Chapter 63

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: Governess Miss Sheldon (2)
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Though she had already cast aside the Pendleton name, she knew she had friends who would be genuinely worried about her.

She took a sheet of paper from her trunk and began to write to her friends. The letters were brief, intended only to inform them of her situation so they would not worry.

She wrote to about ten of her closest friends. As she was sealing the last of the letters, the name Ian Dalton came to mind. However, she decided against writing to him, figuring he would naturally learn of her circumstances from the letter she was sending to Mr. Fairfax.

She went out again to mail the letters at the post office.

On her way back, the sun was already beginning its slow descent. Shops were starting to close for the day. Laura walked among the great crowds pouring out of the train station and the throngs of laborers heading home.

Countless people passed her by: shabby, mustachioed men of middle age, women with children on their backs, and the occasional carriage rattling past.

She was now a part of the very tableau of common life she had only ever observed from the inside of a fine carriage. The sensation was both strange and unfamiliar, as if she had suddenly been plunged into a painting she had always admired from behind its frame.

It was alienating and lonely, yet there was a fresh, buoyant feeling to it.

By the time she returned to the inn, the dining room was once again bustling with people. She went straight there, having skipped lunch and feeling famished. After a simple meal of bland fish and a plate of salad, she quietly made her way up to her room.

The room was already growing dim. She struck a match and lit the candle, now burned down to the size of a finger. The room brightened slightly. She spent the rest of her time filing the receipt from the bank and tidying her trunk, which had become disordered from her rummaging.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway gradually dwindled. Night had fallen.

She sat quietly at her desk. Only an inch of the candle remained. Gazing at the flame, she reflected on her day: waking in a strange inn, wandering the streets of London, eating meals that tasted slightly off.

Most things had turned out worse than she had expected. The meager salaries offered for governess positions. The jewels she had sold for less than a quarter of their value. The London streets she had walked until her calves ached, all to save on fare.

It would be a lie to say she hadn't felt daunted by her isolation, knowing no one in this new environment. There had been many moments of fear and tension. The mental disappointment and physical exhaustion had worn her down.

And yet, sitting before the candle, her heart was in a state of profound peace. Why was that? She had been anxious, disappointed, and weary all day, yet strangely, she did not feel the least bit disheartened.

She mulled over this fact. Soon, she realized that not once today had she forced a smile. She hadn't feigned kindness to anyone, nor had she been conscious of the gazes of others. She had simply worked hard through the day, just to get by.

It was peaceful. A feeling of release, as if she had finally unlaced a corset that had been cinching her waist all day long.

It became clearer than ever that the name Pendleton had been constricting her. Life as a Sheldon was poor and mean, but it was free from the suffering that came with the lavish life of a Pendleton.

If happiness was the absence of suffering, then she could say she was happy now.

How long could this freedom last? She thought about the life she would lead as a governess. A life of employment, devoid of liberty. The interference of an employer in the children's education, the long hours bound to labor.

But she would be free from the stigma of her parentage that had long tormented her, and from the duties of being a Pendleton. She could demand a minimum of respect from an employer. If they did not respect her, she could leave at any time. She was free.

Freedom. Miss Pendleton savored the word. It no longer evoked a nostalgia for some long-lost time. She was in the very midst of freedom now. She was free. Utterly free.

And this freedom was different from that of her childhood. It was not something that could be taken away by circumstance or by others. She could protect it, could forge it herself. She was an adult; she could work. She could live however she pleased.

Less than an inch of the candle remained. She took her Bible from the trunk and placed it on the desk. Then, folding her hands upon it, she prayed.

*I pray that my grandmother, who has ascended to Heaven, has safely met my mother, who is already there. I give thanks that this day has passed without any great misfortune. Please, grant me a suitable position soon, one that is within my station. And lastly…*

“Thank you for granting me this freedom. Amen.”

***

Over the next few days, Miss Pendleton visited several more employment agencies for governesses, but she found nothing better than what Westerway had offered. The positions were all much the same: the demands were many, but the wages were paltry.

On the fourth day of her search, she emerged onto the street, disappointed once again by another agency.

She walked slowly through the London streets on her way back to the inn, passing lanes lined with greengrocers and bakeries, and crossing bustling thoroughfares. The streets of London were a chaotic, bustling affair.

In just a few days, she had grown quite accustomed to making her way back to her lodgings without a carriage, covered in dust. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling.

*Ah, if only a suitable position would present itself, I could embrace this new life with greater joy.*

But as she neared the inn, Laura spotted the familiar figure of a gentleman standing before it. Her steps came to an abrupt halt. Her heart seemed to plummet.

