A School for Brides

by Patrice Kindl

  Maggie nodded in grave approval of this display of aristocratic defiance. “Yes, Miss,” she said, and awaited further orders.

  It was annoying to discover that the two great ladies of the place, Lady Boring of Gudgeon Park and her stepsister, Mrs. Fredericks of Crooked Castle, were both undergoing confinements after the birth of their first children. Miss le Strange was made for better things than sick-nursing; invalids were so demanding and ungrateful, and babies shrieked with such self-willed abandon that it quite gave her a headache.

  Yellering Hall, owned by Sir Quentin and Lady Throstletwist, was reported to be filled with young men visiting an injured friend, who was in turn recuperating at the school. It would be quite improper to attempt to insinuate herself at the Hall. Miss le Strange was an unmarried woman and, as such, must protect her reputation. In her position she could not be too careful, and young gentlemen were all too apt to think themselves irresistible. Miss le Strange much preferred older men, who were grateful for any attention.

  Only one possibility remained in this limited set of people. Lord Boring’s mother, Mrs. Westing, had recently moved from the great house at Gudgeon Park to the dower house, a small but elegant residence within the Park grounds. All parties involved agreed that the mother-in-law and her new daughter by marriage would get on better in separate houses, and Mrs. Westing, like Miss le Strange, found the wailing of infants to be extremely trying.

  So far as Maggie’s information went, Mrs. Westing, who was said to be a lady who enjoyed games of chance to the exclusion of all other entertainments, was not particularly well-bred. She had married into the nobility and had never owned a title herself, being but the mother of the heir to the barony. This did not worry Miss le Strange; on the contrary. She had found that it was infinitely easier to impress those who had only relatively recently ascended in society. Mrs. Westing would do very well for her purposes. In addition, Miss le Strange was not unacquainted with games of chance herself; many a genteel evening of whist had supplied her with dress money in years past. She had no fear of Mrs. Westing’s skill.

  Blood will tell! she reminded herself, and prepared to bend the unsuspecting inhabitants of this provincial neighborhood to her will.

  10

  BOTH MISS CRUMP and Miss Pffolliott were in a condition of considerable unease. Miss Crump might not be aware that her governess was even now resident at the Blue Swan, plotting to retake possession of her charge, but given the tenacity and decision of the lady’s nature, there was little reason to doubt that she soon would be. The idea made Miss Crump’s knees quake and her insides feel queer.

  Miss Pffolliott was in a somewhat better state, though suffering from a number of misgivings. Being resolved to behave in a circumspect fashion toward her admirer, she felt that her guilt toward her teachers and guardians was eased. However, the man might reveal to others that he had been writing to her almost since her arrival at the school. At least, she thought, she had not been such a fool as to encourage him in his improper behavior. That would have been fatal indeed! It was bad enough that she had not shown the letters to her instructors, so that they could have dealt with the matter.

  And now she could not think of any reason to avoid her usual solitary walk to the post office, which had become hateful. In vain did she plead with her fellow students to accompany her; no one else wished to be absent at a time when young gentlemen might come calling. She considered telling Miss Quince, the most sympathetic of the schoolmistresses, that a strange man had accosted her and that she was too frightened to repeat the journey. But she cringed away from the thought that Miss Quince might send Robert to deal with the matter, and later question him about it.

  In addition to this, she had developed a nervous habit of expecting men to burst out of the shrubbery at her at the unlikeliest moments, and it had rendered her skittish. Whenever one of the other young ladies approached her from behind, or placed a hand upon her sleeve, or spoke her name unexpectedly, she had taken to shrieking in an unreserved manner. This had the unfortunate result of giving the other girls yet another reason to decline to accompany her on a long walk across the moor.

  She set out alone once again, looking about for any lurking figures as she walked. When a shepherd sitting in the shadow of a stone wall hailed her with a courteous “How do, Miss?” she uttered her now habitual scream.

  However, once recovered, her eye fell upon the shepherd’s dog, a large, ferocious-looking creature with smoldering yellow eyes. She had encountered Wolfie before, and knew him to be a far more amiable beast than his exterior might suggest. Indeed, he was a much misunderstood animal, having the inner qualities of a lapdog with the outer appearance of one of his namesakes in a particularly nasty mood.

