Oh, Cherry Ripe

“Ah … men being men … all would succumb?”

“Well, perhaps not all, but what is the point in tempting them?”

“Hmmm, this is a problem, but perhaps you think I am beautiful only because you love me?”

“Cherry, you must know better by now.”

“But, Nanny, I have the skills. I love children. Don’t you remember how nicely I managed with the Parson children and the work I did at the orphanage near Elton?”

“Quite different.”

Thus, this argument continued throughout the course of the day and would have continued the following morning had they not been interrupted.

* * *

“I told you, work at the orphanage was work suitable to your station in life. Being a governess is … not.”

“You were a governess.” Cherry put her arm around her.

“Yes, but …” Polly stopped and, putting a finger to her lips, turned her head to look away from the herbs she was collecting from her garden as the sound of wheels grinding over pebbles in the drive came to a stop.

Cherry and her nanny looked over her white picket fence to find a well-outfitted and handsome coach had arrived. She said as much to herself as to Cherry, “Why, who can that be?”

Cherry and Polly stood back and watched as the shiny black door of the coach opened and an elderly gentleman clothed in somber gray attire descended the steps, with his cane clasped in his gloved hand.

“Why, it is Mr. Trekner,” Polly whispered. Then with a wave of her hand, she called out, “Here, sir … in the garden.” In an aside to Cherry she commented, “I wonder what brings him here?”

The elderly man looked around at the sound of her voice and smiled warmly as he moved towards the white gate. “Miss Corbett,” he said as he tipped his hat and made his way towards them.

He bowed his head and said softly, “My, my, you are looking fit, Miss Corbett. How long has it been since I have seen you? Five … maybe six years?”

Polly laughed. “More like two, sir, and how nice to see you again, but what brings you to the New Forest?”

“You, indeed, you bring me,” he answered gravely.

“Really?” Her brows rose, and then she indicated the stone bench at her side, saying simultaneously, “Oh, how remiss of me …”

Cherry went forward, worried that her nanny would slip and give her real name. She stuck out her hand. “Sarah Parker … how do you do?”

The elderly man had removed his top hat as he sank onto the stone bench across from where Cheryl was standing. He eyed her keenly for a moment as she smiled at him but asked no questions. It appeared he had problems of his own; perhaps he sensed she did as well.

Miss Corbett offered refreshments and an invitation inside, but he declined, waving this off with his cane before settling it down. “There, there, Polly, don’t fuss. I’m not really here socially.”

Polly eyed him doubtfully. Theirs was an old acquaintance. He had known her father, and he had been instrumental in Polly obtaining her first post as governess. She was not one to put things off and inquired abruptly, “Well then, Mr. Trekner, why are you here?”

He smiled appreciatively at her. “Ah, Miss Corbett, I need your help.”

“Of course, if I can,” she offered at once.

He leveled a bold glance at her. “Miss Corbett, I need you to do what you do best—manage a pair of wayward, unhappy children.”

“My word, what can you mean?”

“You will recall that I wrote to you and inquired whether your services as governess would be available for the Bromley twins?”

“Yes, yes,” she interjected quickly, “and as I explained in my letter, I am retired. There were two qualified ladies of my acquaintance that I did, however, recommend to you …”

“So you did. Excellent women, both of them. The twins ousted the first in less than six weeks. The second took them only one month to be rid of. The remunerations both were offered to reconsider and stay were quite exceptional … and still, they ran.”