Chapter Eleven
Charlbury House, Oxford
My dear Miss Taylor,
It is with great pleasure that I received your letter. Celeste and I shall always be grateful for the services you performed as Georgette’s governess. You will be pleased to hear that Georgette is married now to an upstanding young gentleman in the banking profession. They are expecting their first child this spring.
As to your questions about the new pupil in your charge—I have taken into consideration all the information you provided. You say the girl has an excellent memory. Keep in mind that a dog can be taught to respond to oral commands, and a parrot can imitate sounds back at you. This is simply a reflex and not a sign of intelligence. As humans, we must rise above the level of the inhabitants of the animal kingdom.
If indeed, despite all attempts to teach her, at the age of fifteen, this young woman cannot recognize letters, read a simple word, or even properly write her name, then she is mentally defective. Do not blame yourself. The creature simply cannot be educated.
My advice is to persuade the girl’s guardian to give her a season. My wife assures me that it is common for young ladies to marry at sixteen. Restrict her attention to the feminine accomplishments, which are all that matter to a prospective husband. If she is comely and has a fortune, she will find a good match.
Once this young lady is wed and focused on her womanly duties—raising children and being a good wife—her husband will handle all her affairs and it will not matter that she cannot read or write.
With all best wishes,
Arthur Vaughan
Oxford University
Diana crumpled up the letter and threw it into the fire. What an insensitive and imbecilic response to her inquiry!
Miss Fallbrook was hardly “mentally defective.” On the contrary: Diana was convinced that her pupil was highly intelligent.
And to suggest that Miss Fallbrook be married off at sixteen—to be dependent for life on her husband to read and write for her and handle her affairs! The notion went against every one of Diana’s most deeply held principles. Even worse, perhaps, was the insinuation that Miss Fallbrook’s only worth was her dowry—the financial assets she would bring to a marriage. That concept hit far too close to home.
Suddenly, she was eighteen years old again, whirling about the ballroom floor in her first waltz, in the arms of the handsome, young man who had captured her heart. Her entire life had lain before her, seemingly as rosy as her gown of fine shot silk. Until everything, and every belief she had held about herself and her worth, had come crashing down.
The pain of that betrayal had irrevocably changed her. She could not doom Miss Fallbrook to such a fate. Marriage might be in Miss Fallbrook’s future. But if Diana had anything to say about it, her pupil’s fortune would not define who she was, and her future happiness would not depend upon her securing a husband. She would have the necessary tools to lead a happy, productive, and independent life as a single woman if she so chose.
Diana didn’t know why Miss Fallbrook couldn’t read. But every riddle had a solution. She would solve this one. And she would not rest until she did.
*
Having searched Sir Thomas’s bedroom for his journal without success, Diana turned her attention to the blue parlor, a room the captain said had been Sir Thomas’s favorite.
She felt guilty exploring places that were not in her assigned domain. But Captain Fallbrook had said she might use the blue parlor in the evenings, or any other unoccupied room she chose, and had not specified a purpose. Taking advantage of the captain’s absence—he was having dinner with Mr. Latimer, his solicitor—she made a thorough search of the parlor but found nothing resembling a diary or journal. And thankfully, she didn’t get caught.
Once again, to Diana’s frustration, Miss Fallbrook did not appear in the schoolroom the next morning. She was not in her bedroom, either. Diana put on her cloak and bonnet and went out in search of her.
It was a bright morning with just a hint of breeze, and the trees flaunted their autumn colors. Aware of Miss Fallbrook’s fondness for seashells, Diana thought she might find her on the beach.
But Mr. Nankervis said, “I saw her not half an hour past down by the river, upstream from the old footbridge.”
Diana found Miss Fallbrook standing calf-deep in a sheltered pool at the river’s edge, her skirts hiked up and tucked in at her waist, her face, legs, and hands streaked with mud.
“Miss Fallbrook!” Diana cried. “What are you doing?”
“Digging for clay.” Miss Fallbrook’s cheeks bloomed with vitality and her eyes sparkled. “It’s a good sort of clay, very pliable, the perfect kind to make things with.” She rolled a ball of the natural clay between her palms into a sausage shape and, with a few deft twists, formed it into a rose sprouting from a stem.
Diana recalled the clay sculptures she’d seen in Miss Fallbrook’s bedroom and couldn’t help but be impressed. Still, Diana had a job to do. “You were due in the schoolroom more than half an hour ago. Please leave that and come back to the house.”
