Mistress of Mellyn Page 3

  I decided against sitting in that room where I felt I was overlooked.

  “Here, please, Daisy,” I answered. Then, because Daisy looked the sort of person who wanted to talk, I added: “Where is Miss Alvean? It seems strange that I have not seen her yet.”

  “She’s a bad ‘un,” cried Daisy. “Do ’ee know what would have happened to Kit and me if we’d got up to such tricks? A good tanning—that’s what we’d have had—and in a place where ‘tweren’t comfortable to sit down on after. Her heard new miss was coming, and so off her goes. Master be away and we don’t know where her be until the houseboy comes over from Mount Widden to tell we that she be over there—calling on Miss Celestine and Master Peter, if you do please.”

  “I see. A sort of protest at having a new governess.”

  Daisy came near and nudged me. “Miss Celestine do spoil the child. Dotes on her so’s you’d think she was her own daughter. Listen! That do sound like the carriage.” Daisy was at the window beckoning me. I felt I ought not to stand at the window with a servant, spying on what was happening below, but the temptation to do so was too strong for me.

  So I stood beside Daisy and saw them getting out of the carriage … a young woman, whom I judged to be of my own age or perhaps a year or so older, and a child. I scarcely looked at the woman; my attention was all on the child. This was Alvean on whom my success depended, so naturally enough in those first seconds I had eyes for no one but her.

  From what I could see she looked ordinary enough. She was somewhat tall for her eight years; her light brown hair had been plaited, and I presumed it was very long, for it was wound round her head; this gave her an appearance of maturity and I imagined her to be terrifyingly precocious. She was wearing a dress of brown gingham with white stockings and black shoes with ankle straps. She looked like a miniature woman and, for some vague reason, my spirits fell.

  Oddly enough she seemed to be conscious that she was being watched, and glanced upward. Involuntarily I stepped back, but I was sure she had seen the movement. I felt at a disadvantage before we had met.

  “Up to tricks,” murmured Daisy at my side.

  “Perhaps,” I said as I walked into the center of the room, “she is a little alarmed at the prospect of having a new governess.”

  Daisy let out a burst of explosive laughter. “What, her! Sorry, miss, but that do make me laugh, that do.”

  I went to the table and, sitting down, began to eat my dinner. Daisy was about to go when there was a knock on the door and Kitty entered.

  She grimaced at her sister and grinned rather familiarly at me. “Oh, miss,” she said, “Mrs. Polgrey says that when you’m finished, will you go down to the punch room. Miss Nansellock be there and her would like to see you. Miss Alvean have come home. They’d like ‘ee to come down as soon as you can. ’Tis time Miss Alvean were in her own room.”

  “I will come when I have finished my dinner,” I said.

  “Then would you pull the bell when you’m ready, miss, and me or Daisy’ll show you the way.”

  “Thank you.” I sat down and, in a leisurely fashion, ate my meal.

  I rose and went to the mirror which stood on my dressing table. I saw that I was unusually flushed and that this suited me; it made my eyes look decidedly the color of amber. It was fifteen minutes since Daisy and Kitty had left me and I imagined that Mrs. Polgrey, Alvean, and Miss Nansellock would be impatiently awaiting my coming. But I had no intention of becoming the poor little drudge that so many governesses were. If Alvean were what I believed her to be, she needed to be shown, right at the start, that I was in charge and must be treated with respect.

  I rang the bell and Daisy appeared.

  “They’m waiting for you in the punch room,” she said. “It’s well past Miss Alvean’s supper time.”

  “Then it is a pity that she did not return before,” I replied serenely.

  When Daisy giggled, her plump breasts, which seemed to be bursting out of her cotton bodice, shook. Daisy enjoyed laughing, I could see. I judged her to be as lighthearted as her sister.

  She led the way to the punch room through which I had passed with Mrs. Polgrey on my way to my own quarters. She drew aside the curtains and with a dramatic gesture cried: “Here be miss!”

