Page 9 of Charming the Headmistress (Spinsters and their Suitors #3)

CHAPTER SIX

T he mid-morning light cast a soft, muted glow over the damp stone paths and rain-darkened hedges.

Eleanor could still feel the tension in the air, lingering like mist after rain.

Lord Camden had said his farewell with stiff courtesy only an hour ago, but it was the girl—silent and watchful—who occupied Eleanor's thoughts.

Miss Moreland had spoken only a few times.

She had nodded once when offered her room and followed without resistance, but that was the sum total of her engagement.

She had clutched her sketchbook like a lifeline, her eyes alert but withdrawn, taking in every corridor and face as though preparing for battle.

Eleanor had gone outside briefly while Mrs. Carter introduced Helena to a few of the girls in the side courtyard.

She had intended only to observe, but when she noticed Miss Moreland’s withdrawn stance, she stepped in to offer a smile and a word of encouragement.

The other girls had been polite—Lottie even tried to ask Miss Moreland about her sketchbook—but the attempt had faltered when Miss Moreland failed to respond.

The silence created a barrier that good manners could not cross.

Eleanor hadn’t blamed the girls; it was difficult to be warm when one didn’t know whether warmth would be returned.

Now, back in her office, Eleanor sighed. Some girls arrived tearful, others defiant. But it was the quiet ones who left her guessing. With no outbursts to soothe or objections to reason through, it was difficult to know where to begin.

Mrs. Carter entered quietly. “Miss Moreland’s trunks are in place."

"Good," Eleanor said. "And her desk?"

"Set up and ready for her to begin lessons this afternoon.”

Eleanor nodded her thanks, her mind still turning over Helena’s silence.

It was only the first day. Surely, she shouldn’t expect much on a first day. She would merely see how the week went, and how she could do her best to help Miss Moreland.

Eleanor took a seat in the back corner of the classroom, following the midday meal.

Miss Moreland had been placed with the other girls near her age for the literature session. Miss Moreland had taken the empty seat offered to her and responded with the smallest nod when one of the girls—Alice Thorne—introduced herself in a whisper.

Miss Moreland didn’t speak.

Eleanor observed, careful not to hover. The lesson continued as usual, with students discussing the assigned story in low, thoughtful tones. Miss Moreland followed along, her posture rigid, her book unopened.

After the lesson, Eleanor approached her gently. "Miss Moreland," she said softly, "I know this is all quite new. You needn’t rush anything. But if you speak, even a little, it will help the other girls know how to be kind to you."

Miss Moreland looked up at Eleanor with an unreadable expression.

"I am not asking for a conversation," Eleanor added. "Only an openness to being known. Even a few words can build a bridge."

The girl gave no reply.

But she did not look away.

Before dinner, Eleanor requested that Miss Moreland be shown into her office. She wanted a quiet moment to check on the girl.

Eleanor sat at a small table near the window of her office while Miss Moreland stood nearby, her hands folded over her sketchbook. She had not accepted the invitation to sit but made no motion to leave either.

"Miss Moreland," Eleanor said gently, “you are welcome to join me at the table if you’d like.”

The girl didn’t move, but her gaze shifted briefly from the window to Eleanor, then back again. Not defiant—simply unreadable.

Eleanor didn’t press. She turned her attention to the stack of papers before her, keeping her tone light. “You needn’t speak if you’d rather not. But I do want you to know this is your school now. You belong here as much as any other girl.”

There was no reply, but Eleanor thought she saw the faintest easing in the girl’s posture.

“I imagine you’ve been told things about Greenbrook,” she went on. “Some true, some likely exaggerated. It isn’t a prison, Miss Moreland. It’s a place for learning, for structure, and—hopefully—for peace.”

Miss Moreland gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Encouraged, Eleanor rose and crossed to one of the bookshelves. She selected a slim volume, then returned to the table and placed it gently on the surface.

“We encourage reading here,” she said. “Each girl selects a book each week. You are, of course, free to choose something else from the library. But I thought you might like to begin with this.”

Miss Moreland’s eyes flicked to the book. Slowly, she stepped forward and stopped just beside the table. She didn’t touch it, but she leaned in slightly, as if to read the title.

“It’s a collection of poetry by William Blake,” Eleanor explained. “Unconventional, but thoughtful. His words linger.”

