A/N I've decided to carry on writing with quite a lot of detail, because the overwhelming response has been in favour of it. Who knew all you Lumione shippers were secretly fans of the Victorian novel? (Hahaha, actually that makes a lot of sense!)
After the last chapter I had several requests to make a pinterest page to go along with the story, in order to show the costumes I've been describing. I will periodically update it as I go along. My handle on the site is "artful scribbler" and the location is pinterest .nz/theartfulscribe/the-governess/
Hope you enjoy,
xox artful
...
The morning passed in as pleasant and productive a way, as I could have hoped.
I allowed Clarastella to show me her various dolls and toys, and then, by way of introducing her studies, I asked her to tell me about her drawings.
My initial impression of her studious nature was reinforced as she explained, in her limited language, yet with quiet assurance, what she had intended to depict: "That is Zelos, but I forgot his tail," (later I was to discover that Zelos and Kratos were Lord Malfoy's prized deer-hounds). ..."No, it is not the sky, Miss Granger; it is the sea,"..."There is Papa's black coach,"—And occasionally, when coming across a more obscure scribble: "This one is quite bad; do not look at it, please."
With a pang of sympathy, I beheld the child's serious demeanour and stoic self-criticism, so at odds with her dollish and frivolous appearance. Though surrounded by luxury and affluence, and garbed in frills and finery, the girl seemed as bereft of the carefree spirit that ought to be the natural inheritance of childhood, as I had been, shut up with my Aunt in her dark little cottage.
I wondered how much was her nature, and how much external influence—her lack of like-aged playmates, her intimidating and (very probably) exacting father, her absent mother... her mother... How strange had been Lord Malfoy's reaction, when I had mentioned in passing this unknown personage! What had caused him to look so severe?
I could not help musing upon the subject. The dubiousness surrounding Clarastella's true parentage was certainly mystifying, and (despite Mrs Marsh's warning to subdue it) piqued my curiosity. Certainly, her mother could not be the late Lady Malfoy, for she had passed away closer to ten years ago, whilst the little girl was only half that number of years.
Watching the little creature poring earnestly over her drawings, I tried to imagine how such ambiguity could surround her birth. Could she have been the product of some passionate 'affaire de coeur' that had ended in tragedy?—Or was she the accidental consequence of the kind of degrading relations my Aunt had hinted at, by way of a warning, that sometimes occurred between a man in search of pleasure and a woman in need of money? It seemed unlikely that such a worldly noble-wizard as His Lordship would be so indiscreet...
It occurred to me that Lord Malfoy might not be Clarastella's father at all. Perhaps he was, for whatever reason, concealing a transgression made by his son, and claiming it his own. Certainly, Mrs Marsh's circumvention of my question, "To whom does she belong?", and vague directives, that Miss Malfoy should be treated as if she were Lord Malfoy's own daughter, gave rise to inevitable doubt.
I wondered if I should ever learn the truth of the matter.
...
At half-past ten, a maid brought in a tray for our morning tea. A fresh pot of tea was provided me, and a tumbler of milk for Clarastella, with slices of gingerbread for us both to partake of.
While my little charge was thus occupied, I looked over the curriculum which Mrs Marsh had sent to me via my master.
The week's academic lessons were quite comprehensive, encompassing 'Spelling & Copywriting', 'Arithmetic', 'Reading & Latin', 'History & Geography', and 'Magical Theory'. These drier subjects were interspersed with more leisurely and creative lessons, such as 'Drawing', 'Scrapbook-Making', and 'Needle-Crafts'. Physical activity was not neglected, with one session of 'Gentle Walking About the Grounds' scheduled for each day. Once a week of a Friday and Saturday respectively, a Music Tutor and a Dance Master were engaged to teach little Miss the rudiments of those all-important drawing-room accomplishments, of which I (who would never in my life be called upon to exhibit) was completely bereft.
Though extensive, the lessons were of short duration and structured within a liberal framework of rest and recreation that would preclude overtaxing a youngster's strength and concentration. I saw no reason to change it for the present.
After morning tea was concluded, we took our prescribed walk. I asked Miss Malfoy to recommend her favourite place to ramble, to which she advised me (in so grave a manner that I could not help smiling) that she preferred to show me her "second best favourite", being the shrubbery.
"We had better get our shawls first, Miss Malfoy."
"No, I am quite warm."
"But if it should suddenly rain we might both catch colds and be confined to our beds, which would be very disagreeable. Don't you think so?"
Clarastella's brow furrowed, as if weighing up my words with great gravity. "I suppose so," she said at last. Then, in quite an imperious way (which reminded me very much of His Lordship) she commanded, "Ring Fleur for my coat."
