The summer breeze was playing catch with Rachel's untied bonnet strings as she ran with abandon in the woods, her feet finding the invisible paths with the ease of old familiarity. "Catch me if you can, Goldie!" she shouted at the little mongrel dog yapping merrily behind her, making it jump in an attempt to snag the lilac ribbon she was waving tantalizingly in its face. Sweeping a stray flower that was lodged in a loose curl, Rachel threw it at her follower who snapped at the unexpected offering ecstatically. Her joyful laughter rippled across the peaceful surroundings.
Born and brought up in the old Parsonage of Little Hanstead, Rachel had been rushing to the woods surrounding her house since she had been able to walk properly. The woods were her friends during her rare fits of temper, her confidants about her secret dreams, and the place where she could let her spirit roam free of the constraints which the Regency society imposed upon young unmarried girls of eighteen.
Slowing her pace as she neared a tiny brook gurgling from a rock, Rachel sat down to appreciate her favorite time of the day. Rachel was no fairy-tale heroine who conversed with birds and beasts (that is, any beasts other than Goldie) - but living in a small community with sociable parents left a girl with little time to herself. She was the middle child in a family of five children; her sisters Grace and Lucinda were older than her by seven and six years respectively, and her twin brothers Neil and Stanley were unexpected arrivals who came into the world ten years after her. Though they were a close-knit family, the great disparity in age between her sisters and her on one hand, and her brothers and her on the other, left Rachel rather short of close companions at most times; a child for the elder ones and a substitute parent for the younger. The other village children made for good playmates in childhood, but they simply could not keep up with her quick mind after a point. Her gregarious nature made her many friends, but Rachel's real solace was in the world of books, music and trees where she could simply be herself without catering to the world's views.
Rachel Warren was one of the delights of the neighborhood - a pretty young woman with the aquamarine eyes of her grandfather and the waist-length mahogany curls of her mother, balancing her staunch righteousness with a happy disposition. Slender and lithe, her bookish nature belied the hardy physique derived from regular rambles in the wilderness. Her lack of proper education never deterred her and by the age of fourteen years, she had already exhausted all the books available in the parish and had learnt all the musical instruments which the Church organist and the neighborhood boys could teach her. When her elder sister Lucinda married a university professor from London, an adolescent Rachel spent many delightful evenings browsing in the London bookstores and later debating with her brother-in-law about the critical values of their favourite books under Lucy's benevolent eyes.
Grace was not as fortunate as Lucy in her marriage, but was equally satisfied; her husband owned a bakery in a neighboring county and, though they stayed in a cramped lodge with his three brothers and their own two children, they loved each other and enjoyed working together. As for Mr. and Mrs. Warren, they were the sweetest example of married life Rachel had seen in her life. Her mother was a hyperactive little woman whose day started at cock-crow and ended at midnight, and yet seemed to fall short for all the things she wanted to accomplish. She ruled her household with a stern hand and managed to look after her family as well as the multitudes requiring her attention in the parish. The Parson, on the other hand, was a dreamy and abstracted gentleman; a born scholar, and not much good for anything else. They both were like the archetypal opposite poles, whose very nature depended on the existence of the other.
Surrounded by such love and joy Rachel reached her nineteenth birthday without any cloud marring her undemanding world, and greeted the day in her usual way - with an early jaunt in her beloved woods before the house woke up.
The fresh air had whipped bright color into her cheeks when she returned to her room in order to remove her outdoor clothes and get ready for breakfast. Ever since Grace and Lucy got married, she had had the bedroom to herself and now, it boasted of her individuality. A large oil painting in crimson and violet hues lent startling color to an austere white wall, and a crisp royal-blue curtain embroidered with sprigs of white heather fluttered in the gentle wind from the bow window on the opposite wall. Her collection of wild bird feathers were treasured under a glass case near the window, and her modest wardrobe nestled in the closet beside the walnut rocking-chair bequeathed to her by an aunt.
The one note of feminine vanity present in this cheerful room was struck by the intricately wrought wooden mirror which stood six feet tall and was lovingly polished every fortnight- not merely for its intrinsic beauty, but also because it was a gift from her father to her mother in their days of courtship, and Rachel's romantic soul could never forget the fact. Her single bed, covered with a cheerful blue-and-pink counterpane, was cramped in a corner with the double bed awaiting her sisters' occasional visits to the Parsonage and completed the sparse furnishings of the room.
Humming to herself lightly, Rachel entered the library to call her father for breakfast. She knew his habit of locking himself away from the world while working on one of his sermons, and having to be gently reminded of his surroundings and the passing time when occasions demanded his presence - occasions like breakfast, tea and dinner, she thought whimsically. Knocking lightly, she peeked into the room.
"Papa? Papa, are you done? It's time for breakfast."
"Breakfast?" The Parson looked up with a harassed, mildly quizzical expression - an expression which Rachel was familiar with from her childhood. "Is it time for breakfast already? Oh dear, I was hoping to finish this last paragraph before …ah well, never mind. Thank you for reminding me, my dear."
He stood up with a fond look on his face. He always loved to see his daughter's face first in the morning, since the boys were still at the unfortunate stage of childhood which is too loud for a retiring gentleman and his wife, good lady that she was, was always too busy in the kitchen and gardens to greet him with the calm cheer which Rachel exuded. He suddenly stopped on his way out, and turned back with a puzzled look on his face.
"Er, Rachel? Isn't today special for some reason? I can't seem to recall…" he trailed off at the sound of his daughter's ill-concealed giggle. "Well," he said somewhat testily, "what is there to smile about? I asked you a simple enough question, didn't I? It's just that I had reminded myself firmly about it yesterday, but now it seems to have slipped my mind…"
"Don't worry too much about it Papa, I'm sure that it will come back to you in time," she soothed him, while inwardly laughing at the idea of informing him herself that it was her birthday. She wasn't that forward, at least not yet!
They were intercepted on their way downstairs by the loud whoops of two nine-year olds, whose main aim at the moment was to attack the food on the table with all the gusto of healthy youth.
"Good morning Neil, Stan," Rachel said evenly, with a warning glance at their father who was currently trailing behind her distractedly, trying to remember the 'important event'. Though he was very mild-tempered on the whole, Mr. Warren disliked displays of unruliness and the boys had learnt to tone down their actions in front of their father. They immediately quietened, but perked up on remembering something else to shout about.
"Happy birthday Rachie!" they shrieked simultaneously. "Many, many happy returns of the day! We've got a present for you - it's a penny-whistle, made by the blacksmith's boy himself. Now you have your own musical instrument!" they simultaneously beamed at their elder sister with benevolence unsuited for their tender years.
The Parson brightened up on hearing the first part of their exclamation. "So that was it - today is your birthday, Rachel! A very lovely day for it too my dear, a lovely day indeed. I hope you will have a beautiful and interesting year ahead."
Rachel thanked him earnestly, savouring his simple wish from the bottom of her heart. She loved her family dearly, but her absent-minded father occupied a very special place in her heart. Before she could devote much thought to that, she was engulfed in her mother's arms; and between that, the good wishes of their maid Cassie and the boys' lovely present, Rachel thought that her birthday had got off to a very good start indeed.
Though her sisters couldn't make it to the Parsonage on her birthday, they both managed to convey their love for her in their own ways. Grace sent in a fine-looking birthday cake through her youngest brother-in-law, who arrived in good time to not only wish Rachel, but also to sample some of the cake himself before returning. Lucy, in collaboration with her husband Paul, managed to get hold of a book which Rachel had been secretly longing for since many months and posted it so accurately that the parcel arrived the day after Rachel's birthday, evoking many squeal of pleasure and gratitude from the young lady. Her friends in the neighborhood dropped in at all times of the day to wish her, and nature also rewarded her with a clear and sunny day, just like her father had predicted. Life seemed to be a fragrant bed of roses for her - and she had no inkling that Fate was waiting to strike soon.
A week after her birthday, Rachel returned from her early-morning walk as usual to remind her father about breakfast, only to find him slumped over his Utopia in an unnatural posture. Rushing over to him, she shook his shoulders - first gently, and then frantically. "Papa…Papa! What has happened? Oh, please wake up, for heavens' sake!"
Repeated entreaties and ministrations resulted in no response. Panic-stricken, she sent up the alarm and a white-faced Neil was sent flying to the doctor; but all to no avail. The kindly man, who had been at the births and sicknesses of all the Parsonage children and was an intimate friend of Mr. Warren himself, had the unsavory task of informing the distraught family that it was already too late, and the old gentleman was with them no more. Unknown to any of them, the parson was suffering from a weak heart and that morning, his heart gave up the fight quietly.
The chaos which this news plunged their family was heart-rending. The faces of the two boys seemed to lose their entire glow and they suddenly seemed to grow up, albeit in a very bewildered way, fumbling to know what went wrong with their world all of a sudden. Their mother, Mrs. Warren, stared uncomprehending at the walls of her room for hours on hearing the news and when she finally came out, she seemed to have lost most of her assertiveness and spoke in hushed and uncertain whispers. The married daughters rushed up to their childhood home with their husbands as soon as possible upon receiving the news and wept unashamedly in each others' arms, while their husbands awkwardly tried to take care of the official affairs inseparable from the death of the man of the family.
All this while, Rachel Warren went about her duties with mechanical preciseness. After the first bouts of disbelief and horrified sorrow had passed, she set about to give her adored father a decent farewell. She calmed the maid Cassie's hysteria perfunctorily, sent her brothers to a neighbor's place to be with children their own age, made hot tea and served her weeping sisters and mother, arranged her father's room to receive his body and looked through his scattered papers with her brothers-in-law. Her body kept on working while her mind just kept up one refrain,
"Your father is gone for ever. For ever. Now nothing will be the same again. Never again."
The fortnight after Mr. Warren's death passed away in a whirl of condolences, documents and numb sorrow. No one had fully comprehended the extent to which the gentle Parson impacted the society around him. Vague though he might have been in matters of his own welfare, he never forgot a person in need who depended upon him. His curate, a pale lad of some twenty three years, was almost weeping while speaking at his funeral - and the event itself was attended by the entire village. Even the ancient grand-uncle of the grocer managed to hobble up three miles from his tumbledown cottage to pay his last respects to the man who had unfailingly visited him for the past twenty years.
The more sordid changes initiated by his death intruded once his funeral was over and the grieving party returned to the Parsonage. The widow and her unmarried children now had no place to live, and a very meager income left. The next parson would be coming within a month to take up lodgings, and the Warren family had nowhere to live.
Both Grace and Lucinda were staunch in their offers of shelter, but reality soon provided a rude check to their declarations. Grace was already living in crowded quarters, with her two children and three brothers-in-law as well as her husband and mother-in-law. They were not very well off, and Mrs. Warren put her foot down about inconveniencing them further.
"Not a word more, Grace," she declared with a momentary return of her old manner, and Grace shut her mouth with a pout more suitable to her two years-old daughter. Her vehemence about helping was due in part to her awareness of her sister's limitations in the field. Lucy and Paul had been married for only four years, and their house in London was not big enough to accommodate everyone comfortably. Paul's income was generous, but taking care of Stan and Neil's education a few years from now as well as Rachel's marriage and the expenditure of Paul and Lucy's own daughter Minnie (not to mention any future children) would put serious strain on his pockets.
Rachel sat pondering quietly in the background while the others discussed all avenues available to them. Finally she made up her mind and with a grave face, stood up and motioned for attention. Everyone looked quizzically at her.
"I think I might have a convenient solution to this dilemma. But first of all, please let me express how sorry I am that you all are in this situation. It is no one's fault, but it seems very unfair that making a tough decision is being forced on you all. I have formulated an idea and would like your opinions on its plausibility. Paul, Lucy, do you think you can keep only Mother and the boys without me? Will there be enough space in your house?"
The couple looked at each other in silent communication for a minute, before they nodded and Paul spoke up, "First of all Rachel, this may not be our fault, but it is not your fault either, and you have nothing to be sorry for. My father-in-law's death is a blow the like of which we had never experienced before, and he was more my father than my own parent, whom I never had the chance of knowing for long. I believe I speak for both of us when I say that this is mine and Harvey's family as well…looking after it would never be an imposition. As for your question about accommodation, the answer is 'Yes'. We have just enough space to manage that, I think - if the boys agree to share. But where are you…"
"Please, just a minute more," Rachel held up a hand, imploring him for patience. Her eyes brimmed with gratitude for his kind words. "I have something to ask of Grace and Harvey as well." She turned towards her curious elder sister and genial brother-in-law. "Do you think that you might take care of a small allowance for the two boys while they're growing up? You see, the little money which Mother has now can be kept in trust for the boys' education later on, if it were not used up for their everyday requirements on a regular basis. It doesn't need to be considerable, but can you please see that they are given some money to themselves so that they can maintain their honor before their peers?"
A look of relief swept the faces of the four people in front of her and Rachel deciphered them accurately, if a little cynically - in spite of his declarations, Lucy and Paul were reassured that they wouldn't have to burden themselves with all the expanses of a big family, while Grace and Harvey were pleased that they could contribute without too much trouble to themselves.
They immediately replied in the affirmative, and Rachel felt a great load lift from her shoulders. Though she hadn't doubted her sisters' loyalty, she was still not sure that her plans for her mother and brothers could fructify to everyone's approval. Just then, all heads swiveled around as a wavering voice was heard from a dark corner of the room, where Mrs. Warren had ensconced herself.
"What about you, Rachel? Where do you fit into this arrangement?"
"I have decided that I will take up some kind of post, either as a companion to some old lady, or as a governess."
The first reaction from everyone present was instant denial. None of those gathered there could conceive of their Rachel going out into the world to earn her living while they were around. She was too young; there will be time enough to work later. Governesses and companions had a hard life and little respect from their employers, and their livelihood was always precarious. To let Rachel tread her path alone in the unknown forests of a hostile world was inconceivable.
