A Most Unusual Governess (12 page)

When he had discovered she had had such a difficult life, he had wanted to help her, to make things easier for her, and that was something he had never felt about any woman. As he had never felt admiration or respect for a woman before he had met Sarah.

But their encounter in the picture gallery had taken things to a new level. It had aroused the whole mixture of feelings in him, and they were so strong that he did not know if he could control them.

In the midst of many feelings that were uncertain, one thing was crystal clear. He could not remain in the same house as her without his feelings developing further. And as he was not prepared for this to happen — as he was not prepared to find that his feelings for a governess were beyond his control — it would be better for him to remove himself from the Grange and return to London right away.

Just for a moment he wondered whether... but no.

Hadn't he saved Dom from making a similar mistake?

But that was because Miss Yardley had been Dom's inferior in every way, not just in the matter of birth. She had been vulgar and ignorant. Whereas Sarah...

He cut off the thought before it could flower, because he knew it was impossible. He had gone too far in the matter of Miss Leatherhead to pull back. Although he had not yet made her an offer he had paid her marked attention throughout the Season and if he did not propose it would be seen

as a slight. She did not deserve that; particularly as it would jeopardise her chances of making a good match elsewhere.

No. He must stick to his original plan. He must go to London.

He had been meaning to go before the house party anyway, as he needed to talk to the General about the radical problem, and to see if any more clues to the agent's identity had been discovered. He would simply bring his journey forward by a few days.

A week in the capital, he told himself, spent amongst the most highly regarded members of the ton, would soon remind him of his place in the world. And on his return he would be able to see Miss Davenport for what she truly was: the governess of his little niece, and nothing else.

But even as he thought it, he knew, deep down, that he was deceiving himself.

It was wet. The summer sunshine had broken at last, giving way to a day of storm clouds and rain. Sarah was sitting with the children in the schoolroom, where Lucy was engaged in working a sampler whilst the boys were occupied with their Latin prep.

13ut are you sure?' broke out Peter for what seemed like the hundredth time, looking up from his work.

Yes, Peter, quite sure. Your uncle left instructions for you to continue practising your concert, so that you will be able to entertain his guests.'

Peter shook his head with a worried frown. 'But he seemed so certain that we weren't allowed to meet his guests. He said the house party was for adults.'

Your uncle was tired,' Sarah explained. 'He didn't mean to be so harsh with you, but he had had a difficult day, and on top of that one of his favourite mares was ill. He was bad-tempered and out of sorts, and that's why he said you were not allowed to meet his guests. But once he had had a chance to think it over he realised what a good idea it would be for you to put on an entertainment, and he left me a letter telling me to make sure that you were word perfect by the time he returned.'

I'm already word perfect,' said William, who had been spending every spare minute learning his passage from Milton. 'I know my speech inside out and upside down and back to front.'

'And I'm note perfect - at least, nearly,' admitted Lucy truthfully.

'But he seemed so sure,' said Peter again.

'Oh, come off it, Peter,' said William loftily. You're just trying to make yourself important by going on about it. Miss Davenport's told us we can do the concert a hundred times. And if Miss Davenport says it, then it's good enough for me!'

Sarah was forced to smile. William had become so much more confident over the last few weeks. He had also become much more used to mixing with the stable hands, and the phrase "If Miss Davenport says it, then it's good enough for me!" was an almost e
xact copy of Reuben's phrase, ‘I
f the master says it, then it's good enough for me!"

Though quite what "the master would think of his nephew picking up words and phrases from the stable lads Sarah dreaded to think!

It had come as a surprise to her to discover that he had left for London, but although she had thought it odd, she found that she was nevertheless secretly relieved. Her feelings towards her employer had become increasingly complex and it would not do for her to let those feelings run away with her. He was an earl and she was a governess; he was her master and she was little more than his servant. And besides, there were rumours floating round the village that he was about to propose to Miss Margaret Leatherhead - an eminently suitable young lady who came from an old and well-connected family.

No. She must not let her feelings run away with her.

It was not as though she was in love with him.

True, he was the most devastatingly attractive man she had ever seen, and true, he made her aware, for the first time in her life, that she was a woman, and he a man, but that was not love, she told herself. Nor was the rapport they shared which made everything seem more interesting when she was with him. It was respect, understanding, attraction, esteem, she told herself, but not love.

'Did he really say we could have our concert?' asked Lucy, seeking one last reassurance from Sarah.

Yes,' said Sarah, giving the little girl a hug. 'And now, if you're still not quite note perfect, I suggest that we practise your song whilst the boys get on with their Latin verse.'

The two boys pulled a face.

'Oh, well,' said Peter, I'd rather do it here with you than with old - I mean, Mr Haversage.'

That's no way to talk about your tutor,' said Sarah firmly. She knew the boys didn't like Mr Haversage, but she was not prepared to encourage them in their dislike for a man who, although she did not like him herself, was good at his job.

'Even so,' said Peter, with a burst of the high spirits Sarah had known him to be capable of, I'm glad Mr Haversage isn't here. Only because,' he went on with a change of tone as he saw Sarah's warning face, 'only because I don't want him to come back to work until he has had a good holiday.' 'I know exactly what you meant,1 said Sarah sternly, and Peter, with one look at her unrelenting face, decided he had better drop his barbed comments about his tutor and pay attention to his work instead.

But although she had treated Peter sternly, Sarah could not help agreeing with the boy, and thinking that she, too, was not sorry that Mr Haversage was talking his annual leave.

The schoolroom was a much pleasanter place without him.

