A Silent Ocean Away (8 page)

“Perhaps Agatha is right, Colette. Father can well afford the most expensive tutors money can buy, as he did with John, George, and me. When Pierre gets older, it will greatly benefit him to have learned what a true scholar can edify. Why not hire someone like Professor Richards? Thanks to Rose’s husband, our education was expansive, and we were well prepared for university. Miss Ryan, on the other hand, has acted as a lady’s companion for three years. For all her education, where is her experience with children? It appears to be deficient.”

“On the contrary,” Loretta argued. The conversation had taken a wrong turn, and it was time to intervene. “There have been many occasions when Charmaine has been left in charge of my grandchildren for days at a time. She is excellent with them, and they beg to come and visit just to spend time with her.”

Charmaine was momentarily stupefied, and Paul noted her unguarded surprise.
So, Loretta Harrington is playing games here. No matter, I can play, too.
“Still,” he pondered aloud, his eyes sparkling victoriously, “Miss Ryan seems better equipped to fill another role in this house—something less demanding than running after three young and energetic children who are active from morning ’til night. Perhaps a maid?”

“I am quite strong, thank you,” Charmaine snapped, “and capable of running after three children. Before I began working for the Harringtons, I used to lend a hand with the orphans at the St. Jude Refuge. I was good at it. I enjoyed playing with them. It wasn’t that long ago I was young myself.”

“Exactly,” Colette interrupted irenically. “I am seeking more
than a governess for my children. As Agatha inferred earlier, my health is not what it should be. And when I am not feeling well, I want to know I have placed my children in capable hands, hands that will do more than educate them. The governess I hire
must be
energetic, loving, and compassionate, and eager to engage in all those impetuous things that young children do. I want my children to run free, I want them to learn to ride a horse and swim in the ocean. I want them to dance—to live! I don’t want them closeted in their nursery day in and day out, never enjoying Charmantes’ gentle breezes. We live in a paradise. I want my children to embrace that paradise—to grow healthy in body as well as in mind, to be happy. Do you appreciate what I’m saying?”

Her rhetorical question was not directed at anyone in particular, but rather everyone in the room. The query held for a moment.

“That being understood,” she proceeded. “I have just a few more questions for Miss Ryan. Your family”—she paused as if she knew she were headed for stormy seas—“you have not mentioned them. May I ask why the Harringtons have accompanied you all the way from Virginia?”

Charmaine bowed her head. For all her hours of practice, the memories were incredibly painful. “My mother passed away last year. My father left us long ago. I don’t know where he is.” She raised glistening eyes to Colette. “If it weren’t for the Harringtons, I don’t know where I would be today. They have been very kind. They are my family now.”

Very good,
Loretta thought,
honest and to the point.
One look at Colette and she knew Charmaine had touched the woman’s heart.

“I’m so sorry,” Colette murmured, embracing a moment of silence. Then she was speaking again. “I would like my children to meet you. I shall base a portion of my decision upon them. Would you indulge me, Miss Ryan?”

“Please, call me Charmaine. And, yes, I was hoping to meet them.”

Agatha stood. “Shall I have Rose bring them down?” she asked.

Colette nodded and the older woman departed.

“Rose Richards, or Nana Rose as the children call her, is our nursemaid of sorts,” Colette explained. “She’s been in the Duvoisin employ for nearly sixty years, raising not only Paul and John, but their father as well. Rose’s husband, Professor Harold Richards, educated two generations of Duvoisin males. She is a dear woman,” Colette concluded, “but getting on in years. Certainly not the person to run after three youngsters.

“Now, let me tell you a bit about my children. The girls are the oldest and turn eight the end of this month. Although they are identical twins, they are completely contrary to one another, as different as night and day, so you shouldn’t have any trouble telling them apart. Yvette is precocious, unlike her sister, Jeannette, who appears quiet and shy. My son is two and a half, usually a troublesome age to be sure. Not so with Pierre; he’s very dear and brings only happiness.”

The door opened, and a pretty girl with pale blue eyes entered the room. Her flaxen hair was only half plaited, but she seemed oblivious to it as she surveyed each stranger and singled out Charmaine. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Yvette,” her mother reproved. “Our guests will think you’ve no manners. That is not the proper way to introduce yourself.”

