Those words remained with her throughout the morning as the children continued their practicing. She listened with new ears to their reading and their mathematics and heard confidence in their voices. They had learned and grown and blossomed. Though much of that credit belonged to the children for the hard work they had put in, she felt a measure of satisfaction at the role she had played in their accomplishments.
Grandfather would see that. She knew he would. She hoped he would.
Fate exercised its typical cruelty. Grandfather arrived, her aunt with him, just as the children were to adjourn for their daily tea. Hunger combined with weariness and anxiety would not make the coming task any easier.
Still, she held herself with dignity and grace. “Welcome, Mr. Farr,” she greeted, offering a curtsey.
He made a noise of acknowledgment and plodded into the room. The children rose respectfully and waited, still and quiet, for further instruction.
“Children,” she said, “please greet Mr. Farr, the head of the school board.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Farr.”
Grandfather gave them the same indiscernible response he’d given her. She hoped he would be more articulate moving forward. How was she to know if he approved of her work if he never said anything?
“Be seated, children.”
They obeyed, but sat in near terror, watching the new arrival. Mr. Garvey had been greeted with wary uncertainty. Mr. Farr was feared.
Looking at her grandfather, she could well remember responding that same way to him when she was as young as her students and he would come to visit. His thick brows, now snowy white, jutted at angry angles over his piercing eyes. His mouth was forever pulled in stern lines. Age had not stooped him in the least. His was a broad and intimidating bearing. Had she not, on occasion, seen moments of kindness between him and her mother, she might have still been afraid of him. He was not overly friendly, nor did she deceive herself into believing his was a soft heart. She simply knew he was not the cold man he too often appeared to be.
“The students are eager to show you what they have learned,” Evangeline said. “They wish to read for you and answer some mathematical questions.”
Her aunt crossed to Grandfather’s side and, in a conspiratorial voice loud enough for all to hear, explained, “Mr. Garvey objected to this performance style of reporting. He, of course, preferred that the students demonstrate abilities rather than memorization.”
Aunt Barton would not ruin this for them all. Too much depended upon it.
“Mrs. Barton,” Evangeline said. “Today’s visit is for the benefit of the head of the school board, not for you. Kindly step aside and allow me to do my job and Mr. Farr to do his.”
“Did you hear that?” Aunt Barton asked her father in feigned tones of shock.
“I did, and it happens I agree with her.”
Her aunt’s pretended shock turned genuine. “Well.”
Grandfather took little notice. “I want to hear what the students have learned.”
This was the moment. Nervousness tiptoed over her.
“Who would like to go first?” she asked the children, praying someone would volunteer.
Hugo stood. “I will.”
Hugo. Defiant, difficult Hugo. He looked directly at the man all the children were afraid of and didn’t flinch. Bless the dear boy.
“This is Hugo Palmer. He is one of our older students and has been attending for nearly seven weeks.”
Grandfather nodded. “I want to hear him read.”
Evangeline gave Hugo the paper the more advanced students had been studying. Hugo took it and, without hesitation or the slightest show of nervousness, read the simple but pleasant poem. She watched her grandfather out of the corner of her eye. His expression didn’t change in the least.
Hugo finished and waited, holding himself with palpable pride.
“Can you write?” Grandfather asked.
“Aye. Us spelling is not grand, but Miss Blake is teaching we to write better.”
Aunt Barton scoffed from the corner. “Miss Blake certainly hasn’t taught you to speak better.”
Evangeline pushed down the hurt of that declaration and focused, instead, on Hugo, intent on intervening should he grow combative at the insult. But the boy held himself with dignity.
“I’m not interested in how he speaks,” Grandfather said. “I want to know what he’s learned.”
Relief replaced some of Evangeline’s worries. Her grandfather was brusque, but he was showing himself to be fair as well. There was no guarantee he would not eventually require her to teach them to speak differently, but for now he was focused on what they had learned.
“Can you do any deciphering?” he asked Hugo.
“Aye.”
Grandfather stepped closer to the boy. “If I were to order ten pounds of wool and needed to divide them evenly between two mills, how much wool would each mill receive?”
That was a more complicated question than she’d prepared the students to answer. “We have not delved into division yet,” she told her grandfather.
“I doubt Mr. Farr has come to hear your excuses,” Aunt Barton interjected.
“Enough, Berta,” Grandfather said. “Have you an answer, boy?”
“Five pound to each mill, sir.”
Evangeline clasped her hands together and let her smile blossom.
“Well done, Hugo Palmer.” Grandfather looked at Evangeline. “I’d like to hear more.”
“This is Susannah Crossley. She wishes to one day be a teacher herself.”
Grandfather nodded his approval. “This world needs young people with ambition.” To Evangeline, he said, “Has the girl done any teaching?”
