Carola Dunn (22 page)

 “Better too friendly than nervy, miss,” Perkins observed as Lyuba pranced back to her mistress, not at all ashamed of herself. “The nervy ones generally end up nipping. Beg pardon, sir!”

 “Perkins, tell Benson to send a groom for Saladin,” Damian ordered. “He is at Merriman’s Cottage. Is my mother come down yet?”

 “The mistress is in her sitting room, sir.”

 “Good. Will you go to her, Miss Duckworth, while I take Pirate up to the nursery?”

 Hearing his name, the kitten set up an angry yowl and started clawing the inside of the basket.

 Under cover of the noise, Miss Duckworth murmured, “Are you really ready to tackle the stairs?”

 Damian eyed the staircase dubiously, reluctant to admit to finding the prospect of climbing three flights a trifle daunting.

 Perkins saved him. “Master Tom and Miss Lucy are outside, sir,” the butler reported. “Miss Lucy insisted on going to look for her puss, though Master Tom said you would find him if he was to be found. As you did, did you, sir?”

 “Yes. Have someone fetch them in, if you please. Miss Duckworth?” He escorted her to his mother’s sitting room, Lyuba docile at their heels.

 They had scarcely time to explain the situation to Mrs Perrincourt before the children burst into the room, pink-cheeked and tousled, with snow on their boots. Their excited exuberance at Pirate’s reappearance, none the worse for his adventure, scared the kitten into scrabbling up the curtains and perching on the rod, out of reach.

 Naturally Lyuba joined in the general commotion. Damian could not blame her, as Lucy and Tom kept hugging her. They rolled around on the floor together. The puppy licked the children’s faces whenever she managed to reach them, leading to shrieks of glee and more hugs.

 Mrs Perrincourt and Miss Duckworth were helpless with laughter. Damian was glad to see his mother in high spirits, but it was Miss Duckworth’s mirthful face which brought the grin to his.

 He ought to chastise the children, but weakly he let them romp on.

 Lyuba escaped from the heap on the floor and frisked around the room, barking. Grabbing a cushion from one of the chairs, she went to drop it in Miss Duckworth’s lap.

 Miss Duckworth caught her collar. “All right, that is enough,” she said. “Mrs Perrincourt, this is no time for a quiet chat. May I call again later?”

 “Of course, Miss Duckworth, I am always happy to see you, with or without the dear puppy.”

 Damian called the children to order, and they said polite goodbyes and thank-yous. But as he left the room with Miss Duckworth, he heard them start to squabble about how to get the kitten to come down.

 “I fear they are shockingly in need of discipline,” he said. “They ought to know better than to come rushing in like that, with snow on their boots and their hair uncombed. And then to create such riot and rumpus, especially when there is a visitor present.”

 “The return of Pirate from the dead was reason enough for a little ebullience,” Miss Duckworth argued. “Discipline has its place, but one must make allowances.”

 “Discipline is the glue which holds the world together,” Damian said vehemently.

 She looked at him in surprise. “You feel very strongly upon the subject.”

 “I learnt in the army that without discipline, everything falls apart. Undisciplined troops are no better than a mob; undisciplined civilians are mere rabble.” Aware that his tone was grim, he tried to lighten it with a smile. “Yes, you might say I feel strongly.”

 “You have been a soldier since you were a boy?” Miss Duckworth asked.

 “I was always mad for the army, ever since I was in short coats. It has been my life.”

 “And you always found it perfectly satisfying?”

 He grimaced. “Until the Peninsula. Things were pretty bad there at times—from the retreat from Corunna to... But I shall not bore you with details.” To his astonishment, he found himself confessing, “I might have sold out when my father died, but that Jack had everything well in hand, and I did not care to dispossess him.”

 “You must have been very fond of your brother,” she said softly.

 “Jack was the best of good fellows.” In the weeks since he heard of Jack’s death, the agony of grief had faded to a dull, everpresent ache, like his back. Like his back, it was liable to flare up unexpectedly. “I miss him!”

 She laid her hand on his arm, in silent sympathy for a moment.

 Then she said, “Everyone tells me, Mr Jack was an excellent farmer and landlord, and husband and father, an admirable gentleman. Your military rank speaks for the fact that you were an excellent officer. Yet pray do not attempt to convince me that you and your brother never created riot and rumpus!”

