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“Just so, yes.”
“Well do I remember it.” She chuckled. “Mrs. Hayton told me you’d taken my old apartment. The bedroom window faces that neighbor’s garden. Mr. Burleigh, who owns the frightful thing, keeps it there to ward off thieves. A better criminal deterrent I cannot envisage. I certainly cannot imagine anyone desiring to pay him a midnight visit.”
Their eyes met, and her blush deepened. Silence fell.
After a moment, Will cleared his suddenly constricted throat. “Well, I should be getting on. Mrs. Hayton will be looking for me.”
“Thank you for speaking to Mr. Sharpton,” she said, rising. “Please convey to him my heartfelt thanks. And, regarding our previous discussion, please know that I appreciate your understanding.”
He waited to see if she would offer any further explanation, if she would relent and take him into her confidence. Disappointment bit hard when she remained silent and moved to stand by the door. Clearly, it was time for him to leave.
The walk home was conducted in a sort of haze as Will tried to piece together all the bits of information into some meaningful whole. But he couldn’t make sense of it. Not yet.
Trouvère’s missive to Mr. Sharpton was received with stammered thanks and immediately followed by a studied air of careful nonchalance. But the gentleman’s anxious anticipation was given away by the way he kept compulsively patting the pocket into which he’d slipped her letter. Sharpton remained but a few moments longer before retreating to the hearth under the pretext of needing to clean out his pipe.
Will repressed a chuckle as he watched the man surreptitiously pull out the letter. The poor fellow’s hopes were futile, but it wasn’t his place to inform him of it.
For a long time that night, Will sat in his chair by the window and stared out at the school. One by one, the lights in the windows were put out until all were dark. No one came or went. Finally, he took himself off to bed, only to dream of wide hazel eyes and a delicate, mystifyingly scarred wrist.
The following morning, Will found he couldn’t look at Trouvère without thinking of the scar. His perspective had been irrevocably changed, and it was as if he now observed her with new eyes. It was damned hard not to stare at her every time they were in the same room together. The last thing he wanted was for her to panic and become paranoid. Determined to avoid her, he took himself outdoors when the post-luncheon bell rang, dismissing the children for the play period.
“Master Woodson?”
Looking down, he saw Janet Fairfield standing beside him. Her little face was as pale as tallow. “Yes?”
“There is something I think you should see,” she said, a suspicious quaver in her voice.
Mystified, he allowed her to lead him over to the cloth-draped back wall of the courtyard. Behind the cloth, he knew, was an arched opening set to become the school’s internal access point for the new annex. All the children housed near that part of the school had been moved elsewhere until the work was complete.
“Miss Fairfield, did not Madame Trouvère warn everyone to stay away from this part of the yard?”
She glanced up at him, guilt plain on her pale face. “She did, sir. But the men have all gone for their midday meal, and I was curious to see how far they’d gotten.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I only had a peek.”
Will started as her small, trembling hand slipped into his, but before he could ask her what the matter was, she’d pulled back the drape with her free hand.
“There,” she whispered, nodding. “Headmistress does not allow us to use that word. She says it’s very ugly and not meant for ladies to say.”
Following her gaze, he looked into the middle of what appeared to be a chaos of brick, stone, and wood, and saw it at once. Propped up against a stack of masonry was a wide board with the word “WHORE” written across it in broad, black letters.
“Go and fetch the headmistress, please,” he said, releasing the little girl’s hand. “Tell her I sent you and that she needs to come at once.” He waited until her footsteps retreated before entering the work area to examine the board. The offensive word had been crudely written using a bit of coal. A noise behind him made him turn around. She was here. “Headmistress, I apologize for having interrupted your respite, but—”
“There is no need for an apology, monsieur,” she said, striding forward. “Why have you brought me—” The sharp intake of her breath as he stepped aside to reveal the board spoke volumes. She swallowed, her delicate face paling. “Janet warned me to expect something unpleasant. She was right.”
“I’m rather surprised she came to me first.”
She shot him a quick, wry glance. “She told you first only because she was worried I would come here alone.”
“Miss Fairfield shows promising intellect for one so young.”
“Indeed, she is most perceptive,” she murmured, her sharp eyes roving over the offensive black scrawl. “I will speak with Monsieur MacCallum about this when he returns.”
“You think one of his men did it?”
“I doubt it. The price being paid for their work is more than fair.” Her full lips thinned, and she shook her head. “No. If anything, I suspect Monsieur Feeny.”
“Feeny?”
“The mason whose position Monsieur MacCallum now occupies. Feeny and his men were caught using inferior building materials. Their poor workmanship presented a grave danger to my students and staff. I’m told the walls would likely have collapsed soon after completion.”
