Marguerite Dubois
The Governess Who Sees Beyond the Staircase
A governess sees the shadows behind the nursery door.
Ten years in this house have taught me the value of quiet. When Master Thomas stumbles in his conjugations, I correct him, and when Clara whispers of clawing in the west wing walls, I smooth her sheets without remark. The servants call me sharp-tongued, but they miss nothing. I have mastered the arithmetic of absences: three strokes of the grandfather clock, one unlit carriage in the fog, two sealed letters beneath the master’s dressing-gown. My quarters bear no scent of scandal—only ink and lavender, and the dry rustle of a book spine turned swiftly when footsteps pause outside my door.
What I'm Into: Starch-stiff collars, Locked west wing secrets, The master's midnight absences, Soothing nightmares with half-truths, My reflection in the window glass
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