Virtue of a Governess (8 page)

“No, it hasn’t been like that, not really.”

“Can you come to a meeting tonight?”

“No, sorry. I have to look over the account books for Mrs Eldersley. The end of the month August bills have been arriving all week and she’s not up to dealing with them. Also this cold snap means we need more fuel for the fires. I have to order that and plenty more besides.”

Shivering as September’s chill spring air inched inside their clothing, Frances pulled the collar of her black coat higher. “I hate the cold, reminds me too much of England.”

Nicola glanced down and from beneath the coat, pale green skirts poked out.

“Yes, I’m wearing skirts, Nicola.” Frances huffed. “I only wear trousers to make a statement, they aren’t my normal everyday code of dress as you well know.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” she replied cheekily, knowing it would irritate Fran. “I am terrified of what you will wear from one meeting to the next.”

“You aren’t funny, Nicola Douglas. Go back inside and see to them lot. I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She kissed Frances’s cheek and returned inside to find the doctor was ready to leave, as were the neighbours.

Once they had left, she stepped into the sitting room and asked Meg and Emily to take Mrs Eldersley to her room, for the poor woman looked exhausted.

“I’ll sit with her for a while, Nicola,” Emily murmured on her way out.

“I’ll retire to my room also, Miss Douglas, I have letters to write.” Miss Burstall nodded to Mr Belfroy and followed the others out.

“A sad day, Miss Douglas.” Mr Belfroy announced, reseating himself on a chair by the fire.

“Indeed, it is.”

“Mrs Eldersley spoke just now of returning to England to join her sister, who is also a widow.”

Nicola slowly sat down in the chair opposite him. “Really?”

“I encouraged her to go, for it is her heart’s wish, but I will be sorry to lose her from my employ.”

Not knowing what to say, Nicola gazed at the fire, thoughts whirling around her head. If Mr Belfroy closed the lodging house she’d have to find new accommodation and likely at a higher rate. Her finances would be further reduced. Oh why couldn’t she find work!

“I was wondering, Miss Douglas, if, once Mrs Eldersley has departed these shores, whether you’d be interested in running this establishment for your board and a wage of a hundred pounds a year?”

Blinking in surprise, Nicola wondered for a moment if she had heard correctly. Run the lodging house? Could she? It was a responsibility she wasn’t prepared for, but one that she found she could do, if the last three days were any judge. Did it matter that she wouldn’t be a governess? No, of course it didn’t matter. The most important thing was having work. And by taking on this position she’d be making sure the women who came here were well looked after. Her initial surprise was quickly drenched in a flood of gratitude towards Mr Belfroy. Once more this kind honourable man had saved her. “Thank you, Mr Belfroy, I accept your proposal.”

Nat shook the sweat from his eyes, ducking his head and weaving to the side, making sure he kept his shoulders and fists up high to protect his chin. From the corner of the chalked square, he made out the old hunched-back man, who stood and, holding the brass bell aloft, rang it heartily three times. Cheers and shouts went up, there was a surge towards the fighters but the organiser’s men held the rowdy mass back.

“Christ man, what’s taking you so long?” Tristan thumped Nat’s back, laughing. “You should have had him in the first minute. The man is lead-footed.”

Nat wheezed the air into his lungs and wiped the sweat from his eyes. “I want to keep out of his reach, he can hit like a hammer.”

“Nonsense, man. He’s like a windmill, arms everywhere.”

“Shut up will you, and get me some water.” Nat closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the sight and noise of men baying for his blood. What possessed him to agree to this fight? He was no longer a young man of twenty. It’d been a few years since he celebrated his thirtieth birthday, which should have been enough warning to give up this sort of sport and stick to cricket. He hadn’t been practising in months, and it showed.

Tristan thrust a crude tin cup into his hands and water sloshed over his wrist. “It’s only water, perhaps you need something stronger.”

