The Conundrum of a Clerk

by Sande, Linda Rae

  Not having seen Diana in several years, Daisy wondered at how they might be taken for sisters. There were similarities, of course. They shared the same parents. But beyond height, hair color, and eyes, she couldn’t remember any other similarities. “No offense taken. My sister is a lovely woman,” Daisy replied with a wan grin. “Before you start your day—”

  “Already two hours into my day, my lady,” Mr. Jenkins interrupted. “I’m the first one here. Up with the sun.”

  “Of course,” Daisy replied. She glanced about the grounds, realizing that with all the boarding houses, two classroom buildings and the building that held her office and the servants quarters, the gardener had a good deal of work.

  “If you’re planning to raise the tuition I’m paying on behalf of Emily, I’d appreciate knowing right now,” he stated, rising to his full five-foot-ten-inch height.

  Daisy regarded the gardener for a moment. “If you’re referring to your daughter, then please know that I shall be petitioning Mr. Streater to reduce Emily’s tuition to a more appropriate amount. Shall we say... one shilling per term?”

  Mr. Jenkins frowned as he stared at Daisy. Then he blinked. “Emily is my daughter,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Why... why would you do that?” he asked, the cant of his head suggesting he was suspicious of her motives.

  Daisy crossed her arms over her chest. “How long have you worked here, Mr. Jenkins?” she countered.

  The gardener took a deep breath and seemed to think on the question for a moment. “Sixteen years,” he finally said. “I started the year before Emily was born.”

  Eighteen-oh-two? Daisy thought then. His loyalty should be worth something. “I should think sixteen years in service to Warwick’s would be worth a greatly reduced tuition for your daughter,” she said with a nod.

  Mr. Jenkins’ look of confusion finally turned to one of relief. “Thank you, Miss Albright,” he murmured. “It is Miss Albright, isn’t it?” he added, his brows suggesting he was suddenly wondering if he had guessed right as to her identity.

  “It is,” she admitted. Daisy was about to take her leave and see to returning to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s classroom when she remembered her earlier conversation with Jane and Annabelle. “It’s really none of my business, but I was wondering if you might hold a candle for one of the instructors here? Miss Betterman, perhaps?” she queried. Despite the gardener’s attempt to rein in his surprise, she noted how he struggled to keep an impassive expression, how his eyes darted to one side, a clear sign he was nervous. “I only ask because, well, I think you should know that what you and Miss Betterman do after you have completed your duties here at Warwick’s is between the two of you.”

  Mr. Jenkins blinked. “It is?” he murmured.

  Daisy allowed a brilliant smile. “It is. I want the people who are employed here to be happy, Mr. Jenkins,” she said then.

  The gardener finally allowed a nod, as if he once again suspected some sort of trap. “The former headmistress certainly wasn’t of that opinion,” he replied.

  “I’m sure she wasn’t,” Daisy replied. “Which reminds me. Was Mrs. Streater aware of the leaky roofs in the classrooms?”

  Mr. Jenkins nodded. “Well aware. She had a roofer here a few months ago. Mr. Thatcher. So that he could assess how much it might cost to do the repairs. I believe she told him to replace the roofs whenever he could get to it.”

  Well, that was a relief. Daisy wondered how she might contact Mr. Thatcher to confirm he had been hired. “Do you know how much he quoted her to do the work?” she asked, one eyebrow arched in query.

  The gardener sighed. “He told her the entire roof needed to be replaced. Which it does. And not just on this building, but on all of them. They all leak,” he said as he waved to the line of houses along Glasshouse Street.

  “All of them?” Daisy repeated.

  “Indeed. Mr. Thatcher gave her the numbers. I know because I watched as she wrote them all down in her ledger. I was in her office at the time. To pay Emily’s tuition,” he added, as if he thought it necessary to justify his reason for being in the headmistress’ office.

