Page 6 of The Cornish Inheritance

Twenty minutes later,after sitting sipping her tea in an excruciating silence, and wondering if she should have thought up a few questions, however inane, to fill the gap, Caroline emerged from the drawing room into the wide, soulless hall and followed a young footman carrying her valises up the marble staircase.

The hallway stretched to double height, and a gallery ran around its upper edge, with corridors leading off in different directions into what must be the wings of the house. The livery-clad footman, a young man whose fresh-faced and spotty complexion indicated he could be no more than eighteen, led her down one of these corridors and through a door into what had to be the nursery wing.

“This is the governess’s room, Miss,” he said, pushing open the door and stepping back.

So, this was how a governess lived. The bedroom was better than a servant would have been given, but not so fancy as a guest room in the main house. A high bed covered in an eiderdown took up most of the room, along with a tall wardrobe, a washstand, a desk by the window, and on the floor a slightly worn rug in muted colors. Not the smart new furniture of the rest of the house, but nevertheless, comfortable looking, and enough to remind Caroline of her lost home. Most likely the contents had been demoted when the rest of the house received its modern makeover.

“This will do nicely,” she said, going in.

The footman set her bags on the bed. “Will there be anything else, Miss?”

She was about to say no, and thank him for his help, when a small tornado hurtled through the door and flung itself at the footman, closely followed by a spaniel. “Dickon!” Yves wrapped his arms around the young man’s waist and hung on.

The footman’s cheeks flared with embarrassment and he quickly peeled the boy off, his eyes going to Caroline. “I’m sorry, Miss, that won’t happen again.”

Yves frowned up at him. “I thought you’d come to play football with me along the corridor?”

Poor Dickon’s cheeks reddened even further. “I can’t do that right now, Master Yves. I’m supposed to be working.”

Caroline looked from one to the other of them. The young footman was scarcely more than a boy himself, and Yves had taken on a crestfallen, disappointed expression yet again. “Pray don’t let my presence stop you from playing ball with Master Yves, Dickon,” she said with as kind a smile as she could muster. “His aunt has just told me she wants him to have as much exercise as possible for his health, so I think a quick kickabout along the nursery corridor should become a staple of his education. If you have time right now?”

Dickon’s face broke into a smile, removing any vestige of snooty footman. “If you’re sure that’s all right, Miss?”

Yves danced from one foot to the other.

Caroline smiled. “Of course it is. You two go and play, and I’ll unpack my bags.”

Still blushing, Dickon retreated into the corridor, and Yves scampered off, presumably to find his football, his dog bouncing at his heels. As Caroline opened her valises, the thump of a ball hitting the floor and walls sounded outside in the corridor, followed by a high-pitched bark. The dog must be playing too. She smiled to herself. She could only hope that despite the loud noise, the walls and floors were thick enough for no one to hear this downstairs.

By the time she’d stowed all her belongings away, the sound of football being played had died away, so Dickon must have had to return to his footman duties downstairs. The door opened, and Yves stuck his tousled blonde head around it. His pale cheeks had flushed with the exercise.

“I say, that was very sporting of you to let Dickon play with me. Miss Hawkins used to all the time, but since she’s been gone, I’ve had Bridget looking after me, and she told me I wasn’t allowed to play football inside.” He grinned. “It’s more fun than outside. The ball can’t get away, and I love the noise it makes when it hits the walls.” He swung on the door jamb. “I love making lots of noise.”

Caroline smiled. “What boy doesn’t? I used to play football with one of my friends, when I was a girl. And, if you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll tell you a secret.”

He stepped into the room, nodding. “I promise. I’m good at keeping secrets. You can tell me anything.”

“My mother and father sent me to school in Bath when I was thirteen, intending me to learn to become a lady, but I secretly took my ball with me and would play football in the gardens with my friends. If we’d been seen, we’d have been in trouble because it wouldn’t have been considered at all ladylike.”

He giggled. “I should like to play football with other boys, but I’m not allowed to play with the farmworkers’ children. I’ve seen them playing together sometimes, in the farmyard or the fields, and it looks such fun. I have to make do with Dickon.” His face brightened. “Although now I have you, too. Miss Hawkins didn’t play football herself, but she didn’t mind me playing. Maybe you might play with me and Dickon? Sometimes we get his sister Patience to play too. She’s a nursery maid. A nice one, not like mean old Bridget.”