“Sod off.” He gulped the water down just as the hunchback rang the bell again. Surging to his feet, he berated himself once more in agreeing to this madness. Already his opponent, some dockland fellow with missing teeth, had jabbed him in the ribs, which ached when he moved. Another lucky punch had caught his eye and likely tomorrow he’d have the bruise to show for it.

He raised his fists, keeping light on his feet as he’d been taught as a schoolboy back home in England. His wiry opponent gave a little jab, testing the way it was to be in this round, but Nat was tired of the game. It’d been a spur of the moment decision to enter the square, a desperate need to burn off some restless energy that bedding with his current mistress didn’t do last night.

Weaving, ducking, he circled the opposite man, looking for a way to end the match so he could return to his club and drown his sorrows for another day. He thought of her then, the woman who’d haunted his mind. Nicola Douglas. His blood grew thick in his veins as an image of her face swarmed before him.

He never saw the punch, just felt the intense pain of the other man’s fist hitting his jaw. The impact made him bite his tongue and the stinging pain joined the thudding ache of his face. He staggered, tasted blood. The crowd, mainly all working class, shouted encouragement to their champion and jeered at Nat when he readied himself again.

Anger cursed through Nat and brought him awake and into focus. Thinking of that damned woman had been his downfall. He’d be on his back if he didn’t concentrate.

Uttering a filthy swear word, he pivoted on one foot, danced a side-step and taking the fellow unawares gave him a quick three jab attack that sent the man to his knees. Nat jigged away, hopping from foot to foot at the edge of the square, waiting to see if he regained his feet, but the fellow knew he was beat and surrendered the purse.

Declared the winner by Mr Kent, the organiser, Nat was given the purse of four guineas. The unruly crowd went into a frenzy, the shouts and yelling growing into a deafening roar, as not many had backed Nat. He knew their thinking, a workingman’s strength up against a toff who did nothing but sit around in his club all day. But who’d got the last laugh this time? Little did they know that he enjoyed physical pursuits and had been fighting since he was a small boy. Not many had the better of him.

“Excellently done, West.” Tristan once more thumped his back and gave Nat his shirt and coat. Nat winced, moving his shoulders to ease on the shirt over the wet stickiness of his sweat-soaked body.

“Let’s get out of here.” Nat grabbed the rest of his belongings from Tristan. Now the fight was over, it wouldn’t pay to stay in this rough neighbourhood. The four guineas was hardly worth it really, but then it’d never been about the money, just the sheer joy of beating another. However, today the win left him with a sour taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the bloodied tongue and lip.

“Wait, I’ve yet to collect.” Tristan disappeared into the press of workingmen.

Nat groaned in frustration. Hanging around would only be asking for trouble. Already he was sensing a change in the atmosphere. He kept his head down but managed to glance around, taking in the situation. Mr Kent was arguing in the corner with five men, all baying for blood. They’d lost heavily by the looks of it. Shrugging on his jacket, Nat walked backwards a bit, heading towards the barn doors and the alley beyond. Damn Tristan, where was he?

“Mr West!”

Nat swung around and waited for Kent to wield a path through the thick of the crowd towards him. “I’ve an appointment, Kent, got to go.”

“Can I book you in for another fight next month?”

“No, not this time.” He wasn’t stupid. Kent had scored a high profit today.

Tristan joined them, hurriedly stashing coins into his bulging pockets like a child stealing sweets. “Nice afternoon’s entertainment,” he said with a grin.

“Let us go.” Nat made for the door, glaring at any man who made eye contact with him. Lord, he was stupid to risk his neck at these back alley fights. If anything happened to him, Frances would be alone.

Once clear of the old barn, he squinted in the harsh sunlight. The squeal of pigs came from the slaughterhouse on the right. He shivered, despite the mild spring warmth of the September day.

“Shall we have a drink at the club?” Tristan replaced his hat as they headed left.

“I don’t particularly care. I just want to be clear of that lot in there.”

“You think it could have turned ugly?”