But Rachel stayed firm to her word. She had thought it out carefully, and knew that she was the one factor which was tilting the balance precariously for her sisters and brothers-in-law - they might love her a lot, but providing her with a sustenance, perhaps even a Season as was common in their society, was a financial drain on their already thinning purses. Besides, becoming governesses, mother's helps and companions were accepted futures for impoverished genteel women like herself, who were without any security. So what if she was starting on the path a little too soon?
"If I could earn my living in this manner," she had mused, "my accommodation and boarding problems could be solved without disturbing anyone. Besides, once I start earning, I could set aside a little money that can be added to the boys' education fund and reduce mother's burden at that time!"
As for marriage, she had stopped thinking about it the day her father died. She knew that she could never earn enough to put aside a substantial sum as dowry, and in any case the idea of selling herself to a 'desirable' suitor had become repugnant to her. "If it were in my stars," she though petulantly, "I would get married even without a dowry, so why bother?"
Throwing her head back proudly, she countered all her family's well-intentioned but feeble arguments. The day had well progressed into evening by the time Rachel managed to carry her point across; but the ultimate triumph, sad as it was, was hers.
The advertisements were forwarded within a few days of Rachel's decision. It was decided that since they knew all that families in their own shire and there were none that could afford to pay a governess or companion well, Rachel needed to apply in the London newspapers to get a job in some prosperous household. Though Paul assured her that she was welcome in his house while she hunted for a job, Rachel was secretly determined that she would depend upon her relations as least as possible. She could well guess how easy it could be to sour their relationship, and she was frantically resolute that she would do everything in her power to avoid that, for her sake as well as her mother and brothers'.
Her luck held true and she received three answers in reply to her advertisement within days. The first one offered her the post of nanny-cum-governess to four children, 'perfect angels' of two, four, seven and twelve years; all boys. Her sisters rejected it outright, stating that this job would run Rachel ragged within a week; and anyway, small boys could never be 'angels' - they always favoured the opposition party. The second post was to look after an old woman of 'eighty summers', to sew and cook a little for her while taking care of her paper-work, besides reading to her and 'being a companion', of course. A little bit of judicious probing turned up the fact that this old lady was in fact Lady Agatha Sumerholme, a grande dame who had gone through thirty-eight companions within fourteen years and was reputed to be an extremely hard task-master. While that in itself didn't bother Rachel a lot, the rumour that Lady Agatha did not respect her companions and treated them like inferior beings made her waver in her instinct to take the well-paying job. Rachel did not shirk from work, but she did not think that she could survive in an atmosphere of expected servility.
Now there remained only the third offer and everything concerned, it did seem like the best offer out of the three. It was a post in the country to look after the upbringing of two girls of twelve and fourteen respectively. The pay was generous, she would get Sundays off, and the house was not too far off from London; she consoled herself that she could easily reach Lucy's house on Cresswell Street in an hour if she used the post coach, stay the day and return before nightfall. Rachel decided to reply back and see what kind of employer she might be getting.
The interview took place on Saturday and was wholly satisfactory to both parties. Mr. Herringford was a pleasant person of some forty-odd years, well-kept, with graying brown hair and a nice (there is simply no other word for it, thought Rachel to herself) smile. He was a landed gentleman from Surrey, and lived at Carillon Hall near the village of Denbries; a large house which, he claimed good-naturedly, was a steady old place in spite of the fanciful name some romantic ancestor burdened it with sixty-nine years ago. He had one son elder to the two girls Rachel will be teaching, and another son who was eight years old whom she would be expected to look after on occasion.
Herringford liked the clear eyes of the girl in front of him, her youth as well as her sturdy self-dependence. He was a gentleman and decided to look out for his new dependant at all times. Her story was, alas, one heard too often nowadays, and as her employer he would try his best to make sure that she was always treated as the lady that she was, in spite of her reduced circumstances.
Rachel was very appreciative of her good fortune in managing to get a job in a family which seemed to be as good as this one sounded. Mr. Herringford said that she could move in within a week. Thus the interview concluded, with mutual regard and hopes for the future.
Many silent tears were shed the day the Warrens left the Parsonage of Little Hanstead. Friends and acquaintances crowded their house for the last time, promising to keep the Warrens updated about every occurrence and offering all manners of assistance. Young Robert, the chemist's assistant who had harbored a secret crush on the late Parson's pretty daughter for a year, had to hold back his emotion and satisfy himself with pressing Rachel's hand fervently before stammering out an incoherent farewell. Poor Cassie bawled outright and had to be consoled by Mrs. Warren that they will be fine, they will be with Miss Lucy, Miss Rachel will certainly be all right, they will always keep in touch. The twins went about the house telling each other stories of their childhood related to each and every corner of the building, and Mrs. Warren fondled her favourite pieces of furniture over and over again with a sweet, tremulous smile on her face. Rachel instantly went outdoors and for the first time in weeks, sobbed her heart out in the loving seclusion of her trees, away from the eyes of her family for whom she had to remain tough at all times.
They could not carry everything away with them, since Lucy's house was already furnished and Grace didn't have much extra space. Rachel bid her little room farewell with a heavy heart, and patted her feather collection one last time - she was going to give it to Daphne, a young neighbour who had been fascinated with the pretty colours for years and will hopefully take good care of it. Her walnut rocking-chair mercifully found a home with Grace, and the Mirror of Love was among the few things claimed by Mrs. Warren herself as one of her memories of her late husband. Rachel was very glad about that, since as a governess her luggage would be minimal. Besides her clothes, toiletry items and penny-whistle, she only took her father's beloved Utopia as the last thing which had consoled him in this world, and a framed sampler which she had done with her sisters when she was young. It depicted their home in spring, and the motto "God Bless Us Forever" was wreathed around it. Though it almost made her cry when she espied it, Rachel couldn't turn away from her memories of a happier, more innocent time. It helped her to remain grounded in the belief that like happiness, sorrows also could not last forever.
Thus, after hours which appeared alternately interminable and ever-receding, the Warren family finally bundled all their worldly belongings into two carriages, said their final goodbyes to the place which had seen the widow come as a new bride almost thirty years ago, and set off towards their new lives.
"'Beautiful' and 'interesting' year ahead indeed! You don't know what kind of wish you had asked for me, Papa," was Rachel's last bitter thought as her carriage turned the corner, hiding the Parsonage from her forever.
The next afternoon saw her squeezed between two old ladies in a rattling old stagecoach, finally on her way to Demfries and Carillon Hall. Though she had wanted an early start, saying goodbye to her family proved to be more difficult than she thought.
"Why is this happening to us, Rachel? Just a month ago we were eating Cassie's apple pie in our…I mean, the Parsonage's kitchen, being scolded by Papa for shouting and thinking only of the games we had planned for the day. How can a month change us so?"
Rachel's throat choked up at Neil's pathetically simple question. Her own eyes filling up, she hugged him tightly and whispered, "Life can change in a minute, sweetie. It is no one's fault, and we must make the best of what we have been dealt now."
Stan had his own barrage of questions. "Will we never go back to Little Hanstead? What about Danny, Ron and Ralph? Are we never going to see them again, play with them? What about Cassie? My apple tree will be starting to flower this year. Who will collect the fruit from it?" Neil added, "And what about Goldie? Who will look after her?"
Rachel heaved a weary sigh. "You may always write to your friends in Little Hanstead, Stan. That is what we are going to do with Cassie, and I'm sure that everyone would love to hear your news and tell you all the exciting things they do. If you remember boys, Daphne has promised to water the apple tree and distribute its fruits among your friends. I am sure Ron, Danny and Ralph will write and tell you how sweet the apples from your trees are. As for Goldie, you know perfectly well Neil that we couldn't have brought her with us. She is happy with Danny; she likes him and he can wind her around his little finger."
She closed her eyes for a moment, her cheerful smile dropping lightly as memories of the lovable stray dog that had adopted their family flooded her mind. "At least I hope so," she added in a whisper to herself, suddenly doubtful about everything they were doing. Was it really the right thing to do, leaving her family behind at such an emotional phase of their lives?
As if answering her thoughts, Stan slipped a hand into hers and squeezed tight. "Please don't go, Rachel," he whispered. "We promise to be good. Everything's changing, and I'm scared. Mama's not acting like usual either. I want you, Rachie."
Mrs. Warren had certainly lost her usual sparkle and vigor. She just went about her chores silently, helping Lucy to arrange their new rooms and kissing her grand-daughter Minnie a lot, trying to forget her own life in the three-year old's chatter. But occasionally, she would just reach out to Rachel and stroke her curls tentatively without saying anything. Rachel understood - when feelings ran deep, words fell inadequate.
But now, she had become the surrogate mother for her two brothers and this task was only tearing her up inside. She could sense their reluctance to relinquish one of their last holds on their old lives, a sister who was always sensible and sympathetic to their distress. But what about me? she thought disconsolately. I don't see anyone to lean upon and tell all my fears about this household I will be going into. Who do I confide in about my doubts as a teacher, my ability to keep discipline with girls only a few years younger than myself, my interactions with the family as a glorified servant?
After a lot of effort on her part and earnest promises to write every day, Rachel managed to disengage herself from her brothers and caught her coach in the afternoon instead of morning. As it clattered on its way, she kept on remembering her mother's whisper, "Oh my baby girl, I will miss you more than I can tell", and the earnest looks with which Paul and Lucy placed ten pounds in her hand, making her promise to tell them immediately if she ever needed help. As the scenery rattled past her and the coach steadily took her away from her protectors, these memories warmed her heart and helped her face her foggy future with equanimity.
The post coach stopped after three hours (Rachel had changed her rosy plans of dropping by Lucy's house every Sunday, dismayed on realizing the distance) of constant movement and unadulterated boredom. Her elderly companions rigidly held on to their rosaries and disapproval of young chits like her, and the gentleman sitting opposite her spent the whole journey looking morosely at the scenery outside. Rachel wished that she could do the same but, being thwarted in this desire by the ample proportions of the lady sitting near the window, she was reduced to dismally examining her sensible grey gloves and becoming more and more dejected about her future by the moment.
Finally, the coach deposited her at a rickety coaching inn as the nearest stop to her address; and just as she was wondering about how to reach Carillon Hall without any further instructions, Rachel saw a tall man bearing purposefully towards her. Deducing correctly that he was meeting her, she waited till he reached her. He seemed to draw up short momentarily on seeing her and forgot whatever he intended to say; but he gathered his wits together in a moment, and touched his cap respectfully.
"Miss Warren? I am Andrew Fairfax, the coachman at Carillon Hall. I hope you had a good and safe journey, Ma'am. I have come to convey you to the house. If you will follow me, the buggy is this way."
Rachel tilted her head up to look at him properly. The gathering dusk made it rather difficult to notice his features with ease, but she managed to get an impression of a strong physique encased in crisp uniform, a sensitive clean-shaven face and thick fair hair under the cap. Even while making these assessments she was questioning her actions, since she had never been one to take particular notice of the opposite sex, especially one of the lower classes. Giving herself a mental shake, Rachel smiled, thanked him and got into the well appointed buggy. Settling down for a softer ride than she had had till then, she almost missed the thought as it flitted by - the reason why Andrew Fairfax intrigued her was that his voice, diction and innate poise didn't seem to fit his station at all.
Andrew felt like kicking himself over and over again. All those years of training, and he makes a basic mistake on being confronted with something unforeseen. So what if Miss Warren was not what he had been expecting? That didn't warrant his forgetting the accents expected of a semi-literate coachman. With luck, she would be too tired to notice his slip, or else forget it in a hurry. Without luck…
Ah well, the future could look after itself. In the present, he was driving this girl to her destination, which was Carillon Hall.
Rachel's first glimpse of the house, where she would hopefully spend some years, was unfortunately shrouded in darkness. Night had fallen and, though lights were twinkling inside, the grounds and the exterior of the house remained shadowy and as a result, appeared a little sinister to the tired new governess. But she sensibly told her overwrought imagination to recede firmly until it was capable of forming impartial judgments and, with a valiant smile on her lips, Rachel descended from the vehicle to approach the back-door. Her luggage was unobtrusively deposited beside her as the door opened, revealing a gaunt woman dressed in stern raiment with an expression to match.
"So you are Miss Warren? Weren't you supposed to reach in the afternoon? I hope this kind of unpunctuality is not a common practice of yours - we do not tolerate such laxity here."
Rachel hurried to soothe the woman's ruffled feathers, though she really did not feel up to it at the moment. "I'm very sorry Madam, I missed the morning coach since I was unaware of its departure time, and had to wait for the afternoon one. I will try my best not to repeat this mistake in the future."
"Humph," the woman appeared a little mollified by this instant and graceful apology, "I am Mrs. Hutchens, the housekeeper of Carillon Hall. I suppose you must be tired out by your journey, especially if you caught that rattling old coffin which plies in the afternoons. Would you like a dish of tea first, or would you like to go directly to your room to rest?"
Accepting the tea gratefully, Rachel followed Mrs. Hutchens into a small room which she deduced to be the housekeeper's sitting room, and sunk down into the proffered chair by the fire with a barely-suppressed sigh of pleasure. She could see that under her severe demeanor, Mrs. Hutchens was a kindly soul and would be an ally if treated properly. After making some stilted conversation about London and the weather of the past few days, they discovered a surprising mutual acquaintance - Mrs. Hutchens' sister's niece by marriage was none other than Cassie, the Warrens' erstwhile maid. All of the good woman's defenses fell instantly on discovering this fact.
"So you are the Miss Rachel at whose place Cassie works…pardon me, used to work? Why, God bless my soul, I have heard so many stories of you from her! She fair seems to idolize you in particular, Miss Warren. Sad was the day when your good father died. I remember how miserable the poor girl was after you people left -my sister swears that her letters were puffy with dried tears for days afterwards."
Rachel's own eyes started watering at these words. Mrs. Hutchens decided to change the topic with the characteristic English dislike of emotional displays, and started describing the household for the young woman's benefit.
