Virtue of a Governess (5 page)

“Perhaps the wrong sort of fun though, hmm?” Nicola shook her head. She was only five years older than Meg, but, at times, it felt thirty years instead.

Strolling over to the window, Meg fiddled with the curtain as the rain splattered against the glass. “What made you come out here, Nicola? Can you tell me, or must you have your secrets?”

“I have no secrets. My parents died two years ago, within six months of each other. The schoolhouse was needed for the new teacher, who replaced my father. I had nowhere to go. For a while I lodged with some neighbours before I found a position as a governess of sorts with a family, but they weren’t nice people. Their boys were rather horrid actually.” She shuddered at the memory of sly, wicked little boys intent on causing her harm.

“Were you with them long?”

“About four months. I could stand it no longer. After that family I obtained work in a house of a mill owner, but the child, a little girl, was ill and weak a great deal of the time. She died... Then, I saw an article in the newspaper about Miss Maria Rye’s scheme of sending educated women and high class servants out to the colonies. I remembered my father speaking about her. He’d read all her letters she’d sent to
The Times.
He thought she was doing a grand thing, helping others.
”

“Oh yes, that Society. Miss Rye was touring here not so long ago.”

“Yes, she returned to England last year. I saw her give a speech on her return. It prompted me to come out here. She does very good work, bringing the plights of the unfortunates to the public’s awareness.”

“I once heard my mother denouncing the fact that the FMCE Scheme was meant to send out governesses, when in actual fact we didn’t need them. What is needed here are good lower servants, or so mother says.”

Nicola went to the fire and prodded a log with the iron poker. “There is more than one scheme, too. Miss Rye herself assists housemaids to emigrate, for in England we were told the colonies were crying out for good servants and then, there is the governess scheme.”

Meg shrugged. “All I know is that many educated women are landing in Sydney and have no positions to go to. Australian born women, who are educated should be allowed the first choice of any situation before ‘new comers.”

“Like you, you mean.” Nicola frowned. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course. Mother is on some church committee and she has told me herself about the dire circumstances that have reduced women to living on credit and appealing for help to ease their debt. I have heard many tales of women thinking they can walk straight into employment when they land, but find there is no one to meet them. Do women in England honestly think there is such an abundance of positions here that they can pick and choose?”

“Some do, yes. I did. You’ve no idea how desperate the situation is for women back home.” Deeply interested, Nicola placed the poker back in its stand. “Where do they go, these women with no contacts?”

“Lodging houses or hotels, like you did. The last resort is the Governess’ and Servants’ Home, though many look down their nose at it, believing they are a much better person than to stay in such a place. However, I have stayed there and find it very suitable.” Meg wandered around the room. “Soon enough, their money runs out and they have to pick up whatever work is available. Teaching, nursing, and if they are lucky perhaps become a companion. But mostly they suffer such tragedies like Miss Downing and have to rely on bar work, being a kitchen maid and even…prostitution.”

Nicola shivered. Her own experience of aloneness on arriving not so long ago still haunted her. What if Mr Belfroy had not helped her? She had some money, but not enough to last for months of unemployment. She looked at her new friend, amazed at her knowledge and concern. For the first time Meg had shown a completely different side of herself. “What will you do, Meg, if another position doesn’t come along?”

Meg shrugged. “I could go home, although mother would make my life a misery.” She grimaced dramatically.

“If you come from a wealthy family why is it you live here and work as a governess?”

“I would do anything to displease my mother. Besides, our wealth has diminished somewhat since my father’s death and I refuse to go back to Melbourne and be paraded before suitable gentlemen with marriage on their minds. Mother believes that is all I’m good for. I will never marry a man because he has money and position. I’ve seen what it can do a person. The tedious boredom would drive me quite insane.”

“All women desire marriage, a family, a home of their own.”

“I’ve yet to see a happy married woman. My mother was completely miserable with my father and took out her frustrations on me.” Meg came and held her hands out to the fire, a cheeky smile playing on her lips. “What about you? Did you land here thinking you could obtain a position within the first hour?”

“No. Of course, I didn’t expect to have nothing for weeks though. I had read much about Miss Rye’s Scheme. You have no idea how hard it is to find work at home, most governesses work until they are in their seventies. I had enough money to pay my way here. All I received from the scheme was a letter of introduction. I never met any of the women concerned with the Scheme, merely wrote to them for advice and then came out unassisted.” Nicola bit the inside of her lip. “When I said I had no secrets, I lied. I do. Just one.”

Meg’s eyes widened and she clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful! Do tell.”

“I am not a true governess in respect of having worked for wealthy families. I am educated because my father taught me alongside his class of boys. When I was older, I helped my father run his small school and I taught piano in the evenings. I told Mr Belfroy I had nursery experience, but honestly, my skills are limited, and sadly, I have no references from influential people, only the merchants and traders of the town where we lived and the two employers I worked for before I sailed.”

“Is that it?” Meg’s shoulders sagged. “That’s your secret?”

Nicola frowned. “Yes, what did you expect?”

“That you’ve run away from a torrid love affair or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, appalled at the thought. “Really, Meg, you do go on sometimes.”

“Well, I am not a true governess either, I can’t teach Latin or French, but that hasn’t stopped me. Some not-so-wealthier families aren’t too choosy, thankfully. They are happy to just have someone to teach their children the basics and pay accordingly. Believe me, some children are positively wild.”

“I may not be able to expect a position in a good family.” Nicola rubbed her forehead. The worry of finding work forever in her mind. “I need employment and so I shall have to take whatever I am offered now.”

“Prostitution?” Meg laughed.

“Don’t be absurd.” Nicola stared at her. “You are outrageous.”