“I’m sure of it. Too much money changed hands. Kent has pulled a fast one I think. He’s seen me fight before but that was a new crowd.” As if to justify his words, a shout came from behind them. When Nat turned and saw the dozen or so men spilling out of the barn, yelling fit to be tied, his guts squeezed dread. He turned to Tristan and had to smile at the shock on his face. “Well, friend, I hope you can run fast.”

* * * 

“I think you should reconsider.” Meg stood by the kitchen door, hands on hips.

Pushing a strand of hair back from her face, Nicola paused in listing the food in the larder. “How could I? The income is needed.”

“But to run this place?” Meg’s eyebrows shot up. “To be at the beck and call of the likes of Burstall?”

“Is that so different than answering to a mistress of a family? I think not.”

“But as a governess you have some independence and superiority and respect. Who will respect you now?”

Fed up with Meg’s argument, Nicola turned her back on her. “I’m sorry Meg, I’m too busy to discuss this.”

“See, that’s exactly what I mean. From now on you’ll be harassed at every opportunity.
Miss Douglas, the breakfast is late. Miss Douglas, I need clean linen. Miss Douglas, must we have mutton for dinner again
. On and on it will be.”

“Like you!” Nicola snapped. Then at the hurt expression Meg wore, she felt instantly guilty. “I’m sorry, Meg.”

Pulling out a chair, Meg sat at the table. “I’m only thinking of you, Nicola. You are dear to me.”

“I know, and I thank you for your concern. However, I have made my decision. Mr Belfroy needed someone to carry on the good work he is doing by helping women in less fortunate circumstances. Running this place will be no less hard work than what I did at home, where I oversaw the house and helped my father in the school. I like being busy.”

“Very well, I’ll say no more on the matter.” Meg toyed with the salt dispenser. “I heard Emily being sick again this morning. She can keep nothing down for long.”

“I feel so bad for her.” Nicola paused again from counting the jars of chutney as knocking sounded on the door. “Can you answer that please, Meg. If it is anyone for Mrs Eldersley, politely send them away, I don’t want her disturbed.”

Meg left the kitchen and Nicola once more concentrated on the food stocks. She’d been in charge of the house for only a week and yet the ease in which she slipped into the managing role surprised her. This morning she had started to make inventories of everything in the house, from attics to cellar and outside. After breakfast she had spoken with Mrs Eldersley, who’d handed over the keys without murmur. In fact, Nicola suspected the older woman was relieved of the burden.

“Nicola!” Meg rushed back into the room. “You are needed.”

“What is it?”

“New arrivals.”

Blinking in alarm, she untied her apron and smoothed her hair. “I didn’t expect…How many?”

“Three.”

“Three?” She hesitated by the door leading into the hallway. “Is Mr Belfroy with them?”

Meg wrinkled her nose. “No. From what I can gather they’ve heard about this place and decided to try their luck here without any introduction. I hardly think any of them has a penny to their name.”

“Oh dear.”

“Shall I send them away then?”

“Well, no…” Taking a deep breath, she raised her chin and headed for the front door where Meg had left them.

Nicola kept a welcoming smile on her face as she glanced over the small huddle of women by the door, despite her heart dipping in pity at the sight of them. Bedraggled, thin and with the air of hopelessness about them, three pairs of eyes stared at her. How could she turn them away? Isn’t this what Mr Belfroy had wanted, a home for the unfortunates? “Welcome. Please, won’t you come through to the sitting room?” She waved them in and then turned to Meg. “Bring in a tea tray and sandwiches, whatever we have,” she whispered.

The women stood just inside the door, not daring to wander further into the sitting room. Each held small amounts of luggage, their clothes faded and in parts frayed.

Nicola went to stand by the unlit fireplace that had been allowed to go out as this morning the sun had promised spring warmth and she’d opened the windows to freshen the room. “Please, won’t you sit down?”

“We are not entirely clean, Madam,” the tallest of the three answered, her cheeks reddening enough to match the colour of her hair beneath her bonnet.

“I’m Miss Nicola Douglas. I’m in charge of this lodging house. Please, I insist you sit.” She smiled warmly, hoping to put them at ease.