Prudence (20 page)

‘Very well, Polmont, you may go.’

Was that triumph in her look? She curtsied and went out. Julius’s stiffness relaxed. One thing was clear. If there were to be a change in his circumstances, he would have to be rid of the housekeeper.

What that would mean in terms of the change in his personal life he shoved to the back of his mind. He did not want to think about it. Not now. He was dragging himself into unnecessarily deep waters. He felt sure that time would resolve everything, and he need do nothing about it.

Seating himself at his desk, he attempted to apply himself to work. It was no use trying to improve upon his design for the Rockery, for he knew he had not the
concentration. But there were letters enough demanding his attention, and he settled to this task for a time undisturbed.

When the butler once again entered the room, Julius did not notice until the man was before his desk. A soft cough drew his attention.

‘What is it, Creggan?’

The butler held out a salver, upon which lay a sealed missive. ‘This has just arrived by courier, sir. From London.’

Frowning, Julius picked up the folded sheet and looked at the inscription. ‘It is my sister’s hand. Is the messenger awaiting a reply?’

‘No, sir. He has departed about his business.’

Julius broke the seal. ‘Very well, thank you.’

He heard the door close as he began to run his eye down the sheet. When he reached the end, he sat staring at the paper, a creeping paralysis seeming to overtake his mind.

Trixie was to be married, and he would have no further need of a governess at Rookham Hall.

Prue lifted her arms so that Maggie could drop the linsey-woolsey gown over her head. Once inside the stifling folds, she closed her eyes against the prevailing weakness that yet had power to overtake her. But as her head came through the neck of the gown, she was obliged once more to dissemble. Not, it would appear, very successfully.

‘Are you sure you’re well enough to get up, miss? You still look right pale to me.’

Prue tried to sound reassuring. ‘It is bound to be
difficult at first, for I have been abed nigh on three days. My legs are a little uncertain yet, that is all.’

She must get back to work! It was Saturday, and she need only teach the twins for the morning, and then she might rest again. It could not be worse than lying here with nothing to do but think as she had done these last two days. Nell’s letter had provided but temporary relief, glad though she had been of her tidings. For Nell had after all been requested for that position in a gothic castle, and had written almost upon the point of setting out.

Prue was in two minds. On the one hand, it was fortunate that no less than two females, each engaged ahead of Nell, had apparently taken one look at the place and turned instantly for home. On the other, she could not help but feel a trifle apprehensive on Nell’s behalf, despite the determinedly cheerful tone of her letter. And Kitty, Nell wrote, still held out for a better life, and so Mrs Duxford had meanwhile insisted upon her teaching deportment and dance to the younger students in order to earn her board.

Poor Kitty. Though perhaps she was better off where she was, among those who understood and loved her. Heaven knew what dread unhappiness and disillusionment might have been in store for her! Though she could scarcely have been more unhappy than Prue herself.

No, she must not think in that way. It was excessively stupid of her to be mooning over Mr Rookham’s absence! What obligation had he to come anywhere near the governess? For no consideration would the governess take him up on his insistence that she send to him for anything she might need. Why, he had probably forgotten by now that he said it. Besides, he had
faithfully discharged the one request. Folly—frolicking about the chamber at this moment with a paper ball with which she had provided him—had been her constant companion from that day.

No, she expected nothing from Mr Rookham, though she was guiltily aware of stowing that handkerchief he had loaned her in a secret place, for fear that Maggie might find it and whisk it away. Surely she might hold just this one thing for a keepsake?

Maggie was doing up the buttons with a brisk hand, and Prue tottered. The maid caught her.

‘Steady! Are you sure you ain’t doing this too early, miss? It don’t seem right to me. And what the master will say, I’m sure I don’t know.’

Panic gripped Prue. ‘Pray don’t tell him, Maggie!’

The maid gave the gown a tweak or two, setting its folds. ‘I don’t see as how I can avoid it, miss, for he’s bound to ask after you. What am I to say?’

