The Silent Governess(14)

“Here,” he rasped, holding out his hand for the ball.

Olivia was confused. Had he come to poach game and now wanted a child’s ball as well? Numbly, she extended her gloved hand. He snatched the ball with stained, gnarled fingers.

She watched, still rooted, as he wiped the ball on his coat sleeve, inspected it again, then handed it back.

She accepted it and looked down at the ball, now unmarred. Andrew ran over to see what the matter was, but when she looked up once more, the man had utterly disappeared, only the merest swaying of a tree branch to testify that he had ever been there at all.





While the children played quietly in the nursery, Olivia paced. Should she tell Lord Bradley she had seen a poacher? Could she do so without admitting where she had seen him before? She had overheard something about the poacher problem in the area. As magistrate, he would want to know. Had the old man come to free Borcher from the lockup? Just thinking of those two men wandering the estate made her perspire. She had to tell someone.

Olivia penned a brief note.

When I was taking exercise with the children, I saw a strange old man in the wood, bearing a brace of dead birds. Possibly a poacher?

I thought you would wish to know.

Leaving the children with Becky and Nurse Peale, Olivia carried the note to Lord Bradley’s study, one floor down. She had seen him there from the landing when she had brought the children upstairs. Knocking on the open door, she stepped inside and handed him the note before he said a word. While he read it, she surveyed the room. It was like a small library, with fitted bookcases and a desk littered with ledgers, papers, and writing implements—quills and a wax jack for melting sealing wax. Statues of rearing horses stood atop the fireplace mantel.

He frowned as he read, but then his countenance cleared. “Man about sixty, very thin, long grey hair?”

She nodded.

“I daresay that was Croome.”

Croome! Yes, that was his name, Olivia remembered. But how did Lord Bradley know? Was this Croome a wanted man? A known criminal?

Her stunned expression seemed to amuse him. “I do not blame you for being startled by old Croome. I grew up in fear and trembling of the man myself.”

She stared at him, perplexed by his levity.

He sat forward, elbows on his desk. “Croome is our gamekeeper. Been with us for years.”

Brightwell’s gamekeeper?

He clearly misunderstood her uncomprehending look, for he explained, “As gamekeeper, he is responsible for the estate’s preserved land. Stocking game, controlling vermin, predators, poachers . . . In fact, he is the man who caught you on the grounds and bundled you off to the constable.”

Her mind was whirling so quickly she nearly missed the implication that she was of a kind with predators and poachers. A gamekeeper in league with poachers? It made no sense. Had he recognized her before he whipped that sack over her head? She had wondered why the “Brightwell man” had deposited her with the constable and departed before she had even laid eyes on her captor. Was he worried she would have recognized him? Reported him to the constable in turn?

Yet the man had saved her once and had done her no harm when he’d had the chance. She decided she would not reveal anything more about him for now. Lord Bradley had enough to worry about at present.

One further thought followed her back upstairs to the nursery. If she had overheard a conversation no one was meant to hear . . . had Croome heard it as well?





Chapter 9




There were always love affairs among servants,

but if they came to the master’s attention,

instant dismissal was the rule.

—UPSTAIRS & DOWNSTAIRS, LIFE IN AN ENGLISH COUNTRY HOUSE

Mrs. Hinkley, looking rather put out, asked Olivia to come down to her parlor. It seemed the vicar wished to see her, and the housekeeper could not very well allow one of the servants to receive callers in the family’s drawing room. But nor could she ask the good parson to descend belowstairs to the kitchen, where most servants received the occasional caller. Mrs. Hinkley sighed, and Olivia had the impression that the housekeeper thought the new girl more than a bit of bother.

“What does the parson want with you?” Mrs. Hinkley whispered.

Olivia shrugged.

“Said he met you when you first arrived in the village and wanted to see how you were getting on.” She said it as though such a thing must be suspect indeed.

For her part, Olivia was pleased to know the man remembered her. She certainly recalled his kindness in introducing her to Miss Ludlow. She regretted that she had not gone to the vicarage that night as she’d intended. She hoped he and his sister had not laid a place for her at their table nor stayed up late expecting her. How sorry she would be if they felt their hospitality had been rejected.

