Prudence (5 page)

Touched, and not a little relieved, Prue pocketed the coin. That must be what he had come for. It was kind, after the trouble she had caused him. Prue dismissed a faint feeling of disappointment. There was no reason in the world for her to imagine that Mr Rookham had come for any other purpose.

She picked up her candle and crooned at Folly, cradling him close. The kitten’s presence was curiously comforting.

Prue laid down the last of the books that had been placed in the bookshelves at the back of the schoolroom. She had come in early, so that she might see what dispositions had been made, and prepare a lesson for the day.

The twins, neatly dressed and with caps over their hair, had invaded her bedchamber for the purpose of extracting Folly, who had immediately gone to earth under the bed. Prue had been obliged to coax the kitten
out herself—having first found it necessary to demand at least three times that the girls held their tongues the while!—and had handed him over, bidding the twins present themselves in the schoolroom at ten o’clock.

She had earlier partaken of breakfast, which had been brought to her on a tray by a friendly maid, who introduced herself as Maggie.

‘Mrs Wincle said as I’d best bring it to your bedchamber this first day, miss.’ She had set the tray down on a corner commode, and plonked the dressing-stool before it. ‘There, that’ll do for now. But you’ll tell me, I hope, when you decide as where you’d like to have it.’

Prue had been touched by this mark of thoughtfulness, and decided that the cook must also be kindly disposed. The covered platter had contained far more ham than she could possibly eat, together with two poached eggs resting upon fresh-baked bread. Prue had done justice at least to the pot of hot tea, which had been very welcome.

But when she had hurried to the schoolroom at last, her inspection had proved disappointing. There was little here of use in the way of books. She found two collections of poetry that were well above the level of an eight-year old, a book of acrostics, another of maps, and a three-volume novel by Mr Samuel Richardson that would have Dodo and Lotty asleep with boredom within one chapter.

Well, Mr Rookham had said she must ask for anything she needed. She would have to take him up on it. Had no-one thought seriously about what might be needed in a schoolroom? Someone had tried, but the results were inadequate.

There were two desks for the girls, and one facing
them for Prue herself, a blackboard behind it. On a table by the wall reposed a large globe of the earth, two slates and a dish of chalk. Beyond that, there was a pile of crisp new paper—of which Prue had partaken last night to begin her journal for Nell and Kitty—with several sharpened quill pens, a blotter, and a bottle of ink from which she had filled the receptacles set into each of the desks. But there was not a text book or primer to be seen.

On the other hand, a fire burned in the grate, dispelling the chilly atmosphere. It felt immeasurably more cheerful than it had last night, and Prue could only suppose that Mr Rookham had given orders for this improvement.

Even as she thought it, the door opened to admit a thin creature of middle years, with pinched features around a beaky nose, and dressed in black bombazine. She gave a prim smile.

‘I am Mrs Polmont, the housekeeper, miss.’

Prue recognised the name. Had it been Mr Rookham who had mentioned it? Something about it nagged at her memory.

‘The master has requested me to furnish you with anything you might need.’

Prue sighed thankfully. ‘That is kind, for I need a great deal! At least, it is not for me, but for the girls.’

The housekeeper cast a frowning glance at the table where lay the various pieces of equipment that had been provided.

‘What have we forgotten, ma’am?’

Prue came forward. ‘I’m afraid I cannot teach them without books.’ She gestured to the bookshelf. ‘There is no primer at all, and these volumes are much too advanced.’

‘I shall let the master know, ma’am. In the meanwhile, would you please come with me for a moment.’

Mystified, Prue followed the woman out of the schoolroom and down the corridor leading away from the Chillingham portion of the house. Climbing the stairway, Mrs Polmont turned to the right and at the next corner, stopped to open a door.

She led the way into a neat apartment, where a south-facing window filtered brightness from a weak sun on to a little sofa. Beside it was an occasional table, and before it a small fireplace, where a bright fire gave out a comfortable warmth. Two straight chairs flanked the fire upon the far side, and set apart by the opposite wall was a lady’s secretaire with a straight chair before it.

Prue looked about her in surprise, noting a vase of spring flowers set upon the wooden surround to the window which formed another seat, an oval mirror on the wall and a sporting painting above the narrow mantel. Her eyes came around to find the housekeeper looking at her in the oddest way. Was that the ghost of a smirk upon her lips?

At a loss, Prue searched her mind for a response. ‘It—it is a very pretty room, Mrs Polmont.’

