Charlotte Markham and the House of Darkling Read Online Free Page B

Darrow,” when a hefty woman in heavily starched black skirts and the aforementioned brooch waddled down the corridor to meet me.
    â€œMrs. Markham!” Her voice barreled off the walls in a loud, rolling crescendo. She approached me with open arms, and her thin, wide lips stretched into an effortless smile rounded off by apple-colored cheeks. The woman would have been plain if her sense of cheerfulness hadn’t been so infectious. I found myself laughing as the stranger embraced me with thick, fleshy arms.
    â€œWonderful to meet you, my dear! I’m Nanny Prum.” She released me from her grip and I quickly tried to catch my breath.
    â€œThe pleasure’s all mine.”
    The woman cackled and slapped me on the back with a hand like a round steak. She took my arm and led me down the hallway.
    â€œI expect we’ll be like sisters, or at the very least a pair of silly aunties to little James and Paul! Such good boys, sweeter children I’ve never known. Very different temperaments, mind you, but sweet just the same. I wouldn’t go so far as to call them angels, because they are children, after all, but their hearts are in the right place. Although I suppose you’re more concerned with their minds, hmm?”
    â€œTheir well-being is my primary concern.”
    Nanny Prum nodded in approval and led us up the grand staircase, careful to avoid the holes in the red fabric that covered the stairs, and the cracks that had started to appear in the wood.
    â€œSo you’ve met Mr. Darrow?”
    â€œYes, he seems to be a fine sort of gentleman.”
    â€œTo be sure, very fine and rather strapping if you ask me. But then his late wife, the boys’ mother, was also very beautiful. Such a pair they made! So sad that she was taken from this world so young. But it is not for us to dwell on such things. We must help the children forget .”
    â€œI’m not sure I would say forget, exactly . . .”
    In hindsight, it was the first and only disagreement we ever had, and one, I’m sorry to say, that I would win. I would not let the children forget their late mother, or their nanny.
    We turned the corner at a painting of a nocturnal landscape with a castle looming in the distance. Nanny Prum pointed to it as we passed.
    â€œMrs. Darrow enjoyed the fine arts: painting, singing, sculpting, that sort of thing. Although I daresay she had a rather morbid aesthetic.” She stopped at the end of the hallway and entered the nursery.
    The children were waiting for us. Paul was nearly thirteen at the time, thin and pale with dark hair like his mother, whose portrait hung in Mr. Darrow’s study, and intense blue eyes. His brother, James, was four; a sandy blond–haired little boy who wore a light, playful expression on his round, dimpled face. He held a small bouquet of wildflowers, and bowed politely while his older brother leaned against the wall.
    â€œWe are very pleased to meet you.” said James.
    â€œAnd I must say I’m very pleased to meet the both of you! I knew there was already one gentleman at Everton, but I had no idea I’d have the pleasure of acquainting myself with two more. And what lovely flowers!” I clasped my hands together in approval and smiled as I was expected to do, even though I had no idea what I would do with them. Flowers always made me nervous, especially when given as gifts. One is expected to keep them alive, to help them flourish for a short while, and if they do not, well, then what does that say about a person? Too much can be inferred from such a failure: Is she simply incapable of keeping anything alive? Dear me, I do hope she does a better job with the Darrow children! And so on and so forth. “I haven’t smelled anything so wonderful since I was a little girl in India.”
    James immediately perked up. “You lived in India?”
    â€œYes, for many years. My father was stationed there when I was about