by Lucy Appleby
The maid rapped lightly on the master's study door before entering. "Mr Davenport?" she said, bobbing a curtsey, "Miss Eversham is here, sir."
"Thank you, Annie. Let her wait in the library. I'll be there shortly." Samuel Davenport nodded at the maid, and flicked through the sheaf of papers on his desk, extracting a letter written in a tight, neat hand from Miss Francesca Eversham. He glanced at it, reappraising himself of its contents, then moved on to the referees who vouched for the efficiency and integrity of Miss Eversham.
Pursing his lips, he wondered fleetingly if he'd done the right thing asking to meet her, for she had no formal experience as a governess, having only tutored a few older offspring of the wealthier families in the district. Still, if she came recommended by the Bridgefords, that surely counted for something, given that their odious son had seemingly been brought to heel by this woman - a superlative feat never previously accomplished by an endless string of qualified tutors. Could she possibly work her magic on his unruly daughter, Clara? If ever there was a girl in need of a firm hand it was Miss Clara Davenport. Rising to his feet, he left his study and headed down the corridor in the direction of the library to meet Miss Eversham.
She was sitting in one of the fireside armchairs in the library, taking advantage of the heat generated from the bright blaze of logs that burned in the hearth, for the weather outside was dull, damp and chill, more reminiscent of November than April. As the big double doors opened with a slight creak, she rose to her feet as he entered the room.
She was tall for a woman, perhaps 5 feet 8 inches, and she wore black. He had been appraised of her circumstances; given that her father had recently died, she was in mourning. Whilst not classically beautiful, Miss Eversham was certainly far from being unattractive. Her features were admirable: high cheek bones topped by almond-shaped green-grey eyes which fixed on him with a steely glint; a slightly haughty nose and elegantly sculptured mouth, and there was a decidedly determined tilt to her chin. Her brows were slightly arched, and were of an unusual pale red-brown colour, complementing the sleek wisps of auburn hair that threatened to escape from the confines of her wide-brimmed black bonnet.
"Good afternoon, Mr Davenport."
Her voice was brisk, her diction perfect. Those lips formed a slight smile as she appraised him. He knew instinctively that here was a strong woman, an assertive woman, a woman who could hold her own in any society without being either subservient or overly familiar. For a moment he felt as though he were the one being interviewed. He cleared his throat and greeted her.
"Good afternoon, Miss Eversham. I trust you had a pleasant journey?"
"Admirable, thank you. It was kind of you to send your carriage."
"You are most welcome. Please... sit. I'll have the maid bring refreshments." He strode towards the bell pull and yanked the silken cord. Almost as though she had been listening at the door (she had), Annie all but tumbled into the room.
"Ask Cook for a tray of refreshments for our guest, if you please."
"At once sir." Annie made a quick curtsey and departed, knowing full well that Cook would have anticipated the request and already prepared a tray. She was right. In the big kitchen below stairs, Cook had deposited china plates and a silver stand containing tiny cakes and scones onto a tray. Also on the tray were cups and saucers, a cream jug, sugar bowl and tea pot.
"Tea's almost brewed," said Cook, wiping her hands on her apron. "What's she like then?"
"Polite, but not 'specially friendly," said Annie. "A bit aloof."
"Hmmn," grunted Cook. "Well, if the master takes her on, she'll find her work cut out with Miss Clara, that's for sure." She filled a silver jug with boiling water and set it on the tray next to the tea pot. "There you go. Take these up. Mind how you go, the tray's heavy."
"Save me one. Please." Annie looked longingly at the little cakes as she picked up the laden tray.
"Already have," smirked Cook. "But you'll get double helpings if you listen at the door and report back."
"Count on it." Annie grinned, took the tray and made her way carefully up the stairs to the first floor. She was trailed by Kitty, the little scullery maid, whose job it was to open the doors so that Annie could go through unencumbered with the tray. Annie winked at Kitty, then entered the library, setting down the tray on a console table.
"Shall I pour-" offered Annie. Before she had the opportunity to complete her sentence, Miss Eversham cut in, bold as brass.
"Thank you, but no, it's not necessary. I will pour." Rising to her feet, she swept over to the table and began to do the honours, leaving Annie gaping open-mouthed. "How do you take your tea, Mr Davenport?" she asked, smoothly.
"Black. One sugar if you please."
Miss Eversham duly obliged, darting a swift yet meaningfully dismissive look in Annie's direction. Annie pouted and swept out in a rush of skirts, closing the door behind her just a trifle too loudly.
"Dreadful woman," muttered Annie, bristling out in the corridor. What effrontery, taking over like that, practically snatching the big china teapot from her grasp! Outrageous! Stooping, she peered through the keyhole to see Miss Eversham pass the master a plate of Cook's delicacies, taking just one for herself, which Annie rather hoped she would choke on. Adjusting her position, she shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation taking place within the library...
