Page 5 of The Governess and the Rogue

Tomorrow’s encounter was all-but guaranteed to be an unpleasant one.

“What do you suppose happens to servants who are sacked midway through a long sea voyage?” Bea asked.

Pearl didn’t answer. She’d already subsided into sleep.

* * *

Bea stood in front of her employer in the ship’s well-appointed saloon, her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her, feeling more like a scullery maid awaiting a dressing down than a dignified governess addressing a legitimate grievance. Raising her voice, she repeated her previous sentence over the screeches of her young charges. “I said that I’d hoped to speak with you alone, ma’am!”

Mrs. Dimsdale remained seated before her. She was a faded, fair-haired woman, easily angered and overly fond of iced gin, with a hard mouth and an approaching double chin. The kind of English lady one encountered with frequency in India. She was flanked by her nine-year-old son, Albermarle Junior, and her eleven-year-old daughter, Lilith.

The two children glared at Bea in unmistakable challenge as their younger siblings—twin six-year-old boys—ran circles around the saloon, punctuating their permutations with various whoops and shrieks.

There was no one about to object to the chaos. Not at this time of morning. The other passengers had already gone into breakfast.

“And who would look after the children during this interview?” Mrs. Dimsdale asked.

“Perhaps their father—” Bea broke off as one of the twins flew past. Like his brother, he was clad in a blue flannel sailor suit. Bea had pressed the matching garments for them herself at dawn, well before tending to her own toilette.

Mrs. Dimsdale jerked the full skirts of her ruffled morning gown out of the little boy’s path. “Do have a care, Brent! You’ll trod on my hem.”

“I’m not Brent, I’m Damian,” the twin returned cheekily before galloping off across the carpet with another shriek.

Albermarle Junior’s mouth curled into a sly smile. “Miss Layton can’t tell them apart either,” he said. “No one can.”

“On the contrary,” Bea replied. “That was Brent.”

Albermarle Junior’s smirk froze on his face.

“She’s marked their clothes,” Lilith said scornfully. “I told her she wasn’t allowed to⁠—”

“Mama!” Damian leapt by with a high-pierced cry. “Mama, look at me! See how high I can jump!”

Mrs. Dimsdale pressed her fingers to her temples. “Can you not control them, Miss Layton? All this shouting is bringing on one of my megrims.”

“No, ma’am, I can’t control them,” Bea snapped back, her patience at an end. “Which is precisely why I wished to speak with you this morning!”

Mrs. Dimsdale’s bosom swelled with indignation. Beside her, Albermarle and Lilith froze in unholy expectation. Their mother was known for raking her servants over the coals. And she had no great fondness for Bea. She’d only hired her out of desperation.

Bea’s eyes closed briefly, knowing what was to come. She inwardly braced herself, cursing her unruly tongue.

“You will moderate your tone when you speak to me, Miss Layton,” Mrs. Dimsdale commanded with bone-chilling severity. “I will not be addressed with impudence, no matter your complaint.”

“As to that complaint, ma’am,” Bea began.

“Do you comprehend me?”

Bea flinched. “Yes, ma’am.”

“May I remind you that you’re here on sufferance? Any other servant in your circumstances would be kissing my feet to have been treated with such generosity. Instead, you speak to me with disrespect and ingratitude?”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Bea said hastily. She affected what she hoped was a penitent manner. “But the circumstances are extreme.”

Mrs. Dimsdale appeared even less disposed to hear of them than she had when Bea had first approached her. She gave a furious wave of her lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Well?” she demanded. “Get on with it. Or do you propose to waste even more of my morning?”

Bea clasped her hands tighter to keep from clenching them into fists. It was unjust. Unfair. All the same, it wouldn’t serve her to lose her temper. “Last night,” she said levelly, “when I was readying Miss Dimsdale for bed, she refused to retire. When I insisted, she struck me across the face.”

Lilith flushed red. “I did not! She’s lying, Mama!”