Lie! thought Prue frantically. Then common sense returned. She could not expect the girl to risk her position. Only she could not bear it if Mr Rookham was to feel himself obliged to visit her again—merely to order her obedience.

‘After all, the doctor said yesterday that I may get up today, if I felt inclined.’

‘Yes, and it’s what I told the master,’ agreed Maggie, adding firmly, ‘and it were the master who said as I were to make sure you were ready before you did get up.’

‘But I am ready,’ protested Prue.

Her unruly legs belied her, so that she staggered a little and was obliged to plonk down upon the bed again. Folly promptly left his play and leapt up beside
her. Maggie threw one arm akimbo and shook an admonitory finger.

‘There now, what did I say?’

Prue caught the maid’s hand. ‘Pray, Maggie, help me! He has not been to see me since that dreadful day, and I cannot bear to give Mrs Polmont an excuse to say that I am malingering in hopes that he will.’

It was the first time she had abandoned pretence before the maid. But in the distressing absence of Mr Rookham, she felt Maggie to be all the friend she had—apart from Folly. The kitten was butting at Prue’s side, and it was absently that she stroked him.

The maid’s eyes had softened, and she was shaking her head. ‘Dearie me, miss, you are in a state! Now don’t you worrit yourself over Mrs Polmont, for I know for a fact as the master seen her yesterday in his library.’

Prue’s fingers stilled on the furry back, and she stared at Maggie, apprehension warring with the misery that had attended the long lonely hours during which she had waited in vain—secretly cradling that handkerchief!—for Mr Rookham to come and see how she did.

‘What did he say to her?’

‘That I don’t know,’ said the maid, crossing to fetch Prue’s hairbrush from the top of the press. ‘Mrs Wincle thinks as how the master must have warned her off, for she’s not come next or nigh you, now has she?’

This could not be denied. Prue submitted without protest to the dragging of the hairbrush through her untidy curls, allowing the kitten to slip from under her hand. Disgusted with the activity on the bed, Folly jumped to the floor and settled by the fire.

Preoccupied as Prue had been with the absence of
another, she had taken little notice of the particular relief afforded by the absence of Mrs Polmont’s punitive descents. Had she indeed been discouraged?

‘Has she said anything to you?’

Maggie giggled. ‘She ain’t speaking to no one, save as she must to give orders. As for her and Mrs Wincle, they’re at daggers drawn, as you might say. Mrs Polmont ain’t been near the kitchens, and Mrs Wincle swears as she won’t set one foot inside Mrs Polmont’s parlour door. It’s Mr Creggan as has been passing between ’em, for I know as both of ’em been inside his pantry at different times, talking and talking.’

Prue could only be glad that Maggie was too busy about the dressing of her hair to be able to see her face. She was sure her shock and distress must show. How dreadful to be the cause of such dissension in the household!

‘Oh, dear, what have I done?’

She was unaware of having spoken aloud until Maggie set aside the hairbrush, and gathered up a handful of pins.

‘Don’t you fret over what you done, miss! It’s Mrs Polmont as ought to be a-fretting. Mrs Wincle says as how the master will be rid of her, for he won’t put up with it, she says. Not if things go as how she thinks they will.’

Prue stared up into the girl’s face above her, hardly feeling the pins as they dug into her scalp, firmly attaching her locks in neat bands at the back. There was a hush in her mind, for the cook’s prognosis was suddenly of immense importance.

‘What do you mean, Maggie—how things go?’

T
he maid pulled back, giving her a sly wink. ‘I ain’t at liberty to say, miss, but I can tell you this. Mrs Wincle ain’t the only one of us as seen it. Nor she ain’t the only one to wish for it neither. In fact, the only one of us as wouldn’t be right pleased, I reckon, is Mrs Polmont.’

There could no longer be the slightest doubt about what the girl meant. Prue’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. Had the entire domestic staff seen into the fervent longings of her deepest dreams? Was it not then only Mrs Polmont who supposed her to have schemed to attach the master of the house?

Only if Maggie were to be believed, it could not be her intentions that were meant—but
his
. Her pulse steadied and a lump came into her throat. Oh, but they were all distressingly mistaken! Could they not see that a man who had any such intention would have come in to her as she lay abed?

