A Very Unusual Governess. Sylvia Andrew

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      The following Tuesday, blissfully unaware that the Barracloughs had already taken up residence, Lady Octavia Petrie said goodbye to her father and Cousin Marjorie, took up her groom, and set off for Wychford with a sense of excitement out of all proportion to the event. Apart from one stop to rest the horses, she wasted no time, and when she arrived at the gates of the house the hour was still comparatively early. She looked up the drive, which led away curving and twisting through an avenue of trees. It was very strange. She felt a tug of recognition, a stirring of adventure. The place seemed to beckon to her…

      ‘Take the gig back to the inn in the village, Will,’ she said making up her mind. ‘It isn’t far to the house and it’s a glorious day. I’ll walk the rest of the way. You can fetch me in a couple of hours.’

      When the groom demurred Octavia said impatiently, ‘Don’t be such an old woman! I shall be perfectly safe. Mr Walters has engaged a full staff for the house, including a housekeeper. I can’t believe there’ll be any villains among them, can you? Off you go!’

      Octavia watched Will’s familiar figure disappear down the road, then walked through the gates. The weariness of spirit that had dogged her for months slowly lifted as she walked up the drive, and she was filled with a sensation of release, a feeling that she was in an enchanted world. She smiled. Perhaps she was under the spell of the Witch of Wychford! On either side were magnificent old trees, some of them with branches hanging low, their foliage touched with gold, scarlet and brown with glimpses of a deep blue sky above. Here and there a bright midday sun flashed and sparkled through the leaves, dazzling her with fairy gold. She walked on towards the house, gazing about her with delight. It was as if she had drunk a glass of champagne, or been wafted off to a land of fairy tales…She nearly jumped out of her skin as a voice from above said,

      ‘He won’t have you!’

      Octavia stopped and looked up. The sun blinded her and it was a moment or two before she could make out an elfin figure perched on one of the branches. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘He won’t have you. You’re too young and pretty.’

      ‘How very kind of you to say so!’

      ‘He said you’d be more trouble than you’re worth.’

      ‘Did he, indeed? How was he to know that? Though I’m not sure I fully understa—’

      ‘He’s looking for another Miss Froom, but I wish he’d have you. You look far more interesting.’

      ‘Er…thank you again. I think.’ Octavia pulled herself together and made an effort to begin a more sensible conversation. She asked, ‘Forgive me, but may I ask who you are?’

      ‘I’m Pip. Philippa Barraclough.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘It’s rude to say “what”. Miss Froom got very cross with me for saying it.’

      ‘But…but what are you doing here?’ stammered Octavia. ‘You’re not supposed—’

      ‘You mean I should be inside? On a glorious day like this?’

      ‘Oh, no! That’s not it. No sensible person would want to be inside on a day like today. That’s not what I meant—’

      ‘I’m exploring. We’ve only been here a few days, and yesterday I explored the other side of the house. It’s a beautiful house. Have you seen its chimneys?’

      Octavia gave up trying to be sensible. She was enjoying this bizarre conversation. It all seemed to be part of the madness of the day. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Will you show them to me?’

      A little girl dropped out of the tree. Black curls tumbled over a pointed face. The child was thin, but crackled with energy and spirits. Great grey eyes, sparkling with life, gazed at Octavia, examining her with critical interest. What she saw seemed to satisfy her. ‘Come on!’ she said, and set off.

      Octavia laughed. ‘Right!’ she said and followed.

      Pip suddenly stopped. ‘Look!’

      Octavia obediently looked, then gasped with pleasure. On the other side of a small lake lay Wychford, a rose-red house nestling among lawns and trees, its windows twinkling in the sun. Its somewhat crooked timbers and a small round tower to one side gave it a lopsided, slightly quizzical look. A friendly house, an enticing house…a magic house. And on top…‘Barley-sugar sticks!’ she cried.

      Pip looked immensely pleased. ‘I knew you’d recognise them,’ she said. ‘Oh, I do wish Edward would have you! He’s at his wits’ end, you know.’

      ‘I’m sorry to hear it. Why is that?’ asked Octavia.

      ‘Because we’ve lost our governess. The last one. But I wouldn’t be rude to you.’

      ‘Is that why she went? Because you were rude?’

      ‘No. Edward dismissed her. Sent her away without a character,’ said Pip with relish. ‘She was unkind. Lisette didn’t like her, either, and she usually likes everyone.’

      ‘Lisette is your sister?’

      ‘Yes. She’s much older than I am. I’m ten. Do you believe in lists?’

      ‘What kind of lists? Laundry? Shopping? Christmas presents?’

      ‘No! Lists of facts to learn—the kings of England, for example.’

      ‘Definitely not!’ said Octavia firmly. ‘That’s a very boring way to learn anything.’