The Observations of a Curious Governess (11 page)

I should be ashamed. Oft at night, once my charges are abed, and my belly filled with a sumptuous supper, I will lay in the dark, remembering how Mr Reeves’ hands had felt against me, the plunging of his staff into my untried opening. Upon these thoughts my naughty fingers will inevitably seek that place, to touch, tease and titillate until my body shudders with passionate memories. It is only after this I find slumber. Night after night, I repeat this routine, and though I am embarrassed by the intensity and frequency of my self-abuse, I have not attempted to repress it.

It was a little more than a week after Mr Reeves’ departure that my father sent my copy of Hester Chapone’s
Letters
to Stanton. My initial pleasure at finding my favourite volume returned to me was quickly discarded as I searched most ardently to find a passage within that should temper my raging desires. Yet the quotes I found seemed scathing and accusatory rather than helpful. This surprised me. I had thought Mrs Chapone a most open-minded and learned woman, but passages such as:

can only be incorrect. I am coming to see that my mentor, the woman I have long aspired to be like,
must
be flawed in some facet of her thinking. For my indulgence must be described as an unlawful passion. Yet it
was
of an innocent nature. I do not feel as though I have committed sin. In engaging in the act of coitus with Mr Reeves, I have improved my knowledge of the world, and experienced something I otherwise would never have been able to. No one was hurt, no one was openly shamed by my act – thus, how could it be wrong? How could it be sinful?

* * *

On Mr Reeves’ return, I was walking with my charges in the garden. Part of our morning lesson was on colours and letters of the alphabet, and to enhance the learning, I thought to use the summer flowers of Stanton, for they are truly a spectacle worth of great note. The gardeners do His Lordship proud indeed with the volume and panoply of colour they present to the floral admirer. My teaching methods may be considered by some to be unconventional at best, romanticised at worst, but in my defence Master Alexander has a wild enthusiasm for nature, and appears to learn best when he can touch and physically experience the lesson. Miss Helen is much more reserved, and learns equally well in the library, yet she too tremendously enjoys her lessons out of doors. Being of such tender years, I feel most keenly that it is appropriate to indulge and foster their love of God’s natural creations. Thus it was we were walking by the most southerly of the flowerbeds, hoping to espy a bumblebee. We have been working on our letters, and I have noticed Master Alexander has a propensity to confuse the ‘b’ with a ‘p’ or a ‘d’, so I hoped to reinforce our letters by searching out a bumblebee to reinforce the letter ‘b’ in his mind. We had just knelt to observe a charming display of pink foxgloves when I heard someone approach.

‘Miss Swan.’

I very nearly fell into the flowers, so great was my shock. After a moment to recompose, I turned and rose to greet him. Mr Reeves looked dashing; there could be no other description. He was wearing well-fitted cream breeches and crisp white stockings; his coat was a deep forest green, and his waistcoat a soft brown.

My hand went to my bonnet, and I tucked away an errant curl. ‘Mr Reeves, I am so pleased to see you – but surprised you are back at Stanton so soon.’ My heart swelled with delight.

His eyes held the children a moment. ‘Good day, Master Alexander, Miss Helen.’ He inclined his head towards them. Helen gave a delightful curtsey, whilst Alexander bowed with the grace of his heritage. With a smile, Mr Reeves returned his attention to me.

‘I do apologise for interrupting your charming charges,’ he said, ‘But I thought to make my arrival known to you immediately.’

I paused, flattered by this courtesy. ‘Why, thank you, Mr Reeves, that is very kind.’

There was an awkward and interminable pause, where neither of us seemed to know what to say.

‘I shall not interrupt your lesson long, but I have a pressing question to ask you.’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘But first, may I ask how long you shall stay?’

‘A week, maybe more I suppose,’ he said, looking away. ‘I… er… should very much like to take you to meet my cousin, the Vicar, if that sounds amenable to you?’

Momentarily, I was lost for words. Why should he wish me to meet his cousin the Vicar, whom I had seen (and whose interminably dull sermons I had lamented over) just the other day at Sunday service? Mr Reeves knew well that I would know the man on sight, even if I had no formal introduction to him.

I mustn’t have been able to mask my surprise at this request, for his own expression faltered. ‘I did not mean to be presumptuous,’ he said, his tone softening. ‘I just thought you may like to become better acquainted with him.’