  Mrs. Polgrey was seated in one of the tapestry-backed chairs, and Celestine Nansellock was in another. Alvean was standing, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked, I thought, dangerously demure.

  “Ah,” said Mrs. Polgrey, rising, “here is Miss Leigh. Miss Nansellock have been waiting to see you.” There was a faint reproach in her voice. I knew what it meant. I, a mere governess, had kept a lady waiting while I finished my dinner.

  “How do you do?” I asked.

  They looked surprised. I suppose I should have curtsied or made some gesture to show that I was conscious of my menial position. I was aware of the blue eyes of the child fixed upon me; indeed I was aware of little but Alvean in those first few moments. Her eyes were startlingly blue. I thought: She will be a beauty when she grows up. And I wondered whether she was like her father or mother.

  Celestine Nansellock was standing by Alvean, and she laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “Miss Alvean came over to see us,” she said. “We’re great friends. I’m Miss Nansellock of Mount Widden. You may have seen the house.”

  “I did so on my journey from the station.”

  “I trust you will not be cross with Alvean.”

  Alvean bristled and her eyes glinted.

  I answered, looking straight into those defiant blue eyes: “I could hardly scold for what happened before my arrival, could I?”

  “She looks on me … on us … as part of her own family,” went on Celestine Nansellock. “We’ve always lived so close to each other.”

  “I am sure it is a great comfort to her,” I replied; and for the first time I gave my attention solely to Celestine Nansellock.

  She was taller than I, but by no standards a beauty. Her hair was of a nondescript brown and her eyes were hazel. There was little color in her face and an air of intense quietness about her. I decided she had little personality, but perhaps she was overshadowed by the defiance of Alvean and the conventional dignity of Mrs. Polgrey.

  “I do hope,” she said, “that if you need my advice about anything, Miss Leigh, you won’t hesitate to call on me. You see, I am quite a near neighbor, and I think I am looked on here as one of the family.”

  “You are very kind.”

  Her mild eyes looked into mine. “We want you to be happy here, Miss Leigh. We all want that.”

  “Thank you. I suppose,” I went on, “the first thing to do is to get Alvean to bed. It must be past her bedtime.”

  Celestine smiled. “You are right. Indeed it is. She usually has her milk and biscuits in the schoolroom at half past seven. It is now well past eight. But tonight I will look after her. I suggest that you return to your room, Miss Leigh. You must be weary after your journey.”

  Before I could speak Alvean cried out: “No, Celestine. I want her to. She’s my governess. She should, shouldn’t she?”

  A hurt look immediately appeared in Celestine’s face, and Alvean could not repress the triumph in hers. I felt I understood. The child wanted to feel her own power; she wanted to prevent Celestine from superintending her retirement simply because Celestine wished so much to do it.

  “Oh, very well,” said Celestine. “Then there’s no further need for me to stay.”

  She was looking at Alvean as though she wanted her to beg her to stay, but Alvean’s curious gaze was all for me.

  “Good night,” she said flippantly. And to me: “Come on. I’m hungry.”

  “You’ve forgotten to thank Miss Nansellock for bringing you back,” I told her.

  “I didn’t forget,” she retorted. “I never forget anything.”

  “Then your memory is a great deal better than your manners,” I said.

  They were astonished—all of them. Perhaps I was a li
ttle astonished myself. But I knew that if I were going to assume control of this child I should have to be firm.

  Her face flushed and her eyes grew hard. She was about to retort, but not knowing how to do so, she ran out of the room.

  “There!” said Mrs. Polgrey. “Why, Miss Nansellock, it was good of you …”

  “Nonsense, Mrs. Polgrey,” said Celestine. “Of course I brought her back.”

  “She will thank you later,” I assured her.

  “Miss Leigh,” said Celestine earnestly, “it will be necessary for you to go carefully with that child. She has lost her mother … quite recently.” Celestine’s lips trembled. She smiled at me. “It is such a short time ago and the tragedy seems near. She was a dear friend of mine.”

