“You’re not in trouble,” she said. “Neither are you, Laird. I’m guessing certain things were overheard?”
“Um…” Christopher said. “Yes. But we’re really happy for you. And Headmaster Yorke. He’s a catch. Good job.”
“I’m not going to talk about Headmaster Yorke with you two.”
“No offense, Miss Ashby, but you don’t have to,” Laird said. Then he lowered his voice. “We already know.”
She ran her fingers over her lips to zip them.
“Fine,” Laird said and zipped his own lips.
“The reason I asked you two to stay, other than the fact that you’re both scared of me—”
“Only a little,” Christopher said.
“I wanted to ask you something. What do you know about Miss Muir?”
Christopher and Laird went dead silent and gave each other looks. Strange looks.
“What?” Gwen asked. “Tell me.”
Christopher shrugged. “Nothing to tell. She was here for a couple years. She taught our lit classes. She was here one day and gone the next.”
“Why?” she asked. “Do you know anything about it, Laird?”
“Not really. The headmaster said she left to get married.”
“Are you sure?” Gwen asked. She had the feeling the boys were hiding something from her. “Is there anything else you can tell me about her?”
“She read the Bible a lot,” Christopher said. “But her classes were okay.”
“Pretty okay,” Laird said. “Yours are better.”
“You said she didn’t like you much,” Gwen reminded them.
“We talk a lot,” Christopher said. “Maybe that was it.”
“Thank you. You both can go. I’ll see you later. And, guys, please try to contain your enthusiasm for my private life.”
“We’ll try but you know, we don’t have private lives of our own. We have to get our kicks somewhere.” Laird grinned unrepentantly at her.
“Kick elsewhere,” she warned.
“Yes, Miss Ashby,” Christopher said, and he and Laird left.
She looked out on the empty classroom. Miss Muir had sat in this same chair behind this same desk and stared at the same rows of chairs and tables. Did she like teaching here? Did she love the students? Was she nice to them? Fair? Cruel? Indifferent? Gwen opened the drawer on the desk and found nothing inside it. No pens. No paper. No nothing. But that wasn’t a surprise. Miss Muir likely kept her things…
At that Gwen remembered something Edwin had shown her on her very first day here at Marshal.
“I have an office.”
Chapter Fourteen
Gwen had been so overwhelmed by Edwin and Marshal that she’d barely paid attention to the quick tour he’d given her of the school. But yes, now she remembered that he’d shown her a small office. She headed upstairs and stared at the door to what had been Miss Muir’s office. She didn’t know why she felt nervous opening the door. Did she think she’d find The Bride in there or the ghost of Miss Muir sitting in her chair? She took a deep breath and opened the door. Nothing greeted her but sunlight through the window and dust motes dancing in the air.
And the scent of smoke.
The stench was so strong in the office she had to open the window. And yet, nothing burned, not as far as the eye could see. No fire. No ash. No flames. No nothing.
Where there’s smoke there’s fire, they say, but Gwen could find no fire. Not in the building. Not outside it. After a minute the smoky scent dissipated. Bizarre… Where on earth was it coming from? Surely she wasn’t imagining it.
Gwen turned away from the window and surveyed the office. In the center sat a small writing desk. A lady’s desk, ornate and delicate. A stark contrast to Edwin’s massive oak desk that twelve boys could have stood on comfortably (or one woman could lay on very comfortably). Gwen examined the papers on the desk. She saw some with writing on them but they seemed to be nothing but little class notes.
Test on Thursday.
Grades due May 1st.
Order the new Robert Frost.
Gwen furrowed her brow. New Robert Frost? Robert Frost died in 1963. She must have meant a new Robert Frost biography or some new compilation of his poems.