There was a long pause, then a slight lift of the girl’s brow.

“You are not required to like him,” Eleanor added, a wry smile softening her tone. “Only to try.”

Miss Moreland gave another small nod. Then, after a breath, she reached out and picked up the book, her fingers careful on the binding.

A soft knock at the door interrupted them.

Mrs. Carter entered with a folded timetable in hand. “Miss Moreland, it’s time to join the other girls for your meal. I’ll escort you when you’re ready.”

Miss Moreland looked to Eleanor—not with fear, but with hesitation.

“You’ll do well,” Eleanor said warmly. “And later, if you like, we’ll talk again.”

The girl gave a faint nod and followed Mrs. Carter out of the room, still holding the book close.

Eleanor remained by the table, her gaze on the closed door. A few moments later, Mrs. Carter returned alone.

“She didn’t say a word on the way out,” she said with a wry smile. “But she’s holding that book like it’s armor.”

Eleanor nodded, her expression thoughtful.

Mrs. Carter stepped further into the room and sat across from her without being asked, her expression sharpening. “I’ve seen that look before, Eleanor. You’re worrying.”

“I’m considering,” Eleanor said lightly, though her voice carried an edge.

“She’s a tightly closed book, that one. But the pages are there. You just have to be patient.”

“I believe she’s looking for something to anchor her,” Eleanor murmured.

Mrs. Carter gave her a knowing look. “And her uncle?”

Eleanor hesitated. “He’s not my concern. Miss Moreland is.”

“But I suspect both uncle and niece might need more patience than most.”

“I’ve plenty of that,” Eleanor replied. “It’s strength I’ll need this time.”

Mrs. Carter rose with a nod. “Then it’s a good thing you have both.”

Eleanor glanced at the ledgers waiting for her. “Thank you, Mrs. Carter.”

The woman nodded before stepping out of the room and closing the door softly behind her.

Alone once more, Eleanor looked down at the second copy of the poetry book she’d set aside. She traced the worn leather spine with one finger before placing it carefully back on the shelf.

Miss Moreland’s pain was a storm, and Eleanor could not chase it away with rules alone. But storms always passed. And when they did, the soil was richer for it.

She only hoped she would be strong enough to weather this one—and wise enough not to mistake silence for surrender.

Later, after supper, Eleanor and Mrs. Carter reviewed the day’s events in the small sitting room just off the front corridor. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a pot of tea sat between them.

"She watched everything," Mrs. Carter said, stirring her tea. "Didn’t say a word. But she was alert. Not vacant."

Eleanor nodded slowly. "She's observant. She’s learning and likely trying to become comfortable.”

"It’s the quiet ones who are hardest to read," Mrs. Carter murmured.

“That is because they give us nothing to work with," Eleanor said. "No defiance to challenge. No tears to soothe. Just silence."

"It can be a kind of armor."

Eleanor took a slow sip of tea. "Then we must show her that she’s safe enough to take it off."

There was a pause.

"Did her uncle say when he'd return?"

"He said soon."

Mrs. Carter gave a thoughtful hum. "He seemed unsettled."

Eleanor looked toward the window, where early evening shadows were beginning to settle. "He cares for her. He simply doesn’t know how to reach her."

Mrs. Carter smiled faintly. "And you think you do?"

Eleanor returned the smile, though hers was tinged with sadness. "No. But I’m going to try."

She looked toward the door, where down the hall a quiet girl lay awake in a new room, in a new bed, with only a sketchbook for company.

Not all battles were loud.

Some were fought in silence.

And Eleanor had never been one to walk away from a battle worth fighting.

The wind rustled through the tall trees lining the grounds of Greenbrook Academy, their branches swaying gently overhead.

Sunlight filtered through the thinning canopy, casting dappled shadows along the gravel path.

The girls of Greenbrook, cloaked in navy-blue walking capes and bonnets to match, strolled in pairs and small clusters, their subdued chatter rising and falling like birdsong.

Eleanor walked at a measured pace near the rear of the group, her sharp eyes observing all.

Helena Moreland trailed a few paces behind the others, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched.

It had been two days since her arrival. Two long days marked by stilted responses, stiff posture, and eyes that dared anyone to come too close.

Eleanor knew the signs. Resistance. Isolation.

Pain, poorly hidden beneath practiced indifference.

