Chapter 1
Brexhay House,
Suffolk
Tuesday, September 1st 1812
My dear Penelope,
I have returned safely to the wilds of Suffolk to take
up the post as governess to the little ‘Bells’
and I was much gratified that they chimed most beautifully in pleasure
at my return. Now I have been here a week I felt I could write.
First I have to tell you about the most beautiful
young man I saw on the way. I confess I
could almost consider it worth seeking romance if only he was living in the neighbourhood of the South Elmhams. It was not far from Bury St. Edmunds, at an
inn where we had halted (and oh, how I appreciate being brought in Mrs.
Macfarlane’s carriage) for a rest and refreshments rather than wait until we
took an inn for the night. He was tall,
with broad enough shoulders that the several capes he had on his greatcoat did
not look as foolish as they do on some men who ape the Corinthian look,
and auburn curls so beautifully
disarranged that one itched to get
fingers into them to straighten them. As this came with an aquiline profile
built on harsh lines but with soft, rather dreamy looking eyes you will
understand why my attention was caught. He looked like he should have been
painted by Mr. Gainsborough in his youth in a velvet skeleton suit, which those
of us who have had anything to do with real children would strongly suspect to
be cobbled together behind after failing to survive an encounter with sliding
of the stables roof or climbing a tree. He also had what Philippa would
describe as a bang-up team of greys .”
“He sounds interesting,” said Philippa. Penelope giggled.
“She s-said you’d say that as s-soon as you heard
about the horses,” she said.
“I bet Philippa took notice as soon as you mentioned the horses, and that she commented. Well, I saw him first though the likelihood
of ever seeing him again is vanishingly slim, and if I do he will turn out
either to be married or in some other way disappointing. As I have not even spoken to him, however, I
shall think of him as Sir Perceval and not be disappointed in him.
I was not sure how I would cope with returning to a
scene of so much gothic horror as was enacted on Miss Freemantle , or Mrs.
Belvoir as I should now call her and myself hardly more than a month ago,[1] but
I confess I hardly thought about it for the clamour, or perhaps I should say
‘clangour’ of Isabella, Arabella and even Rosabella, who managed a small squeal
of delight. Isabella, predictably, after an initial chime of goodwill asked
“How do you do, Miss Spencer?” but I am sure I shall manage to break her of
such precocious formality. I have
established firmly with Sir Henry Harkness, their father, that I have no desire to be ‘Spencey’ , which made
me think of ‘Incey Wincey Spider’, an association he readily saw and
understood. He was somewhat disapproving
of the concept of calling me the ‘Bellringer’ , since he calls his girls the
‘belles’ not ‘bells’ , which name was
Mr. Belvoir’s whimsical idea (and I pray you to pass my best to Mr.
& Mrs. Belvoir) and Sir Henry was dubious about me going by my first name,
even though it would not be outside the
bounds of possibility for me to have
younger sisters of five years old and under.
Accordingly, I am to go under the soubriquet of ‘La Belle Maitresse’
which will be shortened, no doubt, to
‘Labby’ which is still better than being a Spencey-wencey spider.
Anyway, you will want to know of my charges. Though I
am only teaching Isabella, Arabella and Rosabella, I have offered to take
Annabella on nature walks with the older ones, to free the supercilious nursery
maid to rest, especially if she can
arrange for this to be when Maribella is sleeping. I thought it a good idea to be in with the
nursery maid.”
“She’s right,” said Philippa, who was reading over
Penelope’s shoulder while Penelope read aloud, working on reducing her stutter.
“Wh- what is the p-point of me reading aloud if you
only r-read ahead and p-p-pre-empt me?” said Penelope.
“She’s right, twin, leave her to it, she’s doing
fine,” said Felicity.
“I was nosy to ... oh, very well,” said Philippa. Penelope resumed.
