The Silent Governess Read online

  When my daughter Georgiana returned from her shopping trip, she found me sitting where you left me, that letter still in my hand. She drew from me the events of the day and was quite vexed with me for not having asked you to stay long enough that she might have met you herself.

  I regret not receiving you more warmly, my dear. Please, will you do us the honour of calling again?

  Mrs. Elizabeth Hawthorn

  Seeing the woman’s name in her own hand caused Olivia’s heart to contract as it had not done before she had met Mrs. Hawthorn. Elizabeth. Her own name was Olivia Elizabeth. Had her mother named her for her father and grandmother?

  Another script, this one free and loopy, wrote an addendum beneath the precise formal hand:

  Please do come, Olivia. Imagine! I have a niece!

  Your Aunt,

  Georgiana Crenshaw

  (Mr. Crenshaw says you are most welcome.)

  Olivia felt herself smiling, already drawn to this effervescent aunt she had never met.

  Edward and Lord Brightwell made their way to the drawing room to greet Felix, who had returned to Brightwell for a weekend visit. Judith had arrived before them, evidenced by her voice sifting into the corridor from the open door.

  “How go things at Oxford?” she asked.

  Edward entered the room in time to see Felix shrug. He took up the refrain. “Yes, Felix, how go the studies?”

  “Studies? Oh, is that what I am to be about at Oxford? I thought I was there for rowing and singing and impressing the ladies.”

  “Well, that too, of course,” Edward said good-naturedly.

  Felix selected a cigar from the wooden box on the sideboard and slipped it into his coat pocket. Then he helped himself to the decanter of port.

  Lord Brightwell seated himself and asked Felix to pour him a glass as well. “Felix, I am happy to sponsor you at my old alma mater, but I did hope you would apply yourself.”

  Felix sighed and handed the earl a glass. “I am afraid I must disappoint you, Uncle. It seems success is beyond my reach. I have a mind to quit the whole business.”

  “What?” Edward exclaimed, trying but failing to keep the edge from his voice.

  Felix threw up his hands. “Does it really matter? No one has ever expected much of me. Don’t tell me you depend upon my having a brilliant career in the law, or the church, or politics or some such thing. It is ridiculous.”

  “No, it is not,” Edward said.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Edward faltered and felt Judith’s curious glance. “Because . . . well, you never know what the future might bring, and well . . .”

  His father joined in, “And Bradleys have always excelled at university. Even your father.”

  Edward was surprised to hear Lord Brightwell mention his long-estranged brother.

  “My, we are all feeling charitable today, are we not?” Felix said. “Even my father, who is never praised here in his childhood home, was more intelligent than I, it seems.”

  “Your father was clever indeed,” Lord Brightwell said. “But this is not about intelligence. You have perfectly good brains, my boy, you just lack . . . well . . .”

  “Self-discipline,” Edward offered.

  “Ambition,” Judith added.

  Acrimony dripped from Felix’s lips. “Well, thank you all very much.”

  “How bad is it?” Lord Brightwell asked, with an anticipatory grimace.

  One hand on the mantel, neck bowed, Felix stared at the fire. “Not only will there be no honours, but I am on the cusp of failing out.”

  Lord Brightwell gaped. “Never say so!”

  “I am afraid it is quite true, Uncle. I have come to grief at Oxford. I see no point in returning for the rest of the year and wasting more of your money.”

  Edward frowned. “You will not quit, Felix.”

  Felix stared at him, hard. “Why? Can’t stand to see a blight on the Bradley pride?”

  “What about your pride?” Edward said. “A man does not quit what he has begun. Now go back to Balliol, pass the examinations, and obtain your degree.”

  “To what purpose? I already told you I am not fit for the church or the law.”

  Edward felt Judith studying him, awaiting his answer just as her brother did.

  “You have a bright future before you, Felix,” he said, hedging. “I cannot say how it will come or what form it will take, but I would have you be prepared to rise to the occasion when it presents itself.”

  Brother and sister still stared at him, brows furrowed. Lord Brightwell stepped in to the unsettled void and slapped Felix on the back. “Come on, my boy. You can do it. We are all of us behind you.”

