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She found the torn dress hidden in the back of the closet. The missing scrap of material had left a large hole near the slit for the pocket, and a rent extended all the way from there to the hem of the gown which was soiled with a brown stain that looked disturbingly like blood. Jane could not imagine how Miss Fairfax could have damaged her clothing in such a way. Well, no, that was not true. Lydia had wreaked similar damage on a gown once doing handstands in the stable. A visiting groom had first performed this acrobatic feat for the ladies’ entertainment. After he had gone off, Lydia had essayed to replicate it. Despite tying her petticoat between her legs beforehand, her performance, while creditable, had been highly indecorous. Her attempt to right herself afterwards was disastrous; her dress coming to grief on a pitchfork hanging on the wall. Jane wondered—Did Miss Fairfax do handstands in her bedchamber?
Jane had previously discounted little Amabel’s accusation that the governess had kissed her beau through the pass-through. Now she asked herself how a little girl could think of such a thing. Miss Fairfax began to take on an aspect of Lydia in Jane’s mind.
Suddenly recalled to herself and remembering that time was of the essence, Jane looked at the clock on the commode—only half an hour ‘til she must be elsewhere. Attaching the scrap of material to the gown with a pin from her own bodice, Jane sighed inwardly. She decided there was no time to start a letter to Lizzy. What remained of her interlude would be best spent studying Miss Fairfax’s diary in preparation for tomorrow’s lesson.
Lying on the bed, Jane took a few minutes to peruse the first pages, which were dated over a year ago. She spent a whole minute pondering the fact that Miss Fairfax’s neat writing did not resemble Lydia’s scrawl in the least before deciding that the more recent entries required her immediate attention. Turning to these, her eye was caught be a few words near the end, underscored by a neatly ruled line: “Still no second primer!” Underneath, notes regarding revision of verbs in the first primer were written. Perhaps Miss Fairfax had ordered another primer at the bookshop and was waiting for its arrival? Jane certainly hoped so.
She became so engrossed in reading the other entries that she was startled by a knock on the door. Consulting the clock, Jane saw that her half-hour had flown and got up, pushing the diary under her pillow. But in answer to her summons, it was not Meg who appeared, but Cherise.
“May I come in?” Miss Garth asked timidly, hesitating on the threshold.
“Why, yes,” replied Jane, “but I expect that Meg will arrive shortly to dress me for dinner.”
“Yes,” said Cherise, stepping into the room wearing a pale pink silk gown. “She is just tidying up my things. Do you mind if I watch?”
Used to the constant presence of her sisters, Jane made no demur. As Cherise entered, Jane’s eye was caught by her jewellery. While not extravagant in the style of the Bingley sisters, the few pieces worn by her charge made Jane’s own gold cross, which was the only piece of jewellery that she owned, look rather plain. Jane usually borrowed her mother’s pearls to wear with her golden silk to balls.
“Why, that is a very pretty necklace, Cherise,” she said, admiring the small cluster of gems on the chain. “Are they garnets?”
“No, Miss Bennet. They are rubies. My father gave them to me for my birthday. I am to come out this season.”
“Oh!” said Jane, noting the setting of the stones was indeed finer than any she had seen before. “But you have not left the schoolroom?”
“No,” replied Cherise, “Father says idle minds make mischief.”
Meg arrived while Jane was still processing this dictum, apologising for her tardiness—Amabel had stepped on the hem of her day gown. Meg had been obliged to pin it up so Nurse could mend it on the morrow.
Pulling off the muslin dress she had dyed grey for her mourning, Jane donned the golden silk quickly before sitting down before the small mirror on top of the commode. As Meg undid her plaits and began brushing out the golden tresses, Jane’s naturally curled fringe sprang back into place.
“Oh, your hair is beautiful!” gasped Cherise.
“You must let me dress it in a bun, ma’am,” added Meg eagerly.
Unsure whether this would be appropriate for a governess, Jane objected but was overborne by both Meg and Cherise who assured her that Miss Fairfax always had her hair dressed nicely for the evenings.
Meg worked efficiently. Soon the ladies descended the stairs, with their maid preceding them to open doors. Retracing the labyrinthine path trod in the morning, Jane arrived once more in the blood red hall lit by sconces.
Upon entering the parlour, Jane found it transformed. A panelled wall had been opened to reveal a dining table illuminated from above and the sides by a huge chandelier and a set of four matching girandoles, set on two opposing sideboards. Used to the dim illumination of the few candles set on the dinner table at Longbourn, the Garths’ dining room seemed a fairyland in comparison. Jane had never actually seen a real girandole before, but she immediately recognized the branched candelabra with their cut crystal drops thanks to Sir William Lucas. Bent on purchasing one of these luxuries, Sir William had repeatedly brandished an etching of one for her approval for a whole month of visits to Lucas Lodge. But when the next quarter day arrived, he had returned from London with a Wedgwood bust of Horace instead, having decided that less than a pair would be shabby.
Aside from two footmen making minor adjustments to the silver and plate upon the table, the parlour was empty. When Meg took herself off after giving a perfunctory bob, Cherise essayed an impish smile and whispered:
“What do you think of our furniture?”
Feeling the girl was putting her on the spot, Jane answered vaguely: “Well, it is very grand!” before finding an object worthy of her admiration. “That delicate japanned cabinet is lovely.”
Cherise agreed before looking at the gilded black and green sofa Mrs Garth had occupied during the morning’s interview and asked more pointedly, “And what of our settee?”
“I have never seen anything quite like it,” replied Jane honestly.
“It is dreadful, isn’t it?” giggled Cherise. “Father is a friend of Sir Thomas Hope. It is Egyptian Revival you know!”
Jane’s mouth formed an appreciative, “Oh!” But before she could venture anything further, the long clock struck seven. Voices in the hallway alerted her to the approach of Mrs Garth. Both young ladies turned towards the door.
Mrs Jemima Garth swept into the room wearing an emerald green court dress teamed with an emerald and diamond parure that included a tiara worthy of the Crown Jewels.
Following Cherise’s lead, Jane stepped into a curtsey. Her head came up in time to meet Mr Garth’s eyes which quickly flicked from her own to a more neutral point in the room. He was an imposing man, tall with dark hair and sideburns shaved to points, dressed in formal wear—a black tailcoat and pantaloons with a pristine white wool and silk waistcoat gleaming underneath. He might have been handsome had there not been an air of determined grimness about him.
“My dear Thomas, this is the new governess, Miss Jane Bennet. Miss Bennet, my husband, Thomas Oriel Garth Junior.”