"Ah well, you must be fretting about the people you will be living with now, I warrant. Let me tell you a bit about everyone. As you might know, the family consists of Mr. Herringford, Mrs. Herringford, Master Ashley, Miss Diana, Miss Alicia and Master Brian. I believe you have already met the master? Well, he is a kindly soul if ever there was one. Very conscientious about everyone's welfare, and even the servants have never had to hear a cross word from him. He loves his children a lot, and that is more than I can say for most men in his position. The mistress, now…"
Mrs. Hutchens paused at this point and looked at Rachel with an appraising eye. What she saw in the latter's face must have reassured her, for she leant forward slightly and continued, "You will not be repeating what I say here to anyone, will you Miss Warren? Fact is, you must take care to remain on the Mistress' good side. She's a lady to her feet, being the daughter of a Baronet and all; but she is a dark horse where her emotions are concerned. She is the jealous type, I believe - governesses have come and gone in a steady stream since the year Miss Diana was old enough to need one; and it is my personal belief that it must be her handiwork rather than that of the good Master or the sweet girls. Already, your pretty face and youth might be reason enough for her to think twice about your appointment. If she finds you wanting for any reason, she will not rest till she has either got you out of the house, or made your life here not worth living. Do not cross her unless it is inevitable."
Mrs. Hutchens leant back again into her chair once more, seemingly relieved at having said her unpleasant piece. Rachel was wearing a look of dismayed fascination at this point. Her exhaustion, coupled with the soporific atmosphere of the warm room, seemed to magnify the urgency in the housekeeper's voice and created a vague horror of her yet-unseen lady employer in her mind. But Mrs. Hutchens immediately went on to talk about the children, and Rachel was again soothed back into composure.
"The children now, they are darlings. Mr. Ashley is the heir. He is sixteen years of age, and is currently completing his studies at Eton. He is a dear boy, with a quiet and studious temperament, and will certainly go on to study at one of the big places like Oxford. Your two charges are Miss Diana and Miss Alicia, and as different from each other like chalk from cheese, for all that they are so close to each other. Miss Diana is the prettier of the two by popular consent, and is certainly more sociable than her younger sister. She is skilled in the art of the conversation and, though unkind people call her a young flirt, I am sure I have never seen anything unseemly in her behaviour. Miss Alicia, on the other hand, is so quiet that she seems to melt into the woodwork at times. But I know that she is wonderfully loyal and will do anything for people she takes a shine to."
She paused for a while and pursed her lips together. "The young master Brian is another kettle of fish altogether. His mother spoils him, and he is most difficult at times. Where he gets it from I don't know…you are lucky you won't have much to do with him. The girls are both bright, but from what I could make out from their previous governesses, I believe they are disinclined to care much for studies. I am sure that you will not have much problem with them so long as you manage to overcome their initial reticence. You seem to be just the sort to bring Miss Alicia out of her shell and help Miss Diana, ahem, enter her shell more often, if you do not mind my saying so."
Here she paused with a slight blush, and Rachel understood that Mrs. Hutchens had said more than she had intended to. To cover up the awkward moment, she inquired after the servants in the house.
"Oh yes, you should learn a bit about them as well. In fact, you would have met with them by now had it not been approaching dinner-time, when they are mostly busy. Thanks be to the heavens, they are mostly a hard-working bunch and do not need my ceaseless vigilance. I know that it is not a usual thing to admit, but," here she paused to give Rachel a small smile, "I have always been known to give praise where it were due.
"You will be attended to by Rosie and Sally, the two maids who will take care of your room, bring you your meals and such like. Rosie's all right - a lovely girl, though a bit under-awed by authority, if you know what I mean. Sally, on the other hand, is a bit more difficult to handle. She is rather spiteful when she feels threatened, I'm afraid…I have seen her claws coming out for Rosie more than once when she doesn't know that I'm within hearing distance. But she's a diligent girl for all that and good at her work, so we tend to overlook her less than satisfactory personality. The cook's name is Mrs. Talcott and the kitchen-maid is Violet. You will like Mrs. Talcott. She loves to mother everyone around her, and plies them with food and optimism till they are fit to burst with good cheer."
She paused here to give Rachel what would have constituted an almost-wink in less refined people. Her startling bonhomie was starting to unnerve the young girl to some extent. "The gardener is Mr. Roberts, and you must take care not to walk on his newly laid flower beds, or else I would not be answerable for the consequences. You have not met the butler Mr. Garner yet, have you? You will see him soon enough; he is a quiet gentleman and getting on in years, but kind to the underlings.
"The footman is James Singer. A cocky upstart if ever there was one; but then, we have to be satisfied with whatever we get in these troublesome days, what with most young men traipsing off to join the army. Since we are rather short on men servants at the moment, the coachman Fairfax doubles as the groom as well. The stable-boy and field labourers stay outside the house and you will not notice them much, I daresay; but Mr. Fairfax is the helpful sort and is often lending a hand inside the house in addition to his regular duties. He is a sterling young man, to be sure. The boot-boy is Ned Bartel. Finally, there is Mr. Meekers, Mr. Herringford's valet, a rather superior gentleman who prefers his own company to ours most of the time."
The resentment in the last sentence was unmistakable, and Rachel suppressed a smile. "You will probably have your meals in either your room or the schoolroom with the girls on most days; but … you'll always be welcome if ever you feel like being with us, Miss Warren."
Rachel accepted this halting offer of companionship with thanks. Though it was clear to her that as a governess she was not required to mix with the domestics, she was a sociable girl and knew better than to turn away any friendly overture, especially in a new and unknown place. The last thought drifting in her mind as she finally laid her bruised bones to sleep was that if Mrs. Hutchens was anything to go by, most of the people here would be welcoming towards a stranger like her. In her currently anxious and dejected state, she would need all the assurance that she could get.
The next day dawned bright, and saw an instant improvement in Rachel's mood. Too tired last night to really look at her room before dropping off to sleep, she now awoke to find herself in a small but comfortable room with a twin bed, a broad chest which served for her clothes and doubled as a table, an olive green woolen rug near the bed and a slender chair before the fireplace. The walls were mostly left bare, but for a small mirror over the wooden chest and two beautiful ink paintings facing the door. The room was freshly painted in a pale blue, and the linens were picked out in cream to coordinate with the walls. It was all simple, but charmingly done and Rachel could see that someone had spent some thought over the governess' room.
The brilliant sunlight presented her with a panorama of old-fashioned flower beds and well-kept lawns far beneath her third-floor window. She could hear the frantic calling of birds some way off, and the fragrance of the flowers wafted her way occasionally if the wind blew in the right direction. But what delighted her most was an expanse of trees within visible distance which, though vastly different from the woods back home, still managed to bring a lump to Rachel's throat. Her rich brown curls falling over her shoulder in blissful disarray, she leant out of her window and inhaled deeply while feasting her eyes over unexpected treasures. Then with a joyful smile, she turned back to her room to begin the task of freshening up so as to be prompt on her first day at work.
Due to the distance, she completely missed seeing the masculine figure that stood within the trees and silently watched her till she withdrew from the window.
Minutes after she had put up her framed sampler over her bedstead, a knock on her door warned her about the entry of the maid into her room, and she bade the girl to enter. With a shy smile at the new member of the household the maid, who said that her name was Rosie, put down a jug of hot water on the little basin in the corner and started straightening the bed-clothes. She was slight of figure and about Rachel's own height, wore big spectacles (which seemed an odd thing for a maid to possess), and had tightly bound dark hair under a modest cap. She had a smile on her face at all times and Rachel liked her at first glance, though she seemed to be rather quiet. After finishing her chores with an efficient air, she stood before Rachel demurely.
"Would that be all Miss, or would you be requiring anything else?"
"No thank you, Rosie. You have done a very good job, and as it is I have received more pampering than is good for me, if my mother is to be believed," said Rachel with a big grin. Rosie looked up at her with interest in her eyes and a reciprocating smile glinting in their depths. Emboldened, Rachel pressed on.
"I have always made my own bed till now; Mama drilled it into us children from the age of seven."
"It is fine Miss, and this is after all my job. I am happy to have pleased you." With a sedate curtsey, Rosie backed out of the room and Rachel hurried through her toilet, making her way to the kitchen. There she found the kindly Mrs. Talcott directing the other maid Sally, who was balancing a steaming bowl of porridge and a dish of buttered crumpets on two silver trays on the way to the breakfast room. Mrs. Talcott spared a smile for Rachel amid her managerial duties, and drew her towards a kitchen chair after Sally had sailed forth under her burden.
"Come in my dear. Sorry for all that, but our recent lack of a footman has suddenly put tasks like waiting on the family on the shoulders of these girls, and they need a firm guiding hand to ensure an absence of accidents." She beamed amiably, and brandished a skillet. "What would you like to eat on your first morning here? And anyway, what is your name? I could only catch the 'Miss Warren' rigmarole, and I really like knowing people's given names since they are so much friendlier."
"My name is Rachel Mrs. Talcott, and I would really prefer to be known by that name since that's who I have been all my life. And I would love to take you up on your offer - something smells absolutely delicious and I did not have much to eat last night. I will have whatever you can provide at the earliest!"
Chuckling lightly, Mrs. Talcott turned around to the cooking range and whipped up a massive omelette for the hungry girl behind her. When Rachel was finishing her food, Mrs. Hutchens walked into the room and addressed her with a start of surprise.
"Fancy finding you here, Miss Warren! I was just about to send Rosie off to your room. The mistress has sent word that you are to meet her in the parlour in ten minutes' time, after which you can meet the children and start your teaching."
Rachel nodded and gulped down the rest of her food, her appetite diminishing at an alarming rate with every passing minute.
A polished maple door led into the handsomely fitted parlour, but Rachel was too nervous to notice anything much about the room other than the woman sitting in it. Mrs. Norma Herringford was a petite ash-blonde woman, whose stormy grey eyes seemed to be forever appraising Rachel from behind their sweeping lashes. She was not beautiful, but there was attraction in the stillness of her limbs and the elegance of her precise voice. She made Rachel feel instinctively uneasy. Though their opening conversation about Rachel's journey and educational prowess was amiable enough, the latter felt that the older woman was judging her already and was finding her sadly deficient. Her suspicions were proved when Mrs. Herringford said suddenly,
"How old are you in fact, Miss Warren? I must admit that you seem to be barely older than my Diana. I am beginning to wonder if you will be firm enough with their studies. What would you do if they flout your authority?"
Though she resented the abruptness of the question, Rachel had to admit that it was well-deserved, since she herself used to worry about this fact in her bed at nights. But now, she raised her head and met those grey eyes with her ocean-colored ones.
"I am nineteen years old, Madam. I agree that it is only five years older than your elder daughter, but I believe that authority does not necessarily come with age; it follows after both parties agree to mutually respect each other as individuals with the right to voice their concerns. I believe that my youth, instead of hindering any progress with my charges, may actually help to bridge the distance that necessarily occurs between student and teacher. I will be able to sympathize with their thoughts, since I myself will know what it is to dream and resent adults who can't understand those dreams. If they ever flout my authority, it will not bother me as much as it might bother someone who is older than their mother and believes herself to be above mutiny; and I trust that I can work around any ideas of injured superiority to make the girls see my side of things."
Rachel paused to draw a breath, and watched Mrs. Herringford covertly as she assimilated the governess' impromptu speech. It must have found approval since she simply gave a curt nod and went on to discuss timings and pay.
"You will teach the girls every morning from ten, to one in the afternoon. I would like you to take your lunch with them as you will need to become comfortable in each other's presence - however, you may take your breakfasts and dinners wherever you please. In the evenings, you must accompany your charges on a walk or ride regularly, as they require all the exercise they can get, and entertain them to the best of your ability on rainy evenings. It is your duty to see that my daughters become well-mannered and happy girls whom I can introduce in society without embarrassment. Therefore, they must learn the social graces as well as any academic subjects you might impart to them.
"That is all I require from you; and of course, you must be on hand if I need your services for Brian…he doesn't have a full-time nurse at the moment since the last girl left suddenly. You will be paid ten shillings on a weekly basis and can have the Sundays off, though I would prefer it if you would take the children to Church in the morning. If you ever need to go to London or any other place outside Denbries, you can take the next Monday morning off. I trust I have covered all the necessary points?"
"Yes Madam," said Rachel with a grateful nod. Even if her Sundays were legitimately hers and therefore the compensation of Monday mornings was only just, she suspected that the requirements of governesses were not high in priority. The Herringfords could have easily monopolized all her time and she could not have hoped for any redress of her cause.
Therefore, she thanked Norma Herringford and, on being dismissed with a gracious incline of the latter's head, dropped a curtsey and retreated from the parlour as soon as possible. She gave a shaky smile to kindly Mrs. Hutchens who was peering anxiously from the kitchen, and heaved a deep breath. The first milestone of the day was over; now, for the girls.
Rachel found the schoolroom after only a couple of wrong turns. Smoothing down her hair, she stood outside the sturdy door for a moment and tried to collect her thoughts. First impressions are very decisive, she told herself with a mental gulp. If they ever get to know how scared I am feeling inside, they will never respect me. On the other hand, a formidable expression will scare them. Therefore, I must appear capable as well as approachable.
She took a deep breath (she mused that she seemed to be doing this a lot lately), and remembered how her two brothers always told her that she was a great teacher and could 'beat the one at school any day'. She told herself that she was a nice person and the girls would not take an instant dislike to her (now we are getting maudlin Rachie, keep a hold on your thoughts!) and, finally deciding that dithering would serve no conceivable purpose except to make the prospect of outdoors more tempting by the instant, she squared her shoulders and stepped inside.
The schoolroom was large and airy, with a picture window facing the door. Mercifully, it was draped with curtains at the moment to prevent reluctant scholars from daydreaming about the same outdoors which was now tempting the teacher so much. The room was painted in a soft cream with touches of coffee in the furniture and rugs. Perched on twin chairs with desks in front of them were the two girls. Rachel surveyed them covertly. Her entry had not been noticed by her new students and hence, she got to see them naturally before they could become formal for her sake.
