Rules for a Proper Governess by Jennifer Ashley Page B

likes of Bertie Frasier. The maid had flashed her a sideways glance, clearly wondering at her master’s senses, but she was polite as could be as she set down the tray, and friendly with Cat and Andrew.
    Breakfast was tea and toast, bacon and poached eggs, with a bit of sauce in a sauceboat to go over it all. The sauceboat was heavy silver and worth a bob. If Bertie had been Andrew’s age, when she’d still thought her father walked on water, she’d have alerted him that here was a house where they used expensive dishes for everyday meals—in the nursery, no less.
    But Bertie knew her father better now. She didn’t want to be like him, and she’d never, ever again steal anything from Mr. Sinclair McBride. Taking his handkerchief and coins last night had been a bit of fun, and she hadn’t been wrong—he was too easy. She’d only done it to prove a point, that he needed to be more careful.
    While she and the mites breakfasted, she heard Sinclair downstairs, shouting for Macaulay, banging doors. Mr. McBride had a voice that could rattle the ceiling, and even Macaulay couldn’t match it. No wonder everyone in court bent before him like reeds in a wind. It was only when Mr. McBride stopped banging about that the emptiness came through.
    Bertie found herself listening hard to him, disappointment trickling through her when the front door opened and closed, his voice receding as he got into his coach. Cat and Andrew left the table and headed for the window to watch him go. Hooves clip-clopped as the carriage went away, taking him off to another day at his chambers.
    Andrew waved frantically, as though his dad could see him up there. Caitriona merely looked after the carriage, her doll firmly in the crook of her arm.
    The maid returned for the tray, still polite, even with the master gone. No sitting down for a chat, no impertinence to Bertie because she wasn’t a real governess. She simply collected the breakfast things, said a thank you to Andrew when he fetched a spoon that had fallen to the floor for her, and walked out again.
    “Well then,” Bertie said, rubbing her hands. “What do ya want to do now?”
    “Play soldiers in the park!” Andrew shouted.
    “We’re supposed to have lessons,” Caitriona said, but wistfully, as though playing soldiers was more appealing to her too.
    “Tell ya what.” Bertie sat down at the cleared table, which was next to a filled bookcase. “Let’s have a story out of one of these books, then we’ll go out to the park. I’m supposed to be your governess, and your dad would be angry at me if I didn’t have you learn something, right?”
    The book Bertie chose was big, heavy, and full of illustrations and tiny, cramped text. Bertie could read just fine, though she had to strain her eyes to do it with this book. The chapter Andrew wanted to hear was about a battle long, long ago in East Anglia, with a woman called Boadicea leading an army against Roman soldiers. Bertie read with interest—it was the first she’d ever heard of it.
    “It’s a bit like a play, innit?” Bertie asked when they’d read the dramatic end of Boadicea. “With villains and heroes and swordfights—like in a Christmas panto.”
    “A Christmas what?” Andrew asked, wrinkling his nose.
    “Panto—a pantomime.” Bertie stared at their blank faces in amazement. “Haven’t you ever seen a panto? It’s a play, with fighting and mean old villains, a girl in breeches and a man dressed up as a lady, and lots of amazing tricks . . .” She trailed off as both children blinked at her, clearly having no clue what she meant.
    Bertie closed the book. “I’m going to have to teach you a lot, looks like. But you’ll be teaching me in return, I wager.”
    Caitriona frowned. “Teach you what?”
    “How to be a proper governess. I don’t know how to be one, do I?” Bertie winked at them. “I have to rely on you completely.”
    Andrew grinned. “A governess gives us heaps and heaps of cake and lets us