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Drops of Gold(12)

By:Sarah M. Eden


“Now, Miss Wood.” Mr. Jonquil’s stern voice sent a wave of panic through Marion’s body. The time to grovel had obviously come.

“Please, sir.” She felt almost as though she was listening to someone else plead for their livelihood. She certainly never had before. Not once in her life had she been reduced to such a helpless and dependent state. “I will endeavor to hold my tongue and curb my impertinence. Please allow me a chance to prove I can. Please, sir.”

“You believe I intend to dismiss you?”

“Yes, sir.” She kept her gaze fixed on her feet.

“And you acknowledge I would be justified in doing so?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“So long as we understand one another.”

Marion nodded her defeat. She had next to no money and absolutely nowhere to turn, and she’d just been discharged after a mere three days of employment.

“Only promise me you will not teach Caroline such dignified exclamations as double dungers,” Mr. Jonquil said. “I would have a difficult time explaining that to my mother.”

The hint of laughter she heard in his voice brought her gaze back to him. For the slightest of seconds, she thought she saw amusement in his eyes. The look disappeared so quickly she wondered if she hadn’t imagined it in her distress.

“You aren’t dismissing me, sir?” Her shock did not allow for a more subtle approach.

Mr. Jonquil seemed to ponder the question for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then, with a look akin to resignation, he shook his head.

She still had her position, although her employer seemed to offer the respite begrudgingly. Once again, she had some degree of security, even if temporarily. Relief like she hadn’t known in some time seeped through her. She felt her lips turn up as her heart lightened. “Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!”

He shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable with her exuberance.

“I’ll not disappoint you, sir. I promise!”

Mr. Jonquil rose from his seat behind the desk and walked to the fireplace, turning his back to the flames as if to warm himself. “We had little luck with the nursemaids before you,” he said, his face unreadable. “I will expect you to be an improvement.”

“Yes, sir.” She kept herself to the simple answer, though she longed to ask a hundred questions. Why hadn’t he dismissed her? What had the others done wrong? In what way did he expect her to be an improvement? When was the last time he’d had his hair trimmed? She knew for a fact she’d never ask the last question.

“You absolutely must learn your place, Miss Wood.” His tone was firm yet not unkind, as though he were offering her sage advice, trying to help her out of a predicament.

But, she reminded herself, wasn’t he doing just that? If she didn’t learn her place, she’d find herself without a position.

“I will not tolerate chaos in the household,” Mr. Jonquil added.

“No, sir.” Marion felt remarkably impressed by the appropriate subservient tone with which she’d spoken.

Mr. Jonquil made no note of her improvement. “Mrs. Sanders informed me of the terms of your employment,” he said. “Which brings us to another difficulty.”

Marion had a sudden vision of the housekeeper with eyes pulled so tight by her severe hairstyle that they were hardly opened. She had to bite on her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“What difficulty is that, sir?”

“My housekeeper insists she hired a nursemaid as I requested.” He gave her a look that absolutely demanded a reply.

“I am not a nursemaid, sir.” She had sunk but not that low.

“Obviously.” Something like a chuckle shook his words.

“There has been a disagreement between Mrs. Sanders and me.” She might as well confess. “She insists she thought she was hiring a nurse, but I was hired to be a governess.”

Mr. Jonquil didn’t reply. He just watched her, as if trying to decide whom to believe. “She told me you are to have Sunday mornings off in addition to one full day off each month and one week of holiday for the year.”

Marion nodded, feeling more composed.

“And you are to receive twenty pounds per annum.”

“Thirty, sir,” Marion corrected before she even realized she’d spoken.

That eyebrow arched.

For a moment, she wavered. He obviously didn’t believe her. Mrs. Sanders had stated her wages at thirty pounds no matter what she insisted now. “I was promised thirty per,” Marion insisted.

“You are accusing my housekeeper of cheating you as well as misstating your employment?”

“No, sir,” Marion replied cautiously. “Perhaps she is simply mistaken.”