The housekeeper inclined her head. ‘I have done what I can. The master’s orders, ma’am. This is to be your private parlour. There is paper and ink in the bureau, and I have provided you with those books you might enjoy.’

Prue stared at her, amazed. Mr Rookham had ordered this? When he so clearly disapproved of her! What in the world had possessed him? She knew not what to say, and her mind fastened stupidly on the last thing the woman had told her.

‘Books?’

The housekeeper moved across to the bureau and pointed out the open bookshelf across the top. Prue had not noticed the volumes that were set within it. Dazed, she followed Mrs Polmont and read one of the titles—
Camilla
. Fanny Burney’s story? What a treat! The Duck had never permitted the reading of novels, although Prue had read one or two. Kitty had been noted for getting hold of contraband volumes.

But this was overwhelming. What had she done that Mr Rookham must needs treat her with so much kindness? Only yesterday she had supposed he would despatch her back to the Seminary as fast as he could. And last night he had behaved as if she was an irritant. What was she to make of him?

‘I do not know what to say,’ she declared truthfully.

The housekeeper eyed her. ‘When you do, you’d best say it to the master.’

Prue blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Would it be your wish to have your meals brought to you here, Miss Hursley?’

A faint discomfort entered Prue’s breast. She eyed the woman’s face and made the discovery that Mrs Polmont had a slight look of a parrot. Memory stirred. Had not the twins made reference to such a name? But the thought faded as a sense of unease built.

In every utterance the housekeeper made, there was a hint of meaning which she could not grasp. Nor had she any notion how to answer this last question.

‘Perhaps. Unless the girls would wish me to eat with them as I did yesterday. What do you think?’

Mrs Polmont sniffed delicately. ‘It’s hardly for me to say, miss.’ She paused, and once again Prue was made uncomfortable by the look in the woman’s eyes.
‘Time enough to decide. It’s possible the master has an opinion.’

Without knowing why, Prue felt a compulsion to repudiate this suggestion. More to dispel her own unformed fears than anything else, she made a hasty decision.

‘I will eat luncheon with the girls, and take breakfast and dinner in here, if that is not too much trouble.’

Mrs Polmont smiled thinly. ‘No trouble, ma’am. Would there be anything else for the present?’

‘No, I thank you.’

Prue moved quickly to the door and walked out of the room, aware that the housekeeper followed her. About to walk off down the corridor to return to the schoolroom, she abruptly recollected her immediate problem. She turned quickly.

‘Mrs Polmont.’

The woman was heading in the opposite direction, but she halted, turning. ‘Miss?’

‘Do you know whether Mr Rookham has any children’s books in his library? At least I could start them on a simple story.’

‘Why do you not have a look, Miss Hursley? I am sure the master will not object.’

Prue experienced a sudden hollow at her chest. Have a look? Yes, and encounter Mr Rookham himself! What with last night and now the little parlour, she should not know what to say to him.

‘I—I should not wish to disturb him,’ she said, improvising. ‘Later will do.’

She was about to turn away again, when the housekeeper’s voice checked her.

‘You won’t disturb him, miss. The master is out rid
ing and has not yet breakfasted. It will be a good hour or more before he settles to his estate work.’

There were books, books, and more books. But nothing, it would seem, that was remotely useful on an immediate basis. Driven partly by consciousness of swiftly passing time, and partly by the fear of being discovered here by the master of the house, Prue knew her search had been cursory.

At sight of the eight huge bookshelves that lined the walls of the library, she had almost run away again. But Mrs Polmont had been standing in the doorway, and Prue could not make the ignominious exit for which she longed. Instead, she had assembled her courage and walked deliberately into the middle of the room, looking about in a manner that she had hoped appeared resolute.

The housekeeper had stood poised a moment longer, and then thankfully retired, closing the door behind her. Prue had discovered that her knees were shaking, and fairly staggered to a seat by one of the long windows. From here, she had taken in the daunting prospect ahead of her.

The library was a long room, dominated by the big oaken desk—placed to take advantage of the heat from the fire—which was apparently Mr Rookham’s working headquarters. Prue remembered that at least, but her arrival yesterday had been so taken up with the dreadful recognition of the master of the house, that she had not taken in much more.

Now she noted that the desk was awash with stacks of piled papers, and an overlarge blotter formed the only open space upon its surface.

A series of windows let in light, with scrolled seats
before them. But all across one end and down the long wall opposite, interrupted only by the fireplace and a single door, stood the massive bookshelves, loaded down with the biggest collection of volumes Prue had ever seen. A far cry from the library tended by Mr Duxford at Paddington.

