Too Close to the Sun (43 page)

‘I often did work like this, sir, when the mistress was alive. Mrs Spencer didn’t always want help from me. I don’t like to be idle, and it’s a big house to care for.’

‘I know that.’ He looked off into the distance beyond the window.

Grace said after a moment: ‘I’m looking for a new position, sir, though I don’t suppose that will come as any surprise to you.’

He turned to her. ‘Well, it shouldn’t, should it? As I said
just now, how can you be a companion if there’s no one to be a companion to? What have you done about it – going after a new situation?’

‘I’ve been answering advertisements in the papers.’

‘And have you had any promising responses yet?’

‘Not yet, sir, but it’s early days.’

‘What are you going for? A governess, I presume.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Of course.’ A brief pause. ‘It’s a shame you lost your little pupil, Mr Fairman’s daughter.’

Grace turned her face away, and he quickly added: ‘But that’s not something you wish to be reminded of, I know. I never had a chance to say it before, but let me say now that I’m very sorry things happened there in the way they did. Have you heard anything of Mr Fairman and his daughter?’

‘No, sir.’

‘No word at all? No, I haven’t either. But there you are – that’s the way things go sometimes – sad to say.’ He sighed. ‘But anyway, that’s all in the past. What is pressing for the present,’ he said, ‘is that you have to find some employment you’ll enjoy. Unfortunately I don’t know how I can help you.’

‘I shall manage, sir, somehow. I don’t have any choice.’

‘How does Billy feel about it, the likelihood of your leaving?’

‘He’s not happy about it. He loves it here. He has his school nearby, his friends. He has his own room here in the house.’ She smiled. ‘He never had such a room before.’

‘He helps out too, I know – in the stables and the scullery, when he can.’ He smiled. ‘He’s like you, Grace – he doesn’t like to be idle.’ He hesitated a moment longer, then moved back to the door. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to your work – whatever you choose to do.’ In the doorway he turned. ‘But please bear in mind – that you don’t have to go. I’m sure we can find a way.’

When he had gone, closing the door behind him, Grace thought back on his words. It would be so good to be able to stay on in the house, she thought. Not to have to uproot Billy from all that he had become familiar with. But what alternative did they have?

On a Saturday just before Christmas Grace achieved positive results from her endeavours and found employment with a family in Little Berron, less than three miles from Berron Wick. Her employment was to begin early in the new year.

At Asterleigh House she told Billy of her success – which she had learned of that morning by letter.

‘Grace, I don’t want to leave here,’ he said.

‘I know you don’t. But we don’t always have choices. We can’t stay on when I have no work to do here.’

Billy remained silent. She had come upon him in the stable yard as he came back from the woodland beyond the paddock. Over his shoulder he carried a sack containing bits of dead wood, kindling for the kitchen stove and copper.

‘Billy,’ she said, ‘try to understand, will you? If we could stay I would love it, for your sake. But as things are we just can’t.’

He nodded and sighed. ‘All right. But it won’t be till after Christmas, will it?’

‘No.’

He nodded. ‘Good.’ A little pause, then he added, ‘I’m sorry for making a fuss, Grace.’ He hitched the sack more securely in place and turned away. ‘I have to put this stuff in the stables so it’ll dry out.’

In the house Grace made her way to the drawing room and tapped on the door. Mr Spencer’s voice called for her to enter, and she pushed open the door and went in.

He had been in the house for most of the week and, so
Mrs Sandiston said, was to remain there over Christmas. Grace found him sitting by the crackling fire, some papers spread out on the low table at his side. The smell of pipe tobacco hung in the air. He looked up and smiled as she came into the room.

‘Grace, hello. To what do I owe this pleasure?’

‘Do you have a moment, sir?’

‘Of course I do.’ He set down the paper in his hand. ‘Come in and sit down.’ He gestured to the sofa, the place where Mrs Spencer had been wont to sit. Grace sat down.

‘I won’t keep you but a minute, sir,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’ve had a satisfactory response to one of my applications.’

‘So you’re going off as governess somewhere, are you?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve been offered a place in Little Berron.’

‘I see. Well, that’s not too far away. What sort of a job is it? Whose brat are you to teach? Or are there more than one?’

