The Governess of White Stag Hall

Lady Jane Atwood

(image by Milada Vigarova on Unsplash)

While Edith's first week at the Grange was wonderfully uneventful, she was still finding it difficult to settle in among the Halls. She was uncomfortable around Nettie, unsure of how to socialize with someone who was barely conscious most of the time, and she was unimpressed with the woman's husband, who provided no one with conversation except himself. Their children were little monsters and she felt great pangs of sympathy for their poor nanny, though she knew she felt such pangs so strongly because of how easily she might find herself in such a situation.

When Friday came, Edith expected to be nervous, but she wasn't. Not even a little bit. Not even when she went to get dressed. After all, she still owned nothing that could be described as fashionable and she would be out of place beside the Halls, who overdressed even for something as innocuous as having breakfast. Even Aggie wore much finer clothes these days, now that she had the time and money to indulge in such things.

She felt curiously detached. More like someone observing to a play than a part of it.

"Will anyone else be joining us?" Edith asked when they were in the carriage.

"Oh, yes! Lady Atwood is quite good friends with the vicar and his wife and I believe Mr. Beckwith will be joining us as well. He's a very respectable fellow, though I hear his family is from the North."

Edith glanced at Aggie. She was quickly learning that Hall's opinion was too fickle to be really relied on, as he wavered between ardent reverence and sharp criticism, depending on the hour of the day, his mood, and how slighted he felt by the subject at hand.

Aggie smiled. "Mr. Holland and his wife are lovely people and Mr. Beckwith is a very charming man. You will like them."

Edith nodded and when Hall began detailing the work done that year on Leabourne's gardens---mostly to praise his own good taste--she turned her attention to the rolling landscape out the window. If he noticed, it wasn't enough to make him even pause.

Thankfully, the drive was short, which Edith was grateful for, and it was not long before they came upon Leabourne. The house was impressive to say the least, even at a distance, and once inside Edith found that the decor matched its face, from its painted ceilings and elaborate, parquet floors to the crystal chandelier which hung in the foyer. A few servants took their warm things at the door and then they were led through the house by a maid. All the while, Hall narrated under his breath, going into great detail about everything down to the expense of the wallpaper, as if the money had come from his own fffpocket.

"Now, I must warn you of my lady's condition," Hall said hastily. He was half-stooped over Edith, his hot breath huffing hard against her cheek as he struggled to get the words out and keep pace. "I am afraid that her age has made her state of mind quite fragile. She is unpredictable–an eccentric I should say. But we must all show understanding to those who are so enfeebled. It is only right."

Edith wondered what he meant, but before she could ponder the question further they were brought to a parlor at the rear of the grand house. Inside, the room was brightly lit, aided by the pale ivory of the walls and the large windows which looked out upon the garden. Resting on the sills were colorful, carefully potted orchids and there was a woman who was carefully tending them. She looked up from her work to greet them with a smile.

Lady Atwood's fair hair was shot through with silver and gray and in her face there were still traces of the great beauty she possessed in her youth. Her dress was well-tailored from expensive cloth, but not especially fashionable, and her eyes were bright, sharp, and kind. She was quite a startling juxtaposition to the image Edith had conjured in her mind.