The Mysteries of Pendowar Hall (The Audacious Sisterhood of Smoke & Fire #1)

Chapter Four

L ight streamed in through the schoolroom windows, casting a golden net across the oak bookcases that lined the walls.

The chamber was generously proportioned and furnished with old desks, two scarred tables, and several upholstered chairs. A blackboard hung on one wall, a framed map of the world on another. Opposite the stone fireplace stood an old upright piano. A cupboard held various supplies: sketchbooks, writing implements, and slates.

As Diana assembled the materials she required for the morning lesson, her mind whirred with the implications of her conversation with Mr. Nankervis.

“All I know is I wouldn’t put much stock in what the parish constable said.”

The gardener apparently didn’t have much faith in the ruling in Sir Thomas’s death. Neither, it seemed, did Mr. Emity. “That is one interpretation of the event,” he’d said.

Where there is smoke, there’s fire… Diana’s childhood desire to resolve matters, to unearth the truth, sizzled to the surface of her mind. Was it possible, as Mrs. Phillips suspected, that foul play had been involved? Diana still didn’t believe it—but she needed to find the parish constable and speak to him.

Before she could proceed further with that notion, Mrs. Gwynn’s voice rang out from the corridor. “Get in there, you!”

A girl stalked into the room and ground to a halt, eyes downcast, her entire body radiating defiance.

“We found Miss Fallbrook,” the housekeeper announced unnecessarily, her arms crossed over her large bosom. “Been traipsing all over the beach, she was. Give Miss Taylor a proper greeting now.”

“How do you do, Miss Taylor?” Miss Fallbrook stated through clenched teeth.

She looked younger than her fifteen years. A mass of long, light-brown hair, which looked recently brushed and was partially tied back by a black ribbon, cascaded down her back and shoulders, framing a face that might have been pretty if not for the intense scowl that pervaded it. A finely made black crepe dress hugged her slender frame, clean and neat in every respect except for the hem, which was four inches deep in damp sand and dirt. She clutched a small drawstring bag in tense fingers.

“Hello, Miss Fallbrook.” Diana stepped forward with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Miss Fallbrook kept her gazed fixed on the carpet.

“Be a good girl and don’t give this woman any trouble,” Mrs. Gwynn commanded. “Good luck, Miss Taylor,” she muttered as she spun and left the room.

“So,” Diana said cheerfully, “you’ve been walking on the beach?”

“What of it?” the young woman retorted. “ You’ve been walking in the gardens.”

“Oh? Did you notice me when I was out and about?”

“No. But it’s obvious where you’ve been.”

“How so?”

“Your boots are damp. And there’s a blade of grass on your toe.”

“So there is.” What a clever observation , Diana thought. Nodding towards the drawstring bag in the girl’s grasp, she added, “What have you there?”

“Nothing.” Miss Fallbrook clutched the bag more tightly.

“Well, then. Let’s get started, shall we? Please take a seat. ”

“I’d rather go back outside.”

“It is always pleasant to be outside, but our lessons will take place in the schoolroom.”

“Why?”

“Because the schoolroom is quiet and conducive to study.”

“I don’t want to study. I don’t need a governess.”

“Captain Fallbrook feels differently.”

“Cousin William doesn’t know what I need. Until four months ago, he was almost always away at sea.”

“He is here now, and he is in charge of your welfare.”

“I have already learned all I need to know.”

“We shall see about that. Sit down at this table, please.”

Heaving a sigh, Miss Fallbrook plunked down reluctantly into a chair, still clenching the mysterious bag in her lap.

Diana sat down across from her. “I’d like to begin by saying how sorry I was to hear about your father.”

Something flickered in the young woman’s eyes, hinting at the grief and pain that simmered beneath the surface. But she said nothing.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time.”

“What would you know about it?” Miss Fallbrook snapped.

“My father passed away last year. My mother died when I was seven.” At least Diana had a few cherished memories of her mother. Miss Fallbrook, whose mother had died in childbirth, had none.

The young lady softened a fraction. “How did your mother die?”

“She had a stroke.”

“And your father?”

“His heart gave out.”

Miss Fallbrook seemed to go somewhere else in her mind for a moment. Was she thinking about her own father, who had, apparently, killed himself? How that must weigh on her! It was not a topic to broach at this meeting, however.

“I have brought you something.” From the pocket in her skirts, Diana brought forth a small object wrapped in silver paper and lay it on the table before her student.

Miss Fallbrook stared at it suspiciously. “What is that?”

“A gift.” Diana always liked to bring something to her new charges and had worried over what to bring a girl of fifteen. “If you don’t like it, you needn’t feel obliged to keep it.”

Miss Fallbrook unwrapped the item. It was a white seashell, about five centimeters long and abruptly truncated on one side. “Oh!”

