Saddle the Wind (17 page)

‘Oh, indeed. And it isn’t as if she’s left her family. She spends time with them – on Sundays, like today, and occasionally at odd times during the week. Oh, yes, I think she’s happy – I’ve no doubt about that.’

‘And no doubt she never considers that it might not last.’

Savill looked at her in silence for a moment then said:

‘D’you think perhaps it’s a mistake? That what I’m doing is wrong?’

Alice shrugged. ‘Oh, John, I don’t know, I’m sure. I was just thinking – one day it will have to end for her, won’t it? All this – living here, getting the best of everything.’ She paused. ‘What will she do then?’

The leaden skies of the morning had cleared and now the November sun shone clear and bright. Soon after two o’clock Miss Baker brought Marianne to the cottage. Sarah invited the governess in, but Miss Baker politely declined and remained on the doorstep only long enough to instruct Marianne not to dirty her clothes or get her feet wet, and to be back at Hallowford House by six-thirty. With that she went away again.

When Sarah had closed the door on Miss Baker’s departing back, she took Marianne’s coat and ushered her into the front parlour where Agnes sat at the piano playing ‘Little Brown Jug’. Blanche and Arthur were sitting on the sofa just finishing a game of Beggar-my-neighbour. As Marianne entered Blanche threw down her cards crying, ‘I won! I
won
!’ Then, looking up at Marianne, she smiled: ‘Ah, here you are. Ernest and Fanny will be here soon.’

‘That’s right,’ Sarah added. ‘Ernest’s going to take you girls out for a walk while I get the tea.’ As she lingered in the doorway, her glance on Blanche and Marianne, a familiar little feeling of doubt came to nag at the back of her mind. She gazed at the two girls for a moment longer, then turned and moved away into the kitchen. As she busied herself over the range the doubt was still with her. Something had to be done, she said to herself. It was time she made a decision.

During the past few weeks the problem had been on
her mind constantly. What had begun so long ago simply as a temporary measure to solve immediate difficulties had become a way of life. It couldn’t go on, though. There had to come a time when Blanche’s stay at Hallowford House came to an end and she returned to the family. And what then? Right now Blanche was happy and content, never questioning the situation. She lived the major part of her life at Hallowford House, coming down to the cottage at weekends and at various odd times. But although Blanche got on well with her brothers and sister, still Sarah could not escape the feeling that over the years the child had been steadily growing further and further away from her family. And it was time it was changed. Sarah knew that she would never be able to offer Blanche the comfort she found at Hallowford House, but now Agnes and Arthur were earning regularly, as well as Ernest, and they would manage all right. Other families did.

‘Here we are, Mam. Are the girls ready?’

Ernest’s voice came breaking into Sarah’s thoughts as, followed by Fanny Greenham, his young sweetheart from the village, he entered from the scullery. Sarah smiled at him. ‘Yes, they’re waiting for you. They just have to put on their coats.’ Turning, she called Blanche and Marianne to her and, aided by Ernest, got them into their coats and hats.

Ernest had turned eighteen just two weeks earlier. He had been at work for almost eight years now, and still was assistant stockman at Harker’s farm. He was a tall young man. Although his colouring was her own Sarah could see Ollie so clearly in his features. They were echoed in his straight blunt nose; his wide, sensitive mouth with its finely sculptured upper lip; the round jawline and the sometimes thoughtful preoccupation in his eyes.

Sarah had realized lately that she had come to depend on Ernest more and more as the years had gone by. In so many ways he had taken Ollie’s place, and in some ways had proved to be more dependable than his father. Whereas Ollie had never really been a practical man Ernest had shown a more pragmatic side to his nature, and as he had grown so he had shown a strength and reliability in his makeup that Sarah, to her surprise and relief, had found she could rely on. Not that she could expect to depend on it forever, she sometimes told herself. One day he would want to get married and make a home of his own. Perhaps, in time, with Fanny.

With the thought, Sarah moved her gaze to the young girl. Fanny, seventeen years old, was the daughter of a local villager who, as did Fanny and her three sisters, worked at one of the cloth factories in Trowbridge. Fanny had red-gold hair, freckles, and a pert, pretty face. She and Ernest had been walking out for over a year now and it was clear to Sarah that he was taken with her. Still, Sarah said to herself, they were both still too young to think about marriage; if it happened it wouldn’t happen for a long time yet.