  “I understand,” I replied. “I shall not be harsh with the child, but I can see she needs discipline.”

  “Be careful, Miss Leigh.” Celestine had taken a step closer and laid a hand on my arm. “Children are delicate creatures.”

  “I shall do my best for Alvean,” I answered.

  “I wish you good luck.” She smiled and then turned to Mrs. Polgrey. “I’ll be going now. I want to get back before dark.”

  Mrs. Polgrey rang the bell and Daisy appeared.

  “Take miss to her room, Daisy,” she commanded. “And has Miss Alvean got her milk and biscuits?”

  “Yes, m’am,” was the answer.

  I said good night to Celestine Nansellock, who inclined her head. Then I left with Daisy.

  I went into the schoolroom where Alvean sat at a table drinking milk and eating biscuits. She deliberately ignored me as I went to the table and sat beside her.

  “Alvean,” I said, “if we’re going to get along together, we’d better come to an understanding. Don’t you think that would be advisable?”

  “Why should I care?” she replied curtly.

  “But of course you’ll care. We shall all be happier if we do.”

  Alvean shrugged her shoulders. “If we don’t,” she told me brusquely, “you’ll have to go. I’ll have another governess. It’s of no account to me.”

  She looked at me triumphantly and I knew that she was telling me I was merely a paid servant and that it was for her to call the tune. I felt myself shiver involuntarily. For the first time I understood the feelings of those who depended on the good will of others for their bread and butter.

  Her eyes were malicious and I wanted to slap her.

  “It should be of the greatest account,” I answered, “because it is far more pleasant to live in harmony than in discord with those about us.”

  “What does it matter, if they’re not about us … if we can have them sent away?”

  “Kindness matters more than anything in the world.”

  She smiled into her milk and finished it.

  “Now,” I said, “to bed.”

  I rose with her and she said: “I go to bed by myself. I am not a baby, you know.”

  “Perhaps I thought you were younger than you are because you have so much to learn.”

  She considered that. Then she gave that shrug of her shoulders which I was to discover was characteristic.

  “Good night,” she said, dismissing me.

  “I’ll come and say good night when you are in bed.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ll come.”

  She opened the door which led to her room from the schoolroom. I turned and went into mine.

  I felt very depressed because I was realizing the size of the problem before me. I had had no experience in handling children, and in the past when I thought of them I had visualized docile and affectionate little creatures whom it would be a joy to care for. Here I was with a difficult child on my hands. And what would happen to me if it were decided that I was unfit to undertake her care? What did happen to penurious gentlewomen who failed to please their employers?

  I could go to Phillida. I could be one of those old aunts who were at the beck and call of all and lived out their miserable lives dependent on others. I was not the sort of person to take dependence lightly. I should have to find other posts.

  I accepted the fact that I was a little frightened. Not until I had come face to face with Alvean had I realized that I might not succeed with this job. I tried not to look down the years ahead when I might slip from one post to another, never giving satisfaction. What happened to women like myself, women who, without those attractions which were so important, were forced to battle against the world for a chance to live?

  I felt that I could have thrown myself on my bed and wept, wept with anger against the cruelty of life, which had robbed me of two loving parents and sent me out ill-equipped into the world.

  I imagined myself appearing at Alvean’s bedside, my face stained with tears. What triumph for her! That was no way to begin the battle which I was sure must rage between us.

  I walked up and down my room, trying to control my emotions. I went to the window and looked out across the lawns to the hilly country beyond. I had no view of the sea because the house was so built that the back looked out on the coast and I was at the front. Instead, I looked beyond the plateau on which the house stood, to the hills.

  Such beauty! Such peace without, I thought. Such conflict within. When I leaned out of the window I could see Mount Widden across the cove. Two houses standing there over many years: generations of Nansellocks, generations of TreMellyns had lived here and their lives had intermingled so that it could well be that the story of one house was the story of the other.