 “I should catch cold at that, for you have only to consult Mama! So you think I am too concerned over the children’s misbehaviour?”

 “It is not for me to say.”

 “But I wish you would, Miss Duckworth. I value your professional opinion.”

 “Very well.” She gave him a slightly mischievous smile. “Let us return to near synonyms. I believe what your niece and nephew need is not so much discipline as guidance.”

 “Quibbler!” he laughed. “At any rate, you will surely agree that they need a governess. I have written to ask my lawyer in London to find a suitable person for them. However, I see no need to go so far afield. Miss Duckworth, may I beg you to consider taking on the position?”

 “I cannot stop you begging, Mr Perrincourt,” she said dryly, “but in return I must beg you not waste your breath. I have retired. I am in no need of the salary, and besides, I was never a nursery governess. No, I regret disappointing you, but I am done with governessing.”

* * * *

 As she set out homeward down the avenue, Mariana was filled with chagrin. So Mr Perrincourt’s sudden desire for friendship was merely a result of his realisation that she might be useful to him, she thought sadly.

 A moment’s reflection sufficed to disabuse her of the notion. He had known for some weeks of her former profession. Today he had talked to her like a friend, revealing his feelings, not at all as if he simply wished to mend fences in order to offer her a position.

 Moreover, the way he had approached her today was hardly conducive to good relations—first berating her, then forced to recognise his error, and then mortified by his collapse.

 Poor man, he had suffered a difficult morning!

 Many a gentleman would have hated her forever for witnessing his weakness. Mr Perrincourt had risen above such pettiness. All in all, she had to believe his later cordiality grew from his better acquaintance with her. Previously, they had had no occasion to get to know each other. Apart from a brief parley on the subject of the draughts in her cottage, they had scarcely exchanged how-d’you-dos.

 He had taken her refusal of his request like a gentleman. Mariana hoped he would continue not just coolly gentlemanly but friendly.

 She was encouraged in her hopes by the delivery, that afternoon, of a basket of apples, pears, oranges, and a large marrowbone. The accompanying note, explaining the gift as a mark of gratitude from the children for Pirate’s safety, was written by Mrs Perrincourt.

 However, she added a postscript:
The above was dictated by my son, and the basket was entirely his notion. You have quite won him over, my dear. I am so glad.

* * * *

 By next afternoon, the snow was gone from all but the most deeply shaded spots. Mariana was in the front garden, examining with a thrill the crocus, snowdrop, and winter aconite shoots already springing where she had planted them, when Mr Perrincourt rode up.

 “Come and see!” she cried, straightening, then hurried towards the gate. “No, pray do not get down if it will risk injury to your back.”

 “As long as I am careful...”

 Anxiously she watched him dismount. That manoeuvre successfully accomplished, she bethought herself of the cause of her excitement.

 “I fear you will think me sadly foolish, Mr Perrincourt. I have made you descend only to see a few green sprouts poking through the earth.”

 He laughed. “I meant to come in anyway, to...er...to make sure you received the children’s basket. Ah, I see Lyuba received her bone, at least!”

 Lyuba looked up from chewing on her treasure and gave a rather perfunctory wag of her tail.

 “She is not allowed to take it indoors,” Mariana said. “It was very kind of you...of your mama to send it. And the fruit. I arrived too late to plant a vegetable garden last year, and I had no time to make preparations to put up preserves, so it is particularly welcome.”

 “Good! Now show me your precious green shoots, and explain why they are so precious to you.”

 “Oh, partly because I have not seen an English spring these many years, but mostly because I planted the bulbs myself. Look, here, and here.”

 “They have indeed come up.” He took her hand and solemnly shook it. “Congratulations, Miss Duckworth.”

 “You are laughing at me,” Mariana said resignedly, “but indeed, when one is new to gardening, as I am, it is a cause for elation.”

 “And that makes up for the labour of planting them?”

 “Absolutely. Besides, you may find it difficult to believe, but I enjoy dabbling in the soil. For so many years, you see, I was obliged to observe the most minute details of propriety. Both Portuguese society and Russian are far more rigid than the English in their limits on the behaviour of young ladies. As I wished—with their parents concurrence—to allow my pupils certain freedoms, I had to be particularly circumspect in my own conduct to compensate.”

