“I’ve never known them.” Cassandra looked down to the bread in her hand, her appetite gone. “The school was the only family I ever knew, first as a student and then as a teacher.”
Betsy leaned back on her fist and tilted her head to the side. “So I ask again. What brings a teacher from a small village to Anston?”
Cassandra returned the bread to the basket and wiped her hands. “My position at the school ended when the owner died recently, and at that time I was given information that hinted that I might be able to learn about my family here. It may all lead to nothing, but with the break in my employment, I thought it would be as good a time as any to search.”
“Will you seek a teaching position then?”
“Eventually. I need to start sending out inquiries. It is just that so much has changed in a brief period of time. I wasn’t really prepared.”
Not preparedwas an understatement. In truth, the suddenness of Mrs. Denton’s illness was one of the few shocks in her life. And then to find out that she knew the identity of Cassandra’s family, but had concealed it from her, compounded the blow.
Betsy noisily wiped her hands together, showering bread crumbs to the ground. “There aren’t many schools around here, not the sort you would be used to anyway. Mostly mill people here. The children work alongside the families. Do you think you’ll stay in Anston?”
Cassandra shook her head. “I’ve no idea. I have no employment and, right now, no prospects.”
“There’s always matrimony.”
Cassandra belted out a laugh.
“I do not jest.” Betsy took a piece of cheese from the basket. “If a man were to offer for my hand in marriage, I’d accept him straightaway. And I wouldn’t be that particular.”
“In order to get married, one would have to know a young man,” reasoned Cassandra, “and I have spent my life in a girls’ school, barely having any contact whatsoever with men.”
“Well, it seems that you have no shortage of admirers since you’ve arrived, Mr. North standing at the front of the line.”
Cassandra, eager to shift the focus from herself, asked, “And where are you from?”
“Heyton. A tiny village about a day’s travel from here.”
“And did you leave family to be here?”
She nodded, tucking her tawny hair under her straw poke bonnet. “My mother is there. With my sister and her family.”
“You must miss them.”
“Of course. I haven’t seen my mother in almost six months, but I am able to send home some money, which makes me feel like I am with her in some small way. Plus, my matrimonial prospects are much better here. One day, perhaps I’ll be wed. I hope I am. But fornow, this suits as well as anything.” Suddenly Betsy straightened. “Oh dear.”
Concerned, Cassandra stiffened her posture. “What is it?”
Betsy nodded toward the road, squinting her chartreuse eyes against the strong breeze. “Look who’s coming this way.”
Cassandra followed her friend’s gaze to see Mr. North on the high street, on the far side of the stone wall, walking alongside a man.
“We’ve picnicked at this very spot nearly every Sunday since spring, and he’s never once made an appearance.”
Cassandra frowned, unsure what was so unusual about a vicar walking in his own village. “Surely he walks on the high street all the time.”
“At this end? By the meadow? On a Sunday?Tsk. No.”
Mr. North laughed at something his companion said and then looked in their direction. He tipped his hat, said something to the man accompanying him, and then stepped through the gate toward them.
When it became clear they were the object of his interest, Betsy and Cassandra stood from their blanket, and Cassandra brushed a bit of dried grass from her cloak and smoothed her hair.
“Ladies.” Mr. North let the gate close behind him and approached. “What a surprise to see you here.”
Betsy tilted her head to the side. “Really? That’s odd. For we gather here every Sunday, weather permitting.”
The cheek in her friend’s voice shocked Cassandra.
