Virtue of a Governess (7 page)

“Why, Nat, what you doing here?” She kissed his cheek and Nicola caught a glimpse of her softer side. “Come and meet my new friend, Miss Douglas. Nicola this is my brother, Nathaniel West.”

Nicola groaned inwardly. Why did it have to be him of all people?

Nathaniel hesitated. “I’m afraid I have little time, Frances.” His frosty stare penetrated Nicola’s soul before he bowed in her direction. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Douglas.”

The distance between them was no more than ten paces, yet she felt as though it was a divide the size of the harbour. She inclined her head but remained silent and was rewarded by a sardonic lift of his arched eyebrow. She was grateful at least that he didn’t mention their previous meeting.

Frances, attuned to their reaction to each other, looked at Nathaniel. “You needed to see me about something?”

“Yes. I’ve invited a few friends over for dinner tomorrow evening and would be glad if you could join us.”

“Play your hostess you mean?” She folded her arms. “You know I am unhappy about such things. I didn’t come out here to don finery and be—”

He held his hand up, silencing her. “I’m merely asking if you could, but if you are unavailable, I will understand.”

“You understanding? That’ll be a first.”

His expression became stiff. “Frances.”

“Oh, all right, but I’ll only do it if Nicola is invited too. I need some female company.”

Nicola jerked. “No!”

Both brother and sister blinked in surprise at her vehement rejection. Nathaniel folded his arms and his lips curved into a wry smile. “I’d be delighted to include Miss Douglas in the party.”

“Oh yes, do come, Nicola.” Frances smiled. “I do need support in a room full of smug men.”

Shaking her head, Nicola carried the bucket to the end of the room and untied her apron. “I’m sorry, I’m unable to attend.” She refused to meet their eyes as she headed for the door. When she drew level with Frances she forced a smiled. “I must go.”

“Please come, Nicola.”

“I cannot. Sorry.”

“Perhaps Miss Douglas is unused to polite society?” Nathaniel carelessly inspected his black gloves.

“Nat!” Shocked, Frances scowled at him.

He raised his gaze to Nicola and she swallowed back a sharp retort when a spark of something she couldn’t define lit his eyes. He was challenging her. For a moment she wanted to laugh at him, mock him, but something stopped her. She wouldn’t stoop to his level. “Good day, Mr West.” She took Frances’s hand and pressed it. “I’ll speak to you soon.” With head high, she turned and left them.

Watching her go, so proud and feminine, Nathaniel sucked in a breath. His groin tightened and his heart thumped against his chest like blacksmith’s hammer. God, she is beautiful.

“Now what the hell was all that about!” Frances slapped his arm. “She is my new friend, and you know I don’t have many, so why did you act as though she was something you’d just wiped off your boots? You have more of Father in you than you think.”

“Don’t
ever
say that.” He gave her a loathsome glare. “I am nothing like him.”

“Then don’t act it. You’re better than that.”

He shrugged, slipping behind his comfortable mask of unconcern and gazed around, buying some time to gather his thoughts. “Are you finished in here for today? Perhaps we could go have something to eat.”

“Don’t avoid the question. Why did you behave like that to Nicola? She isn’t some ignorant servant.”

“I’m hungry, Frances. I’d rather take you out than have you harangue me like a whore on a street corner. So, can we go?”

Frances marched away to lean the broom against the back wall and then, in jerking movements, she untied her apron. “I don’t understand why you have to act the arrogant swine all the time. I know you’re not really like that.”

“Yes, I am.”

She stopped and looked at him. “We aren’t at home now. Mother and Father no longer rule us. You are your own man. There’s no need to put on these acts of—”

“Enough, Frances.” Nathaniel walked out of the building not caring if she followed or not. He hated thinking of his parents, hated being reminded of how ill they used him. The past was gone.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” Frances strode up alongside of him. “Lord, Nat, you are one frustrating—”

He swung to face her. “Why must you drag up the past all the time? I don’t want to think about it or talk about it. Ever.”

She planted her feet apart and stuck her hands on her hips. “Then why do you act the way you do? If you’re happy to leave the past behind then why do you put up all these defences? You are no happier here than you were back in England or else you’d smile a lot more.”

He frowned. “I do smile.”

