Page 5 of The Governess and the Rogue (Somerset Stories #6)

Chapter Four

B ea held tight to Brent’s small hand as she and the children navigated the crowded deck the next morning.

The weather was less than ideal for a promenade, but the roar of the wind and the crash of the churning sea were no deterrent to the passengers.

Not when the sun was shining so brilliantly. And certainly not for Bea.

The Pera had no formal schoolroom. Given the children’s bottomless wells of energy, she’d long concluded that most days during their long voyage were better spent out of doors.

“Why is Damian allowed to run?” Brent demanded, seeing his identical brother trot ahead.

“He is not allowed.” Bea extended her free hand to the errant twin. “Damian? Here, if you please.”

Damian slowed just long enough for Bea to catch up with him. He grudgingly took her outstretched hand. “This is no fun,” he grumbled.

Albermarle Junior stalked beside them, hands thrust into the pockets of his short pants. “Miss Layton wouldn’t know fun if it bit her in her backside,” he said beneath his breath.

Bea directed a stern look at the boy. “Enough of that,” she said. “You would do well to set an example for your brothers.”

“What do you know about it?” Albermarle Junior retorted. “My brothers and I should have a tutor, not a nursemaid.”

Lilith giggled. “A nursemaid,” she echoed gleefully, twirling her parasol over her shoulder. The delicate lace canopy bowed in the wind. “That’s Miss Layton to a nicety.”

“I said enough,” Bea repeated firmly. “You may resume reciting your multiplication tables.”

Lilith’s expression soured. For her, mathematical exercises were akin to a punishment. “I don’t know why I must. I have no need of them.”

“Every young lady has need of them,” Bea returned.

“And every wife and mother too. When you have a household of your own, it will be left to you to oversee the accounts and to balance the ledgers. How do you propose to do that without a thorough education in addition, subtraction, and multiplication? You were on fours, I believe.”

Lilith’s lower lip crept out in a final show of rebellion, even as she resumed her recitation. “Four times two is eight,” she said. “Four times three is twelve. Four times…”

Bea listened, offering assistance as needed, as she and the children passed from the ship’s bow to its stern. Sea air billowed over the deck in gusts, whipping at their clothes and hair.

When Lilith had finished, it was Albermarle’s turn, and then Brent’s and Damian’s, the older children offering help (if somewhat uncharitably) whenever the younger ones faltered.

It wasn’t book learning, imparted in a stuffy classroom with desks, slates, and primers. But Bea had been taught that a governess should never instruct from a book alone. To engage the rational mind of a child, a governess must excite their imagination too.

“Well done,” Bea said. “What about those chairs? How many of them are there, Brent?”

The little boy took a painstaking accounting. “Twelve,” he answered at last.

“And what happens if the steward were to take five of them away?” Bea asked. “How many chairs would remain? Albermarle Junior?”

“Seven, of course,” Albermarle Junior replied pettishly.

“And if another steward added back ten? Lilith?”

The little girl turned to examine the water, refusing to reply.

A seagull squawked from one of the masts overhead. Another answered. The high-pitched cries were coupled with the roar of the sea and the swell of conversation around them.

Bea had to raise her voice over the din. “Do you require my help in working it out?” she asked.

Lilith jerked her head back with a scowl. The ribbons on her leghorn bonnet danced in the wind. “It’s seventeen, obviously,” she pronounced with dripping disdain.

“Excellent,” Bea said.

“Tedious,” Lilith retorted. “I prefer to practice my French.”

No doubt she did. It was Bea’s weakest subject. “And we shall,” Bea said. “Later.”

Lilith came to an abrupt halt. A crowd of ladies stood nearby, conversing beneath the protection of the ship’s awning.

Among them were Mrs. Rawson, Mrs. Farraday, and Mrs. Farraday’s raven-haired daughter, Rowena.

The latter wore a fashionable, braid-trimmed skirt and jacket, looking far more beautiful than any female had a right to look during a long voyage at sea.

“Naturally, he was the handsomest gentleman in Cairo,” Mrs. Farraday was saying.

She was dark-haired like her daughter, with equally dark eyes and a sharp blade of an aquiline nose.

“That’s never been disputed. But then, his father is famous for his handsomeness.

And his brothers too. They are, on the whole, an exceptionally good-looking family. ”

Mrs. Rawson chuckled. A heavyset elderly woman, she was distinguished by the copious jewels that adorned her person, and by the overfed Maltese dog she carried tucked under one arm.

“A rich one too. Your daughter would have been very well looked after had she managed to secure an offer from him in Cairo last year.”

