An Impossible Case
Part One
The journey from London to
Richmond was not a long one, and this was one of the reasons why Andrew
Hartwell had chosen to install his daughters and their governess there. His
family home was in Worcestershire, but though the place was very comfortable
and beautifully situated, Mr. Hartwell had preferred to have his daughters
somewhere near London when he returned there, two years after his wife's death.
There were two reasons for this
-- firstly, Maynard Hill had never been the same after Harriet had died; what
had been a delightful country retreat while she had been alive had turned into
a gloomy place full of memories that made his life a misery. Secondly, ever
since their mother had passed away his three daughters had become unruly to the
highest degree whenever he left the house, and it would have been too much of a
bother to travel all the way to Worcestershire whenever they had managed to rid
themselves of another governess. The house in Richmond was perfectly situated --
Mr. Hartwell could reach it at short notice whenever his presence there was
required, and still it was not in Town. The late Mrs. Hartwell had often stated
that she preferred her children to grow up in the country, and her husband felt
obliged to adhere to her wishes, especially such reasonable ones as that.
Mr. Hartwell knew that it was
his duty to remarry -- his daughters, he felt, needed a firm hand to guide them,
and his was not the hand in question. He attributed his weakness to being a
single parent. It was not easy to be both father and mother to a child, and he
always felt that since the girls had suffered a terrible loss so early in their
lives, they should be handled with a delicate touch. Perhaps it was wrong, but
he could not get himself to treat them with the firmness they needed, and felt
immensely guilty for every reprimand he had to utter. He had employed numerous
governesses, hoping that they would be able to manage his unruly children, but
without success. So far, each of them had resigned their position within a
couple of weeks, telling him that there was no amount of money he could pay
them to make them reconsider their decision to leave. There was only one thing
left for him to do.
While the girls were well able
to rid themselves of a governess, they would not be able to get rid of a new
mother -- it would be perfectly clear to them that she would stay, no matter
what they did. Apart from that, Mr. Hartwell realised that he had been very
lonely in those past two years since Harriet's death, and hoped that a new
marriage would remedy that. He did not expect to fall in love again -- in fact,
he felt this was impossible. No woman, he believed, could ever take Harriet's
place in his heart. But he could marry a woman he liked, one who was not fresh out
of the schoolroom, one with a steady character and a brilliant mind, one whose
company he could enjoy and who would be an example to his daughters.
Miss Ampleforth would have been
an ideal candidate, Mr. Hartwell reflected. She was in her fifth Season, was
well known for her learning, and her character had the kind of steadfastness
that he believed was necessary for the task of raising his daughters. He even
liked her -- well enough to contemplate marriage with her. Unfortunately, Miss
Ampleforth was the woman his brother-in-law had fallen in love with, and Mr.
Hartwell was not going to stand in the way of true love. He had experienced it
once, after all, and would never have forgiven himself, had he ruined Harriet's
brother's happiness. Therefore he left London to spend a week or two with his
daughters, leaving the path open for his brother-in-law to win Miss
Ampleforth's hand in marriage.
As he got out of his carriage in
front of his house in Richmond, the door flew open and his three daughters
darted outside to greet him. He was surrounded by girls, each of them crying
"Papa, Papa!" at the top of her voice and hugging him so fiercely he could
barely move.
"There now, girls," he said.
"Calm down, will you? Yes, Lavinia, I have come to stay with you for a while.
No, Uncle Eric is not coming, Daphne. Why not? He has business in London he
must attend to, that's why. Have you been a good girl, Emily?"
"She tried, sir," a serene voice
from the entrance of the house informed him. It was Miss Ryder, the girls' current
governess. "Welcome home, Mr. Hartwell."
As usual, she was looking
remarkably elegant for a young lady in reduced circumstances. Her gown was
neither the latest fashion nor had it been expensive, but it had the kind of
simplicity that never went quite out of style. Besides she had the kind of
figure that made any gown look spectacular, Mr. Hartwell thought, only to
banish the idea firmly from his mind. It would not do to be attracted to one's
daughters' governess. Especially not to this governess, who was the first one
to be able to control his girls.
Miss Ryder turned to the girls.
"I do not think your papa wishes to entertain the entire neighbourhood with
your raptures, girls, so you had better come inside again."
"But Papa ...," four-year-old Emily,
Mr. Hartwell's youngest daughter, began.
"I do think your papa wishes to
come inside too, Emily," Miss Ryder said. "I am not going to take you away from
him, do not worry."
Reluctantly, the girls went back
into the house, followed by Miss Ryder and their father.
"How are you, Miss Ryder?" Mr.
Hartwell asked. "The girls have not been too much trouble, have they?"
He noticed the anxious look his
eldest, Lavinia, threw over her shoulder in Miss Ryder's direction, as well as
Daphne's sigh of relief when Miss Ryder assured him that everything was well.
There had been some battles, he concluded. Matters could not have been too bad,
though -- Miss Ryder had not handed in her notice yet and so he assumed that,
whatever arguments there had been, she had won them. She had been in the
household for almost three months now -- that was a record. No governess had
ever stayed so long before her. Mr. Hartwell hardly dared hope so, but it
looked as if, in Miss Ryder, he had finally found the one governess who would be
impossible to dispose of.
It had been Mr. Hartwell's
mother-in-law who had recommended Miss Ryder. When she had heard that he was --
again -- looking for a governess for his daughters, she had told him she knew of
a young lady who might be willing to accept the post.
