Chapter Five
A tap on the door made Maggie jump. She stared at it for a moment, teeth worrying her lip.
Stranger still, how a simple knock can frighten me so. It feels like being home again—peering through the landing window to see whether it was the creditors come calling.
Of course, it was always the creditors.
She smoothed her skirts, reminded herself there were no creditors here—and even if there had been, they would not have been hers but Papa’s—and went to open the door.
Jenny stood there, a tray balanced in her hands.
“I beg your pardon for disturbing you,” she said. “I know this is your own time, now that Miss Emma is abed, but I wondered if we might spend a little time together—if you are not busy, that is.”
What could I possibly be busy with? Maggie thought wryly.
She had been told earlier that the library was at her disposal, and she had taken out a few volumes.
One was required to enter each title and signature in a ledger by the door—a sensible system, though she could not imagine many servants borrowing philosophy.
Still, beyond those books, she had very little to occupy her.
“Of course,” she said aloud, stepping back. “Come in, Jenny. It did not take you long to settle Miss Emma for the night.”
“Oh, she’s an angel,” Jenny said fondly, setting the tray upon the table. “Not spoilt or contrary like some rich children. We all love her in this house.”
Maggie was inclined to agree. Though her first day was barely over, she could already tell that Emma would be no hardship to teach. The child was intelligent, sweet-tempered, eager to learn, astonishingly advanced in Arithmetic and bright in Latin, Geography, and History besides.
All in all, Maggie thought herself fortunate.
Not, of course, in her employer. The duke had made no appearance in the schoolroom that day, and she was perfectly content to keep it so.
She shut the door firmly behind Jenny, who was already pouring out tea.
“I brought up a little strawberry pie from the kitchen,” Jenny said over her shoulder.
“Cook said we might have some. Some of the upper servants have their own small parlours, but not I—I go home to the village often enough that it seems a waste. I see they have not given you the use of one, but you’ve a large, comfortable room. ”
“I’ve no complaints,” Maggie said, sitting on the edge of the bed to leave the chair for Jenny. “Have you been here long?”
“Only since Miss Emma came, after the tragedy.” Jenny spoke matter-of-factly, handing her a cup. Then she sat, folding her hands primly around her own.
It struck Maggie then that there was no artifice in Jenny’s visit—no prying, no pretext, no gossiping mission for the housekeeper. She had come purely for company.
And somehow, that was disconcerting.
When was the last time anyone sought my company for its own sake? she thought. Papa only came home in the end to see if I had a few shillings left for him.
A shadow crossed her mind—the sight of her father stumbling home at midnight, unshaven and reeking of drink, his voice wheedling.
“My luck’s turning, girl. I’ve never been a gambler, you know that. Just one good hand and I’ll pay them all. You wouldn’t begrudge your old papa a few shillings more? Just this once.”
And she had given them—all the shillings, then the pennies, until there was nothing left to give.
Maggie closed her eyes briefly. There was no sense regretting it now, but she could not shake the thought that she had helped him to ruin.
Too late, far too late.
“I’m glad you came, Jenny,” she said impulsively. “I hardly dare wander the halls for fear of losing myself again. It can be a lonely business, being a governess—neither servant nor family. Between the two. Belonging to neither. I was reminded of that very clearly at dinner tonight.”
Jenny frowned. “You dined below stairs, did you not? Were they unkind?”
“Oh, no. Nothing of the sort. Only…” She hesitated. “A few of the servants looked at me oddly, as though wondering why I was there. At least, I imagined they did. I began to wish I had stayed in my room. The soup, however, was delicious.”
Jenny laughed softly. “Give them time. The last governesses were frightful snobs. They will assume you are the same—until you prove otherwise.”
Maggie nodded, sipping her tea. “Tell me about them.”
Jenny paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts.
“Well, there was Miss Lawless first. Very strict. His Grace hired her because she was said to be organised and serious—more so than he, if that’s possible.
In truth, she was worse. She threw out his schedule and made her own.
She made poor Miss Emma cry and would never let her paint.
When she began threatening to cane her, I went to Mrs Thornton—who told his Grace—and that was the end of Miss Lawless. ”
“Oh, how dreadful! To threaten a little girl?”
Jenny shrugged. “Perhaps only a threat, but I did not wish to find out. In the nursery, I have no authority to contradict a governess, so I did what I could. His Grace said later that if he had known sooner how cruel she was, he would have dismissed her at once. She left the house in tears, you know. Tears. That woman was made of stone, or so I thought.”
“Gracious.”
“Then came Miss Swaddle. You’ve heard a little of her already. She was determined to marry well—flirted with every man who looked her way. I believe she even cast her cap at the duke himself.”
Maggie smiled faintly. “I cannot imagine.”
“Well, she ignored the schedule too, and his Grace was furious. She left in the middle of the night, weeping. Quite the spectacle. After her came Mrs Ruthborne—older, very proper, determined to have order. She banned me from the schoolroom altogether, which Miss Emma detested. In the end, she could not manage the child, and when the duke saw her teaching, he dismissed her that very day. And then, of course, you arrived.”
Maggie took a long sip to conceal her unease.
So, if I am too strict, I am dismissed. Too lenient, the same. The schedule must be obeyed to the letter—yet a single word from his Grace, and I could be gone by morning.