  Ledger? Well, if Mrs. Streater did indeed record the amounts, they would be in one of the ledgers Daisy had pulled from the drawers in the massive mahogany desk. Surely she could determine which one was intended for necessary maintenance.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. I’ll be sure to discuss the issue with Mr. Streater when he next pays a call,” she said as she held out her hand. “Oh, and if you can, please plan to attend the tea Mr. Streater is hosting on Saturday afternoon. That’s where he’ll introduce himself to all the employees,” she explained.

  Rather surprised at the offer of a handshake, Mr. Jenkins took her hand and gave it a gentle shake. “Thank you, Miss Albright,” he replied. “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “Roses,” Daisy replied. “I look forward to seeing roses outside my office,” she said with a wink. And then she turned and made her way back toward the building that housed her apartment and her office.

  Given their classes were about to start, introductions to Mrs. Fitzgerald and Miss Crofter would have to wait.

  A quick glance to where the tall man had been standing earlier that morning showed he had left the premises. Probably into a hackney, she thought. And never to be seen again.

  Chapter 16

  Tea with a Side of Art

  Later that morning

  At precisely eleven o’clock, Daisy entered the classroom building which housed a poor excuse for a ballroom. Although the floor was a proper wood floor, its boards at one time sanded and varnished to a high sheen, it was worn in spots. The walls had been painted a sickly shade of yellow, or perhaps the years had merely allowed the paint to discolor. Daisy thought a colorman could restore it as well as the other classrooms. They all needed a new coat of paint.

  She was heartened to see a piano-forté in one corner and was about to ask if there was someone to play it for the class when Miss Betterman appeared at the door. She carried an armful of sheet music.

  “I wondered who might play for this class,” Daisy murmured as she accompanied Jane to the instrument.

  “I’m happy to do it on the days you need me to,” Jane replied. “And although I’ve been filling in as the instructor, I just haven’t known what music to practice these past two weeks.”

  Diana had been gone from the school for at least a fortnight, which meant this class and the arithmetic class hadn’t had a regular instructor. “What dance are they learning?” Daisy asked, hoping she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. It had been years since she had done any dancing.

  “The cotillion. And if they behave, then the waltz,” Jane whispered. “Only because I know how to do the cotillion, and I wanted to learn to waltz. The other Miss Albright had only just started teaching it when she announced she was leaving us.”

  Daisy had to suppress a grin. Of course Diana would teach the waltz, probably to spite the patronesses of Almack’s. Most of the girls who were lined up on the far wall were of an age to secure a voucher to perform the dance during the Wednesday night subscription dances at Almack’s, but Daisy doubted any of them actually held such a voucher.

  She clapped her hands together, and the murmuring among the young ladies ceased. “Good morning,” she said, relieved when a chorus of “Good mornings” sounded in return. “My name is Miss Albright, and I shall be your instructor until such time that a new teacher can be hired.” She wasn’t surprised when a few inhalations of breath could be heard. Her name no doubt had them guessing she was a relation to their former teacher. “We’ll spend half our time on the cotillion and the rest of the hour on the waltz, which is just about the amount of time these dances require during a regular ball.”

  One young lady raised a hand. When Daisy gave her a nod, she curtsied and asked, “My name is Miss Hornby, ma’am. How do we decide who will take the positions of the men?”

  Daisy dared a glance at Jane, but the art teacher was bus
y arranging her sheet music on the piano-forté. “How did you do it when my sister taught you?”

  Several girls exchanged quick glances before the same young lady said. “We had to count off. Evens played the men, and odds played the women.”

  Deciding that seemed fair enough, Daisy said, “Then we shall do it like that for the cotillion...” A chorus of disappointed sighs greeted her. “But evens will play the women, and odds will play the men. Then you will switch for the waltz.”

  The mood in the room changed entirely.

  “Count off,” she called out. “And then form up. Three couples to a set.” She hoped she had that right. She hadn’t danced a cotillion in an age. “Then decide whom among you is to be the first, second, and third couples.”

