Callander Square - Anne Perry [50]
Downstairs she cooled, realizing Emily would have charmed, dissimulated, controlled herself, and kept a friend. Instead Charlotte had now assuredly made an enemy. But then she was perfectly sure she could never like Christina, so perhaps she had merely accomplished at once what she would inevitably have achieved in time.
In the midafternoon it was totally different. She was asked as a favor, because the parlormaid was a little faint, if she would run an errand next door to the Southerons’. She accepted with alacrity, another excellent opportunity, and no sooner was she in the Southerons’ kitchen than she met Jemima Waggoner, the governess. She took an immediate liking to her, sensing in her a frankness like her own, and even perhaps feelings that propriety and her dependent situation forbade her expressing. She imagined such things in the wide gray eyes, and a touch of humor in the mouth.
“Would you care for tea, Miss Ellison?” Jemima offered. “It is about that time, and we were preparing to have ours. You would be most welcome.”
“Thank you, indeed it would be refreshing,” Charlotte accepted instantly. The general would have to wait. No doubt he would also stop for tea. If he offered her more on her return, she would have to accept it, even if she were virtually awash. But it was unlikely, he seldom thought of such things; he was singleminded and too absorbed in the dust of battle to think of cups of tea.
A few moments later she found herself alone in the governess’s room with Jemima, sipping tea and eating sandwiches.
“Are you really helping General Balantyne with his war histories?” Jemima asked. “I can never be sure if gossip is true or not.”
“No one can,” Charlotte agreed quickly. “Unless one had begun it oneself, and even then one cannot recognize it after a week! But this is perfectly true.”
“Do you enjoy it?” Jemima asked as if she expected an affirmative answer.
“Oh yes, I do. It is most interesting, especially the old letters. The letters from the soldiers are so different. We can hardly imagine! But the letters from wives and sweethearts—how little we have changed, all the same concerns, loves, illnesses, children, a little scandal.” She was stretching the truth a little, but she wanted to get back to Callander Square, and she felt that Jemima was not one to gossip easily.
“I suppose scandal doesn’t change,” Jemima said thoughtfully, looking down at the tea swirling gently in her cup where she had stirred it. “It is always speculation about someone else’s follies, or misdemeanors.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to press the point, to say something about Callander Square, and found she did not wish to. Jemima had framed her own thoughts; it was all other people’s sins and misfortunes perpetuated, exaggerated, and relished.
She said as much, and saw the quick sympathy in the other girl’s eyes, and felt a warmth toward her. She found herself smiling back.
“How many children do you teach?” she asked instead.
“Most of the time, just the three girls here, but three times a week Victoria and Mary Campbell come over. Do you know the Campbells? They live over on the other corner of the square.” She pulled a little face with wry humor. “I don’t care for Mr. Campbell very much. He’s very witty sometimes, but there always seems to be a sort of hopelessness underneath it, as if he is only pretending to be amused and he knows the whole thing is futile in the end. I find it depressing, and a little frightening,” she looked at Charlotte to see if she understood.
“Cynicism frightens me too,” Charlotte agreed. “One can fight against so many things, but one cannot argue people into hope. What about Mrs. Campbell, is she like that also?”
“Oh no, she is quite different: quiet and competent. Actually she is about the best mother I have worked for, she neither spoils the children nor is she indifferent or overly strict. I think she is a very strong woman.” This last opinion was given with some thought.
They spoke for a few more minutes about other people