‘There are two children, sir. A boy of seven and a girl of eight. Adam and Frances Kellas. They’re the children of Mr Kellas, a barrister.’

‘I’ve heard of him. And I believe he has a fine house. Well, barristers are wealthy men, so I hope he’s paying you well, is he?’ He waved a hand. ‘Don’t answer that; it’s none of my business.’

‘I’m happy to tell you if you like, sir.’

‘I just told you, it’s none of my business. Have you met the children?’

‘Yes, I have – when I went for my interview with Mr Kellas.’

‘And are they misbehaving monsters?’

Grace shook her head and smiled. ‘No, sir. They are – spirited children, but they seem no worse than others of their age. I’m sure we shall get along perfectly fine.’

‘That’s something, then. So, what does this mean?’

‘What does it mean?’

‘Yes. I mean, so what are your immediate plans?’

‘I’m due to begin work in the new year – as soon as the Christmas school holidays are over.’

‘And?’

‘So –’ she shrugged. ‘So I must look around for rooms for the two of us.’

He nodded, picked up his pipe, leaned closer to the fireplace and tapped the bowl against the side of the coal scuttle. Then he took tobacco from a pouch and packed it into the bowl. He looked into the packed bowl, pressed the tobacco down with his forefinger, then said, ‘Of course you don’t need to go anywhere, you know.’

‘Sir – ?’

‘I mean to say, why the devil can’t you stay where you are? Why on earth d’you need to go scampering off like this?’

‘But – but sir, I have no place here.’

‘Of course you have a place here. And Billy has a place here.’ He looked again at the pipe in his hand and then set it down on the papers on the table. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘why don’t you have a place here?’

‘Well, as you said yourself, how can I be a companion if there is no one to be a companion to? I’m redundant in the very truest way.’ She spread her hands, palms up. ‘What else can I do, sir? I have to find employment and accommodation elsewhere. We spoke about this some weeks ago.’

He nodded. ‘And since that time I’ve been thinking more about the situation. And now, now that you’ve brought the matter to a head, so to speak, you’re concentrating my mind. And I’ve come up with a solution. And I have to ask, why in the devil’s name do you have to go and find rooms somewhere else in order to teach a pair of children? Why on earth to do you have to tear your young brother away from all the security he knows in order to stick him in some
ghastly rented room? Will he be able to keep on at Culvercombe school?’

‘I don’t know, sir. It depends on where I find rooms for us.’

‘Well, there you are – you might have to take him out of his school and send him off to a different one where everything and everyone will be strange to him. Is that what you want?’

Grace said, ‘No, but if there’s no way around such an arrangement …’

‘What if there is? Why on earth can’t you stay here. You have clean rooms, good food, you have –’

Grace broke in: ‘Sir, you don’t need to remind me of all the good things and the advantages at Asterleigh. But we can’t stay, we simply can’t. Not while I’m working somewhere else.’

‘I should have realized, of course. You’ve got your pride, haven’t you? You’ve always had your pride.’

Grace said nothing.

‘Well, I’ll tell you what,’ he said, ‘and don’t give me an answer right away. But think about it and then let me know your conclusion. Supposing – supposing you pay me rent? How would that be?’

‘Rent, sir?’

‘Rent. You’ve heard of rent – payment for the use of property. Say a shilling a week? How would that be?’

When Grace said nothing, he added, ‘And if Billy cares to, he can continue helping out as he does now.’

‘And that would –’

‘That would allow you and Billy to remain here, and keep your pride as well.’ He paused. ‘And if you wonder why I’m suggesting such a thing, it’s because, for one thing, you cared for my wife in her illness. Indeed, you cared for her throughout the time you were here. I know that much. Also, I can’t bear the thought of you both going into some
squalid lodgings as you did before you came here. And besides which, having you stay here – it’s what Eleanor would have wanted. It’s what she would have done. She would want an arrangement like this. Except that she wouldn’t allow you to pay rent. But I’m quite sure that if I don’t agree to such an arrangement as that then I can’t see you accepting.’

Grace frowned, opened her mouth to speak again, but he cut in. ‘Don’t give me a negative answer now,’ he said. ‘Save your answer for later, once you’ve had a chance to think it over. But think about it carefully. If you have sense – which I don’t doubt you have – you’ll agree it’s the best thing for both of you.’