With an embittered sigh, Miss Fallbrook threw the clay flower into the river and did as she was told. By the time she’d gotten cleaned up and taken her place at her desk, most of the morning was gone. Diana had just begun their lesson when the captain appeared.
“Good morning.” He stood awkwardly in the doorway, like a statue.
Diana didn’t know what to make of it. Captain Fallbrook had never visited the schoolroom before. She and Miss Fallbrook, also evidently startled, returned his greeting. A silence fell.
Did the captain’s appearance, Diana wondered, have anything to do with the request she had made, that he pay more attention to his ward? If so, he clearly had no idea how to go about it.
“All is well, I hope?” he managed at last.
“Very well, thank you,” Diana replied.
“I trust my cousin is not giving you any more trouble, Miss Taylor? Did she arrive in the classroom this morning at nine on the dot as promised?”
Miss Fallbrook’s eyes widened. She stared down at her desk.
“Miss Fallbrook is generally on time,” Diana responded. It was the second white lie she had told on her pupil’s behalf, but the girl was visibly anxious, and Diana didn’t want to cause her any more distress. “She has been working very hard, sir.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He glanced at his cousin. “Otherwise, it’s off to boarding school with you, eh?”
Miss Fallbrook picked at her fingernails but did not reply.
“Well, then, carry on.” The captain vanished as quickly as he had arrived.
Only when his departing footsteps indicated that he was out of earshot did Miss Fallbrook let out a heavy sigh of relief. Pursing her lips, she said, “I suppose you didn’t tell him because if I’m sent to boarding school, you’d be out of a job?”
“No, Miss Fallbrook. If I lose this job, I can find another.”
“Then why …?”
“I’m here to help you, if I can.” And to find out what happened to your father , Diana wanted to add. But that was better left unsaid. “Captain Fallbrook doesn’t need to know everything that goes on between us.”
A mix of emotions took over Miss Fallbrook’s face. Then she said quietly, “Thank you, Miss Taylor, for not saying anything about… you know.”
“You are most welcome.”
*
Diana was passing through the servants’ hallway after returning from a late evening walk when she heard music coming from the butler’s pantry.
Curious, she proceeded through the open doorway and discovered Mr. Emity within, playing a violin by candlelight. Diana didn’t wish to intrude, but she was too entranced to walk away. Pausing outside the door, hidden, she hoped, from his view, she stood and listened.
Diana could not name the piece nor the composer. She only knew that the music was divine, and it carried her away. When the song ended, Mr. Emity cleared his throat.
“Miss Taylor, please do not tarry in the hallway. Come in.”
Embarrassed at being caught, Diana entered the room. “Forgive me for eavesdropping. I heard you playing and was quite overcome. You are very talented, Mr. Emity.”
“Thank you for saying so, miss.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met a butler who played the violin.”
“My first master taught me to play the fiddle.”
“Did he bring you to England?”
“Not exactly, miss. ”
“You once promised to tell me the story of how you came to this country, Mr. Emity. I am most interested in hearing it if you are inclined to share.”
“Well then, miss, I shall tell you.” He set down his instrument and bow and gestured for Diana to sit. Taking the chair opposite, he began. “I was captured as a child off the Guinea coast by a Portuguese slaver and spent my early years in Brazil as a house slave, where I learned to play the fiddle. My master took me with him to Lisbon and obliged me to perform for others—I was an oddity, an amusement. While there, a British admiral heard me play. He had me kidnapped to serve as his valet and play aboard his ship.”
“Oh!” Diana replied. He recounted all this so matter-of-factly and yet every word cut at her like a knife.
“He kept me for six years until 1807 when the slave trade was abolished in this country. Although the admiral had been keeping me as his ‘indentured servant’ rather than a slave, he got skittish and decided to set me free. He dumped me in Falmouth, where Sir Thomas found me playing music for pennies on the streets. I was just twenty-two years of age then, and Sir Thomas not much older himself, but he hired me to serve as his valet. And here I have been ever since.”
Diana burned at the injustice that this man had suffered. “That is a remarkable story, Mr. Emity.”
“I don’t know how remarkable it is, miss, but it is my story, and it is true.”
“What happened to you is most unfair and cruel.”
“It was, and I know it.” The shrug he gave was at odds with the tightness of his pressed lips. “But I cannot change the past.”
