скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Did she? Then the house didn’t like her,’ said Octavia without thinking. ‘That’s why she had to go.’
Lisette gave her a puzzled look, but didn’t stay to ask what she had meant. She ran across the lawn and into the house, and Octavia was left to contemplate her inheritance…It was quite extraordinary—Wychford seemed to be smiling! How could a house smile? Of course it couldn’t! It was just that the window-panes were twinkling in the sunlight.
She had a sudden vision of her aunt’s gipsy-black eyes staring at her, then turning to rest thoughtfully first on her father, and then on Lady Dorney, last spring. What had been in Aunt Carstairs’s mind? Here at Wychford Octavia suddenly saw what an excellent thing it would be if her father and his cousin decided to marry. They had always been close, and Lady Dorney was a caring, loving woman who needed companionship and someone to look after. Yes, it would be ideal. But it would never happen. Papa was too set in his ways—it simply wouldn’t occur to him to ask.
The windows were still twinkling, still reminding her of those black eyes. What a strange house it was! Octavia’s thoughts returned to her father. What if Lady Dorney could be persuaded to take her place for a while—two months, say? It might occur to her papa that his Cousin Marjorie was more comfortable to be with, more patient, easier to talk to, someone nearer to his own generation…
Two months. Would it be long enough? She was sorely tempted to try. She liked these Barraclough girls, and felt she could do something for them, especially as their uncle seemed to be something of a martinet. Should she go along with their assumption that she was a prospective governess?
Octavia jumped up and took a firm hold of herself. Twinkling windows, gipsy-black eyes, marriages, pretending to be a governess—where was her common sense? It was a mad idea! Her day of freedom had gone to her head! She would go inside to meet Edward Barraclough, and would inform him of her true identity before the mistake went any further. As Lisette approached her across the lawn the sun seemed to go in and Wychford’s window-panes were dull. There was an air of reproach about the house and Octavia had an absurd feeling of guilt.
Lisette led her through the oak door and into the hall. Octavia kept a firm hold on her imagination as she looked about her. The house was not huge and the hall was of manageable size, with a large refectory table down the middle and a fireplace at each end. It had a superb plaster ceiling and two massive, symmetrically placed, brass chandeliers. A handsome oak staircase led to the upper storey, with a gallery leading to the bed-chambers. But Lisette led her through the hall and on into a room at the far end. This was some kind of parlour or morning room, and it was reassuringly normal. A fire burned invitingly in the hearth, and the furniture was obviously meant for comfort rather than style. Octavia was invited to sit down.
‘I…er…I don’t think I will yet,’ said Octavia. ‘Not before I see your uncle.’
The door opened and Pip burst in. ‘Here she is, Edward!’ she cried. ‘Please say she’s suitable!’
A tall, broad-shouldered man followed her into the room. Though he was younger than she had imagined, he looked…dangerous, with an uncompromising chin and a hard mouth. He was quite handsome, though his nose looked as if it might have been broken in a fight. Black hair, clear grey eyes, and a tanned complexion. A small scar lifted the outer corner of one eyebrow and gave him a faintly devilish look. His expression was not welcoming. Oh, yes! thought Octavia. If this was a fairy tale, then here was the ogre!
Mr Barraclough stopped and gazed at her for a moment, coolly assessing her. Octavia became conscious that her person was slight, and not very tall, that her dress was unimpressive, that one or two of her honey-gold curls had escaped from her bonnet and were now tumbling over her shoulders. She flushed angrily under his gaze and wished she had taken time to tidy herself. As he came towards her his stride was arrogantly athletic, his air one of impatience.
‘Edward Barraclough,’ he said curtly. ‘May I have your name?’
‘Certainly, sir. I am Octavia Petrie.’
‘Well, Miss Petrie, I don’t know how you heard so quickly about the post of governess here, but I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. You’re not at all what I’m looking for.’
‘You are quite wrong—’
‘Am I? Whatever you may have said to charm my niece, give me one good reason why I should employ a woman who arrives on my doorstep—’
‘I don’t wish—’
Mr Barraclough swept on. ‘Arrives on my doorstep without warning, hoping to be engaged on the spot.’