"You mean our reputation has not
reached her ears yet?" he had asked bitterly. "I must be on the agencies' black
lists already, so I suppose there is no use asking any of them."
"I am almost certain Miss Ryder
will be able to manage the girls," Lady Clairmont had said. "She has been
looking after her brothers and sisters ever since her mother died -- she was
sixteen then -- and they have all turned out well. A good family, the Ryders,
though they have met with ill-fortune of late. Her father is Alfred Ryder -- do
you remember him?"
Hartwell had not remembered him,
but his mother-in-law had lost no time in acquainting him with the gentleman's
misfortunes. He had invested his fortune unwisely, and had lost most of it in
consequence. From then on, the family had been obliged to make their living as
well as they could.
"Miss Ryder is a very fine young
lady," Lady Clairmont had finished her story. "Very accomplished, well-bred,
gentle yet determined if need be, and she has a great deal of experience."
This description had sounded too
good to be true, Mr. Hartwell had thought, yet he had not been inclined to
argue with his mother-in-law, and besides he had felt he was in no position to
be choosy. Any governess with a decent character who was willing to work for
him was welcome to do so, and so Miss Eleanor Ryder had taken up residence in
his house in Richmond only two weeks later.
"Would you like some
refreshment, sir?" Miss Ryder asked.
"Thank you, Miss Ryder, I
would," Hartwell said with a grateful smile. The journey had not been a long
one but since it was a hot day he was feeling parched.
"I have just ordered tea to be
brought into the school-room," Miss Ryder said. "Would you care to keep us
company, sir, or would you prefer to have something to eat and drink in the
library?" It was amusing how she had taken on the duties of a hostess in spite
of being a mere employee, Hartwell thought. But she seemed to be doing this
very well, and Hartwell was content to fall in with her course of action. It was
not as if she had usurped a position that rightfully belonged to someone else,
after all, and she was probably acting out of habit. When he was not in
Richmond, she was the one in charge of the girls, so she did have some kind of
elevated position in the household.
"I think I'd rather join you in
the schoolroom," Hartwell said. "I'll just get rid of my travel-stained clothes
beforehand."
"Certainly, sir," Miss Ryder
said, and took the girls to the school-room with her, leaving Mr. Hartwell to
go to his room and sort himself out.
When he arrived in the
schoolroom a quarter of an hour later, he found Miss Ryder and his daughters
seated in the bow-window, with a steaming teapot and several plates of
sandwiches waiting to be eaten. They were presenting a charming picture,
Hartwell thought. Still, he would have given everything he possessed, had it
enabled him to replace Miss Ryder with Harriet. This way of thinking would not
get him anywhere, though. Harriet was gone, and instead of thinking wistfully
of the past he would have to face the future.
Miss Ryder had apparently
instructed the girls to act as "hostesses" in this impromptu schoolroom
tea-party. Though Miss Ryder poured the tea -- the teapot, she said, was too
heavy for his daughters' hands -- Lavinia handed him his tea-cup with an air of
elegance, and Emily put some sandwiches on a plate which Daphne presented to
him. Mr. Hartwell was impressed -- he had not seen his girls act so civilised in
a while, especially not with a governess at hand.
"Papa, Miss Ryder has taught me
a new pattern," Daphne said. She was seven years old, and had developed a taste
for embroidery, as Miss Ryder had informed him during one of his previous
visits.
"Has she, indeed?" he asked,
trying to show as much interest as he could muster. Embroidery was none of his
concerns, but since his daughter was fond of it he was willing to act as if it
interested him too. "Are you still working on your sampler then?"
"I have started another one,"
Daphne said proudly. "Do you want to see it?" She looked perfectly ready to
dash off to her workbasket to show off her piece of work.
"After we have had our tea," Mr.
Hartwell said. "You know how clumsy I am -- you would not want me to spill my
tea on your sampler, do you?"
Daphne shook her head. She
certainly did not want her Papa to spoil her sampler.
"Daphne has dexterous hands, Mr.
Hartwell," Miss Ryder said. "Her embroidery would do credit to a much older
girl."
"This is excellent news," Mr.
Hartwell said. Daphne blushed -- one could see that her father's praise made her
happy.
"Emily has made some progress
with her reading," Miss Ryder continued. Emily's face, which had betrayed some
indignation at the fact that her sister had been preferred, lightened up.
"That's good," Mr. Hartwell
said, smiling at his youngest. "Will you read me a bedtime story tonight,
then?"
Emily burst into laughter. "But
I always sleep when you go to bed," she pointed out a flaw in his plan.
"That is a problem," Mr.
Hartwell admitted, pretending to be deep in thought. "But," he said as if he
had just had the idea, "you could read it to me at your bedtime. I'll come to
your room, and you will read me the story. How is that?"
Emily's face fell. She had
obviously had another, more appealing idea. "Miss Ryder says we must not read
in bed," she pointed out.
Mr. Hartwell turned to the
governess. "Do you think tonight might be an exception, Miss Ryder?" he asked
gravely. "I have not had a bedtime story read to me for the past thirty years
at least, and have quite set my heart on hearing one tonight."
Miss Ryder smiled. "Very well,
sir -- I will allow it for once."
"You are most generous, ma'am,"
Mr. Hartwell said. "What do you say to Miss Ryder, Emily?"
"Thank you, Miss Ryder," Emily
said, beaming. She might not be allowed to stay up until her Papa went to
sleep, but she would be allowed to do something her sisters were not supposed
to do. This was almost as good. Especially since she was the youngest, and was
often the one who was excluded from her sisters' games because she was "too
little".
