by Claudy Conn
“Good night then,” she said, moving past him and out the front door.
* * *
The marquis stood thoughtfully for a long moment before he turned toward the anteroom to Bianca Sallstone’s private quarters. He noticed a light flickering where the headmistress’s door met the hardwood floor.
When he knocked, Miss Sallstone opened the door wide and smiled a welcome.
“Why, my lord, how nice.” Bianca Sallstone put a hand to her tousled curls. She stepped aside and waited for him to enter, inviting him to be seated with a wave of her hand.
He took a moment to slip off his greatcoat and draped it over a nearby empty chair, dropping both his top hat and gloves there as well before taking up a seat.
Bianca’s eyes brightened appreciatively, he noted, as she looked him over and wet her lips with a lingering tongue.
She sat behind her desk, smoothed the silk of her skirt, and then folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “Well, now that we are comfortable, my lord, may I inquire what lucky thought brought you to Netherby?”
Slowly he crossed his ivory covered thighs and tapped his knee. He examined his black hessians as though only their shine was important before bringing his eyes back to her lovely countenance. “I am a careful man, Mistress Sallstone. When we spoke earlier, I mentioned the fact that I was interested in subscribing to Netherby—I still am. However, I reserve the right to make sporadic visits, just to assure myself that all goes on as it should, when I am not expected.”
“I see,” Bianca said cautiously. “That is, of course, very wise, though I can’t imagine why you might think it necessary.”
“That said, I might add that I had another reason, but not one I am ready to discuss with a lady,” he said, wondering if she would take the bait.
“Why, my lord,” she responded, “you intrigue me.”
“Tell me, Mistress Sallstone, is it not wrong for one endowed with the name Bianca—a name that makes a man think of many beautiful things—to forbid its use?” Again he baited while his eyes purposely moved to her full breasts, lingered, and then returned to her face.
She gave him a warm smile and the concession he requested with an inclination of her head. “Of course, my lord, you have its use, should you desire.”
“Bianca,” he said softly, “how came you to be lost among governesses and children?”
“My husband died at sea, and as you must already know I was connected to Lady Devine’s husband through an earlier marriage. I found myself in uncomfortable financial difficulties, and Lady Devine was kind enough to offer me this position. I am content.”
The marquis knew it had not been kindness that had moved Lady Devine to place Miss Sallstone at Netherby. His aunt, who was well acquainted with Lady Devine, had told him that she had given Sallstone this position to keep her out of London. Apparently Lady Devine did not wish to publicly acknowledge their connection. What intrigued him further was the fact that the headmistress did not go by her married name but used her maiden name, Miss Sallstone.
“Content?” He questioned, one brow raised. “How could that be so?”
“There are compensations,” she replied vaguely. “But what of you, if I may be so bold? What attracts you to Netherby?”
“Beauty, Bianca. Your school abounds in it. From its headmistress to its budding flowers …”
Her hazel eyes narrowed, and she responded carefully, very carefully, “Yes, some of our girls are quite lovely.”
“I am curious though. Tell me what happens to the girls when they complete their term—those that are not entered into society by their relatives. They are all orphans here, is that correct?”
“Yes, all our girls are orphans, each, with only a trustee managing whatever estate was left to them. Some have enough to pay their tuition. Others rely on the donations of our subscribers.” She sighed and did not meet his gaze as she added, “Most of the girls will go to stay with a relative after they leave here and will hopefully use the skills they learned at Netherby when they enter into society and are married off.” A sad expression covered her face, and the marquis was struck by the depth of insincerity behind it as she said, “However, we do have girls who don’t have quite a comfortable future to look forward to. We try and find them acceptable positions.”
“What sorts of positions would those be?” the marquis now asked pointedly.
She gave him a thoughtful look and said, “Some girls don’t have the luxury of relatives to go to after their term, so we find they must take on positions as a lady’s maid or a shop girl—whatever is available. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity. I would like to know what they are able to do with the education they receive here.”
