“A reasonable objection.”
“The second lasted six weeks. A young woman recommended by a cousin. She taught the girls a great deal of French, which I suppose was a grand feat. She left when she realised there were no balls in Cornwall and, if I may speak frankly, no gentlemen within a reasonable distance of this house.”
“Also reasonable.”
“The third lasted three weeks. She was the one who summoned the groundskeeper to check the well when Viola hid in the armoire. She later informed me that the position required a constitution she did not possess. I agreed with her and did not attempt to dissuade her.”
“And the fourth.”
“The fourth lasted eight days.” Mrs. Kemp poured more tea with an expression that suggested the memory still fatigued her.
“She was the one who believed Viola was possessed by spirits. She left in the middle of the night, I am told, without collecting her wages.”
Mel absorbed this in silence. She had assumed, from Mr. Grieves’s reluctant summary at the hiring interview, that the children were difficult. She had not assumed the adults in their lives had cycled through the house like visitors at a coaching inn.
“And Mr. Langford,” she asked, with careful neutrality.
“Does he not visit?”
“He visits.” Mrs. Kemp’s expression did not change.
“Briefly, once a month, he arrives, he departs, he sees the children for an afternoon, and he is gone again before supper. His visits do not overlap with any governess’s tenure in a manner that has been useful to us.”
“I see.”
“You may not, yet, but I assure you,you will.”
Mrs. Kemp did not elaborate, and Mel did not press. Some explanations, she had learned, were best allowed to arrive on their own schedule.
Mel did none of these things.
When Viola vanished during the fourth day’s geography lesson, Mel simply continued teaching. She addressed her remarks to the empty chair where Viola should have been sitting, then adjusted her position so that her voice would carry toward the bookshelf gap where she had seen a flash of pale fabric disappear.
“The counties of England,” Mel said, pointing to the map she had hung on the wall, “…are divided into regions based on geography, history, and administrative convenience. Cornwall, where we currently reside, is the westernmost county andis notable for its tin mines, fishing industry, and dramatic coastline.”
From behind the bookshelf, there was no sound. But Mel had the distinct impression of listening.
“Can anyone tell me what body of water borders Cornwall to the south?”
Anna raised her hand with the enthusiasm of someone who had appointed herself the class’s star pupil.
“The English Channel.”
“Correct. And to the north?”
“The Bristol Channel. And the Celtic Sea.”
“Excellent. You may record that in the attendance register under ‘participation.’”
Anna bent over her notebook with barely concealed delight. Thistle, who had been attempting to teach Brutus to jump on command, looked up long enough to say, “Does Brutus count as participating if he’s here?”
“Brutus may be recorded as present but not participating, unless he demonstrates knowledge of English geography.”
“He’s French,” Thistle said. “His family came over with the Normans.”
“Then perhaps he would prefer to study the geography of France. We shall cover that next week.”
From behind the bookshelf, the tiniest sound emerged. It might have been a breath. It might have been the beginning of a laugh, quickly smothered. Mel did not look. She did not acknowledge. She simply continued the lesson as though nothing unusual had occurred.
