The Lady and the Highwayman

by Sarah M. Eden

  “The right word dropped in the right ear tonight will help with that.”

  She stifled a sigh. She could always count on Mr. Headley’s condescension to ruin a moment.

  She didn’t truly blame him; if one went by the view and opinion of the general public, women were designed to be condescended to. They were meant to keep quiet and be soft and not cross any lines no matter how small. Revealing she wrote sordid tales of intrigue and romantic derring-do was a rather enormous line. Standing up for herself to a man at or above her station would be considered one as well.

  Fortunately, Ana appeared, saving Elizabeth the difficulty of determining how to appropriately respond to Mr. Headley when what she wished most to do was tell him to take himself off.

  “I am so very nervous,” Ana said, fussing with the small ruffles at the cuff of her pale-blue dress. “I haven’t the first idea how to interact with important people.”

  Elizabeth remembered well feeling the same way when she first began undertaking the herculean effort of securing the earliest patrons for the school she meant to open. “You needn’t think of this as playing a part, Ana. You love this school and the girls in it. You are personable and enjoy conversing. There is only one gentleman I will suggest you not discuss your music classes with; Mr. Headley or I will point him out to you. Otherwise, simply be your good, kindhearted self.”

  She squared her shoulders, an almost comical sight considering her slight build. “If you have that much faith in me, then I shall have a bit of faith in myself.”

  If only Mr. Headley considered her so competent.

  “Be certain you greet your guests personally,” he said.

  Elizabeth, her back to him, looked to Ana and rolled her eyes. Ana bit back a smile, all the while maintaining her flawless aura of grace. She would be a welcome addition to the evening’s undertaking, not merely because she would make a good impression on the guests, but because Elizabeth so thoroughly enjoyed her company.

  The guests began arriving within minutes of the expected time, and Mr. Headley whispered advice to her regarding each new arrival. Good heavens, did the man think she couldn’t retain the slightest bit of information in her, apparently, minuscule mind? She was juggling two separate successful literary endeavors, including one that required detailed strategy and subterfuge. She was headmistress of her own school despite not having reached the age of thirty. She balanced ledgers, coordinated schedules, met with tradesmen, oversaw her staff. Could he not afford her the tiniest bit of confidence?

  By the time the last of the arrivals had been greeted and motioned into the drawing room, Elizabeth knew she would have to maneuver away from Mr. Headley most of the night or she would be hard-pressed not to physically shake him. Such unladylike behavior would end the evening’s endeavor before it even began.

  She was nearly finished with a chapter of her penny dreadful in which Lucinda was facing an upsetting situation. Her heroine was handling that challenge with more dignity than Elizabeth was facing hers. The thought gave her pause. Was she casting Mr. Headley in the role of the dangerous entity in the forest? A laugh bubbled inside. How unexpected. She had occasionally thought of Mr. Walker in the role of the frustrating Sir Frederick. How many other people in her life were making an appearance in this story?

  “Miss Black, come add your voice to our debate.” Mr. Horner motioned her over.

  She slipped quickly in that direction, hoping Mr. Headley would be distracted enough not to follow. “What is the topic of your discussion?”

  “Some in Parliament are pushing the passage of a bill requiring the education of all children from all classes and monetary circumstances,” Mr. Horner said. “We were discussing the positives and negatives of such a proposal.”

  “As an educator myself, I most certainly have strong views on this matter,” she said.

  “We knew you would.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Horner, the widower Mr. Gunderson, Mr. Midgley, the aged Miss Barrow, and Mr. Rowland all watched her, waiting for her continue. This was a complicated shoal to navigate. She needed to show herself knowledgeable and firm, while not offending those with differing positions, but also not appearing weak in the eyes of those whose views matched her own. Sometimes conversations required the most ridiculous of dances.

  “As there is also talk of further extending voting rights, we would do well to consider the benefit of an educated populace when that populace is granted a voice in the running of our nation.” She could see that controversial topic didn’t sit well with everyone in the group and quickly added, “I am not taking a position on the topic of broader suffrage, only including education as a positive element should the vote be granted to more people.”

  That appeased them. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to actually be Mr. King, a man dependent on no one’s approval who could enjoy a degree of freedom a woman with a school to keep solvent would never know.

  “Literacy allows for the reading of the Bible and other improving texts,” she added, “which we can all agree would be of benefit to everyone and, which, perhaps, would help address the crime we experience here in Town.”

  “But literacy also means such individuals are spending their time and their money—likely stolen coins—on low literature,” Mr. Midgley objected. “It is not, after all, the upper classes or even the educated middle class who read those shocking penny dreadfuls.”

  That received nods of agreement. Little did they know how many upper-class people read those sordid tales. And that at least one well-educated individual wrote them. She kept her thoughts to herself. She hadn’t the freedom of being fully forthright.

  “A more formal education might turn their literary tastes higher, though,” Mrs. Horner said. “That is another positive of educating the less-fortunate.”

