“I could help with your first-year course, Miss Grimes,” Lenora offered, knowing the class consisted mostly of basic poetry and composition. “I do not have students during that hour. If I taught for you a few times a week, would that free you enough for the extra time with Miss Manch?”
She considered bringing up the point system she and Mrs. Henry had already discussed, but felt that was a topic for the headmistress to explain.
“She can study during my class whenever she needs to,” Miss Carlyle said, frowning at her injured finger. “Perhaps it will both spare me additional bloodshed and allow me to be more attentive to the other girls.” Needlepoint was a required class, but no one argued it was less important than the girl learning to read.
They discussed a few other options and finally agreed on the course of action, some teachers more reluctantly than others. Lenora would teach first-level poetry on Mondays and Fridays, a study hour would be held in Mrs. Henry’s office during needlepoint class, and oral assignments and exams would be offered for all of Miss Manch’s classes until she was able to do written work.
“I hope all of this effort is worthwhile,” Miss Grimes said, shaking her head. “For a pleasant girl, this is reasonable, but for a difficult one . . . it is unprecedented.”
Mrs. Henry cleared her throat, and she spoke with a tone of finality. “We will all need to, well, lower our expectations of Miss Manch for a time, I believe. Her uncle brought her here so she might benefit from routine and stability. Let’s make that—and her skill training with Miss Grimes—the emphasis for the next few weeks and then reevaluate in one month’s time. I would like each of you to designate one student in each class who will fetch me if Miss Manch’s behavior is disruptive. Let me extend the reprimands. Perhaps that will free the rest of you from her poor graces.”
On the first day of the “Miss Manch Plan,” the student designated by Lenora to report to Mrs. Henry went for the headmistress after only ten minutes, when Miss Manch would not stop talking to her neighbor. Mrs. Henry came to collect Miss Manch, and after fifteen minutes, the girl returned to the classroom and acted appropriately throughout the remaining hour, though she scowled at Lenora each time they made eye contact.
For the rest of the week, Lenora included Miss Manch in performance work and adjusted some of her lessons to incorporate more basic elements of music, such as beat and dynamics. She hoped the other students would not be frustrated by the backtracking, but they did not seem to notice. She did not want to delay the entire class for the sake of Miss Manch, and yet when she finally seemed to understand tempo and could keep the beat, Lenora let out a celebratory cheer in her mind. That Miss Manch was obviously pleased as well made her feel better at having given this girl the extra attention she seemed to need.
Saturday morning was too wet and rainy for an outdoor promenade, and when Lenora returned from the Pump Room with Aunt Gwen, she found a note from Mr. Asher waiting for her. Aunt Gwen lifted her eyebrows, but Lenora ignored the look and took the letter to the second-level, parlor where she could read it in private.
Dear Miss Wilton,
I would like to extend my escort to you tomorrow night, if you are of a mind for a walk. Please send regrets only. If I hear nothing, I shall assume your agreement and proceed as last week.
A. Asher
Lenora bit her lip, looking around as though she had anyone to hide this from as she refolded the note. She did not consider sending her regrets for even a moment.
The weekend unfolded as it had the week before, and she merely nodded her notice of him when he stepped out from the shadows Sunday night.
Again, he kept his distance and remained at the top of the stairs.
She struggled to keep her thoughts away from him as she looked over the river, a light rain pocking the surface of the water. They’d exchanged two other notes during the week. In each one, he’d thanked her for her efforts with his niece, and she’d been unable to resist allowing herself to feel the pride of it.
She was making a difference with Miss Manch, and although she was uncomfortable with her original motives, her feelings were changing. She was beginning to care about Miss Manch for her own sake, and beginning to better appreciate the girl’s uncle. He’d sacrificed two Sunday nights for her benefit now.