In a desk drawer she found Miss Muir’s grading book. There they were—all thirty students. Russell Adams. Eliot Bryant. Joshua Charles. Laird Donnelly. Marcus Farrell, Christopher Hayes. And on and on. She smiled at their names. She could put a face to each name now, and a personality to each face. Christopher and Laird were golden-hearted troublemakers—clearly best friends for life. Samuel, the only black student at the school and likely the mostly intelligent. He’d started talking more in her class, and she was amazed by his insight into human psychology. Eliot was quiet and bookish but with a dry wit. Joshua cared far more for math than English but still did his best for her. Good boys, all of them. Well trained by the headmaster. Under the grade book, Gwen found a printed list of names and addresses. The students’ names. The students’ addresses.
And yet, there were only twenty-nine names on the school list. Gwen put the handwritten grade book next to the name and address list and ticked off the names side by side. It didn’t take long to find the missing boy.
Laird Alexander Donnelly. How odd. He appeared on the class grade book but not on the school roster? That made no sense. Things just weren’t adding up around here.
Still digging, Gwen found nothing else suspicious or strange. The only truly strange thing was how much stuff Miss Muir had left behind. She had pens in her desk that would have sold for a fortune in an antique pen store. Old Montblanc pens still in excellent working condition. What was wrong with that woman? Most teachers bought their own books, but here the office bookshelves were stuffed with hardbound early editions of hundreds of classics. An embarrassment of riches these books were, and Miss Muir had simply left them behind.
Gwen ran her hands over the covers of the books. Pride and Prejudice. Emma. And Edwin’s favorite—Ivanhoe. The boys had apparently been forced to read this book more than once after Edwin had taken over Miss Muir’s class. She opened the book curious about why it held such a place in Edwin’s heart. She knew little about the book except the main character was a twelfth-century knight, and it was considered a Romance in the classic sense of the word—a story with a hero who goes on a noble quest and upholds the ideas of chivalry. She flipped through the pages.
“For he that does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise not only for the good which he performs, but for the evil which he forbears.”
Yeah. That sounded like annoyingly noble Edwin. No wonder he loved it.
A page fell out of Ivanhoe as Gwen leafed through it. Well, that just killed the resell value of the book. She picked the page off the floor and saw it wasn’t a page from the book but the draft of a letter.
A letter to Edwin.
She sat at the desk and read through the letter once, then twice, then a third time simply to convince herself to believe what her eyes told her. And yet, she still couldn’t believe it. Many words and lines were blotted out as if Miss Muir had been struggling with her words.
Headmaster Yorke, the letter began.
By the time you read this note, I will be gone. I can no longer abide the sin and licentiousness you have allowed to flourish on your watch. Evil is here, and the souls of the boys are at stake. Sin is a disease and I cannot stay here lest I be infected. God will smite this school in His wrath and vengeance with fire and death if you do not tear out the evil that has taken root here. This is not merely a matter of conscience. This is a grave and present danger. By allowing this evil to flourish, you have put the entire school at risk. I will contact the parents since you refuse to do your duty. May God have mercy on your soul.
In the name of the Lord,
Rosemary Muir.
Gwen's hand shook as she read the note a final time. Had Miss Muir written out a clean copy of this note and given it to Edwin? What sin was she t
alking about? What evil had come to this school that Miss Muir was so certain would destroy the boys in a fiery conflagration? She sounded crazy with all this talk of God’s wrath and sin that spreads like a disease. And yet something had set her off. What was it? What had she seen or heard that had scared her so profoundly that she thought she had to run away from the school and contact the parents?
She left the office and headed straight for Edwin’s. He sat at his desk with a pen in his hand and a ledger in front of him.
“I have to talk to you,” she said.
He glanced up from his work. She saw a fleeting expression of pleasure in his eyes at the sight of her in his office door.
“Close the door, please.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she whispered. “The boys overheard us.”
“Overheard us?” he asked, sitting back in his chair.
“Friday. I mean, they heard me saying your name,” she said as she sat in the chair in front of his desk. A blush suffused her cheeks. “They made that very clear in class.”
