Page 42 of The Defiant Governess
There was a dead silence between them. Finally Jane spoke up in a barely audible whisper. “I will be leaving Highwood tomorrow morning. I think it best.”
Saybrook’s jaw clenched and unclenched as if he might speak. Instead, he spun around on his heel and hurried away.
Feeling numb, Jane gathered up her basket and shears. The array of freesia, lilies, roses and gladiolas, a moment ago so gay and colorful, now seemed lifeless—poor stems cut off to wither away. She walked slowly towards the house, hardly able to take in that this would be the last time she would tread that path.
As soon as she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Fairchild’s hands flew to her face. “Goodness, child! Are you alright? Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing, really,” she lied. “My headache has come back, that’s all.” She put her basket on the table. “I shan’t be down for supper.”
Mrs. Fairchild nodded sympathetically. “You go right up to rest, my dear.”
“I’ll fix you a nice tisane,” added Cook as she came round from the pantry.
At that moment, Henry burst through the back door. “Is there something amiss here?” he inquired, a troubled look on his weathered face as he surveyed the three of them.
Mrs., Fairchild and Cook exchanged concerned glances. “Why, not that we are aware of,” answered the housekeeper. “Why do you ask?”
Henry shook his head in dismay. “It’s the master. Just now, he came to order Hero saddled—he was in a rare mood, I might add. And then, he pushed little Jimmy outta the way in order to mount.”
He paused, still shaking his head. “Lud, I’ve never known His Lordship to be unkind to a servant, not ever! And the look on his face—it was enough to make your blood run cold.” He looked around. “Something must have upset him something terrible.”
Jane turned and left the room without a word. Mrs. Fairchild regarded her retreating form with a concerned look.
“Oh dear,” breathed the older lady, twisting a handkerchief in her thin fingers. “Oh, dear.”
Jane saton her bed staring at the trunk filled with her meager possessions which now awaited a footman to carry it down when the carriage arrived. A curt note had accompanied her supper tray informing her that it would do so at eight in the morning. As she glanced out the window she saw that William Coachman was indeed pulling to a stop in front of the main entrance. She heaved a heavy sigh and collected her reticule as a knock sounded on the door. She would never see Highwood and its people again, and that stabbing thought nearly brought on the flood of tears that wouldn’t come last night.
Last night had been beyond tears. She knew that she had to tell Peter herself. After she heard Mrs. Fairchild bring him upstairs to bed, she went to his room. Enfolding him in a hug, she haltingly explained that she must be leaving. She gave no reasons of course, just simply said that she must go.
Instead of crying or begging her to stay, as she expected, he had reacted as inscrutably as his father. He merely stared at her with the same sea-green eyes and held her hand very tightly. It had been infinitely worse than any words.
This morning the deep smudges under her eyes revealed that she had found but little sleep during the rest of the night. She paused to look in the small mirror one last time.
Goodbye. Goodbye to Jane Langley.
Downstairs, Mrs. Fairchild dabbed at her eyes, then took Jane’s hands in her own. “We shall all miss you very much, my dear,” she said. “Promise that you will write to assure us you are well-settled. I wish that you might reconsider …” She trailed off with a questioning look
Jane shook her head. “It isn’t possible,” she said in a carefully controlled voice.
The housekeeper withdrew a large purse from her apron. “His Lordship sends you your wages,” she said hesitantly, holding it towards her.
Jane took it slowly, noting its weight. “Why, it’s far too much,” she whispered. Opening it, she counted out exactly the amount that had originally been agreed upon. “That is all that is due me,” she continued and placed the purse on one of the carved hunt chests.
“But Miss Jane,” remonstrated Mrs. Fairchild. “You’ll need funds to live on while you find a new position. And you’ll need this, have you forgotten?” She placed a crisp envelope in Jane’s hand. “A reference,” she added. “You must have one in order to secure work.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Jane took the proffered letter and mechanically pushed it into her pocket. “I shall manage,” she added. forcing a smile.
Turning her head, she saw that the parlor maids, the scullery girls and the footmen—even Cook and Glavin—had gathered in a subdued group. Quietly, one by one, they wished her well. At that, she finally felt the sting of tears.
“Thank you,” she stammered, then fled outside.
William nodded a greeting to her as he opened the carriage door.
“Can you take me to Hawley where I might catch the mail coach?” she asked.
“His Lordship says I am to take you wherever you wish to go, Miss.”
“Hawley will be fine.”