Lavinia, not one to be outdone
by her youngest sister, said, "Papa, I have learned a new piano piece."
"I am looking forward to hearing
it," Mr. Hartwell said.
"Lavinia is a talented
musician," Miss Ryder said. "Unfortunately she thinks this entitles her to
neglecting her French studies."
Lavinia shot Miss Ryder a dark
glance. Mr. Hartwell had a hard time not to laugh. He suspected that this was
what their quarrels had been about. Knowing Lavinia, he supposed the last word
on the subject was not spoken yet. Lavinia was stubborn, and not willing to
spend any time doing things she did not enjoy. He had witnessed some of her
tantrums, and knew that she was the one of his daughters who gave their
governess the most trouble. Most of the pranks the girls had committed to rid
themselves of their governesses had been her idea -- she was not without sense,
and where she led her sisters would follow.
Lavinia put her sandwich back on
her plate and, with a challenging look at Miss Ryder, said, "I do not like
cucumbers."
"In that case you should not
have taken a cucumber sandwich, Lavinia," Miss Ryder said. "We have plenty of
other sandwiches to choose from."
"I did not see it was a cucumber
sandwich when I took it," Lavinia said.
"Did you not think the green
colour might have given you a hint?" Miss Ryder asked dryly. "We have an
agreement, Lavinia."
"I don't care about the
agreement," Lavinia burst out. "I don't want to eat this!"
"But you will," Miss Ryder said.
Her tone indicated that she was willing to discuss the matter at length, but
that her point of view was not going to change.
"Papa," Lavinia said, turning to
her father and fully expecting him to take her side. "Tell Miss Ryder I do not
want to eat this sandwich!"
"You have already told her so;
there is no need for me to repeat it," Mr. Hartwell said. "I suggest you stick
to your agreement with Miss Ryder, whatever it is."
He was not one to undermine the governess' authority with his daughters, not
now that he had found a teacher who had stayed for longer than two weeks and
seemed inclined to stay even longer, in spite of his daughters' unlimited
capacity for mischief.
"Explain the agreement to your
father, Lavinia," Miss Ryder said amiably. "I am sure he is interested to
know."
"We need not eat what we do not
like," Lavinia said.
"I see," Mr. Hartwell said, his
eyes twinkling with amusement. "I suspect there is more to it though."
"There is," Miss Ryder said.
"What is the other half of our agreement, Lavinia?"
"We must finish what we put on
our plates," Lavinia said irritably.
"This sounds like a very
sensible deal to me," Mr. Hartwell said. Lavinia pouted. She had wanted to be
pitied -- and to measure her power against Miss Ryder's, to demonstrate in the
presence of her father that Miss Ryder had no authority over her. The plan had
gone wrong, and Mr. Hartwell was certain there would be trouble before long. It
almost made him wish he had stayed in London, but no one would be able to call
him a coward -- he'd stay here and watch.
"Miss Ryder had a letter from
her brother today," Daphne announced. "Are you going to read it to us when we
have finished our tea, Miss Ryder?"
"Certainly," Miss Ryder said.
"As soon as all of you have finished their tea."
With a darkling look at Miss Ryder,
Lavinia picked up her sandwich again and started to eat -- slowly and with a
great show of disgust.
"I take it your brother's letter
is a treat the girls are looking forward to?" Mr. Hartwell asked the governess.
Miss Ryder laughed. "All my
brothers' letters," she said. "I have three younger brothers, all of them in
the Navy -- and they send me letters from all over the world, which naturally
fascinates your daughters. -- You do like to hear about their adventures, don't
you, Emily?"
Her mouth being full, Emily
could only reply with a vigorous nod.
"It seems rather extraordinary
that three brothers would take up the same profession," Mr. Hartwell said. "Are
their tastes so similar?"
"No, but their prospects were,"
Miss Ryder said. "It is very difficult for a gentleman to find an occupation
which does not require some sort of financial investment from his family. A
friend of my father's was willing to use his interest in their behalf, and so
it seemed the best thing for them to do, even though they were still very young
when they left us."
Miss Ryder's family must be in
extremely reduced circumstances then, Mr. Hartwell thought. There was enough
money to send at least one son to university in most genteel families -- Mr.
Ryder's financial losses must have been greater than Hartwell had imagined.
"It is a worthy profession,"
Hartwell said, for want of anything suitable to say. "And they have some hope
of advancement and fortune, I suppose."
"Oh yes. They do tell me so
regularly," Miss Ryder said. She turned to Lavinia, who had, in the meantime,
finished her sandwich. "There now," she said. "That wasn't so horrible after
all, was it?"
Lavinia mumbled something which
hardly sounded like agreement, and was allowed to ring the bell for the maid to
clear the table. Hartwell rose.
"I will leave you to your
brother's letter then, Miss Ryder," he said. "Shall I have the honour of dining
in your and the young ladies' company tonight?"
Miss Ryder smiled. "We shall be
delighted, sir," she said. "If you do not mind keeping country hours, that is.
The young ladies are supposed to be in bed by eight o'clock."
This was another bone of
contention between Lavinia and Miss Ryder, as Mr. Hartwell was able to judge
from the look Lavinia gave the governess.
Mr. Hartwell nodded assent, and left the school room to write letters in his study, while Miss Ryder took a letter from her workbasket and settled down on a sofa, with one little girl cuddling up to her on either side and a larger one taking a seat at the edge of the sofa, as far away from Miss Ryder as she could.
Part Two
At the dinner table, Mr.
