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Excellent. Now I know her name. The rest of the students responded promptly. All were present. Now to figure out what to do with them. He glanced down at the list. This was a level two class. Review of sums and differences, basic multiplication, some division, monetary units, and measurement. The level two book in his desk drawer had a marker in it. He turned to the page, said a silent prayer, and forged ahead.
Within half an hour, his entire perception of little girls had been turned upside down. These weren’t like the giggling, squabbling, gossiping sisters he’d known in his youth.
Not a single one whispered behind her hand to a neighbor.
Not a single one snickered when a peer answered incorrectly.
Not a single one drew pictures on her slate instead of sums or spoke out of turn or yanked a classmate’s braid.
They were like perfect little dolls.
Only once did a student voluntarily raise her hand to be recognized. When she did, the others, as one, looked to her with open apprehension as she requested permission to visit the necessary. Her pale face and trembling fingers as she took the token from his hand left no doubt that desperation had driven the request.
Her prompt, bowed-head return and mumbled gratitude as she replaced the token on its hook sparked further unease in his gut. These children were completely terrified. Of him.
Something is definitely wrong here.
When class was dismissed, the rustle of cloth as his pupils rose to leave was unaccompanied by conversation. In eerie silence they departed in haste. As she approached the doorway, Miss Stone paused and glanced back at him with a furrowed brow. Then she was gone.
The next class went much the same as the first. Experimenting, he paced across the room’s front while giving instruction and observed his pupils with peripheral vision. Twelve wary sets of eyes followed him. When he turned to regard the students, however, their gazes at once lowered to the tabletops.
Again the bell clanged, and again his class was dismissed to depart in hurried silence.
Lunch was a strained affair. Though the other staff members attempted to make pleasant conversation, he could tell they felt restricted by his presence. Madame Trouvère didn’t join them until near the end, by which time the students were free to converse.
The room filled not with the din of forty-some-odd chatty girls, but rather a soft susurration of whispers that sent shivers down his spine. Repeated, furtive glances in his direction told him the conversations were centered on their new maths teacher.
“It will take some time for them to become accustomed to you.”
He looked up into the headmistress’s eyes. Soft, hazel eyes full of empathy. “The first day is always difficult for any teacher,” she added with a faint smile. “Give them a week, and I promise you will see a great difference.”
“Begging your pardon, Headmistress,” he whispered, “but they seem almost…afraid of me.”
Her gaze grew wary. “You must remember that until now, with the exception of Dr. Whitehall and now Dr. Horton, these young ladies have remained exclusively in the company of other females, some of them for nearly two years.” She laughed a little. “Though at first I was against it, I’m glad now that I hired a gentleman teacher. Perhaps it will help them more quickly adjust when they enter the greater world. But you must give them time. They do not yet know you.”
And they don’t yet trust me. But they would eventually. “I noticed on the list you left me that my students this afternoon are divided into much smaller groups. Only five for the last one?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Some of our older girls are nearing completion of their time here. They have read all the primers and passed Mrs. Farrow’s final exam. Their knowledge is comprehensive, but they must become accustomed to applying it so they are prepared to fulfill an employer’s expectations. We discussed this during your initial visit.”
Were it not for the anonymous tip that had sent him here, he would leave this instant.
This was a bloody school. If it was a through-house for a flesh operation, then why in heaven’s name bother educating the girls in the scholarly arts? Yet instinct still told him there was more here than met the eye. It would do no harm to stay put for a little while, if only for peace of mind—and to satisfy his curiosity regarding Trouvère.
Will didn’t like enigmas. They made him uncomfortable, preyed upon his thoughts. Once he had her figured out and the mystery solved, he’d be content and able to move on. “I remember, Headmistress. I shall endeavor to teach them the practical skills they’ll need.”
During the free period after lunch, he explored the school. On discovering a small library, he was stunned to see two girls huddled by one of its large windows, their heads bent over books. “Hello,” he ventured with a smile. They stared back at him. “May I ask what you’re reading?”
The younger girl, one he recognized from his first class that day, though he couldn’t recall her name, paled visibly as she held up her book, Divine Songs for Little Children.
The other one had the courage to speak. “Pilgrim’s Progress
, sir,” she said in a voice that, to his surprise, neither quavered nor broke. Unlike all the other girls he’d met that day, her gaze was direct—and distinctly unwelcoming.
“An excellent choice,” he said, nodding. “I’ve read it twice, myself. What other treasures are to be found in these shelves, I wonder?”
Entering, he went to the side farthest from the girls and glanced over the titles. It was a small, but admirably varied collection. “Are you being punished?” he asked in a casual manner while flipping through the yellowed pages of an ancient copy of Orbis Pictus.
Again, the older one answered. “No, sir.”