This was not a comfortable thought. Maggie shifted, clearing her throat.
“Well,” she said at last, “what a pity. Miss Emma must be quite unsettled.”
Jenny nodded. “She has taken to you already, and she’s in a dreadful state for fear you’ll go too.”
“If I go,” Maggie said firmly, “it will not be by choice. She’s a dear girl, and a pleasure to teach. It is the duke that concerns me.”
The moment she said it, she knew she had spoken too freely. But Jenny only tilted her head, waiting.
“I suppose you know,” Maggie said cautiously, “the reputation his Grace holds in London?”
Jenny’s posture stiffened. “I know.”
“They call him the Gambling Devil—and with reason. I heard he took Lord Swisser’s fortune in a single night. The man was found, desperate, ready to throw himself into the Thames. He’s in debtor’s prison now. I had thought it mere gossip—but after meeting the duke, I begin to wonder.”
Would Jenny be offended? Mrs Thornton certainly would have been. But Jenny merely sipped her tea.
“Servants talk, you know,” Jenny said quietly. “We hear everything. Perhaps you also heard the rest of the story. Lord Swisser had a scandal—not that Society called it such.”
“I haven’t heard, no.”
“Well, here it is. Lord Swisser was said to have got his sister’s maid with child.
I knew the girl—she came from my own part of the country.
Sweet, simple creature. I daresay he promised her marriage.
When her condition became known, she went to him for help.
He denied it, of course—threatened to have her whipped or imprisoned if she spoke again.
She was turned off without wages. A week later, she was found drowned in the Thames—by her own hand, they said. ”
Maggie set her cup down with a clatter. “Goodness. What a vile man.”
Jenny shrugged. “It is hardly a new story. Gentlemen may do as they please. For my part, I cannot be sorry that Lord Swisser lost his fortune. I almost wish he had followed her into the river.”
Silence fell. Maggie stared into her cup, shaken.
“So you mean that his Grace only ruins men who deserve it?” she asked at last.
“I could not say,” Jenny replied. “I know nothing of his Grace’s affairs.
But the men I’ve heard of being ruined by him have all deserved it.
Others disagree, of course—Lord Swisser’s friends made a great outcry, as did the Society beauty he was to have married.
But I am not inclined to weep over them. ”
Maggie said nothing. She could not help thinking of her father again—lurching through the doors of a gaming hell, pockets empty, eyes bright with desperate hope.
Would the duke have ruined a man like that?
He need not have. Papa had done it himself.
“His Grace is a hard man, to be sure,” Jenny continued, “but he was not always so.”
Maggie lifted an eyebrow. “No?”
“No. They say he was quite different before his sister died. Lady Catherine, that was her name. She married a fine man, although of course that was before my time. Miss Emma is their child, and by every account, the family was very close and perfectly happy.”
“And how did she die?” Maggie pressed gently, leaning forward, a sense of foreboding stirring in her chest.
Jenny sighed, biting her lip. “Oh, it was awful. She…”
A knock on the door made them both start.
“Miss Winter?” came Mrs Thornton’s crisp voice. “Is Jenny in there?”
Jenny shot Maggie an apologetic glance and hurried to open the door. Maggie rose, wary of the housekeeper’s reaction.
Mrs Thornton’s gaze swept the room—the tea-tray, the cups—and her expression softened.
“Ah, a little tea-party, I see.”
“I borrowed the nice crockery from the servants’ cupboard,” Jenny admitted. “I hope you do not mind.”
“Of course not, of course not,” Mrs Thornton answered, flashing Maggie a smile. “I am glad that you’re making Miss Winter feel at home. Jenny, I have just received a note from your parents. Your mother is ill again, and they hoped you could return home tonight.”
Jenny sighed and nodded. “Of course. I shall leave now.”
“John will walk you there. Best make haste—the weather threatens rain. Miss Winter, could you sleep in Jenny’s room tonight? Miss Emma cannot be left alone, and Jenny’s room opens off the nursery.”
“Of course.”
Mrs Thornton gave a brisk, approving nod. “That’s very good of you. Mrs Ruthborne and Miss Swaddle would not have done so, and I know because I asked them. I believe you will suit us very well, Miss Winter, and I shall tell his Grace so.”
Maggie smiled faintly in response.
I’m doing it, she thought. I’ll be safe here. Victor will never find me.
“I shall let you come down when you are ready,” said Mrs Thornton, disappearing into the corridor.
Jenny lingered a moment, then turned back to Maggie.
“I will say one last thing about his Grace,” she said in a lowered voice. “He’s stern, perhaps too much so—but I’ve always thought he feels deeply. He still grieves for his sister. It would break your heart to see it. And if a man like Mr Middleton calls him friend, he cannot be all bad.”
Maggie had to suppress a smile at that. “I shall take your word for it, Jenny.”
“I am sure you’ll grow to like him.”
She glanced away, adjusting her cuff.
“I have no need to like him,” Maggie replied. “He is my employer, a duke, and I am a governess. There can be no connection between us. It is not a question of liking him—only of obeying him. This is not a novel, after all.”
Jenny studied her for a moment, then smiled.
“Well, at least you like Miss Emma.”
Maggie’s lips curved. “It would be impossible not to. Now go—your parents are waiting.”