Hartwell had some further opportunity to watch Miss Ryder's way of handling the
girls. She was firm, but never unfriendly, and for the first time he had a
feeling as if his daughters really liked and respected their governess. Two of
them did, anyway. He was not quite certain about Lavinia.
The girl behaved well enough, he
had to admit. There was no talk about disliking any of the dishes that had been
set on the table -- though she ignored some of them. But she ate what was on her
plate without complaining, and considering what a fussy eater his eldest
usually was this was an achievement -- an achievement that Mr. Hartwell knew he
had to lay at Miss Ryder's door.
The girls entertained him with
an account of what they had been doing all afternoon, and Daphne reminded him
that he had yet to see her sampler.
"May I show it to Papa after
dinner?" she asked Miss Ryder, and Miss Ryder told her she could do so,
provided her father still wanted to see her masterpiece.
"I am looking forward to it,"
Mr. Hartwell said enthusiastically and Daphne gave a satisfied sigh. "I also
remember your promise to play to me, Lavinia," he added. "Do not think I will
let you get away without having played your new piece to me."
Lavinia smiled, satisfied that
her father had not forgotten about her musical achievement. She was a very
touchy child, prone to taking offence where none was meant whenever she felt
herself neglected, and she often felt slighted. Mr. Hartwell was fully aware of
this trait in his daughter's character, and tried to humour her as often as he
could, hoping to avoid trouble. Perhaps it was not the best way of dealing with
the child, but it was certainly the easiest.
"I have already chosen a bedtime
story for you, Papa," Emily announced.
"Have you? Nothing too
frightening, I hope -- I do wish to get a good night's sleep," Mr. Hartwell
said, sounding worried but with an amused glint in his eyes.
Emily chuckled. "It is not
really scary," she said. "It is a funny story -- I want to make you laugh."
"That is an excellent idea. I
can do with a laugh now and then," Mr. Hartwell declared.
"Have you ever read The Three
Big Sillies?" Emily asked.
"No, I do not remember that one.
It sounds promising though," Mr. Hartwell said.
Lavinia, who felt that her
father had paid her sisters enough attention by now, said, "Miss Ryder's
brother is coming for a visit, Papa." Her tone of voice indicated that she was
relating a big secret, one she knew he would disapprove. She was bound to be
disappointed, however.
"Is he?" Mr. Hartwell merely
asked, giving Miss Ryder an expectant look.
"Subject to your permission, Mr.
Hartwell," Miss Ryder said. "Naturally I would not dream of receiving him here
if I knew it was against your wishes."
"Why should I have any objection
to a man's visiting his own sister?" Mr. Hartwell asked.
"Well, this is your house, Mr.
Hartwell," Miss Ryder pointed out.
"And even if the sister in
question lives in my house, she can depend on my hospitality for her brothers,"
Mr. Hartwell said. "Unless there is a good reason for me to forbid a visit, but
I have always supposed your brothers to be respectable fellows, so there cannot
be a proper reason for me to withhold my permission."
"Thank you, sir," Miss Ryder
said, blushing. His praise of her family had obviously pleased her.
"So when is your brother going
to come, Miss Ryder?"
"I do not know. He merely
mentioned it in his latest letter," she replied. "He said he would pay me a visit
because he was to have two weeks' leave of absence when returning to England. I
do not know when this will be, however."
"Whenever he does come, feel
free to let him stay here for as long as he likes," Mr. Hartwell said.
"Thank you sir. You are very generous,"
Miss Ryder said. She looked very happy with the prospect of having her brother
stay here, but did not dwell on the topic. Neither did she heap excessive
praise on him in an effort to show gratitude where there was none. She was
grateful, that was evident, but she saw no reason to worship the ground he trod
on for complying with one of her wishes. Miss Ryder might be a lady in reduced
circumstances, but she was still a lady, not the kind of toadying female that
governesses, in his experience, often were.
"You're welcome, Miss Ryder,"
Hartwell said and turned his attention back to his dinner.
When they had finished their
repast, Miss Ryder and the girls very correctly left the dining room to allow
Mr. Hartwell to enjoy a glass of port or two. Lavinia was to practise her piano
piece once more, Daphne wanted to fetch her sampler from her room, and Emily
was happy to sit with Miss Ryder, who entertained her with a fairy-tale while
occupying herself with some piece of needlework or other.
As he joined the company in the
drawing room, Mr. Hartwell again delighted in the quiet domesticity of the
scene, and again wished Harriet could be there with them to take part in it. He
had to admit that Miss Ryder, too, was a sight to behold, however.
She was not half as beautiful as
Harriet had been, but then who could compare to his wife? Harriet D'Aubrey had
been a beauty, a Vision. Hartwell had fallen in love with her the instant he
had first set eyes on her, which had not been surprising. She had attracted many
admirers, with her black hair, her angelic face, her large blue eyes, and her
willowy figure. Her brother Lord Clairmont had, jokingly, referred to her as
Snow White, and though Mr. Hartwell had taken exception to the description he
had had to admit that it had been apt in spite of being inappropriate.
Sometimes she had looked like an illustration from a fairy-tale book.
Miss Ryder was a different type.
She was pretty, but had none of Harriet's ethereal beauty. Her golden curls
were her one striking feature. Mr. Hartwell was certain she would look stunning
with her hair down instead of wearing it in a no-nonsense bun. Her figure was
pleasing, but she was shorter than Harriet had been. Her face, though
attractive, was nothing out of the ordinary. It was rendered interesting by a
pair of intelligent hazel eyes, though, eyes that sparkled with amusement on
occasion. On the whole it was surprising that Miss Ryder had never married --
Hartwell had seen less attractive girls than her make suitable matches, even if
they had not possessed any fortunes to speak of. But maybe she had never
thought of marriage, and had therefore not looked for a husband. It was a pity,
Hartwell thought. She'd make some lucky fellow an excellent wife, surely.
