“Your Grace?”
“Thank you, John. I’ll walk the rest of the way. I could use some fresh air.”
His coachmen didn’t even try to hide his confusion. This was Central London. There was no fresh air to speak of. But Will didn’t need to explain himself. He was a duke, and dukes did whatever they pleased. So he turned swiftly on his heel toward his destination, grateful for every step that brought him farther away from Phoebe Atkinson.
Three
Phoebe had never been so happy to spend the night in her own little bed. She had done her best to appear blasé about the whole situation in front of the duke, as if she were hauled into police stations every day, but in truth she had been terrified. Then she came dangerously close to oversleeping the next morning. Luckily Marion Hartwell, her flatmate and fellow teacher, woke her with a cup of tea and a biscuit.
“Here. Drink this,” she commanded. Marion was the school’s mathematics teacher and had a fearsome reputation that was well earned. She was also an incredibly loyal friend.
Phoebe took the cup. “Ah, bless you, Mare.”
As a young man, Marion’s father had been a midshipman in the Royal Navy and met her mother while in Bombay. After a brief courtship, they married and returned to England, but the rest of the Hartwell family refused to accept his new bride on account of her Indian heritage. The estrangement was never mended and after her father’s death five years ago, Marion embarked on her teaching career in part to support her mother and younger brother. Marion didn’t waste a second dwelling on her father’s family, but on more than one occasion she had implored Phoebe to make amends with her own.
“I did knock first, but you sleep like the dead.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Are you unwell? Did you catch something in that ghastly place?”
Phoebe took a restorative sip and shook her head. “No, I was just tired. Overwrought, I suppose.” She had briefly related her ordeal to Marion yesterday before turning in early.
“Well, you best get ready. The headmistress sent a note last night while you were asleep calling for a meeting before the first bell.”
Phoebe sat up a little straighter. “You don’t think she’s heard anything about Alice?”
Marion gave her an exasperated look. “If she had, she certainly wouldn’t call a meeting over it.”
Girls leaving the school was hardly an uncommon experience.
“I know Alice was your pet and I am sorry she’s gone, but you’ll run yourself ragged trying to save every one of them.”
Phoebe ran her thumb along the rim of the chipped teacup. “It just doesn’t make any sense. She was doing so well. And we had plans. She was very interested in the typist program”
“And where was she to get the money for that?” Marion said impatiently. They had had this conversation several times before. “Alice needed towork, especially after her mother died. We’re lucky she stayed on as long as she did. This school provides a basic education for working-class girls, which is a miracle in itself. And heaven knows that isn’t enough, but you can’t be everyone’s fairy godmother.”
“I’m nottryingto be. Only I… I hate seeing such potential wasted.”
Marion’s eyes softened. “I know. And I love you for your soft heart. But please, you need to do a better job looking out for yourself. What if Detective Inspector Holland hadn’t been on duty when you were brought in?”
Phoebe hadn’t mentioned Will’s role in her release. “Do you think he’ll say anything to the headmistress?”
“No, he’s a good sort. Actually cares about doing the job.”
Phoebe recalled the look of disgust on his face when Will tried to give him money. “Yes, I can see that.”
“Now get dressed. If we’re late, Mrs. Richardson will have us cleaning chalkboards after last bell,” she said with a wink.
Once Phoebe washed and dressed, they took the omnibus to Langham Place School, which Mrs. Richardson had founded five years ago. It mostly served the daughters of the shopworkers in and around Oxford Circus, many of whom were the descendants of migrants from every corner of the empire. The diversity of the student body was also reflected in the teaching staff, as Mrs. Richardson believed it was important for the girls to see something of themselves in the women teaching them. The headmistress had grown up in the neighborhood herself, the exceptionally bright daughter of a milliner who had scrimped and saved to see her properly educated. She had been sent to board at the North London Collegiate School for Ladies on a scholarship, as the local schools didn’t educate girls after age twelve.
It then became her mission to open an affordable neighborhood school for girls that offered the same educational opportunities as boys. One only needed to spend a few minutes in Mrs. Richardson’s company to understand how she had managed such an accomplishment. An imposing figure who generally adhered to the usual stereotypes about headmistresses, she was sharp, direct, and suffered no fools. Phoebe admired her immensely.
Though she was calledMrs.Richardson, the headmistress was only married to her work, and there was an unspoken assumption that she expected the same single-minded focus from herteachers. That meant no other jobs, no other interests, and, most importantly, no men. If a teacher was courting, it was expected she would marry andthatmeant leaving the school. Of course, Mrs. Richardson’s tacit disapproval didn’t really stop anyone. It only meant they had to be quiet about it. But none of that was a concern for Phoebe, as she truly couldn’t imagine a man worth the sacrifice of her hard-won career.
They made their way to the teacher’s common room, which was already filled with their colleagues, and found seats next to Miss Cecily Sanderson, the unfortunately named music teacher.
“Any word yet on what this meeting is about?” Marion asked.
Cecily shook her head gravely. “No one knows a thing.”
Marion exchanged a worried look with Phoebe. That didn’t bode well. But before they could speculate further, Mrs. Richardson entered the room. Phoebe’s stomach clenched as she took in the headmistress’s expression, which was even more dour than usual.
