They squirmed a little, both uncertain how to begin a conversation.
Finally, Patience got down to it, proving once again how poorly her name fit. “You said this morning you had questions about the boys.”
“I do. But also, about yourAcademy for the Formation of Young Gentlemen.”
“You think the name is a foolish conceit.” Her drink arrived, but this time Alice, who had come under Mrs. Brewster’s eyes, didn’t linger.
“I think it’s ambitious, having met your students, but admirable. Education is vital to boys of every class and station.”
He surprised her again. She wouldn’t have expected a coachman and former soldier to be such a passionate advocate. “You were well educated.”
“Well enough. Better than many.”
“But you enlisted in the army.” She bristled with inappropriate curiosity about this man, and her impulsivity made her wiggle in her seat.Did he wish to enlist? Or was he forced to take the king’s shilling? Through hunger? Desperation?
He ignored the intrusion and answered politely. “That I did. I stayed in school until I was Peter’s age, but left with a head filled with tales of England’s glory and a longing to earn some for myself when I went to defend king and country.”
Patience thought of Peter and cringed. “What did your parents think?”
“My mum was gone and my father distracted. By the time he knew, I was on my way out the door. He gave me his blessing, but I never thought he approved exactly.”
“And did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Cover yourself in Glory?”
“There’s little glory in war, Miss Abney, no matter what appears in stories. I did my duty, and I believe I did it well.”
“Froggy told me what you said about the importance of reading. Thank you. I’ve struggled to get that point across, but the boys seem to have taken you seriously.”
“Books kept me sane in the army. They still do. I’m grateful for my education. The Cranford School provided scholarships for the sons of the freemen of Rumford, an enormous gift to an eager boy.” His eyes studied her face, unasked questions lurking in his expression.
“You’re wondering about what that woman said about losing my position.”
“I was, yes, and I apologize. It isn’t my business.”
“It came down to January, but really it had been brewing.”
“January? He doesn’t speak.”
“He never has, at least not since I met him, but I have hope,” she replied. “When he came to Spraggins—”
“Spraggins?”
“The Spraggins Charitable Institution, founded by a devout mill owner I always suspected of attempting to atone for his sins by molding boys into pious little automatons.”
Newell winced. “I suspect you lacked skills in the creation of automatons, pious or otherwise.”
“They assumed the daughter of an impoverished vicar would be biddable for them and severe with the boys. I proved a profound disappointment after they hired me to beat reading into the youngest boys.
“Beat?” His horror echoed her own.
“I wasn’t informed when hired that my duties included generous use of a switch on those who did not or could not learn quickly enough. Headmaster Bartram and I were at odds immediately. I’d have been gone the first day but for my tenuous connection to an earl.” She leaned a bit forward to whisper, “I’m not above using it if I have to. My cousin neither knows nor cares.”
“But a vicar’s daughter?”
“He was the youngest son in a family of eight. I suspect my grandfather was content to ignore us, snug in our little vicarage at a distance, once he gave Papa the living. I had little enough to do with the manor house as a child.”