"If you please," I corrected her, although privately I was glad to see a glimmer of spirit beneath so much docility.
Looking instantly abashed, she said, "I meant, if you please."
"Is Fleur your nursemaid, Miss Malfoy?"
"Yes," she replied, "she helps me to wash and dress, and makes my hair like this every day." She gestured to her ribboned ringlets, which, although rather ridiculously ostentatious, demonstrated a certain artistry of domestic spell-work.
I went to my desk by which hung two service-bell ropes, one for the downstairs staff and one for the nursemaid. This latter one I pulled, and after a minute or two, there came a knock at the door. It opened to reveal a young woman, dressed in a servant's uniform comprising a black twill dress, a white cotton apron and a white crotched cap. Yet these humble raiments could not disguise the girl's loveliness of feature and form—indeed, they only seemed to serve as a foil to the silvery blondeness of her hair, the lily whiteness of her skin, and the glittering sapphire of her eyes.
"You rang for me, mademoiselle?" the young woman addressed me, in a strong accent I supposed to be French (I recalled there was a fashion among the gentry for engaging a French nursemaid, that the youngsters in her care might gradually acquire the language). Although her voice was pleasingly melodious, her tone was actually quite cool—even a little irritated, as if I had interrupted her in the midst of an important task.
"Yes, I did ring," I said. "Are you Fleur, Miss Malfoy's nursemaid?"
"Oui, meess," she said, bobbing a perfunctory curtsey. "I am she."
"And I am Miss Granger," I said, suddenly uncertain as to how I ought to address a servant in her position, below that of a governess or nursery-witch, but above the housemaids and serving staff. "I'm the new governess."
"Oh, I know zat, meess."
I coloured a little. "Well, it - it's nice to meet you." The nursemaid nodded and smiled, but again with something of an air of impatience, as if she preferred I would dispense with niceties and make haste with my directives. Apparently, she had no interest in becoming a confidante of mine.
Miss Malfoy herself chimed in to submit the request. "Fleur, please to bring my red cape so I mayn't catch cold."
The nursemaid made another curtsey, and disappeared back through the door, reappearing moments later with a very pretty walking-habit of red worsted wool, lined in quilted satin and trimmed about the hood with plush ermine. As she helped Clarastella to don the garment and tie its three large silk bows, I slipped out to my room to fetch my shawl. Upon my return, the pair of them stood awaiting me in the hallway.
"Will zat be all for now, mademoiselle?" the nursemaid asked, her expression indicating she had not one moment more to spare.
"Yes, thank you, Fleur," I replied briskly, as if the manner of our interaction had never been in any doubt. "That will be all."
As the young woman hurried away, I turned to my little charge and held out my hand. "Will you show me the way, Miss Malfoy?"
Slipping her hand in mine, Clarastella led me down the long corridor, never once stumbling or skipping, but walking quite as sedately as if she were the grown-up Mistress of the Manor.
As we came to the wooden balcony overlooking the Main Hall, Lord Malfoy's office door came into sight. A sudden tremor passed over me, as unwelcome memories of my interview—my interrogation, I should rather say—came flooding to mind. ...This morning His Lordship had been all suaveness and gentility, but how would I ever forget the sickening terror I had experienced at his hands, as I was Incarcerous'd and forced to yield to his Legilimency?
A clammy perspiration broke upon my brow as we neared the room. My breath quickened, yet I could not seem to properly draw the oxygen to my lungs, and a queer dizziness descended upon me. I believe if the door had suddenly swung open I should have fainted, or fled back to my room. I had not realised until this moment how deeply I had been affected by the intrusive technique. It ought to be outlawed, I thought grimly. It ought to be Unforgivable.
However, the door remained tightly shut, and soon we had passed it by; by the time we reached the top of the great staircase I was mistress of myself once more.
Clarastella's fingers gripped mine all the tighter and I allowed her to lean on me as we began the descent. How fearfully long and steep must the flight of stairs appear to such a little creature! Yet, when I asked if she would rather be carried, she firmly replied, "No thank you; I had rather walk."
Once we were safely on the polished chequered tiles of the ground floor, Clarastella led me through one of the twin archways to the vestibule; a pleasingly light room with a glazed roof, like an atrium, lined with potted plants of exotic genus. An enormous pair of oaken doors stretched from floor to ceiling, the varnished surfaces and brass fittings gleaming in the natural light flooding in from overhead.
The doors swung obligingly open on our approach, and we gained the outside world at last.
