Читать книгу The Unconventional Governess - Jessica Nelson - Страница 17

Chapter Six

An epileptic.

Henrietta could hardly believe the truth. A rare condition that she longed to research, but instead she sat quietly in the carriage with Alice. The loaner from Lady Brandewyne, while nicely made, could not compare to the comfort of St. Raven’s carriage. Alice’s company was not particularly enjoyable, either. She spent the rest of the ride clicking her knitting needles while Henrietta churned the facts over and over in her mind.

She knew very little about epilepsy. Only enough to recognize the symptoms. Surely St. Raven was resting now. He hadn’t emerged. The carriages had kept up a steady clop and now it had grown dusky and cool, a hint of rain in the air. They turned into a long drive lined by trees and statues. Henrietta’s window encompassed a view of the St. Raven estate. It was a smaller version of Lady Brandewyne’s. They rounded up the drive and then slowed to a stop.

Perhaps she’d be brought around back to the servant’s entrance? She gathered her bags, prepared to get out when told. Alice watched, her mouth a crimped line, reminding Henrietta that she was no more a servant than she was a peer.

In the middle. That was her new position. Neither privy to the confidences of the servantry, nor entitled to the privileges of the ton.

The carriage door opened and St. Raven peered inside. “We’re here,” he said, his grin lopsided. He looked no worse for wear. His cravat had been straightened and his skin had regained its color, as far as she could tell in the twilight.

With his help, she exited the carriage. Alice was behind her and then St. Raven guided her to the front door. “This is it. My humble abode.”

“Humble, indeed.” Square-shaped beds of grass decorated the front yard, carefully trimmed and verdant. The house itself was composed of rectangles and squares that sharply jutted into pointed roofs. The typical country home, resplendent and tight-angled.

A butler came out to greet St. Raven. She observed the earl, hanging back to watch his loose-limbed gait. He did move slowly, as though tired. There was no other evidence that only a few hours ago his body had contorted outside of his control.

Yes, she’d have to research more.

Behind her, the carriages rolled away and she realized that she was to follow St. Raven into the house. She joined him at the doorway, looking past him to the gilded entryway lit by several lamps along the walls.

He ushered her in, his eyes shadowed, belying the curved dimple in his cheek. “My childhood home.”

“It is lovely,” she said. “If you’ll show me my rooms, I’ll get situated.”

“Would you care for tea first?” His question was not a question. He guided her to a small parlor before she could say no.

St. Raven’s eyes were tenebrous in here, without the sun to make them sparkle. One could almost mistake them for a dark green.

He did not shut the door. He meandered to a corner of the room, next to a lit golden girandole whose worth appeared to be more than the annual earnings of a governess. The furniture was ornate, heavy. Strange lionlike creatures rose from the edges of the couch. All in all, an uncomfortable, auspicious room.

She faced St. Raven, and was reminded of his overall largeness in comparison to her size. She’d been called slight. Never had she felt so, until she stood next to St. Raven. A shiver crept through her at the intensity on his face. She rubbed her arms, conscious that her medical bag remained with her belongings.

“About earlier...” He trailed off, stroking his chin with long, well-manicured fingers.

Henrietta pulled herself taller. “Yes, your epileptic attack.”

“You saw.” His eyebrows narrowed, ebony lines against tan skin.

“It was a shock, to be sure. You have lived with this condition unbeknownst to your staff?”

He shrugged, a curiously unaffected movement. “To most, yes. It is not something I want bandied about.” He paused. “Are you familiar with epileptic disorders?”

“The only fits I have seen were in an asylum.” An honest answer, though it emerged slowly.

“And is that where you think I belong?”

A strong, undeniable current pulsed between them. A moment of energized tension that illuminated the cost of this secret and the fortitude it took to maintain a cover of health and normality. She swallowed, her heart drumming, her fingers picking at her skirt.

He had given no indications of madness. His staff cared for him, as evidenced by their worry. She wet her lips, meeting his eyes, which bored into her, questioning, seeking. She drew from the wells of her authoritarianism on all things medical. Perhaps she had no experience with society, but she knew patients.

And despite the rocky planes of his face, the stiff cut of his shoulders, fear hid beneath it all.

“You are not a madman, my lord, and I do not believe you should be institutionalized.”

His gaze flickered. The jaw that had been granite-hewn relaxed ever so slightly. “I quite agree, Miss Gordon. You will keep this information between us?”

Another question that was not a question.

“I shall do my best.” After all, he was her employer now. And quite possibly, her patient.

