Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “Yes, thank you.” He smiled as though they were friends. A smile looked good on his face, adding light to his eyes, but Lenora did not smile back. She would go the extra measure with Miss Manch because she had to, not because she wanted to. And it would not be easy.

  The next day, Miss Manch arrived for the Advanced Music class wielding eyes of fury. Mrs. Henry had warned Lenora that Miss Manch had not wanted to change classes. Lenora took a deep breath and forced a smile.

  “Welcome, Miss Manch,” she said, then looked away, determined not to let the girl be the center of attention in this class the way she’d been in the introductory class yesterday. The other students came in and, after a quick introduction of Miss Manch, Lenora continued the instruction as planned. When Miss Manch interrupted her, Lenora interrupted her right back and introduced the day’s lesson.

  “As I explained yesterday, each of you are in this class because you have a level of musical proficiency. As we’ll be learning and progressing together, I thought it would be helpful for each of you to be familiar with one another’s abilities.”

  She had Miss Manch’s attention. Good.

  “Miss Flasch, Miss Heatherham, Miss Standone, and Miss Manch play the pianoforte. Miss Gunderson and Miss Moore are vocalists. Please take a few minutes to decide what you would like to perform for the class. I’m happy to help you find a selection if you need my assistance, and I can accompany the vocalists if they would like.”

  It ended up taking quarter of an hour for the girls to make their decisions. Only Miss Manch and Miss Gunderson did not ask Lenora for help. The vocalists went first, with Lenora accompanying Miss Moore; Miss Gunderson sang a cappella. Both needed help with their diction, and Miss Gunderson needed pitch work. Lenora made herself a note.

  Then the pianists took their turns. Miss Manch went last but was enthusiastically supportive of the other girls, applauding and encouraging them in their performances. The other girls were drawn to her, and she acted perfectly competent and content despite being new and the youngest.

  She played Greensleeves as she had yesterday—the only one of the four to play without sheet music—and her hands flowed over the keys like they were made for it. When she finished, she curtsied to the class, flourishing the movements and making the girls laugh.

  When class ended, she walked side by side with Miss Heatherham out of the room, and Lenora wondered if she was the same girl who had arrived at class so irritated.

  On Wednesday, Lenora tested each of the girls individually. She sat at one pianoforte and they sat at another. They played through several measures of the same song together, Lenora talking them through the details of the key signature, rhythms, and fingerings, then the girls played the same measures themselves at whatever pace they were comfortable, but without mistakes. Some of the girls were better than others; Miss Manch was the best if Lenora ignored her huffing breaths when given suggestions and her smug smile at the end.

  For the vocal students, Lenora played notes on the piano and had them sing along as she went, pushing their range and advising them on posture and breathing to help them extend as high and low as they could.

  After class, Lenora asked Miss Manch to stay. Now that she had seen Miss Manch’s skill in comparison to the other girls, she wanted to discuss the possibility of moving her to level two. She hoped the girl would be flattered and that the even-more-advanced students there would further calm her behavior. Lenora often forgot that she had promised Mr. Asher to provide his niece with extra help, and she felt a wave of defiance each time she remembered. Being blackmailed made it difficult for her to sort out what was her own interest and what was self-preservation.

  Miss Manch sighed loudly when Lenora asked her to stay, but settled back into her chair. Lenora thanked her, then turned around to close her lesson plan and give the other students a chance to leave the room. When she turned back, the room was empty; Miss Manch had snuck out while Lenora wasn’t looking.

  That night, Lenora pulled Miss Manch aside after dinner.

  “I asked you to stay after class.”

  Miss Manch shrugged. “I forgot.”

  My eye, Lenora thought. “I would like you to come early to class tomorrow by ten minutes for our interview.”

  Miss Manch crossed her arms over her chest. “And if I don’t?”

  Gracious, she was cheeky. “I shall report you to Mrs. Henry and ask that you be put on a point system.”

