Virtue of a Governess (2 page)

Around her families huddled, some complaining, some smiling in open relief to have made the voyage intact. A few foreigners talked in whispers, clutching everything they owned. A woman slipped her hand through a young man’s and he gazed down at her with devotion. The feeling of being alone once more hit her. Had she been mad to make this journey, to leave England? After another glance back at the boy, she stepped forward as the line moved ahead. Eventually she stood in front of a desk and a young clerk, with a large Adam’s apple bobbing above his starched white collar, asked for her papers. “Name, Miss?”

Some of her spirit re-emerged. A new beginning. She had to be strong. Straightening her back, she raised her head with dignity. “Miss Nicola Matilda Douglas. Spinster. Twenty-five years of age from Wakefield, Yorkshire, England.”

Nicola kept her head down against the cold wind. Scattered raindrops fell against her and she hurried along the street, eager to be back in the hotel. She laughed inwardly at the thought. The hotel room wasn’t worth the money she spent on it, but having no other choice she tolerated the peeling wallpaper and squeaking bed, the cheerful but slatternly landlady and the noise of the public house next to it. At least it was cheaper than the old Governesses Home, saving her three shillings a week.

At the end of the street she turned right and headed up the slight incline towards the shops at the top. She wished the post office was closer to the hotel to save her this walk, but still, it got her out of the oppressive room and also gave her a chance to become familiar with her surroundings. After four weeks of living in the area, she now knew all the street names between the hotel and the post office and where to buy the few supplies she needed.

Passing the small glass fronted shops, she nodded to one shopkeeper outside fixing his sign that seemed in danger of being blown down the street. “Nasty day, isn’t it, Mr Price?”

“Indeed, Miss Douglas. Not one to be out in,” he called back. “Been to the post office again, have you?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Any luck yet?”

“No, but I’ll keep trying.”

“No luck on selling your drawings so far, I’m sorry to say.”

“Thank you anyway, Mr Price.” She waved and walked on. The sale of one of her drawings displayed in Mr Price’s shop would be welcome. Each day she became a little more frightened and desperate when she received no replies from the letters she sent about the “Governess Wanted” advertisements in the newspapers. Even more alarming was the amount of advertisements from governesses wanting work. She had so many to compete with, many more than she expected.

When she had listened, totally enthralled in Miss Maria Rye’s speech back home in England, she’d been led to believe that Australia was crying out for the want of decent educated young women – women who in turn would educate the children of the growing wealthy families the colony produced. She’d spent days in the local library studying up on the rise of the colony from its convict beginning to the successful and prosperous place it was today. Miss Rye’s scheme to send out teachers and governesses seemed sound and Nicola had quickly spent what money she had on purchasing a ticket to Australia. At the time she felt assured she’d made the right decision. After all, what was there left for her in Wakefield? Her parents were dead and the last job she’d held as a governess had ended when the little girl she’d been instructed to teach had died of fever.

But now, she wondered how prudent she’d been. Her money pile grew shorter each day, and for the last few days she’d cut down on food to stem the amount being used. Soon, all she’d have left would be the First Mate’s half crown and she was loathed to use it. She wasn’t desperate yet...

Thinking of food made her stomach grumble. The slice of bread and weak cup of tea she had this morning wasn’t enough to last all day, but she tried not to think about it. A bowl of warm soup this evening would be worth the wait and if her landlady took pity on her she might spare her a bit of cheese to go with it. The weight had fallen off her in the last weeks. Her poor diet resulted in the sharp jut of her bones, the lack of shine to her hair and her clothes became ill fitting.

Once at the top of the hill, she paused to catch her breath. The wind, being less encumbered by large buildings here, battered her, nearly ripping her hat from the pins securing it. Dust from the dirt road whirled in the gutters, coating everything in sandy grit. Tired and hungry, Nicola took a step, facing the gale head on. It wrapped around her, thrusting her skirts against her legs, imprisoning them. Within the time it took to walk a couple of steps, a wave of dizziness swamped her. The warmth drained from her face. She put out a hand on the shop wall to regain her balance. Strength seeped from her legs, her knees buckled and she collapsed against the wall.

Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths, willing herself to overcome the faint. She’d never been one to swoon and always lived a healthy active existence. Her hectic life before never gave her the chance to be ill or suffer a delicate disposition like her mother…

Nicola tried to regain her feet, but the effort took strength she didn’t feel she had.

A black carriage pulled up further along the road. A stout gentleman climbed down the carriage steps and after donning his tall hat hurriedly walked towards her. “Miss? May I be of assistance?”

She turned to him like a child seeking its mother. “Oh, y-yes…”

“Are you ill or have you been attacked?” He looked about for an assailant.

“Not attacked. I-I felt faint.”

“Come, lean on my arm.” He took her elbow, supporting her weight easily. His large grey side-whiskers and friendly blue eyes helped to calm her. He reminded her of her grandfather long buried in a small graveyard in Wakefield, Yorkshire.

“Thank you.” She managed a quick shaky smile.

“Do you wait for family?” He scanned the area as if expecting someone to come and claim her.

“No. No one at all.” She blinked back the tears that blurred his round profile. In all her life she’d never been as emotional as she’d been in the last weeks; even saying goodbye to her homeland hadn’t wrenched the tears as quickly as they formed now.

“Do you live close by? I can take you.”

She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “I shall be quite all right in a minute. Silly of me to not eat properly this morning.”

“Come to my carriage, I shall escort you home.”

“Thank you, but there is no need.” She straightened, ignoring the dizziness and forced her shoulders back and held her chin high. “I’m much better already.”

“Where do you live?”

She smiled at his friendly persistence. “I lodge at Cordell’s Hotel.”

“Cordell’s Hotel.” He frowned. “You lodge, did you say?”

“Yes, until I can find work.”

“You are newly arrived in the city?”

She sighed. “Is it obvious?”

‘To me, yes, but that is because of my experience.” He gently guided her back to his carriage, his gold-topped cane tapping with every step. “I am Frederick Belfroy.”

“Nicola Douglas. I thank you for your help.” She stopped and gave him a brief smile. Slight dizziness remained, but she grew stronger each minute.

“What is your trade, Miss Douglas?” Mr Belfroy asked, opening the carriage door.

“Governess, sir, but I can work as a teacher or child’s nurse. I have-I have experience in both.”

“Do you have a letter of introduction?”

“Indeed, yes. In my room.” She gestured towards the distant hotel, where, in between the pages of her diary, lay her most important papers. “Do you need a governess or perhaps might know of someone who might?”

“No, not myself, but I may be able to help you.”

Hope flooded her and she swayed again. “I can show you my references. I’m honest and loyal and very punctual. I can teach piano and—”

“Come, come, my dear.” Belfroy gently stayed her urgency. “First things first. Let us find an establishment that offers a refreshing cup of tea. Yes?”

In a daze she followed, not asking why he helped her and not really caring at the moment.

“Douglas... A Scot?” He helped her into the carriage before climbing in himself and giving instructions to his driver.

Nicola relaxed against the dark leather seat. “My grandfather was, yes.”

“Splendid. The Scottish are fine people. Very hard working. And inventive. I met a man once…”

His words grew dim as Nicola swayed, blackness threatening to swallow her.

“Oh I say, Miss Douglas!”

Her last thought was of Mr Belfroy’s alarmed expression.

* * * 

Nicola sat stiffly on the iron bed, its white sheets and grey-green blanket pulled so tight, she was worried she might bounce right back off them. Beside her she placed the carpetbag, and at her feet, stood her large trunk. Through the small square window opposite, she looked out over a narrow yard with its own vegetable garden and line of washing at the end. She remembered little of the last hour. Only, that Mr Belfroy had collected her luggage and insisted that she be looked after in his own establishment. The rest of his conversation, of packing her things, moving to this house and being greeted by an older couple had simply gone over her head. She had been guided and led, talked to and fussed over and her mind, which felt like it was stuffed with wool, couldn’t take in any of it.