"I was sorry to hear of the death of your father," commiserated Mr Davenport. "My condolences."
"Thank you."
"I understand he left the business to you?"
This drew a wry smile from Miss Eversham. Putting down her cup and saucer, she looked directly at her prospective employer, and began to apprise him of the facts. "I feel I must be direct," she began, "as I have always believed in honesty, however unpalatable the facts. My deceased father, William Eversham, set up and ran a successful business for almost thirty years."
"Ah yes. He ran a drapery? I believe my wife has patronised the store in the past."
"Indeed, Mrs Davenport has been a valued customer. We sold garments as well as fine fabrics for furnishings and clothing, and your wife has been very taken with some of our more luxurious French fabrics. But the business has been in decline for almost a decade now. My mother died ten years ago, and my father never recovered from her death. I shall speak plainly - he took to drink - and ultimately, it has been the death of him. I was aware that profits have been dwindling over the past ten years, but I was not aware of the full import until a few days ago. My accountant informs me that father's debts are significant. The business and all the stock will be sold to repay those debts; fortunately there is a buyer. But after all the creditors are reimbursed, there will be only a very modest sum remaining. Which means, of course, that I need to seek gainful employment."
"It is a very unpleasant situation you now find yourself in," said Mr Davenport. He felt some sympathy towards the woman and her plight. "And I suppose the notion of being a governess was an obvious choice for you, given the fact you have tutored various children in your spare time."
"That is correct." Miss Eversham said nothing about the long hours worked in the shop, compounded with yet more work in the evenings tutoring the children of the rich, and the requirement to find yet more time for household duties. Her life had been arduous in the extreme of late, to the extent she was glad of the opportunity to now move on and progress employment as a governess. "I believe I have given you several references in that regard."
"I read them with interest, and I must say, Miss Eversham, that all your clients speak most highly of you and your, er... methods."
"I make no secret of my methods," said Miss Eversham calmly. "I am of the opinion that young adults need discipline and structure in their lives. Far too many young people grow up in a lax environment; they are spoilt, pampered and indulged to an excess, which results in slovenliness, laziness, rebelliousness and waywardness. They have no sense of responsibility or accountability. They think they can do as they please, without consequence. But..." She arched a brow and held up her right index finger to emphasise the point, "... I firmly believe in facing up to the consequences of bad behaviour. And my methods ensure that physical chastisement is applied regularly and vigorously upon the bare bottoms of all malcontents."
From the keyhole, Annie's eyes widened further and she gave an involuntary cry, immediately muffled by clasping her hand over her mouth. She had thought she'd gained a juicy bit of gossip about Miss Eversham's father turning to the demon drink, but this... this talk of physical chastisement, and bottoms - bare bottoms...! She exhaled and fanned her flaming cheeks with the corner of her apron, imagining herself recounting all of this below stairs. But she couldn't possibly go yet, not when things were just getting going.
"I am inclined to agree," said Mr Davenport," immediately thinking of his own daughter.
"I suspect you would like to see a practical demonstration of my methods?"
If Mr Davenport was taken aback, he gave no indication. "Yes... yes, that would be most interesting."
He had barely finished the sentence when Miss Eversham strode past in a flurry of skirts and flung open the library doors. There was a flash of black and white followed by a mighty thud as Annie the maid fell, literally, into the room.
For a moment she lay there stunned, in an undignified heap, face down on the carpet. Then she managed to scramble to her feet, smoothing her apron, and babbling incoherently in her embarrassment.
"Oh Lord, oh dear, dear. I don't know... Oh my! That is, I mean to say... I really don't know what happened there. I mean I was, er... well, I was-"
"Listening at the door," cut in Miss Eversham. "Are you going to deny it?"
"Uh, ahhh. Oh..." sputtered Annie. She looked from her employer to Miss Eversham. The latter was wearing a thin smile that she didn't like the look of at all. As for the master, if she'd hoped for some sympathy, there was none apparent. Instead, his eyes had narrowed, mostly hiding their expression, but not before she glimpsed a sly look of anticipation. And then it dawned on her: Miss Eversham had asked him if he'd like to see a practical demonstration of her methods.
"With your permission, Mr Davenport?" queried Miss Eversham. "I have some of the required tools in my reticule."
"Be my guest," came the response, as Mr Davenport's mouth curved into a lascivious grin. Annie was a plump little thing and the thought of seeing her bare bottom get a good thrashing was the best news he'd had in a long while.
Miss Eversham gave him a nod, then turned to face the now white-faced maid. "Listening at the door is shameful - shameful, do you hear? You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself."
"Oh I am, I am Miss. I'm sorry," wailed Annie.
"You will be, momentarily. I am going to make an example out of you, and if you wish to retain your position here..." She cast a quick look at Mr Davenport who nodded in approval at the tactics. "... then you will take up the position I require of you. I am going to strap your bare bottom."
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