 “So now you are free,” Mr Perrincourt said warily, “you choose to defy convention.”

 “Only in the most minor matters! And not simply for the sake of oversetting people’s expectations. I truly enjoy gardening. At least,” she added honestly, “I cannot say I enjoyed clearing brambles, though it was satisfying in a way, and digging is quite tiring. I have not accomplished all I hoped to be ready for planting come spring.”

 “I have been unable to give all the attention I would wish to the farms,” said the Squire. “Jack left everything in excellent heart, but now I am fit enough I must start relearning the business.”

 “Your mishap yesterday has not set back your recovery, sir?”

 “Not at all, thanks to your prompt assistance. I cannot say—”

 “Pray do not try, Mr Perrincourt.”

 “And after I so maligned you!” he said in heartfelt tones.

 “Not me, but Lyuba,” Mariana said lightly. “I do not wish to hear another word on the subject.”

 He obeyed her, and shortly took his leave to go and visit one of his tenant farmers.

 Early next morning one of the Wych Court gardeners arrived, with instructions to do any heavy work Miss Duckworth commanded. He brought a basket of winter vegetables.

 For the next few weeks, Mariana was never without broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, leeks, cauliflower, or celeriac, and turnips, onions, and potatoes. There were jars of preserves, too, and even pheasants and rabbits. The rich, brown, weedless soil of flower beds in the front garden and a vegetable plot in the back awaited the spring planting season. The apple tree was pruned and the hedges trimmed. Next time snow fell, it was shovelled from her path within the hour.

 Mr Perrincourt would take no thanks. She had forbidden him to utter the word, he said, and what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander.

 She met him often and he always stopped for a chat, after church, in the village, out walking in woods and fields, when she called upon his mother. Soon she found it hard to believe she had ever considered him odiously inflexible.

* * * *

 One February day, when Mariana was drinking tea with the mistress of Wych Court, Mrs Perrincourt looked up from the fringe she was knotting and said quietly, “My dear, I dare say you must be aware that Damian’s affections are engaged.”

 Mariana’s heart plummeted. Whom did he love? She was not even aware that he had the remotest interest in any young lady. Still, it was none of her business, and she was about to say so when her hostess spoke again.

 “I am a sentimental old lady and today is Valentine’s Day, which makes me bold. You will forgive my speaking, I hope. I should hate to see him hurt. I believe him to be most sincerely attached to you. I hope if you cannot return his affection, you will take care to—”

 “My dear ma’am!” Mariana’s laugh was shaky. “I am persuaded you mistake the matter. Mr Perrincourt’s kindness to me arises from a generous heart, and perhaps from a hope that gratitude will lead me to accept the post of governess to his niece and nephew!”

 “It is true that he has not been satisfied with any of the candidates sent down from London,” said Mrs Perrincourt doubtfully. “Still, I am far from convinced... There is only one way to find out. My dear Miss Duckworth, do you accept the position, and we shall watch how he conducts himself towards you then.”

 “I see you are in league against me!” Mariana exclaimed. “Very well, ma’am, I accept, and I vow you will soon observe how fast Mr Perrincourt’s interest in me wanes.”

Chapter 12

 Mariana laid down firm rules for her employment. She declined to live in but would go up to Wych Court for a few hours every day except Sunday. Lyuba was to go with her, for she did not care to leave the puppy with Hetta. And lastly, she must have a free hand with the children, not hampered by Mr Perrincourt’s notions of discipline, nor Mrs Perrincourt’s overindulgence.

 The Perrincourts demurred at nothing, so the following Monday she took up her new duties.

 She found Tom and Lucy delightful, with eager, enquiring minds and very willing to learn. The playful kitten proved an unmanageable distraction, but once Pirate was banished from the schoolroom, everyone settled down, including Lyuba.

 Mr Perrincourt also had to be banished from the schoolroom. At first Mariana assumed the reason for his frequent appearance was to impose his strict ideas, in contravention of her rules. However, having enquired after the children’s lessons, and admired their writing and their pictures, he always fell into general conversation with their preceptress.