Jane Ashford (9 page)

“You have all met Miss Hartington, I hope?” said Miss Chadbourne. “She arrived this afternoon.”

There was an affirmative murmur.

“Good. I know you will all make every effort to welcome her to our little community.” And with this Miss Chadbourne turned to her soup.

The table ate in silence for a while; then Mlle. Reynaud addressed some remark to Mlle. Benzoni opposite her, and others began to talk quietly as well. Thalia turned to the woman on her left, a lively-looking dark girl of about thirty or thirty-five, she guessed. “I am sorry, I have forgotten all the names already,” she said. “Did Mrs. Jennings say you teach music?”

The other smiled. “Yes. And I am surprised you can remember even that. It is so difficult when names are thrown at one in that way. I am Miss Reynolds; I instruct the girls on the pianoforte and harp, while Julia, Miss Allen, teaches them voice.”

“Miss Allen is…?”

“Second down opposite,” replied the other promptly, “I shouldn’t worry about getting all the names at once, you know. In a few days you’ll find you know everyone.”

“I suppose so. But it seems rude to forget.”

Miss Reynolds shrugged good-naturedly. “Everyone is the same at first. I know I was.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Long enough. Three years.”

“And do you like it?”

The older woman grimaced. “Oh, like it! As much as can be expected, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, one doesn’t
really
wish to be a teacher in a girls’ school, no matter how exclusive, does one? But as schools go, this is certainly one of the most pleasant.”

“It seems so to me.”

“Is this your first post?”

“Yes. I was… living with my aunt until her recent death.”

“I thought you looked very young. Well, I will ask you again in several weeks’ time, and then we can discuss schools.” Miss Reynolds smiled ironically at her.

Before Thalia could reply, her companion’s attention was diverted by the woman on the other side. Thalia returned to her dinner briefly, then looked to her right. The teacher on that side was much younger than Miss Reynolds. She seemed, in fact, nearer Thalia’s own age. She was a blond, rather plump, and looked good-natured. Catching Thalia’s eye, she said, “I am Miss Anderson, in charge of the second form. Welcome to Chadbourne.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope you’ll like it. But you’re far too pretty to be stuck here with us. I daresay Mlle. Reynaud will have it in for you because of it.”

Thalia flushed a little. She started to speak, but Miss Anderson forestalled her.

“Oh, I should not have said that, I suppose. But it’s the truth, and why shouldn’t you know it? You will be teaching literature, I understand?”

“Yes. I am not certain just what works.”

“Whatever you can cajole the girls into reading,” laughed the other. “I wonder if you have any idea what lies before you?”

Thalia smiled. “I am not so naive as to believe that every student will love poetry, or any such thing. I realize that teaching is hard work.”

“Do you? Well, that’s to the good. My girls are so obstinate sometimes that I wish I could beat them, as they do boys.”

“You are in charge of the second form?”

“Yes. The first three forms, the younger girls, are kept with one mistress for everything. It is only the last two who are taught by our ‘experts.’” She gestured toward the top of the table with amusement. “And of course, we occasionally encounter a particularly talented younger girl, and she is given special tutoring.”

“I see.”

“Perhaps. I’ll ask you again in three weeks.
Then
you’ll see.”

“Miss Reynolds said something very like that just now. I do realize I have a lot to learn.”

“Did she?” Miss Anderson nodded as if satisfied.

“Would you be so kind as to repeat the names for me?” asked Thalia then. “I want to learn them as soon as possible.”

The other girl grinned. “Certainly. You know Miss Chadbourne, of course. You will have been to the inner sanctum already. Well, the lady to her right is Mlle. Reynaud. She’s been here forever. She claims she left France during the troubles, trying to imply that she is an aristocratic refugee, but no one believes it. She teaches French, of course. Then opposite her, on Miss Chadbourne’s left, is Mlle. Benzoni. She’s simply mad. She screams and yells something awful when she teaches. Italian. I can’t blame her, considering how stupid some of the girls are with languages. Beside her is Miss Allen, the voice teacher. She’s a sweet, quiet little mouse, has a lovely singing voice herself. Are you taking all this in?”

“Yes, thank you,” replied Thalia, trying not to laugh. Miss Anderson’s characterizations were amusing.

Hearing the enjoyment in her voice, Miss Anderson grinned. “Just so. Opposite Julia Allen is Miss Hendricks—drawing and painting. She’s quiet too, but she has a fine wit when you get to know her. You’ve spoken to Miss Reynolds. Opposite her is Miss Eliot, in charge of manners and deportment. She teaches the girls how to make a court curtsy and that sort of thing. I should hate it, but she seems not to. I don’t know her well; she keeps to herself. And that leaves only us plebs, the lower-forms mistresses. Ellen Jones, across from you, has the third, and Georgina Jacobs, opposite me, the first. We’re a jolly lot, rather separate from the others.”

