A School for Brides (13 page)

“You do not understand,” cried Mr. Hadley. “I was only trying to—”

“Trying to do
what
? Give the poor girl convulsions?” Miss Mainwaring administered a series of slaps to Miss Crump's pallid hand in an attempt to rouse her. Others, alarmed by this scene, were gathering around, so Miss Mainwaring ceased her recriminations, only saying in a sharp tone, “She is regaining consciousness. Go and fetch a glass of wine for her.”

Mr. Hadley obeyed, and soon Miss Crump was restored to her seat, being fanned by five or six ladies and presented with hartshorn and vinegar by two more. Seeing that the effect of the attention was to make Miss Crump even more uncomfortable, Miss Quince intervened and led her off to her chamber to lie down. As they went, Miss Crump happened to catch sight of Mr. Hadley and uttered a small, distressed cry.

“Hush, child, hush,” soothed Miss Quince, but she regarded Mr. Hadley with interest.

At this point, the gentlemen decided that they had stayed long enough. They gathered up gloves and walking sticks—it had been decided to leave the telescope at the school in Miss Franklin's care to avoid further jostling about—and prepared to go. Mr. Hadley was not immediately to be found, however, and when he did appear, with disordered cravat and an anxious look, he was observed to pass close by Miss Mainwaring and bend to speak to her.

When they were gone, Miss Mainwaring went upstairs to her room. It was only once she had gained the privacy of that chamber that she smoothed out the little scrap of paper Mr. Hadley had pressed into her hand.

In hasty, ink-spattered letters it said:

Have patience, I beg. Trust me.

MISS PFFOLLIOTT NOW
made it a regular practice to borrow Wolfie for the daily walk to the post office. Mr. Lomax, the shepherd, had two younger and smaller dogs that were far better at herding sheep. In his opinion, Wolfie was entirely too soft. He was inclined to dote on the sheep in a foolish, avuncular manner, frolicking with the lambs, nuzzling the ewes, and bumping shoulders with the rams in a companionable, man-to-man sort of way, rather than instilling the fear and respect that was the proper attitude for a flock toward its attendant sheepdogs. It was all very bad for ovine discipline.

“Leave off licking that lamb's face at once, tha' waste o' dog flesh,” growled Mr. Lomax, “and go along wi' t'young lady.”

Wolfie was only too pleased to comply, and whenever they encountered Mr. Rasmussen on their journeys was also pleased to greet
him
, veering off the path at an uneven, off-kilter trot, foaming a bit at the mouth and baring his overgrown yellow fangs in an affable grin. The shriek with which that gentleman responded to these overtures was almost as shrill as the shrieks with which Miss Pffolliott had been wont to greet
him
in the past.

For several days Mr. Rasmussen had remained at a respectful distance, bowing courteously as they passed; so thoroughly cowed did he appear to be that Miss Pffolliott even went so far as to grant him a small nod in return. On this occasion she collected the letters for the school and sailed past him with her head held high and a sense of growing confidence.

As she handed the post over to Miss Quince, she felt a sudden misgiving at the sight of one envelope addressed to the headmistresses of the Winthrop Hopkins Academy—it seemed familiar in some way, and it made her uneasy. She watched Miss Quince as she opened it and perused the contents. Miss Quince's eyebrows lifted and, after reading several sentences, she raised her gaze from the page.

“As you have guessed, my dear, this concerns you. It is from your father.”

Her father!
Miss Pffolliott did not feel equal to speech.

“He sends greetings and kind regards to us and to you, and wishes you to know that an old friend of his is visiting in our area. His name is Mr. Gideon Rasmussen, and—only fancy!—he is staying at the Blue Swan, right here in Lesser Hoo. He wishes to convey to you and to us”—here Miss Quince looked thoughtfully at Miss Pffolliott—“his strong desire that we extend every courtesy toward the gentleman. He then goes on to say, apparently apropos of nothing,” she added, “that it is quite time we should be thinking of finding you a husband. And that is all, save his signature.”

She folded the letter up, regarding her pupil with some concern. “You are not well acquainted with your father, I believe, Miss Pffolliott?”

“No, Miss Quince. I have never met him in my life, save for the day I was born. My mother gave up her life in giving life to me, and he sent me away to go and live with her family.”

“Which family is now dead, I understand. You are alone in the world, then, except for this rather elusive parent?”

Miss Pffolliott nodded, her eyes large and anxious.

Miss Quince tapped the edge of the folded letter pensively on the top of the little table that served as her work desk. “It is your grandparents' estate that pays our fees, you know, not your father. However, he
is
your father, and as such he has both moral
and
legal rights. We would wish to cooperate in any way that is reasonable and proper. I shall send an emissary down to the Blue Swan and invite this Mr. Rasmussen to visit.”

“Y-e-e-es, Miss Quince,” Miss Pffolliott replied, looking at the tips of her shoes.

“However, if you should find his company or his person distasteful, we can inform your father of the fact.”

Miss Pffolliott nodded silently.

“Now cease looking so glum! You have nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, Miss Quince,” she replied, and left the room. But in spite of Miss Quince's kindly meant reassurances, she knew that she had a great deal to worry her.

