Nina Coombs Pykare

THE DAZZLED HEART

Nina Coombs Pykare

Chapter One

Jennifer Whitcomb shifted a little awkwardly on the seat of the carriage. She had not expected to be met at Dover by such gilded equipment. The richly liveried grooms and coachmen looked great enough for an earl or a duke, but she knew for a fact that the Parthemers had no title whatsoever. What they did have, apparently, was a good deal of money.

For the hundredth time Jennifer wondered what her young charges would be like. This was not her first position as a governess, and so she did not expect to find clean, well-behaved children at her journey’s end. And certainly their names did not portend well - Cassandra, Mortimer, and Camilla!

Jennifer repressed a shudder. There should be laws prohibiting parents from visiting such awful names upon innocent children. No, she quite expected the children to be little pranksters, full of tricks to foil and upset an unwary newcomer.

  But, thought Jennifer with a grim smile, brushing back a wisp of pale blond hair that had escaped her modest bonnet, she could outlast the best of them. Hadn’t she finally tamed Henry and Henrietta, the eight-year-old twins of the Earl of Linden? And done a good job, too.

The trouble was that the
Earl
could not be tamed. Jennifer still remembered her disbelief  at the question he had put to her. Of course, she had answered in the negative and so she had lost her position, presumably to some young woman who would say yes, someone willing to be more to the Earl than the governess of his children.

Jennifer stifled a sigh. Well, that was out of her hands. She had made her choice and here she was, ready to start a new position. Please God, that Mr. Parthemer not have an eye for the petticoat line. She very much wished for a little peace and quiet. And the chance to do her job.

She settled back on her seat with a small sigh. After all, she had not done too poorly in taking care of herself since Papa had given his life on the Peninsula, fighting for England. Jennifer wondered briefly if the men who studied wars had ever included in their statistics the deaths of those who, losing loved ones, lost all will to live.

Mama had been one of those. After the news of Papa’s death she had just gradually withered away. And nothing anyone could say or do was of help. She had no more reason for living. And so quite simply and quietly, she died.

Jennifer swallowed hastily over the lump in her throat. She was a practical, levelheaded young woman, not a vaporish chit given to sentimental memories. Tearful eyes and quivering lips were not for governesses intent on earning their way in the world.

Thank goodness, thought Jennifer, that Mama had raised her to take a practical approach to life. If she had been given to tears and spasms, she would long ago have starved to death or - perish the thought -have succumbed to the blandishments of some “gentleman” like the Earl, gentlemen who “protected” young women from everyone but themselves.

Jennifer’s backbone stiffened automatically and her chin lifted. She needed the protection of no such “gentleman.” No indeed! She was quite capable of taking care of herself.

  And, having given due thanks to the Almighty for the blessing of such a mother, Jennifer turned her attention to the Dover countryside. Spring had only been with them for a few weeks, but already the hedgerows were turning green. The meadows, too, were blankets of verdure, freckled with dainty wild flowers. Bright daffodils nodded in clumps under the trees, their golden faces turned toward the sun.

Jennifer took a deep breath. The sea must not be too far away, either. She could smell the fresh salty tang of it. Perhaps the Parthemer estate bordered on the sea. Perhaps she would have the opportunity to take the children there.

She loved the sea - in all its moods. From peaceful enchanting calm to violent wave-torn fury, the sea was beautiful.

With just the smallest of sighs Jennifer recalled the dream of her childhood, the dream of the handsome man who would come from the sea to love her. Such dreams were for well-protected little girls who expected to grow up and have a dowry with which to attract a husband. They were futile and stupid illusions for a young woman of three and twenty whose only resource was herself.

The  carriage turned onto a long avenue lined with trees. Obviously, thought Jennifer, the Seven Elms for which the estate was named were not situated on this avenue which must boast at least fifty trees, all crowded together and producing a rather dark and dismal effect.

