Page 8 of The Cornish Inheritance

Caroline tried a smile. “I only came looking for Yves. Patience told me he eats down here with you quite often. And I wanted to learn the layout of the house.” Best not to say she wanted to get to know the servants as that could be misconstrued. As a governess she would have to watch what she said and maintain a distance between herself and the staff.

“Well,” Mrs. Teague said, looking a fraction mollified. “You’ve seen the kitchens all right now. And Master Yves has finished his breakfast.” She picked up his empty, egg-smeared plate. “Have you had enough to eat, young man?”

Yves wiped his eggy mouth on the sleeve of what must have started the day as his clean, royal blue skeleton suit but now was decorated with a few breakfasty stains. “Could I have a cake, please? I still have a small corner that’s not quite full yet.”

Mrs. Teague’s stern face softened as she went to where a tray of small cakes were cooling on a rack. “Hollow legs is what you’ve got, my lad. Here we are then.”

Yves took one in each hand, then glanced up at Caroline. “Do you want one? I bet you only got tea and toast for breakfast. That’s what my aunt orders sent up for me, but I fox her. I come down here, and Mrs. Teague always gives me something much better. She says my aunt only tells her what to send upstairs, not what to give me down here. That was Miss Hawkins’s idea. She said I needed building up.” He grinned. “Go on, take one. We don’t get much for dinner in the schoolroom, so if you don’t, you’ll be hungry later.”

“Fresh out o’ the oven, Miss Fairfield.” Did Mrs. Teague’s eyes hold sympathy, now, as well as suspicion?

Caroline took a warm cake, the memory of absconding to the kitchens at Cadley for just such a treat almost bringing a tear to her eye. Did children the world over establish friendships in the kitchens of their parents’ houses?

“Thank you, Mrs. Teague. That’s very kind of you.” Best to keep on her good side by being suitably grateful and polite, especially if Yves was right and the other meals they could expect would be small. Last night’s supper, that she’d eaten in the schoolroom with Yves, had not been generous, although until now she’d not thought to wonder about it.

“Shall we go upstairs and get your face cleaned up?” she said to Yves. “And you can show me your schoolbooks.”

He wrinkled his small nose. “Do I have to? I was thinking we could take a walk down to the beach to do some… nature study. Miss Hawkins and I often did natural philosophy on nice mornings. I’m very good at identifying birds and shells. She had a book about them.” He waved a hand at the nearest window, although thanks to the heat in the kitchen it was steamed up. “And today’s a day for doing that. No rain at all. I already checked. Not that I mind the rain. Although I suppose you might, being a governess and a female.” He managed an embryonic sneer. “Hetty doesn’t like the rain.” A cheeky grin banished the sneer. “She says it makes her hair go all frizzy… and she’s right.”

Caroline smiled. “Well, let me see your books first, and then we’ll decide what needs to be done. And if we don’t get to the beach this morning, I promise we’ll go down this afternoon. Perhaps Hetty might like to come too, if we ask her. As it’s not raining. I’m supposed to be her companion as well as your governess.”

Yves’s face, which had fallen, brightened. “She’ll come. She loves the beach when the sun’s shining, and sometimes in winter too.” He gave her a sharp look. “But we’d best not tell Hetty’s mama, Aunt Ruth, where we’re going. She doesn’t like the beach at all and thinks poor Hetty should have to stay indoors or she’ll ruin her complexion in the sun. Hetty told me that. She says it’s very boring being a girl and having to always wear huge bonnets to keep the sun off. It makes me glad I’m a boy.”

Caroline laughed. “Well, she’s right to a certain extent about the sun, and about bonnets being annoying. But stop delaying, and let’s go upstairs. The sooner you show me your books, the sooner we can be about something more interesting for you.”

