The Governess Club: Louisa (2 page)

“Oh.” Louisa quickly stepped into the room. “Of course.”

With a crooked smile, he made his way to the door. “I suggest remaining in the room. I will bring a plate of food up shortly. Open the door for no one but me.”

Louisa raised her eyebrows. “Is it that dangerous here? Hardly a ringing endorsement.”

Mr. Taylor paused and looked back at her, displeasure at her comment clear on his face. “I guaranteed your safety, but even I cannot be everywhere at once. The advice I give you is prudent, but not mandatory.”

Louisa swallowed, knowing she had been inexcusably rude. Even with that knowledge, her apology stuck in her throat. She turned her gaze to the door, unwilling to allow him to see whatever emotion there might be in her eyes, and nodded.

He cleared his throat, a deep rumbling that brought to mind what she thought a volcano would sound like. “It is late and you must be uncomfortable in those wet clothes. I will get a bath up here soon. Would you prefer that or food first?”

“Whichever one you can manage. I will accommodate you. There is no other helping you, is there?”

“Mr. Packard cooks, but that does not often allow for help outside the kitchen. A couple of boys come during the day, but return home early due to their age.”

“As I said, I will accommodate you,” Louisa repeated.

“Thank you.” With a nod, Mr. Taylor closed the door behind him with a definitive click.

O
ut in the corridor, John released his grip on the doorknob and shook his head. The lady may look nice, but she had the tongue of a viper. Even dripping water on his floors and lips blue from the cold could not disguise her charms. Charms that were less appealing once she spoke.

Shaking his head again, he returned to the crowd below. Even a man such as him knew to stay away from such creatures, especially if he wanted to keep all his important parts in working condition.

L
ouisa pressed her nose to her stockings and sniffed. They were still damp, but didn’t have the musty odor from being wet inside her portmanteau. As she had waited for her food and the bath the previous evening—the latter of which had never appeared, despite the assurances from Giant Johnny—she had hung what items she could by the fire to dry out.

Setting the stockings by the fire again to give them a few more minutes, Louisa examined the room in a manner the darkness had not allowed last night. And she was glad it had not. Spider webs adorned the walls and ledges, a thick layer of dust covering the window hangings and floor; her footprints clearly marked every space she had stepped. The window glass was covered in such grime that she doubted the curtains were necessary. She had felt the thinness of the mattress, pillows and covers during her fitful sleep, but was still unprepared for the cold reality in the light of day. Indeed, she may have been just as comfortable on the floor.

The table where she had picked at her inedible supper was scratched and stained; one of its legs had been poorly replaced, which explained the wobble the night before. The chair was no longer matching, if it ever was, but at least it had held her weight steady. The tray remained on the table, more unappetizing in the morning than it had been when it first arrived, a fact that Louisa had not thought possible.

Grimacing, Louisa returned to the fire and repacked her portmanteau before pulling on her stockings. Standing, she smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress and stepped into her slippers. She pulled on her cloak and lifted her bag, intent on leaving. She may not have much coin to her name, but she did have standards. Surely there was another inn within walking distance.

Lifting her chin, she marched to the door and opened it with a yank. She let out a shriek as a large body and a chair tumbled toward her, arms and legs flailing. Jumping out of the way, she managed to not have her toes crushed as Giant Johnny sprawled at her feet.

“Ouch! Bleedin’ hell,” he cursed, curling up on his side and holding his head.

“Mr. Taylor!” Louisa dropped her bag and knelt beside him. “Are you injured?”

“What do you think?”

She blinked at the pained growl coming from him and sat back on her heels. “Well, judging from your ability to speak, I should think you will survive.”

He glared at her from underneath his hands. “Would you?” His voice was flat.

“Whatever were you doing outside my room?” she asked.

Another glare and a grimace as Giant Johnny—the alliteration pleased her for some reason—rolled himself into a sitting position. “I told you I would keep you safe. I slept against your door to ensure none would bother you. I have no illusions of the morals of drunkards.”

She blinked again, taken aback by his actions. “I see. I suppose you leaned the chair against my door, thus causing your imbalance when I opened it.”

“You suppose correctly.”

“Perhaps in the future you will find it prudent to lean against a more stationary object, such as the wall.” Louisa rose to her feet and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Perhaps I shall.”

“Nevertheless, is there anything I can assist you with?” she asked. “A cold compress for your head, perhaps?”

He moved his fingers gingerly to the back of his head. “I think that is unnecessary. I have suffered”—he winced as he fingered a sensitive spot—“worse knocks to the head than this.”

“But not while in the service of my protection.”

A little unsteady, he rose to his feet and righted the chair that he had fallen on. “The reason for the injuries does not increase them, Mrs. Brock.”

“No,” she allowed, “but my subsequent obligation is now a factor.” Her eyes followed his movements as he straightened. Good Lord, but the moniker “Giant Johnny” was highly appropriate. The man was a mountain. A fleeting thought crossed her mind about what it would be like to have those large arms encompass her.

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Think nothing of it. You had no reason to expect me to see to my promise in such a manner.”

“Still . . .”

He spied her packed portmanteau and looked at her questioningly. “You are moving on? I thought your plans were unconfirmed.”

Louisa lifted her chin. “They are. But that does not mean that I must stay here in order to solidify them.”

He put his thick hands on his hips, doubling his width. “But it also means that you do not have to leave in order to do so either.” She opened her mouth to speak but he stayed her with his hand. “I understand what it is like to be adrift. If you wish, you can remain here. It is clear that I need help, a woman’s help.” He gestured to the room. “I have little notion and less inclination for cleaning. I need someone to take charge in this area. Will you do it?”