She rested her chin on her knees and thought about Evan Glenside, the only other man she’d ever spent private time with. They’d first met with a hedge between them, and since she had never had much of a conversation with any man, she’d taken it far too seriously. After Cassie had drawn him in with the letters where she’d pretended to be Lenora, Lenora had gone on two drives with Mr. Glenside. She’d felt awkward and nervous the whole time. He’d escorted her to a dance, and she’d barely spoken to him. She could sense his discomfort when they were together but had no idea how to remedy it.
When he proposed, she’d been relieved. She would be married. She would become a wife. Mr. Glenside himself was of little factor. She’d never felt comfort with anyone outside of her family and so did not consider it a hindrance that they were so uncomfortable in one another’s company. She’d never kissed him. Never felt any kind of connection.
When he broke the engagement after learning of her and Cassie’s deceit, she’d felt stupid and humiliated. It was why she’d begged to come to Bath in the first place. But she had realized rather quickly that she wasn’t heartbroken. In fact, some part of her had felt as relieved at the jilting as she’d felt at the proposal, but in a different way. Surely she and Evan could have made a marriage work, but not in the same way he and Cassie were thriving.
It had been easy for Lenora to give up on future prospects after that, and no man had captured her thoughts and her senses since then. Until now. It was ridiculous to give so much notice to Mr. Asher. He was her student’s guardian. He was handsome and, she could finally admit, kind—despite the blackmailing. He was only attentive to her out of guilt or gratitude, or perhaps some of both, and yet she thought of him more and more with time. She smiled more easily when she saw him.
She stared at the river while exploring memories of their interactions. Tonight, sitting alone in the rain while he smoked his pipe some distance above her, she could admit that she’d come tonight because of him, not because of the river. The thought both embarrassed and thrilled her. Fantasy, she concluded after listing all the reasons her thoughts were folly. But, perhaps, at the age of twenty-six, she could indulge in fantasy. Just a little.
The rain increased until she finally left the river. She nearly fell when trying to step over the wall. He hurried to catch her, and did he hold her elbow a bit longer than necessary? And did he step back too quickly once he realized the same thing? She thanked him, smiling sheepishly, and he simply nodded, before waving her forward.
Some heckling from a group of men on the way home caused Mr. Asher to close the distance between them. By the time they reached Gay Street, he was close enough for her to smell the pipe-smoke on his coat. She thanked him with a nod when they arrived at Aunt Gwen’s house. He returned the gesture without a word.
She went through the back garden and up to her room. At the window, she peeked through the blinds, just able to make out his form in the shadows. That he’d watched to make sure she arrived safely touched her. She pulled open the drape a bit more so he could see her wave. He waved back and finally turned to leave, disappearing around the corner within a few steps.
As she laid her clothing out to dry, she smiled and admitted that she enjoyed her silent walks with him more than the walks she’d taken on her own. Because he assured her safety, she told herself, but she didn’t quite believe it. Just fantasy, she told herself.
She was already looking forward to next Sunday.
The second week of the “Miss Manch Plan” did not go as well as the first. Miss Manch was belligerent during her individual sessions with Miss Grimes, and then tore the sleeve on another
girl’s dress when the girl teased her during tea about needing extra help. Lenora intervened in the argument and suggested a walk to help Miss Manch calm down. Mrs. Henry agreed.
Lenora and Miss Manch walked for nearly two hours through the city, and then through a section of wood, most of it in silence, because Lenora had no idea what to say. Miss Manch’s temper faded the longer they were among the trees and grasses, until Lenora suggested they return. Catherine had been told she must apologize to both Miss Grimes and the girl before she would be allowed any supper. She apologized easily enough, but the next day, one of the class reporters came to Mrs. Henry in tears, saying that Miss Manch had called her a tattletale and threatened to stab her with a pen nib if she reported on her again. Neither Lenora nor Mrs. Henry doubted Catherine would do it.
