The Silent Governess(59)
“Is Mrs. Howe very angry?”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “I think my niece smells another mystery in the air and longs to get to the bottom of it.”
Olivia longed to know how Lord Bradley had reacted to her departure but would not ask. Remembering her manners, Olivia said, “Please. Do be seated.” She settled back into her own chair, but he remained standing. He pulled something from his coat pocket.
“Olivia. I have something for you.”
“Not another gift! You have given me too much already.”
“No. Not this time.” His sober voice chilled her.
“What is it?”
He unfolded a rectangle of thick paper and held it before her. She accepted it gingerly, as though it were a coiled snake. Angling the printed notice to better catch the light from the window, she read quickly, gasped, then read it again.
Olivia Keene
24 years old, dark hair, blue eyes
Anyone with information please contact the
Girls’ Seminary, St. Aldwyns
“Where did you get this?” Olivia breathed.
“It was delivered by a paid messenger who did not know, or would not say, whom it was from.”
Olivia felt a painful mixture of fear and hope. “It looks somewhat faded—and I am five and twenty now. Perhaps my father posted this before he came to Brightwell Court.”
“Do you think so? But why would he go through a school?”
“Because he is clever. He knew I would assume my mother was trying to find me. Or it could be her doing,” she acknowledged. “Maybe she has come to find me at last.”
“But you sent a letter to the school, letting them know your whereabouts.”
“I did. But that was several months ago. Perhaps the mistress did not recall.” She looked up from the notice and found him watching her closely. She asked, “Will you take me to St. Aldwyns?”
He nodded. “The carriage is just outside.”
Asking Olivia to wait inside the closed carriage, Lord Brightwell strode the few feet from the lane to the seminary door. Peering discreetly from behind the curtained chaise window, Olivia watched as a thin, older woman came to the door. Lord Brightwell introduced himself, and the woman curtsied and identified herself as Miss Kirby, one of the mistresses of the seminary.
The earl pulled the notice from his pocket and held it before her. “I am here because of this.”
She gave it a cursory glance. “Forgive me, my lord, but what has this to do with you?”
“Perhaps a great deal.” He hesitated. “Can you tell me, are you acting on behalf of a family member?”
It was the woman’s turn to hesitate. “I don’t . . . that is, I am not at liberty to say.”
“I would very much like to speak with this person.”
“I am afraid my sister, who would know how to go about this better than I, is away at present. If you could return another time?” She began to close the door.
“Olivia will be disappointed,” he said shrewdly, and the door opened once more.
The woman’s face became animated. “You have seen her, my lord?”
“Yes. She has been at Brightwell Court these several months. I hope to make her my ward.”
“She is there now?” Olivia heard the restrained excitement in the woman’s voice.
Again the earl hesitated, likely not wanting to give away her location until he knew who was looking for her. “Not at present. But I know where she is.”
“And she is well?”
Olivia missed the earl’s reply.
“That is excellent news. I will pass along this information to . . . to the interested party.”
“Thank you.” The earl gave the woman his card.
“I think I should tell you, my lord,” Miss Kirby said nervously, “that you are not the first person to inquire after Miss Keene.”
A sense of foreboding filled Olivia as she listened. Had her father called at the seminary before he came to Brightwell Court?
“Oh? Who was it?” he asked.
“The woman did not give a name.”
“A woman? How old? What did she look like?”
Hope and caution competed within Olivia. Had it been her mother, after all?
“I really could not say. She was heavily veiled. A well-to-do woman, I would guess. She had an upper-class voice at any rate. Not old, but not a girl either.”
Was the veiled woman her mother? Disguising herself to avoid being recognized by Simon Keene, not knowing he had been arrested?
“What did she say?” the earl asked.
“She tried to persuade my sister to tell her who was looking for Miss Keene, and why. She said she would like to talk with this person on behalf of Miss Keene.”
“You did not arrange such a meeting?”
“Sister was tempted. The woman seemed so sincere in her concern. But at the last minute sister felt it was not right.”
“Thank the Lord for that.”
“We expect the woman to return Friday at two.”
