Page 13 of A Winter’s Romance
‘ I ’m warning you, Miss Mortimer. You spend far too much time teaching pupils whose fees are in arrears. I won’t stand for it. Concentrate on the girls who have wealthy parents and are prepared to pay, not the ones I have on sufferance.’
It was late afternoon on a damp and dreary October day and this was the second warning that Miss Pugh had issued that week.
Jane bit her lip and gave a slight inclination of her head. The headmistress’s threat had unnerved her, but she wasn’t going to give the older woman the satisfaction of knowing that.
‘You may go.’ With a peremptory wave of her hand, Miss Pugh went back to the paperwork on her desk.
Jane left the headmistress’s study on legs that barely held her up. Once outside, she slumped onto a chair in the vestibule. Her interviews with Miss Pugh always had that effect.
The maid who was dusting the bannisters sent her a sympathetic look. Jane smiled back and shrugged. Now was not the time to worry. Her girls would be getting restless and goodness knows what mischief they’d be getting into. And it would be her fault .
Her nerves now steadier, Jane stood up, smoothed her faded skirts, and patted her hair into place. Miss Pugh might intimidate her, but while she could, she would give every girl in her charge an education. For where would she be, if not for the one person who’d spent time educating her?
Early the following morning, Jane cracked open an eye and blinked up at the frost-laden skylight above her bed. Yes, it was still dark outside. Was it really time to get up?
‘Thank you, Molly. I’m awake,’ she called, and the gentle tapping on her door ceased.
She pulled the coarse blanket around her shivering shoulders and cast her eyes round the poorly furnished room. A plain washstand stood against one wall with a battered chest of drawers next to it. A rough wooden chair was placed at the side of her bed. Jane sighed. It was nothing like her comfortable bedchamber at home. But that was gone.
She gazed longingly at the empty fireplace. To have a fire in her room would be nice, but Miss Pugh had ruled that fires were not meant for the comfort of the staff. Coal was far too expensive.
Bracing herself to face the frigid air, Jane sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floorboards sent icy shivers through her feet as she tiptoed across the room. After lighting the leftover stub of last night’s candle, she quickly washed, gasping as the cold water met her bare skin. At least it had the merit of ensuring that she was fully awake. Dressing just as swiftly in a plain blue gown – one of the few that she’d deemed suitable for her new position in life – she pinned up her unruly chestnut locks, wrapped a paisley shawl round her shoulders, and headed for the girls’ dormitory.
Not all of the pupils slept in the dormitory, only those who couldn’t afford to pay for what Miss Pugh euphemistically termed ‘luxuries’.
‘Wake up, girls,’ Jane called from the doorway towards the three rumpled beds lining the far wall. There was a rustling of bedclothes and then more than one groan.
‘I’m up, Miss,’ yawned Lucy from her bed.
‘Can’t we have a few more minutes, Miss Mortimer? It can’t be morning already.’
Jane smiled at the sound of little Harriet’s sleepy voice. The poor child was always the last one to rise. Blonde haired and with an impish smile, seven-year-old Harriet was one of the youngest pupils.
Jane lit the candle in the wall sconce using the small tinder box nearby. Shadows flickered round the room. It was as meagrely furnished as her own.
‘I’m afraid it is. And you don’t want to miss breakfast, do you? You know that Miss Pugh is particular about punctuality.’
‘But I’m tired,’ the little girl whined.
‘Come on, Harry. I’ll wager I can get dressed before you.’ The challenge came from the bed at the far side of the room. A small figure untangled itself from the bedclothes and rushed over to the washstand.
Jane smiled at Meg and mouthed a thank you. Meg was ten years old. She had been a pupil there for two years and had been relegated to the dormitory when the payments for her upkeep had ceased. Her father, Major Wilson, had been killed on the Peninsula trying to keep Bonaparte’s troops from conquering Portugal. Jane felt a pang of sympathy. The poor girl was all alone in the world. Meg’s future prospects were bleak, much like her own. Despite this, the child had not lost her cheerful disposition.
At last, the three girls were ready to go downstairs and as Jane herded the two youngest towards the stairs, Meg clutched her arm.
‘May I speak with you, Miss?’
Jane nodded. ‘Harriet and Lucy, walk down with a bit of decorum, please. I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She turned with a smile to Meg. ‘What is it you wish to discuss and will it take long? You know the rules about being late to the breakfast parlour.’
Meg’s eyes were bright with excitement, a huge smile almost splitting her face.
‘Oh, Miss. Wonderful news. Miss Pugh told me last night that a letter has arrived from Papa’s solicitor. He apologised for not contacting me sooner.’
Jane tutted. ‘I should think so. Did he not think that the news of your father’s demise might affect your situation here?’ Then not wishing to dampen the young girl’s spirits, Meg’s face was glowing with happiness still, she said, ‘Has he discovered relatives that will offer you a home?’
Meg’s smile dropped momentarily. ‘No. Not family. But Papa did appoint a guardian, one of his fellow officers. Mr Simpson – that’s the solicitor’s name – has had trouble tracking him down.’
Jane patted Meg’s shoulder. ‘That is indeed good news. Did Mr Simpson indicate in his letter whether your guardian is still campaigning with Viscount Wellington or will he be returning?’
If Meg’s guardian was still in Portugal, there was every chance that he too, would perish like Meg’s father. A prospect that Jane didn’t want to raise in the young girl’s mind.
Meg hopped from foot to foot. ‘Yes, he is on his way back to England. Ooh, Miss. If only he would visit me here at the school.’
The little girl tugged on Jane’s sleeve, gesturing her to lean closer. ‘Last night I made a wish that he might come before Christmas and take me away from here. Perhaps if you wished too, Miss.’
Jane blinked away a tear and nodded. ‘Of course I will.’ She’d wished so many times that things would turn out all right, but none of her wishes had been granted. But it wouldn’t do any harm to make a wish for Meg. That might be one wish that would come true.
The little girl was still babbling on as she started to skip towards the stairs. ‘He can tell me all about Papa. I can’t wait to hear about all his adventures. I’m sure Papa was very brave.’
Jane sighed as she followed her pupil downstairs to the breakfast parlour. It would be far better if the fellow paid Meg’s school fees and ensured his new ward’s prospects improved, rather than filling her head with stories.
Jane gave herself a mental shake. Oh dear, she was being unfair. It was possible that he’d only just been advised of his new responsibilities and was even now on his way to see Meg.
Jane tapped her fingers on the table as she waited for all the girls to assemble for breakfast; despite the rules, some of the older ones were dawdling. Distractedly, she shooed them in, her mind still on Meg’s news.
Was Meg’s new guardian really returning to England to care for his ward as he should, or merely taking advantage of the lull in campaigning to return home and enjoy life? All the papers had been full of praise for Viscount Wellington’s successful strategy in preventing the French from taking Lisbon. Who would have thought that a line of fortifications stretching from one coast to another could be built in such secrecy? It was confidently reported that there would be no more action until spring. Yes, that was ample time for an officer to return home and sort out his affairs. And not a day too soon. Two whole years Meg had been neglected.
Jane looked over at the little girl, who was still beaming from ear to ear, and prayed that Meg’s excited anticipation was not in vain. If only the child’s wish could be granted. But life could be unfair; she didn’t want to see one of her favourite pupils condemned to a life of loneliness and poverty like her own.