to maintain the fiction of advising the cook.’
The cook, a retired soldier, Joshua Evans, looked in surprise as Miss Trumble walked into the kitchen, stood counting to ten, and then hurried out again.
Jessica had joined her mother and Robert in the garden. Miss Trumble approached. ‘My lady, I must beg you to spare me a few minutes. There is a crisis in the kitchen.’
‘I do not know why I keep servants such as you when I have to deal with matters myself,’ said Lady Beverley pettishly. Jessica was aware of Robert’s face becoming stiff with disapproval and for the first time in her life felt thoroughly ashamed of her mother.
Miss Trumble waited patiently. ‘Oh, very well,’ said Lady Beverley.
She went with Miss Trumble to the kitchen, her voice raised in complaint. ‘What is it
now
?’
When they were inside the cool kitchen with its stone-flagged floor, Miss Trumble said hurriedly, ‘Do but reconsider Mr Sommerville’s invitation.’
‘Why should I?’
‘A change of air would do you good. Also, there is the saving on household bills here to consider.’
Lady Beverley’s pale eyes surveyed her governess. ‘And do you think I am concerned with such petty matters as household economy?’
‘Yes, my lady, and I have often admired you for it.’
Lady Beverley turned away. Facing her was a large copper pan, burnished to a high shine. As she gazed at it, she could see the distorted reflection of her governess’s face. And yet it was not Miss Trumble’s face but that of someone she knew or had known. The dim reflection wiped out the lines on Miss Trumble’s aged face and an attractive and haughty aristocrat stared out at Lady Beverley from the bottom of the copper pan. She swung back, her mouth a little open in surprise. But it was only Miss Trumble with her wrinkled face and dainty dress, standing, staring meekly at the floor.
She thought about what Miss Trumble had said, her mind ranging over the saving on food and candles and laundry.
‘I will consider it,’ she said.
‘Perhaps it will be too late,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘
He
might have changed his mind.’
‘And if he has,’ said Lady Beverley waspishly, ‘it is because you have kept me too long in my own kitchen.’
She hurried out. Miss Trumble suppressed a smile and followed more slowly.
She saw Lady Beverley, looking more animated than she had ever done since Miss Trumble had first met her, talking to Robert.
Safe for a little while, thought Miss Trumble, safe from Mannerling. And now the important thing was to make sure that none of them heard of the rejection of Harry Devers before she got them away.
The girls gathered in Jessica’s bedroom that evening after dinner. ‘So,’ began Belinda, ‘what do you think of your Mr Sommerville, Jessica?’
‘Not my Mr Sommerville,’ said Jessica, ‘but he appears very pleasant.’ She suddenly remembered that kiss and blushed.
‘Aha!’ cried Abigail. ‘A tell-tale blush.’
‘Fiddle,’ said Jessica. ‘I am no longer interested in marriage. I may never marry.’
‘Perhaps Isabella will be the only one of us ever to marry,’ said Lizzie.
‘What can you mean?’ cried Rachel.
‘Just that everyone seems aware of the fact, except us, that ladies without dowries do not get married. Only look at our Miss Trumble. Sometimes when I look at her I get a sort of picture of the pretty young girl she must have been once.’
‘Pooh,’ said Abigail haughtily. ‘Do not compare any of us with a mere governess.’
‘Besides,’ said Rachel, ‘Mr Sommerville is not asking all of
us
for the pleasure of our company. It is Jessica he is interested in.’
‘Would you marry such a man?’ asked Lizzie, leaning forward, her long red hair half shielding her face.
‘I told you, I am not interested in him as a future husband,’ said Jessica sharply. ‘But I do not understand what you mean by saying “such a man.” He is handsome, comfortably off, and intelligent.’
‘But he
The cook, a retired soldier, Joshua Evans, looked in surprise as Miss Trumble walked into the kitchen, stood counting to ten, and then hurried out again.
Jessica had joined her mother and Robert in the garden. Miss Trumble approached. ‘My lady, I must beg you to spare me a few minutes. There is a crisis in the kitchen.’
‘I do not know why I keep servants such as you when I have to deal with matters myself,’ said Lady Beverley pettishly. Jessica was aware of Robert’s face becoming stiff with disapproval and for the first time in her life felt thoroughly ashamed of her mother.
Miss Trumble waited patiently. ‘Oh, very well,’ said Lady Beverley.
She went with Miss Trumble to the kitchen, her voice raised in complaint. ‘What is it
now
?’
When they were inside the cool kitchen with its stone-flagged floor, Miss Trumble said hurriedly, ‘Do but reconsider Mr Sommerville’s invitation.’
‘Why should I?’
‘A change of air would do you good. Also, there is the saving on household bills here to consider.’
Lady Beverley’s pale eyes surveyed her governess. ‘And do you think I am concerned with such petty matters as household economy?’
‘Yes, my lady, and I have often admired you for it.’
Lady Beverley turned away. Facing her was a large copper pan, burnished to a high shine. As she gazed at it, she could see the distorted reflection of her governess’s face. And yet it was not Miss Trumble’s face but that of someone she knew or had known. The dim reflection wiped out the lines on Miss Trumble’s aged face and an attractive and haughty aristocrat stared out at Lady Beverley from the bottom of the copper pan. She swung back, her mouth a little open in surprise. But it was only Miss Trumble with her wrinkled face and dainty dress, standing, staring meekly at the floor.
She thought about what Miss Trumble had said, her mind ranging over the saving on food and candles and laundry.
‘I will consider it,’ she said.
‘Perhaps it will be too late,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘
He
might have changed his mind.’
‘And if he has,’ said Lady Beverley waspishly, ‘it is because you have kept me too long in my own kitchen.’
She hurried out. Miss Trumble suppressed a smile and followed more slowly.
She saw Lady Beverley, looking more animated than she had ever done since Miss Trumble had first met her, talking to Robert.
Safe for a little while, thought Miss Trumble, safe from Mannerling. And now the important thing was to make sure that none of them heard of the rejection of Harry Devers before she got them away.
The girls gathered in Jessica’s bedroom that evening after dinner. ‘So,’ began Belinda, ‘what do you think of your Mr Sommerville, Jessica?’
‘Not my Mr Sommerville,’ said Jessica, ‘but he appears very pleasant.’ She suddenly remembered that kiss and blushed.
‘Aha!’ cried Abigail. ‘A tell-tale blush.’
‘Fiddle,’ said Jessica. ‘I am no longer interested in marriage. I may never marry.’
‘Perhaps Isabella will be the only one of us ever to marry,’ said Lizzie.
‘What can you mean?’ cried Rachel.
‘Just that everyone seems aware of the fact, except us, that ladies without dowries do not get married. Only look at our Miss Trumble. Sometimes when I look at her I get a sort of picture of the pretty young girl she must have been once.’
‘Pooh,’ said Abigail haughtily. ‘Do not compare any of us with a mere governess.’
‘Besides,’ said Rachel, ‘Mr Sommerville is not asking all of
us
for the pleasure of our company. It is Jessica he is interested in.’
‘Would you marry such a man?’ asked Lizzie, leaning forward, her long red hair half shielding her face.
‘I told you, I am not interested in him as a future husband,’ said Jessica sharply. ‘But I do not understand what you mean by saying “such a man.” He is handsome, comfortably off, and intelligent.’
‘But he
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