The schoolroom possessed a blackboard on one wall, in itself quite a modern innovation in teaching methods, a teacher’s high desk to one side and across the room four small desks with attached seats. At some point there must have been four children within the nursery wing. At the back of the room stood the table they’d eaten at the night before, and an old globe had pride of place on top of a small bookcase.

With marked reluctance, Yves lifted the lid of one of the desks and removed a small stack of dog-eared exercise books. “I’m not that good at keeping them tidy,” he said, his tone apologetic. A bit. “Aunt Ruth told Miss Hawkins my writing was un-de-cifrable.” He said the long word with immense care. “Miss Hawkins told me that means she couldn’t read it. But that’s a good thing, because then she won’t be able to read what I’ve written.”

Caroline took the books from him with a frown. “Why is it a good thing she can’t read what you’ve written? When writing, we want others to be able to read our work, otherwise we might just as well not bother to write at all.”

Yves narrowed his eyes at her. “Some of the things I write, I don’t want anyone reading.” He surveyed her for a moment. “Don’t tell her I said that, will you?”

Caroline smiled. “I won’t. But I must point out that I need to be able to read what you’ve written, so you’ll need to do your best handwriting for me. Let me have a look.” She sat down at the desk next to Yves’s and spread his exercise books across its surface. Mathematics, Composition, French, History and Geography. Well, the missing Miss Hawkins seemed to have been giving him a good variety of lessons.

“Which is your favorite subject?”

Yves, who’d still been standing beside his desk, plumped himself down on the seat. “Composition. I like writing stories.”

Caroline opened that book first. His spidery hand crawled across the first page, much augmented by blots and smudges. The title of the piece had been heavily underlined. The Secret Cove. “This sounds exciting. Do you mind if I read it?”

His cheeks went a little pink. “No-o… But it’s the first one I ever wrote. Miss Hawkins said I have a good imagination. She said I should write my stories down. I’m better at it now, though, and my spelling’s improved. I wrote that one when I was quite a little boy.”

Not that he was big now. Caroline read the two-page story about two boys finding a hidden cove with a cave used by smugglers and being caught by the chief smuggler and asked to join the gang. Some of his writing was indeed hard to decipher, and his spelling was worse than Ysella’s, but he could tell a good, exciting story.

“That’s lovely,” she said, flicking through the book to see how many more there were. It was nearly full. “I love a good story myself and have been known to write my own, just like you.” She glanced across at the small but well-stocked bookcase. “Did Miss Hawkins read aloud to you at all? I find reading helps one with writing one’s own stories.”

He jumped up, nodding. “I’ll show you my favorite.” Running to the bookcase he pulled one of the books out and handed it to Caroline.

She turned it over in her hands and opened it on the title page. The Life and Strange and Surprising Adventures of the Renowned Hero, Robinson Crusoe of York. “Goodness. I didn’t know this was for children.”

Yves shrugged. “I used to like baby books like Cock Robin when I was just a little boy, but Miss Hawkins said as I was such a good reader, we should try this one, and it’s very exciting, so I love it.” He leaned closer. “I’ll tell you a secret, if you like.”

She looked up at him. “Yes?”

“I can read it myself, of course, but I love to be read to at bedtime. I used to have a nurse before Miss Hawkins was my governess, and she read to me every night, but only baby books, like Cock Robin. But Miss Hawkins said I could have exciting books and she made the stories…” He hesitated as though searching for the right words. “She made me think I was in the story.” He grinned. “She does… did good voices.”

Caroline closed the book. “Well, if you work hard this morning, and then show me the way to the beach this afternoon, I shall read to you at bedtime just as Miss Hawkins did. How does that sound?”

His smile stretched almost from ear to ear. “A bargain. But don’t tell Aunt Ruth you’re doing that. She thinks big boys don’t need reading to.” He frowned. “Miss Hawkins and Aunt Ruth shouted at each other about that. I think that might be why Miss Hawkins left…”

Caroline rose from the desk and approached the blackboard. There were certainly a few things about Roskilly House she’d like to find out more about.