Mrs. Richardson was quiet for a moment. “Indeed. I understand you have known him since childhood. Your mother told me,” she added in answer to Phoebe’s surprised look.
“There isn’t anything going on between us,” she said quickly. Hardly subtle, but, essentially, the truth.
“Of course.” The headmistress gave her a diplomatic nod. “Not many know this, but I was engaged once. Years and years ago.”
“You were?” Phoebe couldn’t hide her shock. It was hard to imagine the headmistress as anyone other than the woman before her.
Mrs. Richardson smiled. “He was a teacher too. At the London Polytechnic. That’s where we met. But he expected me to give upmy career when we married. Understandable, especially in those days, but I refused. I enjoyed my work and didn’t see the need to stop until we had children.”
“That sounds… very reasonable,” Phoebe replied as she flushed with embarrassment. She had always assumed Mrs. Richardson expected complete dedication from her teachers, but perhaps that had just been a convenient excuse for her own single-mindedness. Phoebe had given her far too little credit.
“I thought so too,” Mrs. Richardson continued. “But he disagreed. So we parted ways and he married someone else not long after. A colleague of mine, actually,” she said with a little laugh.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be. I don’t regret it. But sometimes I wish we had been able to come to an understanding. Or rather that I had found someone who hadn’t asked me to choose in the first place.” Then she gestured to the tableau before them. “This school has been the work of my life, and I’m proud of it so very much. But I’m getting on in years and sometimes the nights can be lonely,” she admitted.
Phoebe worried her lip. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, ma’am,” she said.
“Because I know how much this school means to you, and all that you have given up for it.” Her brown eyes softened as she placed a gentle hand on Phoebe’s arm. “Your dedication to the students is admirable. But if you find yourself luckier in love than I was, make sure you take it. That’s all.”
Phoebe stared at her dumbfounded, but before she could respond, the headmistress tilted her head to address someone approaching them. “Inspector Holland! I’m so glad you were able to come.”
Phoebe turned to find the inspector beside her. “Mrs. Richardson, Miss Atkinson,” he said, acknowledging them both with a nod. “I can never refuse a summons from a schoolmistress.”
Mrs. Richardson let out a girlish laugh Phoebe had never heard from her before. “Have Miss Atkinson show you around. I see that Lady Beckinwith has just arrived and she’ll pout if I don’t greet her immediately.”
Once they were alone, Inspector Holland handed her an envelope. “I confess I did not only come here because of the headmistress. It’s from Maude,” he added. “She said she found what you were looking for.”
Phoebe’s head was still whirling from the headmistress’s confession, but she had to put it out of her mind for now. She pressed the envelope to her chest and met his questioning gaze. “I think we may be able to bring down Lord Fairbanks with this.”
“Good,” he said with a stern nod before he scanned the room. “But I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Phoebe smiled at his profile. He was a terribly handsome man, and yet she was not at all moved. It appeared her stupid little heart still belonged entirely to Will.
“Would you like some lemonade?”
He cracked a rare smile. “I’m not one for sweets usually, but I suppose I can make an exception for a charitable cause.”
“Very good.”
Phoebe then led him to the refreshments table and they had just taken their cups when Freddie bustled over, her sharp brown eyes decidedly fixed upon the inspector.
“Phoebe, you know it’s quite rude not to introduce yourfriendto your own sister.”
She huffed a laugh at Freddie’s complete lack of subtlety. “Detective Inspector Holland, this is my younger sister, Miss Winifred Atkinson.”
Freddie wrinkled her nose. “No one calls me Winifred,” she explained to the inspector. “Dreadful name, really. It sounds like someone’s aged spinster aunt.”
“Otherwise known as your namesake,” Phoebe put in. “Though I think Great-Aunt Winifred would strenuously object to being described as ‘aged.’”
“No doubt the old battle-ax would, but I still prefer Freddie,” she said with a cheery smile.
Inspector Holland raised a sober brow at their exchange but even Phoebe could see the flash of amusement in his gaze. “I like Winifred.”
“Well, we all have our faults,” Freddie quipped and the inspector let out a short, rasping laugh. Freddie then broke into the beaming smile that usually appeared only when she bested Monsieur Laurent in a fencing match. Interesting.
Phoebe left the two of them and walked over to the silent auction table where her mother was chatting with another volunteer while Alex was organizing bidding slips.
