It felt unnatural for his wife to be gone from this part of his life. Yet, it felt unnatural for him to feel that longing for Deborah. An odd paradox. But loneliness was a fickle friend. Even though Silas’s life was quite full at present, he found himself wishing for more. And as miserable as his marriage had been at times, it was comforting to have a witness to his life. For good or ill, Deborah had been a partner of sorts.
He needed a confidant. A proper one. And as he considered that, he knew there was a viable option living under this very roof. Miss Delmonte had proven herself engaging and intelligent. She enjoyed his banter and silliness as much as his serious reflections and had much to offer in the way of advice and insights. Silas’s thoughts cast back through the past fortnight since their trip to the beach and found himself smiling. Clearly, Miss Delmonte hadn’t desired a close association with her employer, yet with each day, they found themselves engaged in more and more conversations.
The more he thought about it, the more he itched to leave his comfortable bed. Surely, Miss Delmonte would brighten his dull day. A few minutes in her company might just be what he needed. His dragging muscles pulled him from bed, though the exhaustion faded as he put on his dressing gown and slippers.
***
Paradise was filled with desks. There were many luxuries Judith could forgo, but among the ones she missed most from her time under her aunt and uncle’s roof, it was having her own space in which to conduct her private affairs. Employers didn’t care to shoulder the expense of extra furniture for their servants, and lap desks were a bit of a misnomer as they did not fit comfortably on one’s lap nor did they properly serve the function of a true desk. But now, she needn’t make do, for though Mrs. Barton had chosen a small desk to fit in her equally small bedchamber, it was large enough for Judith’s needs.
If only the papers before her brought her such joy.
The ledger sat before her, and she scratched another small figure into the lines. Five hundred pounds would’ve seemed a fortune to her in her younger years, but with retirement speeding quickly towards her, Judith was all too aware of how little that amount was. How many more years would she have to add to her savings before age and infirmity made it impossible to carry on? Would she have enough?
With no housing or food to purchase, reason dictated she ought to be able to put the majority of her salary into savings, but a governess’s clothes were not included as part of her pay. Nor were many other necessities like proper candles and coal to light and heat her room; yes, her employers provided some, but never enough.
Except for Mr. Byrnes.
Without that expense, she could put a little more into her savings. And perhaps she could curtail her visits to Yorkshire, though even as Judith contemplated it, she doubted Chloe would understand Judith eliminating that annual tradition. Of course, neither Chloe nor her aunt ever thought to aid her in the travel costs, but Judith was still required to take it.
That was unfair of her. Her mother’s family had done much for her over the years, and it was a small price to pay in return.
Perhaps if she purchased fewer books or drawing pencils, she might be able to put a little more aside each quarter. Yet did she mean to deny herself of every joy in the here and now? Her first few years as a governess had been so very lean, and Judith could not stand to return to the times when she could afford not even the littlest of luxuries that put that shine into her days.
Setting down her pen, Judith’s gaze turned to the only space in the world she could call her own. Four unadorned walls surrounding a space hardly large enough to hold the scant furniture inside it, and she couldn’t even claim that as her own. Employers deigned to allow her housing as long as they were content with her efforts, but it wasn’t hers. A borrowed space filled with another’s things.
Judith pushed away from the desk, rising to her feet. Good gracious, why had such melancholy sentiments taken hold of her? There was little good to be had in bemoaning her current situation. And there was little more she could do to provide for her future. Sitting about fretting over the unchangeable and unknowable was hardly worthwhile. But that was the nature of such things. Days were filled with things to do, but it was in the solitary nights that her thoughts strayed down such ghastly avenues; even though she knew the futility of such thoughts, images of her future played out in her mind.
Pressing a hand to her stomach, Judith paced her small patch of floor. Her insides twisted like a length of yarn around a crochet hook, each worry was another knot, moving along with the speed and skill of one familiar with their pattern.
Judith Delmonte was hearty and hale. Surely, she would continue with her profession for many years to come. She would continue to save. Continue to earn. However, though some governesses were able to earn enough to retire, far too many of them ended their days in poverty. What would come of her when she was too old to care for herself and she was too poor to pay someone to do so for her?
