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With great effort, Jacqueline stilled trembling hands. She’d told Katie to keep their new arrivals out of sight! She thanked the Lord they had not spoken. One of the first things new pupils were taught was how to speak properly so as not to give away their origins and thereby endanger themselves and everyone else.
Mr. Woodson appeared to be an unassuming man of good morals, but she wasn’t ready to explain to him the true nature of her school—especially when he hadn’t yet been offered the position. She wanted to know him better before entrusting him with such knowledge.
That he’d expected to be granted quarters in the school made her question for a moment his intelligence, but she supposed it was an honest misunderstanding. After all, had he not lived in Lord Mulgrave’s house for seven years? Mulgrave, if she recalled, had a son and six daughters. Still, for the sake of her comfort and that of her girls, she preferred to have him live elsewhere and was willing to pay for it.
Am I really going to allow a male teacher in my school? Not all men were wicked. Lord Tavistoke claimed to have been a wicked man in the past, but she had difficulty believing it. Even if he spoke the truth, she could judge him only by his actions since meeting him. As for Woodson, had there been another option she would’ve turned him away summarily, but there were simply no other candidates.
Going to her office, she penned a note to Tavistoke, enclosing with it Mr. Woodson’s letters of confidence. He’d be able to verify the man’s claims—hopefully by Friday. If not, Woodson would simply have to wait. She’d sooner be damned than put her girls at risk.
He was certainly an observant fellow. She’d marked the way his eyes had searched each room, lingering in places she wouldn’t expect to be of interest to a mathematics instructor. It was almost as if he was searching for something.
Don’t be ridiculous. Such paranoia was the result of living a life that revolved around the keeping of secrets—her past, the past of each and every child in this school, and even those of some of her staff.
Moira, the school’s seamstress, had fled a husband who’d beaten her nearly to death. Sally, the new kitchen maid, had sought refuge after her stepfather had cruelly abused her. Jane, who taught the girls their letters and coached them in diction, had been wrongly imprisoned. By the time her innocence was proven, her family had disowned her.
They were but a few of those whose lives hinged upon her ability to keep secrets.
Sealing the letter, Jacqueline made ready to continue the process of integrating Fanny and Abigail. The first week was always the hardest. It was an adjustment for everyone.
As she turned the packet over in her hands, she again pictured Mr. Woodson, recalling his tall, trim form, twilight blue eyes, and shy smile. There was nothing remotely threatening about the man. He was the sort of gentleman to put any lady at ease—so why did he make her so nervous? Tavistoke was a far more intimidating specimen, yet she was perfectly comfortable in his company.
But you don’t find Tavistoke attractive. Woodson, on the other hand… The realization that she found him appealing came as a shock. How long had it been since she’d thought a man handsome or, heaven help her, desirable?
Desire is for women with prospects and fools without caution. I am neither. Annoyed with herself, she put him out of her mind. She had important business to attend and no time for nonsensical musings.
Sending the packet off with instructions, Jacqueline went to see Fanny and Abigail. Though a four-year gap separated the sisters, she’d like to keep them together for as long as possible. A frightened child was less receptive to instruction, and she wanted them both to feel safe and secure. Separating them now would only hinder progress.
First, she’d focus on Fanny. The girl had a strong sense of responsibility to her little sister, which would be to the benefit of both. She’d be quick to pass on her knowledge to Abigail, who would in turn absorb it much faster from a trusted source. At fourteen, it was imperative the older girl learn as quickly as possible.
The door to their temporary quarters was open. “Good morning, girls.”
“G’morning, miss—I mean ’eadmistress,” said Fanny. Glancing down at her sister, she poked her.
“G’morning, ’eadmistress,” echoed Abigail.
Jacqueline nodded approval. “I saw you earlier with Katie. Did you get to see some of the school?”
Both nodded enthusiastically. “Miss Katie ’ad to take us to the laundry,” said Fanny. “Abi spilled milk all down ’er front, an’ she ’ad to find summat clean for ’er to wear.”
Already, their demeanor is less suspicious. She’d seen this sort of transformation dozens of times. Give them a week of good meals, undisturbed slumber, and some new friends, and everything would be different. “When asked a question, the proper response is ‘yes, Headmistress’ or ‘no, Headmistress,’ and then you may elaborate,” she said, smiling to take the sting out of the correction. “Now, first we will go to your new room and meet the two girls with whom you will share it. Afterward, I shall take yo
u to comportment class.” Faces fell, and she laughed. “It sounds more dreadful than it is, I promise.”
“’oo was that man we saw—the one what looked at us funny?” asked Fanny.
So, I was not the only one to notice. “That gentleman has applied for a teaching position here.”
Confusion puckered her charge’s young brow. “I thought there was only girls allowed ’ere?”
“Ah, yes.” She repressed a sigh of frustration. “Although in the past it has been my policy to employ only female teachers, mathematics instructors are quite scarce among our sex. Therefore, I’m considering him. But you need not be concerned, ma petite. If hired, he won’t actually live at the school.”
Fanny’s shoulders eased down.
With a start, Jacqueline realized her choice had already been made, pending verification of the references. It wasn’t as if she had a more palatable alternative. Only two others had applied, one a woman with falsified references, the other a man who’d looked at her with openly lecherous intent. When presented against such candidates, Mr. Woodson appeared to be the far lesser evil.
Please don’t let him be another charlatan!
