left the room.
She went back to her room with her head held high.So his lordship thought that she would dance to his bidding, did he? Well, if he thought that yet another Langley was going to ride over Marguerite Fellowes roughshod, then he had another think coming. There might be nothing more to be said on the matter, but there was certainly something to be done!
Heavy grey clouds were pressing in ominously from the west at four-thirty as Meg jumped down from the gig at the front door of Burvale House and held her hand up to young Tom Judd who had driven her over.
‘Thank you Tom. Goodbye. And please ask Barlow to give this to his lordship.’ She handed him a sealed letter with a hand that trembled slightly. His lordship was going to be furious, but she couldn’t help that. She couldn’t accept his offer and he had to know why, but she couldn’t bear to see him turn away and withdraw his offer, or worse, swallow his disgust and renew it.
Tom touched his cap and said cheerfully. ‘Aye, Miss Meg. Good luck to ye.’ He turned the cob and shook up the reins. ‘Walk on there!’
Meg watched the gig bowl away down the avenue. It seemed to go very quickly, leaving her cut off from the past to face the future alone. She lifted her chin in an oddly gallant gesture and clutched her scarlet woollen cloak more closely around her. Nothing had changed really, she had always been alone. It was just that now that fact seemed harder to face, doubtless because for one blinding moment she had thought that it might be different.
Blinking to clear her eyes, she told herself angrily that the best thing to do now was to banish all thoughts of what could never be and concentrate on what must be. Especially she must banish all thoughts of her friendMarc. He was a creature of her fevered imagination. The reality was Lord Rutherford, a kind enough gentleman to be concerned at the fate of an orphan, but proud and aloof. He would not have been so concerned had he known who she was, why none of the neighbouring ladies had felt it necessary to assist her.
Bravely she picked up the shabby portmanteau which held her belongings and trod up the steps, telling herself that at least she would be with children and would actually have some money of her own. It might even turn out that Mrs Garsby’s unnerving resemblance to a basilisk was merely due to Meg’s own state of mind during the interview. Perhaps she was kind and considerate and would raise Meg’s wage very soon when she realised how devoted Meg was to her children. Clutching at this unlikely notion along with her courage, Meg tugged at the bell chain just as the first heavy drops of rain fell.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs Garsby had largely confirmed Meg in her original impression. No one had answered the door for several minutes and, by the time a supercilious manservant appeared, Miss Fellowes was drenched to the skin in the downpour.
The servant seemed unwilling to admit her, but she insisted that Mrs Garsby was expecting her and put her foot in the door. At last, with a faint sneer, he permitted her to, ‘Step into the hall while I see if the mistress is at home…’
‘It doesn’t matter if she is at home or not,’ explained Meg wearily. ‘I keep telling you, I am the new governess!’
She wondered if she dared to sit down as he stalked off to find Mrs Garsby. On the whole she thought not. Her clothes were dripping all over the flags as it wasand her cloak, once so warm and comforting, was a sodden weight on her slim shoulders. If she sat down on any of the beautifully upholstered chairs in the hall she would soak them. To take her mind off how numbingly tired she was she began to imagine just what Cousin Samuel would have had to say to all the luxurious ostentation displayed in this entrance hall to impress visitors. She was tolerably certain it would not extend to the room assigned to the nursery governess!
A cold voice interrupted her. ‘Might I know what you are
She went back to her room with her head held high.So his lordship thought that she would dance to his bidding, did he? Well, if he thought that yet another Langley was going to ride over Marguerite Fellowes roughshod, then he had another think coming. There might be nothing more to be said on the matter, but there was certainly something to be done!
Heavy grey clouds were pressing in ominously from the west at four-thirty as Meg jumped down from the gig at the front door of Burvale House and held her hand up to young Tom Judd who had driven her over.
‘Thank you Tom. Goodbye. And please ask Barlow to give this to his lordship.’ She handed him a sealed letter with a hand that trembled slightly. His lordship was going to be furious, but she couldn’t help that. She couldn’t accept his offer and he had to know why, but she couldn’t bear to see him turn away and withdraw his offer, or worse, swallow his disgust and renew it.
Tom touched his cap and said cheerfully. ‘Aye, Miss Meg. Good luck to ye.’ He turned the cob and shook up the reins. ‘Walk on there!’
Meg watched the gig bowl away down the avenue. It seemed to go very quickly, leaving her cut off from the past to face the future alone. She lifted her chin in an oddly gallant gesture and clutched her scarlet woollen cloak more closely around her. Nothing had changed really, she had always been alone. It was just that now that fact seemed harder to face, doubtless because for one blinding moment she had thought that it might be different.
Blinking to clear her eyes, she told herself angrily that the best thing to do now was to banish all thoughts of what could never be and concentrate on what must be. Especially she must banish all thoughts of her friendMarc. He was a creature of her fevered imagination. The reality was Lord Rutherford, a kind enough gentleman to be concerned at the fate of an orphan, but proud and aloof. He would not have been so concerned had he known who she was, why none of the neighbouring ladies had felt it necessary to assist her.
Bravely she picked up the shabby portmanteau which held her belongings and trod up the steps, telling herself that at least she would be with children and would actually have some money of her own. It might even turn out that Mrs Garsby’s unnerving resemblance to a basilisk was merely due to Meg’s own state of mind during the interview. Perhaps she was kind and considerate and would raise Meg’s wage very soon when she realised how devoted Meg was to her children. Clutching at this unlikely notion along with her courage, Meg tugged at the bell chain just as the first heavy drops of rain fell.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs Garsby had largely confirmed Meg in her original impression. No one had answered the door for several minutes and, by the time a supercilious manservant appeared, Miss Fellowes was drenched to the skin in the downpour.
The servant seemed unwilling to admit her, but she insisted that Mrs Garsby was expecting her and put her foot in the door. At last, with a faint sneer, he permitted her to, ‘Step into the hall while I see if the mistress is at home…’
‘It doesn’t matter if she is at home or not,’ explained Meg wearily. ‘I keep telling you, I am the new governess!’
She wondered if she dared to sit down as he stalked off to find Mrs Garsby. On the whole she thought not. Her clothes were dripping all over the flags as it wasand her cloak, once so warm and comforting, was a sodden weight on her slim shoulders. If she sat down on any of the beautifully upholstered chairs in the hall she would soak them. To take her mind off how numbingly tired she was she began to imagine just what Cousin Samuel would have had to say to all the luxurious ostentation displayed in this entrance hall to impress visitors. She was tolerably certain it would not extend to the room assigned to the nursery governess!
A cold voice interrupted her. ‘Might I know what you are
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