Jet-black hair. A tall, slender frame. A profile as sharply defined as carved ivory.

The gentleman’s face turned toward her. Ian Dalton. It was he.

The moment he saw Laura, he strode purposefully toward her and stopped directly in front of her.

“Miss Pendleton.”

Laura reflexively gave a slight, formal curtsy.

“What brings you here, Mr. Dalton?”

He remained silent, as if at a loss for words. His eyes swept over her plain, flat hat, her simple leather bag, and her shoes, which were covered in dust from her long walk. His jaw tightened, as if he were clenching his teeth.

“What on earth has happened?”

Laura was at a loss for words. To explain everything that had happened would take an eternity.

“…You must have seen Mr. Fairfax’s letter? It is exactly as I wrote. I could not stay with my uncle, so I left. I am staying here while I look for a position as a governess. But how did you find me? I did not include my address in the letter…”

“I saw you as I was passing by in my carriage.”

Laura nodded. It was unexpected and not entirely welcome to meet him under these circumstances. He was, after all, a friend from her time in society. She was flustered at having to reveal her current state to him with no preparation.

She was no longer a lady, but a common woman searching for employment. This fact had not changed her own feelings for him, but she had no way of knowing how he might feel.

She studied Mr. Dalton’s face. He was looking at her with an unreadable expression. A complex tangle of emotions seemed to be there—something like anger, and something like sadness. It was difficult to decipher, but the disgust she had feared was absent.

She felt an inward sense of relief. She knew he was not that sort of man, but she would have been hurt if he had shown any discomfort at her fall in station. This was true regardless of her newfound contentment with her life.

If anything, the emotion on his face resembled sorrow. Was he pitying her? Had she become an object of his pity? If so, he was wasting his kindness.

“Miss Pendleton, come with me.”

He extended a hand to her.

“There is a guest room for you at William’s house. A servant will fetch your luggage. Come, join me in the carriage.”

Laura now knew for certain that she was the object of his pity. A bitter smile touched her lips.

“Mr. Dalton, I will not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am no longer Laura Pendleton. I am not worthy of being a guest to someone like Mr. Fairfax.”

“Worthy? You are William’s dearest friend. And to me as well…!”

“I will always be your friend. But I must now grow accustomed to my new station. A guest of someone like Mr. Fairfax? It is out of the question.”

She glanced over Ian’s shoulder at the second-rate inn she now called home.

“I am doing my utmost to grow accustomed to this new life. So please, do not try to pull me back into the life I knew as Miss Pendleton. If I were to return to that life now, I could not bear it. I have finally…”

Laura swallowed the rest of her sentence. She felt she could never make him understand that she was now enjoying the freedom she had always dreamed of.

He gazed at her intently, taking in her shabby attire. Her fall from grace was staggering. This was not the Miss Pendleton he knew. She looked no different from a shop girl or a housemaid.

And yet, strangely, her expression was far brighter. Color had returned to her perpetually pale cheeks, and she looked healthy. It was a stark contrast to the past, when she had always seemed on the verge of collapse. And, though he could not understand it, she looked far more at ease.

He withdrew the hand he had offered her. Then, with a somewhat businesslike expression, he spoke.

“Miss Pendleton, do you recall the position I offered you?”

He must have been referring to the governess position for his nieces and nephews, the one he had mentioned at her last ball a few days prior.

“Yes.”

“Are you still considering it?”

“I have had so much on my mind, I had forgotten all about it.”

“Then I ask you to consider it seriously now. I believe that in many respects, you would be an excellent teacher for my nieces and nephews.”

Laura fell into thought. She had considered asking her friends from society for a position, but she had always pushed the idea aside as a last resort.

Not only was she reluctant to burden her friends, but she could also well imagine the various discomforts that would arise from being employed in the house of a friend from her former life.

Her friend would have to swallow instructions regarding their own child’s education—instructions they had every right to give as an employer—for the sake of friendship, while she would have to serve as a superior the very friend whose hem she had once adjusted in a ballroom. It was a situation certain to breed awkwardness.

“Five hours a day. Basic Latin and Greek. Arithmetic and history. You would need only to focus on these subjects. The rest of the time would be your own. In addition to Sunday, you would also have one day off per week.”

“Wait, Mr. Dalton. I…”

“For that, an annual salary of one hundred and fifty pounds. What do you say?”

Laura stared at him blankly for a moment. One hundred and fifty pounds? A year?