She sank onto the bed.
‘Well, the mattress is comfortable,’ Sarah offered, attempting cheerfulness.
‘I suppose it is,’ Charlotte replied, managing a faint, weary smile.
They began to unpack slowly, taking stock of their new surroundings. Sarah’s room proved equally sparse, though the schoolroom appeared well stocked for a boy of his age—at least from what Charlotte had glimpsed.
A tray of plain bread, cold meat, cheese, and lukewarm tea was sent up, and they fell upon it with relish. After some rest, Charlotte felt more herself again.
Later, Lucy returned.
‘I am so glad you are both here. Do let me know if you need anything,’ she said in her lilting Yorkshire accent as she tidied the room and coaxed the fire into life. ‘It has been most difficult tending to Master Tom on top of everything else. I do hope you stay longer than the last governess.’
‘Can you tell me a little about Master Tom?’ Charlotte asked, intrigued and a little apprehensive. ‘I know so little of him.’
Lucy hesitated. ‘Er... it is difficult to describe him. He is a spirited young fellow. Only—do not let him intimidate you, and you will be fine.’
Charlotte and Sarah exchanged looks of quiet dread.
‘Come. Mr and Mrs Wilberforce will see you now.’
With that less-than-comforting assurance, Charlotte followed her through the winding corridors once more, down to the study—a richly appointed room filled with dark wood, heavy drapery, and faintly scented with old leather and smoke.
Waiting there stood a man of medium height, with keen, intelligent eyes and a kindly, expressive mouth. His smile appeared genuine—a welcome sight.
‘Miss Lucas,’ he said warmly. ‘I am so delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Mr Wilberforce.’ He bowed as Charlotte curtseyed. ‘I trust your journey was not too arduous.’
‘It is a relief to arrive,’ Charlotte replied, mustering a smile of her own.
Mr Wilberforce posed a few polite questions—whether her room was comfortable, whether she required anything—and Charlotte was struck by his apparent kindness.
And yet, there was something restless in the way his gaze strayed, again and again, towards the sofa.
Charlotte followed it.
Seated there, in perfect elegance, was a woman.
‘My apologies,’ Mr Wilberforce said. ‘This is my wife.’
Charlotte curtseyed as the lady stood.
Mrs Wilberforce was beautiful.
Her dark hair was styled into an exquisite chignon, her fine evening gown draped elegantly over her slender figure. Her Grecian features were almost classically perfect. Charlotte felt an odd prickle of familiarity—as though she had seen this face before—but she could not place it. Perhaps she resembled some marble figure Charlotte had once admired in a museum.
‘How do you do, Miss Lucas,’ Mrs Wilberforce said with a dazzling smile. ‘We are so glad you decided to take the post. We were quite anxious about Tom, were we not, William?’
Mr Wilberforce’s smile faltered—only for a moment.
‘Yes... indeed we were.’
Charlotte itched to inquire further after the boy, but dared not appear too forward.
‘I should have liked to meet him,’ she said tentatively.
Mrs Wilberforce’s smile tightened.
‘He keeps to a strict routine. Otherwise, he may become... restless.’