  With four-and-twenty girls in the class, the three sets of six girls hurried into position. All Daisy could think about was how ridiculous they looked once the music started and they addressed their partners and then the center of the set. The first couple performed the Balance, or the waltz steps, promenading forward between the other two couples before separating and then moving off behind them. They honored the other couples with a bow.

  Surely she could find some young men who could use the dance practice. But what could she use as an incentive to get them into the classroom at eleven o’clock in the morning? She made a mental note to discover if there might be a boy’s school somewhere nearby.

  In the next measure, she watched as the odd partner was discarded and hands were joined for the circle to the left. Everyone seemed to know what to do, although there were some stutter steps before the odd one ended up in the center. The new center couple then waltzed to the other side from the original first couple, and the whole routine repeated until the third couple completed their turn as a center couple.

  Daisy found she enjoyed watching the proceedings. For the most part, everyone seemed to know their left foot from their right.

  When the introductory music for the second figure began, she noted the couples didn’t address one another, but they did the Contretems—the ‘all forward and the all back’ move—she remembered from the last time she had done the dance. It was during the next count of eight when the chaos began. Those who were playing the parts of the men seemed to forget about changing partners after the ladies waltzed to the right.

  Daisy clapped her hands. “Let’s try that again from the beginning of the second figure,” she called out, realizing that with three more figures to go, they might spend the entire hour doing nothing but the cotillion.

  When her chronometer showed it was half-past the hour, the young ladies had barely made it through the third figure. Daisy clapped her hands twice and allowed a sigh. “How many times have you practiced this dance?” she asked of the girl who stood nearest to her.

  “This is our third time, Miss Albright. But the other Miss Albright’s been gone for a fortnight, so we’ve been attempting to learn it on our own.”

  Daisy blinked. “Well, you’ve managed rather well then,” she commented. “In reward for your initiative, let us now take up the positions for the waltz. Switch your sexes, couple up, and form a large circle.”

  She couldn’t miss the round of titters that followed her instructions, and Daisy nearly joined them in their merriment. As for the waltz, she discovered they had been practicing it, probably to the exclusion of all the other dances, for some time. Their execution was flawless. Even the youngest girl held her head correctly, the box formed by her and her partner’s arms perfectly positioned throughout the first rotation.

  When the music ended, Daisy applauded. “Very nicely done,” she said, daring a glance at her chronometer. Although it was still a few minutes before noon, she dismissed the class and hurried over to thank Jane. “I don’t know how I could have done this without you,” she murmured.

  “It’s no trouble. I always did it for Diana,” Jane replied. “But it means I only have time to teach three art classes.”

  Daisy nodded her understanding. “And the other instructors?”

  “At least four classes, except for Annabelle. She does two and then tutors French over at St. Martin’s.”

  “St. Martin’s?” Daisy repeated, not familiar with such a place.

  “The boys’ school?” Jane clarified.

  Daisy’s eyes widened. “How far is it from here?”

  Jane blinked at the headmistress’ reaction. “Perhaps a mile from here,” she replied. “Maybe a bit less.”

  “How does she get there?”

  “She walks, of course. Miss Knox goes with her.” At Daisy’s look of expectation, she added, “The housemaid from Gamma House. Says she doesn’t mind since it means she isn’t at the house when the girls who live there return from classes.” This last was accompanied by an arched eyebrow, as if the girls of Gamma House might be a bit troublesome.

  “Anything I should know about?” Daisy asked, one of her eyebrows matching Jane’s in height.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Sometimes the girls can become a bit argumentative with one another. There’s some jealousy, too, since the daughters of the aristocracy sometimes attend ton balls while the daughters of cits are only invited to private routs or balls hosted by family friends.”

  Daisy considered the comment a moment. “Aren’t barons the only aristocrats who allow their daughters to attend here?” she asked, turning to walk back to her office. Most higher members of the peerage wouldn’t allow their daughters to attend school outside of their homes, preferring to employ governesses and tutors for safety reasons.

