Drops of Gold (5 page)

“You believe I intend to dismiss you?”

“Yes, sir.” She kept her gaze fixed on her feet.

“And you acknowledge I would be justified in doing so?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“So long as we understand one another.”

Marion nodded her defeat. She had next to no money and absolutely nowhere to turn, and she’d just been discharged after a mere three days of employment.

“Only promise me you will not teach Caroline such dignified exclamations as
double dungers
,” Mr. Jonquil said. “I would have a difficult time explaining that to my mother.”

The hint of laughter she heard in his voice brought her gaze back to him. For the slightest of seconds, she thought she saw amusement in his eyes. The look disappeared so quickly she wondered if she hadn’t imagined it in her distress.

“You aren’t dismissing me, sir?” Her shock did not allow for a more subtle approach.

Mr. Jonquil seemed to ponder the question for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then, with a look akin to resignation, he shook his head.

She still had her position, although her employer seemed to offer the respite begrudgingly. Once again, she had some degree of security, even if temporarily. Relief like she hadn’t known in some time seeped through her. She felt her lips turn up as her heart lightened. “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!”

He shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable with her exuberance.

“I’ll not disappoint you, sir. I promise!”

Mr. Jonquil rose from his seat behind the desk and walked to the fireplace, turning his back to the flames as if to warm himself. “We had little luck with the nursemaids before you,” he said, his face unreadable. “I will expect you to be an improvement.”

“Yes, sir.” She kept herself to the simple answer, though she longed to ask a hundred questions. Why hadn’t he dismissed her? What had the others done wrong? In what way did he expect her to be an improvement? When was the last time he’d had his hair trimmed? She knew for a fact she’d never ask the last question.

“You absolutely must learn your place, Miss Wood.” His tone was firm yet not unkind, as though he were offering her sage advice, trying to help her out of a predicament.

But, she reminded herself, wasn’t he doing just that? If she didn’t learn her place, she’d find herself without a position.

“I will not tolerate chaos in the household,” Mr. Jonquil added.

“No, sir.” Marion felt remarkably impressed by the appropriate subservient tone with which she’d spoken.

Mr. Jonquil made no note of her improvement. “Mrs. Sanders informed me of the terms of your employment,” he said. “Which brings us to another difficulty.”

Marion had a sudden vision of the housekeeper with eyes pulled so tight by her severe hairstyle that they were hardly opened. She had to bite on her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“What difficulty is that, sir?”

“My housekeeper insists she hired a nursemaid as I requested.” He gave her a look that absolutely demanded a reply.

“I am not a nursemaid, sir.” She had sunk but not
that
low.

“Obviously.” Something like a chuckle shook his words.

“There has been a disagreement between Mrs. Sanders and me.” She might as well confess. “She insists she thought she was hiring a nurse, but I was hired to be a governess.”

Mr. Jonquil didn’t reply. He just watched her, as if trying to decide whom to believe. “She told me you are to have Sunday mornings off in addition to one full day off each month and one week of holiday for the year.”

Marion nodded, feeling more composed.

“And you are to receive twenty pounds per annum.”

“Thirty, sir,” Marion corrected before she even realized she’d spoken.

That eyebrow arched.

For a moment, she wavered. He obviously didn’t believe her. Mrs. Sanders
had
stated her wages at thirty pounds no matter what she insisted now. “I was promised thirty per,” Marion insisted.

“You are accusing my housekeeper of cheating you as well as misstating your employment?”

“No, sir,” Marion replied cautiously. “Perhaps she is simply mistaken.”

Mr. Jonquil watched her for a moment. Marion tried to look more confident than she felt. Then he said, “Her word carries greater authority than yours does.” Did he sound apologetic? A little, at least?

Marion shrugged. “Probably because she doesn’t say things like
double dungers
.”

A ghost of a smile crossed her employer’s face, lightening it and making him look years younger. “That might have something to do with it.”

Marion smiled back. If Mr. Jonquil knew half the homespun grumblings she’d invented over the years, she’d lose every ounce of credibility she had.