Ernest and Fanny were late bringing the two girls back to the cottage and it was almost a quarter-to-seven when Sarah eventually set off up the hill towards Hallowford House with Blanche and Marianne at her side. As they neared the gates of the house she saw a dim shape coming to them from the darkening shadows. As the figure drew closer she saw that it was Miss Baker.

‘It got so late,’ Miss Baker said, frowning as she came to a stop before them. ‘I was wondering what had happened.’ Sarah began to apologize, saying that the children had got in late from their walk, but Miss Baker wasn’t listening; her attention had been caught by the
state of Marianne’s coat and boots which were stained with mud.

‘What on earth have you been doing?’ Miss Baker said to Marianne.

Sarah began to explain that on the walk Marianne had tripped and fallen, but before she had finished the governess took Marianne by the hand and, wishing Sarah a goodnight, turned away. Hurriedly Sarah bent and kissed Blanche on the cheek, then stood watching as she ran off to catch up with Marianne and the governess.

It was Friday and the Harrows were leaving.

Blanche had gone downstairs with Marianne to wish them goodbye. Now, leaving Marianne in the hall, she had come back up to the schoolroom on the top floor where, standing at the window, she stood looking down onto the drive where James was loading the last of the luggage onto the carriage. Mr Savill was to drive with the visitors to the station to see them off. They were going to Sicily to live.

After a few moments she saw Mr and Mrs Harrow come in view as they moved to the carriage, then Mr Savill appeared and got in behind them. A minute later James climbed up and took the reins, and then the carriage was moving away. Blanche followed its progress along the drive and out between the tall gates where it turned onto the road and was lost to sight.

‘Where will the carriage go to now, Miss Baker?’ Blanche asked without turning from the window.

‘To Trowbridge. To the station.’ Miss Baker’s voice came from behind her.

Dorothy Baker was thirty-six years old. The daughter of a clergyman, she came from Taunton in Somerset. She was red-haired, short and plump, and wore glasses.
This was her sixth post and she earned thirty-five pounds a year. Like most of the thousands of governesses who advertised in
The Times
and
The Lady
she taught mathematics, English, geography, history, music and needlework. She also offered French and Italian – which additional subjects had helped her secure the post at Hallowford House. She had been there now for just two months, replacing Miss Sanderson, the previous governess.

Blanche wasn’t sure how she felt about Miss Baker. She only knew that she liked Miss Sanderson better. What Miss Sanderson’s shortcomings might have been, Blanche didn’t know; she only knew that Miss Sanderson had been warm and jolly, and fun to be with. Miss Baker was different. She was unfailingly pleasant and polite to Marianne, but with Blanche herself, Blanche felt, there was always something else.

‘And then what will happen?’ Blanche said.

Miss Baker gave a little sigh of irritation at Blanche’s questions. ‘Mr and Mrs Harrow will catch the train for London,’ she said, ‘– and there, I imagine, they’ll take the boat train for the Continent. From there they’ll go to Sicily – which is an island in the Mediterranean.’

‘Yes, I know. It’s part of Italy. I looked it up in the atlas.’ Blanche paused. ‘Is it a nice place?’

‘I have no idea. I imagine it is.’

Blanche sighed. Travel was exciting. She had learned that much from the little she had done. During each of the past three summers she had gone with Marianne and Mr Savill on holiday to the seaside for two weeks, once to Weston-super-Mare in Somerset, and on the other two occasions to Weymouth in Dorset. Before that, in 1887, she had been taken up to London to see some of the Queen’s jubilee celebrations, also with Marianne. And there had been other trips here and there. To go
abroad, though, to another country, that would be something quite different. ‘I’d like to go to Sicily,’ she said with another sigh. ‘I think I will – one day.’

Miss Baker said nothing, just lifted her head and looked at her.

‘One day,’ Blanche added, with a little nod, ‘– if I like.’

‘Really? Well, perhaps you shall and perhaps you shan’t. It costs money to travel.’ There was no humour in Miss Baker’s smile. ‘And perhaps in the meantime you might like to complete your English exercise.’

Blanche moved back to the table she shared with Marianne, sat down and got on with her writing. After a few minutes the door opened and Marianne came in. As Marianne sat down and took up her pencil Miss Baker looked at her and smiled.

‘Have Mr and Mrs Harrow gone now, Marianne?’

