style="font-size:15px;"> ‘If there’s anything I can do to help Miss Mandeville, naturally I will, but …’
‘There’ve been other governesses, of course, but they wouldn’t quite do. You seem to be around the same age as she is, if you’ll permit me to be personal, and I think she’s taken a liking to you already.’
‘Has she said so?’
From the lift of his eyebrow I could see he hadn’t expected a direct question, but I wanted very much to know if they’d talked about me.
‘She doesn’t have to say it. I can read my sister like a book. So, you’ll be a friend to her?’
‘If I can, of course I will.’
‘Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and join them.’
He smiled, gave a little nod and strode away.
I walked back across the park with Betty and her friend Sally, a cheerful and plump woman with flour from all that bread-making so deeply engrained in the creases of her knuckles that it had even survived a Sunday-best scrubbing. Naturally they wanted to know what Mr Stephen had been saying to me. Talking about the tombs, I said. Betty seemed worried.
‘I don’t blame you, Miss Lock, but he should be more careful.’
‘Careful of what?’
‘The governess and the son. It’s not my place to say it, but people do talk so.’
‘I assure you, it was nothing like that.’
I felt myself blushing and was on the verge of defending myself by telling them about his concern for his sister. Betty looked hurt by my sharpness and for some time the three of us walked in silence. I broke it by going back to the talk I’d overheard.
‘There’s to be a ball then?’
‘Two weeks on,’ Sally said. ‘A hundred people invited and a dinner the day before.’
I have reason to believe they will be holding a reception or a ball in the next few weeks… So Blackstone had been right. But how did he know and what in the world did it matter to him? He did not seem the kind of man to take a close interest in the social calendar.
‘Is it to celebrate anything in particular?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Don’t worry, Miss Lock,’ Betty said. ‘We shan’t have much to do with it, except keeping the children looking nice when they’re wanted.’
‘Her ladyship looks worn out with worry about it already,’ Sally said.
Betty gave her a look that said some things should not be discussed in front of new arrivals and turned the conversation to a bodice she was trimming for Sally. The rest of our walk back was taken up with details of cotton lace, tucks and smocking, leaving me with plenty of time to wonder why Miss Mandeville should be so much in need of a friend.
On Monday afternoon, Mrs Quivering intercepted me as I was bringing Henrietta and James in from the garden.
‘Miss Lock, a word with you.’
She beckoned a maid to see the children back upstairs and led me into her office.
‘A letter has arrived for you, Miss Lock.’
My heart leapt. The only person to whom I’d given my address was Daniel Suter.
‘Oh, excellent.’
I held out my hand, expecting to be given the letter, and received a frown instead.
‘Miss Lock, you should understand that if anybody has occasion to correspond with you, letters should be addressed care of the housekeeper and they will be passed on when the servants’ post is distributed. Is that quite clear?’
Since childhood, I’d never felt so humiliated. When she brought an envelope from under the ledger, I took it without looking at the writing on the envelope, thanked her and marched out.
At least dear Daniel had not failed me. It was sweet to have this link with my father so I carried it back upstairs to my attic room at last and turned the envelope over, expecting to see Daniel’s fine Italic hand. It was like running into a thorn hedge where you’d expected lilacs – not Daniel’s hand after all but the upright, spiky characters of Mr Blackstone.
Miss Lock,
Livery bills will be paid for the mare Esperance at the Silver Horseshoe until further notice. Please let me know of your safe arrival as soon as is convenient.
That was all; no greeting, no signature. When I read it a second time I saw that it contained a small threat. I had not told him the mare’s name. He’d discovered that for himself and used it, I guessed, quite deliberately to show I could hide nothing from him. Well, I was being a good, obedient spy. In my first few days I’d found out something he wanted to know and had even seized a chance of getting it to him with the help of the daughter of the house.
As for Celia, I’d by no means made up my mind about her. Our talk kept coming back to my mind and sometimes I managed to convince myself that she was nothing more than a spoiled young lady with a lively sense of drama. Then I’d remember the tone of her voice saying she might be in danger and at least half believe it. In any event, we had her brother’s approval of our friendship, though whether that would continue if he knew she wanted me to carry secret letters was another matter.
Celia paid a visit to the schoolroom just before the end of our morning session. The surprise on the faces of her half brothers and sister showed that this was not a usual event.
‘Miss Lock, may I steal you, please?’
As it was so close to their dinner time I told the children they could put their books away and joined her in the corridor. She was wearing a morning gown of cream mousseline, with a pale apricot sash.
‘It was so obliging of you to offer to help with my sketching. It’s driving me quite distracted.’
I realised that she’d said it loudly for the benefit of Betty, who’d come hurrying out of her room to see who the intruder was.
‘I can’t claim to be an expert,’ I said.
‘You’re being modest, I’m sure. I’m working on something that simply won’t come right. Would you come and give me your opinion?’
‘Now?’
‘Why not? Betty can see to the children, can’t you, Betty?’
I followed her along the corridor and down the stairs to the first floor, where the family had their rooms. The pale green carpet was soft as moss underfoot, the doors deeply recessed into carved and gilded frames. Celia opened a door into a sunny room with a blue canopied bed, blue velvet window curtains, two chairs and a sofa upholstered to match.
