The Silent Governess(32)
Edward nodded. He would wait. But he would also pray. He sent Osborn with a note for Charles Tugwell, asking the man of God to join him.
Chapter 21
Whenever you give any living creature cause to depend on you,
be careful on no account to disappoint it.
—SARAH TRIMMER, FABULOUS HISTORIES
DESIGNED FOR THE INSTRUCTION OF CHILDREN, 1786
W hen his cousin entered the sickroom, Edward was sitting in the armchair by the window, reading an old volume of Chaucer. Nurse Jones had taken herself belowstairs for dinner and Olivia slept quietly in bed.
“How is she?” Judith whispered.
“She grew restless several hours ago but has been quiet since.”
Judith took several steps forward but did not draw near the bed, as though afraid to get too close. She looked down at Miss Keene, an inscrutable expression on her pretty face. “I was just speaking with your father. He seems quite concerned about her.”
Edward shrugged uneasily. “He is . . . taken with her.”
“Which I find a bit odd.” She tilted her head to look at him.
“Do you not?”
Uncomfortable, Edward only shrugged.
She studied him thoughtfully. “And here you sit like a faithful hound at her side. Are you not afraid of contracting rabies?”
He shook his head. “The doctor thinks it only a fever.”
“Does it not concern you?”
“Of course, but Sutton—”
“I do not mean the fever,” she interrupted. “I meant, does it not concern you that your father has developed a tendre for our under nurse?”
When Edward didn’t respond, Judith asked, “And what did Mrs. Hinkley mean when she said, ‘Is it not a miracle?’ ”
“Excuse me?”
“When I passed her just now, she said, ‘Is it not a miracle about Olivia?’ ”
Edward nodded. “I suppose she means that Miss Keene has been talking in her sleep.”
Judith’s plump lips parted. “Has she indeed?” Her eyes flashed in triumph. “Did I not tell you she might be pretending to muteness?”
Edward felt annoyance rising. Yet had he not suspected the same at first?
“What does she say?” Judith asked eagerly.
Edward felt suddenly self-conscious. “Hmm . . . ?” he murmured, deliberately obtuse.
“What does Miss Keene say when she talks in her sleep?” Judith pressed.
He hesitated, not wanting to divulge the truth, but his eyes must have given something away.
Judith’s fair brows rose, and the corners of her mouth twitched with humor. “Do not tell me she calls out for you.”
Edward felt his neck heat. “She . . . mutters a good deal of nonsense—that is all.”
His cousin’s gaze was all too knowing, and disconcerted, Edward looked away.
Olivia opened her eyes and looked about her, quite bewildered to find herself in an unfamiliar room. A candle lamp burned on the bedside table and a fire in the hearth. A woman she did not recognize sat nodding off in an armchair near the fire, a wad of needlework in her lap.
Slowly, Olivia pulled herself into a sitting position, concerned to find the act quite taxing. Why was she so weak? At the movement, the bed ropes creaked and the unfamiliar woman roused herself and gaped at Olivia, eyes wide.
“Miss Keene? Are you . . . well?”
Olivia nodded, the memories of the attack slowly coming to mind.
The woman toddled to the bedside. “I am Mrs. Jones, chamber nurse. Do you need anything? Will you take some water?” Mrs. Jones brought the glass to her lips, but Olivia gently took the vessel from her and sipped from it herself. The nurse beamed at her as though she had just performed an amazing feat.
“You wait right there,” she said. “The others will want to know you’ve come back to us.”
Olivia wondered how long she had been abed and if she was fit for company. She looked down at herself, oddly touched to find herself clothed in a fine and modest nightdress. Whose? she wondered. Moments later, a voice rang out somewhere in the manor and echoed down the stairs and corridor.
“She’s awake! She’s awake!”
Doris, Olivia mused, and sat waiting. A few minutes later, the door opened and Doris poked her head inside the room. “Hello, love! Feeling well enough for visitors?”
Olivia nodded, feeling weak and a bit dazed, but otherwise well. Doris entered, followed by Mrs. Hinkley, both of them all eager expectation, which mildly confused her.
Doris fluffed two pillows behind her and straightened the bedclothes. “You’ve been asleep for two days, Livie. Did you know?”
Olivia shook her head.
Mrs. Hinkley smiled down at her. “You spoke in your sleep, my dear. I heard you myself.”