For she had at last identified the source of her unease in relation to the envelope containing her father's letter: the handwriting on it looked remarkably similar to the handwriting of one Mr. Gideon Rasmussen. And there was no way at all to explain
that
to Miss Quince.

The star party was tentatively scheduled for either Friday or Saturday evening, whichever should give promise of the best weather and hence the best viewing conditions, and preparations began apace. The roof of the schoolhouse was ideal for this purpose, the building being a simple Georgian three-storied box with a parapet around. Miss Briggs's harp (for she played this as well as the pianoforte) was to be carried up to furnish an appropriately celestial musical accompaniment. This made everyone feel that a small, informal dance ought to be attempted, as well as a light supper laid out for refreshment after their exertions. Admittedly, this was straying a good deal from the educational purpose of the gathering, but the headmistresses were prepared to be indulgent, and an elegant, cultured event was anticipated by all.

Miss Franklin was so delighted to have access to a telescope that she soon prevailed upon Mr. Rupert Crabbe to allow her to use it nightly in order to test a series of mathematical calculations she was carrying out in relation to the orbit of Uranus. She had been corresponding with an Italian astronomer (signing her name as “R. Franklin” in order to disguise her sex, though she did not confess this duplicity to Mr. Rupert Crabbe) and had obtained a set of his observations taken over the course of several years. It was her belief that there was yet another undiscovered planet in the solar system, one which circled the sun in an ellipse even wider and more immense than that of Uranus, which was the farthest yet known.

“Why, Ceres was detected only a decade ago! I believe that many, many more objects exist within our own system yet to be discovered,” she said.

Mr. Rupert Crabbe rather scoffed at the idea that a planet could be inferred by measuring the orbits of others. However, he allowed her the use of the instrument, examined her calculations, and checked the accuracy of her sums. He admitted that they seemed to be correct, but argued that slight variations in the trajectory of such a distant object might be due merely to errors of observation.

“Oh! I know it well, sir,” she responded, raking her hands through her abundant black hair so that it stuck out at an odd angle from her head (thereby destroying the neat and artful arrangement achieved by a long-suffering ladies' maid). “I realize that only the most vigilant and persistent scrutiny can possibly validate my suspicions. That is why I am so grateful to have the use of your device whilst you remain in the neighborhood.”

“You may have that, and welcome. I myself have been so discouraged by the clouds that haunt England that I do not use it so much as I had anticipated when I purchased it.
You
seem to have been able to make some observations, however.” He pointed to a small notebook Miss Franklin had been using.

“Oh, I do not go to bed until I have had
some
result, even if I have to remain awake all night,” she said. “However, I need an instrument of my own, rather than a borrowed one. What use are a few snatched nights here and there, when I ought to be scanning the skies nightly over a period of years? If only I could use the money spent on my attending this useless academy to purchase one!”

Several of the other pupils were nearby, and Mr. Rupert Crabbe's eyebrows lifted at the bluntness of Miss Franklin's speech. He said, “Not entirely useless, surely, since it enabled us to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance!”

“We might have met sooner if my mother allowed me to go to school in Cambridge or Oxford,” she retorted. “Here I am exiled from scientific thought and opinion. There isn't a person with an ounce of intellectual curiosity inside of a hundred-mile radius. Er,” she added as an afterthought, “with the exception of you, that is. But how I long to discuss my ideas with men of experience and knowledge, such as Sir William Herschel. I believe that his sister Caroline is his assistant, and has discovered a number of comets in her own right.”

“Under his direction, I believe that is so. However, your mother no doubt believed your removal from distracting intellectual pursuits was in your best interests. Without an accomplished brother or male relative to sponsor you and supervise your work, it is unlikely that you would have been taken seriously, you know,” he said in a gentle tone.

She stared at him in silence for a moment, and then gathered up her bundle of papers. “No doubt you are in the right. Good afternoon, Mr. Crabbe,” she said.

“Wait! Miss Franklin, please do not take offense—” he began, but she had left him. He sighed, and then bent to pick up one of the notebooks that, in her hurry, had escaped her grasp. He sat for a time studying it, and then folded it and thrust it into his vest.

Miss le Strange had triumphed. Through the unwilling intervention of Miss Winthrop, she had managed to get herself introduced to Mrs. Westing, mother of Lord Boring, and within a matter of a few days was moving her possessions from the despised precincts of the Blue Swan to the much more refined dower house at Gudgeon Park. Mrs. Westing, who had come to the restricted world of Lesser Hoo two years ago from the lively society of London, was frankly bored, and glad to have a new face to look at, as well as a new partner at cards. True, as the newcomer belonged to the impoverished le Strange family, she was unlikely to provide any significant income, but she soon proved herself to be a skilled and wily opponent. Mrs. Westing, who relied rather heavily on her winnings for the niceties of life, also delighted in what might be called the art and science of these sorts of games; she respected a worthy adversary.

The two ladies settled down quite happily by the fireside every evening to outmaneuver and outplay each other in an atmosphere of utmost concentration, the sound of the cards slapping down upon the table the only noise for hours at a time. Eventually, however, Miss le Strange grew restless and wished to be taken on visits about the neighborhood, so that she might commence her campaign to recapture her pupil, Miss Crump.