Chapter Six
D iana’s fingers trembled with fury as she undressed for bed that evening.
How had she believed, even for an instant, that Captain Fallbrook was a thoughtful person? In fact, he was self-centered, thoughtless, and prejudiced. It was yet another example of her inability to judge men, on first acquaintance, for who they really were.
For him to talk about how much he had on his plate—as if his duties managing this estate were more important than Miss Fallbrook’s care and education! That he had so little interest in his cousin, and so little faith in her intelligence, as to practically wash his hands of her—it was unconscionable!
Miss Fallbrook was not “intellectually backward.” Diana would stake her life upon it.
“Plenty of people are illiterate and get by just fine.” What a preposterous notion—and this coming from a man who professed himself to be fond of reading. Diana could not and would not condemn Miss Fallbrook to such an existence.
To be unable to read for pleasure or information… to never write or read a letter to a friend or loved one… to be unable to read or write a grocery list… it was unthinkable. Finishing accomplishments and several other subjects would have to wait. More important issues must be tackled first.
She would teach Miss Fallbrook to read or die trying. She could not live with herself if she failed.
Diana had just finished buttoning up her nightdress when a tentative knock sounded on her chamber door. It was Ivy, carrying Diana’s dress and cloak, which were now free of dirt and freshly pressed.
Diana thanked her. After hanging the garments in the wardrobe, she turned to find Ivy studying her with raised eyebrows and a tilted head.
“Is everything all right, miss?”
“Yes. Why?”
The maid knelt before the hearth and began to stoke the fire. “It’s only that you seem to be fretting about something.”
“Is it that obvious?” Diana sat down on her bed and began brushing her hair. “I suppose I am fretting. I have some challenges ahead.” She did not think it appropriate, however, to discuss Miss Fallbrook’s difficulties with this young chambermaid, no matter how kindly she might be. “I am not ready to talk about it, though.”
“I understand, miss. Some things are best not spoken aloud. Whatever’s the matter, when the time is right, the solution will come to you. That’s what my old granny used to say.”
“Your grandmother sounds like a wise woman.”
“Oh, she were. My mother couldn’t care for me, but she sent a bit of money now and then and Granny raised me like I were her own. Granny said it was important that I learn to read and write, which she’d never been taught to do, so she sent me to school for a year.”
“That’s wonderful, Ivy.” Diana knew how rare it was for a young woman of Ivy’s social class to receive any education at all. “I wish every girl could attend lessons. My sisters and I have long hoped to open a school for girls someday.”
“Do ye, miss? What’s stopping ye?”
“Lack of funds.” Diana shrugged. “And lack of a proper location to house a school. It’s just a fantasy, really.”
“My granny used to say, whatever you dream about, go out and get it. Never give up. Unless of course there be signs warning you to go another way.”
“Signs? What do you mean?”
“Ye know, signs. Omens, like. That if ye follow that dream, a bad fate awaits ye. She were a superstitious woman, my old granny. I can still hear her voice in my head, for all that she’s been gone these many years. When she got ill, she said over and over, ‘When I die, Ivy, promise me ye won’t forget to tell the bees.’”
“Tell the bees?”
“If there’s a death, miss, ye must tell the bees about it. Once there was a young man who didn’t tell the bees about the death of his father, and what do you think, but he was stung to death himself.”
“Oh, no.” Diana struggled to keep her face impassive, not wishing Ivy to feel disrespected. She began braiding her long hair into a plait. “Ivy. You mentioned a tale this morning about the Mermaid of Pendowar. Will you tell it to me?”
Ivy stood and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’d better not, miss. I wouldn’t want to worry ye.”
“What is so terrible about a mermaid’s tale that I should be particularly worried?”
“You’ll know when ye hear it.”
“I’m not the worrying sort.”
“All right then, but… ye won’t like it.” Ivy took a deep breath. “More than a hundred years ago, the young master of Pendowar Hall, Sir Peter were his name, fell in love with a mermaid called Morwenna, whom he met while swimming in the cove. From the moment he set eyes upon her, his heart was hers. Because she were loved by a human, when Morwenna emerged from the sea, she could walk like any woman. Late at night, when the servants were in bed and all the household were asleep, Sir Peter would light a lantern in the north tower window to signal to Morwenna that it was safe for her to join him. It were there they met in secret and consummated th eir union.
“When they were together, Sir Peter knew himself to be madly in love. But when they were apart, he doubted himself. How could a mermaid be real? He began to fear he was going mad, and that he’d just imagined her. So he stopped signaling to Morwenna from the north tower. To end the habit for good, he resolved to marry, and he chose a woman in his employ: his sister’s governess. The villagers of Portwithys were shocked that a man of Sir Peter’s station would marry a woman so far beneath him. Morwenna were more shocked still and hurt by his betrayal. Every day, her pain and fury grew. A year later, after Sir Peter’s bride gave birth to his heir, she were standing on the rocks by the shore as she were wont to do, when a wave rose and swept her out to sea. It were said all around the village that Morwenna killed the governess-bride out of revenge. Sir Peter loved Morwenna ’til his dying day, but he were too filled with grief and shame to go to her—and he killed himself a few years later.”
