questioned me, she had the impression that I was the daughter of Squire Travers Main.”
“Which you gave her no doubt.”
“No doubt. And she realized then why I found a workman’s cottage distasteful. I stayed on until I recovered, and then I told her I must go, and when she asked where, I said that I did not know, but I could not encroach any longer on this hospitality of the d’Ambervilles. She was loathe to let me go and an idea came to me. There were several young d’Ambervilles … six of them from the ages of five to sixteen, and that was not counting the eldest daughter of eighteen and her brother Gervais, the eldest son, who was twenty years of age. So I suggested to her that I should become …”
“The governess?” I said.
“How did you guess?”
“Sometimes history has a habit of repeating itself.”
“That is often because what happens once makes us resourceful in similar circumstances. It’s what is called experience.”
“I always knew you were very experienced.”
“Indeed I am. I became the governess. I taught the children as I now teach your sister and brothers. I was a great success and I enjoyed my stay with the d’Ambervilles.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Because the eldest son, Gervais, fell in love with me. He was very handsome … very romantic.”
“Did you fall in love with him?”
“I was in love with the title he would have and the lands and the riches. I am being very frank tonight, Arabella. I think I am shocking you a little. Mind you, I liked other things about him besides the worldly possessions which would one day be his. He was gallant, adoring, everything that a lover should be. Hot-blooded and passionate. He had never met anyone like me. He wanted to marry me.”
“Why didn’t you marry him?”
“We were discovered.” She smiled as though amused by the memory. “In flagrante delicto … almost. By his mother. She was horrified. ‘Gervais!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe my eyes.’ Then she went out, banging the door loudly. Poor Gervais. He was horrified. It was very embarrassing for a well-brought-up boy.”
“And what about you?”
“I knew it had to come to a head, and I thought it was better to have the family’s consent to the marriage before it took place. The French are more conventional than we are at home. They might well have cut him off with a few sous. After all there were two other sons and Jean Christophe was rising twelve—one of my most appreciative pupils—so Gervais was not indispensable. Now they knew how far it had gone. From what Maman had seen during her brief glimpse into our love nest it was possible that I might already be enceinte and a little d’Amberville on the way.”
“You really mean …”
“My dear, sweet, innocent Arabella, isn’t that what life is all about? If it were not so, how should we replenish the earth?”
“So you really were in love with Gervais … so much that you forgot …”
“I forgot nothing. It would have been an excellent match. Gervais appealed to me; he was madly in love with me; and his family had shown me kindness.”
“It did not seem the way to repay it.”
“What, by making their son happy? He had never known anything like it. He told me so many times.”
I tried to understand her. It was difficult. I did know that, if she had been here, my mother would have decided that she must go at once.
“Should you not have waited until after the marriage?”
“Then, my dear Arabella, it would never have happened at all. Think what poor Gervais would have missed.”
“I think you are rather flippant about what should be treated seriously.”
“Innocent Arabella, flippancy is often used to disguise seriousness. Of course I was serious. I was summoned to the salon. There I was confronted by the elders of the family. There was a long speech about my betraying their trust in me and how they could no longer allow me to stay under their roof.”
“What about
“Which you gave her no doubt.”
“No doubt. And she realized then why I found a workman’s cottage distasteful. I stayed on until I recovered, and then I told her I must go, and when she asked where, I said that I did not know, but I could not encroach any longer on this hospitality of the d’Ambervilles. She was loathe to let me go and an idea came to me. There were several young d’Ambervilles … six of them from the ages of five to sixteen, and that was not counting the eldest daughter of eighteen and her brother Gervais, the eldest son, who was twenty years of age. So I suggested to her that I should become …”
“The governess?” I said.
“How did you guess?”
“Sometimes history has a habit of repeating itself.”
“That is often because what happens once makes us resourceful in similar circumstances. It’s what is called experience.”
“I always knew you were very experienced.”
“Indeed I am. I became the governess. I taught the children as I now teach your sister and brothers. I was a great success and I enjoyed my stay with the d’Ambervilles.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Because the eldest son, Gervais, fell in love with me. He was very handsome … very romantic.”
“Did you fall in love with him?”
“I was in love with the title he would have and the lands and the riches. I am being very frank tonight, Arabella. I think I am shocking you a little. Mind you, I liked other things about him besides the worldly possessions which would one day be his. He was gallant, adoring, everything that a lover should be. Hot-blooded and passionate. He had never met anyone like me. He wanted to marry me.”
“Why didn’t you marry him?”
“We were discovered.” She smiled as though amused by the memory. “In flagrante delicto … almost. By his mother. She was horrified. ‘Gervais!’ she said. ‘I can’t believe my eyes.’ Then she went out, banging the door loudly. Poor Gervais. He was horrified. It was very embarrassing for a well-brought-up boy.”
“And what about you?”
“I knew it had to come to a head, and I thought it was better to have the family’s consent to the marriage before it took place. The French are more conventional than we are at home. They might well have cut him off with a few sous. After all there were two other sons and Jean Christophe was rising twelve—one of my most appreciative pupils—so Gervais was not indispensable. Now they knew how far it had gone. From what Maman had seen during her brief glimpse into our love nest it was possible that I might already be enceinte and a little d’Amberville on the way.”
“You really mean …”
“My dear, sweet, innocent Arabella, isn’t that what life is all about? If it were not so, how should we replenish the earth?”
“So you really were in love with Gervais … so much that you forgot …”
“I forgot nothing. It would have been an excellent match. Gervais appealed to me; he was madly in love with me; and his family had shown me kindness.”
“It did not seem the way to repay it.”
“What, by making their son happy? He had never known anything like it. He told me so many times.”
I tried to understand her. It was difficult. I did know that, if she had been here, my mother would have decided that she must go at once.
“Should you not have waited until after the marriage?”
“Then, my dear Arabella, it would never have happened at all. Think what poor Gervais would have missed.”
“I think you are rather flippant about what should be treated seriously.”
“Innocent Arabella, flippancy is often used to disguise seriousness. Of course I was serious. I was summoned to the salon. There I was confronted by the elders of the family. There was a long speech about my betraying their trust in me and how they could no longer allow me to stay under their roof.”
“What about
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