“All is not lost,” Mrs. Farraday said. “My Rowena’s beauty will yet win the day.”

Lilith shot the ladies a calculating glance from beneath her parasol.

Bea’s stomach sank. She knew that look. And it wasn’t inspired by the ladies’ conversation. It was inspired by the mere fact of their presence. Taken altogether, they provided the exact thing that Lilith Dimsdale was seeking. An audience.

“Not later!” Lilith raised her voice, punctuating her words with a stamp of her booted foot. “Now!”

“Lilith,” Bea began. “This is neither the time nor the?—”

“I will not be addressed with impudence!” Lilith interrupted in a fair imitation of her mother. “You weren’t brought with us to teach us math. You’re a governess! Governesses teach French. Don’t you know French, Miss Layton? Parlez-vous francais? ”

The group of ladies abandoned their conversation to turn and stare.

Bea stifled a surge of mortification. “Young lady,” she said quietly. “You’re causing a scene. If you don’t cease this instant, I shall?—”

“ Tu comprends? ” Lilith continued. “ Imbécile! ”

The ladies tittered with amusement. All except for Miss Farraday. She only smiled. Detaching herself from the others, she glided toward them.

“Bravo,” she said to Lilith. “ Tu parles très bien francais. ”

Lilith beamed back at her with near angelic innocence. “ Merci, Mademoiselle. ”

“Perhaps you might walk with us until luncheon?” Miss Farraday suggested. “We could practice our French phrases together. If your governess will permit?” She looked to Bea. “I would be happy to return her to the dining saloon afterward.”

Bea held tight to the twins’ sweaty hands. Under other circumstances, she’d have resented the challenge to her authority. But Miss Farraday’s interference appeared kindly meant.

That didn’t prevent Bea from feeling a stab of self-consciousness. Her drab wool dress and severely plaited coiffure stood in sharp contrast to Miss Farraday’s fashionable ensemble.

“She may,” Bea said. “If she behaves herself.”

Lilith reddened. “I don’t require her permission,” she told Miss Farraday as they joined the other ladies. “My mother says that…”

Bea remained standing with the boys, hearing Lilith’s words drift off as she and the ladies strolled away, and marking the laughter that followed. Her face went hot with embarrassment.

This was what she’d become. An object of derision. A person to be struck. To be laughed at.

Oh, why had she ever taken this job with the Dimsdales! Better she had stayed in India. At least there she’d have had her dignity.

But dignity was poor recompense when one was without food and lodgings. When one was starving, destitute, alone.

Brent tugged at her right hand. “Come on!”

Damian pulled at her left one, directing her attention upward to the birds that were circling the ship en masse. “How many seagulls are in the sky, Miss Layton? Can you count that high?”

“In French?” Albermarle Junior suggested.

“No more math today,” Bea said. “We shall turn our attention to botany.”

“No!” Brent protested.

“We’re at sea,” Albermarle Junior said. “There are no trees or plants to examine here.”

“There are potted palms in the grand saloon,” Bea said. “Those will suffice for our lesson.”

* * *

An hour and a half later, after depositing the three boys in the dining saloon, Bea had just enough time to return to her shared cabin to make herself fit to join them. Pearl was already there, doing the same.

“I tore my stockings crawling under the bed to fetch Mrs. Rawson’s sewing bag,” Pearl said as she rolled on a fresh pair. “Goodness knows how it got there. I suspect Benjamin must have carried it off.” She glanced at Bea. Her eyes widened. “What happened to you?”

“The twins pressed their muddy hands all over my skirts during our botany lesson.” Bea wet a sponge in the basin to clean away the dried dirt. “And my plaits weren’t equal to the wind on the deck. I appear as though I’ve been caught in a hurricane.”

Pearl stood to assist her. “Let me,” she said, setting to work on Bea’s hair.

“I can manage.”

“Rubbish. We both know you’re only given ten minutes to eat. It’ll be five minutes now you’ve had to set yourself to rights. And no minutes at all unless I help you.” Pearl speedily re-plaited Bea’s tangled locks, securing them in a neat coil at her nape. “There. All done.”

“Thank you.” Bea flashed her a grateful smile as she finished sponging her skirt. It was damp now where the mud had been, but taken altogether a wet skirt was preferable to a filthy one.

“Have you talked to Mr. Dimsdale yet?” Pearl asked, crossing to the door.

“Not yet.” Bea tossed the sponge into the basin. She hadn’t time to rinse it. Not if she hoped to eat. Giving her skirts a final shake, she followed Pearl out of the cabin. “I can do nothing until he summons me.”

“So long as you do something ,” Pearl said.