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Silence descended on the classroom. A tin spoon fell to the floor with a delicate clatter.

Mrs. Bannsright glanced at Mrs. Blot, a cherubic woman whose snow-white hair had been pinned atop her head in meringue-like swirls. “Mrs. Blot, will you continue the lesson?”

Obligingly Mrs. Blot took her place on the platform, while the students continued to steal glances at Mad. “In the textbook,” the teacher said importantly, “initials have been attached to recipes appropriate for specific conditions. I stands for Invalid, C for Convalescent, D for Dyspeptic . . .”

June shrank as Mrs. Bannsright, the equivalent of General Wellington in an apron, approached.

Reina had once told June a quote about whether it was better to be feared than to be loved. It had been written by some long-ago old Italian philosopher with a name that sounded like Macaroni, or Mutton-belly. Anyhow, Mrs. Bannsright inspired both love and fear, which was a powerful combination. The teacher’s approval meant so much to June that if the older woman ever decided to scold or reprimand her, she knew she would drop dead on the spot.

“Miss Rummage,” the teacher remarked, “it appears you’ve brought a guest this evening.”

“Yes, ma’am, this is Mad—er, Mr. Maddock. The coachman at Westbrook House. They decided I needed an escort.”

“A wise idea. One must exercise caution when going out at night.” Mrs. Bannsright subjected Mad to an evaluating glance. It was the exact look June had seen her give a beefsteak that was seared on the outside but might very well be underdone on the inside. “How do you do, Mr. Maddock?”

“Ma’am,” he responded, ducking his head and touching his temple as if doffing an invisible hat.

“Usually, the gentlemen who escort students to the school wait at one of the nearby taverns or pubs until class is finished.”

Before Mad could reply, June said hastily, “He can’t do that, ma’am.”

“Whyever not?”

“Mr. Maddock is too sensitive to go in one of them places,” June said.

The teacher glanced at Mad’s stoic face. “Indeed?” she asked skeptically.

“He’s got the nerves of a bagged fox,” June said. “If someone shouts near his ear or smashes a glass, it sends ’im off his trolley.” Seeing the teacher’s expression, she added, “On top of that, he promised his gran on her deathbed he wouldn’t never take a drop of spirits. If we was to make him sit in a pub for hours, she’d turn in her grave like a goose on a spit.”

Mrs. Bannsright’s head tilted to the side, her brows drawing together.

June sent Mad a hard glance, silently willing him to say something to back her up.

Mad spoke up humbly. “On account of me being a big fella, ma’am, them blokes at the taverns like to start a fight. It’s always ‘Go on, you oversize ox, I bet I can give ya what-for,’ and then it’s chairs flyin’ through the air and tables upendin’. Easier keeping the peace if I ain’t there.”

Appearing far from convinced, the teacher said, “You may stay, Mr. Maddock, so long as your presence doesn’t interfere with the lesson.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” June said with relief. “He won’t bother no one.”

“Let us hope so.” The teacher paused. “Miss Rummage, as I informed the class before you arrived, one of the kitchen attendants, Alberta, couldn’t come tonight, as she’s caring for an ailing aunt. Therefore we only have Gertie to do the work of two. Please do what you can to reduce the number of dishes she’ll have to wash, such as emptying your own scraps basin into the slop bin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

June showed Mad to the back corner, near one of the sinks. She was annoyed by the way the students turned to stare, as if she were leading a stallion clip-clopping into the classroom.

Gertie, who was wiping the sink with a rag, looked at him apprehensively. She was a shy girl, bespectacled and small of stature, her arms wiry from years of hard work.

After finding a chair for Mad to sit in, June hurried to her place at one of the long tables, picked up a folded apron, and quickly put it on. Students were busy cracking eggs into copper beating bowls and discarding shells into scraps bowls.

“Plain sponge cake,” Mrs. Bannsright was saying, “accompanied by a cup of milk, is an excellent breakfast or lunch for an invalid, by virtue of its high egg content . . .”

Using mechanical eggbeaters, June whipped eggs into thick foam. She added sugar gradually, until the batter became satisfyingly fluffy. Now and then she glanced back at Mad, who watched the proceedings as if he were attending a play at Drury Lane Theatre.

She was in the middle of oiling a cake pan when she was startled by the explosive sound of porcelain shattering at the back of the classroom.

Gertie had dropped a bowl onto the tile floor. She stood amid a scatter of porcelain, looking distraught.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Bannsright said. “Will someone—” She paused as she saw Mad had already sprung up from his chair. “Mr. Maddock, perhaps you shouldn’t—”