Page 8 of The Defiant Governess
Jane stared in confusion. “Oh, how lovely,” she exclaimed, taking in the polished pine dresser and armoire arranged to one side of a simple painted bedstead. “Are you sure this is for me?” she blurted out. “Surely this isn’t a servant’s room?”
Mrs. Fairchild smiled again. “We want you to be happy here.” As she said those words, Jane noticed a slight cloud pass over her face. But just as suddenly it was gone. “I’ve had Polly bring you a pitcher of water to freshen up with. When you are ready, come back down the same way we came up and ask Glavin—he is that imposing figure you met by the door, but I assure you he is not such a dragon as he appears—to bring you into the drawing room.” A pause. “Is there anything else you need?”
Jane shook her head, and when Mrs. Fairchild had closed the door, she sank onto the bed, her head in a whirl. She knew that she should consider herself more than fortunate in havinglanded in such a seemingly agreeable position. She sensed that she and Mrs. Fairchild would rub along very nicely together. But now that she had finally arrived and was sitting in a modest little room with none of her familiar things or faces around her, the enormity of what she had done finally overwhelmed her.
She had to fight back tears as she remembered the two nights at an inn, having to take her supper in the common tap room rather than a private parlor ... having to endure the leers and comments of the men as she made her way to the tiny room consigned to a female traveling alone. A room where the sheets were suspect and the floor unswept.
Jane rose and splashed some water onto her face, then regarded her own reflection in the small looking glass above the washstand. Did her chin really have a defiant tilt? Did her eyes truly storm like an angry sea when she felt passionately about something? Though Thomas had teased her countless times on those counts, she couldn’t see it herself. At the moment, she saw only a stranger—a plain, bespectacled young woman dressed in a Quakerish gown of brown muslin, with mousy hair drawn into a severe bun.
And that woman looked frightened.
After contemplating the image a bit longer, she straightened her shoulders, the look of apprehension replaced by one of resolve.No, she vowed,she wouldn’t be cowed that easily. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to give up so soon and return home to accede to her father’s dictates.
No, she would meet the challenge.
Bucking up her courage, she dried her hands and proceeded downstairs.
Glavin showed her into an elegant drawing room which, like the rest of the rooms she had seen, was decorated with exquisite, yet understated taste. She was about to comment on the furnishing when she suddenly realized she shouldn’t becognizant of such things. So, swallowing her words, she silently took a seat on the couch on the spot that Mrs. Fairchild had indicated and folded her hands primly in her lap.
Mrs. Fairchild busied herself with pouring two cups of tea, and it was only after she had passed one of them to Jane and liberally sugared the other one for herself that she spoke.
“I’m sure you are anxious to hear of your duties here at Highwood, and to meet your charge.” She paused to take a sip from her cup, while Jane dared not lift hers for fear that her hands would shake. “You will be expected to teach Peter his letters, history, geography and—you do speak French, do you not?”
Jane nodded.
”And French. You may decide the hours of your schoolroom, however you shall also be expected to look after him during the rest of the day as well—Cook has threatened to give notice if another gooseberry tart is knocked from the windowsill or if spiders keep appearing in the cream jug.”
Jane had visions of an incorrigible little monster and her face must have betrayed her thoughts for Mrs. Fairchild quickly added “Not that he is a naughty child, for indeed he is not. It’s just that he is...well, I think he is lonely. The family nurse was forced by her health to retire two years ago and since then...” A sigh punctuated her words. “It is very quiet around here, Miss Langley, as you will soon discover. It is perhaps not an ideal place for a child to grow up, with no family …” She stopped abruptly.
“Did he not have a previous governess?” inquired Jane.
“She did not get along with children.”
Jane wondered exactly what that enigmatic statement meant. “I hope I shall manage better,” was all she could think of to reply.
There was a moment of silence while once again Mrs. Fairchild sipped her tea in a thoughtful manner. “I shall be frank with you, Miss Langley,” she said, looking at Jane with a penetrating gaze. “The last governess was dismissed because I discovered her beating Peter.”
“She beat a child? How awful!” exclaimed Jane, unable to keep from speaking out.
“Yes, I thought so too. And so I have gone to great pains to discover a suitable person to come to Highwood, someone I hope will stay for some time. I like you, Miss Langley, from what little I’ve seen of you. I trust you will be a good and kind companion to Master Peter.” Again, a troubled look clouded her face for a moment. “And now, I think you should meet your charge.”
She rang the bell that was sitting on the side table. Almost immediately the door swung open and Glavin ushered in a young boy who seemed pathetically small in contrast to the tall, bony butler.
“Come, Peter,” smiled Mrs. Fairchild. “Make your greetings to Miss Langley. She is to be your new governess.”
Jane watched the boy approach the couch warily, a pair of sea green eyes studying her intently from under a tousled mass of dark curls. His gaze betrayed a mixture of trepidation and defiance. He ducked a quick bow, but then sidled close to the housekeeper, practically hiding behind her ample form.
“Now, now,” Mrs. Fairchild gently chided. “Miss Langley will think you sadly lacking in manners if you don’t greet her properly.”
“Welcome to Highwood, Miss Langley,” The words were mumbled and the eyes were now studying the tips of his shoes.
“Thank you, Peter,” replied Jane, giving the boy her warmest smile. Indeed, it wasn’t difficult, for her heart had immediately gone out to the frail-looking child.
She knew the look in her eyes would have caused her brother much apprehension, for he would have claimed that he spotted the beginning of what he called “Jane’s crusades.” Jane felt he exaggerated—just because she was always the one to rescue a stray animal or lecture a tenant on the cruelty of beating a tired farm horse didn’t mean anything other than that she disliked seeing the weak or helpless being taken advantage of. And though she admitted that no other female of her age or rank had shocked the drawing rooms of London by speaking out on the plight of juvenile chimney sweeps, she didn’t think that made her a crusader, just a concerned individual.
Forcing her thoughts back to the present moment, Jane offered the boy a plate
“Won’t you join me in having a cake? They are quite delicious.”