He locked his arms behind his back, regarding her so seriously as to make her wonder how she’d ever thought him careless and lacking in soberness. “That will be all, Miss Gordon. I will ring for Mrs. Braxton, the head maid. She will show you to your room, the schoolroom and the general layout of the servants’ quarters. I trust you will tell me should you feel unwelcome in any way.”

“How I feel is of no consequence. My job is to teach Louise, and that is what I shall focus on.” Speaking of the girl, she hadn’t seen or heard her. Which struck her as immensely odd. “Where is she?”

St. Raven paused. “It is odd that she has not come to greet me.”

He called for the head housekeeper. She appeared promptly.

“Where is Louise?” asked the earl.

Her fingers fluffed the folds of her dress. “She heard she was to have another governess, and to prove her lack of need for one, she ran off again.”

“How often does this occur?”

“As often as she wishes.”

“And you allow it?”

His housekeeper looked surprised. “She did it with her parents and they were not alarmed.”

“Well, they should have been,” he snapped. “Assemble the servants in the hall at once.”

Henrietta nodded with approval. Until she could do more research, there was nothing more to be said about his epilepsy. Standing there looking into his handsome face accomplished nothing. He wasn’t even trying to be charming, and yet she found herself studying the lines and curves of his features, storing the scent of his cologne in the back of her mind.

It was positively the most disturbing response she’d ever had to a man, and becoming a governess was probably the worst idea she’d ever had, but Lady Brandewyne had backed her into a tight and inescapable corner.

Besides, she now felt a deep concern for Louise’s whereabouts. “What do you mean to do?” she asked St. Raven.

“I mean to find the girl.” He pivoted, leading Henrietta into the hall. Mrs. Braxton stood as stiff as a marble statue, her features settled into a frown. “Don’t you ever look for her? Doesn’t anyone chase her down and tell her to stop running away?”

“My apologies, my lord,” she replied. “But why on earth would we do such a thing when her parents allowed it? Where can she go?”

“Those questions are irrelevant. She should not have left at all. When she returns, she shall have warm tea and biscuits waiting for her. Mrs. Braxton shall put hot irons at the foot of her bed to heat her toes, and it will not be allowed again.”

“Hot irons? Tea and biscuits?” Henrietta crossed her arms. “You are rewarding negative behavior. This simply will not do.”

His head tilted, then his gaze shifted past her. “Mrs. Braxton, call the servants. We must find Louise.”

At that moment, a crack of thunder shook the house. Rain tapped the roof, picking up speed and then turning into wild dance of sound.

“This weather is not good for her lungs.”

“We will find her,” he said, his features strained.

Servants filed into the hallway, lining up by rank.

St. Raven crossed his arms behind his back, posture ramrod-straight and mouth firm. “Please welcome Miss Gordon. She is Louise’s new governess.”

She did not miss the exhalations of relief many of the servants tried to hide. Was Louise so terrible? Perhaps these people just did not know how to contain an excitable child. Not that Henrietta had much experience with child-rearing, but common sense told her that consistency and a gentle attitude went far toward taming mischief and being spoiled.

“We will be looking for my niece, and she is not to run off like this anymore. Does anyone have an idea of where she might’ve gone?”

“She likes the horses,” a young footman volunteered.

“Or the pond,” said Mrs. Braxton. A portly woman with a severe set to her chin, she nevertheless carried a twinkle in her eye. “Always catching the minnows, though I tell the young miss it isn’t sightly.”

“Excuse me?” A maid at the back stepped forward. “I’ve seen her at the folly...a few times, my lord.” She bowed, looking apprehensive as she did so.

“The folly?” St. Raven stroked his chin. “That does sound like a good place to hide and it would appeal to a twelve-year-old’s imagination. Very good, thank you. Stay here and set out tea and sandwiches for when the others return. Check the stables and the pond. Look through the house. I will search the folly.”

“I will ready the horses.” A whiskered man bowed and left quickly.

Henrietta lifted her skirts, prepared to follow the man.

St. Raven put out a hand to stop her. “Not so fast, Miss Gordon. You’ve just overcome a lung disease. You’ll stay here.”

“It was an infection.” She narrowed her eyes, dodging out of reach of his imperious touch. “I certainly will not stay. I am going with you. I’ll wear an extra layer. You might need me. Louise could be hurt.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” His voice was harsh, his eyes glints of green. Another shock of thunder resonated.

She took the thick shawl a footman handed her. The butler opened the door and rain sluiced into the house, pelting the floor in huge, splattering drops.

St. Raven gestured her out and, summoning fortitude, and aware of a simmering panic for Louise’s safety gaining ground within, she stepped into the storm.