“But I don’t want to introduce myself, Mama. I would like her”—and the girl pointed a finger toward Charmaine—“to tell me who she is.”

“Yvette,” Paul corrected curtly, “pointing at someone is not polite, either.”

Yvette scowled briefly, then plopped into a chair, sulking.

Colette ignored her and invited Jeannette and Pierre to join
them. The young boy immediately ran into his mother’s outstretched arms. When Jeannette, Rose, and Agatha were settled, Colette proceeded to introduce her children to the visitors. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Harrington of Richmond, Virginia—”

Yvette perked up. “That’s where Johnny lives.”

“—and this is Miss Ryan, a friend of the Harringtons.”

“Do you live in Richmond, too?” Yvette asked.

“I grew up there,” Charmaine replied.

“Do you know my older brother?”

“No, I’m sorry to say I don’t.”

Yvette was not deterred. “Do you think you could track him down?”

“Yvette,” her mother chided, “that’s enough.”

The girl smiled sweetly. “But, Mama, you said the Duvoisin name is well known. Maybe Miss Ryan could find out where Johnny lives.”

Charmaine laughed. “I suppose I could, if I tried.”

This seemed to please the girl. “Good, because when you go back to Richmond, I wonder if you might take a letter to him. I’ve wanted to write to him before, but Mama says she doesn’t know where to send his post, and Father…well, he and Johnny had a terrible—”

“Yvette!” Paul barked. “Our guests have no interest in such matters!”

The girl rolled her eyes and turned aside in her chair, pouting the harder when Rose Richards cornered her. “Next time,” the elderly matron whispered as she began brushing Yvette’s golden hair, “you’re not to run out of the room until you look presentable.”

Charmaine’s eyes traveled to Jeannette, who had remained ever so quiet. The girl smiled timidly and said, “You’re very pretty.”

Charmaine chuckled. “Thank you, Jeannette. And may I say, so are you?”

“How did you know my name?”

Yvette grunted. “Mama told her before we came into the room, silly!”

“Your sister is correct,” Charmaine concurred. “But your mother didn’t have the chance to tell me much more than that. And I’d like to know more about both of you, unless of course, you’d like to know something about me.”

“I’d like to know your name,” Yvette replied.

Colette clicked her tongue. “Yvette, you’ve been told Miss Ryan’s name.”

“I mean her first name. What is your first name?”

“Charmaine.”

Jeannette canted her head. “That’s funny! It sounds like Charmantes.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Charmaine agreed. “My friend said the same thing the other day, but I hadn’t thought of it before.”

“Can we call you Charmaine?” Yvette asked.

“No,” Colette interjected, “but you
may
call her Mademoiselle Charmaine.”

Yvette attempted to pull away from Rose, but succeeded in yanking her hair. “Ouch!” she squealed, gaining another scolding from her nana.

“If you’d stop your fidgeting, I’d have plaited your hair already.”

“Why do I have to have it brushed and braided, anyway? I’ve told you, I’d rather be a boy and cut it off!”

Charmaine chuckled again. “I sympathize with you, Yvette. I hate brushing my hair and think about trimming it short nearly every morning.”

Yvette studied her with something akin to admiration. “Why haven’t you?”

“I’ve been told it is my most beautiful possession.”

Yvette seemed displeased with the answer.

“Besides, what would I do if I looked horrid when I was finished? I’d be in a fine fix. It would take years to grow back.”

“True,” Yvette ceded, crossing to Charmaine now that her second braid was finished. “When do you begin taking care of us?”

Colette was astonished. “Why ever did you ask that, Yvette?”

The girl faced her mother. “Nana’s been saying she can’t keep up with us the way she did with Johnny, Paul, and George. And I heard Mrs. Ward suggest a governess.”

Colette frowned pensively. “And how did you overhear that, young lady?”

“I don’t know,” Yvette shrugged. “I just did.”

“And would you like Miss Ryan to be your governess?”