“Her name is Amy Trout, and she is not as much of an
old trout as I thought, and was much
gratified to have the chance of a rest, even if it is only relatively
speaking. Maribella is teething and
Annabella is into everything, and wants to be with the older ones. However she is more than capable of asking
when she needs anything, so I may as well have four as three when out and
about. The ass, Boanerges, is more
obliging than Philippa’s Rocinante, and Sir Henry has had baskets made to hang
across him, like the drums of a drum major to pop tired little bells into. I
forbore to draw comparisons to donkey bells.
I hope little voices will ring out in pleasure as they get over the loss
of their mother and learn to have fun with less military precision than they
are used to.”
“Really, one can hardly be less obliging than
Rocinante,” said Felicity.
“Hold your tongue!
Rocinante is only disobliging to people she dislikes,” said
Philippa. “And it was entirely the fault
of that pompous idiot who came to see how our school could be better than the
one for which he is a trustee. If he had
not bent to peer into Eva O’Toole’s big hole in the ground, Rocinante would not
have considered him so tempting a target to nudge him into it. His backside was
big enough to be tempting to push.”
The other girls giggled.
“And he was so caught up trying to follow Eva’s
extraordinary and so very Irish explanation of why there was a hole there, he
was taken entirely aback as you might say,” said Cleo.
“I n-never followed why there was a hole there,
myself,” said Penelope.
“It’s Eva O’Toole; you don’t expect a logical reason,
do you?” said Philippa.
“It was logical to her,” said Felicity. “She saw a rainbow and the foot of it was
where she dug the hole, looking for leprechaun gold. Or possibly just
leprechauns, I never unravelled that much of it.”
“Perfect sense,” said Philippa, with heavy irony.
“Am I going to finish r-reading this letter or are you
going to b-bicker about Eva?” demanded Penelope.
“Sorry, Pen,” said Philippa.
“Anyway, I have volunteered now, and it will give
Annabella a gentle introduction to
coming to me for lessons when she
is older.
Let me know all the news, and tell me about the new
girl when she arrives; I heard a rumour she used to be best of enemies with
Daisy but got better, which almost has to be seen to be believed.
Your loving friend,
Julia Spencer.
“Well, as the new girl is due tomorrow, you might as
well write your first impressions and wait to reply until she is here,” said
Philippa.
“You are lazy enough to p-procrastinate anything,” said
Penelope. “I am going to tell her about the visitors.”
Swanley Court School for impoverished gentlewomen
Richmond –Upon-Thames
Surrey
Wednesday, 2nd September 1812
Dear Julia,
I am glad to hear you arrived safely to a little
carillon of bells. And a real carry-on
it might have been if you had had to deal with O’Tooles.
We have had visitors; a trustee and a head preceptress
from the school which gave Mr. Belvoir the initial idea that our school could
not possibly be so good as it is. You have to give them credit for coming to see for themselves, even
if Miss Doolally or whatever her name was kept muttering about how easy it is
to look good if you pour money into
something. Philippa is reading over my
shoulder and says her name was Golightly which is close enough for someone who
whines about not having enough money and then turns down Mrs. MacFarlane’s
generous offer to sink money into her school too. Jealous cat! And
dog-in-the-manger, and now I have a sore ear, Philippa having pulled on it to tick
me off for using words like ‘cat’ and ‘dog’ perjoratively pejoratively. She’s good at spelling,
anyway. The trustee, a Mr. Pigeon, and
he looked like a plump pouter-pigeon, came to grief, through the offices of
Rocinante, in a hole where Eva was looking for leprechaun gold.
However, he was moderately jolly about it, and he liked the idea of us
having sundry animals to care for without being aware that most of them are
Philippa’s fault.
The new girl is just arriving so I will write more
anon.