  Miss Manch drew her eyebrows together and scowled. “What is a point system?”

  It was something Lenora’s brother, Christopher, had once told her about from his schooling. She’d brought up the idea to Mrs. Henry after Miss Manch’s unexpected disappearance after class and gotten the headmistress’s approval.

  “You will be given one hundred points, which you lose for bad behavior, tardiness, and incomplete work. You can earn additional points through kitchen duties or copying Bible verses. Your participation in activities outside the school are dependent upon your points at the time of any given event.”

  Miss Manch narrowed her eyes. “Demerits,” she said, as though she’d uncovered the hidden truth of Lenora’s plan. Her scowl deepened.

  Lenora swore there was something chilling in the girl’s eyes. As though she would like to bash Lenora’s head in if she had the chance. Luckily, the hallway was completely free of blunt objects.

  “Not demerits—points,” Lenora said, praying that her voice would remain strong. “And all within your power to manage. It is an attempt to help you better learn accountability. We would prefer to avoid the implementation if you think you can control your behavior without the system.” She wanted to explain that the point system was a form of advocacy, a chance to extend her an opportunity to succeed at the school, but she didn’t see that as being necessarily attractive to Miss Manch. Though she was friendly with the other girls, she did not want to be at this school. Lenora could only hope that she would want to avoid penalty enough to find her footing better than she had so far.

  Miss Manch turned on her heel and returned to the dining room without another word. Were Miss Manch already on the point system, Lenora would have taken five away for rudeness.

  It was a relief when Miss Manch showed up for their interview on time the next day, though she walked in laboriously, as though the effort exhausted her. Lenora almost found it funny. Almost.

  “I would like you to consider moving up to the level-two class,” Lenora said once they were both sitting. “Your skill is equal to the other girls there, and I think you will find greater improvement among them.”

  “No,” Miss Manch said easily, then yawned behind her hand.

  Lenora ground her teeth. “You’re very talented, Miss Manch, and I would like to help you meet your potential.”

  “Do you get paid additional wages if I improve?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you care?”

  Because your uncle could ruin me, she thought. “Because I am a teacher. It is my job and my pleasure to help my students reach their goals. It is my life’s work.” She only squirmed a little during her explanation.

  Miss Manch leaned forward so fast that Lenora pulled back without thinking. “Aren’t you a teacher because you could not find a man willing to marry you?”

  The sting that shot through Lenora’s chest took her off guard, earning another smug look from Miss Manch. Lenora hurried to recover. “I am a teacher because I love music and—”

  “And couldn’t find a man willing to marry you.”

  Lenora took a breath, anger and anxiety both rising up in familiar patterns. “Would you consider level two, Miss Manch, or won’t you? I will not insist upon it, but you’re a bright girl, and I think you would enjoy a greater challenge.”

  Miss Manch leaned back in her chair. “I do not like to be challenged.” She stood and put a hand to her chest. When she spoke,
her voice was thick with sarcasm. “But thank you so much for being so interested in my potential, Miss Wilton.” She smirked, and left the room.

  Had Lenora a glass on hand, she would have thrown it at the door. Well, no, she wouldn’t have—but she would have wanted to!

  Five minutes later, Miss Manch returned with the rest of the girls for class, laughing and talking with them as though they had known each other for years, not days. For good or bad, the girl had a powerful presence.

  Lenora pushed aside the emotions sparked by her interview with Miss Manch and explained to the class that she would be assessing each girl’s ability to read music. Many girls had little familiarity with written music when they first came to the school and were astounded at how much opportunity was opened to them once they could read the notes on a page.

  Lenora drew a staff on the blackboard at the front of the room with a stick of chalk and instructed the girls to bring out their own slates, then replicate the staff and notes as best they knew, labeling each one appropriately. It was not a test, she reminded them, just an assessment. If they were not familiar with written music, they should leave the slate blank. Miss Gunderson—to Lenora’s surprise—pushed her slate to the front of the desk, looking embarrassed. Lenora gave her a reassuring smile and nod.

