Percival’s hand shot up eagerly. “Four, Miss!”
“Excellent, Percival!” Joan wrote the equation on the board. “Now, what about two times three?”
Silence. Imogen bit her lip, her brow furrowed in concentration. Edmund stared at his slate as though the answer might magically appear there.
“Six,” Percival offered tentatively.
“Very good! Now, can someone explain how we arrived at that answer?”
More blank stares.
Joan moved through several more problems, her enthusiasm gradually dimming as she realized just how much the children were struggling. They weren’t being difficult or inattentive, they were genuinely lost, unable to grasp the concepts she was trying to teach.
She could feel frustration building in her chest. These were basic principles, fundamental mathematics that any educated child should understand. But these children had never been taught to think this way.
I’m failing them, she thought with dismay. I’m explaining it exactly as my governess taught me, and they don’t understand a word.
She set down her chalk and took a deep breath, forcing herself to think differently.
“All right,” Joan said, making a decision. “Put down your slates. We’re going to play a game instead.”
Three faces immediately brightened.
“A game, Miss?” Imogen asked hopefully.
“Yes, indeed. It’s called the Market Game.” Joan moved to the center of the room. “Percival, you are a baker with three loaves of bread. Each loaf costs two pence. Imogen comes to buy all three loaves. How much money does she need?”
Percival’s face scrunched in concentration. Joan watched him carefully, seeing the moment when understanding began to dawn.
“Two pence… and two more pence… and two more pence…” Percival counted on his fingers. “Six pence, Miss!”
“Exactly right! That’s three times two. Three loaves, each costing two pence, equals six pence total.” Joan turned to Edmund. “Now you try. Edmund, you’re a butcher—like Percival’s father.You have four cuts of meat, and each one costs three pence. I want to buy all four. How much do I owe you?”
Edmund’s eyes widened as he began working through the problem, his fingers moving as he counted. “Three, six, nine… twelve pence, Miss!”
“Wonderful! That’s four times three equals twelve.”
They continued the game for the next half hour, the children taking turns being merchants and customers, calculating prices and totals. Joan watched with satisfaction as understanding gradually replaced confusion on their faces.
“The winner of today’s game,” Joan announced once they’d worked through several rounds, “will receive a very special prize.”
“What prize, Miss?” Imogen asked eagerly.
“A hug from me,” Joan said with a smile.
The children’s competitive spirits ignited immediately. They threw themselves into the final rounds with renewed enthusiasm, each desperate to win. In the end, Joan declared it a three-way tie and awarded hugs to all of them, much to their delight.
After the lesson concluded, the children helped tidy the hall—returning slates to their proper places, straightening benches,sweeping chalk dust from the floor. Joan watched them work together, their earlier struggles forgotten in the glow of their accomplishments.
“Miss Sinclair?” Percival asked as he stacked the last of the slates. “How long can we use this hall? Will we be able to keep having lessons here?”
Joan paused in her sweeping. “That depends on the Duke’s continued generosity. He has been kind enough to allow us to use his property, and if we work hard and show him that we appreciate his kindness, I hope he will rent us the hall for next semester as well.”
“The Duke?” Imogen’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You mean the scary man who lives in the big house?”
Joan saw Percival and Edmund both nod solemnly, their faces suddenly anxious.
She set down her broom and crossed to Imogen, kneeling down to the girl’s level. She took the child’s small hands in her own, her expression gentle.