  Chapter 37

  When you set yourself on fire, people love to come and see you burn.

  —JOHN WESLEY

  The next morning, Olivia and the children played hide-and-seek amid a lifting grey fog and the hoarse call of ravens.

  While Audrey covered her eyes and counted, Olivia stepped behind the carpentry shop. She was surprised Andrew had not followed and hidden near her as was his wont. Perhaps he had seen Johnny or Lord Bradley and had run off to join one of them.

  Audrey made a great show of checking the garden and arbor, then ran across the lawn in her direction. Smiling, Olivia retreated behind the shop wall.

  “I found you, miss. I found you!” Audrey happily announced.

  Olivia smoothed a lock of hair from the girl’s brow. “Yes, you did, my clever girl.” Unexpected tears pricked her eyes, as thoughts of her father came unbidden. “My clever girl” had been his pet name for her in happier times.

  “I am sorry I found you so quickly if it makes you sad,” Audrey said, stricken.

  “No, I am pleased you found me. Now, shall we go seek Andrew together?”

  Audrey looked about her. “He isn’t with you?”

  “Not this time.”

  That was when Olivia heard it. The barked word “fire!” repeated again in a woman’s shrill cry. “Fire! Fire in the stables!” The laundry maid, Olivia guessed, who worked near the stable yard.

  Olivia’s heart started. The stables? All that hay and straw. The poor horses! A dreadful thought struck Olivia’s chest like an iron mallet. Good Lord, no . . .

  “Andrew!” she cried, and ran headlong across the lawn. Audrey followed behind, shouting her little brother’s name.

  Reaching the stables, she called to the coachman, harried and single-handedly trying to herd the horses from harm.

  “Mr. Talbot! Have you seen Andrew? We were hiding and—”

  “No, miss. He isn’t here.”

  Relief filled her. The coachman looped a rope around the neck of a grey gelding, and all but dragged the terrified animal from the stable. If only Lord Bradley would return from his morning ride!

  “Audrey, run into the house and find Lord Brightwell,” Olivia said. “And ask everyone you meet if they have seen Andrew.”

  The girl scurried to her bidding.

  Johnny came on a run from the direction of the wood, a sheepish Martha trailing behind him.

  “Have either of you seen Andrew?” Olivia called.

  “No,” Martha said, eyes wide. And she ran off to look for him while Johnny rushed to help Talbot with the horses.

  Something compelled Olivia to stay where she was. She heard a terrified whinny and then another. Bang! The stable gate exploded outward, kicked hard by the rear hooves of a large black horse. Lord Bradley had not gone on his ride as she had thought. Where was he?

  Instinctively, Olivia ran forward, skirting the horse’s dangerous hind legs and stepping to its great head, trying to calm the horse as she had the day she had groomed it, with a firm hand and soothing words. The horse reared up and hit its head on the stable rafters, clearly disoriented by the smoke and too panicked to respond to her prodding.

  Lord Bradley appeared through the smoke and whipped a hood over the horse’s head in one deft throw. “Major, walk on!” And with a great heave, he pushed
the stubborn horse through the broken gate and out into the yard.

  Over his shoulder he called, “Miss Keene, get away from here!”

  “Not until I know Andrew is safe. He was hiding and we have not found him. Have you seen him?”

  Pulling the last of the horses free, Talbot scowled, “I told you he weren’t here, miss. I checked the stables, the office, and the tack room.” The coachman threw up his hands. “Now, get out the both of you before the roof falls down upon us.”

  Olivia and Lord Bradley swung around to look at each other, their gazes locking into place. The same thought—fear—in both of their minds. The little-known closet. What if Andrew had hidden there?

  Olivia lurched forward, but Lord Bradley caught her by the arm. “Talbot, keep her back.”

  The coachman stepped forward and gripped her upper arms. Lord Bradley shrugged off his coat, bunched it over his nose and mouth, and disappeared into the smoke.

