A School for Brides (12 page)

“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.

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!”

As the rest of the party regarded her with wonder, she moved the telescope back to its former position and stepped away, her lips pressed tight together, her gaze averted and her entire posture expressive of shocking news withheld. She shook her head as the others questioned her (“What was it, what did you see? Oh, do tell us, dear Miss Asquith!”) and walked away to sit in a dignified manner in a chair some distance away.

“No, I am sorry, I could not undertake to tell you—it would not be right.”

Mr. Crabbe's eyes narrowed. He stepped up to his brother's instrument, moved it back toward the village, and looked. After a long silence, he raised his head and regarded her demure form, bent over some needlework in her lap.

“Ah, Miss Asquith,” he said sadly, “I weep for the man who marries you, truly I do. Poor,
poor
fellow.” He repositioned the telescope in the direction of some sheep that were drifting about aimlessly on the moor, and then relinquished it to the next viewer. After which, evidently forgetting about the sad lot of the man who loved and married Miss Asquith, he followed her to her corner and proposed a game of piquet.

Later, Miss Franklin took another turn at the scope and looked long and hard at the village street and shop facades visible through the gap in the trees.

“I don't believe she could have seen a thing!” she said with decision. “She made up the entire episode!”

Mr. Rupert Crabbe shook his head at this folly, and together they tenderly laid the telescope back in its mahogany casket.

Mr. Hadley did not leave Lesser Hoo, in spite of his earlier assertion. He, along with Mr. Crabbe, had moved his belongings to Yellering Hall and came to call at the school as often as before. The difference was that he no longer sat with Miss Mainwaring in the drawing room, or offered her his arm on their walks to the seashore. Indeed, he avoided her and shied away from her gaze.

The only comfort for Miss Mainwaring—and it was a very small comfort—was that it was accompanied by a decided air of unhappiness. She could believe that he might be uneasy; if he wished to dampen expectations for the future by no longer distinguishing her in company,
that
could make a man feel self-conscious. But no, it was more than embarrassment; putting an end to their comfortable walks and talks had made him unhappy. He sat silent and sad, staring at the floor, or out the window, or anywhere but at her, as sharp a contrast as could be to the cheerful, talkative young man of a few days ago.

Occasionally he lifted his eyes to study—astonishingly enough—Miss Crump. That lady was aware of his scrutiny, Miss Mainwaring could tell. The unfortunate Miss Crump bent her bonneted head down to focus on her tatting, twisting in her chair so as to present only the smallest possible portion of her anatomy. After a few minutes of this, she would rise and excuse herself from the company, whereupon Mr. Hadley would sigh and return to his close observation of the floorboards.

At last, Mr. Hadley seemed to make up his mind about whatever it was that was worrying him. On the afternoon of the first viewing with the telescope, as Miss Mainwaring watched from a nearby alcove, he stood and walked decisively over to Miss Crump. He bowed and said, “I ought to beg your pardon for not saying so before, but my father wishes me to present his compliments. I have recently had a letter from him, and he tells me he is well-acquainted with
your
father.” Although his voice was low, Miss Mainwaring's ears were sharp, and she could hear him quite distinctly.

“Oh! Is—is he?” Miss Crump's bonnet turned this way and that in a hunted fashion, as though one or both parental figures might leap out at her.

“In fact, it appears that my father, having heard that we are in company with each other,” Mr. Hadley continued in a gloomy tone, “is anxious that we become better acquainted.” He heaved a sigh. “So, unless you have any objection, I shall attempt to do just that.”

If Mr. Hadley had been able to penetrate beyond the brim and interior ruffles of Miss Crump's bonnet to see the expression on her face, he would have concluded that she did indeed have an objection. Muffled sounds came from her general direction that
might
have been expressive of gratified consent, but seemed more likely to be terrified dismay. However, he did not pause to interpret them, but, like a man determined to press forward in the teeth of a howling blizzard, he lowered his head and waded in.

“As perhaps you already know,” he began, “my father was an officer of the East India Company, who is now retired and come back to live on his estates in England. It is his greatest wish that, having finished my studies at Oxford, I should marry and bring a wife back to live at Rowehaven. That, of course, is our house—rather a rattletrap old place, I am afraid. It was got by purchase rather than by inheritance—ours is not
nearly
so distinguished a family as yours.” Here he bobbed a brief bow in her direction and then went on, “It is situated in the county of Cumberland, near the west coast. I can
not
recommend the climate of Cumberland.” He paused to look up at the ceiling. “Trapped between the mountains and the sea as we are, I should think we are quite the dampest place in all England.
We
are used to it, of course, but outsiders sometimes find it irksome. One has to keep in motion, you understand, else one soon finds mosses and lichens actually
growing
upon one's person.”

As an apparent afterthought, he added, “There was an old man once, I believe, left sitting on a bench in the rain, not a stone's throw away from Rowehaven. His people forgot about him, you see, and didn't think to go back and fetch him until the next morning, by which time he and the bench were positively
fused
together, one great pile of green algae. They had to
bury
the bench with him, I am sorry to say, and it was very awkward, as it didn't fit into a coffin. Well, it's not a pretty subject.
Dreadful
place, Rowehaven. However, as I say, the pater is anxious that I find myself a bride and bring her home with me. But I mustn't talk so much about
my
affairs. Do tell me about yourself, Miss Crump.”

Miss Mainwaring, who had been listening to this speech with widening eyes and parting lips, moved her fascinated stare from Mr. Hadley to Miss Crump.

Miss Crump did not accept the invitation to converse about her own life and interests. She sat motionless for a long minute, and then sagged to her right, toppling onto the floor, where she lay quite still.

Miss Mainwaring flew to her side and knelt on the floor.

“You utter cad, sir!”
she whispered, casting a furious glance up at Mr. Hadley, who, to do him justice, was looking horrified. “How
could
you? Miss Crump, of all people! Oh poor, dear Miss Crump, do wake up!”