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Authors: Katie Flynn

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BOOK: Poor Little Rich Girl
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However, after her discussion with her employer that evening, Miss Hutchinson had speedily realised that her employer actually hated both Leonora and Miss Elliott and intended to do her very best – or worst – to see that they were unhappy in her house. Indeed, she had made no secret of the fact that if it were possible she would turn them both out, and this had sent a spear of terror through her companion’s quivering heart. Although Miss Hetherington-Smith probably did not realise it, Miss Hutchinson was well aware that it was her employer’s brother who paid all expenses and consequently called the tune. She was deathly afraid that Miss Hetherington-Smith’s vicious temper would get the better of her, and if her brother withdrew his support – as he surely would – then it was not the governess or the child who would find themselves on the street, but Miss Hetherington-Smith and her companion.

Miss Hutchinson knew all too well what such an event would mean to her. She was far too old to get another job, and anyway she had lived in a gentleman’s house for twenty years and doubted if she could survive alone so much as a twelvemonth,
knowing nothing of marketing, managing, rent and the like.

Having washed, brushed out her thin hair and plaited it, and slid her voluminous nightdress over her head, Miss Hutchinson turned off the gas and climbed into bed. Settling down, she reminded herself that she rather liked Miss Elliott, had liked her ever since she had realised she had no cause to be jealous of the younger woman. Would it not be politic, therefore, to confide in Miss Elliott regarding the danger in which she and the child stood? If she could put the governess on her guard, perhaps she would begin to be more conciliatory towards their mutual employer and then life could go on as before.

Snuggling down beneath the sheet and deciding that she would do her best to calm these very troubled waters, another dreadful scenario presented itself to Miss Hutchinson. Suppose Miss Hetherington-Smith found a good excuse to dismiss Hester Elliott? Surely the obvious thing to do then would be to command Miss Hutchinson to deal with Miss Leonora? Just the thought of having to climb all those stairs up to the schoolroom set Miss Hutchinson’s joints aching, whilst the idea of having to deal with a lively eight-year-old almost made Miss Hutchinson swoon with horror. So great was her dismay that she sat bolt upright in bed, staring out into the darkness as though Leonora was the devil himself. Then, with a sigh, she lay down again. It must not happen, she vowed; it could not be allowed to happen. The very next morning, she must seize the opportunity of speaking to Miss Elliott alone. Between them, surely they could hatch a plan?

Satisfied that there was a way to avoid the fate
she feared, Miss Hutchinson turned over, heaved the blankets up to her ears and was soon asleep.

After the excitement of Kitty’s escape, life returned to normal. Hester and Lonnie did lessons for a couple of hours, either in the morning or in the afternoon, and when the weather grew hot and sunny the pair carried their books and a picnic lunch out to Prince’s Park, where they sat on the grass in the shade of the big trees and struggled with sums, writing and reading.

Hester noticed increasingly how Lonnie was changing in the more temperate climate. Her hair, which had been lank and lifeless in India, grew shiny and healthy-looking and roses bloomed in cheeks that had once been pale and sallow. The child began to fill out, too, and Hester thought it would not be long before she would have to appeal to Miss Hetherington-Smith for new clothing for her charge.

Although she knew that it was Mr Hetherington-Smith who paid for such things, she had begun to realise that his sister had come insensibly to think of the money as her own and accordingly grudged every penny which was spent on the child or her governess. Hester suspected that the staff had grown used to their mistress’s penny pinching and largely ignored it when it was a matter of running up bills for food for the household, but she did not have sufficient confidence to do the same and she and Lonnie continued to wear unsuitable clothing, even in the heat of summer.

Lonnie grew rebellious as the heat increased, however, and told Hester bluntly that her gingham dresses hurt across the chest and shoulders and her woollen dresses were far too hot.

‘Since it’s Daddy who pays for my clothes, why can’t we ask Aunt Emmeline to give us money for bigger ones?’ she enquired plaintively. ‘And why does that Hutch keep hanging round us? She starts to speak and then breaks off in the middle of the sentence and rushes away with some silly excuse. If you don’t want to ask Aunt Emmeline, Hester, why don’t we get Hutch to ask for us?’