She had dared to hope that perhaps his reticence was meant to deter Mrs Polmont from any further complaints of her conduct. But he had seen the housekeeper himself, and still he had not come! She must face the
truth. Mr Rookham’s care of her sprang only from friendship, just as he had always averred. There was no deeper feeling, and she must not indulge herself with that forlorn hope.

Maggie stepped back. ‘There, that’s done.’

‘My cap, if you please, Maggie.’

The girl made a face. ‘What do you want to go a-wearing of that thing for? It don’t look pretty, and it makes you look old, miss.’

‘Nevertheless, I must wear it.’ She tried to smile. ‘You forget, Maggie. I am the governess.’

The maid grunted. ‘Yes, and a deal more besides.’

‘Pray don’t let your imagination run away with you. I believe…’ Her voice failed, and she tried again. ‘I believe Mrs Wincle is mistaken.’

Maggie eyed her, uncertainty in her face. ‘Well, and if she is, there’s no harm in prettifying yourself a little.’

Prue snapped. ‘Yes, there is. Great harm. I will not be other than I am! If you will not give me the cap, then I shall fetch it myself.’

Forgetting her weakened state, she thrust herself up, and was obliged to catch hold of Maggie for support. The maid tutted, but thankfully refrained from crowing in triumph.

‘Steady, miss! Sit down, do. I’ll fetch the cap to you, since you wish for it.’

A few moments later, suitably attired in the concealing cap, Prue made her precarious way to the schoolroom, leaning heavily upon Maggie’s arm.

The twins, to Prue’s relief, were far more recovered than their governess herself. While she sat at her desk, she could remain reasonably steady. Thinking to make the morning easier on herself, she had persuaded Lotty
and Dodo to write an account of their adventure in the forest. But she had not bargained for the effort required in doing nothing, while their pens scratched laboriously through that day’s events.

Prue felt herself sinking, and made a praiseworthy effort to pull her body upright. Folly, who had frisked along beside her to the schoolroom, was now asleep upon her lap. She had nothing to do, therefore, but to keep her seat—a task which she would never have believed could cause her so much difficulty.

Her head felt light, her body heavy. The backrest of the chair was hard, and she had to hold on to the arms for support. Perhaps she had been foolish not to remain in bed.

On the thought, the schoolroom door opened. Mr Rookham stood upon the threshold, thunder on his brow.

Prue’s heart did a double somersault, and she jumped in her seat. Dislodged, Folly let out a yelp and leapt away to the safer area by the window. The twins jerked round.

‘Uncle Julius!’

‘You gave me such a fright!’

‘We’re writing about our adventure, Uncle Julius.’

‘You can read mine later, if you like.’

Brought up short, Julius bit back the hot words that were hovering on his tongue. His nieces were looking at him in sudden doubt and perplexity. He clamped down on his bursting spleen.

‘Pray continue. I only came for a word with Miss Hursley.’

His eyes turned to Prudence and, with a resurgence of anger, he saw that she had risen. But her arms were resting heavily on the desk before her, and it was ob
vious to the meanest intelligence that she could barely stand.

He went to his nieces. ‘On second thoughts, you may take a break for a few moments.’

‘But, Uncle Julius, I’ve just reached the bit where—’

Dodo was rising with alacrity. ‘Come on, Lotty.’

‘But I’m in the middle of—’

Impatience seized Julius. ‘Out, I said!’

Lotty’s dark brows rose in surprise, but she got up in haste and followed her sister from the room.

Julius turned just in time to see Prudence come out from behind the desk. She took a single pace and sagged. He sprang forward and caught her, lifting her bodily into his arms.

‘You little goose, Prue! Didn’t I tell you to rest?’

Prue perforce caught at his coat. The sensation of being swept off her feet had made her ridiculously light-headed, but her pulses were rioting and she could not get her breath.

‘Oh, pray s-set me down!’

‘By no means! I am taking you back to bed.’