The door opened and Miss Downing entered with a book under her arm. She inclined her head to them and scurried over to a chair on the far side of the room. Her nose and eyes were red from weeping.

“Do you feel better today, Miss Downing?” Nicola smiled at her.

Miss Downing nodded. “A little, thank you.” She laid her book in her lap, opened it and took out a folded sheet of paper. “I have written to my former employer.” She raised her guilt-ridden gaze to Nicola and Meg. “Miss Burstall says I shouldn’t. It is wrong for me to ask for…” Quietly, she cried into her handkerchief.

Meg crossed to her and put her arm around the bent shoulders. “Don’t listen to Miss Iron Drawers.”

“Meg.” Nicola shook her head in exasperation and knelt before Miss Downing. “Why do you write to your employer?”

“Mrs Eldersley says I should ask for money.”

“He owes you wages?” Meg tossed her head. “Why, the slimy toad.”

Nicola glared at Meg. “Go and arrange for some tea.” She waited until her impossible friend had left the room and then guided Miss Downing over to the sofa nearer to the fire.

Miss Downing wiped her eyes. “It isn’t wages I am asking for. It’s for the ch-child.”

“What is your first name? If we are to be friends then calling you Miss Downing all the time will not do.” Nicola smiled.

“Emily is my name.” Her deep sigh shuddered her small frame. “I need money to live. Mrs Eldersley will not let me stay here for much longer without payment.”

“I understand your need for money, but I do not think Mrs Eldersley will turn you out onto the streets. Do you think your former employer will send you something?”

“No. He is a rude beast, but I must try something. I owe five pounds to the Society and my lodgings to Mrs Eldersley.”

“Mrs Eldersley will not demand money from you, I promise you. She has a benefactor to help run this house.”

Emily’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “When the child comes, what will I do then?”

Nicola blinked, trying to think of something helpful to say, but knew Emily’s crisis would only deepen. “What about your family?”

Emily shook her head. “My father died a few months ago. All I have is a brother in England, but his wife rules their roost. He is of no use to me.”

“You aren’t without friends here. We’ll help you.”

“Thank you, Nicola, but can you secure me employment or rid me of this child?” Emily stood, her chin wobbling. “I have no future now. Excuse me, please. I wish to return to my room.”

After Emily had left the room, Nicola sat contemplating her words. She was right, of course. What could anyone do for Emily, or the hundreds of other women who’d come out here to a strange land believing there was work to be found but instead ended up being used and abused, or dying from starvation and ruinously deep in debt?

Scowling at the injustice of it all, Nicola stepped to the window and looked out onto the street. She hated this feeling of helplessness.

* * * 

The shouts and jeers could be heard long before Nicola turned into Clarence Street. She paused at the corner and watched in fascination as the crowd jostled one another to get closer to the action further down. Standing on tiptoes, she craned her neck to look past a taller gentleman, when again a roar went up from the crowd. A scruffy young boy dodged through the people towards her and she instinctively held her purse tighter. Beside her, an elderly woman grabbed the lad’s collar as he passed and hauled him to a stop.

“What’s going on down there, boy?”

He wriggled like a worm on a hook. “Let me go.”

The wizened old women pushed her face before his. “Answer me question.”

“I dunno. Some women wavin’ and shoutin’ about rights or summick.”

Intrigued the old woman straightened the best she could with her bent back and released the boy, who quickly scarpered. “Rights, hey?” she murmured to no one in particular, and then she laughed. “Good luck to ‘em. They’ll need it.”

Nicola switched her gaze from the woman to the crowd that was dispersing now the speeches were over. The idea of rights for women had interested her ever since she read Mary Wollstonecraft’s book. In the past, she’d endured many arguments with her mother about it. Her father cared little, though she believed he wasn’t against such thinking, but her mother refused to consider that women’s rights held the interests of benefiting women, but instead wanted to pit women against men, belittle men.

Walking closer to the central hubbub of the protest, Nicola read the placards held aloft by the protesting women. A group of young men, muttering angrily about the worth of such women, pushed past her and she jumped out of the way.

One of the young men slapped at a volunteer’s box and sent pamphlets flying. “Go home, you bunch of scum in skirts!”

Red-faced, the affected member lunged for the man and they tussled until the man knocked her to the ground.

“That’s enough!” Nicola didn’t realise she’d spoken the words out loud and the fighting cock-sure spun to sneer in her face.

“I’ll not stand by and let you lot preach to me. You should all know your place and that’s being under your husbands!”

Nicola raised her chin and gave him a condescending glare. “Spoken like a true ignorant.”

The fellow towered over her, fist raised, but his silent companions hauled him away.

“They’ve no manners and no brains.”

Nicola turned to the fallen woman who’d spoken. “I agree with you.” Her step faltered as she stared down at the angry grey eyes.

The woman sat in the gutter and glared after the men a moment more before switching her gaze to Nicola. “Care for a pamphlet?”

A piece of paper was thrust into her hand. Nicola glanced at it, but couldn’t stop staring at the woman. At least she thought it was a woman. She’d never seen a woman dressed as a man.

“Thank you for helping. I’m Frances.” She stood, dusted off her bottom and stuck her hand out. When Nicola took it, she found it pumped hard.

“I’m Nicola Douglas.” She blinked and studied the angular lines of Frances’s face. No beard stubble grew on the chin or cheeks. She had to be a woman. The green shirt she wore showed a slight outline of small breasts. Her hair was cut short to collar length and she wore trousers with a black belt and dusty black boots. But it was her large grey eyes that held Nicola’s gaze, for they were beautiful with long lashes, and looking at them no one would doubt that Frances was a woman, if perhaps a strange one.