“Thirty pounds per is a generous wage for a nursemaid,” Mr. Jonquil said, almost as if in warning. He probably didn’t believe her. He had no reason to.

“But not for a governess.”

“True.”

“I
was
promised thirty.”

“By whom?”

“Mrs. Sanders.” Marion’s wariness grew. “She said as much in the letter she sent offering me the position of
governess.
”

“Do you still have the letter?” He looked doubtful.

“I do, sir.” Marion had realized within her first twenty-four hours at Farland Meadows that Mrs. Sanders was unnervingly inconsistent. She’d come to think of the housekeeper as the ogre guarding the castle tower in which Marion was being held prisoner. Picturing her with green skin and chin hair made Mrs. Sanders easier to endure.

“I would like to see the letter, if you please.” Mr. Jonquil held out his hand—his large, masculine hand. Hers would be positively dwarfed by it were he to hold her hand.
Now
that
was a rather inappropriate thought to have about one’s employer
.

Mr. Jonquil cleared his throat, and Marion realized, to her chagrin, that she was staring at his hand.

“I don’t have the letter on my person,” she finally said, feeling more and more like a damsel in distress.

A look of disapproval crossed his features. Obviously, he thought he’d caught her in a lie.

“It is in my room, sir.” She held her chin up.
She
had been treated unfairly, denied salary, and made to look dishonest in front of her employer.
She
was the one locked in the castle dungeon. Mr. Jonquil was proving a very inadequate knight on a white charger.

“Retrieve it,” he instructed. “I would like this misunderstanding cleared up.”

Oh, how tempting it was to salute, to call him “guv’nuh” when he gave her that haughty look. She’d been in his company only twice in her life, and yet she’d already come to dislike when he got high in the instep.

Marion shook her head at herself. She, the governess, thought the master of the house arrogant because he had given her orders? She was one of his servants.
Time to come down from the tower and back to real life
.

“You don’t care to show me the letter?” he interrupted her silent self-castigation.

Realizing she’d been standing on the spot, shaking her head, Marion nearly laughed at her own stupidity.

“I will just be a moment, sir.” She kept her arms firmly at her side, lest they creep to her forehead and she find herself being saucy again. Being an ideal servant was harder than she’d imagined.

Mary Wood was going to be a handful.

Layton ran his fingers through his hair. He could understand Caroline’s fondness for her new governess. Miss Wood was energetic and full of life and . . . strangely enjoyable. How hard it had been to keep a straight face as countless emotions had flickered through her eyes. It had obviously taken tremendous effort for her to keep to the “yes, sirs” and “no, sirs” to which she’d apparently decided to limit herself. That was taking her pledge to rein in her tongue a little far. But Layton had no plans to tell her so.

He pulled the bell tug, and a footman instantly appeared at the door.

“Have Mrs. Sanders come here.”

While the message was being delivered, Layton stoked the fire. He’d probably be better off letting Miss Wood go. Accusing the housekeeper of lying would certainly be grounds for dismissal. He had to find a way around that problem because he’d promised Caroline that her Mary could stay.

Layton sighed and leaned against the mantel. If only she weren’t so attached to Miss Wood. The poor child had been through so many nursemaids. If one had only stayed for more than a few weeks, she might not be clinging so desperately to her governess.

Governess!
For a four-year-old! It just wasn’t done. Someone so young should have a nursemaid. Then again, they hadn’t had much luck with nurses. Layton couldn’t for the life of him understand what drove them away so quickly. Caroline had always been a little shy, but that certainly couldn’t account for six defections in the past year and six more in the three years before that.

“You wished to see me, sir?”

He recognized his housekeeper’s voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Sanders.” Layton walked back to his desk. “I would like to know what you think of our new Miss Wood?”

Mrs. Sanders looked understandably confused—they’d discussed Miss Wood only a half hour earlier, though not in detail. “She is . . . very cheerful.” Mrs. Sanders didn’t seem to approve of cheerful.

“I have noticed,” Layton said. “Is she competent?”

“I couldn’t really say.” Mrs. Sanders’s brows knit. “She is, perhaps, a little free with her speaking. Tends to ramble, she does. I believe she lets her mind wander a bit too often.”

