“Oh, I know,” Marion quickly reassured the young maid. “It just seems an awful lot of extra work. And for a governess, of all things. It—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Sanders says it’s best that way.” Maggie spoke as though the couple claimed a level of authority equal to the prime minister’s himself rather than the butler and housekeeper they were.
“It seems like a great deal of trouble,” Marion pressed.
Maggie didn’t relent. “Jus’ the way things are.”
Marion twisted her mouth and pondered the declaration. The way things are. Well, things could always change. She fought down a satisfied smile. She’d never failed to make the best of a situation.
“When does Miss Caroline awaken?” Marion asked, changing the topic to the child she’d been hired to look after.
“Not for another hour, a’ least.” Maggie walked to the door.
“Happy Christmas,” Marion called after her with a bright smile. Farland Meadows could use a touch of joy.
Maggie’s countenance didn’t lighten at all. In fact, the girl seemed distressed. “’Taint much happy ’bout today, holiday or no. ’Taint much happy here ’t’all,” Maggie said. “Master’s rather somber, he is.” She disappeared into the darkened schoolroom.
Marion let out a long, deep breath. The housekeeper and butler had banished her to the nursery wing. Her employer, apparently, was ill humored, and the entire house shared in that defect. The happy, cheerful house she’d expected felt suddenly cold.
“Only because there’s no fireplace,” Marion told herself. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of its empty state. She smiled, amused at her own body’s antics. “And because I’m hungry.”
The biscuit and preposterously weak tea she’d had in Newark the previous afternoon had long since proven insufficient nourishment. She eyed the toast and porridge Maggie had brought her. She hadn’t eaten porridge since her childhood. Appropriate, she thought. If she must be relegated to the nursery wing, being fed on child’s fare was exceptionally fitting.
After two bites, Marion decided she much preferred the watery tea. Perhaps Cook had been given the day off. She forced down the remainder and carried her empty bowl and crumb-strewn tray out of her room and across the dim schoolroom to the servants’ door, setting it on a nearby table. She hummed a Christmas carol from her childhood, the tune doing wonders for her outlook.
Using the candle from her room, Marion walked the perimeter of the schoolroom and opened the many curtains. The earliest hints of sunrise penetrated the cloudy sky as a light dusting of snow settled on the ground below. How she loved freshly fallen snow! She watched for a moment as flakes drifted aimlessly about, a quiet peacefulness enveloping the landscape.
“Quit dawdling,” Marion told herself after one last lingering look outside. She had work to do.
She spun around to survey her surroundings, and her jaw dropped. Toys and crumpled papers lay scattered in chaotic piles. Books were strewn about unnoticed and unheeded. Had no one bothered cleaning? Certainly the last governess hadn’t left such a deplorable mess, hasty departure or not.
Her own room required very little attention, so Marion relegated it to another time. ’Twas always best to tackle the difficult things first. She set herself to cleaning, humming as she did. Child-sized fingerprints smudged the pages of the scattered books. Miss Caroline, it seemed, had at least looked at her books before discarding them. Nearly every wadded piece of parchment had been scribbled on, the lines thick and almost dashed as if she’d used a charcoal pencil in dire need of sharpening. The toys sat haphazardly about the room, but not a single one was broken. The child did not seem naturally destructive but simply insufficiently looked after.
“Your hair is pretty.” The voice was no larger than a drop of rain and clearly belonged to a child still half asleep.
Marion turned toward the sound, uncertain of what she would find. The child who stood before her could well have been an angel. Her ruffled white nightdress nearly glowed in the morning sun spilling in through the windows. A mess of blonde curls framed her face in something of a halo, her enormous blue eyes wide in innocent anticipation. The girl couldn’t possibly have been more than four or five years old. Too young for a governess. Marion pushed the thought from her head. This was, undoubtedly, Miss Caroline’s younger sister.
“Hello,” Marion greeted the child, her smile emerging naturally. She dropped carefully to her knees, pulling her dress free at the last moment. She could scarce afford to replace her gowns should she manage to wear knee holes in them. “What is your name?”