I was expecting Nicholas to take me back to town straight after breakfast, instead he went off to work on his painting. He hadn't said a word about when he would take me, and I was determined not to bring it up.
He had allowed me to read one of his books from the bookcase, and I was quite content curled up on the sofa in the living room.
A couple of hours had passed and it was time to stretch my legs, so I asked Nicholas if it was okay if I went for a walk around the farm. Being so absorbed with painting, he answered with a grunt, which I took as a yes.
As I meandered across the open land, he sat on the back verandah, no doubt with one eye on his painting and the other on me.
It was a glorious day; not a cloud in the big blue sky, and almost too warm to be wearing long sleeves and a skirt.
I felt another sense of deja vu as I strolled further from the house, towards the back of the land, as I did... or would do in the year 2019.
The headstone stood in the distance; cleaner, less weathered, and more obvious that it was a headstone. This time, though, I decided not to go to it. It was something Nicholas had not yet discussed with me, and I didn't think it was my business to approach it uninvited. So I changed direction, walking back towards the house.
The walk helped me clear my mind and free myself from distractions, so I could decide on what to do after Nicholas dropped me off in town. The first thing I'd have to do would be ask around to see if anyone knew where Mr. Valentine lived. Then I would have to hitchhike a ride to Mr. Valentine's residence, find an excuse to enter his house, find where he's hung the painting, then reach out and touch it, fingers crossed I get sucked back into it.
I sighed heavily. And exactly how was I going to pull all that off?
I reached the cottage where Nicholas was still sitting on the verandah, focused intently at the canvas. A gentle breeze sent the smell of oil paint my way, and I screwed up my face in disgust.
"How do you stand the smell of the paint all the time?" I asked him.
"What smells?" he replied, obviously not taking much notice of what I was saying.
"The paint."
"I can't smell anything."
"Do you always turn into a zombie when you paint?"
"Sometimes you can smell the chickens from here."
I rolled my eyes, giving up. I knew I wouldn't get any sense out of him, so I decided to go inside for some water. Just as I was about to turn, something caught my eye. He had added something to the painting since I'd last looked at it. It was a woman in a white blouse and burgundy skirt, standing in the distance. Was it his mother or me? I'd probably never find out.
~
After pouring myself a glass of water, I settled back onto the sofa and continued on with my book. I had picked out Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, a favourite of mine.
I didn't know how long I'd been engrossed in the story before I heard Nicholas enter through the back door. Pulling my eyes away from the page, I watched as he approached me, tilting his head slightly to see the cover of my book. One corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"My mother loved reading the Bronte sisters' novels," he said, as he sat on the armchair across from me.
"I do, too. They're such an inspiration. I read Jane Eyre when I was thirteen and it was then I knew I wanted to be a writer. All my dreams of being a teacher went out the window," I chuckled.
"You're a writer?" he asked, surprised. I'd forgotten it was uncommon for women to write in this time.
"I am, actually."
"Have you published anything?" He glanced over at the bookcase, as though expecting my book to be sitting right there on one of the shelves.
"Uh, not exactly," I replied. "Perhaps one day in the way distant future. You have an impressive collection of books," I said, quickly changing the subject.
"I'm glad you think so, but that's nothing compared to Mr. Valentine's collection. He almost has an entire library in his house. Speaking of books, writing and teaching, his daughter is in need of a Governess for her young children. You wouldn't happen to know anyone suitable for the position, would you? They have had quite the trouble with previous women, who were more interested in shopping and socialising, than teaching the children. Let's just say they were not accustomed to country living, and would seek out entertainment elsewhere, disappearing for days."
"Goodness. Where does his daughter live?"
"She used to live in Hobart Town but now lives with Mr. and Mrs. Valentine. She has recently moved back in, as her husband passed away over a year ago and she's struggling on her own."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was the perfect way to get to Mr. Valentine's.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. How many children does she have?"