* * *

Dominic didn’t think he’d ever felt such intense fear in his life. His jaw ached from clenching, and his neck kinked. The ride to the folly had been arduous and bumpy, the carriage traversing the rain-slicked path and mud holes with ferocious dexterity.

The folly loomed behind the flickering lightning and sheets of rain. It was as though someone had shattered the sky. And Louise was out in this.

The carriage came to a stop and he exited, then turned to help Henrietta out. Her bones were as light as a bird’s, and he felt her shiver when he put his arm around her waist. Mouth tight, he set her gently on the ground. A maid stayed in the carriage with warm blankets and hot tea, for when they returned.

He turned, trying to see past the torrential waterfall drenching the landscape. The folly’s artfully constructed columns rose like pale sentries against the smeared horizon. His brother had constructed the thing at his wife’s request. Many in the ton created ornamental buildings in their gardens. This was located a bit farther from the main house and had been designed to look like a Greek pavilion. With this wind-driven rain, however, the odds of the pavilion’s interior remaining dry were low.

He swiped his hand across his face, seeking relief from the stinging nettles of precipitation. “We shall look within,” he shouted.

Henrietta replied, her words lost in the noise. The downpour slammed against the ground, making hearing anything impossible. They trudged toward the folly, picking through debris strewn across the path.

Jacks held a lamp, but the flickering light did little to ease the way. Henrietta moved ahead of him, her steps nimble and quick. She dodged up the steps of the folly, disappearing into the cavernous blackness that was its entrance.

Dominic muttered under his breath and picked up his pace. Infuriating woman. He’d have two to worry about if she wasn’t careful. He eased into the darkness, taking the lamp from Jacks and holding it up to see inside the oval-shaped orifice. Henrietta stood in the middle, eyes wide. She shook her head when the light fell upon her face. She was speaking but the words were silently whipped away into the night.

Leaning close, he put his ear to her mouth to hear her better.

“She’s not here.” Worry crowded her syllables, and his chest tightened.

“We’ll find her.”

He straightened, pushing back the urge to hug Henrietta and tell her everything would be fine.

Before he knew what she was doing, she grabbed his hand and Jacks’s. He glanced down, and realized she was praying. Holding up the lamp, he saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were moving softly and though he could not hear her words, he felt them.

The pattering of rain and the growling of thunder all coalesced into one strange moment of peace in which he wondered if God would hear this unconventional woman. Would He answer in the way they wanted him to? He closed his eyes, her small hand enfolded in his, her fingers tiny yet strong.

And then she let go.

Jacks met his eyes, shrugging as though the foibles of woman fazed him not. For his part, Dominic just wanted to find Louise. The more time that passed, the more likely she’d caught sick.

She could be at home, of course. Just because she was missing didn’t mean she’d been outside. But the twisting pain in his gut told him otherwise. She was out here, somewhere, alone.

Henrietta had left the center circle. She explored the circumference of the folly, going from pillar to pillar, her skirts wet and dragging.

Dominic gave the lamp to Jacks. “Stay here in the middle. If Louise is out there, she’ll see your light.” He strode to the stairs and, shielding his eyes, looked out over the landscape for anything that could be construed as human. Nothing but rocks and trees and sloping land in the grayish dirge.

A shout filtered through the noise of the storm. Pivoting, Dominic saw the light swinging crazily back and forth.

He strode back into the folly and there was Louise, lying in Henrietta’s lap. They were shivering and when Henrietta looked up, he couldn’t tell whether her eyes were wet with rain or tears. Louise’s hair was plastered to her head, and violent spasms wracked her body.

He kneeled, taking her from Henrietta. His niece snuggled into him, not talking, which was worrisome in and of itself.

“Her ankle is twisted.”

Dominic followed Henrietta’s pointing finger to Louise’s right foot, which was without a shoe and garish in the flickering, black-blue light. As round as an orange, and puffy. He pulled Louise closer to his chest, beckoning with his chin for the others to follow.

Henrietta took the lamp to lead the way, and Jacks attempted to hold his coat over Louise as they stumbled back to the carriage. Jacks went in first, then Dominic handed Louise up to him. In the carriage light, her lips were tinged blue and her eyes closed. He had never seen such pale eyelids, devoid of coloration.

He helped Henrietta in, then followed. Jacks laid Louise on his lap, and every so often, her body shook with tremors. Tension rode back to the house with them, and Louise said nothing. Dominic could not recall ever feeling so helpless in his life, except in the aftermath of his own seizures. The full scope of humanity’s fragile hold on life glared at him accusingly.

Louise might have died. Could still die.