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Dr. Horton had arrived.
…
Will watched his words’ effect on the women—on the headmistress in particular—with hope. Her hazel eyes had warmed briefly but then became guarded again. He turned to see what had attracted her attention and saw Mrs. Sloane, the school’s gatekeeper, headed their way. Before she could reach the table, Trouvère rose and went to meet her. They left together.
He was half tempted to get up and follow them out—not to eavesdrop, but to go back to the classroom and sit before the damned fire. His bloody feet were still damp, and this room was none too cozy. Still, he couldn’t curse the rain. Because of it, he’d managed to garner the sympathy of everyone here.
Never had he met a more maternal flock of females—not even his mother and sisters. The moment he’d dripped his way through the front door this morning, the women here had been all fuss and sympathy. The cook now doted on him, and the teachers were on their way to accepting him as one of their own. Even the headmistress, though she tried to maintain her distance, was showing signs of softening.
The students were warming to him, too. A sneezing, bespectacled man was about as threatening as a kitten. It had been Miss Janet Fairfield who’d suggested hanging his things on the back of a chair by the fire to dry them out. And it had been Miss Amelia Wilcox who’d freshened his cup of tea after a bout of coughing.
In
deed, he was beginning to feel much more optimistic about how things were going. Last night, Mrs. Hayton and company—even Mr. Watlow—had inquired about his first day and offered their congratulations and encouragement. If Mr. Sharpton seemed a bit wistful whenever he mentioned the lovely headmistress, Will could understand why. She was damned beautiful.
Again, he reflected on her unattached status. A widow with her looks should’ve received at least half a dozen marriage proposals the moment she’d come out of mourning. Yet he’d seen no sign of suitors. And he’d seen no mourning ring or brooch, though many women who chose not to remarry often wore theirs to the grave.
She must have married quite young, if indeed she’d ever been married at all. She could be no more than twenty-four. And yet her eyes at times seemed those of a far older person, one who’d seen terrible things. He knew the look, having come across it often enough in his work.
Work. I need to stop thinking so much about her and start thinking about my bloody job.
Trouvère and her staff seemed genuinely dedicated to the girls’ well-being, but it wasn’t enough to allay all suspicion. What of the mysterious benefactors? Who were they?
He remembered how carefully Trouvère had chosen her words in answering his inquiry. They preferred anonymity, she’d said. She was hiding someone’s involvement, and her wariness told him it was someone significant.
The line she’d fed him about the benefactors not wanting to negate their heavenly reward was pure rubbish. Who among the ton wouldn’t want their peers to be aware of their connection with this charity, and why? What did they stand to lose by making known their generosity? He didn’t like not having the whole story.
Rising, he took out his watch. There were a few minutes left before the students were dismissed. As he passed the doorway to the foyer, a man’s voice filtered through. One of the mysterious benefactors, perhaps? He paused, straining to hear.
It was a voice he recognized: Horton.
Damn. I ought to have written him last night and warned him! With all haste, Will ducked into his classroom. If he were seen now, his true identity would most assuredly be revealed, and it wouldn’t do to be exposed for a fraud.
He must contact Horton as soon as possible and bring him into his confidence. As the school’s physician, the good doctor would be privy to information currently inaccessible. Information on the girls’ origins, at the least. Possibly more. His specific interest lay in their end destinations. Where exactly did they go when they left here?
On edge, he waited for his students to begin arriving. The knot in his gut eased with each passing moment as the girls entered and quietly took their seats.
But his relief was short-lived.
Just as the last one sat, the headmistress appeared in the doorway—with Dr. Horton.
Rising, Will went to meet them, his heart heavy with dread. The look of surprise and consternation on his old friend’s face as he was introduced as “Monsieur Woodson” instead of “Danbury” and under the label of a mathematics professor would’ve been hilarious had the situation been less dire.
“Well-met again, Horton,” Will said quickly before the other man had a chance to speak. “It’s been many a long year since last we spoke. Here you are a respectable physician, and here I am a humble schoolteacher, yet our paths have once again converged. How strange is fate! I look forward to renewing our friendship.”
Horton peered at him as if unsure what to make of him. “As do I, Mr.…Woodson.”
The name had been spoken with hesitation, but the headmistress appeared not to have noticed. “How delightful it must be to find an old friend here. Now you need not feel quite so alone among us females.”
“Indeed,” Will said, dredging up a smile. He looked Horton squarely in the eyes. “Perhaps you might like to come and visit me at my new lodgings?”
“I’d be delighted,” replied the other man at once. “I don’t suppose this evening would be too soon?”
Will felt the tension leave his shoulders and thanked God the man had decided to play along. “Not at all. I’m at Number 16 Dover Street. I’ll inform Mrs. Hayton to expect you.”
It took every ounce of resolve to once more concentrate on instructing his pupils as the pair left. He worried what Horton might say once out of sight. She’d said he was new to the school, but that didn’t mean the two weren’t in each other’s confidences.
I’ll know before the day is out, I suppose. There was nothing to do but soldier on in hope.
