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“Not at all. I would say it equals or even bests some others I’ve seen. Many charity schools have none.”
“As I said, we are blessed by the generosity of our benefactors.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about those fine gentlemen. I should not like to pass one on the street without tipping my hat.”
“They prefer anonymity.”
Damn. Smiling a little, he acted as though confused. “Why should they not want anyone to know of their goodness to these children?”
Her face tightened. “Because they have been taught not to commit their charitable deeds before the eyes of their fellow man, lest in receiving glory here on earth they lose their heavenly reward.”
Trust a woman to paraphrase scripture and put an end to a discussion. He struggled not to frown. “Forgive my curiosity, madame. I meant no offense.”
“None taken, monsieur.” A faint smile returned to her full, rosy lips. “You are not the first to inquire. Nor will you be the last, I’m certain. In any event, I’m incapable of giving you a complete answer. I do not myself know the origins of the school’s income. Funding is received through an intermediary who has been sworn to secrecy on the subject.”
Interesting. “I see. Then I shall pray these nameless souls reap a heavenly harvest in their proper season.”
Her smile cooled. “I will stop by again at the end of the day, monsieur. I would like at that time to hear your thoughts concerning the curriculum as well as answer any further questions you may have.”
You mean those you’re willing to answer. “I look forward to it.” The curve of her waist as she turned to leave drew his gaze. Her form was graceful and elegant, like that of a ballet dancer he’d once seen while serving as a personal guard to a visiting dignitary. Again, he wondered about her former life. What had she done before arriving here? Neither Mrs. Hayton nor any of the other residents at her boardinghouse had said anything about her past. Did they know?
Taking out his notebook, he scribbled a hasty note. Voices filtered in from the hallway. Time for another hour and a half of uncomfortable silences and furtive glances.
…
She’d expected him to inquire regarding the school’s sponsorship, of course, but not on the first day. He will have to be content with ignorance.
Sweeping into her class, Jacqueline disrupted several hushed conversations and sent the girls scattering to their seats. “Bonjour, mes filles. Tournez à la page vingt-deux dans vos livres. Aujourd’hui, nous allons discuter de conjugaison des verbes…”
Three and
a half hours later, as the last pupil filed past to lay her book atop the growing stack, Jacqueline rolled her aching shoulders and sighed. Verb conjugation was invariably the most challenging aspect of teaching her native tongue to English girls already attempting to conquer their own language in its proper form. But it was necessary. Any girl seeking to become a lady’s maid for the Quality must speak passable French or she would be more difficult to place and receive less wages than one who could.
One recent graduate’s English had been so atrocious she’d adjured her to speak only the perfect French she’d taught her and claim only minimal English, pretending instead to “pick it up” during the course of her employment. It had worked. Annabelle Charbonneau of Nice—formerly Annie Greenlow of Cobb Street, London—was now an elegant “French” lady’s maid for a wealthy baroness.
Annabelle was living proof of how intelligent and quick her girls were. In the space of sixteen months, the girl had learned another language and passed herself off as a nonnative of the city in which she’d been born, the city that had discarded her as worthless. It had been a triumph for them both.
All her pupils were capable, worthy human beings deserving of a life shaped by their own will rather than an ill-fated circumstance of birth. She would give each and every one of them the tools to become more, to attain security, and find what happiness they could—in spite of inquisitive math teachers.
Keeping Mr. Woodson busy was the best possible means of distracting him. The curriculum laid out by Mrs. Farrow was more than satisfactory, but doubtless the man would want to alter it. Men liked to put their stamp of ownership on everything they touched.
The thought was tinged with bitterness and remembered pain. She massaged her right thigh to dispel the ache and then, rising, gathered up her shawl and blew out the lamp. It was only a quarter past five, but already it was growing dark. The windows showed a sky heavy-laden with the threat of rain.
A few students still lingered in the hall. She shooed them on to prepare for dinner and proceeded down to Mr. Woodson’s classroom. Her quarry still sat at his desk, head bent as he wrote. A low rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet.
She cleared her throat. “I do hope the heavy rain holds off until you are safely returned home, Monsieur Woodson. Or are you planning to take dinner with us?”
Glancing up, he shot her a lopsided smile that caused her middle to tighten. “Would that I had known this morning. I told Mrs. Hayton to expect me at seven.”
“A shame, but your stomach will not regret your promise. As I recall, her table is well laid and the portions generous.” Stepping inside, she meandered about the room, straightening here and there, picking up a lost hair ribbon from the floor. “How went your two final classes?”
“Well enough.” Closing the book in which he’d been scratching, he laid aside his pen. “I’ve decided your—my—students are quite an accomplished lot. There is very little I can teach the oldest ones. We worked on measures and bargaining skills.”
“Bargaining?”
“Yes. It was the one thing I did not see in your former teacher’s curriculum. A very useful skill, bargaining. It can shave pence off the cost of some items and save much in the end. Management of money was one of the skills you asked me to teach.”
“Indeed it was,” she replied, unable to hide her pleasure. “Congratulations, monsieur. It’s only your first day, yet already you have pleasantly surprised me. I was going to ask if there was anything you felt ought to be altered with regard to the curriculum, but I see you are ahead of me.”