On the walls either side of the main door hung charts and pencilled drawings, which looked to encompass a form of design work. They were far from neatly placed, one having been piled on another and tacked to a boarded surface against the wall, so that they overlapped everywhere like an undefined mosaic. Prue had wondered briefly at them. But catching sight of the time on a case clock over the mantel, she had jumped hastily to her feet and darted across to inspect the first of the bookshelves.

But her search had been in vain. There was plenty of Latin and Greek, but she had abandoned any hope of discovering anything for children in simple English.

Just as she was about to give up altogether, she discovered a bank of books in foreign languages. She reached thankfully to pull one out for examination. But a rapid review of the Italian it contained proved it to be far beyond her grasp of that tongue. Those in French might be more within her capability, but she was uneasily aware that the twins must outstrip her in that language. But still nothing for children! Impatient, Prue exclaimed aloud.

‘Oh, this is too bad! You would think that with such a multitude of books, there would be something I could use!’

A voice spoke from the door near the fireplace, making her leap with shock. ‘I must apologise for the deficiencies of my library.’

H
er pulses crazily fluttering, Prue burst into intemperate speech. ‘Must you do that? I do wish you would not creep up on me in this tiresome fashion, Mr Rookham!’

He gave an ironic little bow. ‘Once again, my apologies. I have been watching you for several moments. You were so absorbed, I hesitated to interrupt you.’

But Prue had recollected herself. ‘I b-beg your pardon, sir. I should not have—I mean, I had no intention…’ She faded out, horribly conscious.

‘You had the intention of finding a book, I gather.’

‘For teaching.’ She made a desperate effort to steady her breath. ‘Your housekeeper said I might come in here. She told me you were out riding, or I would not have…’

But Mr Rookham did not appear to be annoyed. He strolled over to where she was standing, his eyes travelling along the shelves.

‘What precisely were you looking for?’

Distinctly disturbed by his presence, Prue shifted a little away. She hardly knew what she replied.

‘Something for children. Anything, as long as it is
simple. But I can find only these volumes in French and Italian, and they are too advanced to be of the least use.’

‘Something simple, eh? In English?’

He was searching as he spoke, and Prue backed off the more, her eyes on the ragged cut of his dark hair. She answered him at random, taking in, as if for the first time, the loose-limbed figure and the casual set of his clothes. If he had been riding, he had certainly changed, for his simply tied cravat was clearly fresh, and he had on a frock coat the colour of wine, with a waistcoat of lighter hue beneath and buckskin breeches moulded to a pair of long thighs.

He looked round at her, and Prue hastily cast her eyes in another direction.

‘Tell me what it is you need.’

‘An English primer,’ said Prue automatically, moving to the nearest window and plonking down upon the seat. It did not occur to her that she ought not to sit uninvited in her employer’s presence. She was only glad of the support beneath her that made it no longer necessary to remain upon legs suddenly become unruly. She made herself look up.

Mr Rookham was standing before the bookshelf, facing her now, in an attitude of ease, one hand resting on his hip. He was not at all good-looking, decided Prue. How would he be, with such distinctive features? That jutting nose, for one thing. But the lean strong countenance was compelling.

‘Is that all?’

‘All?’ she reiterated stupidly.

‘An English primer, you said.’

‘Oh, yes—how silly!’ She made an attempt to pull herself together. ‘I cannot teach them without it, you
see. But I thought that if I could find a simple children’s story, I might have begun with that. But I suppose the French will have to do.’

To her surprise, that quirky look appeared at his mouth. ‘A waste of time. Dodo and Lotty speak and write both French and Italian with fluency. It is their English that is poor.’

Prue nodded, feeling a little less flustered. ‘Yes, I heard them conversing with their nurse in French, and they gave me a sample of their Italian.’

He laughed. ‘I trust it did not shock you. In my experience, they delight in cant phrases in that language. Probably because Yvette does not understand it and cannot correct them.’

From which Prue deduced that he was himself fluent in Italian. She reassured him. ‘If they had used coarse language, sir, I would not have understood it. But why do you complain of their English? Indeed, I was surprised to hear they had been abroad, for they are well spoken and fluent.’

‘You think so?’

She regarded him uneasily. ‘Do not you?’

‘No, I do not! They are impertinent minxes, and the style of their conversation is most improper,’ he said crushingly.

‘Oh.’ Blankly said.

