The Silent Governess(51)

Simon Keene frowned. “Hated losing that contest, but never you.”

She expelled a puff of air and disbelief. “You have never treated me the same since that day. You cannot deny it.”

“I don’t deny it. But not because of that plagued contest. Don’t you know? That was the very day I learnt that you . . . that I . . .” He grimaced in his effort to find the words. “That your mother named you for this Oliver fellow.”

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t recall that. . . .”

“Do you not? When the three of us rode into Chedworth together, earlier that same day?”

“To see the Roman ruins—that I remember.”

“And do you recall that woman who came up and greeted your mother like a long-lost friend?”

“Vaguely.”

“I remember it perfectly. Your mother introduced me by name and then said, ‘And this is our daughter.’ She gave my name, see, but not yours. So like a fool I said, ‘This is our Olivia.’

“ ‘Olivia! After Oliver?’ the woman says, then turned redder than a beetroot and tried to cover her tracks. Mumbled something like, ‘Oh! Of course not. Only a coincidence, I am sure.’

“That’s when I learnt the knob’s name. Oliver. Dorothea denied the connection, said she had always liked the name Olivia. But what could she say? What more proof did I need?” His thin mouth twisted in disgust. “The cheek of her—naming the girl I fed and clothed after a man who never lifted a hand for either of you. It wasn’t your fault, I know, but I could never look at you the same way again. Never look at myself the same. To think how idiotically proud of you I was when I had no right to be.”

Olivia shot a glance at Mr. Tugwell, who seemed suddenly interested in the condition of his fingernails. If she had feared the parson admired her, this would certainly cure him of any lingering romantic notions.

Simon Keene shook his head again. “I knew she had a lover before I met her. And that she went to see the rake once, even after we were married. But then time went by, see, and we had a few good years, and I let myself think that maybe she had got over him—maybe she could love me after all. . . .” His voice broke. “Only to learn she had lied to me all those years. My own little girl, not mine after all. Named after the man she really loved, so she would never forget him.”

An awkward silence followed, as her father tried to regain control of his emotions. Olivia felt torn between wanting to rail at him for attacking her mother, and confusion over his story. Her mind whirled, trying in vain to make it jibe with her own memories.

Simon rubbed a hand across his stubbled face. “It boiled my blood—and cut me deep, I own. How it galled me, the thought of her still pining for him. Still wishing she had never tied up with the likes of me.”

Had this been behind his dark moods and fits of anger? Driven him to drink so heavily?

“Surely you know that is not why she left you,” Olivia said. “I have never heard her speak of any other man, or seen anything that would make me think—”

“And why would you?” he interrupted. “Away at that school all day as you were? Your mother home alone, or so we thought. Did you never notice two glasses on the sideboard, or smell cigar smoke in the house?”

“Mother would never . . . ” Olivia hesitated. Had she smelled cigar smoke? She could not be sure. Olivia had spent a great deal of each day and sometimes evenings at Miss Cresswell’s. But to assume a caller was Lord Brightwell, after all these years? Ridiculous. “If someone was in the house, surely it was only a friend come to call,” she said. “Or someone picking up needlework . . . or—”

“Then why would she not tell me who had called? Why did she act so nervous and secret-like? The more she lied about it, the angrier I got, until I thought I should explode!”

Had he snapped? Had his irrational jealousy led to that final act of violence?

The mantel clock struck the hour, and no one spoke while the bell chimed, then faded away.

The parlor door, which still stood ajar, opened a few inches further, and Lord Brightwell himself appeared in the gap. From his angle, Olivia realized, he could see only her, and perhaps Mr. Tugwell.

“Olivia, a puppeteer has arrived in the square and I thought the children might—” He pushed the door open further, and his gaze encompassed the entire parlor. “Oh, pardon me, I did not realize . . .”

Olivia panicked. These two men in the same room together? What dreadful timing! “Lord Brightwell. I . . .”

Simon Keene wiped his sleeve across his face and rose. “Speak of the devil. Oliver, is it?”

Mr. Tugwell laid a staying hand on her father’s arm and in a low voice urged, “Steady . . .”