Hester heaved a sigh. It was another hot and sunny day and they were sitting in Prince’s Park in the shade of a mighty oak, doing their lessons. ‘I don’t think you ought to call Miss Hutchinson Hutch,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Oh, I know your Aunt Emmeline does so when she’s in a good mood, but that’s different. As I keep on telling you, Lonnie, there is one set of rules for grown-ups and another for children and children must be respectful towards their elders.’

‘All right, then, why don’t we get Miss Hutchinson to ask Aunt Emmeline if I can have some bigger dresses?’ Lonnie said. She was lying on her tummy, picking daisies for a daisy chain whilst learning her French verbs. ‘In India, I made daisy chains with marigolds and sometimes my
ayah
put frangipani blossoms in my hair.’ She sighed reminiscently. ‘They smelt so sweet. Does frangipani grow in England, Hester?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Hester said absently. ‘As for asking Miss Hutchinson to put in a word for us, it would never work. Miss H is far too nervous; she’d be afraid of offending Aunt Emmeline. But it’s funny you should have noticed how Hutch hovers round us whenever your aunt’s out of the way, because …’

She was interrupted by a shriek of delight from Lonnie. ‘
You
said it! You called her Hutch and though I know you are a grown-up I don’t believe Miss
Hutchinson or Aunt Emmeline would like it one bit if they heard you. I’ll tell you what, Hester, let’s call her Hutch when there’s just the two of us – she reminds me of a rabbit because of the way she keeps chewing invisible lettuce and twitching her nose – and go back to Miss Hutchinson when anyone else is around.’

Hester thought this was rather dangerous and said so but Lonnie assured her that she would be most careful. ‘After all, Hutch is a sort of pet name and since I really don’t like Miss Hutchinson one bit I’m not likely to call her by it, am I? I forget whether you told me why she keeps starting to talk to you and then stopping short and going all red. Do you
know
why, Hester?’

‘No I don’t, but I mean to find out,’ Hester told her. ‘Have you learned those wretched verbs yet? You ought to be really good at French because you’ve been speaking Hindi and English ever since you were tiny. Most children who find they can speak two different languages pick up a third, and sometimes a fourth, without too much trouble.’

‘I have learned the verbs and I do like French, but speaking it is very much easier than writing it down,’ Lonnie observed. She rolled over and sat up, then closed her book. ‘Do you want to test me, Hester?’

Hester had already realised that Lonnie was both bright and quick to learn and was not surprised to find her charge word perfect in the three verbs she had been learning. As soon as Lonnie had recited the last one, she told the child to pack up her books, saying that they would go across to the lake and eat their sandwiches by the water.

‘Can we take a boat on the lake?’ Lonnie asked
eagerly. ‘It’s such a hot day and it’s always cooler on the water.’

Hester agreed that it would have been pleasant but reminded Lonnie that they had not brought any money with them. ‘My salary is supposed to be paid monthly but your aunt frequently forgets to pay me at all,’ she said ruefully. ‘What is more, I don’t believe the money she does give me is quite what your father intended. Before she pays me, she deducts a sum for my keep and for the clothing which was provided when we first came to England, so I don’t have very much left over. However, the next time I’m paid we will hire a boat on the lake … and have ice creams as well, and that’s a promise.’

Hester had not previously mentioned her salary to anyone; for all she knew, it might be common practice for governesses to pay for their own keep, but she was beginning to find it increasingly hard to manage on the tiny amount of irregularly paid money which Miss Hetherington-Smith saw fit to hand over. Tram fares, soap, tooth powder, stockings and such things as the odd packet of biscuits, or a few sweets, were all little extras which Hester had expected to be able to buy with her salary, but this was not always the case.

Lonnie, getting to her feet and hefting the bag of books on one shoulder, looked astonished. ‘She makes you pay for your own food?’ she said incredulously. ‘I’m sure that’s not right, Hester. I bet rabbit-Hutch doesn’t pay for her own food! Why, did Daddy make you pay for your food when you were living with us in India?’

Hester, still smiling over the term ‘rabbit-Hutch’, admitted that Lonnie’s father had most certainly done no such thing. ‘He was exceedingly generous,
considering that I did very little teaching in those early days,’ she said. ‘If he knew how your aunt was treating me, I think he would be most perturbed.’

