Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Lenora’s heart thrummed in her chest when they entered Mrs. Henry’s office. Mr. Asher stood, his gaze moving past Lenora, which allowed her to take a deeper breath than she’d managed since leaving her room. If he knew she was the person he’d met on the riverbank, he’d have kept his eyes on hers longer, wouldn’t he? Instead, he gave her no special attention as he waited for the women to sit—Mrs. Henry behind her walnut desk and Lenora on the chair furthest from his own—before resuming his seat.

  “What happened?” he asked, both eager and hesitant.

  Lenora did not to look at him.

  Mrs. Henry summarized Miss Manch’s misbehaviors in the other classes, then asked Lenora to explain what had occurred in hers, as it was the most extreme. Lenora recounted the experience as objectively as possible, glad Mr. Asher did not seem any more attentive to her face than was to be expected. Near the end of her recounting, he dropped his head into his hands.

  When she finished, Mr. Asher apologized to her directly, though he did not meet her eye. She nodded an acceptance, but reminded herself that he’d thrown her to the ground the night before.

  “I know I’ve no right to ask, but can you please give her another chance?” Mr. Asher turned pleading eyes to Mrs. Henry. “I truly believe if she can find a place of comfort and safety, she can improve her behavior. Your school came highly recommended not only as an institution of excellent education but also one with a nurturing atmosphere that I feel Catherine needs above all else.”

  “I am pleased to hear we have such a recommendable reputation, but that is also dependent on our students. One difficult girl can fracture the respect necessary to teach all of our students. The first week of a new term is important in establishing teacher-student relationships, and Miss Manch has affected every girl in Miss Wilton’s class already.”

  Mr. Asher turned to Lenora, startling her as she had nearly forgotten she was a participant in the conversation. She’d been seeing three things, touching two, and smelling one in order to keep herself calm. When she met his eyes, her heart raced all over again.

  “You say she plays the pianoforte?” he asked.

  He didn’t know either? Oddly enough, that calmed her, increasing her curiosity while diminishing her anxiety enough that she could answer. “Quite well.”

  “Then perhaps she needs a more advanced class.” He sounded desperate and turned to Mrs. Henry. “Catherine is exceptionally bright, and she can behave better than she has shown. When I first took over her care, she was defiant and difficult, but the two of us have established a rapport since then, and we are much improved. Change is difficult for her, but I truly believe she can settle and benefit from everything you offer your students.” He turned back to Lenora. “Please allow her another chance. I will talk with her and help her understand how important it is that she not repeat the actions of today.”

  “You have not helped her understand as much already?” It took a moment for Lenora to realize she’d spoken the words out loud. She felt her cheeks heat up and lowered her gaze to the carpet. I will not be a simpering girl, she told herself. She looked at him and straightened her posture, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious she was coaching herself through this process. She could do little about the flush in her cheeks, however, and so she ignored it in hopes Mr. Asher and Mrs. Henry would do the same. She focused on her breathing: four counts in, four counts out.

  “I have, of course, pressed upon her the importance of behaving well,” Mr. Asher said, turning to look at Mrs. Henry. Lenora slumped slightly in relief before catching herself and forcing the improved posture in case he looked at her. “Perhaps if she knows she is about to be turned out, she will settle in better. Perhaps she is testing all of us to see where our boundaries are.”

  The three of them sat in silence, all waiting for someone else to speak. Despite herself, Lenora better understood why the headmistress agreed to accept Miss Manch in the first place. Mr. Asher did seem devoted to his niece and truly concerned for her education and improvement. He had not threatened to withdraw his donation nor had he attempted to excuse her behavior or place blame on Lenora or the school. Rather he seemed to ache for his niece’s success and was willing to humble himself in front of two women, no less, in order to ensure it.

  Do the right thing, she told herself and suddenly, doing so felt like penance. As if, through this act, she could erase last night from having happened. Lenora took a breath. “I would be willing to advance Miss Manch to the next-level class if you are willing to grant her another chance, Mrs. Henry. Perhaps she will rise to the occasion if she is challenged. She is very bright, and we have seen before how highly intelligent students need higher levels of instruction in order to keep their focus.” She’d done it. Said all the words. Sacrificed for someone else’s benefit. Her clergyman father would have been proud of her, if she could ever confess why she’d needed to do the right thing in the first place.

  Both Mrs. Henry and Mr. Asher dropped their shoulders in relief, further assuring Lenora that this was exactly what she should have done. She’d made everyone happy. Except herself, but she would settle for less self-flagellation.

  “Thank you, Miss Wilton,” Mr. Asher said. His smile was quite lovely. Not that it mattered, since she would be avoiding him as much as possible in the future. She nodded and looked at the floor. She feared that the longer they looked at one another, the more at risk she was for him to recognize her. “I’m certain she can improve. A challenge and higher expectations will surely be just the thing she needs to have a turnaround.”

  He apologized again, then stood and left the room.