  “Mr. Lomax, do you think I could take Wolfie with me to the post office?” Miss Pffolliott begged. “I am rather nervous, as you can see, and the dog would be company for me. I will bring him right back.”

  Mr. Lomax frowned. Wolfie was a working dog, not a pet, and it seemed a foolish request. What could worry the young lady out on the open moor? Still, she did appear to be rather in a state, and it was unlikely he would require the dog’s services for several hours’ time; he had been contemplating a long nap in the shade, if the truth were to be known.

  “Eee, Miss, take him if you will,” he said kindly. “Coom up, lad!” he ordered the dog. “Go on wi’ t’lady. Away!”

  Wolfie lurched to his feet, giving every impression of being about to leap upon Miss Pffolliott and rend her limb from limb. Instead, he lounged obediently along at her heels down the road, slavering in a disgusting fashion and leering from side to side with such apparent menace that a mother duck and her offspring out for a promenade broke ranks and scattered, uttering feeble cries.

  When Mr. Rasmussen appeared—from behind a large clump of gorse bushes this time—her cry of alarm was little more than a gasp; Wolfie gave her courage.

  Since her decision to rebuff Mr. Rasmussen required that she avert her gaze and pass by without acknowledgment, she could not savor his expression quite so much as she might have liked. However, it was quite obvious that his jaw dropped upon sighting Wolfie.

  “I say! I say, Miss Pffolliott!” the horrified Mr. Rasmussen was at last heard to gasp. “Do look behind you!”

  Wolfie flicked a hot, sulfurous glance in his direction and produced some noises in his throat that were intended to be genial greetings. He drooled. Mr. Rasmussen moaned and shielded his face from the inevitable carnage about to take place.

  “Come along, Wolfie!” said Miss Pffolliott briskly, and the pair strolled onward to the post office, untroubled by Mr. Rasmussen or by anyone else.

  “Hullo, old chap, good to have you here at last! I see you brought the telescope, as I requested,” Mr. Crabbe said, buffeting his younger brother about the shoulders by way of a greeting.

  The Reverend Mr. Rupert Crabbe, new-arrived from the West Riding, replied, “Yes, though I can’t think why. The weather in this beastly country is nearly always overcast, if not actually raining—I cannot make use of the instrument more than a few times a year. Still, on the coast in September, perhaps we might see something. What was it, exactly, that you wanted to look at?”

  “Oh, not I!” Mr. Crabbe replied as he led his brother into the main receiving room of Yellering Hall. “There is a young lady here, a Miss Franklin, who has a great interest in astronomy, and nobody to discuss it with her. She is vastly intrigued by your telescope.”

  “Oh, a lady!” Mr. Rupert Crabbe was dismissive. “Depend upon it, Henry, she doesn’t care a whit—she is only trying to impress you. Why can’t you conduct your amours on your own, without making me drag that telescope all the way here from Stonyfields? I’ll wager a quid she does not know a planet from a star in the sky.”

  Mr. Crabbe smiled. “In that case, I hope you keep a quid handy, as I expect to require it of you soon. Do you know of a man named Legendre
?”

  “The French mathematician? Clever chap, I believe. What the deuce do you know of him?”

  “Nothing but what Miss Franklin was good enough to inform me. Something to do with calculating the orbits of comets?”

  “Ah!” Mr. Rupert Crabbe was silent a moment. “So, indeed, a definitely learned lady. I cannot think why a woman troubles to be learned. I suppose she is quite hideous?”

  “Not at all! Pleasant to look upon and possesses a nice little fortune, or so I am told. She regards me as practically an imbecile, but may feel more respect for your intellectual attainments.”

  “Ah!” said Mr. Rupert Crabbe. “Well, I see you have planned out my time here for me—I am to be a sort of superior entertainment.”