Mr. Tugwell rose when she entered. “Miss Keene. How well you look! Much more fit than when I saw you last, I daresay! Are you well?”

She nodded, mildly taken aback. Had she looked so poorly at the river that day?

“Excellent. You do remember me, I hope? Charles Tugwell, vicar of St. Mary’s?”

Again she nodded.

“When you did not come to us that night, I—”

She put her hand out in entreaty, eyes wide.

“Never mind, my dear. I understand completely. I learnt what befell you and was grieved indeed to hear it. In fact I saw you that very night, though you were not aware of my presence. The laudanum, you know. How I prayed for you.”

Now she understood. He had indeed seen her at her worst. She felt tears misting her eyes at his kindness and managed a wavering smile.

“There, there, my dear. All is well now, yes? I had hoped to see you in church, but as I did not, here I am to see how you fare.” He tilted his head to one side. “Your throat is bruised, I see. Am I to understand from your silence that your voice has yet to return? Or have I not allowed you to get a word in edgewise?”

She shook her head, biting back a grin.

“Your ability to walk seems unhindered, and it is a fine day. Might I interest you in a stroll?”

She looked at him, mouth ajar.

“Forgive me. You have a position here now, I understand. I confess I forget how blessed I am to be able to walk about whenever I desire, barring a christening or marriage to perform. I even compose my sermons whilst walking, did you know? Of course not—how could you? Yes, I find a brisk stroll just the thing to spur the mind and lift the spirits.” He paused for a breath, then grimaced. “Forgive me. I do prattle on, I know. I warn you that when you do attend services you shall find my sermons much the same. I cannot seem to say anything succinctly. As several parishioners have been kind enough to point out most helpfully, I am sure.”

She smiled.

“By the way. Miss Ludlow told me of your intention to seek a place at the girls’ school in St. Aldwyns. I had thought to inquire on your behalf the next time I traveled that way. But I suppose that is no longer necessary, as you have found employment here?”

Eagerly, she gestured for him to wait, then sat down at Mrs. Hinkley’s desk. Promising herself to reimburse the housekeeper out of her first wages, Olivia picked up a sheet of paper and wrote as concise a letter as she could.





Dear Madam,

My mother, Mrs. Dorothea Keene, recommended I contact you about a possible situation.

I have taken a temporary post at Brightwell Court, but if you have a position available after February 4th, kindly write to me here.

Also, should my mother call upon you, kindly inform her (and her alone, if you please) of my whereabouts.

Most gratefully,

Miss Olivia Keene





She folded the letter, rose, and was about to hand it to Mr. Tugwell when the parlor door opened and Lord Bradley strode in, suspicion evident in the set lines of his face.

“Ah, Edward,” Mr. Tugwell said. “I had just called in to see how Miss Keene fares.”

“So I heard.” But Lord Bradley’s gaze rested not on the vicar, but on the folded paper in Olivia’s hand.

Mr. Tugwell followed the direction of his stare. “Oh. I have offered to deliver a note for Miss Keene when next I call in St. Aldwyns. She was bound for the girls’ school there when her, um, mishap occurred. How good of you to offer her a post here instead.”

Lord Bradley made no answer to this but instead pinned Olivia with a challenging glare.

The vicar held out his hand, but the note felt suddenly like a six-stone sack in Olivia’s hand. She remembered Lord Bradley saying that she was allowed to post no letters without his approval and knew she was breaking that rule in asking the vicar to deliver a note. But did he really think she would divulge his secret in a letter to a schoolmistress . . . and through a man of God in the bargain?

Seeing the steely warning in his gaze, she swallowed.

Evidently he did.

She stepped forward and handed the letter to Lord Bradley instead. He unfolded it and began reading.

The vicar frowned. “Really, Edward, is that quite necessary?”

He made no answer to that either.

After skimming the hastily written lines, he looked up at her from over the top of the paper. “Do you really expect to gain a post with such a vague letter? With no offer of a character reference, nor even your qualifictions?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

He pulled a grimace. “Did you honestly come here on the faint hope of securing a post at a school where you don’t even know the name of the proprietress, or even if they have a situation available?”