Miss Ryder looked up at him when
he entered the room, and welcomed him with a smile. It was fascinating to see
the radiant effect that smile had on her face -- she should smile more often,
Hartwell thought.
"You are always busy, Miss
Ryder," he said, looking at her hands. There was another appealing feature
about her -- her hands were beautiful.
"I try to be," Miss Ryder
replied. "Most of the time it does not require a great deal of effort to find
an occupation for myself, I admit."
"Do you never rest, then?"
"I do rest -- whenever I am
asleep," Miss Ryder said with a laugh. "That should be enough."
Mr. Hartwell smiled. She sounded
very cheerful and active -- just the kind of person he needed around here. He
did hope the girls would not do anything stupid to make her go away. He did not
think that Daphne and Emily would, but Lavinia was a power to be reckoned with.
Mr. Hartwell decided to keep a close watch on his eldest while he was staying
with them.
"Are you ready for Lavinia's
concert, Mr. Hartwell?" Miss Ryder asked. "She has been very busy practising
this half hour, and appears very eager to display her skill on the pianoforte."
"Then she must have her chance
to show off," Mr. Hartwell said and sat down in a chair next to Miss Ryder's,
facing the pianoforte.
"Will you entertain us with some
music, my dear?" he asked his eldest daughter, and Lavinia immediately started
to play. Hartwell was not an expert in music, but Lavinia seemed to brush
through her piece of music tolerably well and at the end he was perfectly ready
to give his daughter the round of applause that he thought was her due.
Once Daphne had brought him her
sampler for inspection and he had given her some heartfelt words of praise,
Miss Ryder reminded the girls that it was time for bed.
"Papa!" Emily cried, giving
Hartwell a pleading look.
"I am ready for my bedtime
story, Emily," Mr. Hartwell said with a laugh. "If you will excuse us, Miss
Ryder?"
Miss Ryder gave him a polite
nod, wished the girls a good night, and off they went to the nursery where
their nurse would tend to them.
The Three Big Sillies were a
great success, if not with Mr. Hartwell then at least with his daughter. Emily
was obviously partial to the story of the man who set out to find three people
sillier than his bride. She chuckled so much at the foolish things the people
in the story did that she sometimes had to stop reading altogether until she
had recovered her self-control.
Having reached the end of her
narrative, Emily leant back into her pillow and received a good-night kiss on
the cheek from her Papa.
"Did you like the story, Papa?"
she asked sleepily.
"Oh yes, I did," Mr. Hartwell
said. "It was very funny."
"It was, wasn't it? Miss Ryder
read it to us the other day, and then she told me that if I were able to read I
would not have to wait until she was at leisure to read to me."
"That sounds reasonable," Mr.
Hartwell said.
"Papa, do you like Miss Ryder? I
like her very much." Emily said.
"I like her too. She is a very
clever lady," Hartwell said.
"Mmmmhm," Emily said, drifting
off. Hartwell waited until she was asleep, then he put out the candle on her
bedside table and left the room. Miss Ryder was still sitting in the drawing
room, working.
"Are the girls asleep?" she
asked, looking up at him. The candlelight did a great deal to enhance her
complexion, Mr. Hartwell thought.
"I think they are," he said,
sitting down next to the governess. "I must compliment you on the excellent
work you have done with them," he continued. "I sincerely hope you will stay
for a while."
"I have no intention of
leaving," Miss Ryder said with a smile. "I am growing very fond of your
daughters."
"I am glad to hear it," Mr.
Hartwell said. "I have a suggestion -- how about taking the girls to Hampton
Court tomorrow? I am astonished at their achievements -- they have been working
hard, and so have you. Don't you think all of you deserve a treat?"
Miss Ryder laughed. "If you want
to take your daughters to Hampton Court, sir, you are naturally welcome to do
so," she said.
"I wanted to give you the chance
to say no," he said earnestly. "Without being in danger of losing the girls'
friendship, which I know was difficult to gain."
"This is very considerate of
you," Miss Ryder said. "I think the girls will enjoy going to Hampton Court
very much. So will I, I confess, so I am all in favour of the outing."
"Then it is settled," Mr.
Hartwell said. "We will go there tomorrow, if the weather permits it."
"It is going to be a pleasant
surprise for your daughters," Miss Ryder said, picking up her work again.
Mr. Hartwell took a closer look
at it. "What is this you are making, Miss Ryder?" he asked.
"I am netting a purse for my
sister Augusta," she said calmly. "It is going to be my birthday present for
her -- she will turn twenty in two weeks."
"Is Miss Augusta Ryder your
youngest sister?"
"No, Caroline is the baby in our
family; she is sixteen." Miss Ryder smiled. Her affection for her sisters was
evident.
"You have three sisters, don't
you?"
"That's right, three sisters and
three brothers," Miss Ryder said. "I am the eldest."
"Do any of your siblings have
families of their own?"
"My sister Elizabeth got married
last summer," Miss Ryder said. "Her husband is Mr. Brompton, the vicar in
Clairmont Magna."
Hartwell remembered Mr.
Brampton. They had met when Hartwell had last visited his brother-in-law's
country estate.
"So this is how my mother-in-law
became acquainted with your family," Mr. Hartwell said.