Lenora was discouraged. If Miss Manch lost her connection with the other girls, things would only get worse. Lenora wrote to Mr. Asher, explaining her concerns. Her heart was more and more engaged with Miss Manch’s success, but she was increasingly worried that she did not know how to properly help the girl. Mr. Asher responded that he would speak with her that weekend when his niece returned home.
Sunday afternoon, the weather turned. Lenora watched the windows closely in hopes the rain would lighten, but it did not, and she was forced to send a note to Mr. Asher saying she would not be taking her walk. She regretted missing it for more reasons than one, and then felt peckish when she returned to the school the next morning. She would not have gone out in such a downpour on her own, but it was missing Mr. Asher that set her mood on edge, and she hated that. It would not serve her to let her fantasy interfere with regular life.
The third week showed little improvement in Miss Manch’s behavior. Lenora had started thinking of her as Catherine due to Mr. Asher referring to her as such in the notes they passed back and forth almost daily.
Catherine’s relationships with other girls were continuing to break down. On Thursday, she made good on her threat and poked the reporter with the nib of her pen. She was sent to her uncle’s house for the night, and Mrs. Henry called a special meeting for all the teachers after dinner. She announced that the point system would be implemented, though the majority of teachers wanted Catherine dismissed and could not understand why Mrs. Henry was so determined to avoid it.
Lenora stood by Mrs. Henry, though it made her stomach tight to argue with Miss Grimes. When Miss Grimes suggested Lenora be the one to inform Catherine of the plan, Lenora felt she had no choice but to agree.
After a particularly difficult class on Friday, Lenora asked Catherine to stay and told her the point system would be implemented Monday morning.
“I did not stab her,” Catherine insisted, arms crossed tight over her chest as she glared at Lenora. “She walked too close to my desk, that is all.”
“You did stab her,” Lenora said. “And there is no point arguing otherwise. This is truly your last chance; do you not understand that?” But then what, Lenora wondered. Would Mrs. Henry dismiss Catherine if the point system did not work? Where would that leave Mr. Asher’s bargain with Lenora? She didn’t think he would expose her; after all, he knew how hard Lenora had worked, but Catherine would be out of options.
“I do not want another chance,” Catherine said, leaning forward. “I hate it here. I hate the students. I hate the teachers, and I especially hate you.”
Lenora flinched and felt an unfamiliar desire to take Catherine by the shoulders and shake her. “I am trying harder than anyone to help you, Catherine. Do you want to go to a school for troubled girls in Germany?”
“I want to get away from you,” she snapped.
Lenora knew Catherine said it to hurt her, that she likely did not feel any more animosity toward Lenora than she felt toward any other teacher, but she couldn’t avoid feeling hurt by it all the same.
“Well, you can’t. We have not given up on you just yet.”
“Then I shall fail at the point system, and you shall have to dismiss me.”
Lenora let out a breath. “I hope you reconsider. The point system has bought you one more week, but it will be up to you. I should personally hate for you to be sent off to Germany, and I know your uncle would hate to see you go as well.”
Catherine stared at her thoughtfully, far too long than could be considered polite. “I think it is my uncle you want to keep on. That is why you won’t dismiss me, because you are in love with Uncle Aiden.”
Lenora could not stop her cheeks from flushing hot, nor could she resist the excitement of knowing Mr. Asher’s Christian name—Aiden. But she was finished with this meeting, and her heart was racing at having validated Catherine’s accusation. Or at least, as far as Catherine knew. Lenora was not in love with Mr. Asher. Whatever it was she did feel, it was the fantasy of an avowed spinster, nothing more.
Besides that, this was all his fault. If he hadn’t threatened Lenora, she would never have worked so hard to keep Catherine at the school this long. The last three weeks of her life would have been far simpler.
“I assure you, Miss Manch, that I will shed no tears when you or your uncle leave this city but shall be appeased with knowing that I gave my very best effort to give you the opportunity to succeed. Your failure will be due to your own actions, not mine.”
