The housekeeper turned sharply on her heel and began to walk away, and Georgette, having almost to run to catch up with her, hastily followed along behind. They took several turns down numerous corridors, all of which seemed to have doors running off them. For the life of her, Georgette thought that she would struggle to find her way back to the entrance if the housekeeper left her at that moment.
As they continued to walk, the housekeeper keeping up her rather extreme pace, Georgette simply concentrated on the clipping of their heels against the immense gray flagstones of the floor. The walls of the corridor were also stone, and there seemed nothing of softness to absorb the sound of their boots on the floor. Everything seemed to echo just a little.
Finally, they turned at the end of another long corridor and, seeing a door in front of them, Georgette rather thought the butler would be found there. In truth, she felt a little angry already that she was being brought before the butler as if she were simply something to be inspected. She wanted to shout and scream that she had lived all her life with a butler of her own and that she would not be belittled in such a way. However, Georgette knew that there was no point.
She was a governess because she had nothing, and everybody there would be very aware of the fact. All she had to recommend her were an exemplary education and good breeding, the very things that would set her apart from the rest of the staff and leave her without friends or company of any kind, she felt sure of it.
“Enter,” the butler said rather grandly when the housekeeper knocked loudly upon the door.
Mrs Griffin pushed the door open and walked in, leaving Georgette to trail along behind her. Georgette almost laughed at the whole thing; they seemed to have a little hierarchy below stairs with the butler and the housekeeper clearly seen as the Lord and the Lady in their particular little domain.
Georgette could not help thinking that it did not matter where you were, or what circumstances you were in, somebody somewhere always wanted to be at the top of things. Somebody somewhere always wanted power over others regardless of the class and social status of the group. So, perhaps people were not so very different after all.
“This is the new governess, Mr Pearson,” the housekeeper said stiffly.
“Is it indeed, Mrs Griffin?” the butler said, turning his head to coolly survey Georgette.
“My name is Miss Georgette Darrington,” Georgette said levelly, fully determined to effect a proper introduction rather than simply be introduced as the new governess.
“Very good,” the butler said, seemingly a little taken aback. Presumably, he thought himself to be most intimidating, and it very likely worked wonderfully on the rest of the staff. Georgette made a silent promise to herself that it would never, ever work on her. “Well, I am Mr Pearson, the butler.”
“How very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr Pearson,” Georgette said, suddenly rather keen to give a display of her firm grasp on modern manners.
“Likewise, Miss Darrington.”
Chapter 4
Georgette awoke early the following morning, just as the sun was beginning to come up. She was not due to meet the Duke of Draycott until ten o’clock, and her breakfast would not be brought up until eight. With a sigh, Georgette closed her eyes and tried with all her might to get back to sleep. She did not want to simply lay there for two hours waiting for something to happen, staring at the four walls of the Spartan little attic room.
In truth, the room was probably a good deal better than those the servants had at their disposal; it was simply that it felt nothing like home. In London, Georgette had enjoyed an extremely large bedroom with all manner of pretty drapery, wall hangings, and rugs. Her bed had been of the four-poster variety with such beautiful fabric hanging in great swathes from its framework that it was a pure joy to wake up in it every day.
As she looked around her room at Draycott Hall, Georgette knew that life would never be the same again. Her bed now was a small affair, half the width of the one she had had at home. It was a very simply designed iron frame with no posts and no beautiful drapery. Despite that, she had found the mattress extraordinarily comfortable; not a thing she had expected.
The room was really rather small indeed, and her bed was pushed tight up against the wall on one side, with a small nightstand on the other. The nightstand was old but well-made from walnut wood. It was clearly something that had once been in use within the hall itself and, having seen better years, had been demoted to servants’ furniture.
There was a small wooden stand, presumably to place a wash bowl upon, and a great chest of drawers of similar quality to the walnut nightstand but constructed of a dark oak. It was in perfect condition but was rather too large for the room, and its dark colour, coupled with the fact that all of the walls were painted in a seemingly miserable shade of green which reminded her of the attorney’s office, made the whole thing seem very dark and cramped.