Page 3 of The Good Fortune of Miss Robbins

I shouldn’t imagine myself marrying so high, for that might make it more difficult for my friends at Mrs. Southey’s school to feel comfortable visiting me. But I supposed there was no harm in dreaming about it. I dreamed about many things when I was lonely and pondering how many children in the world had families who loved them, mothers and fathers, grandparents, aunts and uncles who cared about them, while I had no one. And when I found myself ruminating on such gloomy thoughts, I would start making up stories in which I was the heroine. Some of these fanciful stories were short, but many of them were long and intricate, and always ended with me marrying a man who adored me and living happily ever after.

Now I was far from Milford, on my own, traveling to the largest and most elaborate grand home that I’d ever seen by far, and I would be meeting an earl, a peer of the realm, and teaching his two half-siblings.

It was as if one of my made-up stories was coming true.

Two

Hattie’s newspapers said the young Lord Brookhaven was quite handsome. Now I could be the judge of that, as well as of his severity, which didn’t frighten me as much as it might some, since I seemed to attract severe people. Like the old Lord Hampton, who was the patron of Milford’s church and treated me almost as a granddaughter, and the senior teacher at Mrs. Southey’s school, who most of the other teachers were afraid of, but who made me her friend and left me her life savings—ten pounds—when she died. It seemed that they were drawn by the fact that I wasn’t frightened by them.

But it’s not that I wasn’t afraid of anything, as Hattie had said. I was frightened of the same things as anyone else. But I befriended ill-tempered people because I wanted to discover why they were so unhappy.

As the curricle went around the side of the main building and came to a halt at the servants’ entrance, I blinked to dispel a lightheaded feeling. I probably should have eaten more of my bread and cheese that I’d brought with me.

As soon as the curricle halted, I hurried to step down. A servant boy emerged from the house and helped the driver retrieve my stowed luggage. Then the driver was on his way again, the gravel crunching under the wheels and horse plodding forward.

The servant boy stared at me, holding my bag with both hands, his eyes questioning.

“I’m Charlotte Robbins, the new governess.” I smiled at him.

He said nothing.

“What’s your name?”

“John.”

A woman emerged from the house.

“You’re finally here. Come, come.” She stood in the doorway, her face scrunching as she looked at me. “John.” She motioned to the boy.

I followed the woman, John practically running behind me, as she moved quickly through the dimly lit hallways.

The walls and floors were made of stone, and I imagined I was in a castle, headed to my room in the tallest turret. When we started up some narrow, winding stairs, I imagined a princess, flanked in front and behind by guards, being led up this same staircase two hundred years ago, taken to the very top to be locked away until her father paid her ransom.

We did indeed keep climbing until I was sure we were on the top floor. We walked down the hallway to the last door, where Mrs. Merryweather stopped, rattled her keys, and unlocked it.

“This will be your room. I am sure you will find it sufficient.” She handed me the key.

There was a narrow bed, two slatted wooden chairs, and a washstand with a pitcher and basin. I liked the small window that let in some light. The room was not so different from the room I shared with Hattie at Mrs. Southey’s school.

John scuttled past us, placed my bag against the wall, then slipped out.

“You could probably do with a hot meal, but I thought you might like to make a brief appearance with the children in the schoolroom first. Lord Brookhaven has been giving them lessons since the last governess was dismissed.” She scrunched her face again, which I realized was her way of frowning.

“I should very much like to meet the children.”

I interpreted the new look that came over her wrinkled face as one of grudging approval, but it quickly vanished. “The master allows the governess to call them by their given names, Annabelle and Samuel.”

What else might I have been expected to call them? Then I reminded myself, when they grew older their position in society would be far above mine. But they were still children, and I was their governess.

I set my smaller bag on the bed and followed Mrs. Merryweather back along the hall and down more stairs in a different part of the house, trying to remember each turn so I could get back. But I got distracted by the views out of the windows—long vistas of sheep grazing among wildflowers, gently rolling hills, a few large oak trees. It was so lovely! But it made me forget to count the last turn. Or was it two turns?

One more hall and Mrs. Merryweather paused in a doorway, staring at me as I caught up. Then, with me peering around her shoulder, she turned to my young pupils. They were seated at a table, their little faces looking curiously at us.

“Children, this is your new governess, Miss Robbins. Greet her properly.” The housekeeper gave them a stern look.

“How do you do, Miss Robbins?” they replied in unison.

“Very well, I thank you.” I smiled at them. “May I ask what you’re working on?” I moved into the room to see.