“Your message said you wished to speak with me regarding my interview with Mr Cadwalader?” Miss Webster blew on her tea whilst her shrewd eyes gazed at Amelia over the rim of her cup.
“Yes…” Amelia paused. Histrionics, she sensed, would not influence this lady, so perhaps a more direct discourse – albeit spurious – was required. “My cousin works for the employment agency and once I heard of Mr Cadwalader’s search for a governess, I felt compelled to warn all applicants. He is a rake of the highest order and–”
A palm was held up. “Miss Lambert, I have dealt with libidinous dukes, groping earls and a pinching viscount who necessitated I pad my rear with a cushion. I can deal with rakes.”
Amelia prodded forth another crumpet. “I have also heard rumours that the ward is–”
“Liable to tantrums? A hoyden in her prime?” With brow creased, she sighed. “I have been a governess since I was eighteen, Miss Lambert, and have seen it all.” Then levelled her gaze. “So, why don’t you tell me what it is you really want?”
An astute one indeed.
Amelia poured more tea. “I am asking you not to attend your interview.”
The lady spluttered. “Why on earth not?”
“I cannot tell you all, but it is believed that Mr Cadwalader has been involved in…wrongdoing.”
An auburn brow raised. “What sort of wrongdoing?”
“As I said, I’m not at liberty to tell you, but the…thief-taker I work fo–”
Miss Webster choked on her tea. “You work for a…”
Amelia’s lips twitched, uncertain whether her superior, Lord Rainham, would chuckle or take offence at being called such, but she held the lady’s incredulous stare. “Just so. And as such, I need to be employed as his governess in order to enter the household and investigate further.”
“I see. Well, forgive my being taken aback, Miss Lambert, but that is not a common occupation for us unmarried ladies. If one does not wish to depend upon the largesse of relatives or has no other source of income, I thought becoming a governess or companion were our sole options.”
“There are few of us, ’tis true. The work can be ceaseless and I never seem to be in one place long enough to make friends.”
“Similar to a governess, so I’d best remain one,” grumped Miss Webster. “But that means, Miss Lambert, I also need this job.” She heaved another sigh whilst reaching for another crumpet. “I shall be frank with you. My father gambled away all the family money, including my dowry, before inconveniently dying in a tavern brawl and bequeathing a gaggle of creditors. The house I was left is falling about my ears, the roof leaks, the attics have mould, and my ducal neighbour is pressuring me to sell it to him, likely for a pittance. But I cannot and will not, for it is the only home I’ve ever known. It is my constant shelter and my sole hope of future security. Besides which, my uncle, who arrived on my doorstep two years ago, is slowly losing hismind, and with his meagre pension from the Royal Society has nowhere else to go. At midnight, he wanders the duke’s rose garden in merely his nightshirt calling for Martha. Now tell me, Miss Lambert, who needs that job more?”
Amelia felt a sudden kinship with this lady and thrust forth her hand. “I was also left in dire circumstances at a young age with debts to settle. There must be a way we can work together – to both our advantages.”
Miss Webster shook Amelia’s hand. “But I do not see how. We cannot both be employed.” She sipped her tea, gaze sliding to the colossal tome on the table. “Were you planning on reading that?”
With a roll of eye, Amelia chomped on a crumpet. “Indeed, but I fell asleep on chapter three last night.”
“You’ve never been a governess before?”
“No. And I would have to retain this job for at least a fortnight in order to complete my investigation.” She patted her mouth with a napkin. “There must be something we can do. You know how to be a governess but I don’t, and I don’t require the wage but you do.”
They stared at one another for some moments before Miss Webster’s lips began to curve, just as Amelia’s did the same.
She hadn’t the time to faff about studying this book, correcting essays or writing lists of moral instruction, which was rather hypocritical anyhow.
“I could…” Miss Webster leaned across the table. “I could write your lesson plans. Correct any of the pupil’s writings and set questions.”
Amelia’s lips curved to a full grin. “And I would pass on the wage, assuming I get the job, of course.”
“Hmm.” Miss Webster played with a loose thread on her cuff, brow puckered. “Yet if you are only in the post for a fortnight, you may not receive much of a wage, if anything at all.”
Amelia pondered. “If so, then my employer will stump up.”She hoped. “And as recompense for the short-term nature of this arrangement, I could add…” Amelia mulled her assignment expenses. “One guinea a week?”
“It took me years to study Miss Appleton’s book. Two guineas.”
“One guinea and six shillings?”
“One guinea and a half. With ink and paper provided for the lesson plans.”