“Oh!” Diana murmured. “What a tragic story.”
“That’s only the beginning, miss. It became a legend like, and over the years, whene’er the west wind wailed, it were said to be Morwenna’s ghost crying out her woe and heartbreak. In time it were said to be a curse: that if any governess and master of Pendowar ever fell in love, she were doomed to die by drowning and he to die of grief.” Ivy paused. “Years later, it happened again. My last master, Sir Thomas, fell in love with one of Miss Fallbrook’s governesses and married her.”
“Her name was Sylvia?”
Ivy nodded. “They were happy until one day she and her young son, Master Robert, both drowned at sea in a boating accident.”
“I heard about that. It’s so awful.”
“It is, miss. After their deaths, a light began appearing now and then in the north tower window. It flashes on and off, the way Sir Peter used to signal to his mermaid love.”
“How strange.”
“No one can account for it. Sir Thomas checked many a time, I’m told, but there were never anyone in the north tower. They say it’s Morwenna, making herself known again. Like a warning and reminder of the curse, which is said to be unbreakable. They say it drove Sir Thomas mad. He never got over the loss of his wife and son and when he killed himself, it were proof of the Mermaid’s Curse for all to see.”
Diana processed that. “So, you believe that Sir Thomas took his own life? Out of grief over his lost wife and son?”
“I do, miss.”
“What makes you think that was the reason?”
“I don’t think it. I know it. He left a note.”
“Oh!” There it was. Sir Thomas had left a suicide note. It was the proof Diana had been seeking. It was all so heartbreaking. “What did the note say?”
“I don’t know, miss. I never saw it. But I heard the captain and his lawyer speak of it.”
“I see.” Diana needed to learn more about that note before she told Mrs. Phillips. Her thoughts veered to the last part of Ivy’s tale. “Ivy. Have you personally ever seen a light in the north tower?”
“I have, miss.”
“Really?” Diana was intrigued. “Have you ever gone up to the tower to see if anyone was there?”
“Oh, no, miss! I wouldn’t dare.”
“Why not?”
“Because Sir Thomas declared that wing off-limits, and Captain Fallbrook upholds that rule. But mainly because Mrs. Gwynn forbids it. I wouldn’t want to get on her wrong side. Nor would anyone else on staff.”
“I see why you were afraid to tell me this story, Ivy. Because I am the governess now.”
Ivy nodded again. Her eyes were alive with concern. “And the new master—he’s a single man and ever so good-looking.”
“Do you think so?” Diana gave a deliberate shrug.
“Hester, the head housemaid, gets stars in her eyes every time they cross paths. All the girls in the village are half in love with Captain Fallbrook for all that they’ve only seen him once or twice. Not that he’d notice. He’s a gloomy sort, which I guess is understandable with that bad leg of his. But ye’d best be careful not to fall in love with him, miss, or ye might be doomed to an awful fate.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t believe in mermaids or legends or curses. And I do not intend to fall in love with the captain, or anyone else.”
It was a disturbing notion nonetheless. Long after she and Ivy had exchanged good night s and Diana crawled into bed, one fact from their conversation replayed in her mind, keeping sleep at bay:
Two former governesses at Pendowar Hall had died by drowning.
And Diana could not swim.
*
Miss Fallbrook strode into the schoolroom promptly at nine o’clock the following morning and, crossing her arms over her chest, dropped down in the chair she had previously occupied.
“I’m only here because William said if I did not come, he would send me away to boarding school.”
“I see.” Diana gave her a smile. “And you don’t wish to attend boarding school?”
“No! Miss Ireland, my seventh governess, told me about the school she attended. She slept in a dormitory with fifty girls, the food was horrid, she froze in winter, boiled in summer, and she was teased, and beaten, and forced to read aloud .” Miss Fallbrook made a face.
Diana flinched, recalling how dismayed she’d been to read about schools with such harrowing conditions. “Not every school is like that. My sisters and I attended school for a short while, and it was a lovely, wholesome place.”
“I don’t care. I will never go away to school. I shall live at Pendowar Hall for the rest of my life.”
“You may have to leave one day, if you marry.”
Miss Fallbrook scoffed. “I shall never marry.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Who would want me?”
Miss Fallbrook’s lack of self-confidence tugged at Diana’s heart. Just because Diana’s fingers had been burned where men were concerned, she was not opposed to the idea of marriage for others. Her parents had been happy, after all. “Any man with sense would want you, Miss Fallbrook. Of course, you must exercise discretion in that regard: take your time, choose wisely, and only marry a good and trustworthy man, if he can be found.”
