Uncle Richard, his hair rumpled into a peak at the crown of his head, his face pale except for two circles of red on his cheeks, fingered the torn seam of his jacket while looking back and forth between the twins. “I suppose you know nothing of this,” he said.
“Know nothing of what?” Alexander asked innocently. “Is something wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”
“M’chair broke,” Uncle Richard said in a flat voice. “Don’t guess you heard anything about it.”
“Who, me? Why should I know anything about your chair? Though I’ve told you often enough that we should purchase new office equipment. You’re the one tightening the purse strings, you know.”
“The chair was fine until this morning.”
“Well, you know how some things are, Uncle. When furniture grows old, it very often looks all right for years and years, but then one day it suddenly snaps.” Tightly holding his grin at bay, Alexander clicked his fingers to illustrate.
“Yes, no doubt,” said the older man sourly.
An indignant look passed over Alexander’s features. “Say now, you’re not accusing us of anything, are you?”
Darby was surprised at the vehemence that flamed in Uncle Richard’s eyes, but it quickly flared and died. “No, no,” he said. “Far be it from me to suggest it. Even if you did such a thing, it would be a good jest, since I did not die as I might’ve.”
A feeling of scorn welled in her heart. Did the man have no sense of dignity? The closer came her birthday and Alex’s, the more her aunt and uncle groveled. They hoped to ingratiate themselves into their hearts and house, she knew. But did they realize it, such behavior only served to make Alexander and herself more contemptuous of them.
Still, she could not help feeling a little sorry for the man. “Shall we call the carriage, Uncle Richard? Would you care to go home and rest?”
“I would,” he said fervently.
“I’ll go with you,” Simon said, and crossed the room. Taking Uncle Richard’s elbow, he opened the door and guided him from the office without acknowledging Darby in any fashion. She watched him leave with a feeling of rage and loss that made her ache.
* * *
For the remainder of the day, she was of little use at the pottery. She could not stop thinking about Simon’s words. It was unfair of him to believe she harmed children by employing them. Neither she nor Alex nor their father before them had ever been brutal or uncaring to the little ones; rather, they had been kind. Children were patiently taught their jobs and never beaten, even if the child failed to learn properly. The same compassion could not be found in many employers.
She’d always thought of herself as enlightened. But Simon was terribly disappointed in her, had accused her of making the pottery her god. What an absolutely horrid thing to say, and so untrue. Wasn’t it?
Shortly before time to leave for the evening, Darby walked from her office to the balcony and watched the activity below, feeling the old stirrings of pride and dreams that the view always gave her. But now for the first time, she looked, really looked, into the faces of her workers. Some of them appeared happy, snapping quips back and forth; others seemed bored, disgruntled, even sad. The children in particular wore expressions of resigned endurance.
Did they, like her, have dreams? She had never considered it before, or if she had, she never dwelled upon it. Dreams would be a curse for people such as these, for how could they fulfill them? Had anyone asked her prior to this day what her employees wanted from life, she would have responded, “Food on the table, ale to drink, a shelter over their heads.” Now she wondered, and the wondering made her uneasy.
Simon had ruined everything.
She descended the stairs and found Clemmy sitting on the floor beside his mother, Jane Goodehouse, who was hand-painting a transferred outline onto a platter. When Darby asked to speak with Clemmy privately, Jane became agitated.
“ ‘Ee’s only taking a little rest, miss,” she whined. “Get up, son. Go fill your bucket.”
“No, do not,” Darby said. “It’s almost closing time. I only want to ask him something.’’ Conscious of Jane watching anxiously, Darby extended her hand and pulled the boy a few paces away. Crouching to his eye-level, she smiled and asked, “What would you like to do when you grow up, Clemmy?”
Looking surprised, he shrugged. “I dunno, miss.”
“Oh, come now. There must be something.”
He glanced over her shoulder to his mother. Darby turned and saw Jane hurriedly resume her painting. “You may say anything you like; there is no right or wrong answer.”
Looking thoughtful, he narrowed his eyes and explored his ear with a finger. “Dipping plates. I’d like dat.”
“Is that all? There is nothing else you want, not in the whole wide world?”
“Can’t tink of it. Oh, in de whole world?”
“Yes. Anything.”
“A bucket of cherry pudding,” he said solemnly. “And a rocking chair for Mamma.”
Darby slowly stood upright. She didn’t know whether to feel elated or disappointed. She felt vindicated that the child expressed no great ambition, but now she wondered, Does he dream no dreams because he has no hope?
That question and similar ones occupied her thoughts throughout the journey home and during dinner. She spoke only when spoken to, and then in the most dutiful manner. Neither Claude’s flirtatious chatter nor Alex’s worried looks (on the few occasions he tore his attention from Lenora) stirred her mood.
Simon was even worse than she. Over dinner, he ate sparingly and looked only at his plate. Except to answer a question of Aunt Gacia’s about his plans for his upcoming performance at the birthday gathering, he spoke not at all. Afterwards, when the men joined the ladies in the parlor, Simon was not among them.
