“It is not a usual practice with governesses.”
“I expect I ought never to have been a governess. I often used to feel much younger than Deedy.”
“There’s something in that, something in that. None of you seem to be properly grown up. I don’t know what will happen to you all. . . . I expect your mother will talk to you about your ingratitude and wickedness. She and I don’t agree about it.”
They reached Fern Square. Mrs. Folyat had taken to her bed to nurse her grief, and also by way of impressing Annette with the awfulness of the thing she had done. Annette went up to her and endured an hour’s tearful homily on the sinfulness of the flesh. She sat by her mother’s bedside with her hands in her lap and her head bowed, and thought comically of Mrs. Fender reading “Enquire Within” and discovering from its pages how to treat wicked governesses.
On the way down the dark stairs she met a man with a beard whom she did not know.
“Hullo!” he said. “Who are you?”
“Annette.”
He kissed her.
“I’m Serge. They didn’t tell me you were coming home. Anything wrong?”
“I’ve lost my place.”