"I suppose so," Miss Ryder said.
"Elizabeth invited us to spend the Christmas holidays in her new home, and we
met Lady Clairmont several times while we were there. She was very kind to all
of us."
She said this in a
matter-of-fact tone, without any of the undue obsequiousness that Mr. Hartwell
had often observed with people who were intent on gaining his favour. It made
her even more likeable in his eyes. When it became evident that he did not, for
the moment, mean to say anything in reply to her remark, Miss Ryder took her
workbasket and began to put her netting away.
"I had better retire for the
night as well," she said when she noticed his enquiring gaze upon her.
"Why?" Hartwell asked. "I hope
my presence does not bother you? I can go to the study, if you prefer to be on
your own."
"Mr. Hartwell, I am not in a
position to tell you where to spend your evenings," Miss Ryder said with an
amused laugh. "What a piece of impertinence this would be!"
"Then why are you leaving?"
"I am not in the habit of
staying up late, sir," Miss Ryder said. "That is all."
"And you are afraid I might
object to the quantity of work candles you require," Hartwell said dryly. "You
need not worry, Miss Ryder. I am not a miser."
Miss Ryder blushed, and for a
moment lost her poise. "I certainly did not suggest any such thing," she
protested. "I have no reason to."
"Still that was what bothered
you, wasn't it?" Hartwell asked. "Let me use plain words, Miss Ryder -- I do not
want you to lack a single thing necessary to your comfort while you are staying
under my roof. If you wish to sit up netting purses all night, this is what you
will do, no matter how many candles you will need to accomplish your task. Do
not think I would ever decline a reasonable request such as this."
"I have become accustomed to
strict economy," Miss Ryder said quietly. "I was acting according to habit and
did not want to offend you, Mr. Hartwell."
"You did not offend me,"
Hartwell said. "But do you wish to retire for the night already? It is
not nine o'clock yet, and I for one am not tired. Will you do me the favour and
join me for a game of chess or cards or backgammon?"
For some reason or other, Mr.
Hartwell did not want her to leave him yet. He did not wish to sit up alone,
and he found her company agreeable.
After a moment's hesitation,
Miss Ryder accepted his challenge and agreed to play a game of chess with him.
She did not like card games, she said, being a poor hand at them, and
backgammon was none of her favourites either, but she was fond of chess and
would not mind playing a game or two. So Mr. Hartwell got up and fetched the
chessboard and pieces from his study, and they sat playing for nearly two hours
before Miss Ryder finally rose and bade him goodnight.
Hartwell stayed up for a little longer, drinking a glass of wine before going to bed as well. He was beginning to get used to Miss Ryder, and the girls seemed to be fond of her too. Hopefully Lavinia would not mess things up.
Part Three
The moment Mr. Hartwell rose
from his bed the next morning, his valet informed him that the sun was out and
that it was going to be a fine day. Mr. Hartwell therefore sent word to the
nursery that they would set out to Hampton Court immediately after breakfast,
and hurried to get ready.
Mr. Hartwell always had his
breakfast on his own -- since his wife's death, that was. Before, they had
usually had breakfast together, while the children had had theirs in the
nursery and had joined their parents after their morning meal to receive their
good-morning kisses. It had been some kind of ritual -- it gave them the
opportunity of being husband and wife instead of parents, they had been able to
talk about things that concerned no one but them, and they had simply enjoyed
the privacy of their early mornings together.
After Harriet had died, Mr.
Hartwell could have changed the habit, of course, but to be honest he had not wanted
to. He had felt that the girls' lives should go on with as little change as
possible, and so they had continued to have their breakfast in the nursery,
with their governess and nurse, while he ate his in solitude.
He had hardly swallowed his last
bite, when Emily burst into the breakfast room, the other girls hard on her
heels.
"Papa!" she exclaimed, and threw
her arms around him. "You are the best papa in the world!"
"I know," Mr. Hartwell replied
jokily. "Though I do wonder what made you detect it, Emily."
"Miss Ryder said you are going
to take us to Ham ... that palace, and there's a ... a ... maze, and we can go in. We
can, can't we?"
"In this weather? I think not,"
Mr. Hartwell said teasingly. "Just look outside -- I am sure it is going to
rain."
"No, Papa, it is going to be
fine," Daphne assured him earnestly.
"Nonsense. It is going to pour
down in a minute," Mr. Hartwell said. When he saw his daughters' worried faces,
he broke into a grin. "You should not let your papa tease you so," he said. "Of
course we will go -- and yes, Emily, if you want we can go into the maze too."
"You do not have many plans for
today, then, sir?" Miss Ryder asked, entering the room. She was becomingly
dressed, Mr. Hartwell noted, but then she always was, even if her clothes were
not according to the latest fashion. Today, she was wearing a dotted muslin
gown and a blue pelisse and bonnet that suited her very well. She really was a
very pretty young lady, he thought, and wondered again how such a first-rate
specimen had managed to escape the married state so far. She must have been
surrounded by men who were both blind and stupid, he thought.
"What makes you think so?" he
asked, smiling.
"If people are planning to go
into the maze at Hampton Court, they had better not have any other plans for
the same morning," she said with a laugh. "It will take them a while to find
their way out."
"Since I do not have any plans
for today but taking these young ladies -- and you, Miss Ryder -- to Hampton
Court, this does not matter. I am sure there are gardeners enough who will
rescue us from certain starvation at one point, and will show us the way out."
"We could take some food with us
when we go in," Daphne pointed out. "Then we will not starve."