Octavia forgot her embarrassment. ‘I should have thought that was exactly what you required, sir,’ she said tartly. ‘From what your nieces say, you need someone rather urgently. Or am I mistaken?’
Mr Barraclough stopped. He looked at her again, this time speculatively. ‘No, it’s true that we need someone…’ After a pause he said slowly, ‘Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you’re not the pretty featherhead you look. You sound mighty sure of yourself.’
‘Featherhead!’ Octavia took a deep breath. ‘Really, sir! I assure you I am far from being a featherhead. Nor, unlike others I have met, am I a blockhead! Permit me to tell you—’
Mr Barraclough interrupted her yet again, but to Octavia’s astonishment, instead of taking offence at her words, he laughed and nodded in approval as he said, ‘That tone was fierce enough…And you’re quick. There might be more to you than I thought.’
Octavia replied, ‘I can be much fiercer than that, I assure you, sir! Not that I wish—’
‘Edward, do say she may stay! Please!’ called Pip from her perch on the window-sill. ‘She doesn’t believe in lists. She wouldn’t need to be fierce with us. I’m sure I could behave well if she was my governess.’
‘It is only for two months, Edward.’
Lisette’s intervention seemed to give Mr Barraclough pause. He looked at Lisette sharply. ‘You’d like her to stay, too? It isn’t just because you’re sorry for her?’
Lisette shook her head and said emphatically, ‘I think she would be absolutely right for us.’
Octavia could see that Mr Barraclough was impressed by Lisette’s words, and decided that it was high time she said something. ‘I’m sorry, but I must tell y—’
‘What are your qualifications?’ he asked. ‘I suppose you have some?’
Octavia was once more annoyed by his tone. He could do with a lesson or two in good manners himself, she thought. ‘I think I may say that I am qualified to teach the necessary skills,’ she said coldly, remembering all the expensive tutors and governesses insisted on by her mother, her sojourn at a highly exclusive Seminary for Young Ladies. ‘But that’s not the point—’
‘I suppose I’d be satisfied as long as you can keep them safe and happy, and under control. Can you do that? You wouldn’t have to teach them very much. Lisette is to come out next year, but I expect her aunt will see that she knows how to behave in Society.’
‘I do know something of that, too, but—’
‘This would be the very highest society, Miss Petrie. I wouldn’t expect or ask you to cope with that. I don’t suppose Mrs Barraclough would want you to teach Lisette the manners of some Dame’s School or other. She would want better.’
While Octavia was choking at hearing a Seminary that had been patronised by the cream of the English aristocracy described as ‘some Dame’s School,’ he went on, ‘Well, I suppose we could try you. If you’ll come into the library I’ll give you the terms and so on. You’ll find the salary generous, but the appointment is only for a short time—eight or nine weeks at the most. You do know that, do you?’
‘Your niece did say something of the kind. But I didn’t come—’
‘Good! Then it’s settled. Come through to the library.’
Am I never to be allowed to finish a sentence? Octavia asked herself. This Mr Barraclough absolutely deserves to be deceived! She looked at the two Barraclough girls, Pip nodding her head and almost falling off her perch with excitement, Lisette smiling for the first time since they had met, her wonderful eyes glowing with pleasure. Gipsy-black eyes hovered at the back of her mind…sparkling window-panes…To her astonishment she found herself saying, ‘Very well, sir,’ and meekly followed ‘the ogre’ into the library.
Chapter Four
At the end of her interview with Mr Barraclough Octavia fervently hoped that Lady Dorney had been sincere in what she had said. She wasn’t sure whether she had succumbed to the force of Mr Barraclough’s powerful personality, or to the equally powerful force of this strange house. But to her bewilderment she found she had agreed to come back in four days’ time, complete with suitable references, to take up duties as a governess companion to the Barraclough girls. The ‘ogre’ had proved to be more accommodating than she would have imagined—or perhaps more desperate. After she had explained that she would like to keep an eye on an elderly relative who lived some distance away, she was promised two days a month, together with the use of the gig.
However, Mr Barraclough had made it all too clear that he was still not convinced that she could manage. This poor opinion of her abilities so annoyed Octavia that, as she took her leave of the Barracloughs, she swore to herself that she would prove him wrong if it was the last thing she did!
