Prudence (6 page)

Fired with this notion, Prue had set paper down in front of each this morning and challenged them to do exactly that. Two pairs of brown eyes had eyed her with suspicion.

‘What, write about you?’

‘Why not?’

‘But what should we write?’

‘You could say what you thought of me when we met. I have set down what I thought of you, and you did say you wanted to give your own account of me.’

Lotty and Dodo had looked at each other, and then turned their gazes back upon Prue.

‘But won’t you be cross if we say things about you?’

‘Not if it is the truth. I only hope it may not be too horrid!’

Both girls giggled. But they looked dubious. Inspired, Prue reached out to remove the paper she had set before them, sighing.

‘Well, I had not realised you were so faint-hearted.’

Lotty bridled. ‘Faint-hearted? Us?’

‘Pooh!’ scoffed Dodo. ‘We ain’t even afraid of Yvette.’

Prue might have disputed this statement, for the evidence suggested otherwise. However, she did not refer to it, but only laid aside the papers and moved to the pile of books.

‘We will read instead.’

But both Lotty and Dodo jumped up and seized the papers, declaring that they would write about her.

‘If you don’t like it, it’s your fault,’ Lotty averred.

‘But you can’t read it ’til we’ve finished,’ warned Dodo.

Half an hour later, they were still writing. Prue was left with nothing to do, except watch the laborious scratching of their pens, and wonder with misgiving what they might be writing of her. Every so often they would leave off writing to confer in whispers and giggles, which was not encouraging.

Rising from her seat, Prue had shifted to the window, absently stroking Folly who had ensconced himself on the ledge. She suppressed her doubts, feeling that she deserved credit for having successfully induced them to write at all. The spelling was bound to be atrocious, the grammar poor and the handwriting untidy. But that could all be mended.

Mr Rookham’s opinion of their skill in written English had been borne out, she reflected. Which thought immediately reminded her of the disquieting fact that she had seen her employer only once since
that uncomfortable occasion in the library the morning after her arrival, and that on a visit to the village church on Sunday when no private conversation was possible.

Not that Prue had expected to see him. Why would the master of the house be interested in the day-to-day activities of a mere governess? He had done more than enough for her comfort, and that must content her. Prue tried hard to be contented. Only she could not rid herself of a ridiculous delusion that her first encounter with Mr Rookham had created a bond between them. It was nonsensical, and she did not know where she had come by such a notion.

It was just that whenever she thought of him—and that she should do so was not extraordinary, she reflected, for he was her employer and uncle to the twins—it was with a sense of familiarity which must be singularly misplaced. But why had he been so thoughtful? Providing her with a parlour, an unheard-of luxury for a governess. Yet when she had thanked him, he had just stared at her!

She had wasted far too much time in worrying over what she had said. Had she been too confiding? It was not her place to be giving him snippets of her history. But warmth crept into her bosom when she remembered how he had consented to let her remain, when he must have thought her a witless nincompoop. It made it the more imperative that she prove her worth.

‘Finished.’

Prue turned. ‘Excellent. May I see?’

Lotty held out her paper, but Dodo leaned over from her own desk and grabbed her arm. ‘Not yet! Wait for me.’

‘Hurry up then, lazy bones.’

‘I’m nearly done.’

There was such a light of mischief in Lotty’s eyes as caused a resurgence of Prue’s earlier foreboding. What had she let herself in for? Well, she could hardly object now. Steeling herself, she waited for Dodo to complete her final sentence. A faint tattoo rose up in her breast nevertheless as she finally took possession of both sheets of paper.

Aware that the girls were sniggering, Prue returned to her desk and, with deliberation, laid the papers down before her.

At first glance, she took in the many blots and crossings-out, and the distinct lack of grace about the letters. Dodo’s was perhaps a trifle the neater, but it was clear the content had little to offer as Prue cast her eyes down the sheet.

Dodo’s initial focus was on Prue’s appearance. Her grey gown and the black bonnet received the disparagement of ‘dowdy’, with which Prue could not but agree. There followed an effusion on Folly, including the raid upon the kitchen which concentrated not on finding food for the kitten, but on the pastry making and Dodo’s subsequent enjoyment of the jam tarts, which had, sure enough, made their appearance at dinner that evening. To Prue’s relief, she had been relegated after that to a mention only in connection with Folly’s activities.

