The Silent Governess(48)
“Perhaps you might join me for tea on Wednesday,” Miss Ludlow invited as they parted ways, “after our work at the almshouse?”
Olivia smiled. “I would be honoured.”
A treasure indeed.
The Jesus Almshouse.
Olivia regarded the sign on the low white building with interest, taking in the engraved words and a fair likeness of a dove.
“Lady Brightwell commissioned that plaque,” Charles Tugwell said, crossing the vicarage garden to join her. “I find it ironic, really. The almshouse was founded by a yeoman farmer who made his money dealing in land and property. He acquired quite a dubious reputation in the bargain. I wonder if he thought his good deed would make up for all his foul.”
“You do not esteem good deeds?” She shifted the basket handle to both hands, just as a cool breeze blew a bonnet string across her face.
“My dear Miss Keene, what would the world be without them?” He brushed the string from her cheek. “Are we not admonished to be doers and not merely hearers of His word? Yet not on a mountain of good deeds can we climb our way to heaven.”
She was confused by his words. Nothing she could do about her foul deeds? This was not what she wanted to hear. “You surprise me. If good deeds cannot move God to forgiveness, what will, then?”
“Not a thing. Which is why I find the name of this place so fitting. We cannot redeem our dark deeds, Miss Keene. Only the Lord can—and already has. All we can do is accept the merciful salvation He purchased for us on the cross long ago. But”—he smiled and rubbed his palms together eagerly—“we can serve our fellow creatures and delight our heavenly Father’s heart in so doing.”
She found herself frowning. “Can one truly delight God? I own I do not think of Him that way.”
“No? How do you think of Him?”
She shrugged, again shifting the heavy basket. “A God of wrath and judgment, I suppose. Cold and angry in the face of our wrongdoings.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “My dear Miss Keene. Is it possible you endow your creator with the attributes of your earthly father?”
The thought stilled her. Did she? But was it not natural to do so?
“God is holy and just, yes,” Mr. Tugwell continued. “But He is infinitely loving and merciful as well. He loves you, Olivia, no matter what you do or fail to do.”
If only her father could have loved in that manner. Did God truly love her—after what she had done?
“He does,” Mr. Tugwell said, as if reading her thoughts.
She smiled feebly, touched yet unsure. He made it sound so simple. Could it really be so? She looked up to see him regarding her sheepishly.
“Now you shan’t have to attend this week’s service, having suffered through one of my sermons already! Do forgive me, Miss Keene.”
She dipped her head. “There is nothing to forgive.”
He eyed her basket. “May I ask what you have brought? Dare I hope for one of Mrs. Moore’s seedcakes, perhaps?”
“I am afraid not, sir. Only cheese and gloves for the poor.”
He heaved a shuddering breath. “You shall be good for me, Miss Keene. I have become too spoilt by widows plying me with cakes and sweets. We shall pour our energies into relieving the pangs of the poor, and not our earthly wants, shall we?”
She found his final statement mildly disconcerting. When she glanced up, he looked away, a boyish blush on his face, as though just realizing the implication of his words.
Inside, Olivia found Miss Ludlow sitting on the worn settee in the almshouse parlor, surrounded by yards of fabric.
“What are we working on today?” Olivia asked.
“New draperies for the parlor window. The old ones have grown shabby indeed. What think you of this corded muslin?”
“Lovely. So much lighter and cheerier than the present draperies.”
Eliza smiled, dimples blazing. “I hoped you would like it.”
Olivia helped Miss Ludlow take down the dusty old draperies and from them form a pattern to cut the new ones. Miss Ludlow announced that she would be more comfortable doing the sewing in her own home and reiterated her invitation to tea.
Mr. Tugwell was just bidding farewell to an elderly resident as the two ladies took their leave. All politeness, Miss Ludlow invited Mr. Tugwell to join them as well, and seemed surprised when he accepted. Olivia hoped he was not accepting on her account.
A short time later, ensconced in Miss Ludlow’s sitting room, Charles Tugwell picked up his teacup and asked, “How goes governessing, Miss Keene?”
“Well, sir, I thank you. I still miss teaching in a school, but there is much to commend the profession.”