One girl was bending over her desk, drawing something on a bit of paper in front of her. She was surrounded by similar scraps of paper and by squinting a bit, Rachel could make out intricately detailed figures and animals on them. The girl herself was tiny in stature, and her long chestnut hair fell in two fat plaits down her back. She had a pale heart-shaped face with sweet hazel eyes, a rosebud mouth and a gentle frown between her brows as she contemplated the picture taking shape before her. She would occasionally twirl one of her plaits in her hands as she filled in details with sure strokes of the pen in front of her. Rachel had already ascertained that she was sketching with her school pen instead of the charcoal pencils usually preferred by artists.
"You should really be picking up all these pieces of paper before Miss Warren comes, Aly my sweet," said the other occupant of the room. She added with a giggle, "We do not want her to think that we are slovenly in our habits, or that you care more about doodling than studying, do we?"
Rachel turned to look at the other girl (Diana to be sure, if the first girl was 'Aly'). At first she appeared to be just sitting idly, but then Rachel noticed that she was actually contemplating her sister at her work with a loving smile. She seemed every inch the protective elder sister, and yet her insisting on Alicia picking up after herself showed that she was not blindly doting on the younger child. Rachel nodded approvingly. Diana knew how to balance her emotions and actions from an early stage of her life; this hinted at a promising intelligence.
She had the ash-blonde hair of her mother, but hers fell down in waves from a Madonna brow unlike her mother's straight hair that was bound up in a tasteful chignon. Her azure eyes were as alert as her sister's were dreamy, but they did not seem to be piercing like her mother's. With a figure that was already attaining an hour-glass shape, Rachel could see why Diana was considered as the beauty of the family even though little Alicia showed promise of a different kind of beauty later on. Suddenly the observant eyes of Diana swiveled around, and she beheld Rachel standing in the doorway. With a flustered squeak entirely out of character, she stood up hurriedly and dropped a quick curtsey, making sure that Alicia also saw that the new governess had finally arrived.
The first class went off better than Rachel had expected. The two girls were eager to please, and Rachel's approval was evidently enough for them to lose their initial stiffness within minutes. Rachel won their hearts when, instead of scolding them for littering the schoolroom floor with paper, she bent down to examine a few and declared them to be very well done indeed. Her quick eyes noticed that not only were the pictures of definite artistic merit, they all formed a progressive story rather than being random images culled from memory. With a delighted cry, she turned towards Alicia.
"This is such a good concept, Miss Alicia, and the etchings are so well-done, too! You must have been drawing since a long time, to have developed such a fine technique. How did you get the idea to create a story through images?"
Stammering and blushing furiously, Alicia admitted that she had been drawing since she was five years old, and that her illustrations persist in appearing in the form of stories rather than as individual scenes. She picked up all the pages and was preparing to stow them away in her desk, when Rachel put a kind hand on her shoulder and said, "Can I see the rest of the pictures too later? I would love to see where your story goes."
Leaving her shuffling her feet in pleased embarrassment, Rachel turned towards Diana. She noted the gratefulness in her eyes for the kindness shown to her sister, which instantly morphed into a slight nervousness as she realized that the attention was now on her.
"I presume you are Miss Diana? As you already know, I am Miss Rachel Warren. Can you tell me something about the standards of work you have been used to till now?"
Diana started explaining about the kinds of stitch-work that she and her sister could create, their progress with different languages and the songs which they could play on the little pianoforte standing in a corner of the room. She became more animated as she became sure of her subject and audience, and Rachel's astute questions about her likes and dislikes brought out her enthusiasm in full force. Alicia had also crept out of her shyness to hear what the older girls were talking about, and Rachel finally addressed them both.
"Well, I hope that we will all get along very well together, and not just for academic purposes either. I would love to be friends with you both. Will you grant me the pleasure, Miss Diana and Miss Alicia?"
Two bobbing heads were her response - one grave and the other enthusiastic. With a light heart, Rachel shook their hands and proceeded to discuss their progress with the samplers they were embroidering.
By the end of the first class, Rachel knew certain things about her pupils. They were both good at embroidery and crotchet, but Diana could rarely manage to sit still for the time required of such an activity. They were sweet-tempered and ready to look up to Rachel as the teacher, in spite of the short gap between their years; but, as Diana instantly made evident, they were not averse to questioning Rachel about the subjects and her personal reactions to the topics. While Diana seemed more interested in the outdoors and often unconsciously turned towards the curtained window as a sunflower groping towards the sun, Alicia was an indoors kind of person who preferred to sit still and work at art or her studies.
Surprisingly enough she loved history, but it was a secret passion as she thought it to be an unladylike subject. Her astonishment on learning of Rachel's similar inclinations and vast knowledge about British history was almost comical in its intensity.
"But Miss Warren, who taught you so much about the living conditions during the Tudor period? And how did you know about all the kings who fought in the Hundred Years' War?" In a whisper so low that Rachel almost suspected that Alicia had not meant her to hear at all, she added, "how can you admit to knowing these things?"
Rachel replied cheerfully, "Oh, the manor house in our parish had a nice collection of books dealing with British history in detail. I used to coax and cajole the old caretaker to allow me entry into the library every afternoon, and I used to sit inside that white-sheeted mausoleum of a room for hours while the light lasted. But it was all worth it in the end, as you can see. I like reading about the society of a period rather than the wars fought during that time, but since wars are an important part of history and also affect the lives of people, they have their own charm for me."
Her voice softened as she gazed at the earnest face turned towards her. "And it is no shame to admit to knowledge, Alicia. Never let anyone fool you about that. People might say that a girl's only goal in life should be marriage and that men prefer their wives to be less educated than themselves, but I always believe that we owe it to ourselves to cultivate whatever gifts God has given us. If the gifts lie in the direction of education, they should be given as much importance as a penchant for, say, singing or playing the piano. If you do not carry out your heart's desire and overlook God's gift today, a day may come when you cannot meet the eyes of the person standing in your mirror. That will be a sad day indeed, don't you agree?"
Their eyes wide open, the two girls looked at her with identical expressions of wondrous awe and nodded slowly. Without her knowledge, Rachel had created two devoted followers for life.
The rest of the day dragged on at a more languid pace. Lunch was a cozy affair in the privacy of the schoolroom, during which the two girls chattered away to Rachel about their life in Denbries; at least, Diana chattered and Alicia added the rare comment on occasion. They felt sad for Rachel on hearing about her father's death and the family's subsequent move to London under reduced circumstances, but they loved to listen to the nineteen-year old's anecdotes about her previous life in Little Hanstead. They remained laughing at the stories of the twins' antics with their gang of friends long after lunch was over, and compared Rachel's description of the woods near her old home with the trees in the woods behind Denbries during their evening walk. They remained blissfully unaware that they had just got an impromptu lesson in botany.
It was during this walk that Rachel got to hear the story which Alicia was crafting in ink at her desk in the morning. She was charmed to find that the solemn little girl had a vivid imagination mature beyond her years; though she dreamt about princesses, knights and castles like any twelve-year old girl, her stories were intricately woven and full of vibrant details. So tangible were her stories, and so quiet was Alicia as a person, that she gave them utterance through her pen rather than her voice. She drew each scene as she saw it and therefore, her stories were comprised of dozens of little pictures. The two ink paintings livening up Rachel's room were done by her as well, but they were among her rarer pictures which were of still life and therefore, complete in themselves. Rachel decided then and there to teach her younger student how to use words creatively as well, but never to stifle the natural flow of thoughts which seemed to occur in ink strokes for the unique child.
Looking back at the house from the woods, Rachel saw that it was a pleasant pile of honey-coloured bricks in the shape of a horseshoe, with the garden in the centre of the semicircular space instead of the courtyard usual in such cases. It was literally glowing at the moment with the sun's dying rays positioned behind it, and the flowers were blazing their colours forth in the golden light. It was aesthetically pleasing and she felt proud to be a part of a house which was undoubtedly old and had seen many things. In this beautiful moment, she almost laughed out loud on remembering her unjustified sense of disquiet the night before.
As the day wound to an end, Rachel pondered about where to eat her dinner. She could continue her pleasant acquaintance with the girls whom she was starting to like more by the minute. On the other hand, it would be just as well not to push any new relationship too much the first day, and giving each other space was something which she wanted to cultivate from the beginning. That of course left the option of dining in her room open, but after some thought Rachel decided to eat with the domestic staff. She still had not met everyone and the kitchen table would be an admirable place to see them all together. Besides, she admitted to herself while changing into a simple green frock for the occasion, Andrew Fairfax would be there - and she wanted to get to the bottom of the tiny puzzle regarding his voice.
After fastening a gardenia to her bun for adornment, Rachel made her way into the kitchen where she stood at the door, suddenly shy about what to do, and where to sit at the table. Naturally unsure about the sitting protocol among the servants of big houses, she was even more bemused by her own unique position there. Was she a guest, or will she be accepted as a member of the domestic staff?
Just then she was sighted by Rosie, who was bustling about with cutlery filling her arms. She let out a tiny squeak at seeing Rachel there and, cutlery and all, took her to Mrs. Hutchens who was sitting at the head of the table. The latter saw the unexpected addition to their numbers with undisguised pleasure, and quickly took Rachel's hand before directing her to the seat placed at her own right.
"This is such a nice surprise, my dear! And on your first night here too, so to say. A good decision; you will get to meet everyone now at the table."
Rachel's quick eyes were already noting all the inhabitants of the room. Most of them she knew by sight, though a pontifical being had to be introduced to her as Mr. Garner the butler, and a slender man with ginger hair and a supercilious expression as Mr. Meekers (who seemed to have graced the gathering with his presence that night). The kitchen-maid Violet was serving the food that night, and turned out to be a mousy little thing with big eyes and adenoids. James the footman bobbed his head at Rachel and sent her a cheeky grin which seemed to bear out Mrs. Hutchens' description of him nicely. She was informed that Mr. Roberts, the gardener and Brad, his son and the under-gardener, lived in their own cottage at the bottom of the garden and did not eat at the House.
The two maids were seated near each other, and she did not miss the curious stares which Sally was sending her way. Rachel tried to smile encouragingly at her, but it only had the effect of making her turn her head away with hauteur. Apparently, she did not take kindly to interaction without introduction, and Rachel was reminded forcefully of Ms. Hutchens' description of her nature. Rosie, on the other hand, gave a cheerful smile to Rachel and went on talking with the person on her other side - who turned out to be Andrew Fairfax.
He was smiling at Rosie, and Rachel almost caught her breath at the charm lent to his face by an elusive dimple and the captivating sparkle in his jade-green eyes. He was bare-headed now and Rachel noted that he indeed had springy dark-blonde hair with a delightful kink in it, which prevented his head from being as well-groomed as (she giggled a little hysterically to herself,) the head groom should be.
But then she had to school her features in a hurry, as he was looking directly at her from across the table. She acknowledged the bow being directed at her with a smile of her own, and resolved in her mind to talk more with him later - when they were not separated by the length of the table. The distance between them frustrated all her plans of getting to understand him better, but she consoled herself that she will have ample opportunities later.
The table was currently divided into small groups which were discussing topics as varied as the near-mishaps which were averted while washing linen that day, to the new foal which might be born to the mistress' favourite mare Galatea any moment, to the new governess (though certainly not within Miss Warren's hearing distance). For her part, the lady currently being discussed by the maids regaled Mrs. Hutchens and Mrs. Talcott with an account of her first day at work, especially her impressions about the girls and the house.
She was a natural raconteur with a sweet though compelling voice and soon, in spite of her low tones, most of the heads were turning towards her as she veered off into tales about her own childhood and some of the amusing things she had done as a child. She was almost unaware of the audience she had garnered, until she was startled by a snort from the bottom of the table. Bemusedly, she realized that her latest story about the apple tree and the bottle of dye had received the distinction of being honoured with the boot-boy Ned's approval, a personage not much given to jollity in spite of his tender years. Her look of surprise, coupled with Ned's horror at his unprecedented behavior, was enough to send most of the people at the table into smothered chuckles and giggles. Her impish smile followed soon after, and the kitchen rang with her own low laugh.
"I know Mr. Bartel (for such was Ned's name), that it was really stupid of me to have wanted to eat blue apples; but don't you agree that the wigging I received for watering a sapling with dye was punishment enough? My mother didn't - she made me dye my favorite pink frock with the remainder of the blue colour to remind me, err, about the proper uses of dye in a household!"
The giggles turned into open laughter on hearing this. By showing her audience that she was pleased rather than offended by the situation, she had earned their approval as a lady who had no airs about herself and soon, Rachel was bombarded with conversation from all the corners of the room. Though it gave her the stigma of being a shallow and gossipy young woman in Mr. Meekers' mind, his opinion was no great loss since he never really thought well about anyone other than himself, anyway. Sally was also huffy that the newcomer was too forward by half, laughing and talking away with abandon without so much as a by-your-leave. For everyone else, Miss Warren had just had an auspicious debut with the company below stairs.
The next morning saw Rachel discussing her proposed curriculum with her new scholars. To her distress, she discovered that they were lamentably backward in sensible though 'unladylike' subjects like arithmetic, geography and current politics, and their knowledge about English and French literature was sketchy at best even though they were conversant in both the languages. The only classics on the cobwebby shelves of a tiny cupboard housing the school supplies were Milton's Paradise Lost and Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream which, Diana admitted, was the only one of the Bard's plays which they had read so far. They were unacquainted with Latin and Italian as of yet, and their previous governess Miss Timbley applied more energy in teaching them how to net purses and write a beautiful hand than in expanding their education.
Her disapproval of etchings and narrative art had stunted Alicia's artistic tendencies and was the reason why the child was drawing with her school pens rather than charcoal the first day; she had never been taught to use the latter at any point of time, and therefore had to manage with the scratchy effects produced by a pen. Alicia had a collection of oil paintings done at Miss Timbley's instigation that were beautiful and technically correct, but lacked the fire which seemed to come out only in black and white for the little artist.
Perhaps Miss Timbley's greatest crime in Rachel's eyes was that she did not encourage the Herringford girls to widen their scope of music, citing the necessity of learning only songs which could be played in genteel drawing-rooms.
