The Taste of Knowledge

Chapter 176

The heavy velvet curtains in their private sitting room did little to dispel the gloom that seemed to seep from the very stones of the Valerius estate. Footmen had quietly deposited their trunks and departed, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake. Young Freya, ever resilient, was already attempting to engage Mrs. Gable in a game with a small wooden doll she’d brought from the lake house, her bright chatter a stark contrast to the room’s somber mood.

Lord Alaric Valerius watched his daughter for a moment, a flicker of pain in his crimson eyes, before turning his attention to Mrs. Gable. The nanny, a stout woman with a usually cheerful disposition, looked decidedly unnerved by their new surroundings.

“Mrs. Gable,” Lord Alaric began, his voice low and devoid of its usual warmth. It was the tone he used for matters of grave importance, a tone that instantly commanded attention.

Mrs. Gable, who had been attempting a wobbly voice for Freya’s doll, straightened abruptly, her hands smoothing down her apron. “Yes, m’lord?”

“Come here, if you please.” He gestured to a space near the cold, ornate fireplace. When she stood before him, looking expectant and a little fearful, he continued, “The rules of this household are… particular. And they are to be followed with unwavering diligence. Your primary, indeed your sole responsibility, is the well-being of my daughter, Freya.”

His gaze, usually so kind, was now steely. “Under no circumstances is she to sustain any injury. Not a scratch, not a bruise. And above all,” his voice dropped further, becoming almost a hiss, “there is to be no spilled blood. None. Do you understand the gravity of what I am saying?”

Mrs. Gable paled visibly. “No… no blood, m’lord? But children, they… they tumble. Little scrapes are…”

“Not here, Mrs. Gable,” Lord Alaric interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Not within these walls. You will be vigilant. You will be her shadow. You will anticipate every potential mishap. Failure to adhere to these rules will not merely result in your dismissal from my service.” He paused, letting the weight of his unspoken implication hang in the air. “The consequences could be far more… severe. For everyone involved, but most certainly for you. This is not a request, madam, it is an absolute imperative. Your life, and more importantly, Freya’s continued safety, may depend on your diligence.”

Mrs. Gable’s mouth opened and closed. She swallowed hard, her eyes wide with a dawning comprehension that this was far beyond the usual concerns of a noble household. “I… I understand, m’lord. Perfectly. Freya will be as safe as if she were wrapped in cotton wool. I swear it.”

A faint, mirthless smile touched Lord Alaric’s lips. “Cotton wool will not suffice here, Mrs. Gable. Only constant, unwavering vigilance.” He remembered hiring her, nearly seven years ago.

The small cottage on the outskirts of the Valerius summer estate had been easy enough to find. Alaric, then a younger man, newly married and awaiting the birth of his first child, had been seeking a reliable nanny. The village midwife had recommended Martha Gable, a widow with grown children of her own, known for her sturdy competence despite her humble circumstances.

He found her in a small, impeccably clean garden, tending to a meager patch of vegetables. She was a woman whose hands spoke of hard work, her face weathered but her eyes surprisingly bright and intelligent.

“Mrs. Gable?” Alaric had inquired, his voice gentle.

She’d curtsied, wiping her hands on her apron. “Yes, m’lord? What service can I be to you?” Her voice was clear, though tinged with the local dialect.

I am Lord Alaric Valerius. I am… we are expecting our first child soon. I am looking for a nanny, someone kind and trustworthy, to care for the baby.”

Her face had lit up. “A baby, m’lord! Oh, there’s nothing sweeter! I’ve raised five of my own, sturdy lads and lasses all, though they’re scattered now. And I’ve helped with half the village’s little ones, I reckon.” She launched into a rather lengthy account of her experience, her words tumbling out with an eagerness that was both endearing and slightly overwhelming. “And I’m strong, m’lord, not afraid of hard work, not me. Always said, a bit of honest toil keeps the spirit right. This little plot barely keeps body and soul together, but a good, steady position… oh, that would be a blessing from the heavens themselves!”

Alaric had listened patiently. Her talkativeness was pronounced, but her eyes shone with genuine warmth when she spoke of children. “The position would require you to live at the lake house with us, Mrs. Gable. My wife, Lady Iris, will of course be overseeing things, but we need someone dedicated solely to the child’s care.”

“The lake house!” she’d exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Oh, that grand place! I’ve only ever seen it from afar. To live there… like a queen, I’d wager!” She’d clasped her hands together. “M’lord, you wouldn’t find a more devoted nanny in all the land. I’d cherish that little one like it were my own. Keep it safe and sound, sing it all the old songs, teach it its letters when the time comes… though I’m not much for fancy learning myself, I know a good heart is what matters most.”

He’d smiled then, a genuine smile. “A good heart is indeed paramount, Mrs. Gable. And a watchful eye. The position is yours, if you’ll have it.”

