Miss Sutton drew a deep breath, and her emerald earbobs danced with the movement. “I’ve shared, quite unabashedly, that I’m an enthusiastic proponent of phrenology and enjoy Mr. Bauer’s demonstrations immensely, but I think it only fair to tell you that I am fully aware of your family’s history with phrenology. Mr. Hawthorne told me about the rumors surrounding your mother’s death and the subsequent rift in the Society. He also shared there was a pamphlet circulated indicating your mother was responsible for the death of her maids. He asked that I not bring it up to you, but I do not wish to start our friendship with a deception.”
Ella stiffened. The topic was a personal one, and yet Miss Sutton was refreshingly blunt. Most people would whisper about the rumors behind her back and eye her suspiciously.
Miss Sutton raced ahead. “And I wanted you to know that I did indeed read the pamphlet and what was implied about you. I’m sorry to hear such a thing. About a child! It must be horrifically difficult for you to have this topic forced upon you in your home. I hope you don’t take my interest in phrenology as a sign that I accept all that is said about it at face value.”
Ella was so used to defending herself and her mother that she barely knew how to respond. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Miss Sutton, but I’ve had ample time to come to terms with what was said. Besides, I know the truth of the situation.”
Miss Sutton frowned. “Just so I am clear on the matter, am I to understand that you are a proponent of phrenology? I took it from Mr. Hawthorne that you were not and, as such, were against Mr. Bauer’s role as the guest of honor.”
Ella’s father’s request not to contradict Mr. Bauer echoed in her mind, but it was not a contradiction to tell the truth. “My mother documented her studies on phrenology in journals, and I’ve spent a great deal of time reading them. I’ve also read anything else on phrenology I’ve been able to find. I have to say, I do not agree with the discipline, but one never knows. Perhaps Mr. Bauer will change my mind.”
“Your mother kept journals on the topic? How wonderful!” Miss Sutton laughed—a delighted, airy laugh that made Ella think of tinkling crystal. “Imagine having the discipline and presence of mind to document her observations in such a manner. Your mother must have been a fascinating woman.”
“She was a force, to say the least.”
“Oh, that more women should be as such!”
The next hour passed pleasantly—much more pleasantly than Ella had anticipated. She’d been so wrapped up in her opposition that she had forgotten that some of the women were indeed friends. Not another word about phrenology or natural philosophies passed their lips until the men joined them again.
Once all the women began milling about and mingling with the men, Ella did the same, but instead of lighthearted conversations, she had another thought in mind.
She had spied Mr. Rowe at various points throughout the evening. Even during the awkward conversations with Mr. Bauer, she had an eye on him. Speaking with Mr. Rowe before she retired for the night was imperative for the success of their plan.
As much as she wanted to deny it, Mr. Bauer’s presence and all the conversations about him had taken a significant emotional toll. Under normal circumstances she prided herself on being levelheaded and practical, but the stakes of this event were too high. The fear that the guests would be persuaded by Mr. Bauer’s arguments rattled within her like a noisy bird. If they believed his arguments, would they revisit the pamphlet? If so, what did that mean for her mother’s legacy? For their perception of her?
Ella told herself it should not matter, but it did. Her dream of running the girls school depended on the Society’s support. She and her mother had both grown up in families that valued them as equals, and the fact that so many girls were never given such an opportunity pained her. Ella wanted nothing more than to offer young women a school where they could freely study and explore ideas that had been traditionally reserved for men. If the Society members thought her a lunatic, how would they continue to endorse her participation in the school?
Ella made her way to the great hall, where she found Mr. Rowe speaking with Mr. Templeton. The easiness of his expression and his relaxed mannerisms bolstered the optimism she felt slipping from her.
When he noticed her, he excused himself from Mr. Templeton and wound his way toward her through the somberly clad crowd.
Her heart gave an unusual thump as he approached. She told herself it was the anticipation of advancing their plan, but it was impossible not to notice how handsome he was—how his broad shoulders and height made him stand out from the other men, and how his tanned skin emphasized his light brown eyes and contrasted with the stark whiteness of his cravat.
He stopped a few feet in front of her and bowed. “Miss Wilde.”
Ella curtsied. “Welcome back to Keatley Hall, Mr. Rowe.”
“Thank you.” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling and glanced around the room. “It is actually quite nostalgic to be back here.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
“Yes. Of course.” Mr. Rowe took a step closer, bringing with him the subtle scent of leather, and lowered his voice. “And I want to thank you again for arranging my attendance. I can see you have a great deal to tend to, but I was hoping we could speak somewhere before the lectures begin tomorrow. Privately.”
“I was thinking the same thing. The ladies will be retiring shortly. After they do, I will go to the conservatory. It is far enough out of the way that we won’t be disturbed. Do you remember where it is?”
His grinned. “I do. Ironically, I remember it because it was the one place students were not allowed to go, which made it all the more interesting.”
The glimpse into his memories gratified her. “Very well. I’ll speak with you shortly then.”
They parted ways, and Ella, energized by a subtle yet viable sense of solidarity, returned to where she’d last seen Phoebe. Her goal of exposing the faults of phrenology might be difficult, but at least for the time being she was not facing it alone.
Gabriel glanced at the oak case clock in the great hall. Evening had given way to night, and nearly twenty minutes had elapsed since the ladies retired. The men, many of whom were older, were beginning to follow suit and return to their chambers or had dispersed to the billiards room, another parlor, or the library.
Gabriel requested a chamberstick from one of the servants who was replacing spent candles, and when the opportunity presented itself, he stole away to the north end of the house. As he stepped through the shadowed ancient corridor with its uneven stone floors and plastered walls, he contemplated what Templeton had told him about Miss Wilde’s failed engagement. Clancy had already apprised him of the gossip, but the news about Abernathy had struck him.
Gabriel remembered Abernathy and wondered if the teacher had changed any from the spindly wisp of a man who’d been frightened of his own shadow. He’d displayed no backbone in those days and hid behind Mr. Wilde’s authority, using the threat of the headmaster’s leadership to keep the gaggle of energetic boys in line instead of commanding any respect of his own.
How could Miss Wilde, a young woman with such a vivacious and sharp personality, possibly be content with someone so passive? Surely she would have no trouble attracting any number of men, but he could not forget that society was often vicious to a woman who was involved in any sort of scandal, whether it was warranted or not.