  Lenora and Mrs. Henry spoke a few moments longer, and then Lenora was dismissed. The girls ate dinner every night together in the dining room, with two teachers on rotation to help supervise. It was not Lenora’s night, thank goodness, so she could dine an hour later with the other teachers. She needed to lie down and make sense of all that had happened. She was exhausted but felt sure an evening to herself and a good night’s sleep would put her back to sorts by morning. All was well.

  “Miss Wilton?”

  Lenora turned to face a maid who was holding out a box about six-inches square. “A parent left this for you on his way out a few minutes ago.”

  His way out? Lenora accepted the box and continued to her room, a feeling of trepidation overtaking her. Once in her room, she sat in the single chair positioned below the small window between the two beds. She placed the box in her lap and paused before lifting the lid. Inside was the black knit cap she’d lost at the river the night before. On top was a folded square of paper, and when she could catch her breath, she picked it up with trembling hands.

  Miss Wilton,

  Meet me at the river at 6:00. I am certain you know precisely where.

  A. Asher

  Lenora stopped at the wall separating her from the back of the shop and the crumbling stairs. She’d never been to this spot on the river in daylight, and the disrepair that somehow seemed romantic in the darkness was only testimony of neglect in the sunlight. She put her hands to her stomach, wishing she could stop the churning she felt. Why had she come? She should have ignored him—what would he have done then? Gone to Mrs. Henry? Perhaps.

  She could go to Mrs. Henry, confess herself, and ask for the woman’s understanding. But the risk was too great. Not that this meeting wasn’t a risk, but she knew what would happen if she divulged her river walking to the headmistress: dismissal. Aunt Gwen would learn what she’d done. Her students would learn of it. Lenora of Bath would be reduced to Lenora of Leagrave with even more gossip to trail behind her. The consideration of potential repercussions made the ground shift beneath her feet, and she opened her eyes to reorient herself.

  She blinked back the tears that had formed. She was overwhelmed and frightened, and yet she could not stay on this side of the wall. She was already a quarter of an hour late. What does he want from me?


  There was only one way to find out.

  Navigating the wall in a dress and petticoats and stockings was humiliating, even if no one saw her. Oh, please, let no one have seen me! She took the stairs slowly, lifting her skirts and wishing she were wearing trousers, which were surprisingly comfortable as well as functional. She smelled Mr. Asher’s pipe smoke before she saw him standing at the edge of the river, looking over the greenish-brown water with his back to her. She hadn’t realized how soundlessly she’d moved until a fallen walnut crunched beneath her foot. She froze as he spun around, his pipe held as though he might throw it at her. She stumbled, biting back an apology and reminding herself that she owed him nothing.

  They held one another’s gaze, then he adopted a more casual pose, though his tension continued to radiate. He walked to the low stone wall Lenora had sat upon last night, turned over his pipe, and tapped out the ashes. He slid the pipe into the inside pocket of his coat and turned to face her.

  “I thought it odd that you brushed off the stones before sitting down last night. After you ran off, I better understood why that action had stood out. A young man would not bother to preserve the seat of his trousers.”

  Lenora did not look at him as he spoke, but kept her gaze focused on the ground and her hands clasped behind her back. He watched me from the first moment I arrived! Which meant he’d already been there. Which meant he’d lit his pipe both without her notice and with full awareness that she would eventually notice. She felt taunted and trapped.

  “I had meant to offer you an escort home, but then you sprang up like a cat and made a run for it,” he continued.

  She huffed without meaning to, eyes still on the dirt at her feet and her face on fire. He’d seen her in trousers! He was likely right now comparing the young woman standing before him to the hoodlum of last night.

  “You don’t believe me?” he asked.

  Lenora lifted her eyes, swallowed, and summoned the confident manner she’d learned since coming to Bath. “You knew I was a woman and yet still pulled me to the ground?”

  “I feared for your safety as a young man, more so when I realized the truth. There is a reason women are to be chaperoned in a city like this. I meant it when I apologized for pulling as sharply as I did; I expected a bit more resistance.” He smiled as though to apologize again. She did not acknowledge the attempt.

  “You threw me to the ground like a sack of grain,” she reminded him. She’d never been treated like that in her life, not even from her brothers in play when they were young. Cassie would wrestle with them, but never Lenora.

  “And you went on to attack me quite ruthlessly—shall we speak of that?”

  She felt her cheeks heat up again and shook her head. She did not want to speak of that. Seeing him now in the clear sunlight made it all the more astounding that she’d gotten away the night before. He was tall and strong and yet she’d bested him? The spark of pride she felt only testified of what a wild woman she’d become.

  Mr. Asher continued. “I must say I had a bit more confidence in your ability to defend yourself once I could walk.” He grinned.

  She did not smile back and had to look at the ground again. There was kindness in that smile, as if he wanted them to be comfortable with one another. Yet he had forced her to come, and she sensed the lingering air of a threat between them. She wanted him to get to the point, and then again, she did not want that in the slightest. What would Cassie do in this situation? She hadn’t a clue.

  “You know your way around Bath at night, which means you’ve made your walks a habit.”