"Three. Two girls and a boy. Aged seven, five and three. Only the two older girls would require a Governess for now."
I nodded, pretending to think. "I may have someone suitable, but I'm not sure if Mr. Valentine would approve."
"You do? Who did you have in mind?"
"Me." He blinked, a slight surprised expression on his face. "I'm educated, I like kids, and I need a roof over my head. Sounds perfect, except for the fact that Mr. Valentine would not approve of an accused thief living under his roof and teaching his grandchildren."
"Yes, well," he replied, slightly embarrassed. "If you're serious about the idea, I'd be happy to go explain the whole misunderstanding to him."
"You would do that for me?"
"Well, sure. I am the one who accused you to be a thief, after all."
"Thank you. This job would help me out so much."
"We can leave once I have the horse and buggy ready, if that is fine with you?"
I nodded and smiled. The sooner I got to that painting the better.
~
After a harrowing journey by horse and buggy, Nicholas and I arrived at the Valentine house around 12:30pm. We were supposed to arrive sooner, but my constant need to stop and stretch my back and legs delayed our arrival.
As we made our way down the final stretch of dirt road, I was relieved to see their house, or should I say, mini mansion in the distance.
Poplar trees lined both sides of the driveway, and panoramic views of the countryside made a spectacular backdrop behind the home. It was a two-storey sandstone dwelling with a dark grey roof, the verandah adorned with fancy timber corner brackets. The gardens surrounding the house were immaculate, filled with roses, lavender and a variety of colourful cottage plants.
Nicholas must have noticed my gaping mouth, for he commented, "Quite impressive, isn't it? It still takes my breath away every time I visit."
I answered with a nod, still in awe from the sight in front of me. As we came to a halt in front of the house, a tall, attractive young man, perhaps in his early twenties, approached us.
"Afternoon, Mr. Clay," the young man greeted, tilting his cap.
"Hello again, Robbie," Nicholas said, as he hopped from the buggy. "It's been months since I saw you last. What's new? Married yet?" Nicholas teased.
Robbie laughed, red rising in his baby-faced cheeks. "Of course not, Mr. Clay."
"How is a handsome man like you not married yet?"
"No lady would ever be interested in a stable boy, sir."
"Never give up hope, Robbie."
It was odd seeing Nicholas act in such a playful way. I wished I had had the chance to see more of it.
Nicholas came around to my side of the buggy and helped me down, and after looking up from straightening my skirt, I found Robbie gawking at me.
"I had no idea you were married, sir."
"Who, Miss Fletcher? No, you dimwit. She's a potential governess for Elizabeth and Susanna."
"Oh," Robbie said, obviously embarrassed by his assumption. "Apologies, sir. Robert Smith, Miss," he said, this time titling his cap at me. I wasn't sure if it was from his cap, but his ears jutted out slightly. "But I prefer Robbie."
"Matilda Fletcher," I said, smiling politely at him. "But I prefer Tilly."
Robbie grinned at me, then turned back to Nicholas. "How long will you be staying, sir? Would you like me to take your horse to the stables?"
"Ah, sure, why not. I'm not sure how long this particular matter will take."
Robbie nodded before promptly taking the horse's reins.
As we approached the front door to the house, my stomach fluttered with nerves, unsure of how Mr. Valentine was going to react to me being here. So I dawdled behind Nicholas, allowing him to take control of the whole conversation.
Moments later, after several firm raps on the door, it swung open to reveal a fifty-something-year-old lady. Going by the drab beige dress and white apron pulled over her plumpish figure, she was most likely the housemaid.
"Mr. Clay!" the woman exclaimed in a Scottish accent, reaching up to pat down her frizzy brown hair. "What an unexpected surprise!"
"Mrs. McCulloch, wonderful to see you again. Have you been well?"