Finally the carriage reached the end of the avenue and Jennifer got her first glimpse of the house. With difficulty she kept back an exclamation of surprise. At first glance the house appeared to be in ruin!

Ivy climbed the great stone walls, almost completely covering several of the very small windows. Corners of the roof appear-ed to be broken off. A row of gargoyles, some missing ears, noses, or other extremities, leered down at her from above. The front door, a massive, time-worn, iron-studded thing, appeared to hang crookedly on its hinges and the two huge pillars that flanked it were chipped and stained. Even the shrubbery seemed to be going wild, about to overgrow the first floor complete-ly.

Finally Jennifer recognized the truth. The Parthemers’ new home - for she knew it
was
new - had been constructed after the manner of a Gothic ruin. And very ruinous it looked, indeed, thought she, suppressing a smile. Imagine
wanting
to live in such a hulk!

  Though she did not pride herself on having a great deal of architectural knowledge, it not being considered a fit discipline in the education of young ladies, Jennifer could not help feeling that whoever had constructed Seven Elms had not been endowed with particularly good taste. The effect of the whole, even aside from its artificially ruinous condition, was one of ill-proportioned ostentation. This, however, was obviously an opinion she would do well to keep to herself.

The coachman pulled up to the front door, which on closer examination bore the marks of recent batterings and looked for all the world like one might imagine the door to an ancient prison. Keeping a calm face, Jennifer descended from the carriage and soon found herself standing in an immense hall, the valise containing all her worldly possessions sitting at her feet. A butler who looked as though he had not smiled these twenty years said, “Wait here. I’ll inform Madame of your arrival.”

And so Jennifer waited. What would Mrs. Parthemer be like? she wondered. But then she reminded herself that it really didn’t matter. No matter what Mrs. Parthemer was - prickly, sweet, or sour - Jennifer would get along with her. That was an absolute necessity.

  And so she removed her serviceable bonnet and drab cloak (like the bonnet, it had been Mama’s) and stood waiting. Finally, when she had examined every feature of the great dreary hall innum-erable times and was wondering if she would lose her position should Mrs. Parthemer discover her new governess in a crumpled heap on the floor, the butler returned to announce pompously, “Madame will see you now.”

Jennifer followed him up the great winding staircase and into a bedroom that was obviously the latest in opulence. The entire room seemed swathed in red velvet. Walls, carpet, drapes, bed curtains, upholstery - all were red velvet. And propped up in the mammoth, intricately carved and canopied bed was a pale little woman with washed-out blue eyes, clad in red velvet.

“Miss Whitcomb,” she breathed in the faintest of tones.

Jennifer approached the bed. “Good day, Mrs. Parthemer. I am sorry to find you indisposed.”

A frail hand waved a handkerchief heavily edged in lace. “It’s just my old complaint. I am doomed to suffer. But I do not complain. As you shall see. But at any rate, I am glad you have come. The children are ungovernable.” A tear glistened in each pale blue eye. “Because of my illness I have been unable to raise them properly. Not that they are not wonderful children.”

Jennifer nodded.

“But I cannot seem to keep a governess. The foolish creatures are always running off. And it is a terrible nuisance, I assure you.”

“I’m quite sure it is, Mrs. Parthemer, but let me assure you that I shall not run off. I have been handling children these five years. I understand them.”

Mrs. Parthemer’s pale eyes blinked at this information. “Goodness, I don’t know how one
can
understand the creatures. At times they hardly seem human.”

Jennifer allowed herself to smile. “They are, after all, only children and so cannot be expected to be as well-mannered as grown people. But please, Mrs. Parthemer, put your mind at ease. I
know
I shall get along with the children.”

Mrs. Parthemer heaved a tremulous sigh and raised one hand to let it fall weakly on the coverlet. “I hope you are speaking the truth; for the fatigue of continually looking for a new governess is quite debilitating to a woman of my delicate constitution.”