* * * *

'Mrs Smith's compliments, miss, and here's a picnic for you to take and have as your lunch.'

Martha spoke respectfully as she handed Sarah a small wicker basket, and bobbed a curtsey as she did so. It's a long way to the ruins, so Mrs Smith says,' continued Martha. You 11 be wanting something to eat when you get there.'

Thank you, Martha,1 said Sarah, taking the basket.

The leave at Watermead Grange was generous, and it was time for Sarah's day off. The weather was good and she intended to explore the ruins Mr Haversage had told her about some weeks earlier. She had not liked to follow his suggestion then in case he had taken it into his head to go with her, but now that he was safely on holiday she decided to go and see them.

Martha bobbed another curtsey, and after she had gone Sarah put the finishing touches to her toilette. She had trimmed her hat with the primrose ribbon and was wearing her yellow muslin gown. It was surprising what a difference her ribbons made to her outfits. By matching the colours she had almost managed to make them look chic. Almost, but not quite, she thought with a rueful smile as she looked in the cheval glass. Because no matter how new her straw hat, or how bright her ribbon, her gowns were still unmistakably shabby and old. But with her next month's wages...

With her head happily full of the fabrics she hoped to buy in the future and turn into new gowns she set out at last for the ruins.

The walk was enjoyable, but when she arrived Sarah was surprised to find that the ruins were nothing more than a large tumbled-down house. From the way Mr Haversage had talked about them she had been expecting a ruined abbey or some such thing. Still, she spent an interesting half hour walking amidst the ruins of the house, imagining the people who had lived there and picturing in her mind's eye what the house must have looked like when it was standing. After which she settled herself down in the shade of one of the more complete walls and opened her picnic hamper.

Mrs Smith had packed her a mouth-watering selection of pastries, including a chicken pasty and a small venison pie. There was also half a loaf of bread, a piece of ripe cheese, an assortment of fruit and some lemonade.

As Sarah ate, she felt deeply relaxed. The birds were singing and a gleam of sun showed through the clouds, brightening the otherwise dull day.

And after lunch, she thought to herself, I will explore further afield before going back to the Grange.

She ate her picnic with enjoyment and then, when she had finished, she stood up and brushed the crumbs from her muslin dress. She was just about to put on her straw hat, which she had laid aside before she had started to eat, when she had the strangest feeling that she was being watched.

She turned round slowly, but there was no one there. She had a good view all round her for some thirty feet before the walls of the ruined house rose here and there from the grassy ground, but she was definitely alone. Chiding herself for becoming as jumpy as a corn-fed thoroughbred, Sarah deliberately forced her nerves to calm themselves before putting on her straw hat. She tied the yellow ribbons under her chin, but as she pulled the bow tight she again had the feeling that she was being watched.

This time she couldn't make herself believe it was just nerves. The feeling was too strong to be denied. There was someone, she felt sure, somewhere behind one of the walls.

She began to feel alarmed.

She had wanted to explore further after her lunch, but now she changed her mind. All her enjoyment in the day was ruined, and she decided to head for home.

Home!

But yes, in some way she did not fully understand, Watermead Grange had become her home.

She picked up the picnic basket. As she did so she caught sight of movement out of the corner of her eye.

Who's there? she called. Her voice, she was pleased to discover, held no trace of nervousness or fear.

A minute later a figure emerged from behind one of the ruined walls, and Sarah nearly laughed out loud.

'Mr Haversage!' she exclaimed.

'Miss Davenport,' he said, coming towards her with a smile.

'But I thought you were in Ramsgate, visiting your sister,' she said, with far more enthusiasm than she would usually have shown for the boys' tutor. She was so relieved to discover he was not a footpad that she could even bear the thought of walking back to the Grange in his company!

'My sister was feeling rather tired - she is in a delicate condition, you understand - and so I decided to cut short my visit and return a day or two earlier than planned. She refused to rest whilst I was staying with her and I didn't want her to overtax her strength, so I told her I needed a few days to prepared the boys' lessons. After that, she was happy to let me go a little sooner than arranged.'

'But what brought you to the ruins?' Sarah asked, as Mr Haversage fell into step beside her.

'I had time on my hands, and I have never been here before. It seemed the perfect chance,' said Mr Haversage. 1 didn't startle you, I hope?'

'No,' Sarah lied. She did not want him to know how nervous she had been. 'But I thought you had been here before,' she said with a frown. 'Surely you told me you knew the ruins well?'

'No.' He answered her forcefully.

'Oh, but I'm sure '

'No. You are mistaken.'

Sarah did not press the point, but she began to have a return of the nervousness she had felt when she had known that she was being watched. Because Mr Haversage had definitely told her, several weeks before, that he knew the ruins well. Still, it was only a coincidence that he had met her here - wasn't it? He couldn't have come back even sooner than he had admitted to, could he, and knowing it was her day off, followed her from the Grange?

No. Of course not. Why would he?

There was an uncomfortable silence. And what do you think of the ruins? she asked at last, breaking the silence and with an effort keeping her tone light.

They are pleasant enough, but they are not as fine as the ruins at Reculver. Have you seen Reculver Towers?' he asked her. They are splendid; right on the coast, with the sea just a stone's throw away.

Sarah, with her mind only half on the conversation, murmured, 'No.
I’ve
never been to Reculver.'

Then you must let me take you there sometime.'

He spoke pleasantly but Sarah felt the small hairs rise on the back of her neck. Some instinct told her that he was not to be trusted, and she began to be afraid. She was alone with Mr Haversage, and far from help.