Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Six
Emma sat on a blanket in the back garden of the vicarage and marveled that only a week had gone by. The days were pleasant, but her worries followed her everywhere, and, even as she watched a small finch alight on the ground near her blanket, she could not keep from fretting about how her family would continue to fare in the future.
Whitehaven was far away, and her heart was wrung by worry every time she imagined never seeing it again. True, many people left home to seek employment and did not return, but she wished to be sure it was always there. If her father had to sell their home, Emma couldn’t imagine breaking the news to her younger sister.
Elizabeth waved to her from the dining room windows. Cousin Matilda had awoken in what she called a ‘polishing mood,’ and every bit of silver was laid out on the dining room table. Emma couldn’t help but smile; her sister had not gotten up early enough to avoid their relative’s frenetic energy.
Both girls had been alternatively entertained and exhausted by Cousin Matilda’s constant desire to do, and there was a never-ending list of projects needing urgent attention at the vicarage.
The vicar himself was dozing in a wicker chair under one of the tall shade trees. Emma had noticed his wife’s energy did not affect him. As many of the other men in his comfortable profession did, the vicar had hired a curate to take care of the parish. And it was that bright-eyed young man who appeared at the back gate with a letter for Emma.
“News from Whitehaven, I suppose,” the curate ventured. “I hope that serves to cheer you, Miss Emma.”
She thanked him kindly and resolved to keep her woes more carefully hidden. The curate had a sharp eye for the worries of his parishioners, but she did not wish to add to his burden. It was difficult enough for her to keep her heavy heart from Elizabeth, and she hoped the letter would help buoy her spirits.
Unfortunately, the letter from her father was written in a shaky hand, and, though the news was purposefully cheerful, she could tell his health still suffered. Oh, how urgently she needed to find employment and ease his burden!
“Emma! Emma!” Elizabeth came rushing out, waking the vicar with a start.
“You moved so fast, I thought for a moment you were Cousin Matilda,” Emma teased.
Her sister flopped down on the blanket next to her and tried to catch her breath. “All that silver. So early. Our cousin is a wonder.”
The vicar turned a page in his book and settled his head back on the wicker chair. Birds chattered at them from the branches above, and Emma knew she should feel grateful for such a beautiful day. Still, the thought of her stalled purpose in coming to London overshadowed every pleasant scene.
Emma reached out and smoothed her sister’s hair. “This is truly a wonderful place. There are roses in your cheeks and a sparkle in your eyes. I so love to see you happy.”
“I love to see you happy too,” Elizabeth said. She handed Emma a note. “This is why I ran to you so fast. The note just arrived, and I’m certain it is from the agency.”
Emma tried to keep a complacent smile on her face, but her fingers tore at the seal. The writing inside was Mr. Easton’s, and her eyes flew over the sparse lines. She scrambled to her feet. “He requests my presence at the office without delay, and he hopes I have my affairs in order. Oh, Elizabeth! I do believe there is a position for me at last!”
Elizabeth was slow to rise, and there was a sheen of tears above her smile, but she squeezed her sister’s hands and said, “I’m so glad for you!”
“I must pack. I must get to the stagecoach right away!”
“You must be able to do everything all at once,” Elizabeth teased. She took Emma’s arm and led her slowly towards the house. “There’s plenty of time to share the good news with Cousin Matilda and enjoy our breakfast altogether.”
“Oh, Elizabeth! I’m sorry, but I must fly. I was late the last time and missed my chance. I will not replicate that error.”
Emma was dressed and ready for the stagecoach trip into the city in less than a half-hour. Elizabeth volunteered to pack the rest of her sister’s belongings in case the news was indeed good, and she would be immediately moving to the location of the governess position. Cousin Matilda had flown into the kitchen and, like a whirlwind, prepared food for Emma’s travels. Even the vicar had roused himself and escorted her to the stagecoach to stop himself.
Such was her determination and haste, Emma arrived at the agency well before Mr. Easton returned from his morning repast. She identified with her Cousin Matilda’s strain when she had to sit for her husband’s long sermons, and Emma fought to keep her urge to pace down to the occasional foot tapping. Luckily, the clerk did not reprimand her for her unladylike impatience, as he was contending with the usual line of worried salary seekers.
Emma watched as a young man was apprenticed to a stone mason and left his mother with a proud but worried smile. Two seamstresses offered to tailor the clerk’s coat in return for a chance at a shop position. A timid little cook’s insistence could hardly be heard over the din of the busy office, but she finally left with the name of a house that would be hosting dinners throughout the Season and needed the extra hands.
The London Season. Emma tried not to smile as she imagined her sister’s introduction to society. The vicar and Cousin Matilda were not greatly connected, but their social circle was wide, and Emma could practically see Elizabeth dancing at her first ball already. If she could earn decent wages, then Elizabeth could have all new dresses, and there would be no doubt of her finding an excellent match.
“Miss Fletcher, I was not certain I should see you today.” Mr. Easton strode into the lobby, ignored the waiting line and the clerk, and flung open the door to his office.