Miss Jones and Miss Jacobs, being close enough to hear these remarks, smiled indulgently at Miss Anderson. “Some of the time we are,” added Ellen Jones across the table.

“And there you are,” finished Miss Anderson. “My first name is Lucy, by the by. What’s yours?”

“Thalia,” she answered, grimacing slightly.

“Thalia? How strange. It sounds Greek or something.”

“It is. My mother was, ah, fond of classical poetry.”

“Indeed? That is just like Miss Chadbourne; her first name is Aurelia.” The servant came to clear away the main course, depositing shallow bowls before each diner as she did so. “Oooh,” exclaimed Miss Anderson. “Pudding!” And she subsided into her dessert.

After dinner, the students had a free hour, and most of the teachers went quickly up to their bedchambers, eager for a little solitude after a busy day. After a few minutes, Thalia followed suit. She knew none of the pupils, and though they examined her curiously, none seemed eager to introduce herself.

Thalia read for a while in her small room, then made ready for bed. She had been told that her corridor was also inhabited by other teachers, but she saw no one when she went down to the bath. At last, she got into bed early, thinking over the events of the day. Tomorrow she would teach her first class. The thought was both exciting and a little frightening. She fell asleep wondering what Miss Reynolds and Miss Anderson had meant by saying that they would ask her in three weeks what she thought of the school.

When Thalia opened her eyes early the next morning, they met the golden ones of Juvenal, who was sitting on the windowsill at the head of her bed. He stared at her inscrutably as she blinked and woke up fully, then turned his back and looked out over the dew-covered lawn. Thalia laughed a little. “Is it a fine day, Juvenal?” she asked, throwing off the bedclothes and sitting up. The kitten did not reply, but looking over his black-furred shoulder, she saw that it was. The sun was just rising behind some trees to the east, throwing long shadows across the gardens below.

Thalia dressed hastily but carefully, wrapping her braids into a coronet at the back of her head and putting on the least dowdy of the dresses her aunt had thought suitable for a young girl. She then sat down at her writing desk and looked over the thin sheaf of papers she had left there last night. When she had first learned that she had gotten a position as teacher at Chadbourne, she had set down her ideas on what literature she would teach. And when she had submitted these to Miss Chadbourne some weeks past, there had been no objection. She scanned them again. Shakespeare; some of Milton’s sonnets; Pope and Dryden; Gray and Scott and Cowper; Dr. Johnson; and daringly, a novel lately published,
Pride
and
Prejudice
. She drew a deep breath. This was an ambitious program for the sort of classes she would face, she knew. Folding the sheaf in two, she rose and went down to breakfast, taking Juvenal to the kitchen on her way.

The dining room was noticeably quieter this morning, and many of its occupants looked sleepy. The meal was eaten with dispatch, and students and mistresses went out as soon as they finished. Thalia, done eating, looked around uncertainly. Should she go directly to her classroom, or wait until she was sure all the pupils were there before her?

She had not decided this question when Miss Chadbourne spoke to her. “Miss Hartington? I will go with you to your classroom today, and present you to the fifth-form girls. We will wait a moment.”

“Thank you, Miss Chadbourne.”

“Not at all. Will you move up here?” The table was nearly empty now, and she indicated the chair beside her. Thalia rose and took it. “Another cup of tea?” continued the headmistress.

“No, thank you.”

Miss Chadbourne sipped her own tea. “Are you uneasy?” she asked then.

Thalia smiled. “A little, perhaps. I have never faced a class before.”

The other nodded. “You are very young. But you will get in the way of it in no time. And today you needn’t keep them long. You need only introduce your program. We have procured copies of most of the works you mentioned, or seen that the girls did so. I think you will find them prepared.”

“Thank you,” said Thalia again. As she waited, she was feeling more and more restless.

Miss Chadbourne rose. “Let us go, then.”

Thalia followed her down a corridor to the room where her class waited. Miss Chadbourne walked firmly in and stood behind the desk at the front, leaving Thalia to trail behind. The sounds of conversation audible from the hall ceased immediately, and the young ladies in the rows of smaller desks straightened. “Good morning, girls,” said Miss Chadbourne. “I want to introduce our new literature mistress, Miss Hartington. She is here to teach you about poetry and prose, and I know you will be very attentive.” Miss Chadbourne nodded slightly to Thalia, turned, and left the room, shutting the door with a click behind her.