Well, Julia, you were partly right about Lily being a
close personal enemy of Daisy’s. Apparently Lily followed her sister’s lead in
making fun of ‘the little cripple’ before Daisy came here. And there’s more; their father was being used
by a relative of Daisy’s to try to get his hands on what Daisy’s parents left
her. Lily said her eyes were much
opened, and she grew up rather, and has come to us to escape her sister. I have to say, Swanley Court would probably
be good for Rosalie Daventry, but I am not sure she would be very good for
Swanley Court, and Daisy promised Lily that she would ask if she might come to
us, Lily that is, not her horrid sister. It is extraordinary that we, who have
never met the phenomenal Daisy know so much about her, is it not? Having heard
so many stories, I say with conviction that Daisy has a streak of vindictiveness and would not
have put herself out for a girl who made her childhood a misery if she had not
seen something worth forgiving in Lily. She seems harmless enough so far, so we
shall see. She has been put in our room
in your bed, and with much argument Cleo has been moved out. I’m not even sure
why Cleo was with us anyway, she’s a
good two years younger than the twins who are younger than you, me or Lily, and
Mrs. Belvoir (I am also finding it hard to overcome calling her ‘Miss
Freemantle’) said we should have dormitories of four unless any of us older
ones wanted to be in pairs. As the twins
don’t care I hastily declined being paired with an unknown quantity, and I like
being with the twins in any case.
Hermione, Kitty, Hannah and Rachel are unchanged, and Cleo has gone to
be a relatively stable quantity in the rather erratic dormitory consisting of
Barbara, Eliza and Alice, and Eliza and Alice both recently with us so they have less against
Barbara. Barbara is no end improved
since she was adopted by Miss Tissot; Eliza and Alice would have no qualms
about dressing as boys having both been accustomed to do so for different
reasons. Actually I cannot say that Cleo
would not join them in that; the name of the Queen of the Nile is most
inappropriate for her regardless of her having been born on board ship during
the Battle of the Nile.
Mrs. Belvoir has separated all the Baswin girls,
mostly so Nancy has a chance to be herself without having the two younger ones
hang on her (which one cannot fault them for in The Other Place) and so that
Amanda does not transfer hanging on Nancy to hanging on Mimi. Nancy is now with
Augusta and Georgiana even though
Georgie is a few months younger than Mimi.
It will do Georgie no harm to have to pull herself up to be with slightly
older girls. Mimi is with Phoebe, Mary and the older new girl, Harriet, who is
Daisy’s protégé. There was some near mutiny at breaking up Phoebe, Mary,
Sarah and Emmie, but I think myself it
will be good for Mary not to have Sarah doing her thinking for her, for she is
perfectly capable of thinking for herself.
Sarah and Emmie are with Amanda
Baswin and Amelia Walker; and the two school babies, outside of the
school babies like the O’Toole twins and downwards, Jane and Eva, are in a room with Miss Tissot,
and very wise that is. They are, after all, sprites of only six years old, and
there’s a big difference between them and the real youngest pupils at
eight.
Later
I just had a chat with Lily and it seems she was
frightened of Daisy’s disability because of a really stupid governess who
assumed that if Daisy had a physical disability she must also be mentally
afflicted, and – more than that – dangerous.
She left Lily at about six with a terror that Daisy would murder them
all in their beds. She acknowledges it
now as foolish but she will have to overcome the fear. I asked if I might tell you to make sure
nobody told your little bells such foolishness.
I mean, imagine Frances creeping about killing people, poor girl! I am glad that Mr. and Mrs. Belvoir are
adopting her and have her in their own wing until their house is built. She
will be happier.”
Penelope chewed on her pen, a new wooden pen holder
with a steel nib, not a quill, and considered the offer Mr. Belvoir had made to
adopt her too. It was kind of them, but
Penelope wanted to prove herself, not just be someone vulnerable who needed
aid. Mr. Belvoir’s kindness in helping her discover an aptitude for
horticulture had already allowed her to almost stop stuttering. Reading aloud as suggested by Philippa had
helped more.
And though it might be nice to have real parents,
Penelope acknowledged that she needed them now no more than any of the
others. And it would be unfair.
Penelope was Lucius Belvoir’s favourite just because
she hated unfairness, had she but known it!
She finished off,
“Well, I have written you a sufficient budget of news,
I think, and I will let you know if I ever find out whether the pouter pigeon
talked the Doolally woman into accepting financial aid.
Your loving friend,
Penelope.”