“Your smile is usually a sarcastic lift of your lips. I should know as I’m usually on the receiving end of one.” She locked the warehouse doors.

Nat sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair. “If I’d known that inviting you out for a meal would give me so much anguish I’d not have bothered.”

“Fine!” Frances spat, storming off. “I don’t need your bloody charity anyway.”

“Yes, you do!” Chuckling at her outrage and language, he ran and caught her arm. “I love you, you mad wench.”

She stopped and gaped at him with her wide grey eyes.

He kissed her cheek and his smile, for the first time in a long while, was real.

“I love you too.” She softened her stance and linked her arm through his.

“You know, you’ll never find a husband using that kind of language. It’s bad enough you’ll be wearing his clothes but to speak like him too, might be pushing the limits, dearest.”

She spluttered. “A husband! Never!” Then looking up at him she sighed. “I’ve got you, that’s all I need.”

* * * 

Nicola emerged out of the tin bath’s cooling water and wrapped a towel around herself. Her arms ached from carrying bucket after bucket of hot water upstairs but at least she was clean. Working at the soup kitchen was rewarding, but she couldn’t take the risk of bringing disease back to the lodging and so, three times a week for the last two weeks, she’d bathed on returning from Lower George Street. Meg often laughed and made fun of her for constantly washing, saying she’d turn into a water nymph.

She dried her body and then donned clean undergarments. Sitting on the bed, she used the towel to dry her hair. On the small dresser, her parents watched from their portraits and she smiled back at them. After the long voyage out here and living in lodgings for months, she felt that her life back in England had all been a dream. Everything was so different now. Her foreign surroundings and harsh environment were the complete opposite to the softness of her old home and lushness of England’s countryside. Still, she was here to start again and so far, she’d made some lovely friends. Mr Belfroy, God bless the man, had sold another couple of her sketches, but her stock was dwindling. She’d have to find the time to do more and even paint if possible.

“Nicola.” Meg’s voice rang through the bedroom door.

She slipped on her night wrap. “Come in.”

Meg pranced into the room and flopped onto the end of the bed, eyeing the bath. “You all finished?”

“Yes, why?”

“Are you going to that awful woman’s meeting this evening?”

“Yes.”

“Well since you don’t like my ideas for an evening’s entertainment, I thought I’d go along with you, if you don’t mind.”

Nicola hid a grin, knowing that Meg only wanted some diversion from the occupants of the house and was not intrigued by Frances’s issues at all. “I don’t mind.”

Meg sprang up and stepped around the bath to look out of the small window. “I’m bored.”

“I know.”

Fiddling with the curtain, Meg sighed. “I hardly see you anymore. That Frances takes up all of your time. If it’s not the soup kitchen, it’s all that rights nonsense. If it’s not that, then it’s going out on other charity work.”

“I like to be busy.”

“How do you expect to get employment though, when you’re never home to write applications?”

Nicola frowned. It was true. She’d not looked for work in the last two days. She would have to find some form of permanent income soon. Frances, now a firm friend, expected total dependability, which Nicola would be happy to give if only she had a private income to meet her living expenses.

A scream echoed up from downstairs and for a second Meg and Nicola looked at each other in surprise. They heard rushing footsteps and suddenly both of them were whipping open the door.

Emily, tears streaming down her face, ran across the landing. “Nicola, Meg, you must come!”

Nicola reached for her shawl and wrapped it over her shoulders. “What has happened?”

“Mr Eldersley has collapsed in the kitchen!”

As the three women spun around and headed back downstairs, Deirdre Burstall came out of her room. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“Mr Eldersley has collapsed.” Meg shouted over her shoulder. “Come and help.”

Racing into the kitchen, Nicola skidded to a halt near the crouching Mrs Eldersley, who held her husband’s head and shoulders in her arms.

“Have you sent for the doctor, Mrs Eldersley?” Nicola whispered, kneeling beside the couple.

The older woman, her eyes blank, shook her head. “It’s too late for a doctor.”

Nicola turned to the women behind her. “Bring Dr Armitage, Meg. Emily, make everyone some tea. Miss Burstall go next door and ask for help. We need men to carry Mr Eldersley upstairs.”

