The House Of Secrets. Elizabeth Blackwell

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СКАЧАТЬ days before the interview, Evelyn came up with a plan. The more she thought about the position in Philadelphia, the more appealing the offer became. This could be her chance to make a mark on the world by teaching young girls to value themselves and their intelligence. She could still visit her mother every weekend. Katherine might even be convinced to move to Philadelphia with her.

      But she couldn’t insult the Brewsters. The key was to make sure Alma Brewster didn’t want to hire her. She could accomplish that by being herself: independent and outspoken. She would not beg for the position, and she would not cater to Alma Brewster’s snobbishness. Mrs. Brewster would dismiss her, and that would be that.

      It was only when the butler Hayes—his rotund body waddling on two thin legs like Humpty Dumpty brought to life—led Evelyn into what he called the morning room, that her self-confidence faltered. She had prepared herself to stand up to Alma Brewster. But she hadn’t expected to be faced with a roomful of people, all eying her curiously as she entered.

      Mrs. Brewster immediately took charge.

      “Miss O’Keefe, I appreciate your promptness,” she said. “I am often appalled by the tardiness of people your age. Please, come in. I will make the introductions.” She led Evelyn toward a pale, nervous-looking young woman clutching the hand of a small girl whose flushed face was surrounded by tangled blond ringlets.

      “This is my daughter, Lavinia Preston, and my granddaughter, Beatrice.” Lavinia nodded at Evelyn, while Beatrice stared at her resentfully.

      “Beatrice was attempting to hurl herself into the garden fountain a few moments ago,” Alma said. “It is precisely this willfulness we need to remedy. Isn’t that right, Lavinia?”

      Lavinia nodded again, but still said nothing.

      “This is Beatrice’s father, Winslow Preston,” Mrs. Brewster said, indicating a middle-aged man with a bloated stomach that strained against his waistcoat. He bent his head and shoulders quickly in a brief acknowledgment of Evelyn’s presence.

      “And, of course, Charles,” Mrs. Brewster added, as if the other person in the room needed no introduction.

      Charles Brewster was a favorite subject of local gossip. Nearly thirty and still a bachelor, his marriage plans were the topic of endless speculation. His wealth and status put the most prestigious possibilities within reach. But for all the discussions of his money, his social connections and his talent for business, Evelyn had never realized how handsome he was until now. He had his mother’s erect posture, but what came across as snobbish in Mrs. Brewster made him appear dignified. His dark brown hair was combed carefully back from his forehead, not a lock out of place. A moustache was neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes focused on Evelyn, observing everything about her but giving nothing away.

      “A pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Keefe,” he said smoothly, tipping his head. “Mother, if you intend on a lengthy interrogation…”

      Mrs. Brewster silenced him with a wave of her hand. “If Miss O’Keefe is to become a member of this household, I expect you to show an interest. Your business affairs can wait.” She turned back to Evelyn. “Come—sit down.”

      Evelyn watched as the family members took their places along two parallel sofas in the center of the room: the Prestons on one side, Mrs. Brewster and Charles on the other. After a moment’s hesitation, Evelyn settled on a narrow wooden chair.

      Mrs. Brewster began by quizzing Evelyn about her education and her qualifications, nodding approvingly when she mentioned the Baltimore families she had worked for. Beatrice sulked, Winslow looked bored and Lavinia watched silently. But it was Charles who unnerved Evelyn the most. For someone who had tried to avoid the interview, he appeared surprisingly interested in Evelyn’s answers.

      “I’m curious,” he interrupted. “What is your philosophy on education for women?”

      Evelyn smiled. “I believe women should receive as much education as possible.”

      “But if every respectable woman’s goal is marriage,” Charles continued, “why the need for any education? Beyond the simple requirements of literacy and perhaps familiarity with household finances.”

      “I believe a successful marriage is one between intellectual equals,” Evelyn responded, echoing a sentiment that had often been debated at college. “A husband will grow bored with a silly wife, but an educated woman is a worthy companion for life.”

      “Hmph,” Mrs. Brewster snorted. “Do you think all young ladies should renounce marriage and family to attend college?”

      Her face flushed, Evelyn rose to the bait. “Of course not,” she said quickly. “However—and with no offense intended—women used to be considered educated if they had a few years of French and could play a waltz on the piano. We have now entered a new century. Times have changed.”

      “Indeed they have,” Charles agreed. To Evelyn’s surprise, he looked pleased.

      “I certainly wish Beatrice to have every opportunity,” Mrs. Brewster said. “College is not necessary for someone in her position, but I can see how it would be advantageous for a woman like you, who has to make her own way in the world.”

      Evelyn nodded, fairly certain she’d been insulted.

      “Now, do you have any questions?” Mrs. Brewster asked.

      Evelyn remembered Mrs. Brewster’s offhand comment about her becoming part of the household. “Is this a live-in position?” she asked. If so, she wouldn’t hesitate to decline. Being surrounded by these people every day would be intolerable.

      “Given that you live in town, a daily schedule could be arranged,” Mrs. Brewster said. “I see no need to deprive your mother of your company. I know all too well what it is to be a widow alone in this world.”

      Hardly alone, thought Evelyn, with three children and a household full of staff.

      “I assume lessons would be held at Mr. and Mrs. Preston’s home?”

      Mrs. Brewster shook her head. “We have a proper schoolroom here,” she said. “My own children took their lessons there. It’s fully supplied, but there will be funds set aside for books and any other necessities that may be required. Well then,” Mrs. Brewster continued, rising to her feet. “That will be all. We have a few other candidates expected today, but we hope to make a speedy decision. It’s high time Beatrice’s wild ways were tamed.”

      “Yes, of course. Thank you for considering me.” Evelyn said her goodbyes quickly and almost raced out of the room. How foolish she had been, thinking that she would reject the Brewsters! Of course they would interview other governesses, all of them more experienced and more sophisticated than her. This meeting was simply a gesture of goodwill toward her mother, a gracious signal to the town that the Brewsters weren’t above hiring locals on occasion.

      In her hurry to leave the house, Evelyn dashed toward the front door, barely giving Hayes the chance to open it for her. As she made her way swiftly down the drive, she heard her name being shouted behind her. “Miss O’Keefe!”

      She stopped and turned, stunned to see Charles Brewster taking the front steps two at a time.

      “Your hat, Miss O’Keefe!”

      He held up Evelyn’s best hat, made of dark blue straw and decorated with a ring СКАЧАТЬ