“She’s young,” Layton offered as a reason.

“Twenty next month, I believe.”

She somehow seemed younger than that. Naiveté, maybe. The seven years’ difference between their ages felt more like decades.

Miss Wood returned, a little out of breath, her cheeks pink as though she’d run from the nursery wing, two stories above the library. Her eyes found Mrs. Sanders, and beneath the flush of exercise, she paled.

So she’d been fabricating. Why did that disappoint him?

Time to play the diplomat.

Layton held his hand out to Miss Wood. Her hand shook as she placed a piece of folded parchment in his hand. He was tempted not to open the blasted thing. Six nursemaids and now the governess. Why on earth couldn’t he find someone who met even the basic requirements?

Mary had seemed so promising. Caroline adored her. She was educated. When she wasn’t talking like a street urchin, she had the accent of the upper class. She’d already affected a positive change on Caroline—the girl had chattered that afternoon as though she hadn’t a shy bone in her body. But lying about the terms of her employment was inarguable grounds for dismissal. With Mrs. Sanders as witness, Layton had no idea how to avoid discharging her in spite of his promise to Caroline.

Managing to hold back a sigh of disappointment, Layton slowly unfolded the letter.

Miss Mary Wood,

I am pleased to offer you the position at Farland Meadows in Nottinghamshire. The position includes Sunday mornings free as well as one day off per month and one week per year. I am prepared to offer you a salary of thirty pounds per annum.

Layton stopped. “Thirty pounds per annum.” In his housekeeper’s handwriting. He felt his jaw clench, even as his stomach unknotted. Miss Wood had been telling the truth. But how, he wondered, would Mrs. Sanders explain her insistence that the salary was twenty per?

He hazarded a glance at the governess. She wrung her hands in front of her, still pale and unwilling to meet anyone’s gaze. It seemed she still expected to be found at fault, despite the evidence she’d produced.

And what servant wouldn’t? He himself had pointed out that her position did not hold the weight the housekeeper could claim.

He read on.

We are in immediate need of your services. If you reach Farland Meadows by Christmas Day, you will receive a full quarter’s salary upon arrival.

Yrs., etc.,

Mrs. Sanders

Housekeeper, Farland Meadows

“What day did you arrive at Farland Meadows, Miss Wood?” Layton kept his eyes on the letter in his hands.

“Christmas Eve, sir.”

“Good for you,” he replied, frantically thinking his way through the muddle around him. He didn’t want dissension among the staff, so he needed to tread lightly. He would not, however, tolerate a servant being cheated. “Seven pounds, ten. Worth the effort, I am sure.”

There was a heavy pause. Layton looked up at Miss Wood. She fidgeted, shifting on the spot as if reluctant to reply. Her eyes darted to Mrs. Sanders, and an unpleasant suspicion began sneaking through Layton’s mind.

He turned his eyes to Mrs. Sanders, who, though she maintained her unruffled exterior, seemed a touch uneasy.

“Miss Wood praised your generosity, Mrs. Sanders,” he finally said. “Bonus pay and thirty pounds per annum.” He held the letter up so the housekeeper would know she couldn’t deny it. “It would seem I have a most capable housekeeper. Considering the rate at which we went through nursemaids, I applaud your efforts.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mrs. Sanders replied, looking all boosted confidence. Something about that rubbed Layton wrong.

“And intuitive to hire a governess this time,” Layton added. He watched indecision flit across Mrs. Sanders’s face. He hadn’t failed to notice the vagueness of her offer of employment in Miss Wood’s letter. “Perhaps that will make the difference we have been looking for.”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Sanders apparently decided to take credit for a decision Miss Wood claimed she had denied previously.

“I have kept you overlong, Mrs. Sanders,” Layton said.

She nodded and left, her dignity intact, though Layton’s opinion of her had lowered. He sincerely hoped she’d simply remembered wrong during their earlier conversation and that Miss Wood had misunderstood Mrs. Sanders’s explanation. But then, there was the matter of the bonus offered. He hadn’t yet determined how to reconcile that.