Jennifer’s private opinion was that there was nothing wrong with Mrs. Parthemer that a little exercise in the fresh air and sunshine could not cure, but of course she dared not say so. “I shall do my very best for the children,” she repeated. “May I see them soon?”

  “Of course. I have sent Phillips for the maid, Betty. Nurse left some time ago. She
said
it was her health, but I cannot but believe that it was those monstrous children.”

Jennifer judged it wisest not to offer any more excuses for the children. She would soon have them in hand anyway.

There was a bustle at the door and a bright-eyed maid entered. “Show Miss Whitcomb the nursery and her room, Betty, and help her get settled.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Jennifer turned to follow the maid, Mrs. Parthemer spoke again. “Mr. Parthe-mer wants you at table with us. We need all the conversation we can get, buried here in the country.” She heaved the sigh of a martyred wife. “Dinner is at five. I know that’s terribly early by London standards, but Mr. Parthemer insists he can not wait any longer.”

Another heavy sigh. “Perhaps it is true. Mr. Parthemer
is
a large man and I suppose he must eat heartily.” She raised appealing eyes to heaven, as witness, Jennifer supposed. “Of course, I can’t eat like that. I subsist on next to nothing, as Gibbons can tell you.”

  Jennifer had no idea as to the identity of Gibbons, but she decided against asking. She would learn soon enough. “Thank you, Mrs. Parthemer. I shall be nicely settled in by dinner.”

And so, leaving the invalid to contem-plate the delicate state of her health, she followed the maid Betty up another pair of grandly carved and gloomy stairs.

“Watch your step here, Miss,” cautioned Betty cheerfully. “These stairs is dreadful dark. And we ain’t to use no candles in the daytime. It makes the master turn purple, it do, to see candles lit in the daytime.”

Jennifer, picking her way through the gloom, reflected somewhat ironically on the mentality that could pay for the construc-tion of such a gloomy tomb and then refuse a few candles. But perhaps, she told herself, Mr. Parthemer was the sort of man who enjoyed gloom, a dark melancholic man given to fits of intense brooding.

Having reached the door to her room, Jennifer abandoned such useless specu-lation and concentrated on her surround-ings. The room was more than good-sized, but relatively bare. A small bed, a chest, a wardrobe, a chair - that was all. And in the large room they seemed dwarfed.

  Jennifer found her valise sitting on the bed. She would unpack later, she decided. “Where are the children?” she asked the maid. “I should like to see them.”

The maid bobbed her head and seemed reluctant to answer. “They’re out, Miss. The nursery be this way, Miss.’’

And Jennifer followed as Betty opened a door in the far wall. This, Jennifer saw, observing the opulent and lacy furnish-ings, must be the bedchamber of Cassandra and Camilla. And two very spoiled little girls they looked to be - at least from the condition of the room.

Through another door Betty led the way into what was obviously the schoolroom. Even here the windows were exceedingly small. Jennifer much doubted that the children could see adequately to do their sums. Lessons might well have to be held elsewhere.

Betty opened still another door and disclosed Mortimer’s room. Here opulence contended with sheer chaos. There appeared to be scarcely an inch of floor that was not covered with something.

Betty, getting a glimpse of Jennifer’s expression of distaste, volunteered, “Ain’t nobody what’ll clean this room. Not after what happened to Nurse.”

“And what was that?” asked Jennifer evenly.

Betty hesitated, obviously torn between her liking for the newcomer and her fear of being caught in gossip.

“Come now, Betty,” said Jennifer quietly. “I am not the cowardly sort. And if I
know
what happened to Nurse then I shall be better prepared to deal with the children. I assure you, I intend to stay on no matter how badly they may behave.”

Betty thought this over for a moment and then decided to trust the newcomer’s word. “It were like this, Miss. Nurse kept telling Master Mortimer that he had to learn better ways. But he wouldn’t do nothing she told him. So she says
she’ll
clean up the room and throw out what she thinks fit. Master Mortimer says go ahead, he don’t care none.”