“That reminds me. I called in at the school in St. Aldwyns last week, to see how the Miss Kirbys were getting on. I did inquire on your behalf, but it seems they have all the help they need at present.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Tugwell,” Olivia said, resisting thoughts of her mother. “I am content where I am at present.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I have an old friend—a friend of my late wife’s, actually—who has a very successful girls’ school in Kent. If you ever want a change, I should be happy to introduce you.”
“Thank you. I shall keep that in mind.”
The vicar studied Olivia over the tray of tea things. “You are what, Miss Keene, five and twenty?” he asked.
Olivia nodded. Her twenty-fifth birthday had recently passed with no one to recollect the date but herself.
“And not married?”
Self-conscious, Olivia shook her head. He must know this already. Did he think she was keeping a husband hidden along with her other secrets?
“It is a wonder a woman like you has not been swept off her feet by some worthy man long ago.”
Olivia smiled weakly and nibbled her cake.
“Never been in love?”
She shrugged, increasingly uncomfortable with his line of questioning, especially under the vulnerable, watchful eyes of Eliza Ludlow.
“Surely you have been courted at least,” he persisted.
She hesitated. “There was one young man who admired me,” Olivia began, hoping to put off questions yet more personal. “He was kind and charming in his way, yet I could not fancy myself married to him. He worked as a panhand in a brushmaker’s shop, hair-sorting and bundling bristles. He was proud of his pay, I recall. ‘Twenty knots a penny-fourpence, halfpenny per good broom.’ ”
Miss Ludlow smiled encouragingly. The gesture brought the youth’s image to mind—dark hair and warm brown eyes, a boy’s impish smile. “He was the one young man in the village who did not mind my bluestocking speech and endless reading, although he had no interest in reading anything beyond the newspaper. We had so little in common.”
Olivia thought back to how she had daily witnessed the frustration, the resentment, even the falsely awkward peace of a marriage between unsuited people. She’d had no wish to enter into one of her own.
Shaking her head, Olivia inhaled deeply and finished her tale. “I suppose the village girls were right. Perhaps I did think of myself too highly.” For who was I, after all? she thought. Merely the daughter of a clerk and a gentlewoman of reduced circumstances.
Mr. Tugwell nodded his understanding but did not comment. His attention had suddenly shifted to Miss Ludlow as though he’d just remembered she was there. “And why did you never marry, Miss Eliza?”
Miss Ludlow tucked her chin, cheeks quickly reddening. “I don’t know,” she murmured with a lame little laugh.
“We all thought you would marry the miller,” Mr. Tugwell said kindly. “A wealthy and influential man as ever there was.”
“Perhaps I should have.” Miss Ludlow’s tone was nearly bitter, and Olivia’s heart went out to her. The vicar had made her ill at ease with his awkward questions. Had he truly no idea how she felt about him?
His brows rose. “He offered marriage, then?”
Miss Ludlow gave a jerk of a nod.
“Forgive me, Miss Eliza. I did not intend to embarrass you. I own a parson’s natural curiosity and concern for his flock. I am only surprised you did not marry.”
She raised wounded brown eyes to his. “I did not love him.”
“Ah . . .” He nodded thoughtfully, looking down into his teacup. “Never been in love . . . a good reason for remaining single.”
She looked at him levelly. “I did not say that, sir.”
He seemed unsure of her meaning but was finally aware that he had waded into murky, discomfiting waters. He finished his tea and straightened. “Well, thank you for tea, Miss Eliza. I shall trespass upon your hospitality no longer.” He rose and bowed. “Good day, ladies.” He avoided the eyes of both women as he stood and donned his hat.
Chapter 34
Governesses hold a place which varies according to
the convenience and habits of the families in which they reside.
This constantly subjects them to slights,
wounding to the delicacy, and sometimes irritating to the temper.
—ADVICE TO GOVERNESSES, 1827
Charles Tugwell paid a morning call, and as was his habit, timed his visit to partake of a Brightwell breakfast. Hodges led him to the breakfast room, where Edward was sitting with coffee and newspaper.
The parson eyed the sideboard as if it were a lost soul. “Ah, my old friends crumpet and curd, how I have missed you.”