  Lenora began calling out notes, and when she turned back to the girls, she saw Miss Manch quickly look away from Miss Heatherham’s slate. Miss Heatherham did not seem to notice.

  “Your own work,” Lenora said, staring pointedly at Miss Manch, who acted as though she did not notice the attention.

  Lenora finished calling out the last two notes, and then collected the slates. Miss Manch’s had the same error Miss Heatherham’s did and showed nothing for the last two notes. Interesting. Lenora wiped the slates clean, handed them back, and then asked the girls to fill in the notes from the first measure of Für Elise.

  She faced the students this time in order to not give Miss Manch an opportunity to copy another girl’s work. As she began collecting the slates upon completion, there was a crash from her right side. She jumped back as pieces of Miss Manch’s slate skittered across the wooden floor.

  “Sorry, Miss Wilton,” Miss Manch said in an innocent tone. “The slate slipped out of my hands.”

  Lenora knew she should call Mrs. Henry—there were repercussions when school property was damaged, even by accident, which Lenora knew this was not—but she swallowed the desire. She hoped the other girls would not comment on her letting Miss Manch out of the assignment or not punishing her for the broken slate. She turned back to the board and took a deep breath, unsettled and feeling her anxiety rise.

  She’d stepped over the line of loyalty to the school and was, instead, showing her loyalty to Mr. Asher and Miss Manch. It was wrong, and she hated herself for doing it, yet what choice did she have? If she didn’t give Miss Manch greater margin, she risked both her own and the school’s reputation. She was in an impossible situation.

  Lenora continued her lecture, counting the notes and the lines of the staff. She went through her favorite exercise to help calm her anxieties: seeing three things—the blue ribbon in Miss Heatherham’s hair, the lace curtain above the window, the stack of slates—touching two things—her hair and her skirt—and inhaling the scent of one thing—the smell of chalk on slate.

  As her mind settled, she could focus on at least part of what was wrong with Miss Manch. Though the girl could play beautifully, she could not read music, perhaps not at all if she did not even know the basic notes on the staff. Greensleeves and Rondo Alla Turca were both popular songs. Miss Manch had likely heard them a hundred times and memorized the music. Lenora was familiar with many accomplished musicians who could play by ear. But for Miss Manch to improve further, she had to be able to read music. Perhaps it was a good thing the girl hadn’t agreed to level two, where proficient reading was a requirement.

  For Friday’s class, Lenora pulled each girl aside to discuss their individual goals for the term. Some wanted to master a particular song or move up to a certain level of music; others wanted to improve their memorization, form, or technique. Miss Gunderson wanted to learn to read music, which Lenora was glad to hear as the girl had solid talent and would likely come to neglect it if she did not nurture it. Lenora left her interview with Miss Manch for last.

  “I must ask you a direct question, Miss Manch,” Lenora started, wanting to get right to the point. She kept her voice low, as she had for the other students, to ensure privacy. “Have you ever been taught to read music?”

  “Of course I have,” Miss Manch said defensively. “You’ve heard me play. You said I was better than any other girl here, though I don’t believe it since they are all so talented.” She spoke loud enough for the other girls to hear, and Lenora swallowed her embarrassment.

  “Everything you’ve played has been memorized,” Lenora pointed out, “which is impressive, but not knowing how to read music puts you at a disadvantage in regard to—”

  Miss Manch cut her off with another loud commentary. “Are you trying to talk me into advancing to the level-two class again? Because I really do not want to. I enjoy the girls in this class. Do not make me move up and leave them behind.”

  A wave of pettiness spurred Lenora to also raise her voice. “Not knowing how to read music will put you at a disadvantage, Miss Manch, and disqualifies you for level two.”