A welcome breeze swirled about me, billowing my skirts and skimming my face with its cool kiss. I paused to gaze down the wide slope of velvet lawn, able to make out the great wrought-iron gates at the bottom, flanked with hedges on either side, through which Porter Weasley had brought me yestermorn. Further afield, one could see the road wending through lush pastureland, edged by rugged coastline, with the endless sea beyond. On this coastline, far in the distance, a tiny cluster of grey buildings represented, I believed, Tredraconis village. I could not help shivering at the memory of the dilapidated state of the township, and its villainous inhabitants.
"It's this way, Miss Granger," Clarastella's voice brought me back to the present, her little fingers pulling at my hand.
I allowed her to guide me down a path of smooth pebbles, edged with a low border of buxus hedge. As we walked, I marvelled at the majestic front-facade of the Manor, far more elegant than the fortress-like back-entrance, yet perhaps even more formidable in all its stately splendour.
Eventually the path veered away from the Manor, turning into a secluded sloping avenue, crowded with beautiful blue hydrangeas, iridescent azaleas and frothy white viburnum, beneath which primula peeped out in a spectrum of rainbow hues. The scents and colours of the fresh spring blooms were delightful, and I could certainly see why Clarastella was so eager to show it me.
"How lovely this is, Miss Malfoy!" I declared. "Let us wander a little way down."
However, we had not gone very far when our attention was waylaid by the sound of clattering wheels and hooves upon the driveway, presently hidden from our view by the tall-grown shrubs.
"Who has come?" Clarastella murmured. Wondering this myself, I pressed back the branches of one of the shrubs and we both peered through the foliage.
A large carriage had pulled up outside the Manor's magnificent entrance. The double doors through which we had lately come once again swung open to admit a cluster of six personages, amidst whom I readily identified Lord Malfoy's son and his vixenish paramour, and Lord Malfoy himself standing a little apart from the rest. A handsomely-dressed gentle-witch of middle years held the arm of tall, gaunt wizard with iron-grey hair; these I supposed to be the Lord and Lady Greengrass. The last figure was a young brunette with a sweet face, dressed more elegantly and less flauntingly than the other young lady. This I deduced to be Master Draco's unfortunate fiancée, the sister of the lady with whom he carried on such a wicked dalliance.
I heard Clarastella gasp. "Oh! They are leaving," she exclaimed, "I must say goodbye to Miss Astoria!"—and quite before I knew what was happening, the girl slipped from my hold and hurried back up the path, intent upon meeting with them.
Dismayed and alarmed, I called her back, and tried to pursue her, but unluckily the sleeve of my dress caught upon a sharp branch, tearing the fabric. By the time I had extracted myself, Clarastella had disappeared from sight.
Alas! When I rounded the corner, it was just in time to witness the little miss trip over her feet and fall down upon the gravel, and (finally in conformity to her age) begin to most piteously cry. I hastened to her and, crouching down, helped her to her feet, bidding her to show me where she was hurt. Still wailing, the little lady presented her palms, which were indeed badly scraped and bleeding.
Quickly extracting my wand, I cleansed and healed each hand, most agonisingly aware that I was being stared at from across the lawn by six pairs of eyes.
"Hush, Miss Malfoy," I murmured, "you are healed now—you see? It is all better; there's no need to cry."
However, the girl continued to sob; I thought, more in shock than pain.
"Compose yourself, Miss Malfoy," I said in a sterner tone, reckoning that she would respond more readily to reasoning, than to fussing and cajoling. "You do not wish the Miss Greengrasses to think you quite a little baby, do you, fretting for nothing when you are all healed and well? Come, be brave."
As anticipated, these words had an immediate effect on her, and I watched her make a rather valiant effort of swallowing away her sobs and wiping away her tears, until at length she only snivelled.
"May you kiss them, please?" she said tremulously, holding up her hands to me. I swiftly obliged, kissing each soft little palm lightly, which seemed to satisfy the girl, and she became fairly tranquil.
"You ought not to have run away, Miss Malfoy," I said gravely to her. "We could have walked together like sensible ladies, instead of making quite a big display of ourselves."
"I'm sorry," she said meekly. "I did not mean to run or fall."
"Very well; you may be excused this time, but try to remember in future not to run away from me without asking."
"Yes, Miss Granger," she replied, looking quite forlorn. Her eyes suddenly widened as they beheld my ripped dress. "But Miss Granger, you're all torn!"