“Do you miss home, Mr. Emity?”
“If you mean Guinea, miss, I do think of it sometimes, and the family I left behind. But it was so long ago, it is a shadow in my mind now.”
“Sir Thomas was fortunate to find you on that street in Falmouth, Mr. Emity.”
“I believe myself to be the fortunate one, miss. I love Cornwall. It is now my home. Sir Thomas became my friend, I think. He was a good man at heart.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Diana thanked him for sharing his story, adding, “I wanted you to know—after what you told me about the circumstances of Sir Thomas’s death, I spoke to the parish constable. He may be satisfied with his verdict, but I am not.”
Mr. Emity’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you intend to do, miss?”
“I intend to learn the truth.”
“A bold endeavor. Please let me know if I may be of any help.”
She glanced at him. “I do have one question for you, Mr. Emity: did you ever see Sir Thomas writing in a journal or a diary?”
“Every now and then, miss. But every time I entered the room, he hid it from my view.”
“Do you have any idea where he kept his journal?”
“I do not.”
“Where was he when you saw him writing in it?”
Mr. Emity rubbed his chin and glanced away, as if lost in thought. “Different places, miss. Sometimes in the blue parlor. Sometimes in the gardens. Most often, as I recall, I found him scribbling in his study.”
His study. Instinct told Diana that Sir Thomas would have hidden his journal there. She would have to look herself when the opportunity arose.
Diana thanked the butler again.
As she turned to go, he said, “You will be careful, won’t you, miss?”
“Careful? Why?”
“If someone did murder Sir Thomas, they might not take kindly to the idea of someone looking into it. You might be putting yourself in danger. ”
Diana gave him a little smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Emity. I am just the governess. No one takes any notice of what the governess says or does.”
*
One of Diana’s jobs was to prepare Miss Fallbrook to enter society.
When Diana had first entered the social scene at age eighteen, she had made the mistake of taking people at face value. But men—and women—were not always as they seemed. They did not always follow through on their promises or say what they were really thinking.
Diana didn’t wish Miss Fallbrook to suffer as she had. So, she decided to begin introducing her charge to others now. Since Diana was unacquainted with any people of their class in this parish, she determined that they would undertake charitable work. The activity would benefit the community. It would introduce Miss Fallbrook to the joys of giving and give her insight into the way others lived. It would improve her ability to communicate. And it would allow her to see the foibles and inconsistencies of others firsthand and learn from them.
Mrs. Gwynn arranged for the cook to prepare three baskets of food and gave Diana directions to several farms where she felt the offerings would be most appreciated. Diana was disconcerted when, on the morning of their first excursion, Miss Fallbrook put up a fuss and refused to go. It was only after a great deal of cajoling that Miss Fallbrook relented and, with slumped shoulders and a pinched expression, accompanied Diana from the house.
The morning sun had just broken through the clouds as they set out. The colorful offerings from the trees danced on the breeze and scattered across the lawns as Diana and her charge crossed the grounds towards the edge of the estate. A salty tang enlivened the air, accompanied by the sound of the distant sea. Despite the beauty of the autumn day, however, Miss Fallbrook’s face was still troubled, and her steps were slow and halting.
“You needn’t look so worried, dear,” Diana told her. “I think you will enjoy this.”
“I won’t,” Miss Fallbrook insisted. “And it’s not as if I’ve never done this before.”
“Oh? You never said.”
“You didn’t ask.”
With a twinge of guilt, Diana realized this was true.
“My stepmother made me accompany her when she brought baskets to the poor. I didn’t mind at first. It is always nice to be outdoors, and the tenants were appreciative. But then… I didn’t want to go anymore.”
“Why not?”
They were crossing the footbridge over the river and, running a hand over the old, wooden railing, Miss Fallbrook said idly, “Be careful not to lean on the railing here, Miss Taylor. It has wood rot. Papa said he would have it replaced, but he never did.”
“Do not change the subject,” Diana scolded as they proceeded side by side along the dusty path. “ Why didn’t you want to go anymore?
Miss Fallbrook sighed. “My stepmother made me read to the children.”
“Oh.” Diana’s chest filled with compassion. She could guess what was coming next.
“I couldn’t do it. The children laughed at me. My stepmother kept insisting that I try again, always with the same result. She said I was a spoiled young miss and just because the children were poor and dirty, I shouldn’t turn up my nose at them. But I wasn’t! I like children. I would have read to them if I could.”