“You are dreaming, Miss Taylor. My father used to say, ‘Emma, you will never amount to anything. You are too odd and too stupid.’”
How, Diana wondered, could anyone speak so heartlessly to a child? Much less a father to his own daughter? “I’m sorry he said that. But it’s not true. You are not odd. And you are very bright.”
“How can I be bright if I cannot read or write?” Miss Fallbrook shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, though. I am fine without those talents.”
“Reading is one of life’s greatest pleasures.” Diana gestured to the books on the schoolroom shelves. “A world of knowledge awaits you inside every one of those books. Curling up in a quiet corner with a novel is like diving into an imaginary world. And what about correspondence? Wouldn’t you like to be able to write to and receive letters from your friends and loved ones?”
“I have no loved ones. My relations are all dead.”
This assertion cut Diana to the quick. “Not all. What about your aunt, Eliza?” Thinking of that good woman and knowing of her dire illness, Diana’s heart gave another twist.
“Papa said that Aunt Eliza came to visit once when I was a baby, but I don’t remember her. She used to write to me, but I didn’t want anyone else to read her letters. And since I couldn’t read them, I threw them away.”
How sad , Diana thought. “Did the captain—your cousin William—ever write to you?”
“Never.” Miss Fallbrook sighed. “Once, though, when I was four or five years old, William brought me a little carved wooden horse from his voyages. It became my pet, and I made other animals out of clay to keep it company. But… I only see him once a week now when he takes me to church. He thinks me a nuisance.”
Diana recalled seeing that little wooden horse on Miss Fallbrook’s shelf. She sensed that her pupil admired Captain Fallbrook and craved his attention, although she probably would never admit it. “I am sure the captain cares for you very much.” It might have been a white lie, but one which Diana felt was necessary. “And what about friends? Surely, you must have one friend who is dear to you?”
“Papa did not let me play with the children in the village. They were not ‘of my station,’ he said. When his friends came over, I was banished to the nursery.”
“Oh, Miss Fallbrook.” It smote Diana to think that her young charge had led such a sheltered and lonely life and thought so little of herself. “You will have friends when you get older, and you will be happy to be able to correspond with them, I promise. Explain to me, now, how it is that you have reached the age of fifteen without learning to read and write. Did your governesses never teach you your letters?”
“They tried. Over and over. But I cannot remember them.”
Diana needed proof. Crossing to the blackboard, she wrote the word CAT. “Do you recognize this word?”
“No.”
Diana erased the A and T, leaving only the letter C. “What about this letter?”
Emma studied the board. She blinked several times. She worried her lip. Her foot tapped against the floor. “Um… is it… an A? ”
Softly, Diana asked, “Why do you think it’s an A?”
“Because every governess always starts with A.” Miss Fallbrook blushed. “I got it wrong, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you tried. This is the letter C.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know what sound the letter C makes?”
“It doesn’t make a sound. A letter is not a person or an animal. It is just a squiggly shape.”
Diana saw that she had her work cut out for her. “Letters do make sounds, Miss Fallbrook. Every letter has its own unique sound, and when you string them together, they form words, the same words that you hear and speak. That is the nature of written language.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, in time.”
Diana began as she always did, by patiently introducing the first three letters of the alphabet in capital and lower-case form. Miss Fallbrook inscribed rows of each letter on her slate and on the blackboard, and they practiced the sounds of the letters aloud.
Although Miss Fallbrook dutifully applied herself, her performance was slow and halting. The A-B-Cs she drew were messy. Sometimes she wrote them backwards. Twice, she wrote them upside down. At one point, Miss Fallbrook complained that one of the letters had moved off the blackboard and was sitting on the windowsill.
Diana was perplexed by these irregularities. Every time Miss Fallbrook made a mistake, she was embarrassed, and she grew increasingly frustrated and irritable.
Wanting the girl to have some successes, Diana devoted the remainder of the day to oral instruction in subjects in which her pupil had exhibited an interest the day before: history, geography, and French. When she quizzed Miss Fallbrook at the end of each discussion, the girl’s performance was impeccable. She could recall in perfect detail all that she had been told.
When their lesson time was over, Diana said, “You did very well, Miss Fallbrook.”
“Did I?” The young woman looked uncertain. “I still cannot read.”
“But you shall. We will take it one step at a time. And, as my mother used to say to me when I was a girl, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’”
*
Diana devoted the better part of her evening to preparing a new, detailed course of instruction for Miss Fallbrook. She then wrote letters to Mrs. Phillips, Athena, Selena, and Damon to inform them of her safe arrival and her concerns about her pupil.