  Miss Manch’s eyes flashed, and her jaw hardened. Lenora winced internally. She should not have tried to play her game. She reminded herself to be the teacher, not a child. She took a deep breath to center herself, noting that the lace on Miss Manch’s collar was not the same design as the lace on her cuffs, and then withdrew a periodical she had found a year or so earlier featuring an article that supported her desire to teach sight reading. She slid it in front of Miss Manch. “This is written by a professor of music at Oxford. I’d like you to read it, and then we can discuss his thoughts on the importance of reading notes.”

  Miss Manch rolled her eyes, but then stared at the page as though doing Lenora a favor. It took only a moment for Lenora to notice that her eyes were not moving from left to right. She wasn’t reading.

  Lenora waited her out and watched closely, feeling herself grow calmer—focusing on details always helped her. The girl’s eyes moved up and down, side to side, and now and then she would scrunch her eyes as if focusing on some part, but then her gaze would move to another place on the page. After a few minutes, she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. The action was becoming so familiar to Lenora that she did not feel intimidated by it. “So?” Miss Manch demanded.

  “What do you think about what he has to say about the importance of reading music?”

  “I think it is all just one stuffy old man’s opinion.”

  “One expert’s opinion. Did you read the part about someone being able to learn to read music in only a few months, especially if they have a natural aptitude, like you do?” The article said nothing about anticipated timelines.

  Miss Manch shrugged. “I play as well as I want to, and better than most of your students.” It was not a direct answer to Lenora’s question, and yet it felt like an answer to a different one.

  “Because of your gifts, you could excel beyond the mark of many other musicians.” Lenora pointed to a sentence she’d underlined when she’d first read the article: A proper music education is more than physical proficiency; it is the ability to communicate through the composition and musician working together. “Read that for me and tell me what you think it means.”

  Miss Manch did not look at the page. She looked out the window, at the floor, at the other girls, and then at Lenora before pushing the magazine off the table. “Oops, it slipped from my hands.”

  Lenora made no move to retrieve the magazine and held Miss Manch’s defiant gaze, wishing she could think of something clever to say. Her eyes burned, b
ut she was the reigning champion of staring contests with her brothers and seemed to have finally learned how to keep this girl’s behavior from affecting her—hallelujah. Soon enough, Miss Manch blinked. Lenora smiled even though she knew she shouldn’t have.

  Miss Manch did not take defeat well. She stormed out of the room, chin high and eyes blazing. Lenora did not go after her, but instead picked up the magazine and faced her class, prepared to teach the rest of her lesson. There was only slight satisfaction in having determined the root of Miss Manch’s problem and why the girl kept herself in such a defensive position.

  It was not that Miss Manch could not read music. She could not read at all.

  Lenora toiled over her letter to Mr. Asher throughout the day on Friday. It should not have been hard to write what she needed to say: “Your niece is amazing on the pianoforte but cannot read. How do you not know this?”

  But Lenora could not be so direct as that, so she stewed and wrote and revised in between her classes and finally, late Friday afternoon, sent the message to his house in Laura Place before removing to Aunt Gwen’s for the weekend. She had never been so glad to escape the school.

  Aunt Gwen greeted her effusively and said they were dining in that night, but tomorrow would be attending the Pump Room in the morning, a garden party in the afternoon, and a ball in the Assembly Rooms in the evening. Lenora would have liked to beg off—she was exhausted—but she was still her aunt’s companion and did not want to disappoint her. A big part of the personal growth she had experienced in Bath could be traced to Aunt Gwen’s inclusion of her in the society here. The more she interacted with others, the less she feared social situations.

  They didn’t reach the Pump Room until almost eleven Saturday morning, and the crowd of patrons was thin. Aunt Gwen was disappointed, but Lenora was not since she still felt on edge.

  They enjoyed their promenade through Sydney Gardens on the east side of Pultney Bridge, which was not far from where Mr. Asher had taken his house. Lenora was aggravated to even think about him. There were many people she knew in Laura Place. Why couldn’t one of them come to mind? She focused on the fine weather, the leaves just starting to turn golden for the season. She loved this time of year.