  Olivia strained against Talbot. “Let me go!” Every maternal feeling swelled within her, overriding even her survival instinct. A little boy, her charge, might even now be overcome with smoke. “Let me go to him. Let me go.”

  The coachman’s wiry strength was unyielding, and she was no match for a man who controlled horses six or seven times his weight.

  Oh, God, please. This is my fault. Oh, please, spare them both!

  The smoke roiled black and grey. With a loud crack, the far wall and roof crumbled—the section where the hay and straw were stored. The flames shot through the aperture, and the smoke rose even higher. People were running from all directions now, Mr. Croome leading the charge. Behind him, Hodges, Osborn, Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Hinkley, the gardener, hall boy, and maids, all formed a water brigade from the garden well. Grim-faced people sloshed bucket after bucket of water at the ravenous mouth of the fire. But Olivia could see it was futile. She scanned the growing crowd but saw no dear little brown mop of hair. No wide brown eyes. Now Lord Brightwell ran out of the house. And there, Judith, pulled along by Audrey. The girl’s face was wild with fear. Olivia’s heart sped within her. No Andrew.

  Lord Brightwell reached them first. “Are the horses all out? The groom?”

  Behind her, Talbot said, “All accounted for, my lord.”

  The earl looked at the coachman, still holding her fast, then searched her face. “What is it, Olivia?”

  Stretching out her hands, she gripped Lord Brightwell’s arm as tightly as Talbot held hers. “I could not find Andrew. Edward went in to make sure . . .”

  “I told him not to, my lord,” Talbot said.

  Craning her neck, she asked the coachman, “Did you check the closet? The hidden door between the tack room and the saddle rack?”

  “There is no closet there.”

  “But there is!”

  Rumble . . . crack! The roof collapsed like a snake of dominoes from right to left.

  “Edward!” Lord Brightwell lunged forward, loosing Olivia’s hand as though a child’s grip.

  Through the black smoke, a figure materialized, black against black, like a specter. A beam fell and struck the dark figure, and Olivia screamed.

  Lord Bradley, a burden in his arms, stuttered to the side and crashed to his knees just ahead of the weight of the wreckage. Olivia jerked away from Talbot’s stunned grip and ran forward on the earl’s heels, passing him and reaching Edward first. She pulled the small coat-shrouded body from him, and relieved of his burden, his duty, he fell face forward. His father caught him as he dropped, cushioning his fall. Croome appeared beside the earl, face ashen. Together they each took an arm and dragged Lord Bradley from the flames.

  Watching from a point of relative safety, Andrew in her arms, Olivia’s heart pounded, and new tears pooled in her eyes for reasons too numerous to sum.

  In the library that evening, Lord Brightwell and Judith Howe sat in high-backed chairs very much like thrones. Olivia stood before them, hands clasped behind her back and head bowed—the posture of a criminal awaiting judgment. She felt she deserved the moniker. And worse.

  Audrey stood behind her stepmother’s chair, eyes red-rimmed. Olivia wished the girl need not be on hand to witness her dismissal.

  Olivia forced her head up. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Howe. Lord Brightwell. I should never have allowed Andrew to run off on his own.”

  Judith Howe played with the worked lace on the arm of the chair. She looked up and said coldly, “I must say, Miss Keene, I am prodigiously disappointed in you.”

  “It was not her fault, Mamma,” Audrey said. “We were only playing hide-and-seek. Miss Keene could not know a fire would start.”

  “How quick you are to defend your governess, Audrey,” Mrs. Howe said. “You may leave us now.”

  Olivia’s dear pupil gave her an apologetic glance and hurried from the room.

  When the door closed behind Audrey, Mrs. Howe asked, “Are you in the habit of letting the children run wild about the estate, without supervision?”

  “No, madam.”

  “Even that nurserymaid, who is little more than a girl herself, knows better. If anything had happened to Andrew . . .”

  “I know. I know.” Olivia pressed her eyes closed, miserable. “I would never have forgiven myself.”

  “Nor would you ever have the care of children again, had I anything to say about it.” A new thought struck her mistress. “And why were you out with them instead of the girl?”