Since her siblings were aware of the mission Mrs. Phillips had sent her on, Diana gave a brief overview of what she had learned so far about Sir Thomas, reserving further details until she was more certain. With her sisters, she shared the tale of the Mermaid’s Curse and the footsteps she’d heard in the night, thinking it might amuse them. She knew her brother would be too busy to reply but hoped to hear from her sisters with news of how they were faring in their governess positions.
As she finished her letters, the clock struck half-past ten. Diana tidied up and was drawing the draperies on the schoolroom windows when she spotted a blinking light in the uppermost window of the north tower.
What in the world? Diana thought. Captain Fallbrook had said that region of the house had been unoccupied for decades and was in disrepair. Who could be up there?
The light continued to blink on and off, as if someone were sending a signal beacon with a candle or a lantern. For what purpose? And to whom ?
The tale Ivy had told her came to mind.
“It flashes on and off, the way Sir Peter used to signal to his mermaid love… They say it’s Morwenna, making herself known again. Like a warning and reminder of the curse.”
Diana had dismissed the tale as an absurdity. She had dismissed the idea of a light as well. Surely, it was just a figment of people’s imaginations, an embellishment to a mysterious, old legend. But the light was there, before Diana’s eyes. It was real. Who, Diana wondered, was up in the north tower? She had to find out.
Descending the servants’ stairs to the ground floor, Diana followed an unfamiliar maze of corridors until she reached a door that she suspected might lead to the north wing.
The door opened. She entered.
The space beyond was dark and a musty aroma filled the air. Diana’s heart pounded as she strode carefully along the corridor, her candle providing the only illumination. This part of the house appeared to date back to the years of its original construction. The floor and walls were of uneven stone, and it was devoid of decoration except for the occasional stuffed and mounted head of a dead animal covered in dust and crowned by cobwebs.
Eerie shapes hovered in the shadows. Diana spied a dark figure and halted in terror, raising her candle, only to find herself face to face with a suit of armor. She inhaled a calming breath, which rippled from her chest like a ghostly chuckle. Why was she so jumpy?
As she moved on, a rustling made her jump again. A mouse froze wide-eyed in her candle-beam, then scampered off. Diana laughed nervously again. This was just an ancient wing of the house, she reminded herself. There was nothing to be afraid of.
The hallway ended in a vestibule, where an ancient door beside a filthy window led outside. A second, more central door constructed of heavy oak and studded with iron fittings sported an iron lock. This, she guessed, gave access to the tower stairwell.
Diana tried the door handle. It was locked.
The clicking of bootheels on stone resounded from the hallway behind her.
“Miss Taylor!” called out a voice sharply from the shadows. “What are you doing here?”
Diana spun to find Mrs. Gwynn marching in this direction, black skirts swishing. Her indignant face glowered ghoul-like above her flickering candle.
Diana felt like a guilty schoolgirl, caught trespassing by the headmistress. “I saw a light in the tower.”
“This part of the house is forbidden,” Mrs. Gwynn reprimanded coldly. “I thought I made that clear.”
“I know, but I wondered who was up there.”
“ No one is up there.”
“There must be someone. I’ll show you the light.” Diana yanked open the exterior door and hurried out into the cold, night air.
“There’s no need for that,” the housekeeper insisted, but Diana was ten steps ahead of her.
To Diana’s disappointment, when she glanced up at the tower, the light was gone. “There was a light, I swear it. It flashed on and off, as if someone were sending a signal.”
Mrs. Gwynn glared from the doorway. “Come back inside, Miss Taylor.”
Diana returned to the vestibule and shut the door. “Have you ever seen a light up there?”
“Many a time, for some years now.”
So, this was a common occurrence, just as Ivy had said. “Does this door lead up to the tower?”
“It does. But the north tower is off-limits, Miss Taylor. Master’s orders.”
“Which master?”
“The captain. And Sir Thomas before him. He wasn’t fond of the place. Locked it up tight as a drum. I’m the only one permitted to go up there now and then, to clean.”
“You have the key, then?”
“I do.”
“This is our opportunity to discover what is going on, Mrs. Gwynn! Let’s go! Whoever flashed that light may be up there still!”
“The best reason I know not to go up.”
“What do you mean?”
The housekeeper’s hushed voice reverberated in the darkness. “I have no wish to meet Morwenna’s ghost.”
Diana had hoped the housekeeper would be more sensible than this. “Surely, you do not believe in ghosts?”
“Don’t you , Miss Taylor?”
“I do not.”
“You will when you’ve lived in this house as long as I have. Now come away, Miss Taylor. Go to bed. Stop fretting about things that don’t concern you. And don’t let me find you in this part of the house again.”
Diana pressed her lips together in frustration as she followed the housekeeper down the silent, gloomy corridor. She may have been turned away tonight, but one of these days, she’d find a way up to that tower to explore.