  Lenora continued to stare at the ground. This man was not someone she was going to trust with her secrets, and she did not need his accusatory tone in order to regret what she’d done.

  “I will not reveal you.”

  She looked up. His eyes were darker than his niece’s, almost black, and his skin brown enough to attest to his having spent time in warmer climates than this. He was handsome, in a rugged way, but still a villain. She did not reward his words with a response.

  After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. “But in exchange for my keeping your secret, I need your help.”

  “Blackmail?” she said, bringing her hands to her stomach again.

  “Um, well, yes.” His voice took on a pleading tone. “I need Catherine to succeed here. You can help her, take her under your wing, be her advocate. She needs nurturing.”

  “She needs an asylum.” She pinched her lips together once the words were out. Talking to anyone was a relatively new skill for her, but talking to a man, let alone speaking so boldly, was something she had never done. Then again, she’d never been treated like this. Perhaps her defensive instincts were stronger than she’d known before she had need to use them.

  He startled, his eyes going wide, and then narrowing. “She is not mad.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “Are you certain of that?”

  He ran his hand through his hair before beginning to pace along the edge of the river. He cut the very figure of a distressed gentleman, with strong, broad shoulders and a perfectly crafted scowl of concern. She forced herself to not notice and looked away.

  “She needs nurturing and stability,” he said. “She’s had blessed little of that in her life, and I am certain that if she could find her footing, she could let down her defenses and be . . . normal.” He faced Lenora. “She needs to know she is safe and protected. She needs to know that she belongs. Mrs. Henry obviously respects your feelings; therefore, you could defend her if there was a need.”

  His explanation was so simplistic. Lenora pictured Miss Manch again, sitting in her chair, hunched and frail-looking while she grinned with satisfaction at Lenora’s distress—the only one who could see her. There was more at play here than a girl needing to know she belonged. “Your gratitude for my assistance with Mrs. Henry this afternoon is to blackmail me?”

  “It may take more than one more chance, and if my niece had an advocate within the school, especially a teacher whom she has already wronged, it could make all the difference. You could help soften the effect of her behavior to the other students, perhaps set a precedent for the other teachers in understanding her . . . eccentricities.”

  Granted, Lenora was new to teaching, but she’d already seen a variety of attitudes from the parents of the girls sent to Bath for their education and edification. Some of the parents who boarded their students in Bath for the school terms were sad to leave them; others were nonchalant. A few were obviously relieved, now free to travel to the south of France without a care thrown as crumbs to their child.

  Lenora had been raised and educated at home. Her concept of family was different from that of the wealthy gentry who paid to send their children away, but she’d come to accept that way of life without judgment. Mr. Asher’s attitude was different. He seemed desperate, which was easy enough to explain based on his niece’s behavior.

  “So you are blackmailing me about having been out alone after hours by insisting I be your niece’s advocate in hopes that she will feel happy and loved and therefore not act out?”

  He considered the summary a moment, then nodded.

  “Surely you see the madness in thinking I can have any power over her,” Lenora said, realizing that her nervousness had drained away. She felt offended and irritated instead, and a little surprised that she was able to converse with him so easily and honestly.

  “No less mad than a respectable teacher dressing like a man and walking the streets alone at night.”

  She could not dismiss his point. “And what if I cannot create what you want? What if I do all I can and she still does not thrive?” Because Lenora had no idea what she could do. She was the wrong person for this job, but she had no choice but to attempt it.

  “I truly believe Catherine will improve if there is someone to take a special interest in her.” He was so
hopeful, but his expression didn’t last. “The headmistress at her last school felt she was only fit for a school in Germany for difficult children. From what I know it is little more than a prison; I can’t send her there.” The horror of the idea was clear on his face. Lenora tried to block out the sympathy that welled up inside her. “If she does not succeed here, I do not know what else I can do. I fear I have done too little too late already, which is why I must do whatever I can to remedy that now. Will you help me?”

  It would be easier to remain incensed if his motives were not so pure and the look in his eyes so sincere. “It seems I have no choice.”

  He looked chagrined, but did not withdraw. “Thank you.”

  “Do not thank me for something you are forcing me to do.” Yet again, her own words surprised her.

  “I give you my word that I will not tell Mrs. Henry of your actions.”

  “Unless you end up displeased with my efforts.”

  He nodded at that and looked at the ground. “May I write to you for updates?”

  Lenora watched him, realizing she had one more question and no reason not to ask it. “Why did you not know she plays the pianoforte?”

  He kicked the dried-out husk of a walnut. “She did not tell me, nor show me, but it is not such a surprise. My family is rather musically inclined, and my mother required all of us to take lessons when we were young.” He smiled as though this shared interest might chip away at her resolve to dislike him. It didn’t.

  She simply nodded, though she still felt it strange he didn’t know his niece well enough to know of her ability. She was suddenly eager to get away. “Will that be all?” Maybe her hurry was because she wanted to ask him if he were musical, too. Yet, it made no difference, and she did not want to invite any connection between them.