“Then you may expect me Friday at one.”
Determined to conquer his lowness of spirits, Edward dragged his weary limbs up the many stairs to the nursery. He had not gone as often as late, and he knew the reason. But a visit with his young cousins might cheer him.
He found only Nurse Peale, sitting motionless on her rocking chair, staring vaguely ahead.
“Hello, Miss Peale,” he said kindly. “How are you getting on?”
“Master Edward, my dear boy.”
“Where are the children?”
“Becky took the older two outside. Alexander is down for his nap.”
He nodded, then asked, “You were here when I was born, is that not right?”
She smiled, her eyes strangely bright and distant. “That I was. Monthly nurse for your poor mamma. How is Lady Brightwell? Still sad as ever?”
He hesitated. It struck him hard to realize the mind of his stalwart nurse was failing, but on impulse he decided not to remind her of recent events. “Quite so. Why is she sad, Miss Peale?”
“Foolish boy, because her babies died.” She looked past him at some unseen object or memory.
His breath caught. “All of them, Miss Peale?”
She sighed. “All of them.”
He gently asked, “Did you mind when they took me as their own?”
“Why should I? They said I could stay on as your nurse and at quite high wages in the bargain.” She glanced up at him. “Do you know I earn more than Hodges? Mrs. Hinkley once remarked upon it.” She cackled. “I would have stayed for less. I loved ya the moment I saw ya. So like Alexander.”
“Yes,” he murmured, trying to keep the concern from his expression and tone. “You were a very good nurse and have served our family well.”
She nodded, her eyes clouding in confusion. Had she just realized she had admitted something she was never to divulge?
Another thought startled him. Could she have written the letters? Confused as she was? He realized he would not know her writing if he saw it. Had he ever seen it? But something Miss Keene once said whispered in his mind.
He said, “Yes, you were an excellent nurse, but you never learnt to read and write, did you?”
She shook her head. “I can’t lie to you, Master Edward.” She winced. “But pray don’t tell. It has been my shameful secret all these years.”
That secret she kept, he thought, somewhat cynically.
“What was my mother’s name?” he asked, deciding to take advantage of her current state of mind.
Nurse Peale shook her head slowly, eyes far away again. “Poor Alice Croome . . .”
His heart jerked. Croome? It cannot be. Had Croome a wife? Daughter? Niece? He had not thought it.
“Is that her name?” he pressed. “Is my mother Alice Croome?”
Nurse Peale looked up sharply, mouth stern and a fire in her eyes that would have set him quaking as a lad. “Your mother is Lady Brightwell, of course,” she snapped. “ ‘Who is my mother . . . ?’ What nonsense!”
Chapter 43
The most fashionable [school] was Mrs. Devis’s in Queen square,
where dancing masters, music masters and drawing masters
were much in evidence.
—RUTH BRANDON, GOVERNESS , THE LIVES AND TIMES OF
THEREAL JANE EYRES
Olivia spent an anxious few days with her aunt and grandmother before Lord Brightwell came for the promised return to St. Aldwyns.
When the carriage arrived at the school and Lord Brightwell again went to the door alone, Miss Kirby seemed more agitated and nervous than ever. “Oh! It is you, Lord Brightwell. I feared it might be that veiled woman returning once more.”
“She has already been here? It is not even one o’clock.”
“She came early. And was very vexed when I would not tell her what she wished to learn. You have only just missed her.”
Olivia, still ensconced in the nearby carriage, looked out the chaise’s rear window and glimpsed a figure in a dark cape, hat, and full veil step into a waiting carriage parked along the high street. Her stomach lurched. Had she just missed her mother?
“My sister has gone to pick up a new pupil from the afternoon coach,” Miss Kirby said. “If you would care to return in, say, an hour’s time?”
“Thank you. Might my ward and I tour the seminary while we wait?”
Hearing her cue, Olivia let herself down from the carriage.
Miss Kirby watched her approach with owl eyes. She faltered. “I don’t . . . That is, this is not really a convenient time, my lord. My sister not being here, you understand. And I am wanted in class in three minutes’ time. The dancing master departs at one sharp.”