Page 24 of The Cornish Inheritance

Chapter Eleven

As it turned out, Mrs. Treloar must have been forced by politeness into saying Caroline could attend the ball as Hetty’s companion. A note was delivered to the schoolroom by young Dickon the footman.

Caroline unfolded it while sitting at the teacher’s desk, watched surreptitiously by Yves, who should have been writing out an example of a first conjugation Latin verb in his best handwriting.

She read: Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp have particularly asked for your attendance at their ball next week. I have decided you may go as Hetty’s companion. But there are conditions to this. Firstly, you will wear a suitably plain gown so that no one there will be mistaken in your duties. Secondly, you will not put yourself forward to dance with any young gentlemen. Thirdly, you will carefully supervise all young gentlemen who approach Hetty for a dance and accompany her at all times. Mrs. Treloar.

What a draconian list of conditions, but at least the writer of this letter could spell a lot better than Ysella. Caroline reread her instructions. A suitably plain gown. Did her employer mean she wanted her to wear one of her drab everyday dresses? She hadn’t been to a ball since last year, but she still had the dress she’d worn to that hanging in her wardrobe right now. It was of the palest mauve, a color that suited her complexion well. Might she get away with that?

Yves coughed.

She returned her attention to her small charge. He’d seemed particularly sleepy this morning, as though not properly awake, and was propping his head up on his hand with his elbow on his desk and his eyes only half open.

She smiled at him. “Have you finished your work?”

He glanced down at his ink blotchy page. “Um, not quite.”

She gave him a stern look. “Well, best get on with it then. It’s nearly midday and you don’t want to be still writing Latin verbs out this afternoon.”

He rubbed his eyes. “It’s so stuffy in here. I can’t seem to think.”

True. Maybe she should open the window.

With a sigh, Caroline got up and came to peer over his shoulder. “I see you’ve done amo and ambulo.” She scanned his writing. “And I’m pleased to say both are correct. At least I think they are, given your quite terrible use of blots. Do you know? I think we’ll leave it at that for today. No sense in trying to cram learning into your head when you’re this sleepy.” She shook her head. “Did you not sleep well last night?”

Yves blew to dry the ink on the last word in his list—ambulant—they walk, they are walking, they do walk. “I think I must’ve slept a bit too well. Usually, I go down for my breakfast with Mrs. Teague, but today I overslept and didn’t have time.” He rubbed his stomach. “And I’m starving right now.”

Caroline’s thoughts went to the meager platters they’d be getting for their dinner in an hour’s time. “Perhaps you’d like to go down to see Mrs. Teague now, in that case, and see what she’s been cooking. She’ll probably have something nice for you to eat.”

He jumped up, suddenly lively. “Thank you, Caroline. I can call you that, now lessons are over. I’ll collect Dash from down there too. Shall I bring you something to eat as well?”

Why not? “Thank you, Yves. I’ve some work to do here preparing for tomorrow’s lessons. But that would be lovely.”

Like a gangly puppy, Yves galloped out of the schoolroom on his errand of mercy.

Caroline settled down to sort through the work she was planning for the next morning, not noticing how the time ticked past.

The door opening disturbed her. She looked up, half expecting it to be Yves back with a slab of thick-cut bread slathered with butter, but it wasn’t. Instead, Patience the nursery maid came sidling in carrying a mop and bucket.

“Ooh, Miss,” she said as she saw Caroline. “I didn’t think as you’d still be here. Shall I come back later?”

Caroline closed the book on her desk and shook her head. “Good afternoon, Patience. I’ve finished what I was doing, so I’ll leave you to your chores.” She stood up, and the girl set the bucket down. Caroline moved to the door, her hand on the knob, but hesitated, her forehead furrowing in a puzzled frown.

“Patience?”

“Yes’m?”

“Master Yves was very sleepy this morning, as though he’d had difficulty waking up.” She sucked her lips in trying to decide how to word this. “He missed going down to breakfast with Mrs. Teague because he wasn’t up in time. Was there anything… different… about yesterday evening? You are there when he’s put to bed, aren’t you?”

Patience bit her lip. “I’m there in the nursery, Miss, but ’tisn’t me what puts him to bed. ’Tis Bridget. I’m doing the tidying.”

Caroline nodded. “And was there anything different last night?”

Patience’s smooth brow wrinkled. “I b’lieve Doctor Rescorla had left some powders or such like for Master Yves to take. Like he had before. Might’ve been a bottle. I didn’t see it, so I don’t rightly know. Bridget give it to him, I think. He didn’t like it, but she made him take it.”

Oh. Caroline nodded. “Thank you, Patience.” She half opened the door. “And where is Bridget now?”

“Downstairs in the kitchens eating her dinner.”