“I know you would have.” Diana gave her pupil a sympathetic look. “I would never put you in that position, Miss Fallbrook.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise. I hope, someday, that you will be able to read. But until that day comes, and you feel comfortable and confident, I will never ask you to read to anyone but myself.”
Miss Fallbrook’s face brightened. There was a newfound skip to her step. “Thank you.”
They first visited the Bartons, a white-haired couple whom Diana recognized as regular attendees at the Sunday service. The small farmhouse was humble, cold, and redolent of bacon grease and smoke. Mrs. Barton beseeched her guests to take seats on mismatched chairs by the hearth, where a weak fire burned in the grate.
“Ye’ll forgive me for such a poor fire,” Mrs. Barton said. “I keep asking Mr. Barton to fill up the coal scuttle but can’t get him to rise from that chair.”
“May I help?” Diana offered.
“Oh! No, no,” Mrs. Barton answered quickly, as her husband’s face reddened. “He’ll see to it after ye’re gone.”
The Bartons asked after Captain Fallbrook, whom they fondly recalled from his visits to the area when he was a boy. They were quietly grateful for the fresh bread, cake, apples, cheese, and marmalade bestowed upon them. Diana and Miss Fallbrook declined anything on offer other than a cup of weak tea, knowing it would be a sacrifice for the elderly couple to share what little food they had.
Miss Fallbrook was reluctant to speak at first, but Mrs. Barton drew her out. They soon discovered a common interest in seashell collecting. The old woman brought out a few of her favorite shells and a pleasant conversation followed.
“Why do you think,” Miss Fallbrook pondered after she and Diana left, “that Mrs. Barton wouldn’t allow you to fill up her coal scuttle, if her husband couldn’t be bothered?”
“Perhaps her husband isn’t the problem. Perhaps in truth, they were too low on coal to add any more to the fire.”
Miss Fallbrook’s forehead wrinkled. “Then why didn’t Mrs. Barton say so?”
“Perhaps she was too embarrassed to admit it.”
“Oh.” Miss Fallbrook’s eyes widened. This was followed by a troubled frown. “Do you think we should bring them some coal?”
“An excellent idea. I’ll talk to the captain about it.”
The next stop was much the same. The recipients were hardworking people who expressed their thanks for the offerings and were disposed to make their circumstances seem better than they were. After a brief but cordial visit, Diana and her pupil went on their way.
Their final visit was to Greenview farm, which Diana had learned was run by a Mr. Trenowden. Passing through a wooded area, they came upon a ramshackle stone cottage, where a sturdy, rosy-cheeked woman in an old cotton dress hung washing on a line. Although the paint on the front door was peeling, the windows looked freshly scrubbed, and the shrubbery was neatly trimmed.
A man was mending a fence, assisted by a lad of perhaps sixteen years of age. Miss Fallbrook took in the boy with interest, but he took no notice of her. A half dozen younger children played in the dirt yard. Three girls wore dresses that were too small for them, all made from the same faded green fabric.
“I hope they never made fun of you here?” asked Diana quietly.
“No. I’ve never been to this farm,” Miss Fallbrook confided.
A little boy with tousled hair and scabbed knees ran up to them. “What ye got there?”
Diana smiled. “A basket of goodies.”
“Can I have one?”
“Me! Me!” A girl in an ill-fitting pinafore rushed over with excitement.
“Let us see what your mother has to say,” Diana answered.
“Mum! Mum! They brung goodies!” cried the boy.
Their mother pegged a pair of wet trousers and dried her hands on her threadbare apron as Diana and her charge approached.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Trenowden,” Diana greeted her. “I am Diana Taylor, the governess at Pendowar Hall, and this is my pupil, Miss Emma Fallbrook.”
“I know who ye be.” Mrs. Trenowden dipped in a curtsey. “Ye’ve grown up into a right pretty young lady, Miss Fallbrook.”
Off Diana’s encouraging nod, Miss Fallbrook twisted her hands together and responded in a low, faltering voice, “Thank you. We have brought you a little something, ma’am. The bread and cake were baked fresh today, and the marmalade is our cook’s specialty.”
“How kind.” Mrs. Trenowden accepted the basket with a grateful smile. “There ne’er be enough food to go ’round in this house, no matter how many hours my husband labors in the fields.” She called out to the man working on the fence. “Jack! Come say hello to Miss Fallbrook and her governess, Miss Taylor!”