  “Precisely! We shall have to get up a star party, or something of the sort, on the rooftop of the school. A romantic thought! In addition to you and me, Hadley, and Arbuthnot, it will be attended by any number of lovely young ladies and all the stars that twinkle in the heavens. What could be more delightful?”

  “I knew it had to do with one of your amours,” his brother said in some disgust. “Evidently Miss Franklin is but the pretext for your ‘star party.’ Some other young lady of the company is your aim. Well, I hope you have honorable intentions, and that she is plenty flush with funds, for our father is feeling the wind a bit. Between us, he has sent me here to get you to agree to let him sell off some land to cover his debts.”

  As heir to an entailed estate, Mr. Crabbe needed to give his permission before his father could sell. His voice was cool as he replied, “Oh, he has, has he? Been riding pretty high of late, I believe. When’s the last time he spent any time on the property?”

  “Not these last five years, not that I know of, tho’ he is visiting friends in the area now. There’s going to be a great smash-up soon, I fear, with his gambling and carousing. I don’t think you can assume that so much as a farthing will come with the place when he dies. I wouldn’t be too certain that your allowance will remain at its current level, either. I must say, brother, I consider myself well out of it. Stonyfields may be a humble parsonage rather than a great house, but I do not envy you. It would be a considerable relief to know you were well married, and to an ample purse.”

  “I shall see what I can do to arrange matters,” Mr. Crabbe said evenly. “But for now, I am looking forward to my star party. And,” he added, with a stern look at his brother, “I expect payment of my quid immediately after. It seems I may be in need of it.”

  “Jane, dear, do remove your bonnet. I cannot see your face at all, and you know I am anxious to be certain that you are in good looks and health.”

  Miss Crump’s worst nightmare had materialized in front of her and was ensconced in a chair in the school’s front parlor, calmly eating biscuits. Miss Crump looked around wildly, seeking escape. She clutched at her bonnet as though afraid it would be wrenched from her head by force. She and her erstwhile governess had been left alone together for this touching reunion.

  “But the draft . . .” she whispered. “And the gentlemen will be here soon . . .”

  “Jane!” Miss le Strange’s tone altered from a gentle request to a command like the crack of a carriage whip. “Take it off. Now!”

  With reluctant, trembling fingers, Miss Crump untied her bonnet and dragged it from her head. Without the huge, all-encompassing hat, Miss Crump looked oddly small and shrunken. Constant compression had flattened her already thin hair to the contours of her head.

  Miss le Strange’s lips curled in a slight smile. “Do you at least remove it in your bed?” she inquired.

  Miss Crump nodded. “Miss Quince says I must. She fears I might smother myself in my sleep, else.”

  Miss le Strange gave a tiny, brittle laugh. “The woman shows some sense, at least. I am sorry, but I cannot compliment you on your appearance, my dear. You look quite ill. We must get you back to Baggeshotte Towers immediately where I can look after you myself.”

  Little Miss Crump squeaked in terror and looked up at her tormentor like a cornered mouse. “I am not ill, indeed I am not! I am growing taller and bigger, Miss Quince says so.” This being one of the longest pronouncements she had ever managed to produce, it became necessary for her to take a great gulp of air before going on. “I—I like it here, and I wish to stay,” she concluded.

  “Well, we shall just have to see about that,” said Miss le Strange, brushing biscuit crumbs off her lap onto the carpet. “I am afraid you must allow me to know best on this subject.”

  Seeing her hopes of freedom also dashed to the floor, Miss Crump gathered herself together for another attempt.

  “And I have written to my papa, begging him to be allowed to stay,” she added, not daring to lift her eyes, “and my teachers enclosed letters, too, saying what great progress I am making.” She was panting with effort by now.

  “Oh, nonsense!” said Miss le Strange.

  Yet something about the way she said it lifted Miss Crump’s heart. For once, Miss le Strange did not sound certain of her complete domination.

  Miss le Strange leaned back in her chair and studied her charge. She unwound a scarf from her neck, revealing something that glittered at her bosom.

  Miss Crump gasped; a tiny sound.