Upstairs, she went to Billy’s room. Finding it empty, she left a note for him and went to her own room along the landing.

He came to her a little under an hour later, freshly washed and changed from his work in the yard.

‘I’ve been to see Mr Spencer,’ Grace said to him. He sat on a small footstool near the bed. ‘I told him that I’ve been offered a position in Little Berron.’

Billy hung his head. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘I can still go to school in Culvercombe if we live in Little Berron.’

‘But it’s miles. Besides, we might not find rooms in Little Berron. It might be further out.’

‘I shall manage.’

She hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Well – anyway – it might not be necessary.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I just told you that I went to see Mr Spencer, and – he told me that we might stay.’

‘We can stay? He said so?’

‘He’s suggested an arrangement whereby I pay him rent. That way we wouldn’t be accepting his charity.’

Billy waited a moment then said, ‘What did you tell him?’

‘I haven’t told him anything yet. He didn’t want my answer right away. He asked me to think about it. So –’ she shrugged, ‘I thought we’d best talk it over before I give him an answer.’

‘What do you think, Grace? Please say yes. Tell him yes, will you?’

‘I know that’s what you’d like.’

‘It would be so much better. We could keep our nice rooms, and there wouldn’t be any question of my changing schools.’

‘He said if we stay you could continue to help out around the stables and in the gardens. How does that sound?’

‘Does that mean we can stay?’ he said.

She smiled. ‘If you want it so much.’

Later that day Grace went to see Mr Spencer, and told him that she was pleased to accept his offer of continuing accommodation for herself and Billy.

‘What a wise decision,’ he said.

In the second week of December Grace received a Christmas greeting card addressed in a child’s round, careful handwriting. There was no return address on the card or the envelope. The card bore a picture of robins and holly, with snow falling against a frosty window. The message said:

Dear Miss Harper,

I am writing to wish you and Billy a very merry Christmas and happy new year. Papa and I are well, and hope you are too. I am going to school now, here in Redbury, and I quite like it, though I wish you were still my teacher. With love and best wishes from

Sophie

ps: I hope you still remember me
.

Oh, Sophie, Grace silently cried as she pressed the card to her heart – how could I forget you?

In spite of the lingering sadness over Mrs Spencer’s death and the ending of Grace’s association with Kester Fairman, she looked upon that Christmas at Asterleigh as a relatively happy affair. With the matter of their living quarters decided, at least for the time being, she could see Billy relaxing in the knowledge that he need have no worry about having to move on. Even so, Grace still harboured some vague feelings of uncertainty. A part of her mind still placed so much value on her independence, and she sometimes told herself that perhaps it would have been better had she obeyed her instincts and found furnished rooms for herself and her brother. That way she would maintain her independence and be beholden to no one. But she had made the decision to remain where they were, and for Billy’s sake if for nothing else for the time being the decision would stand.

In January Grace began her work teaching Mr Kellas’s children.

The Kellas family lived in an attractive, rambling red brick house on the edge of Little Berron, with views over woodland and the distant ford. Mr Kellas was a serious man with a grave demeanour – essential to him in his work, Grace assumed – while his wife was jolly and outgoing. While Mr Kellas was ordered, neat and meticulous, Mrs Kellas was carefree and casual. To Grace the house seemed always to be in disorder; no matter how much the maid swept and tidied, in no time at all the muddles would begin to form again. At times Grace wondered how the husband and wife could always be in agreement with one another, but they seemed to be so, and always behaved affectionately to one another. Their two children, Adam and Frances, seemed to follow in their parents’ characters, the
boy like his father, the girl like her mother, but whereas the parents produced harmony together, the children were frequently at odds. Still, they were well-behaved children in the main, and Grace was pleased to teach them. She knew, however, that it would not be for long, for already there was talk of their going to school in a year or two.

In the meantime, though, Grace enjoyed her work. On short, cold winter’s days she travelled sometimes by coach and sometimes by omnibus. On warmer days, however, she took advantage of the good weather and walked. The exercise was good for her, she reasoned, added to which, she saved on the fares.