  “And what would they benefit from reading of far-off places they can never visit or of lofty positions they can never attain? Why acquire such newfound literacy if it merely fills their minds with empty hopes?” Mr. Midgley asked. “What we will create is a generation of discouraged and disappointed people. They will feel cheated of something that was never promised to them, and the entire kingdom will be made to suffer for it.”

  “Suffer, how?” Elizabeth hoped her question sounded more curious than indignant, though she felt a tremendous amount of the latter.

  “Workers who are discontented with their lot in life are unlikely to be good workers,” he said. “The poor, who, through education, believe themselves entitled to wealth and comfort, will never recognize that they, themselves, are the cause of their low station.”

  “And those who are not?” Elizabeth posed the question without thinking. If she was not careful, she was going to be the cause of her own low station.

  “Are not what?” he returned, clearly surprised that she had not simply agreed with him. “Are not poor? Are not educated?”

  “Are not actively creating their difficulties? Are we to deny them the betterment of their minds because of their birth?”

  He had no immediate answer.

  Mr. Horner entered the discussion. “I am certain Miss Black is not proposing education be offered beyond that which is helpful and appropriate. The poor have no need of Latin, for example.”

  Most of those gathered tonight likely also thought girls had no need of higher mathematics or education in the sciences, yet both were taught—and well received—at Thurloe. Would gaining or keeping the approval of these patrons mean she would be required to change that? She wouldn’t, but it might very well cost her their support.

  “As our students here at Thurloe do not hail from that portion of society, I feel I am less of an authority on those matters.” It was the truth, though that didn’t mean she didn’t have an opinion. “Our girls’ families are from the middle class, far from poverty but lacking the cachet and wealth to either choose a more exclusive educational establishment or have their
education seen to at home through a governess, a dancing master, and a musical teacher, and so forth. We are providing the same level of education they would be receiving under slightly different circumstances and not contributing to any disenchantment or confusion.”

  Mr. Gunderson looked askance at her mention of dancing and music instruction, but as such was quite acceptable in a young lady’s education at home, which was what she had referenced, he didn’t appear to truly object. Perhaps she had tiptoed her way around that difficulty.

  “Offering these very useful educations to young ladies who will, then, prove themselves quite able and respectable members of society is a worthwhile pursuit, I believe.” She offered a soft smile, one meant to take any self-serving edge off her words. “All of the young ladies who have completed their studies here are raising fine families, teaching in other respectable institutions, or otherwise proving themselves an asset to the kingdom.”

  She received a few nods of approval, even a quiet “Bravo” from Mr. Rowland.

  “One does not object to the education of those who ought to be receiving it,” Mr. Midgley said. “But indulging the indolent and criminal-minded in their demand for more resources, when their contribution will not be increased by the investment, is nothing short of robbery. One must wonder what the ragged schools are about.”

  Elizabeth did not trust herself to respond without setting fire to every bridge she was attempting to build. If only life did not require her to toady to men like Midgley.

  She dipped a brief curtsey and stepped away under the guise of greeting other guests. While she offered mindless “good evenings” and “so glad you are here” to others nearby, she took deep breaths and calmed her overwhelmed mind. Indulging the indolent and criminal-minded? Was it any wonder those born into the worst of conditions struggled to escape when this was the assumption people made about them?

  “You look troubled,” Mr. Headley said as he stepped up beside her near the tall windows.

  “Nothing unexpected, unfortunately. Mr. Midgley expressed some rather disparaging opinions about the education of the poor.”

  “Did he dismiss your students as too poor?”

  She shook her head. “I do not think this will negatively impact the perception of Thurloe, but it is still discouraging.”

  “You cannot fight all the world’s battles,” he said not unkindly. “Focus on the purpose of this evening for now. It is important enough to warrant your full attention.”

  Though he was not wrong, she found herself unappreciative of the advice. She knew perfectly well that the evening’s undertaking was important, yet something in his response rather annoyed her.

  She gave her usual smile and nod. Heaven knew she had perfected that polite but empty response over the years.

  “Besides,” Mr. Headley continued, “those running the ragged schools will be quite accustomed to opinions such as Mr. Midgely expressed. They will have undertaken their efforts despite the naysayers. Unkind words are unlikely to close their schools.”

  Mr. Headley kept speaking, though Elizabeth no longer heeded him.

  Attitudes like Mr. Midgley’s were precisely the sort likely to motivate someone to undermine Mr. Hogg’s efforts. Hogg’s school took in the lowest of children, the poorest, those Mr. Midgely would dismiss out of hand. Was it possible he would do more than merely “dismiss” them? Would a man of his standing be upset enough, and violent enough, to take more drastic measures?

  She hoped not but couldn’t feel entirely certain. Her suspicions were strong enough to warrant discussing them with someone who would take them seriously.

  “Pardon me,” she said to Mr. Headley, then slipped from the room, making her way to the kitchen.

  Janey was there, just as she had hoped.

  “I need to send a quick message to Mr. Walker. Are you able to get word to him?” Elizabeth knew Fletcher had given Janey a penny and that it was connected to the mysterious Dread Penny Society.

