“Perhaps there is something to the posies?” Miss Jennings observed, as they headed back towards Albert’s place in the sickroom. The ex-governess had taken almost as much of an interest in the endeavour as Dora had done; she had even brought along a small journal and some charcoal with which to take notes.
“Perhaps,” Dora said dubiously. “At least we have written it down. If there is truly some protective magical merit to the flower, then I suppose the Lord Sorcier will know it.” She shook her head. “The only thing all the children can agree upon is that the workhouse master has been casting the evil eye on those he finds distasteful. And while I am sure Master Thomas is just as terrible as Master Ricks, I find myself doubtful that all of the workhouse masters who have had sick children are secret magicians.”
“I have written it down as well,” Miss Jennings said stubbornly. “We are not experts, Miss Ettings, and so we do not know what is relevant.”
“You seem very intent upon our work, Miss Jennings,” Dora observed. “I am glad of it, but I will admit to being surprised. I am sure that you could have stationed yourself in a corner somewhere and had tea all day, given how little your employers actually wish for you to watch me.”
Miss Jennings flushed at that, and Dora realised that the ex-governess had probably only been encouraged to lax diligence through hints and implications, rather than open language. Nevertheless, the chaperone composed herself. “I do not do nothing very well, I am afraid,” Miss Jennings said. “I will admit, it stings my sense of virtue to be paid to avoid chaperoning. But a woman in my position cannot be picky for money, Miss Ettings, and I am being paid unnaturally well to look the other way for you.” She glanced down guiltily at the journal in her hands. “I have always loved children, of course. But I suppose I have applied myself to the matter in part to assuage my conscience.”
Dora gave her a quizzical look. “And what position are you in, Miss Jennings?” she asked curiously.
The ex-governess shot her a surprised look. “Well... I am a spinster, Miss Ettings,” she said. “I have little in the way of wealth or connections, other than what Lady Hayworth and her daughter generously offer me.” Her eyes grew troubled. “I am technically of a rank with you, you know. My father was a baron. But he had four daughters, and I never did manage to marry before he died. I was lucky to be offered a position as governess. Lady Hayworth’s daughter has kept me on at her new home as a companion, but I can tell that her husband dislikes having me around.”
Dora knitted her brow. “Perhaps I shall be a governess too, then,” she said, before she could think better of it.
Miss Jennings gave her a stricken look. “Oh, surely not!” she said. “Please do not imagine it, Miss Ettings. It is not so fine a job as you must be thinking, and you can be turned out at any time. Once or twice, when the lady was upset with me, I thought that I must certainly end up somewhere just like this.” She shook her head. “Mr Lowe is a fine man. I can tell that he is not your preference, but you must consider your future, Miss Ettings. You have a brief chance to win him over, and you must surely take it.”
Dora frowned. I should not have suggested my lack of interest, she thought. I hope Miss Jennings does not tattle on me.
As they rejoined Albert, he admitted that he’d had little luck with his own careful interrogations. Dora had expected that they would move on to another workhouse to keep trying, but she was surprised when Albert ordered their carriage to return to the townhouse.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
Albert gave her a surprised look. “No, nothing,” he said. “My mother has insisted that your household join us for a private dinner tonight. Were you not told?”
Dora shook her head. “I was not,” she said. “Though I suppose someone might have mentioned and I did not pay close enough attention. That does sometimes happen.”
“Do prepare yourself, Miss Ettings,” Albert said sympathetically. “I expect that my mother shall insist on further conversation with you. If you find yourself overwhelmed, you can turn the subject to flower arranging—she cannot stand it, but she will not want to treat you impolitely. It could buy you a moment’s breath.”
Dora smiled at him. “That is uncommonly helpful advice, Mr Lowe,” she said. “I will do my best to endure, but it is good to know.”
Surely enough, as soon as they returned to the townhouse, Dora was swiftly dragged into her room and assaulted by the maids. She didn’t have much that was proper to wear to a dinner with a viscountess, so she was forced to wear the white muslin for a second time. This did not particularly bother Dora herself, though Auntie Frances moaned about it for a good few minutes on their way to Carroway House. The countess was forced to send her regrets due to a headache, though she was pleased enough to see them on their way.
Vanessa, of course, was utterly resplendent. She had acquired a soft blue dress which suited her hair and complexion very well. Had Dora been on better terms with her cousin, she would have thought that Vanessa looked well enough to be a bride on her wedding day—but that hint of unease had yet to disappear, and Dora suspected that it would not go away until Vanessa had gone with her to one of the workhouses.
It was strange being welcomed to Carroway House without any sort of crowd surrounding them. The hallways felt
