and Jennifer saw that the child was intensely lonely. “No, Cassie, that won’t be unladylike at all. Friends often have nicknames for each other.”

The child’s face actually glowed, thought Jennifer, and then she was startled by a tug at her sleeve. “I want to be a lady, too,” the child pleaded. “Can I?”

“Of course, Camilla. Cassie and I will help you. Won’t we?”

Jennifer knew from Cassie’s fervent nod that she had already reached one heart.

“I want a - a nick - I wants one, too,” demanded the little one.

“You got to say, ‘I want,” said Cassie in a patient tone so like her own that Jennifer felt a lump forming in her throat.

“Cassie is right. Only, Cassie, you mean, ‘You must say - I want.”

Cassie nodded and repeated the words.

The little one’s eyes grew round, whether at her sister’s patience or at the lesson in grammar, Jennifer could not say. “I want one - of them,” she insisted.

“Well,” said Jennifer. “That is only fair. Cassie has already decided on hers. Have you a nickname in mind?”

The dark curls flew as Camilla shook her head.

Jennifer’s brows drew together. “Well, Cassie, Mortimer, can we come up with a nickname for Camilla?”

Mortimer ignored her completely, but Cassie appeared to be considering. “We could call you Milly.”

The dark head shook violently.

“Or Cammie.”

The child’s dark eyes turned to Jennifer. “I likes - like that. Is it all right? For a lady?”

“Indeed it is.” Again Jennifer felt that lump in her throat. These children were not horrid monsters at all, just two lonely little girls shunted off on the servants, unloved and unwanted by their mother.

She turned her attention to the boy. He might be a harder case. “Mortimer, would you like to have a nickname?”

The blond head swung around, two blue eyes, suspiciously bright, glared at her. “I ain’t no girl. I don’t need no silly nick-name.”

Jennifer’s voice kept its even tone. “Very well, Mortimer. We will respect your wishes. But I would like to remind you that a gentleman speaks proper English and, as I’m quite sure you know, says, ‘I am not a girl. I don’t need any silly nickname.”

  Mortimer received this information with a defiant shrug which Jennifer chose to ignore. She turned to the girls. “I should very much like to have you show me around the grounds. Can we take Peter-kins with us?”

“Yes, Miss. And Miss, I won’t shut him up again. He must have been awful scared in there in the dark.”

“I’m sure he was, Cassie, but he will be all right if we treat him kindly. Animals should always be treated kindly as they have no voices with which to protest when they are hurt.”

Cammie’s dark head nodded in agree-ment. As Jennifer rose, the monkey still clinging to her, Cammie said, “I won’t hurt Peterkins ever.”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” said Jenni-fer. As they reached the doorway she felt a small hand creep into each of hers. She gave them each a squeeze and smiled reassuringly at the girls. Then she turned to the boy. His mouth was still set in a rebellious frown, but he was obviously not going to let them go off without him.

“I should appreciate it greatly, Mortimer, if you would pull the door shut behind us.”

There was no answer, but as she contin-ued serenely down the hall, a small girl on either side, there came the satisfying sound - a little loud perhaps, but still satisfying - of a closing door and the patter of small feet hurrying to catch up.
“I’ll
show her the stables,” announced Mortimer defiantly.

And so Jennifer met her charges and began her new life. Perhaps not too inauspiciously, she thought.

Chapter Two

The outing took so long that Jennifer found she had kept the children beyond their usual dinner hour. Fortunately the cheerful Betty was there to help them and Jennifer could hurry to her room to change for her own dinner.

As she slipped into the gown of drab brown she wondered idly about the people she would meet at the dinner table. There would be the still unseen Mr. Parthemer of the hearty appetite. And Mrs. Parthemer, no doubt tottering in, the very picture of a delicate invalid. Jennifer, who had always been as strong as a horse, had grown quite adept at smelling out those fragile ladies who made a business of invalidism. And admittedly she had little sympathy for them.

  The ladies in question, however, were not likely to discover this. For Jennifer had schooled herself to listen politely and attentively to anything her employers discussed. It was quite amazing, she thought with a slightly cynical smile, how the prospect of starvation could alleviate one’s boredom and make any subject appear interesting.

She adjusted the high ruffled neck of the dress and twisted her blond hair into a severe knot at the back of her head. Certainly that ought to convince them that the new governess was a prim and proper creature, not throwing out lures for anyone.

And yet she had dressed in precisely this fashion before, when the Earl of Linden had insisted on making improper advances to her. Well.... She sighed. She had done the best she could. And with a quick peek into the nursery to see that all was well, she made her way out the door and down the two sets of dim stairs.

Minutes later she entered the great dining room. Certainly the Parthemers believed in doing things with style. The table was set with silver plate and bone china and a huge bowl of fresh flowers, obviously conservatory grown, dominated the table. By the graceful French doors, strangely out of place in this great Gothic hall, stood a slender, shapely young man. Jennifer had a chance to observe his features. He was, she judged, some five or so years older than herself and he affected to be a member of the
haut ton.

  In London, Jennifer well knew, he would be judged a little too foppishly turned out. One’s cravat need not actually threaten one with decapitation from its excessively high, excessively starched folds.

And then the beau turned and gazed at her through his quizzing glass. Jennifer’s life had so far included far too many exquisitely clad gentlemen who mistook mere friendliness for something quite different. And so she merely gave the gentleman a slight stiff nod.

There, let him make something of that, she thought with a touch of anger that rather surprised her. The experience with the Earl had been quite unnerving. She would need to keep a firm rein on her emotions. There was no place in this world for governesses with tempers.

The gentleman continued to ogle her in a way that he undoubtedly thought very fashionable, but that Jennifer found highly annoying. Fortunately, while she was contemplating what recourse lay open to her, Mrs. Parthemer entered the dining room. The invalid moved slowly, leaning heavily on the arm of a sour-faced, grim, older woman. “That will do, Gibbons,” said Mrs. Parthemer plaintively. “You may go.”

  Gibbons, with a glance at Jennifer that was full of malice, left the dining room. For a moment she did not understand, but then Jennifer realized that Gibbons envied her her place at the family table. Gibbons must be Mrs. Parthemer’s dresser. It was certainly a position that Jennifer did not envy
her.
In her experience, pseudo-invalids were apt to have rather querulous natures. Even the most serenely tempered people could find them trying. And obvi-ously. Gibbons was
not
serenely tempered.

Mrs. Parthemer surveyed the room with pale blue eyes. “I hope you have settled in, Miss Whitcomb.”

“Yes, thank you. I am quite settled and have met the children - and Peterkins.”

A brief smile lit Mrs. Parthemer’s face. “So that’s where my baby is! I’ve been looking for him all afternoon. Those naughty children are always running off with him.”