His brows rose, and Prue felt more was required of her. ‘Well, I did feel perhaps their grammar…’

‘Grammar? Only wait until you see how they write English, and you may complain of their grammar.’

Daunted, Prue sighed. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘You may well sigh. They cannot spell either, nor write without blots. You would do well to concentrate
your efforts upon these things, if you manage to teach them nothing else.’

Indignant, Prue forgot herself. ‘Well, and so I would if there was anything I might use to do so!’

Mr Rookham eyed her with a slight feeling of satisfaction. That had pierced her armour. She was certainly on the retreat today. But the spurt of defiance was of short duration. With mixed feelings, he saw contrition enter her face.

‘I beg your pardon, sir. But you did say I should ask for anything I might need.’

‘Pray don’t apologise, Miss Hursley. I dare say I deserved to be taken to task.’

‘But I did not mean—’

He threw up a hand. ‘Don’t let us fall into so foolish a dispute. We would be better employed if I embarked upon the matters I meant to discuss with you yesterday.’

A look of alarm entered her face, and he frowned. ‘What is the matter? What have I said to frighten you?’

‘Nothing at all. I am not frightened, I assure you, sir.’

She was a poor liar. And she was shy of him again, averting her eyes. His own fault, no doubt. He could not fathom why he had spoken to her in that fashion last night. He was inclined to think he’d had too much brandy. He recalled feeling outraged—why, he could not tell—to find her sitting alone in that freezing room with but a candle and her abominable kitten for company.

If she must sit up at night, let her at least do so in a warm room! He trusted Polmont had carried out his instructions. Perhaps his housekeeper had not yet shown her the parlour?

She was looking at him in a manner that reminded him irresistibly of a skittish colt, as if she could not decide whether she ought to run away, but was nevertheless intrigued enough to remain.

‘I merely wished to explain the circumstances that have led to your being employed here.’ Casually, he strolled down to the next window, and looked out. ‘My sister is a widow. She married an impecunious fellow who fancied himself a poet. Chillingham’s mother was Italian, and he inherited her artistic temperament. Or so he thought.’

‘Are the twins artistic too?’

Rookham looked round, shrugging. ‘Possibly. I wouldn’t know. They arrived here a little before Christmas. They have been living abroad, you must know, travelling a good deal.’

‘Yes, they said they had been in Brussels and Austria as well as Italy.’

‘Among other places. Chillingham eked out a living teaching English wherever they went. Trixie—my sister—tells me that for the most part she undertook the children’s education herself. But there were governesses or tutors—French or Italian for the most part—whenever they could afford it.’

He glanced round again, and found upon Miss Hursley’s features the most profound expression of compassion.

‘Poor things,’ she uttered in distressed tones. ‘How dreadfully hard it must have been for them.’

Yes, he might have known she would react that way! ‘Spare your tears, Miss Hursley. Trixie assures me that she has thoroughly enjoyed her life. And you can see that the twins are none the worse for wear. Nor is my nephew.’

‘Ah, yes. Freddy, is it not?’

‘The twins told you? Freddy is eleven. I have packed him off to Eton. But I promised Trixie I would find a governess for the girls, so that they might be readied for a future in the English style.’

Miss Hursley nodded in a sage fashion that sat oddly with her air of innocence. ‘I begin to see. The girls told me, sir, that their mother intended to remarry.’

‘Oh, yes.’ He knew he sounded cynical, but he was unable to help it. ‘Not, you understand, that she has anyone particular in mind. But she assures me that she will find a suitable candidate.’

Miss Hursley blinked. ‘Oh.’

‘Is that all you can find to say?’

He was aware that he was snapping, and noted the wariness in the governess’s eyes. He knew an impulse to retract, apologise. But before he could formulate the words, she was offering an answer.

‘To tell the truth, sir, the twins did suggest some such scheme, but I took it with a pinch of salt. Children are apt to misunderstand the activities of their elders.’ Uncertainty entered the grey eyes, and she became hesitant. ‘I must say that it seems a little…’

Irritation flared, and he supplied her with the missing word. ‘Mercenary?’

‘Oh, no, I—’

He cut her short. ‘Don’t let us quibble, Miss Hursley. It is mercenary. And quite unnecessary. I am well able to provide both for my sister and her children.’

‘Oh.’

