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“You don’t think that would be perceived as more challenge than warning?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“I think much will depend upon the manner in which you deliver it.” Draining the last of her tea, she stood. “We have approximately half an hour before the students are dismissed to go to class. If you like, I will show you to your room now so that you may become acquainted with it and prepare. You are welcome to come early each weekday and breakfast with us, if you like, although I’m sure Mrs. Hayton’s kitchen is far more peaceful at this hour.”
His slow smile did something queer to her insides. It was a most unsettling sensation, as if gravity had somehow lost its effect. “Peaceful, perhaps, but never so welcoming. As I understand it from Mr. Sharpton, our cook is the sort who prefers to reign over her kitchen in solitude. Especially in the early morning hours.”
To her surprise, another laugh worked its way out of her mouth. “Yes, I do remember Mrs. Inman’s temperament quite vividly. Then we shall look to see you at our table during the week.” What is the matter with me? Why in heaven’s name am I laughing and reminiscing with him as if he’s an old friend? “Come. Follow me.”
Leading the way, she took him to the former classroom of Mrs. Farrow, who would in a matter of days become Mrs. Whitehall. Which reminds me… “You may be comforted to know you are not the only male allowed on the premises. Dr. Horton, Dr. Whitehall’s protégé, will be visiting on a regular basis. Like you, he’s new to our school.”
“You don’t mean Basil Horton?”
Her step faltere
d. “You know each other?”
“We do—or did, rather. Basil and I went to school together as boys—the same school where we were both caned on a daily basis for our misconduct,” he added with a grin. “I thought he’d moved to Edinburg.”
“He did live there for a while but returned to London to practice medicine under Dr. Whitehall a few years ago,” she told him, her stomach tight with worry. Damn. If they were close friends, the good doctor might feel inclined to discuss details she would rather he not divulge. She would speak with him at the first opportunity and extract his vow of silence.
“I never thought he’d leave Edinburg after the way he raved about it,” said Woodson. “Small world that we should both end up here.”
Small world, indeed. Alarm bells ringing in her head, Jacqueline sailed through the door and drew back the curtains to let in more light. “Here is your classroom,” she said, walking the perimeter. “Slates are stored beneath the tables along with writing utensils. Weight and measurement related materials are in that cabinet. These shelves contain ten primers within each respective level, enough for twenty students to share in pairs.” She ran a hand across the spines. “They are not to leave the classroom.”
His brows rose. “You’re fortunate to have so many copies.”
“We are blessed by very generous benefactors.” Taking down one of the books, she flipped it open and grimaced. “Even so, I had to fight for these. The bookseller did not wish to sell them to me when he learned they were to be used at a girls’ school.”
Closing it with a thump, she replaced it on the shelf. “Students are sorted into groups according to skill level. As such, you will see a range of ages within each. A seven-year-old may sit beside a twelve-year-old. It’s the same for all the academic classes. We advance students based on assessed proficiency, not age.”
“I knew I’d be teaching a broad range, but don’t such differences in age cause behavioral difficulties?”
Her smile, she knew, was as beatific as his frown was disapproving. “They do not. Here, the strong are taught to protect the weak, and those possessing greater knowledge are encouraged to mentor those lacking it.”
Pacing the room’s length, she outlined the weekday schedule. “Students change classrooms every hour and a half with a quarter hour between. Times are tolled by the bell in the inner courtyard, which you will hear through the window. Luncheon is at twelve, after which students have one hour of free time to themselves. Classes resume promptly at two. Students are dismissed at five to prepare for dinner, which is served at six. Again, you are invited to partake of the evening meal with us, if you like.” Hands clasped, she whipped about to face him. “Have you any questions?”
Chapter Five
He had several dozen, most having little to do with the procedures here and more to do with her background, but Will restrained himself. He could ill afford to raise suspicion by interrogating her on the first day. Until she was more comfortable with him, he’d have to rely mainly on observation to gather information. “I’m sure I’ll have many as time passes, but I’m content for the moment.”
“Excellent. I’ve written down your schedule for you, as well as the names of your students so you will know if any are missing. It’s in your desk drawer.”
“Thank you.” His mind raced. She’d become so rigid all of a sudden—the moment he’d mentioned knowing Basil. Another tell. But what did it mean? “I’m sure it will take some getting used to, but I’ll manage.”
Outside the window, a bell clanged in the courtyard.
“Then I wish you bon chance, Monsieur Woodson. My classroom is three doors down if you require anything.”
The hall outside the room grew noisy with girlish chatter. Two heads poked around the doorframe. He beckoned with a friendly smile and was greeted with wide eyes as the children sidled in and took seats as far as possible from the front.
Every new arrival was the same—hesitant, fearful almost. Eventually, the seats filled up until the only one left was right at the front.
As the bell rang out once more to signal the beginning of the lesson, another girl came clattering around the corner, only to come to an abrupt halt in the doorway. It was the older of the two girls he’d noticed the first time he’d visited. Her face was a study in dismay.
“Come and take your seat, young lady,” he commanded gently, gesturing at the empty front row spot. Taking out the list the headmistress had written for him, he began. “When I call your name, you will please raise your hand. Miss Celia Crofton. Miss Annette Darner.”
One by one, hands were raised as names were called. When he reached the name Emma Stone, however, there was no response. Looking out over the silent room, he called the name again and saw one of the students beside his late arrival gently nudge her with an elbow.
With a start, Emma raised her hand.