"But surely you were taught some classical pieces? You are both interested in music, and surely that is a pursuit 'ladylike' enough to satisfy your former governess' feminine tastes!"
Barely able to repress their giggles at the ire being displayed by their usually calm teacher, the girls answered together that Miss Timbley was not very musical herself, and therefore was unable to give them much guidance in the field; and since she had not suggested it to the girls' father, he had never thought of securing a master in music for them. Rachel inhaled deeply for a few seconds to cool her uncharacteristic irritation with the absent Miss Timbley. The woman's sole concern had been performance before an audience; imparting actual education to her students possibly did not concern her. Having had to educate herself by scrounging materials by any means available during her childhood, Rachel could not countenance the wastage of opportunities by people who could afford the best of everything.
"It's no wonder that these two girls are as unwilling to study as they are, if these materials are anything to go by," she told herself. Well, this situation must change now.
By the end of the morning, she had made arrangements with Mr. Herringford to borrow any books required for the girls' education from his library, and even got his permission to plan a trip into London two days hence to buy sheets of music and drawing charcoal for them. Though Ashford was much nearer to their little village than London, Mr. Herringford was determined that his children would be supplied with nothing but the best; and London would give the girls a wide range to select from. As she told Diana and Alicia later,
"And now, we must thoroughly clean the cupboard and get it ready for receiving the intellectual bounties we will be showering on it."
She got a chance to speak more with Rosie when the latter brought her dinner that night. Tired out with the cleanliness drive of the morning and the hours spent on a library ladder in the afternoon selecting the books best suited to her students, Rachel had opted to eat in her room rather than join the staff downstairs. Rosie was able to stop a while to talk as her chores were over for the moment and the staff dinner was a while later, and Rachel was soon chatting away with her easily about their respective jobs and lives.
While Rosie was rather reticent about her life before coming to Denbries, Rachel gathered that she was an only child who had recently become orphaned. She had served with Miss Miranda de Manley as her personal maid a few months before the lady disappeared sensationally in the middle of the night, and Rachel suspected that the amount of unwanted attention which she had had to bear at that time made her cautious about imparting personal information. Unlike most of the maids Rachel had come in contact with, Rosie was naturally reserved; but she was a friendly girl for all that and a willing listener to the governess' racy details about her day's battle with the spiders in the schoolroom cupboard.
Just before Rosie got up with the dinner tray to leave, Rachel asked her innocently,
"Rosie, are you great friends with Sally? I was wondering last night about the disapproving looks which she was directing at me. Did I do something wrong?"
Rosie smiled slightly. "No Miss, you did not do anything wrong at all. Sally …believes a lot in her own importance as the head parlour-maid. The previous governesses have never interacted with the staff, as far as I can make out. Since you came down and won everyone's attention so easily last night, I believe she feels a bit unkindly towards you. As it were, Miss," here she stopped for a moment, and then said with a rush, "I can't say that she is very friendly towards me either; not really."
Rachel nodded, and then moved in for the really important question.
"And what about Mr. …Fairfax, wasn't it? Are you on good terms with him?"
She watched the colour rise slowly in Rosie's cheeks even as the maid averted her eyes.
"Mr. Fairfax is an affable gentleman and, being a newcomer like myself, sort-of took me under his wings at the beginning of my job here. He is a good friend to me, certainly."
Rachel smiled, and added casually, "I was quite impressed with his diction and bearing when I saw him first at the station. Is he well-educated? Mr. Herringford is lucky to have such a smart man in his services."
If anything, Rosie's blush deepened. "I…I do not know about his education, Miss. But I find him to be as normal as any young man of my acquaintance, and I never found him affecting to be superior to his station in life. If you will excuse me, I …I believe that was the dinner bell. Good night, Miss."
She all but ran from the room. Rachel's eyes followed her hasty exit, and there was a contemplative frown on her face for a long time afterwards.
Rachel did not see the subject of their discussion the next day at either of the meal times. She gathered that Galatea was finally foaling and as the head groom, he was busy in the stables. But when the day came for the proposed shopping trip to London, she found him ready at the reins of the family carriage as she hustled the excited girls inside. James being required at the house that day to help polish the silver, Mr. Fairfax was the only male escort on their London outing. He promptly leapt down to give them a hand, and gave her a half-salute when she smiled her thanks at him. There was no time to talk unfortunately, so she settled inside as the carriage set off smoothly on its journey.
What a great difference between this ride and her drive towards Carillon Hall, nearly a week ago! The Herringfords' carriage was very comfortably upholstered, and they were almost in London before Rachel was aware of it. Of course, the amusing company was also greatly responsible for making the time fly. The three girls discussed what kinds of music they wanted to get in town, and Rachel was intrigued to hear that they were willing to try out different instruments instead of simply sticking with the pianoforte. Though she had never had any professional training with the violin and was wary of teaching it, she was adept at playing wind instruments and promised to look at beginners' flutes in the shops for them.
An hour later, they could be found in the renowned music store London Chimes poring over endless shelves of sheet music and ecstatically trying out the various instruments in the display room. While Alicia quickly tired of the bewildering array and decided to stick to singing and the piano, Diana flitted from instrument to instrument with an awed look on her face and had to be literally dragged from the store. "Oh but Miss Warren, just look at this Steinway over here! I have never heard such mellow notes from a piano before!" she gushed ecstatically. "And just listen to this - it is a mandolin, its strings are different from a violin's and it creates this unique note…" Rachel let her chatter on while filing away this information in her brain for later, and decided to ask Mr. Herringford if a music instructor could be arranged for Diana - her interest seemed to verge on passion and deserved a better tutor than an amateur like herself. And unlike Miss Timbley, I am not ashamed to admit to the fact if my student's future depended upon it, she added in her mind.
Finally they called Andrew to help them carry the several bundles of music into the carriage, and sat down with similar expressions of contentment. They had bought a simple bamboo flute and Rachel promised both the girls that if they showed aptitude for it, she will request their father to order a beautiful crystal flute like the one they had seen in the display window. As for the longing way in which Diana was speaking about mandolins, harps and violas, Rachel hoped that she would be able to give the little girl some good news soon.
Their next stop was in the store selling painting supplies and, while Diana sedately went to inspect the brushes and oil paints to replenish her own stock, Alicia looked like she was in her personal heaven. She was overjoyed at the different effects which she could gain with charcoal in her clever hands, and whipped out a silhouette of the London road visible from the window under the shop proprietor's bemused eyes. The trio left the store with enough drawing materials to last her a year.
Though Rachel's heart bled to have come so near her family and yet not see them, she knew that she could not rightfully expect anything like that now when she was in charge of two girls. She reminded herself to omit any details of her London trip in her next letter to her brothers in case they failed to understand.
I will see them on Sunday, in any case, she told herself optimistically. She knew her mother missed her. Mrs. Warren's letters were all kindly and optimistic, but still missing that spicy humour which signified peace of mind for her, and was a predominant characteristic of her letters in happier days. "Ah well, I should be happy for small mercies instead of asking for the moon," Rachel told herself wryly. At least, she's trying to remain positive.
While stopping at an inn to partake of refreshments, the young women had an unexpected encounter. As they were chattering gaily about the purchases of the day, a discreet cough behind them made them swivel their heads. Immediately, a wide smile suffused the faces of both Diana and Alicia.
"Uncle Fred! Fancy seeing you here!"
A tall man stood behind them, with his hat in his hands. He was powerfully built and appeared to be in his early thirties, though there was a worldly look about his eyes which made him look older. Dressed in the latest fashion and sporting a thin moustache as dark as his hair, he swept a courtly bow which appeared to encompass all three of them.
"Indeed, sweet ladies. I had never thought that when I set out today on the dreary round of calls I indulged in every day, I would end up having the good fortune of meeting my two wonderful nieces and," his steel-grey eyes lingered on Rachel for a disconcerting instant, "such a charming young lady, in a mundane place like an inn. This is fate indeed! Would you not introduce me to this lovely lady, dear Diana?"
Slightly flustered at her omission of good manners, Diana introduced Rachel to the unknown man who turned out to be a cousin of Mrs. Herringford, the Viscount Edgerton. Though Rachel smiled at him graciously and talked as propriety dictated, she could not help but feel vaguely repulsed by him all the time. She could not put a finger on her exact emotions, but she knew that all her instincts were telling her not to trust him and to be guarded in his presence at all times. She tried to push such fanciful thoughts away when she saw how friendly the girls acted with him.
"He can't be all bad if they like him so much," she admonished herself. "It might be the general tone of high society to act so…intimate with people they meet. I ought to feel flattered rather than repelled by the attentions of such an elevated person." And when her heart reminded her how trusting her instincts had saved her skin more than once, and that belonging to the peerage did not necessarily make a person a gentleman, she rebuked the doubting heart soundly; "It doesn't matter what I feel regarding him or not, since I will not be meeting him again. Most importantly, I should be sociable and pleasant towards a close relation of my employer's."
With such resolutions in her mind, she managed to keep an agreeable flow of conversation going with him till it was time for them to return home. He assisted them all into the carriage and, though her brain screamed that Lord Edgerton was holding her hand in a most inappropriate way and far longer than necessary, she forced herself to smile at him in thanks before sinking back in her seat with an inaudible sigh of relief. Her feelings of unease lasted throughout the return journey.
After the girls had got down from the carriage and were on their way inside, Rachel tried to collect as many rolls of music as she could to help whichever maid will be coming out in a moment to carry the rest. A soft knock on the carriage door stopped her.
"Don't you worry about them sheets Miss, I'll carry them inside for you. You go in ease; I will be along soon as I've stabled the horses."
Rachel turned to look into the intense green eyes of - the coachman, of course. "Thank you, Mr. Fairfax," she said slowly as she descended from the vehicle (holding onto a warm, strong hand this time). "Speaking of stables and horses, how is Galatea now?"
A smile illuminated Andrew Fairfax's face, complete with dimples. "Mother and child both doing fine now, though she worried us some last evening. The feisty little thing didn't want to come out so soon, and was adamant about resting a bit more before making its grand entrance, as it were. But all's well that ends well, and Galatea now has a little foal with perfect limbs and a stubborn temperament to care for."
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Rachel clapped her hands impulsively. "Has the foal been named yet? Is it male or female?"
"It's a female, and the Mistress has been along and named her 'Artemis' this morning. Like as not, she's hoping that the foal will become attached to Miss Diana and prove herself as a great Goddess of the Hunt as well." he answered readily, the smile now approaching a grin.
Rachel burst out laughing. But suddenly Fairfax seemed to recall himself and, mumbling something about seeing to the horses, quickly started busying himself with their halters. Rachel was left with nothing to do but mount the sweeping flight of steps at the entrance of the house, her hands empty and mind full.
That night in her room, Rachel came to a number of conclusions.
Andrew Fairfax was the coachman-groom of Carillon Hall.
His cultivated manner of speaking, that had initially attracted her attention towards the man, was unmistakably gone now.
Yet, he was knowledgeable about the Classical languages and mythology, at least enough to translate the Greek name Artemis into 'Goddess of the Hunt' and to know that Diana was the Roman equivalent of Artemis.
Rosie seemed to have strong feelings for him, though they were confused at the moment; and perhaps, he also returned them in kind.
Finally, Rachel realized with a shock the most incriminating fact of them all;
Considering that he erased all memories of an eventful day with a very ordinary and brief conversation, she was more intrigued by him than was good for her.
The weeks passed peacefully by without much incident as Rachel swiftly became entrenched in the ways of the Herringford household. Though Sally still continued to give her a sniff and preferred not to converse with the governess unless necessary, the other people had taken the friendly young girl to their hearts. She developed the habit of indulging in early morning rides around the estate since the girls preferred to walk in the evenings rather than equestrianism. By the end of the first fortnight, even the horses and dogs in the stables had learnt to recognize the swish of her riding skirts and would wait for her eagerly every morning.
Her companion on such rides was usually the stable-boy since Andrew (she could not but think of him as such) would be busy doing sundry odd jobs in the house at such an early hour; but she managed to have a handful of perfectly impersonal conversations with him which would leave her smiling for hours. Since the night she understood her dangerous attraction towards the man, Rachel tried to break the fascination by showing herself that he was simply a commonplace pleasant young man.
"For heavens' sake girl, he is a mere coachman, a person who works in stables for a living," she had admonished herself then. "Even if he were higher-born than his position, it still would be foolish to consider him your equal. You are investing him with a silly and unseemly glamour. You can snap out of it." She attempted to prove it by spending as much time as she could in his company, talking about all kinds of subjects.
In the deepest corners of her heart, she cherished each memory of Andrew with a fervor which would have frightened her if she ever tried to analyze it.
She got on fine with her employers as well. Mr. Herringford liked to converse with her and therefore, Rachel was occasionally invited to become a third party at the dinner table on quiet evenings. She had requested an audience with him at the first opportunity and asked about procuring a music teacher for Diana and perhaps a drawing master for Alicia. To her surprise, he was not very supportive of the idea and suggested that the girls should first get used to studying under Rachel before moving on to advanced studies of their preferred fields. Catching the surprise on her face before she could erase it away, he smiled kindly and explained himself further.
"It is not that I don't want to hire the tutors, Miss Warren. I want my daughters to develop their skills to the maximum of their abilities, and I promise that they will have all the professional help they require by next year. But I believe that since their regular studies have suffered to some extent with their past governesses, they should be got back on the academic track before further advancement can take place. They are still young…there is time enough for specialization later. Do you not agree?"
Rachel was struck with his well-thought out argument and agreed wholeheartedly with his assessment. It reminded her anew that though she might have understanding born of learning, she was still young in the ways of the world and people like Mr. Herringford had wisdom born of experience. She was very lucky to have someone intelligent like him to interact with.
Though Mrs. Herringford was not as forthcoming or welcoming as her husband, she was nonetheless as gracious as a lady should be towards a dependant - and Rachel accepted it to be such. She was aware that they would never become intimate since their natures were too different, and she knew not to ruffle Norma Herringford's temper.