Stunned, Olivia’s mind reeled behind a stiff smile. What would Lord Bradley say? What had she said?
“You said a lot of balmy things, I hear,” Doris chimed in. “I’d a paid two bob to hear ’em myself.”
“Can you speak now?” Mrs. Hinkley’s tone was gentle.
Olivia hesitated; they were both looking at her so expectantly. Lord Bradley slipped into the room behind them and held her gaze. He gave her a slight nod.
“I . . . ye-yes,” Olivia stammered. “I believe I can.”
“Ohh!” Doris exclaimed. “And don’t she speak fine—just like a lady! Say my name won’t you, love?”
“And mine?” Mrs. Hinkley added shyly.
Olivia chuckled. “My friend, Doris McGovern . . . and dear Mrs. Hinkley.” Her eyes met those of the last person in the room, his expression inscrutable. She swallowed. “And . . . my lord Bradley.”
A small smile curved his lips.
Doris and Mrs. Hinkley, suddenly self-conscious, murmured “Excuse me” and “God bless you” and hurriedly left the room.
“Perhaps she could speak all the time and didn’t know it,” Olivia heard Doris venture as the two women walked away down the corridor.
“Maybe so,” Mrs. Hinkley agreed. “Or perhaps the sickness made her well.”
When Olivia stepped into the nursery after her absence of several days, Andrew bounded across the room and threw his arms around her. Still weak and wobbly from her recent indisposition, Olivia had to grip the doorjamb to keep from falling backward.
“Hello, Miss Livie. Are you well now?”
“I am.”
His little mouth dropped open. “Say that again.”
Olivia smiled. “I am. I am well.”
Audrey approached cautiously and Olivia held out a hand. The girl hurried forward then, biting back her shy smile. “Hello, Miss Keene,” she said. “We have missed you.”
“And I, you.”
“I told you she could talk!” Andrew said. “I did hear her talk in her sleep, but you wouldn’t believe me!”
“Perhaps I did, Andrew,” Olivia soothed, “but did not realize I could speak while awake.”
“I must say I am disappointed in you, Miss Keene.”
Olivia looked up, disconcerted to see Judith Howe standing in the sleeping chamber doorway, little Alexander on one hip.
“I am sorry, madam. I don’t—”
Judith glanced down and then up again. “You see, I had imagined you to speak with a Prussian accent, or German, perhaps. As would befit a foreign princess fleeing her home.”
Olivia forced a laugh. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”
Judith straightened. “You did not run away from a tyrannical father, forcing you into a despicable marriage?”
Olivia’s mouth was dry. “No . . . forced marriage, no.”
The woman sighed theatrically. “Ah, well. So be it.”
Lord Brightwell knocked and stepped into the nursery. “Full house today.”
“Hello, Uncle,” Judith said. “Our under nurse is well, you see, but fails to be the foreign princess I had hoped for.”
He patted his niece’s shoulder, amused. “Life is full of such little disappointments, my dear.” His eyes twinkled. “Though Miss Keene may surprise you yet.”
“What does that mean?” Judith asked sharply.
Olivia tried to signal the earl, but Judith caught her shaking her head. Mrs. Howe looked from one to the other with mounting suspicion. “What is going on?”
“Not a thing, my dear. You must forgive the foolishness of an old man.”
“Must I?”
Fearing Mrs. Howe might come to a more imaginative conclusion on her own, Olivia explained, “Lord Brightwell means only that he has realized my mother was once governess to his younger sisters.”
“Indeed?” Judith Howe said, surprised. She nodded slowly and chewed her full lower lip as the news sunk in. She was clearly still considering the notion as she let herself from the room.
That night, when Olivia put the children to bed, they begged her to read to them and she happily obliged. She read Psalm 46, her favorite, and another chapter in The History of Robins.
Once more, Audrey leaned her head on Olivia’s shoulder, while Andrew curled into her side, lifting Olivia’s arm and draping it around himself like a human cloak.
“When the mother-bird arrived at the ivy wall, she stopt at the entrance of the nest, with a palpitating heart; but seeing her brood all safe and well, she hastened to take them under her wings. . . .”
“I like your voice, Miss Keene,” Audrey said.
“Me too,” Andrew murmured, on the verge of sleep. “Is that what our mamma’s voice sounded like?”