She did not stay to read the expression on Miss Manch’s face, but as she left the room—her classroom—she could feel the girl’s glare burning into her back. She walked out of the building and down the block until she found a park where she could sit and drop her face into her hands. She struggled to hold back tears of frustration, embarrassment, and flat-out exhaustion. She had never worked so hard to help a student, and it was coming to nothing. Catherine would fail. She would leave Bath. And Mr. Asher—Mr. Aiden Asher—would go with her.
Good riddance, she told herself. But she didn’t quite believe it.
Dear Miss Wilton,
Please let me apologize—again—for Catherine’s outrageous behavior this week. I have spoken to her at length and restricted some of her privileges in hopes that she will better understand the severity of this situation. I do not know why she is so intent on failing, when so many people are working so diligently to help her find success. I cannot properly express my gratitude for the sacrifices you have made on our behalf. While I know that I forced your hand, you have proven to be a woman of determination and grace.
I also want to apologize for having blackmailed you when we first met. I was desperately hopeful that this school would change Catherine’s pattern, but I used you quite badly in the process. I would never dream of exposing you after all you have done and, come what may this next week, I will ever be glad to have known you and had your assistance with this task. It troubles me beyond words that Catherine has not taken advantage of this opportunity.
Sincerely,
A. Asher
Mr. Asher’s letter did little to relieve the tightness in Lenora’s chest. In some ways she was ready to be done with Catherine—the girl was an ungrateful terror. And yet Lenora had seen moments of pride in her accomplishments, focus, and ordinariness. Recalling those moments reminded Lenora that Catherine was still just a little girl. Was there something they had all missed that might break through her exterior? She had no answers. Mrs. Henry had given one more week to see if she might rise to the opportunities provided for her. Lenora did not dare to hope.
Lenora accompanied Aunt Gwen to the Assembly Rooms on Saturday night, glad for the distraction, and visited with Miss Randall. They were friends, but not close enough to make special appointments to see one another. When they were at a shared event, they enjoyed each other’s company, which was all Lenora really wanted, actually. She did not long for bosom friendships the way some women did, though she enjoyed having more acquaintances here than she had ever had before.
As always, the large crowd triggered her anxiety, so she began counting candles, and then feather
s in women’s headdresses. So many women were dressed in pale green tonight. Interesting. Perhaps that was a new fashion. As Lenora had never followed the fashion plates, she had worn her purple silk gown with the silver beading along the stomacher. She felt pretty, and determined to enjoy herself. She did not want the weekend wasted on worries about Monday that she had no power to control.
Lenora had been able to set aside her counting after the first half hour, surprised to see Mr. Asher arrive with a few other gentlemen. He scanned the room until his eyes found her, then he smiled and began moving her way.
Her stomach flipped, and it was all she could do not to smooth the skirt of her dress or straighten her neckline.
Mr. Asher’s party arrived, and introductions were made before the men began to mingle with the other guests. Lenora did not expect to see Mr. Asher again, but, after a break between sets, he made his way toward her. He easily joined in the conversation, but did not show her particular attention. Lenora remained on the edges of the group, trying to quiet the butterflies that had been awakened by his appearance.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Wilton?” Mr. Asher asked when there was a break in conversation. The women around them went quiet, and Lenora felt her cheeks heat up at being the center of attention. She was rarely asked to dance. In fact, she had only danced a handful of times since coming to Bath, and her partners were always sons and nephews of Aunt Gwen’s friends.
“No, thank you, Mr. Asher,” she said, embarrassed for what felt like an offer made out of sympathy. “I had not planned to dance tonight.” She had certainly never planned to dance with him and did not feel up to such closeness. Until now their relationship had been professional, excepting the river walks. Still, something told her dancing with him would not be wise.
“Oh, do,” Aunt Gwen said, tapping Lenora on the arm with her fan. “It’s been ages since you’ve danced, and you will forget the steps entirely if you do not keep up your skills.”
Miss Wilton's Waltz Page 10