‘Oh, no, pray! Oh, Mr Rookham,
pray
let me down! I can perfectly well walk, I promise you.’

There was so frantic a note in her voice that Julius felt compelled to do as she asked. He set her gently back on her feet, but kept an arm firmly about her shoulders.

‘L-let me sit for a moment.’

He guided her to the desk, and reached out a hand to tug the chair out into the open. ‘Here. Gently, now.’

Prue sank into it, catching at the arms. Her breathing was shallow, and dizziness swam round her brain. His presence alone would have thrown her into dismay. But
to be caught up into his arms in that fashion! She felt as if she would never recover.

A plaintive mew caught Julius’s attention, and he looked down to find the kitten pawing at the hem of Prue’s gown. Swiftly, he leaned down and picked Folly up, absently stroking the animal as he stepped away from the chair. Moving to the window, he deposited the kitten on the sill, where it sat upon its haunches and peered up at him.

He shifted back into the room, and glanced down at Prue’s bowed head. All thought of Folly left his mind, and he gave tongue to his driving thought.

‘If you only knew how furious I am with you!’

She cast him a fleeting glance, but she did not speak. Goaded, he continued.

‘I have a matter of import to tell you, which is why I came up. You cannot imagine the shock upon seeing that you were no longer in your bed!’

Prue felt herself trembling, but the dizziness had passed. She dared to look him fully in the face. ‘But I had to get up! I could not lie abed forever. And the girls need me.’

‘To Hades with the girls!’ He thrust impatient hands into the air. ‘What is more important? Their education or your health?’

‘But I am better, I promise you,’ pleaded Prue.

‘Do you take me for a fool? You may be better, but you are as weak as that defenceless kitten of yours. Only wait until I get hold of the witless maid who helped you to dress!’

Prue’s hands clutched the arms of her chair. ‘You must not blame Maggie. I begged her to help me. And if she had not, I would have dressed myself.’

‘Then I can only say that I wish she had refused
you, for if one thing is more certain than another, it is that you would not have had the strength to dress yourself.’

Silenced, Prue gazed at him with a good deal of resentment. It was bad enough that he had stayed away from her. Now he must needs come marching in, scaring her out of her wits, and proceed to lose his temper!

The hawk features were pronounced, and he glared back at her with every evidence of dislike. Prue looked away. Seeing Folly, she chirruped at him and snapped her fingers. The kitten mewed, but remained where he was—in safety? Prue could not blame him.

Mr Rookham’s voice came again, its tone only slightly moderated. ‘If you must get up, at least make use of your parlour. I have had a day-bed put in there, which you would have known had you a grain of common sense.’

Curiously, this unwarranted scold had the effect of raising Prue’s spirits a little. Forgetful of all that had passed, she hit back strongly.

‘I don’t know why you should accuse me of a lack of common sense, merely because I have no knowledge of it! How was I to guess what you would be at?’

Her attacker did not soften. ‘Goose! I told you at the outset that you should rest in your parlour, did I not? Had you gone there, as you were ordered, you would have found the day-bed. However, it is not too late. I will take you there now, and you may settle yourself upon it.’

‘And what about the girls?’ demanded Prue.

‘Forget the girls!’

‘But they ought to finish their writing. You have no notion how difficult it is to get them to do any at all. But they were interested enough to begin, and—’

He interrupted without ceremony. ‘Very well, if you insist upon them completing the project, I shall deal with them myself.’

Prue stared at him blankly. ‘You?’

A sudden grin lightened his stormy features. ‘Why not? Do you suppose the task will prove beyond my capabilities?’

‘No, but—’

‘Then there’s an end of it. Now, come!’

Before she could make any further protest, Prue found herself drawn up from the chair. She held back.

‘Folly!’

‘Have no fear. I have no doubt the wretched creature will follow you.’

Half-carried in Mr Rookham’s strong embrace, Prue was hustled willy-nilly along the corridor towards her little parlour, where he lowered her on to the day-bed. It had been placed facing the fire with its scrolled end in the window embrasure so that she might enjoy the view.