"So we could," Mr. Hartwell
agreed. "Clever girl."
The weather being exceptionally
fine, they travelled in the late Mrs. Hartwell's barouche. It was large enough
to accommodate the entire party, with Miss Ryder and the two younger girls
sitting on one side and Mr. Hartwell and Lavinia on the other. While Daphne and
Emily chatted away happily, and Miss Ryder good-naturedly joined in with them,
Lavinia remained silent and only answered questions directed at her. Mr.
Hartwell was not sure what to make of this behaviour -- he did hope though that Lavinia,
if she planned some mischief, would wait until their outing was over. Spoiling
the day for her sisters would be unforgivable, he thought, and hoped Lavinia
was clever enough not to do that. Her sullenness worried him. He did not know
exactly when this kind of behaviour had started, but it was a new development,
and one he did not like at all. However, he did not know what to do about it,
and Miss Ryder, to all appearances, ignored it. Perhaps this was the best way
of dealing with her moroseness, Mr. Hartwell thought. He was no expert in the
upbringing of children, and was glad to have a capable governess to take charge
of them in his stead.
Once at Hampton Court, Lavinia
seemed to unbend a little. She found the palace interesting, and asked many questions
while they were conducted through the rooms and galleries. The girls shuddered
when their guide related the ghost stories attached to the building, and Miss
Ryder did not seem too pleased to hear them either. As she later explained to
Mr. Hartwell, it was difficult enough to make them go to sleep in the evenings
as it was, without them being afraid of spectres lurking somewhere in the
darkness.
Outside in the sunlit gardens,
the girls soon seemed to forget about the chilling tales they had heard, and
were chasing each other happily across the lawn. Mr. Hartwell, after a short
remonstration directed at the girls to behave themselves, turned to Miss Ryder.
"I hope you are enjoying
yourself, too," he said.
"I certainly do," Miss Ryder
replied. "This place is beautiful, and I love seeing the girls so happy. They
hardly ever have the chance to behave like children -- which is a pity in my
opinion."
"So it is," Mr. Hartwell agreed.
"I admit that their living conditions in Richmond are somewhat confined; I
suppose that this is the reason."
"The house and garden are
spacious enough, Mr. Hartwell, but I think they simply miss their home. Daphne
and Emily speak very fondly of Maynard Hill."
"It is an excellent place for
children to grow up in -- I should know, having grown up there myself. How about
Lavinia? Does she speak about Maynard Hill a great deal?"
"Lavinia hardly ever speaks,"
Miss Ryder sighed. "She has built a wall around her and does not let anyone
in."
Hartwell nodded. "She was not
always like this," he said. "When her mother was still alive, she was a very
amiable and affectionate child."
"She still is, occasionally,"
Miss Ryder said. "Right now, for example."
Hartwell looked in the direction
of the girls. Lavinia was running after her two younger sisters, trying to
catch one of them. For once, she was behaving like a nine-year-old and not like
a spiteful eighty-year-old in a nine-year-old body.
"Do you think I should send them
back home?" he asked Miss Ryder. "Perhaps they would be happier there?"
"It is not my place to make such
a decision," Miss Ryder replied.
"Yes, it is. You are the
governess -- I depend on you to find out what is best for my children," Mr.
Hartwell said. "I am afraid I am not very good at raising them."
"You have provided your
daughters with everything they need," Miss Ryder said. "There is not much more
you can do, sir. They love you, and they miss you very much when you are gone,
but they realise you cannot be around all the time. It is my belief that they
only get into trouble when you have not been around for a while -- because they
know that this will bring you back home."
"You think their conduct is my
fault?" Mr. Hartwell asked.
"I did not talk about fault,
sir," Miss Ryder said, smiling. "I merely said it was their way of bringing
their father to heel."
"In other words, if I had not
come back every time they had frightened a governess away this kind of
behaviour would have stopped?" Mr. Hartwell asked.
"I said it was not your fault,"
Miss Ryder said. "What else could you have done but what you did? What I am
trying to do -- and I feel that at least with Daphne and Emily I am succeeding --
is to make them feel safe, even if their father is not with them. But I am
afraid Lavinia does not trust me. I am not sure whether she trusts anyone,
however. I suspect to her I am the evil woman who takes her sisters' affection
away from her, and she will fight me whenever she can."
"Has she been misbehaving?" Mr.
Hartwell asked with a frown.
"No, I think she is still in the
planning stage," Miss Ryder said with a laugh.
"You do not sound worried at
all," Hartwell said, smiling at her.
"I do not think there is much
she can do that has not been done to me before," Miss Ryder said. "My sisters
were good at coming up with tricks they could play on me, and I've forestalled
them all."
"Then let us hope my daughter is
not more ingenious than your sisters used to be," Mr. Hartwell said with a
laugh.
"I believe there is a limit to
the harm a nine-year-old can do," Miss Ryder said confidently. "She will not
want to put her sisters in danger, certainly, so she will stop short of setting
fire to the house."
When she saw Mr. Hartwell's
shocked expression, she laughed. "I was only joking, sir," she said, and added,
with a twinkle in her eyes, "You should not let me tease you so, sir."
She used the same words he had
said to the girls when he had pulled their legs earlier that morning, and he
suspected that had been her way of repaying the laugh he had had at her and the
girls' expense.
Mr. Hartwell suppressed a sigh
of relief, and said, laughingly, "You are an impertinent creature, Miss Ryder!
I had no idea!"
"You would not have hired me if
you had known, I suppose, so I did my best to hide it," Miss Ryder said.