Tears had welled in her eyes. “Oh, m’lord! Thank you! You won’t regret it, I swear on my dear departed husband’s grave, you won’t! I’ll be the best nanny.” 

And she had. Mrs. Gable, for all her initial rustic volubility, had proven to be a loving and capable, if sometimes overly chatty, presence in young Freya’s life.

Lord Alaric looked at the now subdued and visibly frightened woman before him. The circumstances were drastically different. “Good,” he said curtly, breaking from his reverie. “See to Freya. Ensure she is settled. Prepare her for dinner. We… we will all be dining with Lady Amelia this evening.”

“Yes, m’lord. Of course, m’lord.” Mrs. Gable bobbed another curtsy and hurried back to Freya, her usual bustling energy replaced by a careful, almost tiptoeing caution.

Freya, oblivious to the undercurrents of fear and warning, giggled as Mrs. Gable fumbled with the doll. “No, Nanny, silly! Princess Aurora doesn’t talk like a grumpy badger!”

Lord Alaric watched them for another moment before turning to his wife. Lady Iris had sunk onto a velvet settee, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on some indeterminate point across the room. He went to her, taking a seat beside her and gently taking one of her cold hands in his.

“Iris, my love,” he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips.

She turned to him, her violet-crimson eyes filled with a profound weariness. “Oh, Alaric,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “It feels… it feels even heavier than I remembered. This house… it breathes old sorrows. And dinner tonight… with her… I dread it.”

“I know,” he said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “My childhood memories are so vivid here, it’s as if no time has passed. And Amelia…” He shook his head slowly. “She looks exactly the same. Not a day older than when I last saw her, all those years ago, before… before us.”

A shadow crossed his face. “I am so sorry, my dearest, to have dragged you and Freya into this. This… ancestral obligation. This duty. To subject Freya to such a… formal and undoubtedly tense meal on her very first night…”

Lady Iris leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers tightening around his. “Hush, my love,” she said softly. “There is no need for apologies between us. You know I would follow you to the ends of the earth. My place is by your side, Alaric. Always. We will face this dinner together, as a family. Freya is stronger than we think. And perhaps,” she added, a faint, hopeful note in her voice, “it will be… brief. A formality.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You are my strength, Iris. But Freya… her light is so bright, so innocent. This place… Amelia… it is a den of ancient shadows. To have her sit at that long, imposing table, under Amelia’s scrutiny…”

“She will be alright, Alaric,” Lady Iris said, trying to infuse conviction into her voice, though a tremor of doubt remained. “We will be there with her. And as you said, Amelia was… content to remain in the West Wing for generations. Perhaps her re-emergence is… temporary. A gesture due to your return as head of the family. After tonight, perhaps we shall only see her on the rarest of occasions.”

Lord Alaric sighed, a deep, troubled sound. “Perhaps. My father… he always said Amelia rarely troubled him. Kept to her own affairs. He managed the estate, lived his life, raised me here, and she remained… a presence, more than an active participant. A shadow in the corner of one’s eye.” He paused. “He always warned me, though. ‘She has been with our family for an age, Alaric, and her power is ancient. Never forget that. Never cross her.’ But he lived to a ripe old age, undisturbed.” He tried to draw comfort from the memory. “Perhaps… perhaps she will afford us the same courtesy after this initial… reacquaintance.”

“We must believe that, my love,” Iris whispered. “For Freya’s sake, we must endure tonight and hope for quieter days ahead.”

Across the room, Freya, now trying to teach Mrs. Gable a complicated hand-clapping game, paused mid-clap. She glanced over at her parents, huddled together on the settee like two birds seeking shelter from a storm. Their faces were etched with lines of worry she didn’t quite understand, and though their voices were too low for her to hear the words, their distress was a palpable thing in the quiet room, a heavy blanket smothering the air. Why did they look so sad? This new house was very big, and a little bit dark, but Amelia, my new sister, was so beautiful, like a princess from one of my storybooks. 

A flicker of hopeful anticipation danced within her. Maybe, just maybe, after dinner, this beautiful older sister Amelia would have some time to play. Freya imagined showing Amelia her special wooden doll, the one with the chipped paint on its nose that she loved best. Or perhaps Amelia, being so grown-up and elegant, knew even better games, secret games hidden within the walls of this grand house. Weren’t grown-ups supposed to be brave about everything, and happy to have new family arrive? She tilted her head, a small frown creasing her brow, a shadow of her parents' unease momentarily touching her own bright spirit. 

Mrs. Gable, with a forced cheerfulness that didn't quite reach her eyes, clapped her hands a little too loudly then, drawing Freya’s attention back to their game, though the image of her parents’ troubled faces – and the vibrant, hopeful anticipation of playing with her new sister – lingered powerfully in her young mind.