In my haste to follow her, I had not had time to repair the tear in my bodice, and I quickly did so now, using a 'Fabricae Reparo' to weave the rent fabric together. "There," I said, "now we are both fixed up. Shall we go to bid your guests farewell?" I gestured to the small assembly, who were still gazing at us with a range of expressions, encompassing concern, amusement, haughty disapproval, and even sneering contempt. "See, they're all waiting for us."
"Yes, please."
"You won't have a sudden fit of tears?"
"No, I am all better now."
"Good girl," I said, standing up straight, and having to rather steel myself to face this daunting collection of lords and ladies.
As we approached, I could feel my face grow warmer, but I lifted my chin, hoping to give an appearance of dignified unconcern.
"Miss Granger," Lord Malfoy addressed me as we reached the periphery of the stylish throng, "I'm afraid it appears my daughter is already running rings around you."
"Miss Malfoy only wished to bid the ladies adieu, My Lord," I replied, burning under such united scrutiny.
I knew not where to fix my eyes; it seemed everywhere I glanced I was met with deriding expressions or disapprovingly lifted monocles. How acutely aware I was of my plain poplin dress and meagre figure, standing before these dashing witches in their silks and feathers, and imposing wizards, so tall and distinguished! However, I endeavoured to disguise my abashment and, bending down to Clarastella, I murmured, "You may say goodbye now."
The little lady immediately went to the young sweet-faced brunette, whom I took to be the lately mentioned "Miss Astoria", and curtseyed very prettily to her. Loftily, and rather comically, she proceeded to pronounce in a well-rehearsed way, "It was a vast per-leasure to have you stay. Do come again."
There was a round of murmured amusement at this drollery, and the witch stooped down to kiss the little girl's cheek. "Thank you for having us, Miss Clarastella," said she, "I hope we shall meet again soon."
The girl and witch dipped again to each-other, then Clarastella turned on her heels and came straight back to me, entirely ignoring the other sister.
I murmured, "You forgot to say goodbye to the other young lady, Miss Malfoy."
Clarastella dropped her gaze to the gravel and quietly murmured, "Goodbye." Her lip was rather downturned as she dipped a far-less-gracious curtsey. Evidently, she had no special liking for the elder Miss Greengrass.
That lady smirked, barely returning the curtsey, and quizzing me all the while with a satirical gaze. Then she turned to murmur something in Master Draco's ear which caused him to snigger into his sleeve.
Anxious to get away, I said, "Come now, Miss Malfoy, it is time to return to your lessons." Thankfully, the girl immediately complied, coming to my side as I made a general obeisance and murmured, "You will please excuse us," to which nobody appeared to take the slightest notice, and gave me the oddest notion that I was cast over with a Disillusionment charm.
As we neared the threshold, I heard the middle-aged witch say to my master, "So that is the new governess, Lucius. Quite a scrawny little dowd compared to your last creature, isn't she? But perhaps it's for the best after-all. No good ever came from saucy governesses tricking themselves out like society-witches. A paid subordinate ought to know her place. I hope you may have more success with this one."
"As do I," drawled His Lordship.
"I think her frightfully plain," the voice of the elder Miss Greengrass rang mockingly out, made deliberately audible, I doubted not, for my benefit. "No wonder little Missy ran away from her."
There was a round of tittering, and, unable to bear overhearing another word, I hurried Clarastella inside, my cheeks and ears burning, and my mind playing over and over all the epithets and adjectives that had been used to describe me since my arrival. ...Scrawny little dowd...A drab little dor-mouse...Quaint girl...Timid ingénue...Frightfully plain...
I knew not if I despised the words more because they were unkind, or because they were true.
...
The remainder of the morning passed tranquilly, although the deriding words and scorning glances of the departing noble-mages lingered rather sorely in my mind.
However, I reminded myself that it mattered not what these sneering aristocrats thought of me; I had nought to do with them; my duty was to the little girl whose care I was employed to oversee. She cared not that I was poor or plain; she had accepted me from almost the first moment of our introduction, and it was on her alone I would apply my efforts and expend my energy.
I continued to go over Clarastella's books and scrolls with her, asking her general questions and broadly conversing on each subject, the better to glean her academic strengths and weaknesses.. The more time I spent with the girl, the more interesting and likeable I found her; her intelligence was keen, her temper habitually serene, and she as seemed anxious to earn my approval, as I was to gain her trust.
At half-past twelve, the maid who had served us morning-tea reappeared and showed us through to a small parlour adjoining the nursery, containing an oval table abundantly laid with an elegant spread of cold luncheon. A full hour was allotted to this repast, and I, having at last recovered something of an appetite, ate well and with enjoyment.