Spinsterhood was not a terrifying thing. Marriage and motherhood were fine prospects, but their absence did not mean Judith lived a life of misery and woe. She had learned to care for herself. To earn her own way. To find new employment. To pack up her meager belongings and move across the country on her own. Judith was as independent as one could be without an inheritance, and that was no little thing.
Yet, her insides grew restless when she considered that distant future. What happened to a spinster with no wealth or immediate family when she was too infirm? Who would come to visit her? Would the days stretch together in unending silence? Her life at present was a solitary thing, yet she still had the occasional conversation. Would she have anyone around when she no longer resided in another’s household?
Stopping in place, Judith chided herself in all the colorful phrases she’d learned over the years. Her knowledge wasn’t extensive, but she’d received a broader education in such things since leaving her aunt and uncle’s home. They were words she wouldn’t utter aloud, but they were entirely applicable in such moments.
Judith Delmonte was being a fool. These thoughts helped nothing. It was one thing to plan for disasters, but agonizing over them was useless. That knowledge helped to ease the pressure building in her chest, but no amount of logic would untangle the knotted mess her insides had made. Distraction was the only solution.
Taking the sketchbook from her desk drawer, Judith lowered herself onto her chair and flipped through the pages. Her eyes traced the familiar lines from her father’s pencil, and Judith waited for the peace that accompanied the drawings to wash over her. Papa’s skill was masterful; with only a few faint but confident lines he captured his subject, giving the two-dimensional images life.
But the magic never came. There was no flood of calm or amusement. So often, she felt her parents’ presence through the drawings, but tonight, Judith felt only the emptiness of her bedchamber and the silence that surrounded her.
Clearly, this distraction was not enough.
Tucking the sketchbook back into its drawer, Judith pulled on her dressing gown and gathered her sewing bag and the bits of fabric that were slowly forming into costumes. Needlework wasn’t a tasking enterprise, but it was better than standing about moaning over things that could not be helped and may never come to pass. Judith escaped the solitary confines of her bedchamber and wandered to the library where she would have the space and light needed to do her work. Mr. Byrnes and Mr. Hatcher had retired early, so the room would be free for her to use without being interrupted.
Judith made her way through the hall, her feet guiding her path despite the dying lights. The servants were occupied with their work downstairs, the family was abed, and it felt as though she was the only one stirring despite the early hour.
A creaking floorboard drew Judith’s gaze to the right, her footsteps pausing as she listened to the rhythmic sound that had grown increasingly familiar over the passing weeks. It was a miracle Mr. Hatcher was ever well-rested, for the fellow hardly slept. More often than not, she’d heard those pacing footsteps emanating from his bedchamber. Drawing closer to his door, Judith stared at the wood and wondered about the occupant.
But there was little point in standing about, pondering over the fellow, so Judith continued on her way, putting him out of her thoughts as she focused on trimmings and seams.
Stowell Cottage’s library was hardly worthy of the name, though it held the hallmarks of its title. Along one wall stood a few bookshelves with glass doors, but they were sparse in number, giving only a passing nod to the fashion that dictated a large house must have a library. In Judith’s experience, those who truly loved the written word rarely kept them so removed; readers preferred ease of access whereas the feigned intellectuals kept the expensive decorations behind glass and under lock and key—visible yet inaccessible.
The woodwork and window seats had been painted over with a crisp white, and though it broke her heart to see the lovely dark wood covered so unceremoniously, she appreciated the lightness it brought to the space. Though no doubt Aunt Lavinia would bemoan the wallpaper for being a touch too out of fashion, Judith found she liked the pale color that was equal parts blue and green with scrawling vines that turned the room into a painted garden. But the main attraction tonight was the fireplace, which burned low. As this was the gentlemen’s preferred room, the maids kept the fire lit most evenings.
Taking the seat closest to its light and warmth, Judith spread out her fabric and sewing implements. Her eyes would likely not be pleased come tomorrow, but if she was to finish these costumes in time for the children’s performance, evening work was required.