She refused the girls’ offers to accompany her down the drive, and set off in good time to be at the gate when Will Gifford came to pick her up. Having committed herself to a totally mad impersonation, she wanted to make sure it was carried through without any hitches, and Will and the gig were a potential giveaway. Most chance-met governesses did not leave in a well-cared-for gig with a groom who treated them with the deferential familiarity of an old servant!
Perhaps ‘impersonation’ was not the word—escapade was more like it. After all, she was not impersonating anyone else, and she had given Mr Barraclough her real name, if not her proper title. And though she had never sought employment of any kind, she was fully competent to look after two girls for two months, whatever their uncle thought. She would earn the very generous salary he had promised her…
But she still couldn’t understand why on earth she had agreed to do it! The house must have bewitched her. She stopped, turned and looked at it again. Wychford was once again sparkling and smiling in the sunlight. Perhaps there was more to the stories about the house than she had realised? Perhaps Aunt Carstairs had been the witch she and Harry had thought her! Why had she left her house to Octavia? Had she seen her goddaughter’s restlessness, yet understood Octavia’s reluctance to marry simply to escape from Ashcombe? It was possible.
But even the Witch of Wychford couldn’t have foreseen the Barracloughs and their problem. Or…could she?
As Octavia walked on down the drive she was thinking of the last time she had seen Aunt Carstairs. They had said their farewells and the footmen were waiting to assist the old lady into her carriage. But just before she got in her aunt had turned round to take Octavia’s hand and say, ‘Be patient, child. Rescue is at hand.’ Then, as the carriage prepared to drive off, she had put her head out of the window and added with a crow of laughter, ‘There’s even a hero in prospect, though you’ll take time to recognise him.’
Octavia was turning these words over in her mind now as she drew near the gates of Wychford. A hero? Not among the Barracloughs, that was certain! Edward Barraclough was not only already married, he was the opposite of all her ideals. Dark, abrupt, discourteous, and not much gaiety about him…Anyone less like Tom Payne would be difficult to imagine! No blond prince among the Barracloughs, then. So where? Perhaps one of the local neighbours had a son…But how could she meet him if she was an employee, a governess at Wychford? Octavia gave a sigh. Surely Aunt Carstairs could have managed better than this! But as Will Gifford drove up she laughed out loud. She was beginning to believe her own nonsense!
Octavia got back to Ashcombe in daylight and, wasting no time before setting her plans in motion, invited Lady Dorney to have tea with her in private. ‘It’s an age since I saw Papa so happy, ma’am,’ she began as they sat down in her parlour. ‘You are so good for him.’
Lady Dorney looked at her with amusement. ‘I’m glad to hear that. But I believe I know you too well to think it an idle remark,’ she murmured. ‘Tell me, what plans are you hatching in that pretty head of yours? I don’t believe you invited me here just to pay me compliments. Incidentally, you, too, look happier—excited even. What happened today?’
Octavia hesitated, then launched into an account of her adventures. When she reached the point where Edward Barraclough said that she wasn’t the featherhead he had thought, Lady Dorney was so amused that she nearly dropped her cup.
‘So when did you tell him that, far from being an indigent governess in search of a post, you were the daughter of the Earl of Warnham, and the owner of the house he was renting?’
‘I didn’t. I haven’t.’
‘What? Why on earth not?’
Octavia took a breath and said defiantly, ‘I’ve agreed to begin as their governess in four days’ time.’
‘But how can you possibly manage that? Rupert would never agree! To say nothing of pretending to be something you are not! No, no! You can’t do it, Octavia!’
‘I could. With a little help from you, ma’am.’
‘Your papa will never consent.’
‘I wouldn’t ask him. I would tell him that it was as he feared—Wychford needs further attention than I thought, that I need to spend some time seeing to it. It’s not quite a lie, ma’am!’
‘It’s not the truth, either! What do you think he would feel if he learned that his daughter was working as a governess?’
‘I don’t suppose he ever will. At the end of two months I’ll come back here and take up my old life again. But I wish I could explain to you…Those children need me, ma’am.’
‘So does your father. How will you persuade him to do without you?’
‘Ah! That’s where the favour comes in.’
‘Tell me!’