Emma followed him in. “I came as soon as I could, Mr. Easton. I am dedicated to our shared endeavor and still desire nothing more than a good position as a governess.”
“So, you’ve not accepted any proposals of marriage?” Mr. Easton shut the door behind them. “Are the men of Whitehaven and London to be so bereft?”
Was that a glimmer of a smile? Emma studied the serious Mr. Easton carefully as they both sat down. He seemed to be teasing her as he fished out an official letter and picked at the already broken seal. She could see it was a ducal stamp, which made it was difficult to concentrate on anything else, much less believe Mr. Easton capable of teasing her.
“I did not seek out your matchmaker, Mr. Easton. Please forgive me, but I have stayed true to my original purpose.”
“Yes, indeed.” He did smile then and opened the letter. “And your patience has been rewarded, Miss Fletcher. I received this urgent missive yesterday, calling for a governess with a talent for all ladylike pursuits, including drawing.”
“I accept,” Emma said.
Mr. Easton raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to let me explain the position? This agency recently had the distinction of placing a governess for the Duke of Elsby’s sister, and he has been so kind as to recommend our services to another of the peerage. We must ensure this is a good fit.”
“Yes, sir. I apologize.”
“Well, then.” Mr. Easton unfolded the letter and cleared his throat. “The Duke of Dalwater has two wards, his niece and nephew. The girl has been raised for the last seventeen years with the utmost care. She is herself, a very accomplished young woman. They are, therefore, in need of someone with unmatched skills and gentle air. There is also a boy, aged ten, and he will need lessons as well as a firm hand to guide his deportment.”
Emma nodded and kept nodding. The family name of Dalwater was ancient, the succession of dukes above all reproach, and the family’s seat was not far from where from Cousin Matilda’s house, where Elizabeth was to remain.
Mr. Easton saw her eagerness and sat back for a moment. “This will be a challenging position, Miss Fletcher. The standards will be incredibly high.”
“It will be an honor,” Emma said.
Pleased by her modest reply, Mr. Easton nodded, then glanced back at the letter. “You will be well-compensated, though you will appreciate there will be no possibility of time off to travel back to Whitehaven.”
“I understand, Mr. Easton, and I am prepared.”
“The letter requests your presence at Dalwater Manor as soon as possible,” Mr. Easton informed her. “They mean, of course, for you to go this very day.”
Emma swallowed hard. She could not afford to travel back and forth on the stagecoach to fetch her things and hire a carriage to take her to Dalwater. Her fingers clutched at her reticule, unable to express her difficulties.
Mr. Easton sighed, guessing her troubles. “I can send another note to the vicarage, requesting your things be sent.”
“Thank you, sir, but I am unsure of how to secure a carriage.” Emma bit her lip at the untruth. She knew very well how to hire a hackney, but she simply could not afford it.
A sharp rap on the door interrupted the awkward pause, and the clerk popped his head inside. “It has arrived, Mr. Easton. You should see it!”
Mr. Easton scowled at the clerk. “We do not stand around and stare at our client’s conveyances, Donald.”
He shooed the clerk out of the door and stood up to escort Emma from his office and through the lobby. At the front door, he paused and said: “I’m glad that our client is as punctual as you, Miss Fletcher. See that you keep up such high standards as will be expected.”
She looked down the steps and saw the gleaming carriage. Its bright paint bore no scratches, and the splashboards seemed immune to mud. A team of four horses pranced in the traces as every spectator for a half-mile came to stare. The neighborhood was a decent one, but it was not often the residents saw a duke’s carriage. A well-dressed coachman hopped down and opened the door.
“That is for me?” Emma sputtered.
Mr. Easton cleared his throat, perhaps to cover a chuckle, and said, “You must never let your awe get in the way of your duties, Miss Fletcher.”
Emma looked at the grand carriage, then down at her traveling costume in despair. It was purchased new for the trip from Whitehaven, but now the long dove-gray coat and matching skirt seemed dull. Even her butter-yellow scarf was a muted shade, and Emma tucked it into her collar fretfully.
“I would not recommend anyone not fit for a position, Miss Fletcher. You may cease your worries.” Mr. Easton took her arm and propelled her down the front steps. “You look every bit a modest governess made for a grand house.”
Emma stopped and drew herself up properly. “Thank you, Mr. Easton. I will endeavor every day to make the agency proud.”
The stern man was pleased and assured her again that her things would be sent for immediately. He then handed her into the carriage himself. “Good luck to you, Miss Fletcher.”
She was tucked inside the richly decorated compartment before she could blink. The carriage somehow seemed familiar, but Emma was certain it felt so in the way that dreams somehow leak into everyday life. She clutched her reticule and marveled at the smoothness of the ride as the carriage pulled away from the curb and took her towards her new position at Dalwater Manor.