“
I
would,” Jeannette answered eagerly. She turned to her baby brother, who sat contentedly in his mother’s lap, and asked, “What about you, Pierre? Would you like Mademoiselle Ryan to come and take care of us?”

The little boy smiled, rubbed his eyes, and yawned.

“He’s tired,” Jeannette supplied, “but I think he likes her.”

“And what about you, Yvette?” Colette asked. “Would you like Mademoiselle Charmaine to come and live with us?”

“I guess so,” she replied flippantly.

Paul spoke sharply. “Yvette, your mother is asking for your opinion. It would be polite to give it.”

“It’s difficult to say,” Yvette returned, finger upon chin, “but I think I’ll like her better than I do Felicia.”

One look at Paul, and the entire company realized Yvette had said something best left unmentioned. It was equally evident Colette knew exactly what her daughter meant. Before Paul could reply, Colette said, “Yvette, I am very disappointed in you.”

The girl burst into tears, her impertinence swept away with
her mother’s disapproval. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she cried. “I’m sorry, Paul!” Humiliated, she ran from the room.

Colette exhaled. “I think it best to end the interview now. I know you are anxious, Miss Ryan, but I must consider the matter at greater length. I shall send word to you by Monday, if that is agreeable?”

Charmaine smiled weakly. “Yes, of course. That will be fine.”

Sensing Charmaine’s chagrin, Jeannette walked over to her. “I like you very much. I promise to help convince Mama and Papa to offer you the job.”

Papa—Frederic Duvoisin—Charmaine had forgotten about him. Of course Colette would want to discuss this with her husband. Suddenly, all did not seem so bleak, and she smiled at the child. “Thank you, Jeannette, and I hope to see you again very soon.”

Caroline Browning was eagerly awaiting their arrival. “Come quickly,” she beckoned as they alighted from the carriage. “What happened? Did it go well? Did you get the position?”

Charmaine breathed deeply. “I don’t know. I mean, I won’t know until Monday. Mrs. Duvoisin wants to speak to her husband first.”

“Frederic wasn’t there?” Caroline asked as if scandalized. “Then it
is
true.”

“What is true?” Loretta asked.

“That Frederic doesn’t leave his chambers.”

“We don’t know that, do we?” Loretta replied. “He could have been attending to business elsewhere.”

Such speculation seemed implausible to Charmaine. Paul had found time to be there, and according to Gwendolyn, he was always busy.

Caroline echoed her thoughts. “Everyone knows he never ventures from the mansion. Isn’t that so, Harold?”

Her husband did not disagree.

“No, his condition must be grave.” Her mind continued to work. “And what of Miss Colette? Is she also as ill as everyone whispers?”

Loretta frowned. “You knew her health was failing and didn’t tell us?”

“I can’t think of everything,” Caroline said, drawing herself up and running a hand down her bodice. “Was it important?”

“It would have explained why Mrs. Duvoisin is seeking someone young and energetic to assist in the care of her children,” Loretta stated, her annoyance apparent. “We went to that interview believing education was the primary qualification for the position, when in fact, the children’s supervision is Mrs. Duvoisin’s greatest concern. Had we known that, Charmaine could have been better prepared.”

“So you think it went badly?” Gwendolyn timidly asked.

“On the contrary,” Loretta replied. “It went very well.”

Sunday, September 18, 1836

The day was cool, refreshing in its promise of milder weather, but it was drizzling, and Colette sighed as she realized the rainy season was upon them. They’d have overcast weather on and off now until December. She sat at her desk in her private chambers, reveling in the gentle breezes that swirled past the palm and pawpaw branches beyond the balcony and wafted through the French doors. Moments such as these were rare, and she had come to guard this precious time, insisting she have an hour to herself after Mass every Sunday. So far, everyone had respected her wishes. With Pierre sound asleep in the center of her bed, she was almost content.

Returning to the business at hand, her eyes fell to her partially penned letter:

What else to write? She didn’t want to alarm the young woman by asking her to come alone, but there had been too many people present on Friday afternoon, hardly the proper way to conduct an interview. She liked Charmaine Ryan and, in all probability, would offer her the governess position before the day was over.