‘Well, you did say that you’d like to stay longer this time. And if you were here Papa wouldn’t miss me nearly as much. Our housekeeper is perfectly competent, and the servants are all familiar with the routine of the house…’
‘If you are suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, the answer is no, Octavia! I won’t do it! Take charge of this house? Certainly not!’
‘You needn’t take charge, exactly—just be here. I could come back regularly to see that everything is working, though I’m sure it won’t be necessary. Please say you will, ma’am!’
Lady Dorney said somewhat coolly, ‘You realise, I hope, what I would be risking? Rupert and I have always been good friends. He would hardly believe it if he found out that I had helped you to deceive him. He would certainly be distressed. It might well mean the end of our friendship!’
‘It won’t! I swear it won’t. I just have a feeling…Cousin Marjorie, please do this! I know I am asking a lot. I can’t even explain why it is so important to me. Perhaps it’s the escape I’ve been looking for. Please help me!’
Lady Dorney hesitated, started to speak, then stopped again. Octavia waited in silence. At last her cousin said, ‘I’ve tried to persuade you so often to escape that I suppose I can hardly refuse to help you now. And I haven’t actually made any plans for the autumn, nor for the winter either. I don’t imagine I’ll be missed at Lutworth…’ She sighed, then sat up and said with decision, ‘Very well! I’ll do it! I’ll stay for two months. But I think I am as mad as you!’
With Lady Dorney’s help Octavia was on her way back to Wychford less than a week after her first fateful visit there. Will Gifford was once again her companion on the journey, but this time he would return to Ashcombe without her. At the back of the gig was a small valise with a selection of Octavia’s simplest dresses. Her hair was severely drawn back under an unadorned bonnet, her cape was of drab grey cloth plainly cut, and her gloves and boots serviceable rather than elegant. Lady Octavia Petrie, youngest child of one of the richest families in the south of England, and heiress in her own right of a handsome estate, had been replaced with simple Miss Petrie, newly engaged governess-companion to the Misses Barraclough.
A casual observer would not have known just how nervous she was. Her outward demeanour was composed and quietly confident. But the spirit of adventure had not disappeared. Inside Octavia was an unholy mixture of anticipation, apprehension, surprise at her own daring, and exhilaration at her escape. Two months. Two months to find out what she really wanted of life.
If anything, Wychford seemed more welcoming than ever. The day was overcast, but as the gig approached a fleeting ray of sunshine was reflected in those extraordinary windows. The house was smiling its quizzical smile. Lisette was hovering on the lawn, clearly waiting for her arrival. And as Octavia stepped out of the gig, Pip climbed down from the nearest tree. They took her over, Pip leading her to the door like a small tug in charge of a clipper, Lisette giving orders to the housekeeper.
‘We’ve given you a room near mine,’ said Pip. ‘Not exactly in the tower but nearby. Did you know that the old lady who used to live here was a witch? Mrs Dutton wasn’t here then, she lived in the next village, but she says all the villagers here were frightened of Mrs Carstairs.’
‘Really?’ As they went through the oak doors Octavia once again had the strange feeling that the house was enfolding her, welcoming her. ‘I think she must have been a good witch, Pip,’ she said, smiling. ‘Wychford is a friendly house. Don’t you agree?’
As a daughter of the Earl of Warnham Octavia had been accustomed all her life to the deference due to her rank and her wealth. But it was not difficult now for her to maintain her ‘disguise’. She was neither arrogant nor conceited, and she had more than her fair share of charm. Her normal, easy, matter-of-fact manner served her very well with everyone at Wychford. Everyone, that is, except the master of the household. She was still very much on trial as far as he was concerned, and more than once Octavia found herself biting back an unbecoming response when he made one of his critical remarks.
Fortunately he was frequently away on short visits to London. She learned that there had been three Barraclough brothers. John, the eldest and father of Lisette and Pip, had inherited a wealthy plantation on Antigua. Henry, the second son, also had land in the West Indies and was still over there. But Edward Barraclough, the youngest, had had little taste for plantation life, and when he had inherited a fortune made in banking by his uncle he had travelled the world. Now he apparently intended to settle permanently in England. At the moment he was attending meetings in the Foreign Office, advising the experts there on affairs in the Americas.