  Jane leaned in closer. “Officially, but we have several illegitimate daughters here,” she said, her eyebrow once again arching up. “And at least one viscount’s daughter. Miss Batey. You probably noticed the burly man hanging about the classrooms? He’s her protection whilst she’s here. She doesn’t board here, though. A town coach picks them up every afternoon at precisely four o’clock.”

  Daisy considered this bit of information. Fifteen years ago, a number of aristocrats’ daughters attended—boarded, even—and their hired protectors had been rumored to spend their idle time playing dice outside the classroom buildings. “Is her father a widower?” she asked.

  “Indeed. Viscount Lancaster. His viscountess died in the childbed a couple of years ago. He couldn’t abide sending Analise to the country to live with his sister, but he didn’t want a governess living in his home, either. Too much risk of a scandal.”

  Making a mental note to ask Helen about the viscount, Daisy nodded her understanding. “And how are the... illegitimate ones treated by the others?” she queried, half expecting to hear they were chastised by the others.

  Jane allowed a chuckle. “Like queens, of course. Most have dowries larger than legitimate daughters and will marry well. Two already have this Season.”

  Daisy resisted the urge to stare at Jane. This was good news. Even so, she was rather glad she had never had a Season in London, her mother insisting they stay in Kent while her father made the short trek to London when he needed to be in town. Back then, he hadn’t yet inherited the dukedom, and so he didn’t have to attend Parliament, but his father expected him a few days a week so he could teach him what he would need to know once he inherited the Ariley dukedom.

  Jane took a breath. “May I ask you something? I don’t mean to pry—”

  “Of course,” Daisy replied, her gaze taking in the front of the building in which her office was located.

  “We call it Omega House,” Jane offered, noting the object of Jane’s attention. “Only the servants board there.”

  “And me,” Daisy said.

  “Are you here because Diana married and left us?”

  Daisy considered how to respond. “I’m here because I applied for the position. Mr. Streater hired me. The fact that Diana was a teacher here may have helped my cause in that regard, but truth be told, I cannot say exactly why Mr. Streater hired me.”

  “So... you’re not his mistress, doing him a favor?” Jane ask
ed, the mirth in her eyes a clear indication she was teasing the headmistress. “I am teasing,” she said then, just before she suddenly sobered. “Oh, dear. You’re going to let me go, aren’t you?”

  Daisy giggled, the musical sound surprising the art teacher. “No. I didn’t even know there was a ‘Mr. Streater’ until this past Sunday. An acquaintance informed me Mr. Streater was in need of a headmistress and thought I could manage the position,” she explained. “Tell me. Is there an instructor who thought she might apply for the position? I would hate to learn I am considered an usurper.”

  Jane shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting the position. I’m sure Miss Crofter thinks she could do a better job than Mrs. Streater, though. She was quite vocal with her displeasure at how we ‘pandered to this patriarchal society’,” Jane said in an exaggerated manner. “But Miss Crofter would never make a suitable headmistress. She’s on the young side and beyond a bluestocking in her beliefs.”

  A bit worried at hearing this assessment of the sewing teacher, Daisy said, “I suppose I shall meet her at dinner or before class on the morrow. Which reminds me. Where should I eat dinner this evening?”

  Jane sighed. “We switch off every night except Sunday. One of us eats in Beta, one in Gamma, one in Delta...” She allowed the sentence to trail off. “Sunday, the instructors eat together in Beta House, since all those girls spend Sundays with their families.” She paused a moment. “And we do dress, of course, although I wear the same gown nearly every night.”

  Daisy rather liked the sound of the dinner arrangements. They seemed so civilized. “Which house should I go to tonight?” she asked. With five instructors and her and only five boarding houses, it meant there would be some doubling-up.

  “Your choice, I believe,” Jane replied. “Mrs. Streater wasn’t much for socializing, but I rather think it was because she was embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?” Daisy repeated.

  “She didn’t have a variety of dinner gowns.”