Louisa stared at him.
Help him by being a maid? In an inn?
Of all things she had considered doing, working in such a place had never crossed her mind. She was not suited for such work. A governess, companion, yes, but a maid? What would her mother have said about this? Or any of her family?

She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin. It had been six years since she allowed her family to influence her and this job would at least keep her protected from the elements. She would be able to protect herself from the more unruly patrons, she was certain. It would be hard-earned coin, to be sure, but the current condition of her moneybag would not object to whichever manner she earned more. It would indeed present the biggest challenge she had yet faced, but how hard could it be?

“What say you, Mrs. Brock?”

His voice drew her out of her thoughts. Regarding him thoughtfully, Louisa knew better than to just accept his offer. “What sort of benefits could I expect?”

“Proper wage, meals and a room.” His answer was quick.

“How many meals?”

“How many does the average person eat?” he countered. “Three by my count.”

Would her stomach survive three meals of such fare? She nodded. “This room? Or a smaller one in the attic?” She had slept in her fair share of small rooms as a governess; she would fight for the biggest one she could get.

“This one is fine. This is not a busy inn, so it can be spared.” He rubbed his bald head. “My room is behind the office, so you will never be alone on the premises.”

Hm
. “I see. Free days?” Not that she expected to need them. She knew no one in the area and had no plans to inform her friends—her
former
friends—of where she was.

“Once a fortnight.”

“And my duties?”

“Cleaning, of course. Helping out in the kitchen and pub when necessary.”

“Was last night a typical crowd?” she asked.

“Yes. Local men come here regularly. There are not many places a man in this area can go to.”

“And the women? I am curious.”

He shrugged his boulder shoulders. “None have yet to come in here. I don’t cater to their tastes.”

Louisa sniffed and glanced around the room. The condition truly was atrocious. If the other rooms were like this, it would take days of hard work to get them up to scratch. It would be an accomplishment to be proud of, if she succeeded.

Ha—
if
I succeed? I always succeed.

She looked back at Giant Johnny, watching her with his hands on his hips, legs braced apart. She eyed him. He stood like a sportsman, sure of his ground and his strength. A sliver of awareness slipped through her at the confidence he exuded. This man was capable of many things, she was certain of it.

And if she were to agree to his offer, she would be with him every day. This mountain, this behemoth, would have authority over her as her employer. It was not the proximity to the giant that worried her, it was that last fact.

It rankled. For so long she had wished for independence, had almost achieved it with her friends and the formation of the Governess Club, only to have it collapse underneath her. And now she found herself once again having to submit to a man’s authority.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. She would have to trust that she would eventually be able to turn the situation to her advantage. Nodding, she said, “I accept the position, Mr. Taylor.”

A large smile broke out over his face and he offered her his hand, engulfing hers when she placed it in his grip. “Excellent. Start with breakfast, will you? Packard is already in the kitchen and he can whip something up for you. Then we’ll talk work. Find me in my office or in the pub.”

Breakfast?
Her stomach turned at the thought.
Good Lord.

G
ood Lord
. Louisa sat down at the small kitchen table with a thump. The pail in her hand dropped to the floor, dirty water splashing onto the stone. The mop followed suit, giving a clang as it clattered next to the pail.

She hurt. Her muscles were sore and every inch of her body seemed to ache. The pain seemed to permeate her very being. Unable to even hold her head up, Louisa laid her head on the cool table and closed her eyes.

Inchoate respect for maids settled in her. After three days of furious cleaning, still less than half of the sleeping rooms had been cleaned. She had assured Giant Johnny—
Mr. Taylor
—that she would have the task completed within a week’s time. What had she gotten herself into? Her fingers were red, the skin was beginning to crack around her fingernails and all her muscles were protesting their overuse. Never one to leave a job unfinished, it was her pride that continued to spur her on.

She did not allow herself to think of the pub room and the cleaning that it would entail.

Good Lord indeed.

“Packard, if that is you, bring me some bread and cheese and a pint.”

Louisa bolted into a proper sitting position despite the scream of protest from her back. Giant Johnny was in his office and had heard her ignoble collapse. Thanks be to God, he had not actually seen that it was her. He had been watching her closely since she began her maid work and she felt he was searching for some reason to find her lacking. More of her blasted pride would not allow him to see any weakness in her.

Stifling a groan, she pushed herself up and prepared the meal Mr. Taylor had requested. The bread and cheese were some of the only edible foodstuffs in the kitchen, having been provided by outside sources. Louisa carried the tin plate and frothing mug into the office, where the giant was bent over some books. A pair of spectacles rested upon his nose, lending themselves to an incongruous portrait of a man at work.

“Put it there,” he muttered, gesturing to the only free spot on the desk. Louisa obliged and the sound of her skirts caused him to look up briefly, then complete a double take as he realized just who had brought him his food. Giant Johnny—
Mr. Taylor
—shot to his feet and took his spectacles off and stuffed them into a shirt pocket. “Mrs. Brock. Good afternoon.” He was wearing only trousers and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows; the opening at his throat was held together by loosely tied strings, giving her a pleasing view of the top of his chest, and he wore no tie. He had the look of a laborer about him, not an innkeeper.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

He glanced at the open door to the kitchen. “I am sorry, I was expecting Packard.”

“I believe he stepped out for a moment before he needed to start the evening meals.” Louisa looked at him with a demure smile, hoping it hid her shaking muscles.

“I see. Yes. Thank you. For the food.”

“You are welcome.”

He gestured to the food. “Would you like to join me?”

She was starving. “No. Thank you,” she added belatedly.

“I insist.”

“I must return to work.” Her muscles screamed at her in protest.

“That is what I wish to speak to you about.”

Louisa narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together. That did not bode well. She would be damned if he found fault with her work, not after she had worked her fingers to the bone the last few days. “Is there something the matter?” she asked, her voice tight and stiff.