  Olivia swallowed. “Becky has so much other work, and I enjoy playing with the children.”

  “It does not sound as if you were with them at all, but instead off on your own somewhere.” She darted a glance at her uncle. “Perhaps meeting a lover?”

  “No, madam. Nothing of—”

  “Judith, please,” Lord Brightwell admonished. “Such accusations are neither fair nor becoming.”

  Mrs. Howe gave him a sharp look. “Are you so quick to defend her as well?”

  The earl spoke in moderating tones. “Of course I am. Miss Keene has been a marvelous addition to our household. I am sure she regrets this incident and will see that it does not happen again.”

  Judith looked from her uncle to Olivia and back again. “It seems, Uncle, that you would forgive her anything.”

  “It was an accident, Judith,” he said. “And Dr. Sutton assures us Andrew will be fine. He did inhale a quantity of smoke and will cough for some days, but he is breathing well and will be his old mischievous self in no time.”

  Olivia dared ask, “And what of Lord Bradley?”

  “He is badly injured,” Mrs. Howe snapped. “Thanks to you.”

  “My dear Judith,” Lord Brightwell said, “do you accuse her of starting the fire as well?”

  Judith stubbornly lifted her chin but gave no answer.

  “Judith, really! According to Talbot, there were two persons in the stables before the fire.” He gave Judith a pointed look. “But neither was Miss Keene.”

  Mrs. Howe did not ask whom he meant, Olivia noticed. And wondered why.

  After the interview, Olivia stepped into the sickroom. Andrew lay there, head raised on several pillows, eyes as red as the glass of berry ice he clutched in his hands.

  Olivia felt her chest tighten. Thank you for sparing him, she breathed. “Hello, Master Andrew.”

  He smiled up at her, teeth and lips stained red. “Hello, Miss Livie.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “My eyes burn like the time I got Mamma’s perfume in them. My throat hurts too, but Becky brought me an ice, which feels ever so good. Delicious too.”

  Olivia smiled. “I am very glad.”

  He scooped up another spoonful into his mouth, and several drips found their way onto his white nightgown.

  “Might I help you with that?” she asked.

  He shrugged good-naturedly and handed her the spoon as Olivia sat on the edge of the bed.

  She gave him a spoonful and simply savored the sight and nearness of the dear little boy. A floorboard creaked and Olivia tur
ned her head.

  Judith Howe entered the dim room. “Miss Keene,” she said officiously. “Why are you not in the schoolroom with Audrey? That is what Lord Brightwell is paying you for, I believe. I shall ask Mrs. Hinkley to sit with Andrew until the chamber nurse arrives.”

  Andrew’s little brow furrowed, clearly hearing the restrained anger in his stepmother’s voice. He asked, “Are you cross with Miss Livie, Mamma?”

  “If I am, it is only because I am concerned about you, Andrew. You might have been killed in that fire.”

  “But she did not start the fire.”

  “She should not have allowed you to go into the stables alone.”

  Andrew shrugged his little shoulders again. “She did not ’low me, I just went. Saw Uncle Felix and wanted to talk to him.”

  “Did you? Still, she ought—”

  “But he was already talking to Martha when I got there,” Andrew continued. “So I just went into that hiding closet, like I seen Miss—”

  “Saw.”

  “Saw Miss Keene coming out of that time.”

  Judith looked at her shrewdly. “Indeed?”

  “I could see Uncle Felix and Martha through the cracks in the wall. He sounded angry, so I did not jump out and scare him as I planned to.”

  “Very wise,” Judith murmured, distracted.

  “He was smoking one of those cigars, Mamma—the ones you don’t like? And he threw it down.”

  Judith darted a look at Olivia, then said agitatedly, “Yes, well, we cannot know if that is how . . . that is, you did not actually see the fire start?”

  Again Andrew shrugged. “No. I went to look out the back of the closet to see if Audrey was coming to find me yet. I saw Martha run off into the wood and Johnny run after her. I smelled smoke and thought Uncle Felix must still be near, but that is all I remember. . . .”