Love on Assignment (5 page)

“I do my best. And I'm sure my father did as well. I forgave him for his shortcomings years ago. There was no point in holding a grudge.” A dusting of salt coated his spectacles. With a clean handkerchief he rubbed the glass until it smeared. “I enjoy my children, but my work demands my undivided attention. That's why I hired you, Miss Hale—so I can catch up while you watch over them.”

“Yes, of course, sir. Could you tell me something about their daily routine?”

“Daily routine? Yes, they have one, of course, though we've not kept to it since my mother became ill. Let me see. They arise at seven or eight o'clock, eat breakfast and . . . Actually, I'm not quite sure what my mother does with them all morning. At any rate, they have lessons in the afternoon—a Bible story, piano practice for at least an hour, and then silent reading. They also write short essays and work a few arithmetic problems.”

“They have lessons all afternoon? What about play time?” Miss Hale asked as the gentle breeze loosened strands of mahogany brown hair from beneath her plain straw hat.

Wasn't reading their favorite books the best type of play? “As soon as my mother comes home from the hospital, you might ask her how she schedules their activities and chores. Child care is her bailiwick.”

“Yes, sir. But may I suggest we add a large dose of outdoor activity so they won't be tempted to slide down the staircase on silver trays?”

He gave a sheepish smile. “As long as the children aren't too noisy. I don't want their enthusiasm to turn into rowdiness. I insist they act in a decorous manner.” He winced at the noise of boys running around the lawn. He tried to keep order, but he really needed his mother to take charge. “Or at least I try to.”

Miss Hale's eyes twinkled. “But they must have some fun as well. They're only children once. Why not let them frolic to their hearts' content?”

“A solid afternoon constitution is good for a child's health, but it cannot impede upon progress with their studies.”

“Even while it's summer and school is out? Shouldn't the children be free to do as they please? At least to some extent?”

She stopped by the rocks, jammed her hands onto her tiny waist, and held his gaze. He doubted Miss Hale realized how bossy she sounded. And looked. Her apple cheeks blushed red and those chocolate eyes snapped with conviction. She'd make an excellent governess as soon as she understood he was the employer, not the child to direct and correct. Daniel snuffed out a chuckle.

“Children should always be supervised and guided. Too much freedom leads to bad behavior and a chaotic household—which is exactly what I had before I hired you. I expect things will run smoothly and quietly now that you're here.” He quirked a brow and tightened his lips with mock sternness. “I'm not mistaken, am I?”

Doubt flickered across her face. “No, sir.” She colored an even deeper shade of red and turned back toward the house. “Perhaps I should collect the children and begin.”

“Excellent. My children will be glad to show you around the cottage and help you find Mrs. Finnegan for your key.”

As soon as she disappeared inside the cottage, the children buzzing about her, he let out a hearty laugh. Charlotte Hale brought on a grin and lifted his spirits, though only time would tell if she was up to the challenge of managing the children.

THREE

C
harlotte fled from Professor Wilmont, her face ablaze. Why didn't she say, “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” and stop injecting her views on raising children? Her scant experience minding the neighbor boys—or raising her little sister—counted for little. In the newspaper office with Mr. Phifer close at hand, she never dared to voice her opinion. No one asked her questions and she didn't volunteer any suggestions. That attitude earned her a reputation as a cooperative employee, a strong enough endorsement to secure her first assignment.

So why wasn't she as tactful with the professor? Nerves, no doubt. But if she failed to hold her tongue, Professor Wilmont might send her home in disgrace. From now on, she'd act like the ideal governess—seen, not heard. This was her job, right? On two different levels. She merely had to imagine herself at the newspaper office rather than “at home.”

Charlotte took a breath and entered the foyer behind the children. She jumped as an elderly woman bustled toward her, a snowman come to life—three balls sitting atop each other. The sash of her starched apron pulled tight at her expansive waist right below a round, ample bosom. Above, a circular face as white as pastry flour grinned broadly with blue button eyes and an oval mouth full of crooked teeth. Her head was crowned with an off-center silver-white bun tucked beneath a hair net and a small cap that resembled a doily with streamers trailing from the back. Promptly, the woman sent the children off to wash up.

“I'm Mrs. Finnegan just back from my sister's funeral, God rest her soul. And I'd wager you're Charlotte Hale, new governess to my dear little ones.” Her brogue sounded musical and friendly.

Encouraged, Charlotte smiled. “Yes, I am. I'm pleased to meet you.”

“Well, I'm delighted to meet you as well. I can certainly use help with the rascals. I'm not old by any means, but I'm not a spring chicken, either. I've been watching over them while their grandmother convalesces. Then my dearest sister passed on, God rest her soul.”

“Who has been watching over the children in your absence?” Charlotte asked.

“Simone, Mrs. Wilmont's maid, helped out with Ruthie and Tim while I was gone. And thank the good Lord she was willing. It's a fine job she did, but they need their own governess, not someone to fill in.”

Mrs. Finnegan looked close to seventy, but she was as spry as a forty-year-old. And as chatty as a little girl.

“I wasn't planning on staying away, but families need a lot of looking after. My sister Minnie left six good and two good-for-nothing children. 'Tis well they're all grown and on their own, but still very sad for them. And for me.”

“I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, dearie. Now you're probably looking for your room key. Come with me.”

She followed Mrs. Finnegan to the children's wing on the second floor. Her key ring jangled at her waist. They strode into a cheerful playroom—bookshelves and toy chests resting against bright yellow walls, and an elaborate train set in the middle of the floor.

“This is your room, Miss Hale, right next to Ruthie's and across the playroom from Tim's. You'll take all your meals with the children up here.” Mrs. Finnegan pointed to a small table in the corner of the playroom. “Sometimes they eat with their father in the dining room. Then you'll come down to the servants' hall off the kitchen unless you're invited to stay with them. It's fine food they serve in this house, even to the staff.”