“They are not thrown into the street, if that is what you are worried about. We keep them until they are found just the right placement.”
The marquis got to his feet. After he shrugged into his greatcoat, put on his top hat, and held his gloves in one hand, he bent a bow to the headmistress. “I have thoroughly enjoyed our stimulating visit. Had I not promised myself elsewhere, it would have gratified me greatly to prolong it as long as you would allow.”
Something in her eyes told him she was too well versed to be taken in by him. He could see that not all the charm in the world would turn her head from her purpose. He would have to find another way to discover what he wanted to know.
She inclined her head and said softly, “Perhaps another time you will find yourself in a position to stay longer?”
His smile was meant to soften her, and he could see that, indeed, he had managed to do that much. “Another time then.”
Outside he breathed a word out loud. “Whew.” He then scanned the grounds for Sassy, hoping to find her before he left. He did not, and with an exasperated oath, he went to his tiger holding the reins and his horses steady and said, “You will be happy to know when we get back to my lodgings you will be done for the day, Jerry lad.”
* * *
Sassy watched his departure like a coward from behind the cover of a yew hedge, and when he left she sighed heavily, her heart overcast. What was she to do? Everything she had read in her mother’s book told her that for some unfathomable reason her magic had chosen him for her mate. She was a strong-willed and independent young woman, and yet, in spite of the fact that she told herself she would not be dictated to by magic, she was drawn to him in more ways than she wanted to contemplate.
She made her way back into the school, up the staircase, and to her room, her thoughts at war with that beating organ in her chest. She was fully aware that, magic or not, she was more than a little in love with the marquis. And that—that just wouldn’t do. He was a marquis, and she was a vicar’s daughter. Although proud of who and what she was, she knew he could look higher for a wife. Wife? What was she thinking?
It was simply impossible. Even her mother’s family had disowned her and had made no effort to contact her all these years.
That he wanted her, lusted after her, she knew—her dreams did not lie. Her magic put them together. Did that mean she would end up being his mistress? She felt heat rush to her cheeks at the notion.
Could she throw herself into such a situation?
She could no longer deny that she loved him without reason. She even lusted after him, wanted the dream to be real, wanted to be in his arms … feel his touch, and his kisses. Could she throw away all her principles to be his mistress?
Sometimes, the answer was yes, and that answer made her wring her hands and berate herself. Did she have the right to want more than her present situation for all her life?
Realizing she was pacing, she stopped, took a long breath, and calmed herself. This would not do. She gazed at herself in the looking glass. Did she have the soul of a harlot? Was wanting this one man going to be her ruin? Oh, she didn’t know—she just didn’t know.
Searching for a distraction, she glanced around her room until her gaze landed on the mirror again. It had been tilted sidewa
ys from the day she had moved into the room. She had adjusted it many times, but it always went crooked again. She lifted it off the nail, determined to set it properly this time, and a swatch of folded paper floated to the wood flooring at her feet.
Frowning, Sassy hung the mirror back on the wall and then bent to picked up the paper. She went to her nightstand and held it under the candlelight as she unfolded it.
On it were just a few lines scribbled at what must have been a desperate speed, for the words were barely legible.
Miss Saunders:
You were most kind, and I do indeed thank you for trying to help, but I must do as I am told. There is no other way, though in truth, I am ever so frightened.
Beth
Faith, thought Sassy, what does this mean? Who is Beth? Is she a student? What did she have to do with Miss Saunders? Once again, Sassy was certain that Miss Saunders had not run off. But here was just one more question: who was Beth, and why was she frightened?
~ Fifteen ~
SASSY HELD HER soft gray velvet skirt up as she hurried downstairs the following morning. It was still quite early, and the machinations of the school had not yet begun. However, she was certain that Molly could be found in the kitchen with her mother.
She reached the first floor and started down the hall towards the kitchen when the sound of clip clop on wood brought her head around.