  “I surely can, Miss Black.”

  “Would you send word that I need to speak with him?”

  “Now, Miss Black?”

  “Please.”

  Janey left forthwith. As she slipped out, Elizabeth saw her take a penny from her apron pocket and fold it in her tight fist.

  If she were Mr. King instead of Miss Black, would she have access to these seemingly magical pennies? Surely he would have been permitted to join the Dread Penny Society and wouldn’t be relegated to spending an evening offering up empty smiles and nods and being careful never to give the impression of anything other than perfect propriety.

  She played that role well the remainder of the evening. Compliments were frequent enough to tell her she’d successfully convinced the attendees she was all that was prim and proper. She didn’t mind the charade. It allowed her to spend an inordinate amount of time daydreaming of adventures and mysteries . . . and penny spinning.

  All the guests had left, and the school was quiet. Elizabeth sat in her office, lantern lit, attempting to work on her next silver-fork novel. If too much time passed between releases of her respectable work, people might begin to wonder. Her thoughts, though, continually returned to Lucinda, her standoffish gentleman neighbor, and her mysterious highwayman.

  She had come to thoroughly enjoy her “shocking” literary pursuits despite the way it complicated her life.

  “Well, Mr. King, it seems you have thrust me into an unwanted crisis of identity. I don’t know whether to curse you or thank you.”

  A soft rap sounded. She listened more closely and heard it again. A knock at the front door. This late?

  She stepped from her office, pulling her knit wrap more closely around her shoulders, and moved slowly, cautiously, toward the door. Lucinda had managed to conquer her fear when an unexpected arrival had interrupted her nighttime tranquility. Elizabeth could certainly summon her courage as well.

  If the person on the other side had nefarious intentions, she would need to be prepared to defend herself and her school, but she hadn’t the first clue how to accomplish that.

  She stepped to the long, narrow window beside the door, pulled back the curtain, and peaked outside. Dimly lit by the gas streetlights, Fletcher Walker stood on the front step, as confident in this odd moment as ever. He spotted her in the window and, to her amusement, winked.

  She opened the door, then leaned against the doorpost, tipping her head at a jaunty angle. “This is highly inappropriate, Mr. Walker. It is well past the time for callers.”

  He held up a penny before flipping it to her. “Janey’ll be wanting her penny back.”

  “Do penny messages always bring you so swiftly?”

  “Yes,” he said quite seriously. “Though, any note from you would have had my feet moving at a fine clip toward Thurloe.”

  “Because I am so frightening?”

  He smiled. “No.”

  “Then why?” She knew she wasn’t keeping her enjoyment of their banter hidden, but she wasn’t bothered by her transparency.

  “I think that’d be obvious.”

  The man could certainly be flirtatious when he chose to be. “Because my air of authority is so strong it can be felt several miles away?”

  “Several counties, in fact.”

  She motioned him in. “You do realize if word of your visit at this late hour spreads, my reputation will never recover.”

  “Never fear, darlin’. I am shockingly good at keeping secrets.” He slipped past her.

  “I’m quite talented in that respect, myself.”

  He looked back at her, eyes dancing. “What dastardly secrets are you keeping, Miss Black?”

  “Not dastardly, per se, but definitely of interest.” She motioned him into her office.

  “Of interest to me, by chance?” he asked.

  Oh, he didn’t know the half of it. She simply shrugged
and moved past him, sitting in a chair by her empty fireplace. He eyed it.

  “It’s a touch cold tonight to not be having at least a small fire.”

  “This fireplace smokes,” she said. “Several do throughout the school. We’re bundling until I can get them swept.”

  “If Janey’s summons was for me to sweep the chimneys, you’ll be sorely disappointed. I’ve done a lot of things in my time, but sweeping ain’t one of ’em.”

  “Then I suppose you’ll have to be going,” she said with a smile.

  He answered with one of his own. “I’ll take m’chances.” He sat. “Janey made your summons sound urgent. Has something happened?”

  “I had a soiree here at the school tonight.”

  He pressed a hand to his heart. “And you didn’t invite me. I’m wounded, I am.”

  She knew a jesting tone when she heard one. “I was cultivating support and approval for my school. Are you truly disappointed to have not been included on my list of—”

  “Victims?” he supplied.

  “Potential advocates in society,” she corrected.

  “My approval would likely turn society off of your work here,” he said. “Wise of you not to have me on your list.”

  “But I know you care a great deal about the welfare of children, so your approval of my efforts here means something to me.” It was more than she’d intended to admit, yet, there it was.

  “You’re changing children’s lives for the better, Elizabeth. That’s a fine thing.”

  “The Dread Penny Society would condone my efforts?”

  “We’ve helped a number of schools. We’ve enough of us dedicated to education and children’s welfare to make ’em a focus.”

  “You said at the York Place ragged school that, when pondering who might want to hinder or stop the mission of Mr. Hogg’s school, one had to consider those who oppose educating the poor.”

  He nodded. “That the children are poor is most naysayers’ objection.”