Rachel found her nemesis in the oddest of places - the little boy Brian. She had always got on well with small boys thanks to her own twin brothers, and Brian was only a year younger than them. But he was really, in Mrs. Hutchens' words, 'another kettle of fish'. He was, simply put, the most ill-behaved child she had ever encountered in her life.
The first time she had been left in charge of Brian, he ran away within two minutes and could not be found for a whole hour despite Rachel's agitated efforts. When he finally sauntered out of the buttery, Rachel had to undergo the ignominy of being scolded by his mother for letting the 'poor dear' gorge himself on cream just before dinner-time and getting so 'bored' that he upset all the buckets of milk in search of diversion. Rachel got the chance to see exactly why the household was in dread of its mistress, for she was unfortunate enough to rouse the sleeping tigress in Mrs. Herringford's heart with her 'callous neglect' of Brian.
When Rachel followed Brian to his room after enduring twenty minutes of discomfiting reprimand, she found him calmly chipping away at the bed-post with a pen-knife as if nothing had happened. She faced him squarely. "Brian," she said, "Now that I am living in this place we will be in each other's company quite often. I want to look after you like a friend rather than an enemy. Don't you think that would be advisable?"
The child looked back at her with uninterested eyes, before returning his attention to the defacement of the wood before him. "Why should I care?" he asked curtly. "You will have to leave if I don't feel like being with you. I will have another nursemaid. It does not concern me at all."
"But don't you want to get along with those around you? Life will be much more comfortable for all of us if we can live in amity." Rachel pleaded with him some more in the same vein, trying to make him see reason. But Brian kept on chipping away serenely, simply adding, "But you won't be around me if you get thrown out, you know. And so you will be, if I don't like you." He looked at her triumphantly and Rachel suddenly shivered, feeling all the misery of a paid servant who can be dismissed at the whims of a mere boy.
Still then, she was lucky. Since she was not specifically appointed to look after him, Brian's disapproval could not get her dismissed from the house where her real pupils showed such progress. It also could not make that protective mother, Mrs. Herringford, look around for a new nurse-maid even though she sympathized that the 'angel' could not take to Miss Warren like his two sisters; it only made her absolutely forbid the harassed governess from punishing her darling baby. All of Rachel's efforts to interest him in productive activities and to understand his thought processes resulted in resounding failure. Tantrums often occurred without any cause, and would continue till Brian grew bored with his own antics; then he would simply get up from the rug on which he had been asphyxiating himself with howls and walk off. Thus, Brian remained the one serious canker in Rachel's garden. She just blessed her stars that she had been hired as a governess for Alicia and Diana rather than a nursemaid for the little terror, and dreaded the times when she was put in charge of him.
The girls had fulfilled all Rachel's expectations, and showed themselves to be apt scholars. Since their curriculum underwent Rachel's drastic modifications, they became more attentive towards and happy with their studies; and they simply loved the music sessions. Both mastered the breathing exercises necessary for playing wind instruments and, after rapidly learning the mechanics of the wooden flute and professing themselves keen to do more with the instrument, coaxed their indulgent father into sending for the coveted crystal flute. They were already practicing one of the new duet songs on the two flutes, and the pianoforte was getting equally regular exercise with the inclusion of English folk airs, Italian compositions and works by the Austrian composer Mozart in their repertoire. Their handful of performances during formal parties had been successful in gaining public applause and Mrs. Herringford's approval. Rachel felt foolishly vindicated.
And that's drawing room popularity for you Miss Timbley, she thought gleefully.
Diana liked to debate about current affairs, and the slavery conditions of faraway colonies became a pet subject ever since she understood the hardships which the natives were facing over there. Alicia was getting quite good at writing stories, though she managed to find time for creating endless streams of etchings as usual - and Rachel was shyly presented with a charcoal likeness of herself a week after their trip to London. It depicted her sitting on the schoolroom window-seat with her hair being whipped about her face by the evening breeze on one of the rare occasions she had left it untied, and the gifted artist had captured her dreamy expression and fine profile with accuracy. This picture was hung over the schoolroom door, and always brought a smile to the face of its subject whenever she caught sight of it.
A new footman named Albert Hargrove was appointed about a fortnight after Rachel had joined the place. He was a silent man who kept to himself, though he had a bad habit of staring keenly at people on first acquaintance…the first time he had seen Rachel he had stared at her for over five minutes before he could be recalled to his place by Mr. Garner lifting a noble eyebrow at him in silent rebuke. He soon settled down into anonymity and his arrival barely created a ripple in the daily affairs of Carillon Hall, though it greatly eased the load of the maids, James and Andrew. Strangely enough, the last named did not seem to be very thankful for this respite. Indeed, Rachel felt that Andrew did not like Hargrove much. The coachman tried his best to keep out of the new footman's way, but he also made sure to hover around in dark corners whenever Rachel had any of her communications with Hargrove in a manner that could only be labeled disquieting, as if he suspected the man of spiriting Rachel away the moment her back was turned. It became irritating after a point.
Finally he came out in the open, so to speak, and warned Rachel about the newcomer during one of their morning rides. He had been jittery from the first, and once they had entered the privacy of the woods Andrew reared his horse and approached Rachel's mount.
"Miss Warren, there is something I need to discuss with you without delay. I hope that you would not think that I'm imposing, but I would strongly recommend you to keep your distance from the new footman Hargrove."
Astonished, Rachel could only stare at him for a moment. Then she collected herself and inquired, "And am I to be provided with some reason for this amazing…suggestion?"
Andrew flushed. "I wish that I could provide some solid proof Miss, but I only have my instincts to fall back upon. Yet, I must repeat that he ain't as innocent as he seems. Often have I caught him trying to gather information about the people in the house, and I fear …he may be a plant by criminals hoping to burgle the house. Pray, do not talk with him more than necessary - he...I can't explain it better than saying that feels wrong."
Rachel did not share Andrew's heated opinion. She felt that Hargrove was a harmless person, and she could not understand why a man's overtures of friendly gossip should be avoided. In spite of that, she tried to accept Andrew's warning in good faith and kept her interactions with Hargrove to the minimum. As it was, something occurred that put the man completely out of Rachel's mind, except to remind her about trusting in instincts.
Four days after her talk with Andrew Fairfax about Hargrove, Rachel was informed by Mrs. Hutchens during breakfast that there was to be an addition to the family soon - Mrs. Herringford's cousin, the Viscount Edgerton, was going to come for a long visit that day. Mrs. Hutchens appeared harassed and, though she tried to explain it away by complaining about guests who would drop in with the shortest of notices, Rachel sensed that there was something else behind her demeanor. But since the older woman did not want to divulge any information about her anxiety, she decided not to probe. As it was, she had enough apprehension of her own to be concerned with other people's problems; a man who had seemed to be inordinately interested in her, and whom she had hoped never to encounter again, was coming to live in the same house. For an indefinite visit.
The whole household seemed to be in an especial bustle the whole morning, and even Diana and Alicia seemed unable to hold still at any activity for long. Every few minutes Diana would burst into nervous babble, while Alicia seemed to be on tenterhooks - a highly unusual state of affairs for the usually-sedate girl. Finally Rachel shut the volume of Cymbeline in her hands with an exasperated sigh.
"Well, if you both persist in acting so skittishly today, I can't see much profit in trying to discuss the poetry of Shakespeare's words any more. What has got into you two?"
The girls instantly became remorseful. "We are so sorry Miss Warren, we did not intend to show you any disrespect. It is just that Uncle Fred has not visited us in months, and the thought that he must already be in the house is very distracting!"
Rachel felt a stab of self-doubt on hearing this.
"Why do you like him so much? I mean," she hastily amended, seeing how rude her question might sound, "What is so special about him that you are so eager to meet him again?"
"Oh Miss Warren, he is our favourite relative!" enthused Diana breathlessly. "He has always treated us like ladies worthy of attention, even when we were just children. He is the only person who used to visit us in our nursery and schoolroom and stay there for long durations, instead of vaguely patting us on our heads and moving on like older people generally do. He would play the piano here and sing lovely songs for us, and our former governesses never complained because they liked him so much. He has no airs and mixes with everyone, though he is a baronet. Isn't that a good thing, Miss Warren? Didn't you like him when you met him in London?"
Rachel debated about how to answer. Instead of calming her doubts about the house guest, Diana's words only showed her forcibly that the man will be a constant visitor to the schoolroom. "Could he be cultivating the company of his nieces in order to gain entry to their regions and interact with the governesses?" she mused, and instantly accused herself of becoming unnecessarily paranoid. "Understand this Miss Warren," she told herself firmly, "everything in the world is not about you."
To Diana she offered a noncommittal reply which soothed her and set her agile brains on other tracks of thought, like learning their latest song properly so that they could perform for Uncle Fred, for he would certainly come to see them soon. Hiding her dismay at this cheerful prediction, Rachel led them to the pianoforte and let them practice with renewed zeal.
He did visit them, of course; he came to the schoolroom later that morning when the girls were putting the finishing touches on their French essays and Rachel was studying one of the more complicated poems of Blake. She was startled out of her abstraction by a familiar drawl issuing from the doorstep.
"Well, well, so how are the studious ladies doing?"
They all sprang up from their tasks as one. "Here you are at last, Uncle!" Diana beamed. "Thank you for coming so quickly to meet us." Alicia smiled shyly in welcome.
"How could I not, my dear nieces? After all, you are one of the main attractions of this old place." He bowed low before them both and kissed their knuckles, before turning towards Rachel with those light eyes focused on her. Predator eyes, she thought distractedly.
"And how do you do, Miss…Warren? I presume the day finds you in good health?"
Rachel flushed a little, but held her head high and received him cordially. Throughout the visit he did not single her out at any point - a fact which reduced her uneasiness to some extent. Though the time seemed to be dragging, it was only a few minutes before he got up to leave with a promise to drop by again, and soon.
"And why would you need to do that, when you can see them every morning and evening with the family? Do you need to disrupt their study hours as well?" She grumbled to herself even as she noticed him pausing by her portrait. He turned to look at her one last time, but then bowed and went away without saying anything more, leaving all the girls behind unsettled for the time being - though for different reasons.
That night Rachel was not required in the dining room, much to her relief. Over the next few days, her apprehension regarding the guest reduced since he never made any untoward advances towards her, though he still came to the schoolroom or met the young ladies for evening walks on a daily basis. On such occasions he would devote himself to all of them equally, and his tales about the countries he had visited lately (for he was a great traveler) added a new and interesting dimension to their evening stroll. Rachel could see why his nieces anticipated his visits so much. Slowly but surely, she overcame her distrust and started reacting normally around him.
She was to realize the veracity of her gut instincts eight days after his arrival at the Hall.
Rachel had had lunch with the sisters, but she remained in the schoolroom after they went to their room for their afternoon nap in order to complete a book she was reading. Balancing herself on the window seat to gain maximum sunlight, she was deeply engrossed when she heard the door opening. Lord Edgerton sauntered into the room, making her spring to her feet with a flustered air. She dredged up an uneasy smile, for something about the man seemed to be all wrong today.
"Good afternoon, my Lord, the Misses Herringfords are not here at the moment. Should I call them? Or is there something I can do for you?"
He smirked. "That is a wonderful offer, Miss Warren. I may take you up on that soon."
He walked on liesurely till he was standing directly in front of her, and Rachel's feelings of disquiet returned with a vengeance on seeing the languid way in which those predator eyes were raking her body. "You seem to have become even lovelier than before," he breathed. "The country air appears to suit you better than that of London."
Rachel didn't know how to reply, but tried nevertheless. "I thank you for your kind thought, your Lordship. I infinitely prefer the countryside to the city."
His eyes slid to the charcoal portrait framed above the door. "An exquisite bit of work by Alicia… I believe she was the artist who drew this picture? But when the subject is so tempting," he added, leaning over her and pinning her to the wall behind with his proximity, "how can one be anything but inspired?"
Rachel looked around desperately, now able to smell the alchohol on Lord Edgerton's breath. She knew there was no one around at this time in the school wing, and was suddenly conscious of the dangerous position she was in. This inebriated man was not in possession of his senses, and seemed to be stripped of all vestiges of civility. She attempted to inch away from him but, when he refused to budge, Rachel gave up all pretences of normalcy.
"I - I have no idea what you are talking about my Lord. But I ha…have some work to do in my room, so kindly let me by."
"What is the hurry, my dear? I have not been able talk properly with you at all, and I want to get better...acquainted with you."
He lifted a hand and slowly, deliberately laid it on her trembling shoulder in a caressing yet determined hold. Rachel gasped and, in a moment of blind panic, attempted to break away from that relentless grasp, but this only incited him to restrain her with both hands. He pulled her close to his large body and his mouth started lowering towards her lips, his intent painfully clear. Rachel was made despairingly aware of their difference in strength as his lips clamped down on her and she could do nothing to prevent it.
This was not how her first kiss was supposed to be! Rachel was on the verge of crying as one of the precious moments of her life was stolen away from her. And yet, she was also aware that the situation was only going to get worse. Therefore, the moment he released her from the enforced kiss and she had her mouth to herself, she pushed down her feelings of nausea and started pleading with his better self.
"Please Sir, you are not in your senses right now. Let me past, you will regret this later."
Edgerton threw back his head and laughed loudly. "Regret this?" he spluttered. "I have been waiting for this moment all month! From the time I saw you in that miserable little inn, sitting there all stiff and missish and delicious, I knew that this was going to be a hunt I would enjoy greatly. I had planned to charm you into my arms, little temptress…but today, I simply don't feel like waiting any longer."
Anger at his taunting words, which threw her own passivity in her face, enfolded Rachel in its welcome folds. Welcome, because it cleared her mind from the fear clouding it and a year-old memory wafted by…of two older bullies pinning the twins' arms behind them, and the way in which her intrepid brothers had disabled them without lifting a finger, so to say.
