The girl is as thin as a spindle, and her head is unusually large. Equally large are her almond-shaped green eyes with which, when she summons the courage, glance not quite into the beautiful lady’s face but settle somewhere near her neck.
‘Willa Robinson, madam.’ She curtsies.
‘Well, Miss Robinson, where did you learn such precise needlework?’
Willa looks for approval from Matron before speaking.
‘Here, madam. Mrs Arnold, the seamstress, she teaches all us girls.’
‘And what else have you learned?’ Clovis gives her a most radiant smile.
‘Knitting, making linens, curing, pickling.’
‘And can you read, Miss Robinson?’
‘All of our girls are taught reading and spelling and they each have the same branches of housekeeping skills as Miss Robinson,’ Matron interjects.
Thank Christ, Clovis says to herself, I don’t want that responsibility. For though she despised every moment of her reading lessons in that smoky, turf cottage, she would not be here today if she had not applied herself.
‘May I escort you to the dining hall where the girls will soon gather for their dinner? You can meet all of our young women who have completed their training and who are ready and eager to secure a position.’ Matron is in a rush to exit.
Clovis now sends Matron an equally winning and patient smile, but turns her attention more intensely on Willa. So it goes for the better part of an hour, in which Matron Jennet makes every effort to lead Clovis’s gaze from Willa to the discussion of other young ladies. Yet, the more robustly Matron puts forth her suggestions, the firmer Clovis stands against them.
Luck plays its part in the day when Matron is called to attend the arrival of an administrator.
There is something awry here, of this Clovis is certain. The girl is of age and fully trained, yet Matron clearly asserts a proprietary stance.
‘Please excuse me for a moment, Mrs Fowler. Come, Willa. Come with me.’
Willa jumps up like a trained pony.
‘Matron Jennet, please, may Miss Robinson wait here with me?’ Clovis flashes another winning smile. ‘It will allow me a moment to tell her about my small household and what we might expect of her.’
‘I am afraid that will not be possible.’
‘Because, Matron Jennet, it will save me returning with Mr Fowler to address the administrators at a later date. I would so love to tell them how co-operative you have been …’ She pauses. ‘Rather than the opposite. If you understand my meaning.’
Matron’s lips close tightly, her eyes blink like the wings of a trapped moth.
‘Well. Yes. Yes, Mrs Fowler, I understand you perfectly.’
Matron throws a portentous glance at Willa before her stiff petticoats swish away to suck the air from another room.
‘Now, Willa Robinson. Do come nearer.’
Willa hesitates before inching forward. Other than a desk and three chairs the room is unadorned. The girl is so nervous that she places her hand on the desk to steady herself.
‘It is my wish that very soon I shall employ you.’ Clovis captures Willa’s eyes and does not let them go.
‘You know, Willa – I shall call you by your given name – and a very pretty name it is, too.’
Willa is quite entranced now. Clovis positions two chairs directly across from each other, sits in one and invites the girl to take the other. Then she leans in just enough to appear conspiratorial.
‘It appears that you are a little frightened of something?’
Willa casts a worried glance at the door.
‘How old are you, girl?’
‘Fifteen, madam.’
‘And have you ever been chosen for employment before?’
Willa pauses, glances towards the door again, and with a directness that she has not yet shown, she whispers. ‘Many times.’
‘Ah. I see. I will tell you a little secret. You mustn’t tell anyone.’
‘No, I won’t, madam.’
‘I know how to make people feel better. What do you think of that?’
‘How do you mean, madam?’
There it was again, the fear jumped onto her. Willa’s eyes grow wider until they look as if any moment they may pop out.
‘Well, in the same way that you have spent these years learning to sew and read and cook, I have been studying, too … in the realm of science. I will tell you all about it when you come to live with me. But this must remain a secret, yes?’
Willa nods, obviously relieved and thankful for the nature of science.
‘Now, I have confided my very important secret, do you have one to tell me?’
The girl’s face reddens and she slips her hand into the pocket tied at her waist.
‘What have you there?’
‘’Tis a hand, madam. I sewed it from scraps. It protects from the evil eye.’
‘How intricate it is, too. Is that your secret then?’
Willa searches the lady’s face; what she hopes to find she does not know. Salvation? Protection? Her eyes fill up.
‘Is there another secret, Willa?’ Clovis says, with a delicacy of which she never thought she was capable, false though it is.
‘Mrs Fowler.’ Matron Jennet appears again. Willa starts, but Clovis has no reaction at all to her sudden appearance. Matron, however, is slightly breathless, to Clovis’s amusement.
‘Please, Mrs Fowler, I must kindly insist that your experience with us today is a full one. If you’d be kind enough to follow me to the dining hall.’
‘I will not. But thank you, Matron, my business here is completed for the present.’
‘But … what do you mean?’
‘Forgive my directness, but I have already made my decision. I shall return in seven days to collect Willa Robinson. Good day, Matron Jennet.’ Another alluring smile and then, ‘Willa, would you escort me to the gate, please? If Matron agrees, of course.’
Matron manages a slight bow of her head, thoroughly defeated. Her face drains of colour, as there can be no doubt that this creature has cast a spell on Willa. Matron stands impotent as Willa follows in the wake of the Fowler woman.
‘Now, my little bird.’ Clovis slips her hands through first one glove, then another and adjusts her hat in the tall mirror in the
