Mrs. Baxter closed the folder without immediately reaching for another. Instead she folded her hands upon the desk and regarded Lydia with an expression that was thoughtful rather than severe.
"I should tell you at once that the position for which you have been recommended is... somewhat unusual."
Lydia waited.
"The household itself presents no difficulty. It is well ordered, the staff long established, and the salary considerably above what is ordinarily offered for such a position." Mrs. Baxter allowed the observation to settle before continuing. "Nevertheless, several otherwise suitable candidates have declined even to be considered."
Lydia found that curious. Governesses were seldom in a position to refuse generous salaries without good reason, yet she had learned long ago that interrupting an employer rarely hastened an explanation. Mrs. Baxter struck her as precisely the sort of woman who preferred to proceed in her own fashion.
"The family has requested the utmost discretion," she continued. "Their name has not been entered in the registry, nor will it be disclosed until I am satisfied a candidate is prepared to accept the circumstances attached to the appointment. They have endured a measure of unwelcome public attention in recent years and have no desire to invite further speculation. Should you accept the position, you will naturally be expected to treat everything you observe within the household as entirely confidential."
Lydia smiled faintly. "I should think discretion one of the more essential qualifications for a governess."
"It is," Mrs. Baxter agreed. "Though I have discovered that not everyone shares your understanding of the word."
She opened a second folder, consulting it only briefly before looking up once more. "The gentleman in question is a widower with one daughter, six years of age. Since her mother's death, the child has remained principally in the care of her grandmother, who has naturally devoted herself to the little girl's happiness. Unfortunately, she has also been rather too indulgent. The child has received very little formal instruction during the past several years and has consequently fallen well behind what would ordinarily be expected of a young lady of her age. The familyhas at last accepted that affection, however well intentioned, cannot substitute indefinitely for education. They are seeking a governess capable of establishing routine without unnecessary severity, someone who possesses both patience and sound judgment."
Mrs. Baxter closed the folder and rested one hand lightly upon it. "Those qualities, Miss Mercer, are precisely why your name came to my attention.”
Lydia inclined her head in acknowledgment, though a familiar sadness stirred despite herself. She had long since accepted that she would never marry, never have children of her own, and never hear a little voice call her Mama. Teaching other people's sons and daughters had become, if not the life she had once imagined, then at least an honest and useful one. Children, she had discovered, cared remarkably little about the mistakes or misfortunes of adults. They asked only whether one would admire a carefully collected beetle, mend a torn doll's frock, or read just one more chapter before bed. "I should like to hear the remainder of the circumstances," she said.
Mrs. Baxter held her gaze for a thoughtful moment before inclining her head. "I rather hoped you would."
Mrs. Baxter did not immediately continue. Instead, she regarded Lydia with the thoughtful expression of someone deciding how much ought to be said and how much might reasonably be left unsaid. At length she folded her hands upon the closed folder before her. "There is one further circumstance you should know before deciding whether this position is one you wish to pursue. The child's mother was never entirely herself after the little girl was born. Her physicians described it as melancholy brought on by her confinement. There were periods during which she seemed to improve, only to decline again. The family did everything they could on her behalf, but she never fully recovered."
Lydia felt her heart sink. She had seen enough sorrow during the past twelve years to recognize the quiet regret in Mrs. Baxter's voice. "How very dreadful," she said softly. "And the child was quite young when she lost her?"
"Only three years old." Mrs. Baxter inclined her head. "She was walking beside the lake one afternoon when she apparently slipped upon the embankment. There had been considerable rain, the ground was treacherous beneath one's feet, and..." She hesitated only briefly before finishing with gentle restraint. "You know as well as I how unforgiving heavy skirts may become in deep water. The family physician was entirely satisfied that it had been a tragic accident. Unfortunately, society is not always content with the simplest explanation, particularly where families of consequence are concerned. There has been a good deal of whispering over the years, and I have no doubt that is partly why the family insists upon such complete discretion."
The explanation settled over Lydia more heavily than she had expected. Whatever idle speculation strangers might indulge in mattered very little beside the plain fact that a little girl was growing up without her mother. She knew something of that loneliness herself. Her own mother had died six years past, and although Lydia had not dared reveal herself at the funeral, she had gone all the same. Hidden beneath a heavy mourning veil and standing well apart from the family, she had watched the service from a distance where there was little danger of attracting notice. She had no wish to encounter her father, nor to answer the questions that would inevitably follow should anyone recognize the daughter who had vanished so many years earlier.
She had not expected to see Oliver. Certainly she had not anticipated that he would have had enough forgiveness in his heart for her family to be there at her mother’s interment. And despite the pain of that day, she’d collected every detail of his appearance, committing it to memory.
Time had altered him, as it altered everyone, yet she had known him the instant he stepped down from his carriage. There was a bit of silver at his temples and the solemnity she had sensed in him had settled quietly upon him with a heaviness that now tended toward grimness. They were subtle changes that no passing acquaintance was likely to notice. But she had noticed them.
He had stood through the service with the quiet dignity that had always been so much a part of his character before placing a single white rose upon her mother's coffin. He had come without obligation, without expectation of thanks, simply because he believed it the right thing to do. Lydia had waited until he turned away before leaving by the church's side gate, unwilling to risk even the smallest chance that their eyes might meet across the churchyard.
By sheer dint of will, she pushed that memory away. It was neither the time nor place for such melancholic reflections. The past was just that. The past. It had no bearing at all on her present.
Mrs. Baxter had allowed the silence to linger for a respectful moment before speaking again. "I appreciate these circumstances may give you pause, Miss Mercer. They have certainly done so for others."
"They do not." Lydia looked up, the image of the little girl far more vivid in her mind than the whispers Mrs. Baxter had described. "If anything, I should think they make the position all the more important. A child who has known so much loss deserves stability wherever it may be found."
Mrs. Baxter studied her for a long moment, then gave the slightest nod. "I was hoping you might say exactly that… If you are so inclined, I’ve been given leave to send any appropriate candidate for a period of trial employment. One month, with the promise of severance and a reference upon departure should itnot work out to everyone’s liking. A carriage will fetch you here tomorrow morning at daybreak.”
“The family’s name?” Lydia asked.
Mrs. Baxter hesitated. “I should like to keep that confidential until you arrive at their estate. If you choose to leave at that time, it is within your rights to do so. But I do wish to honor their request for discretion.”
It was unorthodox, but given the circumstances, Lydia wasn’t unsympathetic. Neither was she anyone’s fool. “Will I be safe in this home, Mrs. Baxter? While I’m not a young winsome girl seen as easy pickings any longer, I am still a woman alone at what I presume will be a somewhat isolated estate.”
Mrs. Baxter’s expression was inscrutable. “I assure you, Miss Mercer, there is no place in all of England where you might be safer.”
Lydia nodded her assent. Satisfied with that answer, she stated, “As unorthodox as it may seem, I can understand their desire for discretion. There is nothing worse than being at the center of a scandal.”
“Do you speak from personal experience, Miss Mercer?” Mrs. Baxter asked with a slightly cocked brow.
Realizing her error, Lydia pasted a smooth smile upon her face, one that did not reach her eyes at all. “Indeed, not from personal experience, but I have worked as a governess in a variety of households for more than a decade. I daresay I’ve seen more than a scandal or two.”