The man pocketed his hammer and crossed the yard to them. He was powerfully built with a broad chest and muscular arms that his shabby coat did nothing to hide. Touching his cap, he said through tight lips, “Miss Fallbrook. Miss Taylor.”
Miss Fallbrook’s brow creased at this frosty reception. “Mr. Trenowden.”
“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” Diana said, equally confused by his unreceptive attitude. “You have a lovely farm.”
“T’isn’t my farm,” he shot back, darting a glance at Miss Fallbrook. “It be her people’s farm. For all that my family has worked these lands for four generations.”
An uncomfortable silence followed. Mrs. Trenowden rescued the moment with a laugh. “Aw, Jack, these ladies mean no harm. Be off with ye if ye can’t be civil.”
Mr. Trenowden marched off around the side of the house, motioning to the lad who had been working on the fence to follow him.
The oldest girl, who looked to be about twelve, asked Miss Fallbrook, “Would ye like to play tag with us?”
“I’ve never played tag.”
“Never? Well, come on, then. We’ll teach you.”
Miss Fallbrook glanced at Diana, as if seeking permission. “Go ahead,” Diana told her.
The girls ran off with the other children, who conversed boisterously before starting the game. Diana smiled. Her pupil seemed to be enjoying herself. Mrs. Trenowden returned to her duties, two overflowing baskets of wet laundry at her feet.
“May I help you, ma’am?” inquired Diana.
“I wouldn’t wish to trouble ye.”
“It’s no trouble. And it looks like you could do with a hand.”
“Suit yourself.” Mrs. Trenowden reached into her apron pocket and gave Diana a handful of clothes pegs. “Forgive my husband for his rudeness just now, won’t ye? Most times, he be as gentle as a lamb. This past year, howsoever, he’s been as hot-tempered as a wrongly shot boar.”
“I’m sorry.” Diana pegged a pair of trousers.
“I suspect it’s the drink. Jack ne’er used to take more ’n a pint every now and then. But we’ve had a run of bad luck of late. One day about five or six months back, he got into an argument with the baronet after church. Got so bad, I feared they’d come to blows.”
This information piqued Diana’s interest. Sir Thomas had died about five months ago. Could there have been a connection? “What were they arguing about?”
“I’ve no idea. Jack would ne’er tell me.”
“Was your husband well-acquainted with Sir Thomas Fallbrook?”
“Not at all. The baronet didn’t talk much to folk like us, Miss Taylor.” Mrs. Trenowden hung a wet sheet on the line. “The new landlord, howsoever, be nothing like his old uncle.”
“Oh? Have you known Captain Fallbrook long?”
“E’er since he were a boy. Knew him as Master William then. A good-looking lad and grown up into such a handsome man. Never took a wife, and more’s the pity—probably never will, now. ”
“Why do you say that?”
“No need to, I expect. He’s got mistresses across the seven seas, is what I hear.” She sighed. “Such a shame, what happened to him—his injury and all. He didn’t deserve it. He’s always been such a kind and generous soul.”
“Has he?”
“Went off to sea at age twelve, but whenever he got shore leave, he’d stop in every now an’ again. ‘How are ye today, Mrs. Trenowden?’ he’d say with a smile. If there were a chore to be done, he’d chip in. Did as much for my neighbors as well. I’ll ne’er forget the kindness he did us, must be six or seven years back. I were laid up with a newborn and the children were all ill wi’ fever. The captain heard about it and didn’t he stop by wi’ a jug of new milk and bread and cheese and coal for the fire? And three year ago, he brung me a piece of fabric from one o’ his travels. A right pretty shade of green. Enough to make dresses for all my girls, and a waistcoat for Jack as well.”
Diana had heard good reports about the captain from several parties now, and this information only added to the mix.
“He’ll make a better landlord than Sir Thomas Fallbrook ever did,” Mrs. Trenowden added, “for all that he’ll be away at sea most of the time.” She paused at that, a sudden, odd look coming into her eyes. Blinking, she continued rapidly, “Of course, it’s awful what happened to Sir Thomas. Losing his wife and son and taking his own life like that. We all feel terrible about it.”
Diana nodded, studying the woman as they said their goodbyes. Was it Diana’s imagination, or was Mrs. Trenowden hiding something?