‘Yes, Miss Baker.’

When the English lesson was over they turned to geography, after which it was time for lunch. The girls ate with Miss Baker up in the schoolroom. When lunch was finished they rested for a while before beginning the afternoon lessons, which they began by taking out their history books. After the history lesson they took up their needlework. They were learning to embroider, sewing squares of linen with brightly coloured silk thread. Now, with their embroidery still before them, Miss Baker began to talk of foreign languages. She would make a start with Italian, she said, beginning with a few simple Italian words.

Blanche pushed her embroidery away and sat up straighter in her chair. Listening intently as the governess began, however, she soon found that the lesson seemed to be directed solely at Marianne. She said nothing, but continued to listen, and then watched
as Miss Baker turned and wrote on the blackboard. A few moments later Miss Baker turned back and said to Marianne:

‘
Io
.’ She stressed the first syllable. ‘It means “I”. Repeat it after me.
Io
.’

‘
Io
,’ Marianne repeated.

And then Blanche spoke up:

‘Io.’

‘No, no, Blanche,’ Miss Baker said. She frowned vaguely in Blanche’s direction then forced the hint of a smile to her lips. ‘This is just for Marianne, dear. You carry on with your embroidery.’

Puzzled, Blanche frowned in return. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why is it just for Marianne? Why isn’t it for me too?’

‘Now, Blanche,’ Miss Baker said. ‘Don’t begin with all your questions again. We really haven’t got time for them. Please – do as I say. Just go on with your needlework.’

‘But – but I want to learn to speak Italian too.’

‘Please, Blanche …’ Miss Baker eyed her for a moment then turned back to Marianne. ‘Now, Marianne, repeat after me the word –’

‘I don’t want to do my needlework,’ Blanche said. ‘I want to learn Italian like Marianne.’

Miss Baker ignored her. ‘Marianne,’ she began again, ‘please repeat –’ But Blanche broke in again, now with rising anger in her voice:

‘Why can’t I.
Why
?’

Then Marianne spoke up as well. ‘Yes, Miss Baker,’ she said, ‘why can’t Blanche learn it too?’

‘My dear child,’ Miss Baker said, ‘there wouldn’t be any point to it, would there? It takes time and there’s so much for us to learn, isn’t there? We can’t afford to waste time, can we?’

While Marianne frowned, not understanding, Blanche pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘Why wouldn’t there be any point to it?’ she demanded. ‘Why not?’

Miss Baker took no notice. Blanche said sharply:

‘Miss Baker, I want to learn Italian like Marianne. I want to. Why can’t I?’

Miss Baker continued to ignore her for another moment, then she gave a sigh, turned back to Blanche and stepped towards her.

‘Sit down, Blanche,’ she said evenly.

Blanche hesitated for a moment then sat down.

‘The simple reason,’ Miss Baker said, ‘why there’s no point in your learning a foreign language is that you’ll never have a need for it. Do you understand?’ She turned and smiled at Marianne. ‘It’s different for Marianne, of course. She’ll travel to other countries when she’s older, so she’ll need to be proficient in other languages, won’t she?’

‘And
I
shall too!’ Blanche said sharply. ‘I shall too!’

‘No, dear,’ Miss Baker said with a humourless little smile touching one corner of her mouth. ‘You must remember that we should concentrate on learning only those things that will be useful to us in our lives.’ She bent and pushed towards Blanche the piece of embroidery the child had been working on. ‘Now you would do yourself a service,’ she added sharply, ‘by concentrating on your sewing.’

‘But I don’t want to do my sewing,’ Blanche said. ‘I want to learn Italian, like Marianne.’ She paused. ‘Why can’t I? I’ve got a right to.’

Abruptly Miss Baker’s demeanour changed. ‘
Right?
’ she rapped out. ‘You say you’ve got a
right
?’ Her voice throbbed with fury. ‘
No
! You do
not
have a right! You have
no
rights here!’ Her voice rose. ‘Now – get on with
your sewing and let me hear not one more single word from you!’

For a moment Blanche just glared at the governess, and then suddenly her feelings of anger and injustice erupted. ‘No!’ she shouted into Miss Baker’s face. ‘I won’t! I won’t! I
won’t
!’

In the next moment, as the room still rang with the echo of Blanche’s defiance, Miss Baker stepped forward and, eyes blazing with fury, raised her hand and struck Blanche across the face.