The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(11)

Rosa grinned around her roll.

“Do we always have breakfast in the kitchen?” Caroline asked her.

Rosa nodded.

“The others have breakfast in their chambers as a rule,” Cook said, waddling over with a plate of ham and eggs. “Only Miss Rosa likes company in the morning.”

The child smiled gratefully and helped herself.

“Well,” Caroline said, when even Rosa appeared to be full. “Shall we have a brisk walk before we begin lessons?”

Rosa nodded with enthusiasm. Jumping to her feet, she gestured for Caroline to wait and ran off, leaping up the stairs two at a time.

Caroline swallowed the last of her coffee. “I expect she’s gone to find the dog.”

“And her father,” Cook said.

Caroline’s heart gave a little lurch at the prospect of Mr. Benedict’s company. She wasn’t sure if it was dismay or excitement.

“She goes to see him every morning after her breakfast,” Cook went on. “I think she’s afraid he’ll vanish, poor dear.” She glanced at Nan, who was some yards away, noisily loading pans and crockery into a bowl for washing. Lowering her voice, she added, “Not surprised, the goings-on in this house.”

As the governess, Caroline was, of course, above such below-stairs gossip—although Lord Braithwaite had implied she would find a trusted ally in the cook. Taking her hesitation for encouragement, Cook said, “The child loves them, of course, but it’s no wonder she doesn’t speak. They’re both mad.”

“Who is mad?” Caroline asked, slightly bewildered.

“The master, of course,” Cook said, as if Caroline was proving herself to be little better. “And Miss Benedict. Ha, Miss Benedict indeed! According to him, she’s his sister, but it’s my belief she’s Mrs. Benedict, and he doesn’t want anyone to know!”

Caroline frowned. “You’re saying the lady who has taken to her room is his wife?”

“Hush, Miss, none of them would ever admit it.” Cook jerked her head at Nan, presumably encompassing all the servants the Benedicts had brought with them. From wherever they’d been before. Cook lowered her voice further. “It’s not so much that she takes to her room. It’s that he locks her in there!”

Caroline’s eyes widened.

“And before you tell me it’s lies and gossip, I saw it with my own eyes. Took her hot chocolate up to her chamber myself one morning—maids had come down with something and there was only Williams and me on our feet. I couldn’t get in. Then he—the master—turns up, casual as you please, and unlocks the door!”

“I can’t see why that makes her his wife,” Caroline observed. She shouldn’t be allowing this conversation at all. She stood up.

Cook blinked at her. “He wouldn’t bring his mad old sister with him, would he?” she said reasonably. “But not much he can do about a wife. I know they say in Blackhaven that he murdered her, but I don’t believe that. Besides, the girl is clearly fond of her. And his people, the servants, won’t talk about how the wife is supposed to have died. They don’t talk about her at all. Or the sister. It isn’t natural. Mix that up with how this house is haunted and—”

“You don’t enjoy your work here, Mrs. Smith?” Caroline interrupted, a shade desperately. Lord Braithwaite might have imagined she and the cook could be allies, but Caroline already felt appallingly disloyal. She had to nip this gossip in the bud.

“Well, as to that—” Cook began.

Caroline hurried toward the stairs. “I’m very glad to have met you, Mrs. Smith. Thank you for the delicious breakfast. I’d better hurry and meet Miss Rosa.”

She found her own way to the side door and was tying her bonnet when Rosa and Tiny came flying around the corner. Although Caroline held her breath, no uneven footsteps followed them. Only as they returned from their short walk, did she catch a glimpse of her employer, and that was when Rosa waved up at one of the windows of the house. A dark shadowy figure moved away, just as Caroline glanced up.

“Was that your father?” she asked, and the girl nodded happily. “Well, he will expect us to do some work. So, let us go and begin.”

*

“Write about your family and your home, so that I might know them as well as you do.” Caroline generally began her first lesson with new pupils in this way. She found it a useful gauge to a child’s skill with the English language as well as other areas of necessary education. Besides which, it provided her with useful clues about the new family she was working for.

In Rosa’s case, she was conscious of a too-urgent desire to know more, and not just to discover if Cook could be right in her speculations. She wanted to know about Mr. Benedict for his own good. And the lady who’d thrown the cake at him. And she didn’t want rumor and superstition. She wanted truth.

While Rosa wrote, Caroline continued looking at her previous work, and discovered her pupil to be good at sketching and painting. One notebook was filled with colored pictures of leaves, flowers, and descriptions, complete with Latin and common names.

“Who taught you this?” Caroline asked when Rosa brought her work over.

Rosa smiled and pointed to the essay she’d just written. In particular, she pointed to the first paragraph which she’d titled: My Father, Javan Benedict.