Rookham turned abruptly, and took a hasty turn about the library. What had he expected from the girl? He did not know why he was telling her all this. Why the matter should trouble him, he did not know. If the
truth were told, the last thing he had wanted was to be saddled with a set of youngsters! The life he led suited him very well, and he had no wish for change. Yet a sense of duty—and perhaps a nod to his deceased mother’s probable wishes?—made him baulk at Trixie’s insistence on managing her life for herself. He had sent Chillingham money enough through the years, as Trixie well knew. But this, she had averred, was different.

‘Nothing will induce me, my dear Julius, to throw myself and my offspring upon your mercy. I could not endure to be such a charge on you. Besides, I value my independence, my darling brother.’

In vain had he said that such a marriage as she contemplated would curtail that very spirit of independence.

‘No, Julius, for I shall not allow any husband to ride roughshod over me. But I need a household of my own. Let me alone to take care of my future. But while I am about it, if you will keep my girls for me, I will be eternally grateful.’

As he recalled the path he had chosen for the furtherance of his nieces’ future, it dawned on him that the result of his endeavours was staring at him in a manner both perplexed and—if he was any judge—fearful.

He threw up a hand. ‘Forgive my abstraction. Where was I?’

‘Your sister, sir?’

‘Ah, yes. She has gone to London, which is why I have engaged you. But since I do not know what the outcome will be, I felt obliged to give you warning that the position might be temporary. I cannot answer for
my sister’s requirements when she resumes charge over her daughters.’

Miss Hursley jumped up, a light of eagerness in her face. ‘But perhaps if I were to prove able, sir, she might consider keeping me?’

He was obliged to bite back a laugh. ‘Anything is possible.’

Those grey eyes searched his. ‘But if, as you say, their schooling has been a trifle haphazard before now…’

‘She will not object to someone who chases kittens across the path of an oncoming carriage?’

The eyes took fire, but Rookham saw her resolutely tighten her lips together. She was clearly determined not to rise to the fly. He relented.

‘No, that was unfair. But if you are desirous of making yourself indispensable, perhaps you had best make a start.’

She visibly relaxed again. ‘I suppose I had. I will ask the girls to write, I think, and then I may judge what is needed to improve their English.’

‘An excellent notion, Miss Hursley. As for the books, give me a list, and I will send to Leatherhead for whatever you need.’

Prue thanked him and made for the door. He called out to check her. ‘By the by, Miss Hursley. Do you care for your parlour?’

She turned to him, her features transformed. And the light in them quite took his breath away.

‘I don’t know why you should have been so kind, sir, when I have done everything possible not to deserve it. I have never had a bedchamber of my own, let alone a parlour! I don’t know how to thank you.’

For a moment she stood poised, as if waiting for him
to speak. Rookham could not utter a word. The light slowly died out of her face, and she walked quickly out of the library.

Through the window of the schoolroom, Prue contemplated the persistent drizzle outside. Small chance that the twins would be able to redeem their oft-repeated promise to show her around the gardens. It was a pity, for she was sure that the opportunity to expend their restless energy outdoors would help to focus their wayward concentration.

The past few days had not been easy. It was Wednesday, and it seemed impossible Prue had only arrived one week ago today. It felt already like a lifetime, for she was required to have the twins at lessons for several hours, morning and afternoon, with the exception of Saturday afternoon and Sunday. Not that this rigorous regime would have been a hardship, if only the girls had been attentive!

Far from it. If one was not fidgeting about the room while Prue tried to help the other with her reading, both were complaining about the necessity to work upon their English. They did all they could to deflect her, from teasing Folly into interrupting the proceedings to dropping their books on purpose so as to lose the place.

For want of any other success, Prue at least could congratulate herself on managing most of the time to tell them apart. Not for any discernible difference in their features, but from an indefinable separation in the way they moved and spoke. She could tell it was Dodo who spent more time wondering what was to be on the menu for dinner than minding her book, and that the one who argued with every rule of grammar was Lotty. When they were still or silent—which was rare—she
would have had no idea which was which except for the fact that each had appropriated a desk to herself. And resented any intrusion by the other!

Guiltily aware that, after some dozen lessons, she had accomplished little in the way of improving their English—despite the help of the books she had requested which had been brought from Leatherhead within two days—Prue had racked her brains in vain for a method which might catch their interest in the subject.

Then by chance last night, the twins had come into her parlour, seeking Folly for his meal, and found her engaged upon her almost daily letter to her two friends at the Seminary. Lotty had caught sight of her own name on the sheet, and instantly demanded to be told why Prue was writing about her. The explanation had provoked both girls into stating that if Miss Hursley was to set down stories about her charges, they ought to retaliate by writing about their governess.