The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(16)
Serena’s jaw dropped. “Miss Grey?”
“Well, exactly. I won’t say I haven’t noticed her because I have. But I would no more act upon it than…than…well, I just wouldn’t! Besides, she is so proper and efficient that I have no idea where mother got the stupid notion. She could easily have passed it off, but she chose to dismiss Miss Grey on the spot.”
“She what?” Serena said furiously. “And for such a reason? Has she any idea how that will affect Miss Grey’s future?”
“None, until she stops and thinks about it. Which she will, eventually, as you know. And she will be sorry in the end, so I sent Miss Grey up to Haven Hall for a week or two while Mother cools off.”
“Haven Hall?” Serena repeated in accents of horror. “How could you, Gervaise? What on earth is there for her in that place?”
“A pupil,” Braithwaite said impatiently. “Benedict has a daughter. Benedict being the tenant himself, whom I ran into when I was riding last week.”
“What is he like?” Serena asked, distracted in spite of herself. “Miss Grey encountered him while walking one day and found him strange and grumpy.”
Her brother shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t say he was friendly, but he was not boorish.”
“How did you find out he had a daughter?”
“She was with him,” Braithwaite said in surprise. “Didn’t I tell you that? Pretty child but shy. A year or so younger than Helen, perhaps.”
“And was he kind to the child?” Serena asked anxiously.
Braithwaite blinked. “Well, he did not beat her in front of me! But she looked perfectly content to be with him, if that’s what you mean. Listen, though, since you brought the subject up, Mother and I are making another attempt to go to London tomorrow, now that the wretched coach is finally repaired. I shall have to write when Mother relents about Miss Grey.”
“You’ll forget to ask her,” Serena said indignantly. “Why don’t I just bring Miss Grey back once you’ve gone? Then you may write here whenever you remember to get Mama to relent and I’ll write back as though I’ve only just brought her.”
Braithwaite scowled. “You are untruthful and Machiavellian,” he said severely and strode away. It was noticeable, however, that he had not forbidden her. Not that Braithwaite’s prohibition would have made the slightest difference to Serena.
*
Considering the oddity of the household, Caroline grew used to it much more quickly than she’d expected. Although the morning after the intruder’s visit, several items including umbrellas, hats, and plates had indeed been moved randomly around the ground floor, it didn’t reoccur over the next week. She knew either Williams or Mr. Benedict spent time in the library each evening in the hope of catching the intruder, but without any luck. Nor did they find a way to open the passage they were convinced was there. Caroline knew, because she made a point of asking Mr. Benedict.
Neither, fortunately, was there a repeat of the heartrending cries of that first night, though Caroline confirmed a little more about their origin. One day, when she went looking for Rosa after luncheon, she found her in one of the bedchambers on the other side of the house from the schoolroom—the same chamber, she was sure, where she’d seen Mr. Benedict waiting that first night.
This time the door was open, as were the bed curtains inside. The lady who’d thrown the cake the day Caroline had arrived lay on the bed. Miss Marjorie Benedict. Rosa stretched out beside her, gently stroking her hair.
It was a private scene, and Caroline chose not to interrupt it. She withdrew silently and went to the schoolroom to wait for Rosa.
That evening, when she and Rosa entered the dining room, Miss Benedict was already there, flitting around the table as though checking the simple place settings were in order. Rosa ran to her immediately and hugged her, receiving a hug in return, after which she took her aunt’s hand and all but dragged her toward Caroline.
Caroline curtsied.
“Ah, you are Miss Grey,” the lady said with a surprisingly sweet smile. Close to her, Caroline could see family likeness, not only to Rosa but to Mr. Benedict. There was something around her eyes and the shape of her face. In Miss Benedict, the features were softened, but she was quite clearly related.
So much for the cook’s conviction that she was his wife.
Miss Benedict offered her hand. “I have heard so much about you. Welcome to Haven Hall. I have been ill, you understand, or I would have welcomed you before and helped you find your feet here. Is everything comfortable for you?”
“Most comfortable, thank you.”
At that moment, Mr. Benedict limped in. “Well met, Marjorie,” he said without any surprise. “I see you’ve introduced yourself to Miss Grey. Shall we sit? The soup is on its way.”
There was certainly more chatter at dinner than Caroline had grown used to. Miss Benedict initiated conversation on many topics, from the latest novels to possible peace with France, interspersing it all with questions about Caroline’s teaching experience. It was kindly done, as though the lady were satisfying herself as to the new governess’s suitability without appearing to be interviewing her. Caroline knew she was right when she intercepted Mr. Benedict’s sardonic glance.
He said little on any subject, merely smiled sourly when Bonaparte and the French were mentioned. Clearly, he had opinions he chose not to share. Intrigued, Caroline opened her mouth to ask him, but his sister had changed topics suddenly.