A scratching sound, together with an indignant mewl, sent Julius to the door, cursing. ‘Get in, then, you misbegotten scrap!’

Prue threw him a reproachful glance, and called a welcome to the kitten. ‘Come, Folly!’

Julius watched the animal trot over to the day-bed and jump up. He flung away and tugged violently on the bell-pull.

‘We’ll have Maggie in to see to you.’ He crossed to the desk and picked up one of the volumes he had provided for her use. ‘Have you read these? Shall I find you others?’

A trifle overwhelmed, Prue shook her head. ‘Thank
you, but I have scarce had time to get through one volume.’

‘Then you can take time now,’ he said curtly.

Recalling something he had said, Prue dared a question. ‘What was it you wanted to speak to me about, sir?’

She thought his face changed. He turned to replace the volume he had taken out, and seemed to make a business of straightening the books. At length, he turned to her.

‘It can wait. We will talk of it later, when you are truly better.’

He remained with her, saying little, but shifting restlessly about the small chamber until Prue began to feel utterly disturbed. She kept her attention on Folly’s determined attempts to tread into her stomach, purring in loud content. Prue was almost glad when Maggie arrived in answer to the bell, and Mr Rookham at last made for the door, turning to impart a few final instructions to the maid.

‘Make sure she rests. And feed her up, for God’s sake! She is beginning to look like a scarecrow.’ He glanced back at Prue. ‘I will bring the twins’ efforts for you to look over.’

And then he was off, leaving Prue feeling as if a whirlwind had come and gone. But her desperate heart betrayed her, rising with a sneaking hope.

It appeared that Lotty and Dodo were by no means impressed with the change. Two pairs of dark eyes stared blankly upon Julius where he stood in Prudence’s place at the desk.

‘Well? What is the matter?’

Lotty recovered herself first. ‘You can’t teach us, Uncle Julius!’

‘No, ’cause you’re not a governess,’ stated Dodo, adding her mite.

‘I am not going to teach you,’ Julius told them flatly. ‘I am merely acting as Miss Hursley’s deputy while you complete your writing.’

The twins looked at each other, and then their frowning glances returned to his face. Reluctantly amused, Julius preserved his countenance, merely waiting for what they might find to say next. It was Lotty again who put the question.

‘Can you help us with the spelling then?’

‘Miss Prue always helps us with the spelling,’ put in Dodo, parrot-like.

Julius raised his brows. ‘Do you suppose I am unable to spell as well as Miss Prue?’

Lotty frowned. ‘No, but you’ll have to write it on the board for us.’

‘Then we copy it out ten times so’s we remember.’

He picked up a piece of chalk. ‘Very well. What word is it that you need?’

Both girls broke into giggles, and he eyed them in some dudgeon. ‘Now what is the matter?’

‘You don’t tell us now.’

‘You wait ’til we’re finished.’

‘Then you read it, and then you put the spellings on the board.’

‘Don’t you know, Uncle Julius?’

‘’Course he don’t know, Dodo! He’s our uncle, not a governess.’

‘But Mama knows how to teach us. Why shouldn’t Uncle Julius know?’

But their uncle had reached the end of his rope.
‘Enough! Sit down, the both of you, and start writing at once!’

Thus adjured—and rather to his surprise—both girls sat down and drew their sheets towards them. He watched with reluctant interest as Lotty chewed at the already mangled feather of her pen for a while, obviously deep in thought. Dodo had not hesitated, but immediately dipped her pen in the standish and began to carve out letters on the paper.

It struck him that they wrote with fluency, their hands rounding carefully. He shifted away from the desk, intending to see what progress they made.

Instantly, both heads shot up, and the twins put protective arms about the edge of their papers.

‘You can’t read it yet!’ burst from Dodo.

‘Miss Prue always waits until we’re finished,’ explained Lotty. ‘She says she don’t want to make us nervous, so she never looks over our shoulders.’

‘You have to go back to the desk, Uncle Julius,’ insisted Dodo. ‘We can’t write if you watch us.’