"Of course, sir! I'm as healthy as an ox! Come in, come in! Mr. Valentine's inside." She turned and we followed, and I couldn't help hiding a small smile, as she reminded me a little of Hettie. She led us down a hallway and turned into a sitting room, furnished with a fancy table and chairs. "Take a seat. Mr. Valentine will be in shortly."
She disappeared, and we chose two of the four seats to sit on. I sat nervously, hands folded in my lap, eyes scanning the lavishly decorated room.
We didn't have to wait long before Mr. Valentine graced us with his presence.
"Mr. Clay, what on Earth brings you here!" His beaming expression changed to confusion at the sudden realisation that I, too, was here. "What... Miss Fletcher? But..." He gaped at Nicholas, waiting for some sort of explanation.
"Let me explain, Henry," Nicholas said, in a calm, soft voice. Mr. Valentine shifted his gaze from Nicholas to me, then back to Nicholas.
"What are you thinking, Nicholas? Bringing a criminal into this house?" He sat, propped on the edge of the chair, hand grasping the table as if for support.
"She's not a criminal. Simply a misunderstanding, that's all. After you left to fetch Constable Doyle yesterday, she explained her... situation. It's personal, but if I believe her story, then so can you. You're a good person, Henry."
Mr. Valentine thought for a while, then finally spoke. "All right, then. Innocent until proven guilty, I say. So, I'm sure you didn't come all this way to tell me that. What brings you both here, then?"
"I told Miss Fletcher about Isabella's need for a Governess and she is quite interested in the position. She's an avid reader and writer, sir, and she needs a safe and welcoming home to live in. I understand if you need time to discuss this with your family first."
Mr. Valentine studied me for a moment, clearly pondering the proposition before making a decision. I smiled politely at him, not sure if I should contribute to the conversation.
"I have a good feeling about you, Miss Fletcher. There's something about you that I liked from the moment we met. I never believed you would be capable of such a dishonest act as theft. If you're willing to put in 110% for my grandchildren, then I'm willing to give you a go. What do you say?"
I was speechless. There really needed to be more people like this man in the world. He made me feel guilty that I was only here for one reason, that soon I would vanish into thin air, never to be seen by them again.
"Absolutely. Thank you, Mr. Valentine. You won't be disappointed."
"How about you to take today to settle in, meet the rest of the family and then start tomorrow, if you wish?"
"That sounds perfect."
"Then it's settled," he said, rising from his chair. "Will you be joining us for lunch, Mr. Clay? Mrs. McCulloch has made way too much, as usual."
Nicholas rose from his chair, followed by myself. "Thank you for the kind offer, sir, but I won't stay. I will, however, take something with me for the ride home."
"Of course. I will tell Mrs. McCulloch to pack something for you. Don't be a stranger, Mr. Clay. You know you're welcome any time."
Nicholas nodded gratefully at him, and Mr. Valentine strode out of the room.
"That went better than expected," Nicholas said. "Congratulations, Miss Fletcher. You are now officially employed by the Valentines. You'll like it here. The Valentines will treat you well."
I smiled, still a little in shock with how easy that was. "I know they will. Thank you for your help."
He nodded. "I best be off." He started for the door but I stopped him. It was strange, but I wasn't quite ready for him to leave. If all went to plan, I suddenly realised this would be the last time we would ever see each other.
"Wait."
"Everything all right, Miss?"
Now it was my turn to feel nervous around him. I was unsure why I was, though. I couldn't explain it.
"Yes. I just... I just wanted to say goodbye. And thank you... for letting me stay at the cottage, for understanding my situation, and believing that I wasn't a thief. I could be on my way to Port Arthur by now."
"Then I should thank you as well, Miss Fletcher. For putting up with my inappropriate behaviour... and for listening. I enjoyed our little chats." I was surprised when he took my right hand, lifted it, and kissed it gently on top. "But this isn't goodbye. I'm sure we'll cross paths again soon... Matilda."
I wished that were the truth. I gave him a little smile and before he turned and disappeared from my life forever, I was sure his mouth turned up in a little smile, too.