Mrs Eldersley, the landlady, had brought up a jug of hot water and a freshly laundered towel before bustling back downstairs. The wash refreshed Nicola but she longed for the bath she had ordered for later. Weeks without a proper bath made her skin itch.

A knock sounded at the door and it was opened before Nicola gave admittance. Mrs Eldersley hurried in, her thick bulk instantly dwarfing the room. She smiled with motherly wholesomeness.

“Well, my dear, are you settled yet? At least your colour has returned to your cheeks.” She spoke between puffs while placing a tea tray onto the washstand.

From her earlier experience downstairs, Nicola knew the older woman didn’t need an answer to her questions.

“I’ve got a nice pot of tea here for you and some of my pound cake. There’s a good piece of mutton simmering for your dinner,” she continued, pouring the tea and adding a dollop of cream to the cup. “Mr Eldersley is cutting some kindling for your fire, and I’ll have it laid ready for when you have your bath.”

“Thank you, Mrs Eldersley, you are most kind.”

The landlady swelled at the compliment. “Well, happen I don’t want my reputation to suffer by not giving a good service.” She heaved up her heavy bosom with her arm and swept a critical glance around the plain but spotless room. “I may not have run a boarding house for long, a mere six months, but I can keep a clean house fit for Queen Victoria herself.”

Nicola smiled. “I am most fortunate Mr Belfroy brought me here.” The gentleman had proven to be a valuable new friend.

“Aye, Mr Belfroy is a good man. It was his idea for me to set up a boarding house once my husband’s ill health made me unable to work for him any longer.”

“Does Mr Belfroy live close by?” Nicola sipped the tea handed to her. It tasted different to that of home, but it was not unpleasant, and like most things she would become used to it.

“Oh no, dear, he’s on yonder side of the harbour.” Mrs Eldersley flicked at a speck of fluff on the bed’s thin blanket. “Poor man is at a loss since his lovely wife died some months back. She went to the grave taking their newborn son with her. Most tragic.” She shook her head in sadness. “I did think Mr Belfroy would lose his head over the whole incident. She was much younger than him and not of his class, not that he cared, even if others did. Now I believe he thinks he’s too old to try again. You see he saved her, his wife, I mean, saved her from a marriage to a brute of a man. Such a kind soul is Mr Belfroy.”

The distant sound of the front door bell tinkling brought Mrs Eldersley’s head up with a snap. “I do hope that’s not more ladies arriving. Three left yesterday and with only you here I was hoping for a bit of quiet. Now drink that tea and eat up that cake. Mr Belfroy said you’re nothing but skin and bones and he won’t have it and neither will I.” With a hasty exit she left Nicola alone to the silence of her room.

After finishing her tea and a piece of cake, Nicola felt better, more able to concentrate. She gazed down at her trunk. Within its age-worn timbers rested her most treasured possessions. The last link she had to her family, her home.

Reverently, she unlocked the weighty lid and carefully pushed it back until it laid bare her life. The musty odour of the ship’s hulk cloaked the contents. Nicola gently lifted out the top layer of clothes and put them on the bed. She ran her fingertips over the leather bound books stacked in the corner before taking them out and placing them on the floor rug she knelt on. Little boxes of personal items joined the books, along with a pair of supper slippers, her jewellery case, and a small hatbox containing her best black felt hat, her paints, an old sketch book and a pouch of charcoal. In another corner, she picked up her mother’s blue woollen shawl and buried her face into it, trying desperately to smell her mother’s faint lavender scent. Wrapped sheltered in the folds of her father’s handkerchief, she took out the miniature portrait of her parents. Nicola smiled at their familiar faces.