Mrs. Jorgensen finally walked through the door, and Patience followed her. To her surprise, Mr. Woodsworth left the room with them. For some reason, she hadn’t thought he was going to join them in the nursery.
Patience was going to be caring for children. She’d had a governess, and she even remembered some of the things her governess had taught her. Other than that, she was going to be lost in the nursery. Still, that knowledge was more than she had of housework. She might actually be able to perform these duties.
After climbing the stairs to the upper level, Mr. Woodsworth passed by her, his leg brushing the outside of her skirts in the narrow corridor. He didn’t seem to notice, but she instinctively pushed herself to one side. First, he was in her bedroom, and now he walked by her so closely without thought. There were advantages to being a maid and nearly invisible, she supposed. Other than Nicholas, no man had ever seemed so comfortable around her.
Mr. Woodsworth opened the door for his sister and motioned for her to enter. Patience followed, not sure if she should wait for Mr. Woodsworth to enter before her or not. As a maid, she should wait, but she had been promoted, hadn’t she? She wasn’t sure.
Mr. Woodsworth stood waiting for her, so she went in.
A maid she hadn’t seen before sat in one corner of the room. Two children, one boy and one girl, sat at a table. They rose when they saw their mother but didn’t run over to her. Instead they waited with large eyes and closed mouths. Patience looked between them and the two Woodsworth siblings. The boy, who looked to be about five years old, didn’t have the perpetual lines on his face like Mr. Woodsworth, but his serious expression was the same. The little girl was standing straight just like her mother, despite being a couple years younger than her brother.
“You may sit,” Mrs. Jorgensen said. And they did. Mrs. Jorgensen placed the wig on a nearby dresser and came back to stand by Patience’s side. “This is Miss Patience. She is going to be your governess for the few weeks we are here with Uncle Woodsworth.”
Governess. No one had told her she would be considered a governess.
Two pairs of eyes darted toward her. The little girl bit her lip and then stopped. She couldn’t be more than three. Certainly much too young for a governess. But it wasn’t as though they actually expected her to teach these quiet children. This was just part of the plan for her to have an excuse when she needed to attend social functions with Mr. Woodsworth.
“Patience.” Mrs. Jorgensen didn’t bother to add the “Miss” when speaking directly to her, a not-so-subtle reminder of her actual place in the household. To Mrs. Jorgensen, she would always be a maid. “This is my son, Harry, and my daughter, Augusta. They are young to have a governess, and yet they show remarkable talent. Especially Augusta. She can already count above fifteen, and she is only three. I suspect she could be the next Lady Lovelace.”
“And Harry?”
“Harry is six and will go into the service, of course. At home he is already practicing strategy. I assume you have no knowledge of that, but I will pick out some books for you.”
Patience nodded, glancing once again at the two quiet children. They were as serious as Nicholas and Mr. Woodsworth already, and only a few years into life. She sat in one of the four small chairs around the petite table. Harry straightened his spine to the point that Patience was worried he would topple the chair behind him. His eyes flicked down to the book he and his sister had been reading before she had come in. A world atlas. Heavy reading for children of six and three. One more nervous glance from her young student made her look more closely at the book. Tucked deep inside was something thick enough to cause the pages to bunch up on either side.
She raised an eyebrow at the boy, and his hands went to cover the book. Mr. Woodsworth and Mrs. Jorgensen were conversing in a corner, ignoring them. Patience picked up her chair and moved it to the same side of the square table as Harry.
“What is it you are reading?” she asked.
“Father is in the Freetown. We are reading about it,” Harry said with his hands still on top of the closed book.
“Oh, is it far away?”
“Very far.”
“How long has your father been there?”
Little Harry kept eye contact with her. Just as a young gentleman, or aspiring general, should. “He left when Augusta was almost two.”
A whole year. These poor children had been without their father for the past year. “And what do you have inside the book?”
Harry’s hand clamped down harder. Patience leaned forward. “You don’t have to show me. But I promise not to get mad. I like to keep secrets as well.” Patience glanced at her employers, who were still busy conversing with each other.
Harry slid his hand off the top of the book. He pulled another, thinner book out from the middle of the large tome. The edges of this book were painted in dark red, and inside were pictures of fantastical things. The page Harry had marked with his thumb contained a picture of a duck in the middle of a pond. She couldn’t read the words, though, as they were all in Danish.
“Why are you hiding this?”
“Duck,” said Augusta, the apparent math genius, as she smiled and pointed to the book.
“Shhh,” Harry shushed.
“I’m your governess now, and I tell you this book is completely acceptable. I will even ask permission.” Patience smiled in a way she hoped the young boy would take as confident. She walked over to a bookshelf and placed the picture book back on the shelf. Every other book was on a subject she would find difficult to enjoy, and she loved reading. How had the duckling book even made it into the library?
“So these are the books I am to use for the children’s education?” Patience asked loudly enough for Mrs. Jorgensen to hear her.
“Yes.”
“And they are all acceptable?”
“Yes, of course. We wouldn’t bring unsuitable books into the nursery,” Mrs. Jorgensen answered. A title under Patience’s finger read Geometry in Three Parts. Apparently Mrs. Jorgensen’s idea of suitable and hers were quite different.
She pulled the Danish book from the shelf and brought it back to the children triumphantly. “See, now you can read without worry. Your mother has given permission.”
Patience pulled out the book and opened it to the first page. She couldn’t read a word, but the pictures were interesting. “What is this book about?”
“It’s stories,” Harry said, still eyeing his mother. “Papa can read them. Grandmother gave them to us, and she wrote in a letter what they were about, but I only remember one.” Harry turned to the middle of the book. “The Ugly Duck.”
“A story about an ugly duck—that is interesting. What does the duck do?”