Without a thought for what the others might say, Darby excused herself and went in search of him. She found him slumped in her father’s leather chair in the library, a poker dangling from his fingers. The room was chilly, and a new fire crackled in the grate. When she entered and closed the door, he looked up, then leaned forward and stabbed the coals.
“I was just going to bed,” he said, speaking to the flames.
“Were you? Is that why you started the fire?” Watching him closely, she slid into the chair opposite him. When he showed no signs of flight, she added in a soft voice, “This was always my father’s favorite room.”
“Mine, too.”
“Truly?” She looked dubious, then a little amused. “I didn’t realize you’d been in here before, but I keep forgetting you are an angel and can go anywhere. I haven’t sat in this room more than twice since my father died. It makes me sad to do so.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” he said, speaking so quietly she could scarcely hear.
Choosing to ignore his rudeness, she said, “I spoke with Clemmy this afternoon.”
“Oh? Why? Did he fall behind in his work?”
“No, and I would not scold him if he did. You’re not making this easy, Simon.” She drew in several deep breaths to steady her voice. “I asked Clemmy what he wanted to be when he grew up.”
“Did you?” Simon could not have sounded more disinterested.
“He wishes to dip plates and buy a chair for his mother.”
Simon gave her a direct look. “And I suppose that means you were right. Clemmy is of a separate species from yourself. He was bred to do menial work and is happy with his lot.”
Her lips tightened. “That could be. But again, it’s possible his way of life prevents him from envisioning a better existence.”
“I would say that’s more than possible.”
“But if that is so, Simon ... if all children attend school as you suggest, and that schooling provides them with new skills and knowledge ... what happens if no one wants to work in the pottery anymore?”
“Well, what if it does?” he asked, his voice rising. “That won’t occur because there are varying levels of intelligence and ambition in every pe
rson; but if by some strange stroke of fate it did happen, do you think children should be kept in ignorance merely to maintain a labour force?”
“No, of course I don’t! It’s only that—oh, for all the—” She rubbed her temples in vexation, then dropped her hands to her lap. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve thought about what you said. If I have been wrong, I want to know. I can change, Simon. I don’t wish to cross heaven in this.”
A distant gleam lit his eyes. “Don’t change anything unless you wish to, Darby. Don’t do it because you think I want you to, or because you’re afraid you’ll be punished if you don’t.”
“To be totally truthful, what I wish is that you had not brought this problem to my notice. But now that you have, I cannot rest until discovering if you’re right. I don’t wish to wrong anyone, but neither do I want to squander our funds. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. Do you believe it would be worthwhile to start a school for a short period of time, to see if the children take to it?”
She was gratified to see the look of relief on his face. “I was hoping you’d reconsider.” His elation dimmed slightly. “How short? It takes awhile for children to learn.”
“I’ve thought about that, too. How long was it you said you planned to stay with us, Simon? Until my birthday?”
“Probably. It depends on my mission. Why?”
“It seems to me your mission is being accomplished without much interference from you,” she said with a degree of bitterness. “Since Lenora discovered, or thinks she discovered, that you and I”—Darby flushed and averted her eyes—“I mean, since she began to believe that we—”
“Since she thought we were a couple,” supplied Simon.
“Yes. Since then, she has directed her attention toward Alex again, and he has responded like a schoolboy.’’ Under her breath she added, “Lenora’s motives are transparent as glass, yet my twin is blinded by dazzling eyes and golden hair.”
“Let’s not argue about that again. Yes, I’ve noticed things are going well in that direction.” With some reluctance he added, “If it looks like they’re going to make it, I’d better leave the day after your birthday, as I planned.”
“Only three weeks, then,” she mused, then grew silent. “Can you not stay longer?”
“It’s best if I don’t.”
She studied him a moment more; then, forcing brightness into her voice, said, “The trial term will be three weeks.”
“Why so short? It’ll be hard to see improvement in that amount of time.”
“You are the one who determined the timing. There can be no school without a master.”
“What? Wait a minute. Darby, you can’t be thinking—”
“And why not? Alex and Lenora are fulfilling your desires. You have nothing else to do.”
“But I’m no teacher.”
“Well, surely you don’t expect me to do it. Children are all very well in short doses, but all day long ... I would go mad.”
“No,” he said worriedly, “I didn’t think you would play teacher; you’re too well-suited and talented for the work you’re doing. But me? Surely there’s someone else who’d do a better job.”
She almost laughed in pleasure. Talented and suited for her work, was she? And she’d wasted energy worrying that he would condemn her for it. Life was full of surprises.
Seeing the insecure expression in his eyes, she could not stop a teasing note from entering her speech. “What is wrong, Simon? Are you ready to show others where they need improvement, but unwilling to undertake something improving yourself? Don’t angels need to grow, too? For surely ministering to these children will be of an edifying nature.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Or is it impossible?”
He coughed a very long time, sounding almost consumptive. “Um,” he hummed eloquently. “Three weeks? Sure. Why not?”