“Molly,” Sassy said quietly.
“Oh, Miss, my, ye be that lovely, even at this hour. Just look at ye! My, my,” said Molly admiringly. “What are ye doing up and about? Ye’ll tire yerself out, ye will,” Molly reprimanded her with affection.
Sassy smiled warmly at the freckle-faced girl and touched her chin. “Adorable girl, but I need you for a moment, if you have the time?”
“Of course I do, but first let me jest put the last of the silver on the table,” Molly said, running ahead and into the dining room. She returned after a few moments. “There, I’m yers, I am.”
Sassy took her hand and steered her away from the main hall. When she was sure they would not be overheard by anyone who might pass by, she said, “Molly, is there a student at Netherby by the name of Beth?”
Molly immediately sounded out the name and repeated it. “Beth? Could be Elizabeth. She is in your class.”
“No, she doesn’t go by Beth, only Elizabeth. Anyone else?”
“Well, yes, but she isn’t here anymore. There was a girl in Miss Graves’s class—Mary Beth Hodges. Everyone called her Beth, as there were too many Marys, ye see.”
“Where is she now?”
“Odd what happened with her. She was due to leave in June but stayed on a bit. She was unhappy, real unhappy and skittish too, but wouldn’t confide in any of the girls, so I never did know what was wrong with her.”
“Do you know where they sent her?”
“Hmmm, can’t say that I do, but I heard her once tell Miss Saunders she would die if they made her go to that awful place. I happened to overhear her telling Miss Saunders that she was in trouble and that they wanted her to go somewhere awful. I remember feeling sorry for her. When I didn’t see her here anymore, I jest thought she ended up running off.” Molly eyed Sassy and asked, “Why do ye ask, Miss Winthrop?”
Unable to give her an honest answer, Sassy hedged. Molly saw it at once and lowered her voice. “Something havey cavey going on here, ain’t there? Papa says he is sure of it, and Mama frets over it. Says she doesn’t know what it is, but she says it can’t be anything good with all the sneaking about and lying going on.”
“Thank you, Molly,” Sassy said without addressing her comment. “But tell me, did Beth have a friend her own age, besides Miss Saunders?”
“I couldn’t say as I really didn’t see her that often, but I know that Delia Standish was with her more than any other. Ye might want to speak to her.” Molly reached out and touched Sassy’s arm. “But, Miss, don’t go poking around. ’Tis what Miss Saunders was doing just before she vanished.”
Sassy patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Molly, I won’t disappear on you. But, Molly, don’t speak of this—our little talk stays between us, right?”
“God slap me down if I so much as opens m’mummer to spill a word of what is betwixt us,” swore the young girl solemnly.
“Thank you, Molly.” Sassy smiled.
“But, Miss, ye best don’t be trying to snatch any tigers by the teeth. They would tear ye to ribbons, if ye catch m’meaning,” Molly warned sagely.
“Do we have tigers we need to watch out for, Molly?” Sassy asked quizzically.
“Aye, that we do, maybe worse,” the girl said as she walked off towards the kitchen.
Sassy watched after her and rubbed her ring absently. Again, she felt that something was off at Netherby, but she couldn’t fathom just what it was. Her magic wouldn’t let her look into the future, but she wondered if it would let her look into the past. If she used Beth’s note to Miss Saunders … perhaps?
Some hours later, grateful to her responsive class for taking her mind off these worries, Sassy watched Delia Standish during lunch. She saw a tall, thin, poised young lady of fifteen. But something in her dark brown eyes troubled Sassy.
Miss Graves observed Sassy looking at Delia and said, “Humph, that one looks like an angel but is quite a tyrant over her friends. They all seem to bow to Delia.” She made no attempt to hide her dislike of the girl.
“You don’t approve of her?” Sassy asked cautiously.
“Approve? No, I do not. She is not the sort of girl the others should look up to.”
“She had a friend—Beth, I think was her name?”