There was but one item at which Prue might have taken offence. Instead she was immediately stricken with guilt.

‘If only bad Yvette did not stop us having Folly in our bedchamber, he would like us more than Miss Hursley which he don’t nohow.’

She had so hoped the twins did not mind it that Folly had steadfastly attached himself to his rescuer. While
he happily ate and played with the girls, it was into Prue’s lap that he jumped for a snooze. Indeed, Folly had made her parlour his headquarters so that she had been obliged to transfer his box to that room. He followed her to the schoolroom, and scratched on her bedchamber door at night, and Prue had not the heart to refuse to admit him.

But it was not Folly’s choice that caused Prue to feel remorseful. She was distressingly aware of desiring this companionship, and knew that the kitten had become a substitute for the loss that she continued to feel keenly. She had not known just how much she would miss Nell and Kitty. Folly was the only balm to a nagging loneliness.

It was best, perhaps, that she made no comment upon the inclusion of this little spurt of Dodo’s jealousy. She looked up from the sheet and smiled at the child.

‘Well done, Dodo.’

Lotty frowned. ‘You read hers first? But I finished before her!’

‘Well, I am going to read yours now,’ said Prue.

‘That’s not fair.’

Dodo immediately broke into crowing triumph, which led automatically to a squabble. Feeling unequal to the task of pacifying the twins, Prue ignored them and turned her eyes to the top of Lotty’s sheet of writing.

This was a different proposition altogether. Was it malice that caused the girl to apostrophise her preceptress as a ‘dowdy little brown mouse’? It was not, as Dodo’s comment had been, a reference to her attire only. Lotty’s description was entirely devoted to the deficiencies of Prue’s qualifications as a governess.

‘I don’t think she could be a guvnes. She don’t look
like one. She look like a dowd. She don’t look like she dance or nuthing. She bring a kitten which Yvette don’t like cos stink and mess. She don’t get cross or shout. She don’t teech nothing not yet. Mabe Uncel Joleos won’t keep her.’

Prue tried to tell herself that this effusion was intended to annoy rather than to hurt. Lotty could not know how nearly she paralleled Prue’s own assessment of herself nor how close to the bone she came with that remark about her uncle’s intentions.

Without meaning to, she glanced across at the child, and found Lotty regarding her with challenge in her eyes. Was she expecting an explosion? Well, let her be disappointed.

Without a word, Prue rose from the desk and began to write the misspelt words from both sheets upon the blackboard. As she did so, she wondered what Lotty intended by this. There could be no doubt that the impertinence had been deliberate. Was it to test Prue? Did she suppose that a just revenge would be enacted?

If Nell were here, what would she do? Oh, but Nell would not have induced such a horrid indictment from her pupils. By now she would have established herself as an authority in their eyes. No child would dare write such unkind stuff of Nell!

Completing the words, Prue turned to the girls. She was a trifle cheered to see a perplexed frown upon Lotty’s face. Dodo was merely waiting.

Taking another couple of sheets of clean paper from the stack, Prue laid them down in front of the girls.

‘These are the correct spellings. You will write each one out ten times. As neat as you can, if you please.’

Dodo groaned, but a flash of respect showed for a moment in Lotty’s eyes. But she caught Prue looking
at her, and lifted her chin as she dipped her pen in the inkwell. Prue retired to the window again.

Without thinking, she picked up Folly, who woke with a faint mewl. Prue cradled him to her chest. At once a loud purring began to issue from the kitten’s throat as he settled comfortingly into her embrace.

Discontented, Julius Rookham pushed away his plate and shoved his chair back from the table. Why he should find it tedious to dine in solitary state, he had no notion. Had it not ever been his habit? Certainly since he had abandoned the effort to cut a figure in society.

His interest in town life had been timely, but ephemeral. Urged by his widowed mother to apply himself to the task of finding a wife, at the age of nineteen Julius betook himself to London, following the time-honoured method. Willing, if a trifle unenthusiastic, he remembered casting himself into the accepted modes of conduct that passed among the dedicated fashionables of his class for entertainment.