‘You’re too kind, but I should not like to impose,’ I eventually said.

At this point, Master Alexander made it known that he had tired of our adult conversation, by beginning to wander away. ‘Master Alexander,’ I called.

‘You could never impose. Miss Swan, would Sunday after the service suit?’

I could not refuse him. ‘I should be delighted.’

The grin Mr Reeves offered was boyish and exceedingly pleased. ‘Excellent. Good day, Miss Swan.’

He bowed, and before I had time to offer a reciprocal farewell he’d set off, striding in a most purposeful manner back to the house.

* * *

I was surprised, and a little disappointed the following morning – a Friday – when Mr Reeves did not appear as an escort for my morning constitutional walk. Thus I took a brief and, I confess, agitated turn about the grounds. You see, the bodily craving I have written so briefly about had begun to plague me with renewed fervour at Mr Reeves’ return. From his abrupt reappearance and seemingly inspired offer to take me to the Vicar, I had assumed he was in need of similar release. Yet on that morning, I found myself doubting my assertion. The evening prior, at dinner with the Stantons, I’d spoken very briefly about Mr Reeves’ return to His Lordship. Lord Stanton had taken my questioning with amused intrigue, querying me most inappropriately in return on the matter of ‘that
solicitor
, Mr Reeves.’

I fear I may have given too much of myself, for I blushed furiously and he chuckled and winked wickedly at his wife. I said nothing for the remainder of the evening, lest I give the rascal further ammunition with which to jibe me.

Sunday morning happened to be the first time I saw Mr Reeves again. I had come to church with Nanny and the eldest two Stantons. His Lordship was busy with preparations for his birthday party, and Her Ladyship was so swollen in her breeding state that she had deemed herself unfit for public display; thus neither Her Ladyship nor His Lordship were present.

I caught a glimpse of Mr Reeves one row from the back of the church. He inclined his head as I moved past towards the seats assigned for the staff and children of Stanton House. The sermon, just like those preceding it, was terribly, unutterably dull. The vicar was preaching passionately on the evils of pride, quoting on no less than five occasions a single line from Proverbs, 11:2:

I could not agree more with this particular passage, but object – most strenuously – to it being repeated so often within one sermon! Being a woman of education, I know much of the Bible and its passages, yet Vicar Reeves’s style of preaching left much to be desired.

Young Miss Helen began to cry about halfway though, and Master Alexander began to get rowdy shortly after. With only a quarter of the sermon to go, Nanny Parker decided to remove the children from the church altogether, and was graced with many a disgusted glare from the villagers and their dull-eyed offspring as she did.

Thus it was that when that terrible sermon ended I was blessedly free to enter into discourse with Mr Reeves, who greeted me immediately after.

‘Good morning, Miss Swan,’ he smiled.

‘Good morning, Mr Reeves,’ I returned with a smile and bob. I turned and saw the vicar, speaking softly with a member of his parish, and I waited quietly beside Mr Reeves.

‘You look very well this day, Miss Swan,’ Mr Reeves said, so as to break our silence. I glanced down at my old cream muslin. It was fine enough, but old, and not at all fashionable. Still, it was terribly nice to be thought pretty and I blushed at the unexpected compliment.

‘Why, thank you, Mr Reeves.’

I desperately wanted to ask why he had returned so soon, and why he wished me to meet his cousin, but I said naught of these things and instead enjoyed our quiet companionability in the warm morning sun.

‘Ah, Jonathan. This must be the young lady you wish for me to meet.’

The voice was well-modulated, and unmistakably owned by the vicar. I turned to face the Reverend. On closer inspection he was not an unattractive man, despite his tiresome sermons. In his black garb, with a wide-brimmed hat upon his dark curls, I could see the family resemblance in the angle of his jaw and aquiline nose.

‘Yes, indeed. Frederick, may I introduce Miss Martha Swan, the governess at Stanton House – a lady who seems ever to grow in my estimation.’

The vicar nodded sagely.

‘Miss Swan, may I introduce my cousin, the Reverend Frederick Reeves,’ Jonathan added. I curtsied graciously, and the vicar fell into a surprisingly smooth bow.

When the formal introductions were done with, the vicar looked at me and smiled gently. ‘Jonathan has spoken of nothing but your virtues, Miss Swan.’