  “What now?” demanded Miss le Strange. Following her onetime pupil’s gaze, she looked down. “Oh, yes. The Baggeshotte rubies. Don’t be such a goose, child. Naturally I took them with me when I left. One cannot leave valuable items simply lying about. The servants, you know! Don’t tell me that that butler can be trusted. Run along, dear. I wish to speak to your instructresses.”

  But they are not the Baggeshotte rubies, Miss Crump thought. They are the Ramsbottom rubies. They were my mother’s, and now they are mine! You had no right!

  However, this objection, reasonable as it might be, remained unexpressed. Miss Crump hurried from the room.

  11

  BOTH THE ARRIVAL of Mr. Rupert Crabbe and the proposed star party were greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm. All of the ladies suddenly discovered that they had always yearned to know more about the composition of the stars and planets. The idea of a festivity in the nighttime, out of doors, and on the rooftop of the school was so novel and, as Mr. Crabbe had suggested, so romantic that it caught the collective imagination at once. The older ladies at first fretted about the dangers of the night air and its effect upon delicate constitutions, but were persuaded that, on a fine evening in September, and in a healthy neighborhood, this would not be a serious concern. And, since the ostensible reason behind the gathering was educational, even Miss Quince had to admit that it was a worthy project.

  As a creative instructor will, she adapted her teaching to capitalize upon this sudden interest in the heavenly spheres. All other scholarly pursuits were shrugged off as being petty and mundane; the celestial globe occupied pride of place in the schoolroom, and the vast expanse of space set the boundary of their discourse.

  A revolution had taken place in the way Miss Franklin’s fellow students thought of her. Once a despised bluestocking with no conversation and no idea of how to trim a hat or net a stylish purse, she was now the accepted authority on all matters astronomical. In contrast to the physicist Blaise Pascal, who in a weak moment had once admitted, “The eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me with dread,” their Miss Franklin contemplated the enormity of endless time and distance with a cool and considering eye. The probable temperature of the surface of the sun and the nature and number of the rings of Saturn were at her fingertips, and she could bring her fellow students abreast of the latest in modern thought on shooting stars, eclipses, and the affairs of the most far-flung planets.

  Miss Franklin’s view of the sum total of intelligence contained within the walls of the Winthrop Hopkins Academy did not substantially alter as a result of this change in attitude, but she was human, and not immune to the flattery
of having her opinion sought. She treated the inquiries, from Miss Victor’s “Does falling asleep in the moonlight really make one run mad?” to Miss Evans’s rather more rational questions about the moon’s gravity and its effect on the tides that washed up against the seaside cliffs of Lesser Hoo with the patient indulgence of a dignified adult dog being swarmed over by a litter of puppies. Her responses were as simple and concise as possible, and her manner warmed and softened as she pronounced them.

  She alone was privileged by its owner to handle the object of her desire: the telescope. This traveled in a magnificent mahogany case to protect its expensively ground lenses and delicate focusing knob. Reverently removed from the case and assembled, it proved to be an elegant brass tube some thirty-six inches long, mounted on a three-legged stand. After considerable discussion between Miss Franklin and Mr. Rupert Crabbe as to the merits of refractors versus reflectors, the desirability of a finder-scope attachment, and the many difficulties presented by the English climate to the serious stargazer, the instrument was set up on the dinner table and aimed out an open window.

  Several of the young ladies were surprised, having assumed that the scope would only work during the hours of darkness, but were pleased to line up for the opportunity to watch Mrs. Watkins, who lived in a cottage on the grounds, hang her wet laundry out to dry in the sun. The sudden magnification of Mrs. Watkins through the lens was startling; several of the girls cried out, “La! How strange!” feeling an obscure sense of trespass as they spied upon the old woman.

  On the other hand, when it came to Miss Asquith’s turn, she declined to observe the laundry-day routine of a cottager. Caring nothing for the feelings of either Miss Franklin or Mr. Rupert Crabbe, she grasped the instrument in both hands and swiveled it so that it aimed at the village, just visible through the trees. She bent her fair head to the eyepiece, adjusted the focus, and then, after a few moments of silence, cried out in outraged tones: “Oh, my goodness! How could he? And I always thought him such a respectable sort of person!”