Charlotte nodded as she entered the bedroom she'd call her own for the next week or two. “This is lovely.”

A breeze stirred the muslin curtains in the small, sunny chamber facing the sea. She inhaled the salty air laden with humidity. An oak bureau with a mirror, a washstand, a small wardrobe, and a white iron bedstead provided everything she needed. A rag rug gave a burst of color to the floor while an easy chair by the window added comfort. Charlotte opened her valise and hung one frock and three skirts in the wardrobe.

“Here's the key to the drawers. Always keep them locked. We've no thieves in this household, but it's always better to be safe than sorry. That's what I always say.” Mrs. Finnegan chugged toward the door. “I'll be back in two shakes with your uniforms.”

“Uniforms? I assumed I'd wear my own clothes.”

“Then you weren't counting on Mrs. Wilmont. She insists everyone wear uniforms.” Mrs. Finnegan hesitated. “But maybe with you being a governess she'll allow a plain white shirtwaist and black skirt. As long as you don't look like a fine society lady, she probably won't object too loudly. But just in case she makes a fuss, I'll get the uniforms.”

Charlotte nodded and looked to the window, watching wave after wave wash up on shore. Why did wearing a uniform make her feel more like an imposter than ever? Dragging her gaze from the view, she turned to finish unpacking her valise, placing clothes she would apparently not need, in the drawers.

The housekeeper returned with an armful of light blue uniforms for morning and black ones for the afternoon and doily caps with streamers. “Here you go, dearie.”

She ran her fingers over the rough stitching of the doily cap and placed the pile of clothing on the bed. She'd never wear such an ugly thing. Would they notice?

“Thank you. As soon as I change my clothes I'd like to meet with the children.”

“I sent them to the kitchen for a snack. You will find them there.”

Soon after, Charlotte came across the youngsters munching cookies in the kitchen. It was tucked away in the basement so the cooking odors and heat from the ranges would be confined. Dressed as a governess in a black uniform dress with white collar and cuffs, Charlotte grinned with feigned confidence.

“Good afternoon, children. Your father said you'd show me around the house. Would one of you like to lead the way after you finish your cookies?”

“I shall.” Ruthie wiped her hands on a linen napkin and put her plate into the sink. “I'm the only one who knows where everything is kept.”

“Shall we start right here in the kitchen?” Charlotte glanced around the enormous room that boasted two stoves, two large iceboxes, a pie safe, and food preparation tables. Countless pans with shiny copper bottoms hung from a ceiling rack. She glimpsed the chef and kitchen maids retrieving items from the pantry.

Now was the perfect time to begin her investigation. Though she didn't expect to find anything of significance in the kitchen, it would be the perfect setup to explore the entirety of the cottage.

“I'm ready to begin.” Ruthie kept up a running stream of conversation to the annoyance of her brother who tried to chime in without success. The young girl gave a complete tour of the area, spouting far more information than Charlotte would ever need. With Ruthie in charge and obviously enjoying the attention, the tour proceeded slowly, which was fine by Charlotte.

She followed Ruthie through the first floor rooms, peeking into every nook and cranny. Obviously bored, Tim ran ahead and hid, attempting to startle them in each new room. They passed marble fireplaces, antique French furniture, and enormous gilt-framed mirrors that startled Charlotte each time she caught a glimpse of her prim reflection. A mouth seamed shut, a frown at her brow—she certainly looked tense. She tried to relax, but she couldn't pretend composure when her nerves sizzled. They toured a morning room, drawing room, game room, library, back parlor, and dining room.

Professor Wilmont saluted the three of them with a wave as they trooped by his study.

“I'm showing Miss Hale around, Papa.”

“Me too,” Tim chimed in.

Daniel looked over a stack of papers. “Thank you, children. I'd come along, but I have tests to correct.”

Ruthie's mouth drooped. “That's all right, Papa. I know you're busy.”

But she quickly brightened as she gave Charlotte a tour of the second floor bedrooms.

“Summerhill has twenty-two rooms,” Ruthie said proudly. “Would you like to see all of them?”

Charlotte laughed. “Goodness, no. That would take all day. Tell me, why do you need such an enormous house?”

Ruthie shrugged. “I don't know, but I believe it's Grandmother's idea to keep Summerhill. And it's convenient for Papa to walk to his classes. He only needs his bedroom and office, but Grandmother wants a lot of room to entertain her friends when she's not sick.”

They worked their way down the hall, stopping by several of Ruthie's favorite guest bedrooms, now empty. “When Grandmother is well we have a house full of guests—but not very many this summer. Let's go to the playroom.” At the far end of the hallway, Ruthie turned into the children's room. She pointed out every game, book, and toy in the spacious area. “Why don't we play dominoes?” For the next hour Ruthie beat Charlotte at the game, and when they finally arose, Ruthie had a satisfied look on her face.

They returned to the hallway, and Charlotte glanced up at a steep, narrow staircase leading to the third floor. “Is there anything up there besides the attic?”

“The servants' quarters.” Tim answered. “The attic is on one side and the servants' rooms are on the other.”

“What do you think about exploring the attic?” Excitement spun through Charlotte's chest. The attic was the perfect spot to unearth hidden letters or some other hidden evidence of Daniel Wilmont's shadows.

“The attic? I don't think so.” Ruthie shuddered.

“No? And why is that?” An attic conjured up images of brass-bound trunks and boxes, a real treasure trove of rags and riches. Who knew what might be buried under old blankets and out-of-date clothing. Some information pertinent to her investigation might lurk just a short distance away. Or was she allowing her active imagination to take over?