Edwin’s eyes widened.
“I certainly hope you disciplined them thoroughly. That is unacceptable behavior for young gentlemen.”
“I gave them a pop quiz. A vicious one.”
“Good. You aren’t here to talk about…us?”
“No,” she said and noted the disappointment lurking at the corner of his mouth. He must be missing her as much as she was missing him. “I was in my office just now. Miss Muir’s office. I found this in a copy of Ivanhoe. Can you tell me what this is about?”
“First you have to tell me why you were reading Ivanhoe.”
“I was going to use it for kindling. Now read the letter.”
She passed him the note. Edwin scanned it quickly.
“Appears to be an early draft of a letter.”
“Did you receive the final draft?” she asked.
“I did.”
“And?”
“Like you and Ivanhoe, I used it for kindling.”
She thought he might be joking but she saw the truth in his eyes—he’d burned the letter.
“Why?”
“Because it was full of rambling nonsense that I had no time for. She left the school. She’s gone. We moved on,” Edwin said, folding the paper with a dismissive crease.
“What on earth was she talking about in this letter? Sin? Evil? Wrath of God?”
“Miss Muir was an overly religious woman. She saw sin everywhere,” Edwin said, sounding disgusted.
“She saw sin here at this school, and she said you knew about it.”
“I don’t see sin at this school, Miss Ashby. I see young men who are doing their very best. They require discipline and compassion. And learning. That is all.”
“I see the same thing,” she said. “I’ve never seen a group of students so devoted to each other.”
“They would die for each other,” Edwin said. “And if any of them were in trouble or in danger, we would be the first to know.”
“Are you sure about that? Are you sure they would trust us?”
“They trust me, Miss Ashby. And when they have troubles and fears they bring them to me. You’re new, you’re a woman, and it will take time before they can trust you with their private concerns. I’m well aware of what’s going on with the boys on this campus, which is why I tell you there is no cause for you to worry and no reason to give Miss Muir another thought.”
“I want to believe that,” Gwen said, “But I can’t.” She got up to leave but paused when Edwin said her name. She slowly turned around.
“Close the door. Please,” he said.
She heard the somber tone in his voice and did as he asked.
“What?” she said as soon as the door was closed.
“Gwendolyn” Edwin said and paused to collect himself. “These past few days together…they’ve meant something to me. I told you things I’ve never told anyone. And we shared the deepest, more private, most intimate acts two people could share.”
She swallowed hard.
“I know.”
“Did our nights mean anything to you? What I told you? What we did?”
Gwen sighed as she wrapped her arms over her stomach.
“Yes, it meant more than I can tell you.” She walked back to his desk and sat again in the chair. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’ve never been a romantic soul. The gap between what I read in novels and what happens in the real world…my parents are dead, just like Pip’s in Great Expectations. Where’s my mysterious wealthy benefactor? I had to pay my own way through school. We’re out here in the woods far from the city. Where are Oberon and Titania and all their magic spells? The real world and the world of fiction are far apart. And that’s how it should be. All fiction is aspirational. At least…I thought that until I met you. You read books about love at first sight, but I never believed it was real.”
Gwen looked at Edwin and smiled.
“Then you…” Gwen continued. “I woke up in your bed and you gave me a job and a place to live and I’m lost. I’m lost in what I feel for you. And then we made love and I was even more lost. Edwin, I’m so lost a map and a compass and a whole pack of bloodhounds couldn’t find me again.”
Edwin took off his glasses and sat them on this desk. He clasped his hands and met her eyes.
“I am lost, too, Gwendolyn. I have never…had what you and I have had even for this short time. And you arrive here, the last place you should be, and here I am. Lost in the one place that ever felt like home to me. I want you back in my bed. Now. Tonight. Forever. But you have to trust me. I trusted you.”