“Your aunt, Eliza—my godmother—said you liked walking on the beach, so I took a chance and brought the only seashell in my possession. I don’t know what it’s called—”

“A blunt gaper.”

“A what?”

“It’s called a blunt gaper. I have lots of these, but they’re all brown. I have never seen a white one.” Miss Fallbrook studied it before placing it on the table. After a brief hesitation, she opened the bag on her lap and withdrew a seashell with dark-brown spirals. “Here’s a dogwhelk I just found.”

“How lovely.” Diana smiled inwardly. Apparently, she had brought her pupil the perfect gift.

“Dogwhelks come in all sorts of colors. They like rocky shores. To get the best shells, you must go when the tide is out. Do you want to see a painted topshell?” One by one, Miss Fallbrook lined up the contents of her bag atop the table, sharing a few details about each.

“Where did you learn so much about seashells?”

“From Miss Darby.”

“Was Miss Darby one of your governesses?”

“My second. Miss Emsley was the third. Miss Doré was the fourth. Then came Miss Sullivan, and so on.”

“Which number governess am I?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen governesses!” Diana inhaled sharply and shook her head. “ My goodness.”

“Papa said I would win the award for the most governesses of any girl in Cornwall.” Miss Fallbrook frowned at this. Her guard, which had temporarily lifted while she’d talked about seashells, went up again. Darkly, she added, “You won’t stay long, either.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you.” Diana struggled to keep her voice matter of fact. “Let’s get a sense now of where you are academically. What is your favorite subject?”

“Art,” Miss Fallbrook replied instantly.

“Art is a pleasant accomplishment for a young lady. Do you like arithmetic?”

“No.”

“Have you learnt any French?”

“ Bien s?r. Bonjour, mademoiselle. Comment allez-vous aujourd’hui? ” She spoke in perfect French.

They exchanged a brief dialogue, which confirmed Miss Fallbrook’s facility with that tongue.

“Have you studied music?”

“Of course. I once had a piano teacher, but he quit.”

“Why?”

“He brought sheets and sheets of music, but I only play by ear. I’ve been taught all the other accomplishments required of a young lady: needlework, dancing, and etiquette.”

“Have you studied history?”

“Yes,” Miss Fallbrook replied impatiently. She launched into a rapid and flawless recitation of the monarchs of England in chronological order, from William the Conqueror to Victoria.

“Bravo,” Diana said when the young woman had finished.

“I can do the capitals of Europe, as well.” Miss Fallbrook began another matter-of-fact listing of European capitals, which proved just as accurate.

“I see you have an excellent memory,” Diana said, interrupting after the tenth city. “But that’s enough recitation for one morning. Let’s move on to reading and writing.”

Miss Fallbrook immediately stretched her arms above her head and emitted a yawn. “I’m tired. I walked a long way this morning. I need a nap.”

An odd reaction. The girl had exhibited plenty of energy moments before. “You may nap when our lesson is over.” Diana handed Miss Fallbrook a slate and a piece of chalk. “I’d like to assess your handwriting.”

The young woman’s features tensed. “What do you want me to write?”

“Anything you like.”

Miss Fallbrook twirled the chalk between her fingers. Finally, she tilted the slate and covertly inscribed something. The activity took far longer than it should have, so Diana crossed behind the girl to get a better look.

“Miss Fallbrook!” To Diana’s dismay, her pupil was not writing, but sketching. She had recreated in chalk the paisley pattern of their chairs’ upholstery. “I said to write something.”

“I hate writing.”

“This is merely an exercise. Write a short phrase, please. For example: ‘Jane is a good girl.’”

Miss Fallbrook’s shoulders coiled. She bit her lip. “Can I just write my given name, Emma?”

“You may.”

Miss Fallbrook erased the slate. Slowly and carefully, with furrowed brow, she drew four capital letters that were messy in shape.

What she wrote was: EMAM .

Diana struggled to conceal her surprise. She had never met a girl of Miss Fallbrook’s age who couldn’t correctly spell her own name. She felt the girl’s eyes on her, filled with worry and—was it shame?—and didn’t have the heart to correct her. This was, after all, only their first lesson, and they were just getting to know each other. “A fine effort, Miss Fallbrook. I appreciate you doing as instructed. Let’s try reading now.”

Miss Fallbrook leapt to her feet as if shot from a cannon. “I’m tired.”

“This will be our last exercise, I promise.” Diana brought over a book of fairy tales she’d found, which she had read in the original German. “Are you acquainted with The Children’s and Household Tales by the Brothers Grimm?”

“My last governess read some of it to me.”

Diana opened the volume to the first tale. “Sit down please and read aloud from ‘The Frog King.’” She gave the book to her pupil.