‘Write to him,’ Lonnie ordered at once. ‘Do it as soon as we get home, Hester, then I can put your letter in with mine and save you a stamp. What a good thing I’ve always given my letters to Fletcher to post – at least I don’t have to pay for stamps.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Do you pay for stamps, Hester?’

‘I don’t write letters,’ Hester admitted. ‘Now that my parents are dead, there is no one for me to write to, but I will take your advice and put a sheet or two in with your next letter to your father. He will know exactly how he intended his money to be spent.’

Two days after their conversation in the park, they met Miss Hutchinson on Heyworth Street as they were returning from a window shopping expedition. Window shopping was, at the moment, the only form of shopping they could afford, since despite Hester’s timidly mentioning to Miss Hetherington-Smith that her salary was some weeks overdue, it had not yet put in an appearance.

Miss Hutchinson had clearly been shopping since she carried a string bag bulging with small purchases. Hester saw notepaper and envelopes, a bottle of royal-blue ink and a paper bag which she guessed would be full of extra strong mints, for which Miss Hutchinson had a passion. There were other things in the string bag, but they were all wrapped and, in any case, Hester was less interested in Miss Hutchinson’s shopping than she was in the reason for that lady to waylay her and then to say almost nothing. Accordingly, she stopped, smiled at Miss Hutchinson, and
put a detaining hand on the older woman’s stick-like arm. ‘Miss Hutchinson, I wonder if I might have a word?’ she said, and saw Miss Hutchinson’s eyes swivel doubtfully to her young charge. ‘Lon … I mean Miss Leonora, why don’t you run along to Madison’s and see what new pets he has in his window? I’ll catch you up in a moment.’

As soon as the child had gone, Hester smiled beguilingly into Miss Hutchinson’s frightened eyes. ‘I realise you’ve been trying to speak to me for the past couple of days but didn’t want to do so in front of Miss Leonora,’ she said gently. ‘However, she will be happily occupied by the pet shop for some time, so I assure you you can now speak freely.’

Miss Hutchinson began to blink rapidly and to make the small mumbling movements with her lips that Lonnie had rudely referred to as chewing lettuce. Her eyes darted uneasily from side to side, and for a moment Hester feared that she would deny any desire to talk to anyone, but then Miss Hutchinson took a deep breath and began to speak. ‘Oh, my dear Miss Elliott, I’ve been at my wits’ end to know what to do for the best, but finally decided that you should be warned in what peril you stand. Miss Hetherington-Smith is a very fine lady but she cannot bear to be crossed, and after her interview with yourself and Miss Leonora she was – she was deeply upset. She called me into the small parlour and – and it was clear she was very angry indeed, and – and …’

‘And looking for some means to punish us both?’ Hester said, still gently, though within herself she could feel her own temper rising. ‘Is that what you’re trying to say, Miss Hutchinson?’

‘Yes. The fact is, Miss Elliott, she is searching for an
excuse to dismiss you. She feels she has been slighted, by both you and the child, and would do almost anything to see both of you settled elsewhere.’

‘Well, she could dismiss me, of course,’ Hester said at once, ‘but she can scarcely dismiss her niece!’

‘No-o, but she could send her away to a boarding school which would agree to keep her during the school holidays. There are such establishments, I know, because when I was very much younger I taught in such a school. A great many of our pupils had parents living and working in India and sometimes their children were very unhappy, though I’m sure the staff did their best to be agreeable,’ she added, rather self-consciously.

‘But surely her father would never agree to such a thing?’ Hester said. She had guessed that Miss Hetherington-Smith would have liked to dismiss her, but had never considered that she might plan to send Lonnie away. ‘I’m sure Mr Hetherington-Smith would be very angry indeed if his sister tried to do any such thing.’

‘Oh, I agree,’ Miss Hutchinson said fervently. ‘But if his sister made it appear that you were a bad influence – he’s so very far away, you know – he might be forced to accept the situation.’

‘I … see,’ Hester said slowly. She regarded Miss Hutchinson closely. ‘It’s very good of you to warn me, especially since you’ve never shown any particular interest in either myself or Miss Leonora. To be blunt, I thought you disliked us nearly as much as Miss Hetherington-Smith does. So why say anything?’

BOOK: Poor Little Rich Girl
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