Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 74: Casa de los Altamira
Isabel leads Nicole through the house, her steps quick and practised. She glances back at Nicole now and then, as though checking that she is still following.
“You will meet la señora,” Isabel says softly. “She is strict, but fair.”
Nicole nods. “I understand.”
I feel her nerves tightening, but she holds herself with quiet dignity. She has learned how to appear calm even when her heart races.
The courtyard is shaded by olive trees, their leaves whispering in the warm breeze. A fountain trickles softly in the centre, its water catching the light like scattered coins. Servants move through the space with efficient purpose ... carrying baskets, sweeping steps, tending to the garden. No one pays Nicole much attention. She is just another stranger seeking work.
Isabel leads her to a wooden door and knocks once. A voice answers from within ... firm, composed.
“Entra.”
Isabel opens the door and the pair of them enter.
The room is cool and spacious, its walls lined with shelves of books and framed maps. A large window overlooks the courtyard. Behind a sturdy desk sits Doña Elvira Altamira, a woman in her late forties with silver threaded through her dark hair and eyes sharp enough to cut through pretence. She studies Nicole for a long moment. Isabel explains the reason for the intrusion before stepping back.
“So, you are here about the governess position,” Doña Elvira says.
“Yes, señora,” Nicole replies, her Spanish careful but clear.
“Sit.”
Nicole sits. Isabel remains near the door, hands clasped, watching quietly.
Doña Elvira folds her hands atop the desk. “You are not Spanish.”
“No, señora.”
“Where are you from?”
Nicole hesitates. Her journey south taught her that not all those who have fled Paris have been welcomed in Spain. She chooses the truth that will not endanger her.
“I was born in Burgundy, señora,” she says. “My parents died during the unrest sweeping France. I have travelled seeking work.”
Doña Elvira’s gaze sharpens. “You speak Spanish well enough, although it needs improvement.”
“I am learning,” Nicole says. “I can teach reading, writing, arithmetic. And I am patient with children.”
Doña Elvira leans back slightly, assessing her posture, her tone, her composure. Nicole doesn’t fidget. She doesn’t avert her gaze. She sits with the quiet confidence of someone who has endured far worse interrogations. Louise’s training has become ingrained in Nicole’s behaviour, and it impresses Doña Elvira.
Doña Elvira nods once. “My children are nine and six. Mateo and Adella. They require discipline, structure, and kindness. Can you provide these?”
“Yes, señora.”
“Have you worked with children before?”
Nicole’s breath catches. She thinks of her mother ... of the way she soothed her daughter’s fears, taught her letters, braided her hair. She thinks of the children she saw in Paris, clinging to their mothers in the shadow of the guillotine.
“Yes,” she says softly. “I have.”
Doña Elvira studies her face, perhaps sensing the lie behind the answer. But she doesn’t press. A gentle nudge from the bracelet is enough to satisfy her of Nicole’s suitability.
After a moment, she stands. “Come. You will meet them.”
Nicole rises. Isabel opens the door for them, her eyes lingering on Nicole with quiet curiosity. As they walk down the corridor, I feel something subtle and warm, like a thread being drawn taut. Isabel follows behind, her steps soft, her expression thoughtful. She watches Nicole with a mixture of admiration and longing.
I feel Isabel’s emotions as faint impressions of hope, exhaustion, and yearning, tinged with a hint of fear. She doesn’t know it yet. Nicole doesn’t know it yet. But the bracelet has already begun to turn toward Isabel.
Doña Elvira opens a door to a bright room where two children sit at a table, drawing with charcoal. They look up, curious.
“This is Nicole,” Doña Elvira says. “She may become your institutriz.”
The children smile shyly. Nicole kneels beside them, admiring their drawings. Her voice softens, her posture relaxes. She becomes gentle in a way that feels natural, instinctive. The children warm to her immediately.
Doña Elvira watches, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she nods.
“You will begin tomorrow,” she says.
Nicole exhales, relief washing through her.
“Gracias, señora.”
Doña Elvira turns to Isabel. “Show her where she will stay.”
Isabel nods. “Sí, señora.”
As Nicole follows Isabel down the corridor, I feel the air shift again ... like a door opening somewhere in the distance.
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