Thalia moved up to stand behind the desk. She put her papers down on it and looked out over her class. When she had first entered the room, it had seemed to her that she faced a veritable sea of faces. Now, these resolved themselves into perhaps twenty young girls of sixteen or seventeen. All wore the school’s compulsory buff gowns and had their hair dressed much as Thalia’s, but in that moment, she was very conscious of the fact that she was no older than they.

“Good morning,” she said, a tiny quiver in her voice. “I am pleased to be here, and I hope we will all learn a great deal together in our sessions. I have planned a progression of studies—”

At this moment, in an audible whisper, someone in the back of the room said, “She is much too pretty to be a schoolteacher.”

Titters spread across the room and then back.

Thalia looked around sharply as every student assumed an expression of bland innocence. She realized then that her first impression had been superficial. Despite their identical costumes, there were obvious differences among her pupils. And in particular, a group in the back-right corner was conspicuous. These young ladies clearly chafed against the limits of buff gowns and braids. Most had coaxed a few curls over their ears, and all wore some ornament, several quite expensive. The whisper had come from here.

Thalia looked them over, her nervousness evaporating. “Did someone speak?” she asked blandly. “I am always ready to answer any question.” She pretended to look over the class, but kept one eye on the group in the corner.

“Do you dye your hair that lovely color?” piped up someone.

There was a collective gasp.

But Thalia smiled. She had the culprit now. It was a pretty blond girl in the farthest corner, one of the group she suspected. “What is your name?” Thalia said to her quickly.

The girl was clearly taken aback. A tall statuesque creature, with more curls and finer ornaments than any other pupil, she had the direct eyes and petulant mouth of one used to her own way and conscious of her own superiority. After a moment, her natural arrogance asserted itself. “I am
Lady
Agnes Crewe,” she replied haughtily, tossing her blond head. She did not rise, and her tone held contempt.

“Ah,” responded Thalia. “Well, to answer your rather tactless question, no. I do not dye my hair. It quite comes this color. And I fear I must add, Lady Agnes, that you should pay more attention in Miss Eliot’s classroom. I am convinced that she has told you that such personal questions are not at all the thing. Quite hoydenish, in fact.”

Lady Agnes flushed a dull red, and there was another wave of giggles.

“Now,” continued Thalia, “to get on with our lesson. I am going to read you a poem this morning. It is one of Cowper’s. And I want you all to listen closely, for we will discuss it after.” She picked up a sheet on which she had copied out the poem, one of her favorites, and began to read. There were no further whispers.

The rest of the time went as well as a first class can. The discussion was halting and reluctant, and Thalia often had to lecture a bit. But her confidence increased as she went, and by the time she dismissed them with an assignment, she felt wholly in control.

“And please,” she finished, “will you each come and tell me your names as you go out. I want to learn them as soon as I can.”

Accordingly, the students filed past her, saying their names shyly or stoutly according to their various natures. Lady Agnes was one of the last to go. She started to walk past without speaking, but Thalia said, “I
know
your name, at least, Lady Agnes, so I have made a beginning.” And she smiled warmly. Thalia did not think she would come to like this impertinent young lady, but she had no wish to be on bad terms with any of her pupils.

Lady Agnes merely stared a moment, her lips pressed together, then stalked out.

“Oh, how awful she is!” exclaimed a soft voice behind Thalia. Turning, she saw that one pupil remained in the room, a slight girl with pale skin and brown hair. She did not remember noticing her earlier. The girl flushed painfully red. “I shouldn’t say so, I know,” she added. “But she
is
.”

Thalia suppressed a smile. “What is your name?”

The girl’s flush, impossibly, deepened. “Oh, I beg pardon, ma’am. I am Mary Deming.” She hesitated, then went on in a rush. “I waited until last because I wanted to tell you how
wonderful
the poem was! You read it so beautifully. How I wish I could do so.”

“I daresay you could.”

“I? Oh, no. I would trip over my tongue, or make some blunder so that everyone laughed. I always do, when I try to speak before strangers.”

“But you will get over that. It is a matter of practice.”

The girl hung her head, looking unconvinced. “Will we be reading more poems like that one?” she asked then.

“Yes indeed. And I have a volume of Cowper I could lend you, if you like.”

“W-would you?”

“Of course. I will bring it tomorrow.”

Mary smiled beautifully and turned to leave. At the door, she stopped abruptly. “Oh! Oh, thank you, Miss Hartington. Good day.”

Nearly laughing, Thalia replied, “Good day, Mary,” and the girl left.

Thalia’s second class, with the fourth form later that day, was less challenging than this one. It seemed to her that the younger girls were much more docile. As she dismissed them at one and prepared to go in to luncheon, she thought to herself that she would have no problems here, at least, which was fortunate, for she had a feeling that the fifth-formers were going to demand a good deal of her energy.