‘Indeed?’ I blushed.

‘I’ve scarcely known him to be so effusive about anyone.’

I blushed again, and shared a secret glance with Mr Reeves. His gaze was warm. My belly fluttered. He had been discussing me with his family – something one does if one intends a betrothal. The notion was as thrilling as it was unsettling. I couldn’t understand why he would do so, as we still could never marry.

The Reverend studied me, and I fanned my cheeks to will my blush away. ‘I trust you find Stanton to your liking, Miss Swan?’ There was no mistaking the concern in his voice. I hesitated but slightly before answering. ‘Why yes, I do. The children are a delight, and so very eager to learn.’

He nodded, evidently appeased, though his hand was clenched beside his thigh.

‘Children are indeed a great blessing from the good Lord,’ the Reverend replied. ‘One day I hope to be so blessed.’ He looked about the congregation, and his smile faltered just for a moment, on seeing a young woman I instantly identified as his wife. She was speaking excitedly in a group of young parishioners.

‘Mrs Reeves?’ The Reverend called, and she turned. Her expression sobered instantly upon viewing her husband, and she immediately inclined her head to her audience. The excited chatter ceased, and she moved towards us with careful deliberation.

‘I believe you may recognise my wife,’ the Reverend said softly, ‘even if there has been no formal introduction?’

I inclined my head and bobbed, catching Mrs Reeves’ eye.

‘Miss Martha Swan, may I introduce my wife, Mrs Maria Reeves.’

I inclined my head once more, and took the opportunity to observe her more closely. She appeared to be of similar years with myself, though she dressed in a much more severe manner, as well befitted a vicar’s wife. Her dress, a modest thing of deep, dark green, was cut high at the neck, and her brown locks were mostly covered by a large, and dare I suggest unflattering, cap, decorated by lighter green ribbon.

‘Ah, Miss Swan. How wonderful to meet you, finally. Mr Jonathan Reeves has spoken of you ceaselessly,’ she said, taking an arch glance towards Mr Reeves. If I am not mistaken, I believe I saw a shadow of embarrassment rush across Mr Reeves’ face, yet it was gone swiftly.

‘Maria …’ the Reverend’s voice was soft and the reproach in it scarcely audible. I coloured again and shared a glance with Mr Reeves, whose cheeks I daresay were colouring also.

‘I am delighted to meet you,’ I said gently, trying to think of something more gracious to say. ‘I hear you do admirably in doctoring,’ I said eventually, recalling an occasion Jenny had mentioned some time ago regarding the vicar’s wife assisting with a farmhand’s injury. ‘I daresay, if you were not so busy, you ought try your hand at becoming a physician.’

Mrs Reeves nodded enthusiastically and laughed a little – but the emotion failed to reach her eyes. ‘Oh I do not think so, but you are kind to say so.’ Her lips curled slightly. ‘I just know we shall become wonderful friends.’

‘I should like that,’ I replied, not entirely convinced I should like that at all.

I’d heard from Jonathan just how lively Mrs Reeves could be, and I didn’t truly want to be the recipient of her type of companionship. I had enough complications in my own existence without adding her to them.

‘You have not been at Stanton long then, I gather?’ she asked.

‘No, not at all that long, really.’ I responded.

‘Well, you are fortunate to be at Stanton House. The grounds are particularly lovely there, and the woodlands! Just perfect for private wanderings and contemplations, I daresay.’

My heart gave a stutter, and I betrayed myself with a horrified glance at Jonathan.

‘Mrs Reeves,’ he interrupted, ‘I am certain we have detained Miss Swan long enough. May I take leave of you, and escort her back to Stanton?’

The vicar shared a look with Jonathan that I couldn’t quite decipher. A silent apology for his wife’s loose tongue, perhaps?

‘Good day Mrs Reeves, Reverend,’ I said and curtsied.

****

I fear as I turned and began to walk down the lane towards Stanton House, I may have stumbled. My chest felt unbearably tight. I could not extinguish the thought that Mrs Maria Reeves
knew
about my exchange with Jonathan in the woodlands. But how could such a thing be possible? No one had witnessed us, I was certain – and yet there was a knowing look in Mrs Reeves’ eye that made me want to flinch from it.