There had been some sort of plan for Lisette to marry the son of one of their neighbours in Antigua. But John Barraclough had suddenly changed his mind and decided to bring both girls over to England, where Lisette would be presented to London society. They had been busy with arrangements for the trip, when tragically both parents had been killed when their carriage had gone off the road, and the girls had been left orphaned. Their guardians, John’s surviving brothers, had decided to carry out John’s wishes, which was why they were now in England. But, the day before they left Antigua, Mrs Barraclough had slipped and broken her leg, and the girls had had to sail without their aunt. So the present plan was that the girls should live at Wychford in the care of a governess-companion until Mrs Barraclough could join them all there.
Octavia pieced this all together from what she learned in her first week at Wychford. Not from Lisette, who tended to be somewhat reserved, but from her sister. Discretion was not a word in Pip’s vocabulary. Once she had decided that Miss Petrie was a friend, she confided everything she knew of her family’s affairs quite freely.
One fine autumnal afternoon, after a morning’s work in the schoolroom, Octavia and Pip were walking in the woods behind the house. Lisette had stayed behind to finish a book she was reading.
‘You know, Miss Petrie, I think Uncle Henry was quite glad when Aunt Julia broke her leg,’ announced Pip.
Shocked, Octavia stopped short and looked at her. ‘What was that?’ she asked.
‘I said that I think Uncle Henry was glad Aunt Julia had broken her leg,’ Pip repeated patiently.
‘But that’s a dreadful thing to say, Pip! How could he be?’
‘It meant that he had to stay behind to look after her. Uncle Henry didn’t want to come to England, you know, and Aunt Julia’s broken leg meant he had to stay in Antigua a bit longer.’
‘But…I’m not sure I understand. If your Uncle Henry was so reluctant to leave the West Indies, why was it necessary for him to come at all? Surely your Aunt Julia and Uncle Edward would have been enough?’
‘That’s what Uncle Henry wanted. But Aunt Julia wouldn’t hear of it. She said Edward couldn’t be trusted to do the thing properly without the rest of the family to keep an eye on him.’
‘Tell me, if you call your uncle “Edward”, why don’t you call your aunt “Julia”?’
‘Oh, we couldn’t! She’s much older than he is! She looks a bit like Miss Froom.’
‘Really?’ Octavia was surprised. Older than he was, and looking a bit like Miss Froom? It seemed a most unlikely wife for Edward Barraclough.
Pip went on, ‘She and Edward don’t like each other very much. It’s easy to tell when people don’t. They’re always extremely polite to each other.’
Octavia pulled herself together and decided it was more than time for a proper governess to stem these confidences. ‘Philippa, you should not tell me such things. What happens between husband and wife is not for the outside world to know.’
‘What do you mean?’ Pip looked puzzled at first, then bent over in a fit of giggles. ‘Miss Petrie! You don’t think…You don’t think Aunt Julia is married to Edward, do you?’
‘Of course I do! Isn’t he?’
Pip went off into another paroxysm of giggles. ‘He’d rather die! He said so! Aunt Julia is Uncle Henry’s wife! And I once heard Edward telling Papa that he would never know why Uncle Henry had married such a sour-faced prune!’
Octavia bit her lip and managed to say severely, ‘Philippa! You must not, you really must not, repeat things like that, especially not to me! I’m sure your uncle would be very vexed to know that you had heard his words, and even angrier to know you were repeating them! Or even talking about him at all!’
‘Would he?’
‘Of course he would!’
‘Then I won’t say any more. I like Edward. But let me tell you this one thing. He isn’t married, Miss Petrie. Lisette is sorry for him. She thinks he must have a broken heart, but I think that’s rubbish. Some of the prettiest ladies in Antigua made a fuss of him, but he never paid them any attention. I was glad, I didn’t like any of them much. I want him to marry someone nice.’ She looked confidingly up at Octavia. ‘You would do very well, Miss Petrie. I’d like Edward to marry you. You’ll have to set your cap at him.’
Octavia gasped. What would the child say next? Choking back another urge to burst into laughter, she said sternly, ‘That’s enough! You must never let me hear you use such a vulgar expression again, Philippa! Where on earth did you pick it up?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘To accuse someone of setting her cap at someone is not at all the thing. It’s not only vulgar, it’s unkind. You mustn’t use the expression.’