Bracing her right foot, Rachel kicked Edgerton on his velvet-encased shin. Hard. Even with her ineffectual indoor shoes, the element of surprise was on her side and she was able to dislodge his centre of balance (in other words, make him stagger to the side like the drunken rogue he was) long enough to twist out of his grasp and dash towards the door. If his senses had not been dulled with liquor, she may not have made it; as it were, she fled away with his startled curses in her ears and his fingers grasping the air scarce inches away from her tresses. She did not stop running till she had reached her room and bolted the door securely.
Only after that did she allow her brimming tears to flow.
That evening was spent by Rachel in her own room with the perfectly honest excuse of a splitting headache brought on during the afternoon. She could not decide what to do. Should she complain to Mr. or Mrs. Herringford? Or should she inform someone like Mrs. Hutchens so that she can warn the maids to be wary of this ogre? Perhaps she should warn the maids herself - at least Rosie, if Sally still persisted in cold-shouldering her. Both of them were relatively new, and might be unaware of his brutish proclivities. Instinct told her that her employers would either not believe her, or would be helpless in the face of Edgerton's elevated rank. But she was no longer safe in the house; he had as good as told her that he was going to hunt her down someday if she stayed here.
By the time darkness had fallen on the lawns outside, Rachel had reached her decision. When Rosie came to inquire if she would prefer to have her meal in her room or would like to come to the kitchen table, Rachel made her sit down and listen to the whole tale. Over the days they had become good friends, and Rosie had her complete trust as a level-headed and sympathetic person. The shocked distress in her voice when she stammered her condolences showed clearly that she believed Miss Warren. Rachel asked her to remain on her guard with Edgerton around, and went down with her to meet Mrs. Herringford after dinner.
That lady was just about to leave for her bedroom and seemed to be both curious and irritated at the governess' presumption to ask for an interview at such a time, but still led the way into her sitting room. Rachel put the matter to her in clear terms. Norma Herringford listened to her in absolute silence till the end, and then she looked at Rachel with her grey eyes - eyes which, Rachel realized with a start, were completely different from and yet very similar to Lord Edgerton's.
"I am afraid that I cannot accept your story to be true Miss Warren," she said, to Rachel's crushing dismay. "You are maligning not only the scion of a reputed family, but also my own cousin, let me remind you. However, since you seem to have got some strange notions in your head regarding him and will most probably be hiding out in your room until he departs, I will give you leave to take your annual vacation now and stay with your relatives until you can get your head into your job rather than these morbid fancies. You will get pay for one week, but beyond that you cannot expect any extra compensation for your mythical terrors. It is your good luck that I am willing to hold your job open for you until you return. I can do nothing more for you. Now, I would like to take my rest, so I bid you a good night."
The words were skeptical and imparted with a sneer. But when Rachel got up to leave, she got a glimpse of Mrs. Herringford's real feelings in her face. She knows that I am telling the truth, the younger woman realized. It has happened earlier…out of those 'streams of governesses' who could never stick around for long, some must surely have shared my troubles. She knows and, as I had had suspected, can't do anything about it directly due to his status. But she is trying to keep me safe by sending me away.
The realization hit Rachel with a jolt. "She is a good soul after all," she whispered to the empty hallway in awe.
The next morning saw her packing her trunk with as much of her belongings as might be required at Lucy's house. She went into the fateful schoolroom only to tell her distraught scholars that she would be gone for a while because her mother (this portion was said with fingers frantically crossed behind her back) was ill and needed her, before taking leave of her friends on the domestic staff. She put her luggage into the same buggy which had brought her to Carillon Hall all those weeks ago; the only difference being that this time Rachel was accompanied by a footman for security and she dreaded leaving the place, rather than arriving at it. All too well to think that her job will remain safe and the girls would wait till she returned - what if Edgerton did not leave for a long time? What if Mrs. Herringford decided that her children's education was being neglected? Would she pay any heed to the poor girl waiting desperately to return, or will she appoint some new and more qualified governess in Rachel's absence? She gazed at the house which had now become a part of her life till she could no longer see it in the distance.
After a few miles were covered in silence, she heard a hesitant voice from the front.
"Miss Warren, are you comfortable back there?"
An involuntary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He had never initiated any conversation with her while driving before.
"Yes Mr. Fairfax, thank you. It is a good day for travel."
"Yes, that's right." He seemed to be gathering his courage to say something, an assumption that was proved to be correct a minute later when he drew a quick breath and said in a rush,
"Do forgive me for my forwardness, but I simply must tell you how sorry I was on hearing from Rosie about …the reason for your departure. I …we will all miss you, but we understand how necessary it was for you to go…home right now. Please count me as a friend if you are ever in trouble and need any kind of help."
Rachel understood perfectly that he was speaking about her escape from Edgerton. Though his ambiguous words preserved her dignity by being perfectly applicable for her mother's reported illness as well, his embarrassment and concern hinted at knowledge of the true state of affairs. She felt a momentary flare of resentment at Rosie for informing a man about a lady's dishonor, but it was lost in the emotions that were created by Andrew's tender and sincere solicitousness. They had left Denbries behind and were fast approaching the coaching inn where she would catch her post-coach, and she realized that only the end of their time together was bringing the reluctant sentences forth from the coachman's mouth at the risk of being overheard by Hargrove.
She was about to reply when the horse suddenly reared in fright and the buggy was jolted to a halt. A muffled oath cut through the air. Extremely shaken and sensing that something of import must have occurred, Rachel leaned out of the window to ask Andrew about the sudden and disturbing stop.
She caught sight of a raised hand that seemed to be waiting for such a move on her part.
It descended on her exposed neck in a practiced move, and she barely managed to turn in time so that the hand would hit her head rather than her neck.
That was all she could register before losing to the blackness enveloping her.
A cool hand on her forehead was the first thing she could feel. With an inaudible sigh, she leant more into the soothing fingers. Slowly, she became conscious of a low voice frantically calling someone named Miss Warren over and over again. Just as it was becoming really annoying and she was about to tell the voice to desist so that she could sleep some more in peace, she recalled herself with a start. "I know that name. Oh, that's me!" she realized sheepishly.
She didn't want to open her eyes; she was currently feeling very comfortable and subconsciously knew that this feeling won't last once she awoke properly. But the Voice was very persistent. With a groan of defeat, Rachel tentatively blinked her eyes open.
The darkness was the first thing that she noticed. It took her a while to adjust her eyesight properly before she could see any of the details of this room, but she knew instinctively that she had never been here before. It was dingy and bare except for the one cot on which she was currently lying. The darkness was due to the fact that there seemed to be no ventilation in the room - the one window was shuttered tight and the door appeared to be closed as well. Finally, her questing glance found the person so anxious to wake her up.
It was Andrew Fairfax. He was holding her hand now, rubbing it as he strove to keep his voice decibel to a minimum. He appeared half-crazed with concern, his hair mussed up and clothes crumpled as if he had slept in them last night. By the way, what day is it? she thought haphazardly. Have I been unconscious for long? I remember a journey…to …to London, of course! We stopped for some reason and…
A hand! she remembered triumphantly. A hand hit my head hard. But Andrew was there as well. Did he bring me here?
He is here now; another, calmer voice interjected in her head. Why don't you ask him yourself?
By now Andrew had become aware that Rachel had regained consciousness. A look of stark relief crossed his visage, before he closed his eyes and managed to rein in his emotions.
"Thank the heavens, you are safe!" he ejaculated. "I could never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you. Can you move your head?" When she complied obediently, he smiled with approval. Then he frowned slightly. "Please say something. Are you hurt?"
"No," Rachel replied thoughtfully, after taking a mental inventory of all her faculties. She was disheveled to an embarrassing degree, she seemed to have lost her bonnet and gloves somewhere and she was feeling extremely ravenous; but otherwise, her body was relatively unharmed. Her head, of course, was another matter. "Not hurt, at least not much. But I am awfully nonplussed. Who would want to attack me? And is this…" her breathing spiked on realizing her circumstances, "am I being kept prisoner? What is happening, Andrew?"
His eyes flickered at the unintentional use of his given name, but he did not call attention to it. Instead, he set about to calm her fears. "Shhh, it's alright. Yes, you were kidnapped and you are a prisoner here. But I have come to rescue you now. Let us escape from here first, and then I will explain everything to the best of my ability. Your kidnappers might be along any moment. Can you stand up?"
Half guiding and half supporting her, he led her to the door where, by the dint of a twisted hairpin, he had earlier picked the lock. Taking her hand and bidding her to lie low, he maneuvered them both into the corridor outside. Rachel could hear voices in the distance, and it was evident from Andrew's tense features that he was well aware of them too. "Keep your ears open for any suspicious sounds, your eyes peeled and your mouth shut," he whispered edgily in her ear, sending involuntary shivers down her back. "The slightest mistake might be our undoing."
The house was large and draughty, and felt like it had not been lived in for long. The rooms they encountered on their way down were largely empty, swathed in protective sheets and covered in dust. It was a world of grey and brown, and succeeded in depressing her further. At least, it did not provide any distraction and she could easily concentrate on her steps - a very good thing, since she was starting to feel quite definitely woozy in the head. Rachel and Andrew had a bad moment when they were about to enter a room and heard voices from inside, just in time to take a detour. Ducking at every sound and crouching in dark corners, they finally managed to make their way down the stairs to the main door; but that avenue was cut off by the presence of someone whom Rachel recognized with a pang of surprise - Hargrove himself, standing guard.
Without breaking their stride, Andrew changed their direction so that they soon found themselves before the cavernous and old-fashioned kitchen. A door leading to a kitchen garden was mercifully open, but an additional problem was posed by a giant of a man who was baking bread conscientiously -and seemed ready to stand by the stove for hours.
And something told Rachel that they didn't have hours before someone noticed her absence from her prison.
They waited for what seemed like endless moments in this vacillating manner, unable to even converse out of fear of being overheard by the cook; but their patience was finally rewarded when the man started screaming.
"Sophie, Sophie! Drat that lazybones of a gal, why can't she ever be on hand to help? Ain't that what the master be paying her wages for? SOPHIE!"
When she failed to turn up, he finally went into the scullery himself, muttering incoherent grumbles and threats in a low voice. Silently blessing the indolent girl, Rachel and Andrew slipped out of the kitchen door in a rush, with Andrew slowing his sprint for a split second to grab a loaf of bread from the pile kept on a laden table nearby. Once beyond the door, they found themselves in a neglected little vegetable garden with a high wall running around it - effectively blocking the outside world from the two escapees now frantically inspecting it for any avenue of flight.
Once he knew that Rachel was safe, Andrew was in his element. He reconnoitered the entire area and, when it had become certain that there was no gate to the outside world and no broken sections in the wall itself, he started tugging on the vines and creepers to check if they could carry their weight. Eventually he came to a stop under a gnarled beech tree standing forlornly in a corner, and considered it for a moment. Then, before Rachel could do more than blink in surprise, he had thrust the bread into the pocket of his wrinkled coat, shimmied up the thick trunk and calculated the distance from the tree's furthermost branch to the top of the wall. Seeming satisfied with what he saw, he dropped down to her side with a happy grin.
"The top-most branch of this tree on the right side skims within a foot of the wall at one point. If you can get on the wall, I'll jump down first on to the other side and catch you safely…that is," he broke off apologetically, "if you can manage the climb and the jump? I know that it is too much to ask of you in your present condition, but this is an emergency."
Rachel ruminated. She had been adept at climbing trees in her childhood, but she couldn't refute that she was definitely feeling weak, and the blow to her head was making it throb in a distracting manner. Not to mention, her modest ankle-covering gown was really not conducive to climbing trees. But she knew as well as Andrew that this was a matter of life and death - her life and death - and she did not have many choices. Propriety and giddiness would have to recede into the backdrop for the moment. Even now, excited voices could be heard from inside the house.
She smiled bravely up at him. "In times of emergency, individual preferences have to be submerged for the greater good. And," her voice vibrated with intensity, "I trust you completely with my safety, Mr. Fairfax." So saying, she grabbed the nearest branch and struggled to pull herself up by it. Her weakened condition seemed to make this simple task extremely arduous, and she gritted her teeth against the humiliation as she put all her strength into it. Rachel could barely refrain from the urge to use her legs as freely as she used to do eight years ago, clambering everywhere with abandon. Cursed be the feminine attire.
On the verge of hoisting her skirt up to her knees as a last minute resort - decency be damned - she felt two strong hands on her waist as she was hoisted deftly into the branch. She could barely manage to control her blushes as she conveyed her gratitude at her savior. Throughout the climb, Andrew managed to remain behind Rachel, unobtrusively guiding her feet into the most secure footholds and giving her a lift wherever her energy flagged. Thanks to his expertise, they were both perched on the required branch within minutes, and Rachel was finally able to collect her thoughts - which had fled the moment his hands had touched her so tenderly. How can I be thinking about such things when my life is in danger? She wondered in self-disgust. Concentrate on escaping, not your escape partner, Rachel!
However, before they could jump on to the wall, a man dashed into the garden and they instantly stilled their movements. Rachel clutched Andrew's sleeve in panic as the man started searching the undergrowth thoroughly, and came to a stop below their hiding place. Small tremors started passing over her until she started shivering with a vengeance. No, I will not be taken into captivity again, not now when escape is so near, her mind screamed.
Andrew saw her imminent collapse, and did the only thing he could under the situation. He drew her closer to his body. In a trice he had enfolded her in his arms and tucked her head into his shoulder, effectively stopping her body from trembling and shielding her from looking at the searcher.
Needless to say, it worked perfectly.
The man was muttering sulkily to himself now, and suddenly raised his head. But instead of looking into the foliage of the tree overhead, he craned his neck and barked to someone inside the house, "Not a sign of them out here. As it is, they couldn't be here without passing Rogers and he swears that he saw no one come into the kitchen." After a pause, he added, "What earthly use would coming here be, anyway? There is no way out."
An angry shout came from inside. "Well then, stop shooting off that foul mouth of yer and come inside to help Sanderman search. She can't have gone far with the nice head bump, nor he with all the kicking ye did; and they with no food since yesterday. It shan't be too difficult to find 'em; they're sure to be in the house, cowering someplace. Come inside now and make yerself useful, ye great lubber!"