"Miss Moreland," Eleanor said mildly as she matched the girl’s pace. "I hope the pace isn’t too brisk."

Miss Moreland merely shrugged.

Silence fell again between them, broken only by the crunch of gravel under their boots.

Eleanor watched Helena from the corner of her eye—the set of her shoulders, the way she avoided making eye contact with the other girls.

She had not cried, not once, but Eleanor suspected that was because she did not yet feel safe enough to do so.

"You're very quiet today," Eleanor said, her tone light.

The girl didn’t answer.

Eleanor smiled faintly. "You know, most girls are bursting to speak their mind by their second day. Opinions about the food, the schedule, the other girls ..."

"I don’t have anything to say," Helena muttered.

"A rare quality," Eleanor said. "But I must admit, I find that hard to believe."

Miss Moreland shrugged.

They walked a few more paces before Eleanor tried again. "Do you find the school as dreadful as you feared?"

Again Miss Moreland merely shrugged.

Eleanor's lips curved slightly. "But Greenbrook isn't a place of pretending. We value honesty."

Before either of them could speak again, a girl near the front of the line let out a laugh—a little too loudly—and another girl looked back toward Miss Moreland and whispered behind her gloved hand.

Miss Moreland stiffened.

Eleanor's eyes narrowed slightly. She made a mental note to speak with that pair later.

"You are not trouble, Miss Moreland," Eleanor said gently. "You are hurting. And that is not the same thing."

Miss Moreland looked away quickly, blinking hard.

After a few more steps, Eleanor slowed them further until they were well behind the others. "What is it you want, Miss Moreland? I am here to help.”

"I just want to go home," she said at last. Her voice cracked.

Eleanor’s chest tightened. She had been expecting defiance. This honesty was far harder.

"And where is home now?"

Miss Moreland only shrugged. “Not here.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Eleanor glanced ahead at the other girls, who were now several paces in front, laughing and talking amongst themselves. She turned her attention back to Miss Moreland, her voice soft but firm.

Eleanor nodded slowly. "That is fair. Greenbrook is not meant to replace your home. It is meant to help you find your place in the world—wherever that may be in the future.”

She didn’t respond.

They reached a small stone bench beneath a cluster of birch trees. Eleanor gestured toward it, and Miss Moreland, surprisingly, sat. Eleanor joined her.

"Greenbrook will not replace what you've lost," Eleanor said. "But I believe it can give you something new. Something steady."

Miss Moreland looked away, her eyes brimming with emotion.

Eleanor had dealt with girls who had had homesickness before.

The tuition was not cheap, and for the vast majority of girls, they had all chosen to come here.

They hadn’t been forced. It left Eleanor feeling unbalanced.

She knew she should have the answers, but she was grasping and left with nothing.

"You don’t have to like it here," Eleanor continued softly. "But I should like it if you tried to be happy here. That is the only thing I will ask of you."

Miss Moreland did not respond.

Eleanor met her gaze, unwavering. "Greenbrook is not a punishment, Miss Moreland. It is a chance. One that many girls do not have."

Miss Moreland said nothing, but Eleanor could see the wariness in her eyes, the way her fists clenched at her sides.

The silence was tricky to navigate, and Eleanor felt unsure what else to say. She swallowed and sent a silent prayer heavenward that something she said would eventually get through to Miss Moreland.

"I won’t force you to like it here," Eleanor said finally. "But I do expect you to participate, to follow the rules, and to respect the other girls. In return, you’ll find that we respect you as well. You may not feel that now, but in time, things will change—if you allow them to. I daresay your uncle will be pleased with your efforts as you strive to embrace the way we live here.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment longer before Miss Moreland finally looked away, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly. She said nothing. The quiet vulnerability of a girl who had lost so much hung in the air between them.

From up ahead, a bell rang faintly across the lawn. It was time for the girls to return to their lessons.

“We should return to the school. Your next lesson will start soon.”

Miss Moreland stood, and followed Eleanor.

Once Miss Moreland was settled into her class, Eleanor finally let out a large breath.

She’d tried so hard to stay composed in front of Miss Moreland; but now she was unsure what to do, or how to help her.

Eleanor’s thoughts strayed to Lord Camden, who had given her a bigger challenge than she’d realized. And she had no idea what to do next.