Kelly
Meg’s eyes grew wide with dismay as Mildred scooted her chair out and tossed her napkin on the table in front of her, giving her daughter one last callous look as she did so. It had never occurred to her that her father would actually disapprove of what she had been doing. After all, she wouldn’t have been driven to do any of those things if he had still been there to protect her, to keep her safe from the monster and her own mother.
She kept her vow of not crying when there was any chance someone might see her and swallowed back her tears. The lumpy porridge looked completely unappealing now, and she was certain any toast she put in her mouth would catch in her throat and choke her to death. Since she’d heard Tessa go out the back a few moments ago, she knew the coast was clear to do yet another thing her mother detested, though it hadn’t been on the list, and she took her dishes out into the yard and fed the scraps to her uncle’s hounds.
“If my mother knew I had any contact with you, that would be forbidden also,” she mumbled as she watched the two dogs lap up the remains of the porridge. Her uncle didn’t hunt often, but when he did, he needed to look the part of the capable huntsman, so he had invested in two high-quality foxhounds a few years ago. He had given them some fancy names so that he would sound impressive to his counterparts, but Meg called them Max and Dax because those seemed more fun. She often snuck out from her studies with Ms. Strickland so that she could pat them on the head through their cage or sneak them a scrap of food. The one time she’d been discovered, the governess hadn’t hesitated to spare the rod. Hopefully, now that would all be behind her.
When she reentered through the back door, she heard the sound of her mother’s voice entertaining in the parlor. The other woman was Mrs. Donaldson. She could tell by the familiar high-pitched tone of her voice. Though Meg thought it was rather early to call on anyone, she knew Mrs. Donaldson to be an odd bird, and since she may have a bit of freedom before this alleged new lady showed up to shadow her, she didn’t want to spend that time listening to Mrs. Donaldson drone on about her six Siamese cats or her son who had gone off to war and never returned. Therefore, she decided to sneak upstairs and find something to read that wasn’t at all educational.
Meg was very good at sneaking up and downstairs. She had found success on many a staircase while visiting her mother’s acquaintances, on ships at sea, attending various events and get-togethers, but most importantly, she was very good at sneaking up these stairs. There was one spot on the fourth step from the bottom that tended to squeak no matter where she placed her foot, so, now that she was tall enough to do so, she simply stepped over top of it and made her way up the rest of the stairs with a light foot and a lighter heart. Today might actually turn out to be a good day at long last.
She was only a few pages into her book when she heard someone at the door downstairs. Mumbling to herself about lost opportunity, she went to the mirror to check her hair. Despite her mother’s comment this morning, she really didn’t think it looked that bad, but she did poke a few lost strands back into place. By the time she had given up on fixing anything else, she’d already heard the squeak of the tell-tale step twice and assumed her mother was on her way to her room with the new lady-in-question.
The door was slightly ajar, not that her mother would have knocked anyway. (Mildred insisted that she should never have to knock on a door in her own home.) Before she was even in the room, her mother was talking to her. “Mary Margaret, come here and meet your new lady.” Over her shoulder, she added, “I really do hope you can do something about that hair.”
As soon as Meg looked at the young woman, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, she instantly recognized her, though she wasn’t sure from where. With her eyes wide, she gaped in silence for a moment before her mother prodded her. “Well, don’t just stand there, Mary Margaret. Say something.”
“How do you do?” Meg managed, closing her mouth and giving a nod simultaneously.
“Oh, yes, Mary Margaret. You’ve gotten much taller. It’s a pleasure,” the young woman said in a fairly thick Irish accent that only seemed to have been watered down from some time spent out of her own home.
“This is Kelly,” Mildred continued. “You may remember her mother, Patsy, who used to work for us before she took ill several years ago.”
Enlightened, Meg stammered, “Yes, of course. I remember Patsy. And you visited sometimes, didn’t you?”
Kelly nodded. “I did. We used to run around the back garden together some.” Her smile faded when she saw the expression on Mrs. Westmoreland’s face. “Of course, there will be no time for that now. You must attend to your studies, and while I am no governess, I understand that you have work to do until one is appointed for you.”
Nodding her head, Meg crossed her hands in front of herself, unsure of what to think of this new arrangement. Kelly had been her friend, every bit as much willing to run and play as she had been. Now, here she was before her, in charge as it were, at least until a new governess was hired. “Yes, you are correct,” she said, remembering her mother’s harsh words at breakfast. “If I’m ever to find a good young man, I must attend to my studies.”
A flicker of confusion seemed to pass through Kelly’s eyes for a second, but Meg had no idea why. After a second, she said, “Yes, yes. You should get back to your studies. Perhaps I should put my things away and then come back to check on you?” she asked, looking for permission from Mrs. Westmoreland.
“I will show you to your room since Tessa is still out, and we haven’t any other workers just now,” Mildred said as she gestured for Kelly to follow her. “Mary Margaret, I do not believe the book on your bed will help you grow any wiser, young lady.”
“No, Mother,” she called after her, wondering how in the world her mother could tell what she had been reading from this distance when the face of the book was down on her coverlet. Perhaps her mother just assumed she was reading for pleasure and not for educational purposes.
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