The man standing under their tree finally moved back into the house, though the two hiding above his head could distinctly hear him grumble, "But they shouldn't have escaped from locked doors either in that state, should they?"
Andrew gently disengaged his arm from Rachel's grip as soon as the searcher had removed himself and, with a last smile of comradeship and support, swung himself towards the wall. He reached it in one smooth move and after bracing himself, he beckoned her over. But now without Andrew's comforting presence at her side, Rachel started seriously doubting her ability to make the transition from tree to wall by herself. "I don't think I can do this, Mr. Fairfax! What if I cannot reach the wall and fall down?" She whispered frantically. "It is a high tree! Or I might not be able to judge the distance and lose my balance…"
Andrew looked into her eyes with his deep green ones. "You are a brave girl, Rachel Warren. You will not fall. Come to me now." He extended a hand to her. Of course, she knew subconsciously that he will never be able to catch her if she really fell, he was too far off. And yet, the beckoning hand seemed mesmeric. It infused her with courage. Gritting her teeth, she shot from the branch with an ungainly but sure movement, grasping at the cracks in the rapidly approaching bricks to slow her speed.
The next moment, she found herself sitting beside Andrew and desperately trying to gulp in air as he murmured encouragements and congratulations into her ears. As soon as her racing heart slowed down, he jumped down ten feet on the other side, landing with a grace which made Rachel blush for her own displays of clumsiness. But now was not the time to ruminate on the spectacle she had made of herself before her object of admiration, as said object of admiration was even now spreading his arms to catch her as she jumped down. No more foolishness, she told herself firmly as she executed a perfect swallow dive and landed in the awaiting embrace.
Sadly enough, it felt like coming home.
CHAPTER 12
Lightly putting Rachel down on her feet, Andrew swiftly scanned the lane in which they found themselves. He made his decision and grasping her hand firmly, started pulling her towards a disused track which ran beside the road. Still feeling dizzy from the jump and her lack of nutrition, Rachel stumbled along in his wake for what seemed like hours. He did not slow down until they had crossed a desolate heath and attained the temporary cover provided by an abandoned little sheepcote; but once inside, he made Rachel lie down on some moldy hay piled in a corner and proffered the piece of bread which, in spite of its insufficient quality and quantity, seemed to be nothing short of manna to Rachel in her currently famished state.
As she sat consuming the morsel, he watched her with a curious expression - a mixture of anxiety, gentleness, and…guilt? She was too far gone at that moment to either analyze his thoughts or to feel conscious about his perusal of her frenzied eating habits. After she gained some colour back into her cheeks, he sat down before her with a determined face.
"I am so, so sorry Miss Warren; more sorry than I can ever express," he began. "Not just for hurrying you when you were in no condition to walk, but also for your present predicament. This entire mess is my fault, mine and my cousin's. You were just an innocent by-stander who got embroiled in this sordid affair without any fault of yours. I wish I could explain to you in detail, but," he darted a cagey glance behind him at the empty doorway which provided scant safety from detection, "we really do not have time now. We need to be on the move constantly in order to throw our pursuers off.
"I will only tell you this much now - I have your best interests at heart. You have been mistaken for a young woman who is currently on the run to save her life. The people who want to harm her confused you with her, and kidnapped you to keep you in their control until they could confirm your identity. They are ruthless people, and you must understand that they will not hesitate to take your life as well. Therefore, it is in our interests to always be on the run and to stay ahead of them at all times."
It was too much to take in at once, especially on an empty stomach (well, almost empty, anyway); but emergencies seldom occur when you are best prepared for them. Rachel knew that, and she literally trusted Andrew with her life now. Yet, she had one question which her curiosity demanded to be answered before they went anywhere.
"Just…how did you manage to find me today, Mr. Fairfax?"
Andrew looked at her a little sheepishly. "I should have found you much earlier, and I berate myself for the incident as it is; I fell into one of the oldest ambush traps known to man. Three men were lying in wait for us around a lonely corner yesterday with a fallen tree blocking the road, and just as I brought the carriage to a halt before the obstruction Hargrove hit your head from his perch behind the buggy. To think that the footman is sent along with young women for safety!" he scoffed bitterly, before returning to his narration.
"I was not prepared for such a sudden attack, and was overpowered before I knew what had happened. They had hoped to buy my silence for the kidnapping, but my refusal sealed my fate and they hit me till I fell unconscious as well. I really do not know why they didn't finish me off then and there; but whatever their reasons, they bound me and brought me into the house as well as you, though I was put in a different room. I suspect Hargrove to be behind this move; he knew that I was suspicious of him at Denbries and might have hoped to grill me later about what I knew. As it was, it took me the rest of the day to recover my consciousness, escape my bonds and finally get out of my prison. Luckily enough I …ahem… happened to have a hairpin in my pocket with which I could pick both my lock and yours when I found you. The fears and remorse which coursed through me on that search - if anything had happened to you…!" he ended feelingly.
Rachel's heart soared at the evidence of such regard for her safety, though her rational side argued that it was mostly guilt about a blameless person getting into trouble on his behalf. And she felt rather guilty herself now; he must have been as famished as herself, not to mention the beating he had received yesterday. Yet he not only acted with promptitude and poise throughout their unbelievable escape, but also gave up the food to her without keeping even a tiny bit for himself.
But now there was no time to waste idly on past regrets. She nodded once before standing up shakily and striding out of the sheepcote, only turning back to counter Andrew's bemused look with a saucy smile. "Well sir, so are you going to come with me, or am I expected to stay ahead of the bad people on my own?"
Andrew's relieved laugh echoed off the rotting walls around him.
Within a few minutes of resuming their walk, Andrew explained that they had been imprisoned in an abandoned lodge which seemed to be some distance away from any civilized habitation, and he could not recognize any landmarks in their hurried escape; but they were not in a particularly barren part of England and there was still hope. In short, he believed that though he did not know where they were now, Rachel should not despair of ultimately reaching some decent shelter if they kept on moving forwards. Suddenly, he turned a beseeching look towards her.
"Your predicament is due to us and therefore, your security is my single consideration now Miss Warren. I know of a perfectly safe place where you could go to stay till the whole situation has resolved itself - but I have a request to make of you. It would be very understandable if you refuse and I and Mira would never hold it against you, but I cannot not ask you either. Miss Warren, if we simply vanish now without a trace the men would search intensely everywhere, but they would also be keeping an eye open at Carillon Hall in case we decide to return there. You see, Mira - my cousin, the one in hiding - is still there. This increases the danger she would be in and, without me around to protect her, I fear for her life. On the other hand, if we appear somewhere publicly for a short while before disappearing, the attention will be shifted from Denbries and my cousin can remain there safely till her danger is removed.
"So the request I have to make is this - we go to Brighton in a hackney from the next village. I'm well-known in Brighton, but Mira is only known by reputation so there would be no chance of your being recognized as an imposter. We need to be there only for a few days (and you will remain out of public sight in any case), before publicly booking a ticket on some outward-bound ship for us as a red herring and instead escaping on foot across country. My idea is that once the searchers hear about your appearance in Brighton, they will conclude that we escaped by sea. In the worst case, their search will be conducted in its periphery and the heat will be lifted from Denbries. I will take you to the village of Headley Down in East Hampshire where my old nurse Miss Trevelyan will harbor you till the threat to your life is past.
"I assure you that I will do my best to protect you the entire time and we would be gone from Brighton long before our abductors could reach us, but I cannot hoodwink you about the dangers involved. It will be a tough time as you will have to impersonate my cousin for a while, we will have to journey largely on foot afterwards, and your danger will be exponentially increased. I will understand perfectly if…"
"Do not say anything more Mr. Fairfax," Rachel interrupted him. "I would never act so selfishly when I know that the life of someone else is at stake. Of course we would go to Brighton first! I will continue this charade as long as required, so long as Miss…Mira, is that right?...her safety is assured."
If she were ever in doubt about the rightness of her decision, Rachel felt amply recompensed by the smile which now split Andrew's face into two.
"And what will you do once I am safe in Hampshire, Mr. Fairfax?" Rachel asked him an hour later in a deliberately light voice while taking a break from navigating a weedy stretch of field. To mask the dreary turn her thoughts were taking, she was now talking gaily to her companion as if she had not a care in the world, and this was all a lark that was going to have an assuredly happy outcome instead of the nightmare it actually was. She had been thrown off balance by the queer turn her life had taken, and Andrew had suddenly become the one steady factor in a rapidly disintegrating world.
On not receiving any reply, she elaborated her earlier question, "I mean, you apparently are not going to stay in hiding with me." She fought down the lump that rose in her throat at such thoughts, and went on speaking brightly. "Are you planning to play innocent and return as the coachman at Carillon to help your cousin, or are you as much in danger as me now that you helped me escape? Will you lie low and investigate the kidnapping attempt? Talking of kidnapping attempts," her voice became thoughtful, "why are not people searching for us yet? We must be missing for two days by now."
Andrew's visage grew grim. "You disappeared very opportunely, Miss Warren. The household at Carillon thinks you to be safe with your family by now, remember. Your friends and students might feel a bit upset when you do not write to them from London, but they'll probably put it down to your being busy with your mother. As for your family, I am guessing that they will be quite disturbed by your non-appearance. I suggest that you should send a letter to London as soon as we reach an inn to the effect that you suddenly had to take your two charges to some retreat for a little holiday, and won't be able to contact your people for some time. It is a shaky excuse, but I cannot conceive of anything else at the moment and hopefully it will prevent anyone from panicking - the less people who know about our unusual situation, the better."
Rachel hurried to assure him that it was not necessary - in her haste to be gone from Carillon, she had not written to Lucy about her imminent arrival since waiting for an exchange of letters would have taken a while and she did not want to dally in the house for so long within the reach of (here she blushed furiously) Lord Edgerton's revenge. She had expected to arrive on the Morelands' doorstep without any warning as she trusted that they would understand the circumstances. Therefore, her family would not be expecting her at all, and they need not be bothered with any prevarication.
"And you? Is your disappearance also accounted for?" she prompted.
Andrew averted his eyes. "During my captivity, I overheard the guards outside the door talking about my situation," he stated at last with considerable difficulty. "I was not supposed to be missing at all. I was expected to be easy to bribe so that I would hold my tongue when the ruffians carted you off. Since I refused to be so…amenable, they knocked me out and took me along with them so that I could not give the alarm. They were saying that they have hidden away the buggy and will lay some fraudulent charges like theft on my head to explain why I ran away without any warning. And…I will be an easy scapegoat to be blamed for your disappearance if it comes to the Herringfords' knowledge."
Rachel was horrified. "But this is wrong! You have not committed any crime, you are a diligent worker. You should not have to suffer such ignominy!"
Andrew cracked a wan smile as he stared up at the wooly clouds floating overhead. "It doesn't matter, Miss Warren. What I really am afraid of is that Mira would be extremely worried for my safety. You see, I was supposed to be protecting her, and now she does not know whom to turn to for information.
"To answer your first question, I will return as soon as possible to Denbries to assure my cousin of my well-being, and stay somewhere in the vicinity. I can no longer return as Andrew Fairfax the groom since my goose has been properly cooked in that sphere, but I will take up some appropriate disguise and stick around…maybe as a woodsman? I haven't thought it through yet. Though I will not be on hand all the time, at least she could approach me when required. Of course, I would have to remain extremely vigilant since I am a marked man now, like you so astutely mentioned; but I know how to take care of myself. Do not worry on my account…I am used to subterfuge, unlike you." So saying, he picked up speed and made determinedly for a hillock visible in the distance.
Rachel understood that the matter was closed for now, and patiently resigned herself to trudging on silently once again with only chaotic thoughts for company.
They had been moving without much idea of direction for four hours by the time dusk approached. It was unknown territory for both of them, and all they could think of was that sooner or later, a hamlet or village must occur somewhere. "At least I am not doing this on an empty stomach any more," thought Rachel optimistically. Apparently, Andrew always hid a tidy sum of money in his high boots as an emergency provision and they were able to buy some food from a small farm on their way. It went against Andrew's primal instincts of survival, but his instincts had to ultimately bow before the call of hunger.
They did find a village, but not before sundown; and perforce had to stay the night there since a coach for hire will be available only next morning. Luckily enough, the Herringfords did not insist on livery for their coachmen at all times and Andrew was out of uniform during their fateful journey; he could safely pass himself off as a weary gentleman travelling with his wife and, having lost their way, in need of some place to spend the night. But a new problem faced them now - a place as small as this did not have any lodgings for guests. At all. It boasted of eight families, a church, a smithy and a tavern, but no inn where gentlefolk could stay. Apparently, there had been no outside visitors to the little community of Marsham-in-the-Vale for a hundred and thirty years.
In such a situation, the distraught couple went to the greatest public figure of the neighborhood - the tavern owner. A big man with a slow manner of speech and the habit of stroking his moustaches to buy time, Mr. Phipps explained that his pub did not have any lodging facilities, certainly none fit for a young woman. After a lot of persuasion he took pity on their predicament and arranged for the tiny attic of his own house to be emptied for the weary travelers, on the condition that they would vacate as early next morning as possible.
After he left them to make the requisite arrangements, Andrew turned towards Rachel and smiled at her stricken look. "Do not worry that we would be spending the night together, Miss Warren. We will wait for some time in the room allotted to you, and then when everyone goes off to sleep I shall creep out and bed down under a hedge somewhere." He added reassuringly, "I would have done that now, but I think it will be better if I do not leave you alone here until I have assured myself that you will be perfectly safe for the night."
Rachel attempted to smile. It came out rather shakily, but it appeared - and that was the main thing, after all. It was not as if she did not trust Andrew, he had always been a perfect gentleman in their interactions. Night-time did not really change anything. In any case, this seclusion will give her ample opportunity to get to the bottom of the entire mystery of Andrew's identity, his cousin and her own involvement in the affair. Yes, it was a desirable situation. She wondered why she was not happier about the matter if it was so desirable.
© 2011 Copyright held by the author.