The clattering bustle in the grimy streets of London flew by, and Emma felt as if she was floating in a bubble of silk. She had never traveled in such luxury before, never even dreamed it was possible. It was hard not to enjoy the heads turning as the gleaming carriage drove on. Soon, the rattles and stops of the city’s cobbled streets were left behind, and they glided into the London countryside. The fine team of horses pulled as one under the coachman’s expert hand. Between that and the sprung suspension of the wheels, Emma imagined they floated on a fast river.
Soon, the smooth-flowing ride took them through the gates of Dalwater Manor, and the horses were finally drawn up to a walk. Even though the chill rains of winter had already doused the city, there were still roses blooming at Dalwater. Emma saw heavily laden bushes boasting blooms in almost every color of the rainbow. Then they entered a heavily shaded avenue of ancient oak trees. It served to shelter the smooth driveway to the manor house and obscured the view until it emerged suddenly it all its perfection. As was customary, the carriage paused at the opening of the trees and gave its lone passenger the best possible view of her future residence.
Dalwater Manor stood on a plateau of large, sweeping lawns, interrupted only by the circular driveway of bright crushed coral. The estate itself occupied thousands of acres, with the house like a bright jewel at its center. The manor’s façade was Jacobean, built in the 1600s, and stood two stories tall, with a grand columned walk guarding the front entrance. Carefully pruned yew trees grew up against the building between the gleaming windows, perfectly mirroring the columns. Two large, rounded towers guarded each end of the main building, capped with copper that shone in the bright sun.
From there, two large wings spread out to the north and south, sheltering the many stables and outbuildings no doubt concealed behind them.
Emma gazed at the grandeur, barely aware of her heartbeat or breath. In all her desperate daydreams of employment, she had never conjured anything as elegant as Dalwater Manor. And, now, as the carriage smoothly flew towards the house, she felt faint from her overwhelming good fortune.
The carriage drove past the entrance to the circular driveway, down a long road past the south wing, and then swung onto another path that led to the servants and delivery entrance. There, Emma expected to alight herself, and she was surprised when the coachman jumped down and opened the carriage door for her. He handed her down to the ground as he would any grand lady, and she felt her cheeks warm at the kindness.
He saw her modest delight and tipped his hat. “Welcome to Dalwater Manor, miss.”
She dropped him a neat curtsy and replied breathlessly, “Thank you.”
There was no time for Emma to breathe, much less be nervous, as the door to the servant’s entrance flew open, and a footman appeared. His livery was more elegant than the best of servants in Whitehaven wore, and Emma tried to keep her eyes from the bright gold braids and frogging on his jacket. The footman did not glance at the coachman or Emma herself, only held the door open and indicated she should hurry.
The servants’ entrance led to a wide back hall, evidently where all the household’s main deliveries were brought to. Huge baskets stood against the walls full of fresh supplies just dropped off that morning.
Emma caught sight of smoked meats, bags of sugar, and a heaped pile of pineapples. Large, arched doors led from the servants’ hall on all sides, and, as she was hurried along, Emma saw the stairway down to the steaming laundry, the shadowed expanse of the pantries, and the bustling territory of an enormous kitchen.
“There you are. Frederick, fix that tie!” A sharp voice brought the footman up short, and Emma froze behind him.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Williams,” the footman said. He fumbled with his perfectly smooth tie.
“And is this the woman the agency sent?” Mr. Williams strode down the servants’ hallway with an imperious air.
Emma curtsied low and then stood still for the man’s intense scrutiny. Dressed as he was, in an impeccable black suit, she guessed Mr. Williams was the butler and, therefore, the head of the household staff.
Mr. Williams completed his circle around her and looked down over the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Well, Mr. Easton claimed he had a fine candidate for the governess, and I see he is a man of his word. I hope your skills live up to your credentials, Miss Fletcher.”
She curtsied again and kept her gaze on the ground.
“Come then,” Mr. Williams snapped. He led the way down the servants’ hall to the largest of doors.
It opened onto a great hall, and it was all Emma could do not to stumble as she followed the butler’s quick pace. Dalwater’s hall was two stories high, with a promenade around the second floor. Towering columns of marble reached to the arched ceiling that was crowned with a glass cupola. Sunlight poured in and lit the finest rugs and furniture Emma had ever seen in her life. Luckily, the butler’s pace was so fast she had no time to gape at the sights around her and had to race after him to the foot of the grand staircase.
There, a woman stood with her hands folded tightly over her generous waist. “Excellent, Mr. Williams,” she said to the butler. “I am glad the agency was able to keep its word so punctually.”
“May I present Mrs. Brown? She is the housekeeper here at Dalwater Manor, and it is she who will oversee your work.” Mr. Williams bowed curtly, spun on his heel, and went about his business.
Emma blinked at the abrupt handover and then glanced shyly at Mrs. Brown. The older woman waited until the butler had disappeared, and then she gave Emma a broad smile. “Never fear, Miss Fletcher. We aren’t all as severe as Mr. Williams. Come now, dear. Let’s get you settled.”
The housekeeper led the way up the grand staircase, and Emma followed, dizzy at how fast her fate had transformed itself from earlier that morning.
