Christine Merrill - Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess

The sight of it made her smile; it was attractively decorated but informal, rather like the breakfast room in her own home back in London. The woman who had been introduced to her on the previous evening as Cook was setting eggs and ham and tea things on a side table. It was most unusual to see her doing work that would be better suited to a footman. But she gave Miss Collins a defiant look, that seemed to say, What if I am? Someone must watch out for them.

The children filed in from the hall, and Cook greeted them pleasantly, making sure that their plates were full and that everyone had enough of what they wanted. She extended her offers to Miss Collins, as though relieved to see that there would be an adult present at the meal, before excusing herself and returning to the kitchen.

Daphne smiled hopefully at the three children across the table from her, and attempted polite breakfast talk. Had they slept well? Was it not a beautiful day? Did they have enough to eat? And were they sure that they did not want a second helping of anything? Absolutely sure? Because she had no problems with delaying the lesson, and they should not feel a need to rush their morning meal.

It would have been a blessing to her if they could manage to delay lessons indefinitely. She had no more interest in sitting in a classroom as teacher than she had managed to display when she had been a student.

The children answered all questions in polite monosyllables, as though they had decided her presence was to be tolerated for the moment. But they intended to make no effort at a closer relationship than was absolutely necessary.

Eventually, her attempts at conversation were exhausted, as was the breakfast food. She suggested that they wash their hands and make their way to the classroom, where the real business of the day could begin.

They were almost eerily agreeable to it, as though faintly relieved to be able to do something they preferred over socialising with the governess. They took what appeared to be their regular seats in the room, and folded their hands on their empty desks, waiting to be impressed.

‘Very well then,’ she said, and waited for something to fill the blank void in her mind as to what would happen next. Perhaps it was best to discover what the children already knew, before attempting to educate them further. ‘Please, children, gather the books you have been working in and show me your progress.’

They remained unmoved, still in their seats, staring out at her.

So she reached for the nearest book, a maths primer that had given her much trouble when she was their age. She opened it, paging through the equations. ‘This would probably be yours, wouldn’t it, Lily?’ She arched an eyebrow, for she had seen the girl’s name written clearly inside the front cover. ‘Show me how far you have got.’ And please Lord, let it be not far, for Daphne had given up on that particular subject before she was halfway through the text.

The girl took the book sullenly and flipped through pages until she was nearly at the end.

Daphne gave a nervous laugh. ‘My, my. How well you are doing. Perhaps I will allow you to tutor your brother.’

Lily gave her a disgusted look. ‘He has been this far and further for at least six months.’

Daphne narrowed her eyes. ‘Then perhaps I shall allow him to tutor you. Edmund!’ She smiled and turned suddenly upon the boy, to catch him making faces at his sister.

He had the grace to look embarrassed at being caught, and then his expression turned as sullen as his sister’s.

‘Lily says you are good at maths. Is that your best subject?’

The boy raised his chin and said, ‘I prefer reading.’

‘Do you? Well, we can not always do what we prefer, but I wish for our time together to be enjoyable. What is it you like to read? We will see if we can incorporate it into our studies.’

He went to the shelf and brought down a book that was almost as big as himself, and held it out to her. ‘Plutarch.’

She smiled feebly. ‘In Greek.’

He nodded. And she could tell by his smile that he knew he had bested her.

She turned to Lily. ‘And I suppose you enjoy Plutarch as well?’

‘Yes. But not so well as Edmund.’

‘Then we must see what can be done to encourage you.’ She pointed to the front of the room. ‘Edmund. Today, you may read to us. I wish to hear you declaim. Choose your favourite passage.’ She walked to the back of the room and took a seat.

The boy began in a clear, unwavering voice, reading with what she supposed was accurate and enthusiastic inflection. But the prose was, quite literally, all Greek to her. She had no idea how to correct him, or if it was even necessary. So she chose a polite and interested expression, similar to the one Lily was wearing, and folded her arms across her chest. It would be possible to spend at least an hour of the school day, if the passage was long enough. By then, she would think of some other trick with which to keep them occupied.

There was a slight pause in the reading, and Edmund said something, still in Greek.

There was another slight pause, which she suspected was just long enough for the older girl to translate something she did not expect to hear in the reading. And then she stifled a laugh.

So they had realised she knew little Greek and were going to have fun at the expense of the governess. ‘Please return to the text that is printed before you.’

She must have guessed correctly, for Edmund responded with a look of surprise, and fear that she had understood whatever rude thing he had said.

She glanced over at the younger girl, Sophie. Unlike the other two, the child was doing her best to be obedient. She sat quietly, staring down at the hands folded in her lap, and shooting glances out the window, when she thought no one was looking. The poor thing clearly wanted and needed to run and play, but was afraid to call attention and risk punishment.

Yesterday, it had appeared that the girl liked to draw. Perhaps with paper and pencils, and a little peace, she would find a way to express herself. ‘You do not have to sit through the lessons if they are too advanced for you, Sophie.’ She spoke softly so as not to alarm the girl. ‘I’m sure your turn will come with Plutarch, before too long. But for now? Perhaps you would prefer to draw instead. I promised you your art things, didn’t I? And now I’ve got the keys, I can give them to you.’

She opened the cabinet in the corner and found a rather nice selection of pens, brushes, paints and crayons, and paper of a quality that made her almost envious of the little girl. Then she prepared a place at the table near the window, where the light would be good for drawing.

Sophie smiled in relief, and climbed up on to the chair, taking the pencil eagerly and stroking it and the paper as though they were more precious than china dolls.

Then Daphne went back to allowing the boy to teach her his Greek. Edmund continued to recite, this time with a tired voice that said that he understood well what she was trying to do, and that the whole thing bored him to tears.

There was a limit to this, she thought, before it became plain to everyone that she had no idea what she was doing in a classroom. When she had hatched the plan, she had thought that she might occupy the children for a few weeks before they caught on to her ruse. But if they had tumbled to her within hours?

The Duchess was right. They were as sharp as needles. Too clever for their own good. But since the house made little effort to hide its secrets, perhaps she would not be here long.

And what was to happen to the children, if that was so? They seemed just as stubborn about remaining in the house as their father did in sending them to school. But if their father would admit to his crime, and accept punishment for it?