"To be honest, I think my girls
need a governess with a sense of humour," Mr. Hartwell said.
"Does this mean my impertinence
is a virtue in your opinion?" Miss Ryder asked.
"Certainly. Only a very
impertinent person can repay the girls in their own coin. You are just what
they need, I think."
The compliment pleased her, Mr.
Hartwell noted. She thanked him with a smile, and there was a slight blush as
she did so. They were getting along really well, Hartwell thought, and hoped
things would continue in this way.
A shriek from Lavinia
interrupted their tête-à-tête. She had stumbled and taken a fall, and was now
sitting in the middle of the lawn, crying her eyes out.
"What is the matter?" Hartwell
asked as he hurried towards her.
"I've broken my leg," she
sobbed.
"Have you?" Miss Ryder asked,
and knelt down next to Lavinia. "Let me have a look. Which leg is it?"
"Don't touch me! It hurts!"
Lavinia cried. "Papa, tell her she is not to touch me!"
"How did it happen?" Mr.
Hartwell asked calmly, ignoring Lavinia's demand and watching Miss Ryder
examine both Lavinia's legs. Lavinia struggled, and Miss Ryder rose.
"No broken bones, as far as I
can tell," she said calmly. "Now come, Lavinia, stop this scene. Up you get."
"I can't!" Lavinia wailed. "I'm
in pain!"
"Enough, Lavinia," Mr. Hartwell
snapped. "Miss Ryder told you to get up, and get up you will."
"But my leg..." Lavinia protested.
"It will soon be better," Mr.
Hartwell said, took his daughter's hands and pulled her up. Lavinia stood,
still crying, but it was obvious that none of her legs was seriously hurt.
The crowd of spectators
dispersed, some of them muttering something about heartless parents and
irresponsible governesses, and Mr. Hartwell handed his daughter a handkerchief.
"Dry your face and come with
us," he demanded.
"Is Lavinia's leg not broken?"
Emily asked, casting a worried glance at her sister.
"No, it is not," Miss Ryder
reassured her. "She hurt it when she fell, but she will soon feel better."
"Good!" Daphne said. "Can we go
to the maze now, Papa?"
"We are going to have something
to eat first," Mr. Hartwell said. "In case we do not find our way out again."
"A very sensible idea, sir,"
Miss Ryder said, and offered Lavinia her arm. Lavinia refused.
She ostentatiously limped ahead
of them, but Mr. Hartwell was quick to realise that she had not yet made up her
mind which leg hurt her most -- she did not care with which of her legs she was
limping, as long as she could make a show of having hurt her leg.
They went back to their
carriage, where a footman had prepared a picnic for them. Everyone ate and was
in the best of spirits, except Lavinia. No doubt she was annoyed that no one
paid her any particular attention, Hartwell thought and decided to teach her a
lesson. It was about time he asserted himself. Things could not go on in this
way.
So when he announced they would
go to the maze now, he turned to Lavinia and said, "You can wait in the
carriage until we come back, dear."
"B ... but..." Lavinia stuttered.
"Walking around for an hour or
even more will not do your leg any good," Hartwell said mercilessly.
"I am already feeling better,"
Lavinia said hurriedly.
"I had rather not take any
risks, however," Hartwell said. "One never knows."
"But ... I don't want to stay here
all by myself," Lavinia muttered.
"You will not -- the coachman and
George here will keep you company," Mr. Hartwell said, indicating the footman.
He lifted Lavinia into the carriage. "Now sit down and nurse your leg until we
come back. There's a good girl."
He turned to Miss Ryder and gave
her a wink. "Shall we go, Miss Ryder?"
"Had I not better stay with
Lavinia?" Miss Ryder asked.
"And leave me all by myself with
Emily and Daphne? You cannot do that, Miss Ryder; we will need your help in the
maze, I am sure. How are we to find our way out without your assistance?"
"Very well, sir," Miss Ryder
said and, taking the younger girls' hands, wished Lavinia a pleasant afternoon.
Lavinia was seething with anger, no doubt planning to get her own back at them
at the earliest opportunity, but she did not say anything and remained in the
carriage.
After a pleasant half-hour in
the maze, they returned to the carriage and went back home. Lavinia did not
talk to any of them for the entire drive to Richmond, but sullenly stared at
the scenery they passed. Mr. Hartwell decided to ignore her.
Even Miss Ryder, after two
futile attempts at talking to her, gave up and chatted with the other girls
instead. Daphne and Emily were thrilled. They had enjoyed themselves very much,
and thanked their father over and over again for a lovely day out. At least
Lavinia's antics had not spoilt the day for her sisters, Mr. Hartwell thought.
What had made her act in such a
way, he wondered. Why had she feigned an injury? Had it been because they had
not paid her enough attention? Or because he had paid too much attention to
Miss Ryder? He remembered some remarks he had overheard when he and Miss Ryder
had attended to Lavinia -- some people had thought he and Miss Ryder had been
too absorbed with their conversation to supervise the children properly, and
had not hesitated to share their opinion on the subject. Hartwell admitted that
he had enjoyed talking to the governess, and that he liked her cheerful,
fun-loving nature.
But they had not flirted - he had certainly not meant to flirt with Miss Ryder. She was pretty, and intelligent, and had a delightful sense of humour -- but she was his daughters' governess. He would have to watch his step around her, he supposed. It would not do for him to make her think he had any interest in her beyond her way of dealing with his children. Where would he find another governess when she was gone? And he was sure she would leave, if she were to believe that he was making improper advances to her.
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