Miss Malfoy's table manners were already well cultivated; there was no wriggling or protesting or undue mess; indeed, whenever she occasionally spilled a little sauce upon her napkin she looked most displeased, and would proceed to quietly scold herself, until at last I advised her that it was quite allowed for children to spill upon their napkins, and she ought only to chide herself if she happened to spoil her dress.
"Even grown-up witches and wizards sometimes spill upon their napkins, Miss Malfoy," I told her. "It is why napkins are there, after all."
She regarded this piece of news dubiously. "Even my Papa?" she asked.
I kept in check a smile which threatened to surface. "Yes," I replied seriously. "I daresay, even your Papa."
After luncheon concluded, we continued through the afternoon with our informal lessons, until at last the clock showed the approach of four, when Clarastella's nursemaid was to take her off my hands for the evening. Like me, the girl would usually dine in her room, unless called to join the family for some special event.
Ere we parted, we made our formal curtseys and bid each other good evening.
"It has been an enjoyable day, Miss Malfoy, has it not?"
"Yes," she replied. Then, hazarding a difficult word, "Exceed-ed-ly."
I smiled. "Exceed-ing-ly, indeed," I gently corrected her. "If we continue this way, I think we shall be good friends. Should you like that?"
"Yes, please, Miss Granger."
"So should I. There, let's shake hands again. I hope you have a pleasant evening. When do you go to sleep?"
"At six o'clock," she said. "But when I'm six, I may go to sleep even more later." (As if to impress me with the exceptionally late hour of her current bed-time).
"And what do you usually do, after your dinner?"
"Look at my books and play with my dolls. Sometimes, Fleur tells me a story, if I promise not to call for her when I'm in bed."
"I see. Do you say goodnight to your Papa before you go to sleep?"
"No, he is too busy to attend little children." She said so with such self-effacing earnestness, as if repeating oft-spoken words, that I felt a twinge of anger at the insensitivity of adults for the finely-wrought sensibilities of children. All too well could I imagine Clarastella asking if she might see her Papa, and the answer invariably being given to her, "No, Miss Malfoy, you can't expect your father always to notice you: you are but a little child, and he a great and important Lord. He is too busy to attend little children."
"I suppose your last governess, Miss Weasley, would come to bid you goodnight?"
"No," said Clarastella, without elaboration. But of course, I recalled that Miss Weasley had dined with the family every night, and would likely have been making her preparations of dress at this time.
"...Then, only Fleur wishes you goodnight, when she turns out your lamp?"
"No; the lamp turns out on its own."
I felt my colour rise with further indignation at this revelation. "Doesn't anyone come to say goodnight to you, Miss Malfoy?"
"No." There was a wistful dejection in her eyes that smote my heart painfully. I wondered at the selfishness of those people who could suffer a little motherless child to go to sleep without offering so much as a token of affection to bring the soundness of security to her slumbers. Even I, muggleborn orphan that I was, had received a nightly kiss on my brow, and my Aunt's best wishes for a peaceful sleep.
At this moment the clock chimed the hour, and exactly on time, the nursemaid arrived at the door, curtseying to us both upon entering. She seemed less hurried and harassed than before, yet rather dreamy and still somewhat removed, as if her mind was occupied on pleasanter subjects than her duties at hand.
"Are you ready to go, Meess Malfoy?" she addressed Clarastella.
The little girl turned her violet eyes to me. "Am I dismissed, Miss Granger?" she asked.
"Yes, Miss Malfoy, you may be dismissed," I said. Then impulsively, I added: "I shall come at six o'clock to bid you goodnight."
For this, I was rewarded with a smile of pure delight. However, the nursemaid's dreamy expression left her, and she glanced sharply at me. "Zere is no need, mademoiselle," she said. "I always put 'er down to bed."
"Nevertheless," I said firmly, "I shall come."
The nursemaid did not seem too pleased by this news, and I wondered if she were really attached to the girl, and jealous for her affection, or if there was a different reason for her displeasure. However, her expression soon smoothed, and she nodded with a show of compliance. "Of course, as you weesh it, mademoiselle," she said. Then the two of them departed.
During the next hour, I was (in abidance to Mrs Marsh's schedule) to put the nursery back into order and prepare for the following day's lessons; I did so accordingly, setting to rights the furniture, toys and books, although there was little enough to do with such a neat and quiet child as Clarastella had proved herself to be.
Then I sat down at my desk and commenced to make annotations to the three primers that Clarastella would be utilising tomorrow, marking in the margins where I thought extra attention might be required, and underlining certain passages which seemed of particular use or import.
When I had done with my task, I returned to my boudoir, my mind full of the day's events.