Caroline beamed. “Of course I’ll play football with you. But what about your cousin Henrietta? Doesn’t she play with you?”

Yves frowned. “She used to, but Aunt Ruth doesn’t like her to do boyish things now she’s not in the schoolroom. I like Cousin Hetty a lot, but she can be a bit boring. Probably because she’s a girl and learning to be a lady and can’t do the same things I can. Aunt Ruth doesn’t mind what I do when I’m outside.” He peered up at her. “I was wondering. What do you want me to call you?”

Caroline drew in her bottom lip. “We-ell, I suppose you ought to call me Miss Fairfield, to be polite. But my name is Caroline.”

Yves bit his own lip. “That’s a nice name. Might I call you Caroline when we’re not in lessons? And Miss Fairfield when you’re teaching me? To be polite.”

Caroline pulled a skeptical face. He seemed a very friendly child, and not too pushy. “Perhaps that would work. We’ll see, shall we?”

He grinned. “Then shall I take you to meet my cousin, now? She’ll probably be in her room getting changed for dinner. Now she’s left the schoolroom, my aunt lets her dine with them. She used to eat with me when Miss Hawkins was teaching her too.” He seized Caroline’s hand. “She only left the schoolroom when Aunt Ruth got rid of Miss Hawkins. It’s been a bit lonely without her, even though she can be boring. I suppose having a girl around is better than having no one.”

After this rather scathing dismissal of female-kind, Caroline let him lead her out of the room, down the corridor to the galleried landing and into another wing of the house. They stopped outside a door halfway along the corridor. Yves tapped on it.

“Come in,” called a voice from within.

He pushed open the door and led Caroline inside. “Hetty, I’ve brought my new governess to meet you.”

Miss Henrietta Treloar, luckily for her, had not inherited her looks from her mother. She was neither tall nor severe looking. Instead, a girl as dainty as Caroline’s friend Ysella regarded them from the chaise longue in the window where she’d been sitting sketching the view of the distant blue sea. Rich auburn hair cascaded in artful curls onto her shoulders, and the corners of wide blue eyes, very much like Yves’s own, crinkled as she smiled at her small cousin. “Yves!”

He ran to her and sat down with a thump on the chaise longue. “Can I see your drawing? This is Caroline Fairfield. Caroline, this is Hetty. I mean Henrietta. Aunt Ruth says she can’t be Hetty now she’s a young lady and not a schoolgirl.”

Hetty rose to her feet, her smile illuminating her lovely face. “Miss Fairfield, how lovely to meet you. You mustn’t let Yves take liberties with you. He’s such a rascal.” She ruffled Yves’s already ruffled hair. “My mother already informed me you’d arrived. I’m so glad to have someone to keep me company. Now I’m no longer in the schoolroom I’m finding life here a little tedious, but that might be because Yves and I no longer have Hawkie to amuse us. There’s a limit to how many sketches I can do, or how much I can play the pianoforte or read. Even though Mama wants me to do all these things.”

Caroline took her extended hand. “I shall endeavor to find interesting occupations for all of us, Miss Treloar.”

Hetty shook her head, making her curls bob. “Oh no no, don’t call me Miss Treloar. It makes me sound like an old maid. Like Aunt Agnes, and she’s a hundred if she’s a day. I should much prefer it if you were to call me Hetty, although not in front of my mother who is such a stickler for social etiquette.” She dimpled. “We three will keep our own secrets and be Yves, Caroline, and Hetty in each other’s company and Master Yves, Miss Fairfield, and Miss Treloar when Mama is present.”

She seemed to have very little in common with her mother, especially not her personality, and must, surely, resemble her late father. Perhaps there might be a portrait of him somewhere Caroline could see.

A maid in a mob cap came in. “Miss Henrietta, your Mama sent me to tell you dinner is about to be served.” She bobbed a curtsey at Hetty and then another at Caroline, eyes full of curiosity.

Hetty stood up. “I’m so sorry you have to eat in the schoolroom with Yves. I would have liked your presence at dinner to talk to, but that can’t be helped. Mama has decreed and what Mama says, goes, every time. Although I am going to endeavor to change her mind. It’s so quiet at dinner with just Mama, Aunt Agnes, and me.” She gave a little shiver. “Although sometimes Mr. Trefusis eats with us as well. But I am sure we will see each other tomorrow.”

And with that, she departed, leaving Caroline and Yves to return to the schoolroom where the dinner served would most likely not have suited the lady of the house one bit.