She dropped her gaze, picked up her quill, and focused on her composition book, determined not to look at Mr. Hudsyn again or give him cause to think she was frightened of him.
The writing flowed easily from her mind onto the page. Grateful to be someone other than Annabel Leonard, she’d memorized the details of her new history and tried to internalize her new identity as Mrs. Crawford.
Now, she hoped to legitimize it by putting everything down on paper. If she brought her story to life, describing the sights, sounds, and smells of her invented past, perhaps it would erase Mr. Hudsyn’s suspicions, and maybe she could convince him to look elsewhere. The widowed Mrs. Anne Crawford, he would tell her papa, was the daughter of a humble and now-deceased merchant and not Mr. Leonard’s wayward daughter.
Annabel became lost in her invented world until the sound of the headmistress’s voice pulled her back to the present.
“Thank you, ladies. It’s been a joy working with all of you today. Please leave your composition books on your desks, so you can use them when you return to class next week.”
The students around Annabel stood and started to exit the room.How had time passed so quickly?As if in protest, her hand cramped, and she dropped her ink pen. She’d filled page upon page in her notebook with neatly scripted words. Pride swelled in her chest as she admired her work. At least Papa’s money had not been wasted on her tutors. Surely, her detailed account of her life would be sufficient to convince everyone, including Mr. Hudsyn, that she was who she claimed—an orphaned and widowed young woman, who hailed from Whitby.
“I must say, I admire your focus and diligence,” the headmistress said, approaching Annabel again and glancing at her filled composition book. “I was hesitant to disrupt you, but I am eager to read your work. You look to be a most promising student.”
Annabel picked up her notebook, intent on giving it to the headmistress. Then a notion struck her. She hadn’t altered her handwriting. If Mr. Hudsyn got hold of her composition book, papa would recognize her writing immediately. She’d be handing him concrete evidence of her identity.
Annabel pulled the book to her chest. “I’m afraid I can’t leave it with you,” she said.
“Don’t worry; Mr. Hudsyn will give you a new composition book to take home so you can continue to practice your writing.”
“That’s not necessary.” Annabel sealed her ink pot and stood up, now in a hurry to escape with her composition book. “I’m afraid—” she lowered her voice and threw a fearful glance in Mr. Hudsyn’s direction; certain he was eavesdropping—“I’m afraid, I won’t be returning.”
The headmistress turned to look over her shoulder at Mr. Hudsyn before saying, “May I walk outside with you?”
Annabel hesitated, stunned by the headmistress’s offer. “Thank you,” she said, not wanting to be impolite.
“Excuse us, Mr. Hudsyn?” the headmistress called to him. “I won’t be a moment.”
“Certainly,” he said, glancing at Annabel.
Annabel saw the confusion on his face, but she avoided looking back at him as she exited the classroom with Headmistress Thomas.
The headmistress didn’t speak until they’d exited the building and stepped outside. “Now, tell me what’s truly bothering you,” she asked.
“Nothing at all,” Annabel protested. “I like your class very much, and I wish I could return, but—”
The headmistress linked her arm to Annabel’s, cutting off her words, and led her across the lawn. “I’ve been doing this for many years, Mrs. Crawford, and you didn’t come here today out of curiosity. You came here because you enjoy learning and crave a safe space to do so without judgment. You want to give voice to your thoughts and surround yourself with people who’ll listen and take you seriously. Isn’t that right?”
Annabel’s heart sank. Everything the headmistress said rang true. It was as if she’d read Annabel’s heart. She’d finally held freedom in the palm of her hand, only to have her papa snatch it away again.
“Is it Mr. Hudsyn?” the headmistress asked pointedly. “Does the prospect of a gentleman reading and assessing what you wrote today make you uncomfortable?”
Annabel nodded.
“While I want to assure you that I know all my teachers personally and that Mr. Hudsyn is a trusted member of this establishment, I also understand your concerns. And the solution is quite simple. “You needn’t worry because I’ll be assessing all the writing from today’s class myself. Rest assured, Mrs. Crawford, all your work will be safe with me.”
Annabel worried her bottom lip. She wanted more than anything to show her work to Headmistress Thomas, but how could she return to the college with her father’s spy lurking? How, in fact, could she remain in Canterbury?
“Tears stung Annabel’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I shan’t be coming back.” Then she turned and fled from the future she’d coveted for so long.
Chapter Ten
Let this evermore be my caution to individuals of my sex—Guard your eye: ’twill ever be in a combination against your judgment. If there are two parts to be taken, it will be forever, traitor as it is, taking the wrong one.
—Samuel Richardson,Clarissa
It must bethat fishmonger’s doing. He wore his jealousy plainly on his face when he carted Mrs. Crawford away from me yesterday. I’m certain he wasted no time turning her mind against me once he had her alone. What other explanation can there be for her sudden change in demeanor?
“Such an interesting young woman!” Violet swept back into the room, her words breaking into Henry’s thoughts. “She’s exactly the type of bright young lady who needs this college to provide her with a little encouragement and validation. It seems she’s already had a solid education and would blossom with higher learning.” Violet sighed. “She filled half the pages of her composition book. Alas, she is not ready.” Violet shook her head. “Such potential and so much promise. I can only hope she changes her mind and decides to return.”