Once the women scuttled to her bidding, Nicola gently rested her hand on Mr Eldersley’s chest. Nothing. Leaning forward, she placed her ear above his mouth. Nothing.

“He dropped to the floor like a stone.” Mrs Eldersley whispered. “We should never have started this business. His health wasn’t up to it, that’s why we left Mr Belfroy’s employment. It was madness to start up this place, but Mr Belfroy insisted we could do it with his help. Seven months he’s lasted since leaving Mr Belfroy’s employment. He was a good coachman was my Jim.”

Nicola nodded and let her talk if it helped her. She felt for a pulse on Jim Eldersley’s neck. Nothing. The man was dead.

* * * 

The tick-tock of the clock on the mantelshelf sounded loud in the quiet room. The logs in the grate shifted, sending golden sparks up the chimney. Outside, the day had turned bitterly cold, but had remained dry for the burial of Jim Eldersley. Nicola gazed around at the seated black-clothed people, Mr Belfroy, Dr Armitage, a neighbour or two and the women lodgers. All held teacups and saucers, and once more Emily went around with the teapot and refilled their cups. If anyone talked it was in muted whispers, as though anything loud would shatter the silent reserve of the dear woman sitting in the chair by the fireplace.

Sighing, Nicola pushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and then rubbed the strain from her neck. The last three days had been testing.

For some reason the whole household had looked to her. Somehow, they’d all decided she would be in charge. Without thought, she’d taken the reins of organising the funeral and running the lodging house, but doing so had meant little time for herself, and little time to look for work. Mrs Eldersley, shocked and grieving, had taken to her room and stayed there until this morning, when Meg and Emily had washed and dressed her and led her out to Mr Belfroy’s carriage.

Despite the tragic circumstances, she had enjoyed the position of leader. Her father told her many times in the school room she had a natural talent for leadership. Maybe she should take the teacher’s certificate and become a teacher in a school instead of a governess.

Picking up the tea tray and with a brief smile at Meg, Nicola walked into the hallway. A knock at the front door halted her.

Meg came alongside. “Here, give me the tray and you answer the door.”

“Where’s the new maid?” Nicola whispered, glancing towards the green painted door that led to the kitchen.

“She didn’t show up, the lazy baggage.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You had enough to deal with. Emily and I made the tea and sandwiches. Miss Burstall even spent some of her money and bought that bottle of ginger ale and a neighbour bought the cake.”

After handing the tray over, she stepped to the door as the knock came again. “You should have told me this morning,” she whispered.

“And give you more to worry about. Besides, Mrs Eldersley needed you.” Meg smiled and headed for the kitchen.

Nicola opened the door and a blast of cold air washed over her.

Frances stood on the step with her arms folded. “Don’t those lot in there know how to open a door when someone is knocking? And why are you answering it? Isn’t there a maid?”

“I’m sorry, Fran.” Nicola blinked at the onslaught, her friend was not one for holding back she’d discovered.

“So, where have you been hiding? Why haven’t you attended the rallies or the soup kitchen? Are you sick?” She peered closer. “You don’t look it.”

“No, I’m not sick.” Nicola stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her for Frances’s voice was become louder with every sentence. “I’m sorry if I’ve let you down.”

“Stop saying sorry.” Frances snorted and raised her eyebrows at the closed door. “Can’t I come in? Are you ashamed to be seen with me? I’ll not be changing my ways just to please some snotty gaggle of governesses, Nicola Douglas and you can tell them that from me!”

“Shush, Fran, please.” Nicola glanced back at the house. “There’s a funeral wake inside. We buried Mr Eldersley this morning. That’s why I haven’t been to see you.”

Frances’s shoulders slumped and she gripped Nicola’s hands, her expression one of apology. “Lord, why didn’t you shut me up?”

“I couldn’t get a word in, could I?” Nicola grinned.

“You should have sent me a note. I’ve been so worried.”

“I’m sorry, really, but there’s been no time. Mrs Eldersley is grieving and I’ve had to run the lodgings.”

“Typical.” Frances tossed her head. “Trust it to be you who looks after everyone.”

“I had no choice, no one else wanted the responsibility.”

“Of course not. They’d rather leave it all to you. The lazy good-for-nothing uppity-”