With obvious reluctance, Miss Fallbrook resumed her seat and stared at the book intently. “‘The Frog King. Or The Iron Heinrich,’” she began. “‘Once, there was a king’s daughter. One day, she went to the woods, where she sat down by a spring-pond. She had a globe with her. A golden globe, and… it was her favorite thing on Earth. She—’”

“Miss Fallbrook, stop,” Diana interrupted, puzzled. “How many times have you heard this story?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are reciting the words from memory, aren’t you? Like you did with the kings and queens?”

The young woman’s cheeks bloomed pink. “No, I’m not.”

“I think you are. Miss Fallbrook,” Diana added gently, “do you have difficulty reading?”

“No!” Snapping the book shut, Miss Fallbrook shoved it off the table.

“It’s all right if you do. I am here to help.”

Miss Fallbrook twisted her hands for a long moment. “All right, fine . You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. I can’t read! I’m too stupid. There! Are you satisfied?”

So saying, she jumped up and fled the room.

*

Diana, rattled, strode down the hall, carrying her pupil’s abandoned bag of seashells. Mrs. Gwynn had said that Miss Fallbrook was “unteachable.” But that seemed untrue. Miss Fallbrook had a head full of knowledge. She was a bright, observant girl with a remarkable memory.

And yet, her handwriting was shaky, she had spelled her name incorrectly, and she did not know how to read. A reading deficiency would not be surprising in a child of five or six. But a young woman of fifteen?

How had this been allowed to happen? Were any of the people in Miss Fallbrook’s life aware of the real problem behind the “learning difficulties” that Diana had been warned about? Captain Fallbrook hadn’t mentioned it in his letters. According to Mrs. Phillips, Miss Fallbrook’s father used to say, “Emma does not apply herself to her studies.”

No wonder Miss Fallbrook was withdrawn and moody. She suffered from a profound and understandable lack of self-confidence. She thought she was stupid. This explained as well why so many of her governesses had left—perhaps in frustration.

Well, Diana thought, she was not about to leave. She had taught plenty of pupils to read. Even after she solved the riddle about Sir Thomas’s demise for Mrs. Phillips—presuming she could solve it—she would stick to her post and succeed with Miss Fallbrook where others had not. She must succeed. She had come here at her godmother’s request, after all, and had given her written promise to the captain.

Mrs. Phillips often said that Diana gave too much weight to what she did for others and what they thought of her, but Diana disagreed. How else could a person measure their value? What would they think of her if she failed? What would she think of herself?

The door to Miss Fallbrook’s bedroom stood ajar. Diana peeked in, but no one was there. She entered, hoping to gain a better understanding of the pupil in her charge.

The room was spacious and pleasantly furnished in tones of green, white, and pink. Tall, casement windows overlooked the same dramatic coastal view visible from Diana’s room. A curtained canopy bed took up pride of place. A bookcase held no books. It was given over to an extensive seashell collection and dozens of small sculptures made of clay.

Diana set Miss Fallbrook’s drawstring bag of shells upon the bureau. A stack of sketchbooks lay there. Curious, Diana glanced through one of them. It contained pencil drawings of landscapes, flora, and fauna, many of which resembled scientific illustrations in their attention to detail. There were also several portraits of members of the staff, all of whom Diana recognized. The drawings exhibited an observant eye and a keen talent. Another sketchbook contained watercolor paintings, equally as lovely, executed with far more skill than Diana herself possessed.

After replacing the sketchbook, Diana’s attention turned to the small, clay sculptures on Miss Fallbrook’s shelves. They represented both animate and inanimate objects but were primarily a collection of animals made of natural clay. They did not appear to have been fired in a kiln. All were charming. A single object carved from wood—a horse about the size of Diana’s fist—stood at the center of the collection.

Not wishing to pry any further, Diana quit the room and ventured down to the servants’ hall, where she inquired where her errant charge might have gone. No one knew.

“I shouldn’t worry, Miss Taylor,” Mrs. Gwynn declared flatly. “From what I gather, Miss Fallbrook’s only good for a couple of hours of instruction at a time. Tomorrow’s another day.”

Diana spent the remainder of the day in the schoolroom, putting together a new curriculum.

Later, anxious about her upcoming meeting with Captain Fallbrook, she changed into her clean frock of black silk. As Diana dressed, her pulse raced with worry.

Would the captain still be angry with her for what had happened the day before on the road? She was grateful to him for clearing away that fallen tree and hoped to have a chance to say so.

What, Diana wondered, were Captain Fallbrook’s thoughts on the circumstances of Sir Thomas’s death? Would there be an opportunity to discuss it this evening, or was it too soon to bring it up? More importantly, she must speak to him about his ward.

As the clock struck seven, Mrs. Gwynn appeared in the schoolroom doorway, carrying a candle.

“Captain Fallbrook will see you now in the blue parlor.” Her gaze took in Diana’s change of apparel with a frown. “I’ll show you the way.”