Olivia cleared her throat, finding it difficult to breathe in a room suddenly thick with tension. “Actually, it is Lord Brightwell. And this is Simon Keene, my . . .” Olivia swallowed, and before she could continue, the earl stepped to her side, assuming a protective stance.

Simon Keene looked from one to the other and slowly shook his head. “I see how it is.” He shook off the vicar’s hand and faced the earl squarely. “I will ask you, sir, man to man. Do you know where Dorothea is?”

Lord Brightwell stared coldly back. “And I will answer in all truth that I do not. But if I did, I should not tell you.”

Olivia cringed, expecting her father to rage at this, to fly across the room and strike the earl . . . or strangle him.

But the fight seemed to have gone out of Simon Keene. “I see. Well.” He picked up his hat and turned it in his hands. “I shall take my leave. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Mr. Tugwell touched his arm once more. “Mr. Keene, wait. You are in no fair shape to sally forth. You are welcome to stay as long as you need.”

The vicar glanced at the earl as though to gauge his reaction, but Lord Brightwell was looking at her. He offered his arm and together they exited the almshouse, leaving the two men where they were, Tugwell speaking gently to his visitor. Olivia guessed Simon Keene had never heeded a parson in his life, and doubted he would begin now.

It was only after she and Lord Brightwell had crossed the high street that Olivia realized she had not asked if her father knew he was a wanted man.





Chapter 36




Those ladies, who from the misfortunes of their families

have been compelled to exchange happy homes and indulgent relations

for the society of strangers, are objects of peculiar sympathy.

—ADVICE TO GOVERNESSES, 1827

For days, the meeting with her father revolved and replayed in her mind—what she should have said to him, the questions she ought to have asked, the truths she should have demanded. After torturing herself in this manner for several long, restless nights, Olivia decided to dwell on the positive aspect of the meeting. Simon Keene believed her mother alive. And Olivia would endeavor to believe it as well.

On her next half day, Olivia spent the afternoon keeping Eliza Ludlow company in her shop, and managed to enjoy herself quite convincingly.

She returned to Brightwell Court to find two letters awaiting her. One came with no return direction. The other bore the fine, artistic hand of Miss Cresswell. Olivia first opened the letter from her former teacher, feeling sixty percent eagerness and forty percent dread. Had Miss Cresswell heard from her mother? From Muriel Atkins, the midwife?

My dear Olivia,

Muriel has finally returned. After the birth in the country, it seems she went directly to her niece in Brockworth, whose time came early. It was a long and difficult lying-in (twins—both live, praise God), and rarely have I seen Muriel so exhausted.

When I told her of your visit, she said I was to tell you in confidence that your mother does not lie in the churchyard. Is that not good news? I am not to tell anyone but you. Muriel fears someone intends your mother harm, and if this person believes she might be, well, gone, then so much the better. She would not say who, but I am sure your guess is the same as mine. Sounds a desperate plan to me, when her own daughter is allowed to believe such a tragedy!

I understand your mother fell ill and stayed with Muriel’s sister for much of the winter, but she has since fully recovered.Still, Muriel insists she knows nothing about where your mother is now, nor how she fares. She only hopes the ruse may have spared your mother from real harm. But as no letter has come, she begins to fear this is not the case. Still she and I hope every day for word from our dear friend Dorothea.

I am afraid my other news may be difficult for you to hear.Your father has been found and arrested. The specific charge has still not been made public, but rumors abound.

Do write and let me know that you are well. I am praying God’s peace for you during such uncertain times.

Miss Lydia Cresswell





Arrested? He must have gone directly to Withington from the almshouse. Again, Olivia wondered what her father was accused of doing, and whether or not he was guilty. She felt an overwhelming ebb and flow of emotions, from vindictive satisfaction (did he not deserve some retribution for his violent act?) to embarrassment at having a parent in prison, to unexpected pity when she thought of the broken state in which she had last seen him. How strangely unsettling it had been to hear him acknowledge that he was not her father. It ought to have been a relief—even more so now after Miss Cresswell’s tidings. Instead, she felt empty. Emotionally bankrupt. She thought back to Mr. Tugwell’s words about a person’s inability to pay for his own foul deeds, and felt spiritually bankrupt as well. For had she not committed her own offenses?