  I turned from the window and went through the schoolroom to Alvean’s room.

  “Alvean,” I whispered. There was no answer. But she lay there in the bed, her eyes tightly shut, too tightly.

  I bent over her.

  “Good night, Alvean. We’re going to be friends, you know,” I murmured.

  There was no answer. She was pretending to be asleep.

  Exhausted as I was, my rest was broken that night. I would fall into sleep and then awake startled. I repeated this several times until I was fully awake.

  I lay in bed and looked about my room in which the furniture appeared in intermittent moonlight like dim figures. I had a feeling that I was not alone; that there were whispering voices about me. I had an impression that there had been tragedy in this house which still hung over it.

  I wondered if it was due to the death of Alvean’s mother. She had been dead only a year; I wondered in what circumstances she had died.

  I thought of Alvean who showed a somewhat aggressive face to the world. There must be some reason for this. I was sure that no child would be eager to proclaim herself the enemy of strangers without some cause.

  I determined to discover the reason for Alvean’s demeanor. I determined to make her a happy, normal child.

  It was light before sleep came; the coming of day comforted me because I was afraid of the darkness in this house. It was childish, but it was true.

  I had breakfast in the schoolroom with Alvean, who told me, with pride, that when her father was at home she had breakfast with him.

  Later we settled to work, and I discovered that she was an intelligent child; she had read more than most children of her age and her eyes would light up with interest in her lessons almost in spite of her determination to preserve a lack of harmony between us. My spirits began to rise and I felt that I would in time make a success of this job.

  Luncheon consisted of boiled fish and rice pudding, and afterward when Alvean volunteered to take me for a walk, I felt I was getting on better with her.

  There were woods on the estate, and she said she wished to show them to me. I was delighted that she should do so and gladly followed her through the trees.

  “Look,” she cried, picking a crimson flower and holding it out to me. “Do you know what this is?”

  “It’s betony, I believe.”

  She nodded. “You should pick some and keep it in your room, miss. It keeps evil away.”

/>   I laughed. “That’s an old superstition. Why should I want to keep evil away?”

  “Everybody should. They grow this in graveyards. It’s because people are buried there. It’s grown there because people are afraid of the dead.”

  “It’s foolish to be afraid. Dead people can hurt no one.”

  She was placing the flower in the buttonhole of my coat. I was rather touched. Her face looked gentle as she fixed it and I had a notion that she felt a sudden protective feeling toward me.

  “Thank you, Alvean,” I said gently.

  She looked at me and all the softness vanished from her face. It was defiant and full of mischief.

  “You can’t catch me,” she cried; and off she ran.

  I did not attempt to do so. I called: “Alvean, come here.” But she disappeared through the trees and I heard her mocking laughter in the distance.

  I decided to return to the house, but the woods were thick, and I was not sure of my direction. I walked back a little way but it seemed to me that it was not the direction from which we had come. Panic seized me, but I told myself this was absurd. It was a sunny afternoon and I could not be half an hour’s walk from the house. Moreover, I did not believe that the woods could be very extensive.

  I was not going to give Alvean the satisfaction of having brought me to the woods to lose me. So I walked purposefully through the trees; but as I walked they grew thicker and I knew that we had not come this way. My anger against Alvean was rising when I heard the crackle of leaves as though I were being followed. I was sure the child was somewhere near, mocking me.

  Then I heard singing; it was a strange voice, slightly off key, and the fact that the song was one of those which were being sung in drawing rooms all over the country did nothing to reassure me.

  “Alice, where art thou?

  One year back this even

  And thou wert by my side,

  Vowing to love me,

  Alice, what e’er may betide …”

  “Who is there?” I called.

  There was no answer, but in the distance I caught a glimpse of a child with lint-white hair, and I knew that it was only little Gilly who had stared at me from the hydrangea bushes by the lodge gates.