After the meal, Miss Chadbourne paused to speak to the teachers at the foot of the dining table. “Miss Hartington, you will want to speak to Miss Jones, Miss Anderson, and Miss Jacobs about special pupils. No doubt there are several lower-form girls who would benefit from extra study in your field. You can tutor them in the afternoons.”

“Of course, Miss Chadbourne,” responded Thalia, and the headmistress moved away.

Lucy Anderson giggled. “I wish I might give you Lydia Appelton. She is an absolute terror.”

“Yes,” said Ellen Jones, “and I should like to be rid of that new girl, Louisa Ferncliff. She does nothing but look doleful or cry quietly into her handkerchief. It is past bearing.”

Thalia laughed. “Please! I can teach literature, but those girls sound as if they need something quite different. Give them to Eliot, I beg.”

“Oh, she won’t take them,” replied Lucy. “And even if she did, she couldn’t do anything. All she knows is curtsying and how one addresses the King and that sort of twaddle.”

“Lucy!” exclaimed Miss Jacobs. “Mind your tongue.”

“Why? There’s no one to hear. Miss Hartington won’t tell, will you?”

Bemused, Thalia shook her head.

Georgina Jacobs turned a shoulder on the other. “I will prepare a list for you, Miss Hartington, and you can arrange the times with my girls. It will be a small group, I fear. The little girls are really not ready for literature, except in a few exceptional cases.”

“I have three, I think,” said Ellen Jones. “I will send them to you later this afternoon.”

“As will I,” added Miss Anderson. “I believe I have two.”

“Thank you. I shall be in my classroom from two till four; they may come anytime.”

The others nodded and drifted out of the dining room. Thalia went to collect Juvenal and took him back upstairs. In her bedchamber, she sat down and took a deep breath. She was tired. Apparently, teaching was a more exhausting task than she had ever realized.

In the next few days, Thalia gradually became accustomed to her new life. Her classes went better and better as she gained confidence in talking to the older girls, and her tutoring sessions with the younger ones were almost fun. Juvenal adjusted even more rapidly, seeming in his element in the school. He spent a great deal of time sitting in high places, a bookshelf or windowsill most often, and simply watching the people go about their routine.

Mary Deming showed more and more interest in Thalia’s subject, particularly the poetry, and Thalia lent her books and talked with her after class with enthusiasm. Here, at least, was a student who truly loved learning, as Thalia herself did. Indeed, Mary often reminded the older girl of her childhood self, and she guided her progress lovingly.

With Lady Agnes Crewe, however, relations did not improve. Apparently, once offended, this young lady did not forgive. She treated Thalia with cold contempt and was as impertinent as she dared be in the classroom. After a week of this, Thalia was at her wits’ end. She could manage the girl, of course, but it was not pleasant to have to do so. She preferred thinking about the subject matter and how best to communicate it. She wondered if she should go to Miss Chadbourne with the problem, but she hesitated. She did not wish to seem to be complaining, or to appear to require help with her job.

Then, one afternoon just before tea, she came upon Miss Hendricks, the drawing mistress, in one of the downstairs parlors. No one else was near, and Thalia took the opportunity to put the question to her, for she seemed like a sensible woman.

“Lady Agnes?” replied the other, not seeming surprised. “Oh, there is nothing to be done there. That girl likes only those who toady to her, and I’m certain that you would never do that.” She smiled ironically.

Thalia looked at the slight Miss Hendricks, somewhat taken aback. The painting teacher was very plain, with sandy hair and brows and thousands of freckles, but her voice was acidly mocking. “Surely no teacher would do so?” replied Thalia.

“Would they not? It depends upon what they think they can get out of it.” Seeing Thalia’s astonishment, Miss Hendricks laughed. “You’ll see, if you stay here long enough. You are not really meant to be a teacher, you know, Miss Hartington. Oh, I’m certain you can
teach
well enough, but you have no understanding of schools and the plotting and nastiness that go on behind our demure facades.”

Thalia frowned at her.

“But as for Lady Agnes, I’d advise that you ignore her. She can make trouble, there’s no question about that. Her father is an earl and very powerful. But fortunately, she’s leaving us very soon. She’s to ‘come out’ this season, and London is welcome to her.”

“I thought perhaps if I talked to her…” began Thalia.

“It would do no good. In fact, it might even do harm. She would interpret it as a sign of weakness, see you as giving in to her. Really, I would ignore her if I were you.”

“That is what you do?”

“Generally. Unless she becomes too exasperating. Then I set her down. The amusing thing is that she is never sure if that is what I am doing. She is not very intelligent, really.”