Miss Graves looked startled. “Mary Beth? Heavens! What makes you ask about her?”
“Idle curiosity. I overheard one of the girls mention how Delia and Beth had been friends,” Sassy said, boldly telling a lie.
“Mary Beth was older, but Delia was—is just as wild.”
“I suppose they found Mary Beth a position when she completed her term?” Sassy pried gently.
Miss Graves sneered. “That is what we were told.”
“Don’t you believe it?” Sassy felt she was getting somewhere—though she wasn’t sure she was going to be comfortable with the answers.
“Listen to me, child, for you are little more than that. I don’t have a choice. I am too old to start looking for another position, so I don’t ask questions, but I am not deaf and dumb.”
“Meaning?” Sassy probed.
“Meaning there are things we don’t have answers for here at Netherby, and we look the other way because, in truth, we don’t want to know.”
Sassy had nothing to say to this. Instead of learning anything additional from this conversation, it had only served to put more questions into her mind. She needed the truth.
She wondered if a ‘talk’ with Delia would get her closer to that truth?
* * *
As it turned out, the opportunity to speak with Delia did not present itself, forcing Sassy to summon the courage to use a spell. She was breaking her mother’s rule, she knew, but what was the use of having the so-called ‘power’ her mother spoke of, if she wasn’t allowed to use it?
She placed Beth’s note on the table, lit a candle, and rubbed her ring as she whispered the words of the incantation, amazed at how much more she had stored in her mind than she realized. Not all of it had been taught to her by her mother—some had come with her transition into a full white witch.
The candle flickered, went out, and relit itself as a vision formed in a transparent and yet three-dimensional form.
She saw a young woman she presumed to be Beth running away from the school, looking behind herself as though she were being chased. She heard the thuds of heavy footsteps on the lawn behind the girl. She saw a man’s hands—tattooed hands—reach out, and then it all went blank.
What should she make of this? Had the girl been abducted? Was there a reasonable explanation? She didn’t think so. The girl had appeared terrified, and the man�
��s purpose was shrouded in darkness. She was going to have to find a way of speaking to Delia privately without drawing attention to herself.
Friday arrived with Sassy’s class all a-thither because of their expected treat of the theatre expedition. An incident occurred to mar the outing slightly: the older girls complained to Miss Sallstone regarding what they saw as ‘favored’ treatment of Miss Winthrop’s class.
In the end, it was decided that the older girls, accompanied by the Tyler sisters and Miss Graves, would go into Bristol for the Saturday matinee at the school’s expense. With peace restored and her colleagues quite pleased about their unexpected outing on the following day, Sassy withdrew to her room.
She spent some time over her toilet and emerged from her handiwork to look at herself in the mirror. She had piled her hair into a semblance of curls at the top of her head, and they cascaded down her neck to her back.
She wore a dark green velvet gown that, though old, was still in very good shape. Her mother’s pearls dangled from her ears and around her bare neck. The thought came to her unbidden that she wished the marquis could see her. She blushed and immediately chided herself as she picked up her serviceable black wool cloak, draped it around her shoulders, and slipped on her lacy black gloves.
She rounded up her charges, who were all talking at the same time, giggling and in high fettle. When they reached the main entrance they found Dr. Bankes, hat in hand.
He took a moment to stare at Sassy before he managed to murmur, “Exquisite.” He then waved his hat at all the assembled young girls. “All of you are so very lovely.”
He certainly was adroit, thought Sassy as he led them outdoors, where he said, “Your coach awaits.”
One of the girls giggled convulsively and remarked that the ‘school wagon” was hardly a coach.
“Ah, true, my poor ungrateful brats, but don’t let Gunther hear you speak so. After all, he went to the trouble of constructing a neat ‘surrey’, and there are plenty of blankets for the short trip to town.” Sassy laughed with them and helped see them situated as they scrambled into the wagon, before the doctor saw her deposited in his small but comfortable barouche.