Darby’s lips curved as she extended her hand. “We are in agreement, then. And you are not angry with me anymore? You no longer think I’m a hypocrite or a fake?” Very deliberately, she avoided that other embarrassing term he’d used. She wanted him to continue thinking she was a virgin, since she was; but she did not like being called a saint in such a derogatory way. He’d made chastity sound prudish, and that was not right.
Looking ashamed, he shifted forward and clasped her fingers between his hands. “I was never angry with you, only disappointed for awhile. Even then, I was too harsh.”
“You said I was self-righteous, too,” she added in an aggrieved voice, almost growing vexed again as she relived those awful moments in her office.
“I know. Sometimes you are, a little. No, don’t fly off the handle again. I’m sorry I said those things. I have no right to expect perfection from you. Not when I’m far from perfect myself. For a few hours I forgot just how much a person can be influenced by his—her civilization. You’re a product of your society, just as I am.”
She could not maintain her irritation, not with his skin touching hers so warmly that even her toes felt hot. “Yes,” she said softly, staring at his strong hands. “And how good it is that your society is a heavenly one.”
It took him several seconds to respond. “Yes, isn’t it?” he said. Giving her a melancholy smile, he released her fingers.
Chapter Eleven
During the journey to the pottery on the following morning, the tension inside the Brightings’ carriage was running high. Since making the announcement over breakfast about starting the school, Darby had endured non-stop criticism from her brother and uncle. Simon felt her distress more than he did his own. He considered backing down for her sake but could not; Clemmy’s peaked face and button eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“This is ludicrous,” pronounced Alexander for the tenth time. “Darby, I’m tempted to go against you in this.”
“For once we are in agreement,” said Uncle Richard while fingering his mustache. “Young lady, I beg you to reconsider. You’ll make us the laughingstock of the village. Don’t want to use my authority, but I will if I must.”
Darby paled. “That is your legal right as our guardian, but it’s a power that ends shortly. I’ve told you I want to try the school for only a few weeks. If you force me to delay, I’ll insist upon a longer trial when it becomes my right to do so.”
Uncle Richard gave a bark of laughter. “We’re a bit high in the instep about our rights, hey? Considering it’s your brother who inherits the whole, and you know what he thinks about your school.”
“Hold a moment,” said Alexander contentiously. “Whatever I inherit, Darby inherits, no matter what the rules of primogenitor. That is how Father intended it, and that is how it shall be. And if she wants to start a school or a—a trapeze academy, then we will.”
Darby’s eyes glowed with approval. “Thank you, brother.”
Alexander nodded and stared grimly at his uncle. Simon exhaled slowly. He’d hoped the young man’s loyalty to his sister would win out in the end, and it had. Or perhaps it was Alexander’s sudden realization he and his uncle were espousing the same opinion. Whatever the reason, Simon was pleased to see Darby relax.
Uncle Richard waved his hands resignedly. “Oh, very well. If you’re both determined to do this, I’ll not stand in the way.”
* * *
The gentlemen’s capitulation seemed easy in comparison to the workers’. When Alexander made the announcement from the stairs in the main workroom, the outcry ranged from restive grumblings to shouts.
“I done all right and I niver ‘ad schooling!” declared one.
“If our chillrun learn to read, they’ll git too proud! Might even think they’re better’n their folks,”
yelled another.
But not all objected.
“Did you say we’d still git their wages?” asked Jane Goodehouse.
“They’ll be paid the same as if they worked,” Alexander replied.
“But only when they attend the school,” Simon added. “No getting them work elsewhere.�
� Gloomy looks testified that some had already thought of this.
After the laborers were sent back to work, Simon spent the remainder of the day enrolling students and preparing the classroom. He learned that by their teens, most youngsters were able to earn an adult’s wage and resented the idea of being thrown into a classroom; so, he enrolled no pupils over twelve unless an older child requested it. As it turned out, none did; and few of the younger ones wanted it. Despite their protests, he gathered fifteen students between the ages of six and eleven and put them to work sweeping floors and moving boxes and equipment from the room he’d chosen in the storage warehouse.
There was little time to contemplate his newest role. He’d spent half the previous night thinking about it, and he could not fool himself that he was going to flame into an educational firebrand. He had always liked children, but only one or two at a time. Even worse, he had an inbuilt abhorrence of rules and routine, and every school he’d ever attended had plenty of those. All he hoped was that he could provide a start for these children. Something had to be better than nothing.
Most important of all, the school provided him with an excuse to be near Darby. Maybe here he’d learn who her enemy was. At least he would be on hand to protect her. Her opponent might be a disgruntled employee, not a member of the family as he originally thought.
He shuddered to think about what he was doing to the future now. He’d read nothing about the Brightings pottery educating children, not in either timeline. But what was he supposed to do, nothing? Seeing the pinched faces of the youngsters working around him, he could not stop his heart or his hands from moving to help.
The selected room was large with adequate ventilation from two good-sized windows. After searching through the building, he found three rectangular tables and enough wooden chairs to provide seating. By the end of the day, the classroom was as ready as he knew how to make it. He called the solemn-faced children together, instructed them to come bright and early on the following morning, then dismissed them. It was then he realized that Clemmy was nowhere in sight.
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