Excerpt of Too Late To Scream by Allison Knight

While I stood there, a man walked into the room, paused,
glanced around, then gazed at me. He was tall, much taller
than my five foot six inches. Thick black hair fell in
waves over his head while his brown eyes snapped with
displeasure as he glanced at me and the valise at my feet.

He stepped forward, bowed slightly then introduced himself.

“I am Monsieur Alexander Chambeau. Who are you?”

The smooth tones of his deep voice sped through me heating
my blood. I stood statue still. His voice reached into my
soul.

He was beautiful in a dangerous sort of way. His features
would put a Greek god to shame. Could this be the father of
the children for whom I was to care?

However, he seemed to be waiting for a response from me.

As was my custom, I lowered my head, and gazed at the
scrubbed wooden floor.

“How do you do,” I murmured. “I am Elizabeth Sutton, the
new nanny.”

Courtesy demanded I acknowledge him. Hesitantly, I raised
my head then extended my hand.

He took it, raised it to his lips and brushed my fingers
with his warm breath. For an instant, I felt a searing heat
race through my body. Shaken beyond anything I’d ever
experienced, I grabbed my hand away and moved back a step.

His dark brown eyes seemed to read my thoughts. Yet, he
seemed not at all affected.

“The children are not here at the moment,” he said. “You
might as well get settled. Your room is through there.”

He pointed to a door off to the right, then backed through
the open portal, nodded his head once and turned. I
listened as the heels of his boots clicked down the wooden
stairs.

I started toward the door he’d indicated for suddenly I
felt the need to sit down.

Everything about the house seemed strange. Certainly, not a
happy home if I judged the expressions of Pearl and the
older woman who had met me. I might have a great deal of
trouble fitting into such a somber residence. I wondered if
the place reeked of despair because of the death of the
mistress of the house. Time would tell.

I opened the door. This room, too, was a pleasant surprise.
The walls bore a soft green with matching drapes over more
tall windows. High ceilings meant cool nights. I sighed
with relief. Summer in Louisiana could be hot and humid,
even here by the river.

I sat on the bed, surprised that the mattress was made of
moss. Oh, I could enjoy this room. I sighed with
contentment then turned to my valise.

After a few more minutes the crisp voice of a woman and the
singsong French of a young boy reached my ears. The boy
said something about a new nanny but the woman responded in
English. “This woman is here for your sister. You have your
tutor, but Nichole needs someone, too.”

As the pair entered the nursery, I left the room assigned
to me. As I listened to the boy and the woman, I suspected
this must be one of my charges and the servant, Jenny.

I glanced around wondering about the little girl, Nichole.
I watched as the child tiptoed into the room. She had to be
no more than four or five. She stood there, unmoving, quiet
as a church mouse.

Before I offered my name to the trio, Pearl bustled back
into the room.

“This here is Jenny. She helps with the children. Her job’s
been to watch them until you came. The master says today
she’ll help you with them.”

The two children were a study in contrasts. The boy was
fair and slender, with wide blue eyes. Blond curls cupped
his narrow face. I wondered if he looked like his mother.
Pearl put her large arm about the thin shoulders of the boy.

“This here is Stephen. Only, his papa calls him Etienne,
that’s French for Stephen.”

I held out my hand to Stephen. “How do you do, Etienne? My
name is Elizabeth.”

Stephen took my hand, bowed over it, then shook his
head. “Call me Stephen. Grandpa says I’m only one half
French.” He frowned then added, “Maybe you better call me
Etienne.”

His comment surprised me. Could the father be that much of
an authoritarian?

I suspected Stephen--no, Etienne, had attained seven years
of age, yet he spoke and acted like an adult. I shuddered,
wondering if this child had ever been allowed to enjoy a
childhood. I remembered this Jenny mentioning a tutor in
her conversation with him. So Etienne would not be my
responsibility. Somehow, I was glad.

Pearl interrupted my thoughts. “Nichole here is your
charge, but she don’t talk.”

The tiny girl was also slender, but she was as dark as the
boy was fair. Her hair was nearly black and waved in soft
curls over her head. Enormous brown eyes stared at me from
a pixie face. I smiled to myself. This young lady would
certainly become a beautiful woman.

Pearl gave me a disgusted look then departed the room. I
looked at Jenny, wondering how much she’d be willing to
tell me about this household. I had many questions. She
answered my first one quickly enough.

“Pearl is the housekeeper here at Les Chenes. She don’t
like nannies.”

“Does she have enough experience on which to make such a
judgment?” I queried, suddenly put out with Pearl’s
attitude.

“Yes ’am, she does. You be the fourth woman to come here
since--”

“The fourth?”

“Yes ’am.” Jenny nodded her black head vigorously. “Right
after the Missus passed on, we had a wet nurse for Nichole
and a nanny for Stephen. That nanny, Agnes, stayed almost
two years. Then she ran off with the overseer’s son. There
was two more. Then Lucy came. You’re the first one since
Lucy.”

Jenny paused and glanced at the little girl standing beside
her, tugging at her skirts.

“I’ll say more later.” She herded the children toward the
other side of the room.