Gaming and incessant parties had palled quickly, as had the simpering sighs of those females his fond parent had thought fitting to push in his way. He had returned with relief to Little Bookham, unbetrothed, but having acquired a mistress among those females of dubious virtue who made up the
demi-monde
.

Thereafter, while he had dutifully accompanied his determined mama upon the annual excursion in which his sister was currently engaged, Julius had made no real effort to marry himself off. The sudden and unexpected demise of his mother when he was three and twenty had furnished him with an adequate excuse to remain for the future upon his estates.

The loss of his inamorata had been inconvenient, if not distressing, but he could scarcely have expected her—as she had engagingly informed him—to retire from a glittering career in the capital to bury herself in the wilds of the country. Julius could not but acknowledge the justice of her decision.

‘It ain’t that I don’t care for you, my lovekin,’ she had informed him, fluttering a haresfoot over her elaborate maquillage as she gazed at her exquisitely designed countenance in the mirror. ‘Only I can’t and I won’t eke my days out in a cottage, obliged to depend upon a visit from you once or twice a week for company.’

She had swirled back to the bed in a swish of taffeta, and leaned over him for a kiss. ‘What you need, lovekin, is to find yourself a nice little milkmaid as won’t pine her heart out for a night at the play, and will be contented with a few prettifying gewgaws.’ She had winked. ‘You’ll be a deal better off, for she won’t cost you near as much as I do.’

Lily had been nothing if not expensive. Julius had not availed himself of her advice, however, for at home he was not plagued with the ennui that attacked him in London. Able to pursue his abiding interest uninterrupted, he had allowed the years to roll on without notice. Apart from an occasional foray to town on business, or to the races, Julius had remained upon his estates, reasonably contented.

His sister’s descent upon him had been, if not unwelcome, a slight source of irritation. But since little could be done in winter, with the ground hardened by frost and the old wood dying on the trees, the necessity to put his attention on the needs of Trixie and her offspring had not interfered unduly.

But with his sister’s removal to London, and the arrival of the governess he had hired, Julius had anticipated a speedy return to his labours with the onset of spring.

Yet here he was, near mid-March, and for some inscrutable reason found himself delaying the work that must be put in now if he was to be beforehand with his plans for the summer. A stupid sort of lassitude overtook him whenever he picked over the designs that had occupied each waking hour up until his household had been augmented.

And tonight, as he had partaken in a desultory way of the dishes sent in—God send Wincle did not take offence!—he had been overtaken with a sense of dissatisfaction at the lack of company at his board.

He reached out for the port and poured himself a liberal glassful. Perhaps he was missing Trixie. But that was nonsense, for she had been only a recent addition at the table, and briefly too. Besides, without her presence, it had again become unnecessary to dress for dinner, which suited his easy habits. Perhaps he should invite his agent to dine with him again? It was a while since the last occasion he had extended that courtesy to Rawcliff. Next week, perhaps? Too late for this, for it was already Friday.

But the prospect of Rawcliff’s company did nothing to alleviate his growing sense of discontent.

Julius took a moody swig of wine. This was nonsense. He had been idle too long, that was all. On Monday he would call Hessle in and make an inspection of the treillage, which must be finished before April.

Cheered a little by his decision, he lifted his glass to his lips and tilted his head back.

A piercing scream blasted his ears, causing him to choke upon the liquid in his throat.

For a few inaccessible moments, he was fully occupied in spluttering and coughing, utterly unable to make the slightest move towards investigation or discovery. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the footman, left in the room by Creggan, who had presumably retired to prepare the parlour for his reception.

Gesturing helplessly over his own shoulder, Julius made a desperate effort to make his urgent need understood. Through the hideous sensation of rupture at his chest he took in vaguely that Jacob looked shocked. Impatiently, he gestured again.

A moment later, the flat of a heavy hand descended two or three times against his back, and the choking subsided. With admirable presence of mind, the fellow seized his master’s discarded glass and filled it from the water pitcher.