“Edwin…” Gwen whispered and closed her eyes. A thousand images flashed across her mind’s eye. Edwin kissing her, touching her, pushing inside her. The way his eyes glowed with desire when he pulled her into his bedroom. She was safe in his arms. He belonged inside her. She’d never felt anything so right.
“Please trust me, Gwendolyn. Please trust that I know what I’m doing. Please believe in me.”
“I want to,” she said. “But I could say the same to you. Trust me. Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what you know.”
“I can’t. I simply can’t. And I can’t tell you why I can’t. If I could tell you, I would, but to tell you would go against everything I believe and everything I stand for.”
“Telling your lover the truth goes against everything you stand for? Then perhaps it’s for the best we aren’t lovers anymore.”
“Perhaps it is,” he said, his voice once more cold and stern. “But you must know, I wish it could be another way.”
“It can be another way. This is your decision, Edwin.”
He looked up at her with pleading eyes. But he said nothing, told her no secrets and revealed no answers. She walked away.
She put on a smile for the sake of her students. Her second and third period classes went well. Not a one of them teased her about the headmaster, and they all made it clear they were thrilled she would be staying at Marshal. At the end of the day she gathered her things and returned to Miss Muir’s—now her—office. She spent the rest of the day digging through every thing in the office. She flipped through every single page of every single book—a daunting task and one that was ultimately fruitless. Miss Muir had left notes in almost every book on the shelf but they were nothing but class notes, lecture notes or, in one case, a grocery list. She found nothing more of interest in the desk. After hours of searching Miss Muir’s office, she returned to her cottage. But before going inside she stood on the lawn and looked up at her new home. She’d never dreamed she would ever live in a house so lovely. Teachers didn’t make enough money to afford century-old Tudor cottages. The cottage itself was white but adorned with the standard dark decorative timbers on the outside. It looked like a home from a fairy tale, especially glowing as it did in the rising moonlight. Shakespeare might have lived in a house like this. Ivy climbed up one side almost all the way to the chimney in knots and whorls so lush and
thick it almost completely covered a window on the north side. Gwen could see a sliver of moon reflected in the glass.
A window? Gwen had never noticed ivy covering any of her windows before. Not downstairs. Not upstairs. But there it was, a window high up on the side of the house. Gwen's heart raced with excitement. There was another room in her cottage somewhere. A secret room.
“Got you,” she said aloud.
And as silently as she could, she slipped inside her own house.
Chapter Fifteen
She slipped off her shoes so her heels would make no sounds against the hardwood. On bare feet she headed up to the second floor. The window she’d seen obscured by ivy was high up. Very high. Higher than her bedroom window. That meant the house had either a third floor or an attic. On the second floor Gwen glanced around looking for a door she might have missed. Nothing in the master bedroom. Nothing in the guest bedroom. Nothing in the bathroom. But she refused to give up. There had to be a way up there. She’d chainsaw through the ceiling if she had to.
Ceiling?
Gwen looked up for the first time at the ceilings. But nowhere did she any sort of attic door with a pull-down staircase.
She had to be missing something. She’d checked every room in the upstairs, even the closets. There had to be a way to the third floor.
“I’m an idiot,” she said aloud and raced back down the stairs.
Of course there was a way to the third floor. But it wasn’t through the second floor. That would have been too obvious. Once back on the main floor she headed straight for the kitchen. From the kitchen she entered the pantry. And there in the back of the pantry behind the boxes she’d ignored before was a small door. She’d glanced at it once but thought it led to a cellar or the water shutoffs. She unlatched it, opened it and saw a narrow staircase behind it.
She looked everywhere for a flashlight but didn’t find one. So instead she took the oil lamp off the bedside table, lit the wick with a match and headed back for the door in the pantry. Once she squeezed through the door she was able to move about more freely. The stairs were merely two-feet wide, but she could stand up to her full height. Gwen held the lamp out in front of her to illuminate the staircase. Dust swirled around her, and she covered her mouth and nose to keep from sneezing.
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