“Yes. She helps instruct the younger students.”
Aunt Barton sneered again. “What, then, are you being paid to do?”
“Berta.” Grandfather’s tone had only turned more stern.
Susannah kept her composure, though she showed some signs of strain. Evangeline moved to stand beside the girl, hoping her presence would offer some strength. “Perhaps Mr. Farr would like to see you work with the little ones.”
“I would.” Grandfather stood in front of the class and watched, still showing no signs of pleasure.
Susannah made a wonderful showing, guiding the youngest children through their letters and numbers. He asked questions of several other students. He listened as they read, looked over the words they wrote on their slates. No matter Grandfather’s impression—though she felt nearly certain it was positive—Evangeline was inordinately proud of them all.
The school hours ended, and Grandfather was still there. The children rushed off, even those awaiting the return of their parents from the mill. She could hear them outside, running and laughing and letting out the energy they’d built up during a day of being stuck indoors.
Evangeline straightened the classroom, gathering slates and papers, sliding the benches back into place. Grandfather stood at the windows overlooking the back garden, not the front where the children played. He had not told her what he thought of her teaching or the children’s progress. Aunt Barton had not offered her thoughts either, though the flash in her eyes told its own story.
“You are welcome to stay up here as long as you’d like,” Evangeline told them both. “I need to go downstairs and prepare my evening meal.”
Grandfather kept his gaze on the window. “You mentioned in your letter that you’ve learned to cook.”
“I have. And clean and sew. I wash my own clothes. I trim the hedges. I look after thirty children every day. I go to market for my food. I manage my finances.” Deciding she had pushed her luck enough, she finished by saying, “I will be downstairs.”
Only when she reached the landing below did she begin to breathe again. She pressed her open palm to her racing heart. The stude
nts had done well. She had kept her composure, more or less. All she could do now was wait.
Cecilia Haigh slipped in through the front door, watching her uncertainly.
“Is something the matter, sweetie?”
Her voice as quiet as ever, she asked, “Will Mr. Farr let thee still be t’ teacher?”
Evangeline hunched down in front of her. She took the girl’s hands in hers. “I believe he will. You all did so wonderfully today.”
Cecilia’s gaze dropped. “I were too scared to read for ’im. I’m sorry.”
Evangeline hugged her. “Do not be sorry, Cecilia. I know how well you read, and I am so pleased with you.”
Oh, how Evangeline hoped her words weren’t overly confident, that Grandfather truly would allow her to continue being their teacher.
Cecilia pulled back and, with a quick smile, ran outside. She was still quiet, but she’d made friends with the other children.
Evangeline stood as Grandfather began his decent from the schoolroom.
“The children seem to like you,” he said.
“The feeling is mutual.”
He studied her. No doubt he was attempting to decide what he thought of her and her work. She had grown quite weary of being constantly evaluated, but if continued judgment meant she could have Lucy in Smeatley with her and continue teaching her students, she would endure it for the remainder of her grandfather’s visit.
“I do need to begin my meal preparations,” she reminded him. “And one of my students remains here until suppertime, so I need to look after him. His father, actually, is overseeing the building of the mill workers’ housing.”
“McCormick?” Grandfather rocked back and forth on his heels. “He’s doing good work. Manages his crews with a firm hand. They all respect him despite his origins.”
Despite his origins. How often did people hold that against him? Being Irish was a liability in England. As was being a woman at the mercy of her relatives’ decisions about her future.
“Once McCormick claims his child, come by your aunt and uncle’s home for supper this evening,” he said.
“Are you certain they will permit it?”
Grandfather pulled his coat from the hook on the wall near the exterior door. “I am your grandfather. If I wish for you to join us for a meal, no one will deny me that request.”
At the top of the stairs, Aunt Barton watched her. Though she had been the recipient of many of her aunt’s cold scowls, the one she received in that moment was utterly frigid. Her presence at dinner that evening might not be denied, but she felt certain she would not be the least bit welcome.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Dermot couldn’t say just when the change had occurred, but lately when he arrived at the schoolhouse, the sight filled him with the oddest sense of relief. He’d a feeling of coming home, despite not living there, despite having no family residing within its walls. He’d have assumed the response came from knowing Ronan waited inside, but he’d been fetching the lad from the schoolhouse for weeks and weeks and yet this feeling was a new one.
Love did odd things to a man. He’d at last admitted to himself the true state of his heart.
He hung his hat and coat on the hook near Evangeline’s door just as he always did. This evening, though, he paused to smooth out his hair and make himself as presentable as a fellow could wearing work clothes covered with the results of a day spent laboring. Had Evangeline ever seen him look anything but raggedy? He was always in his working clothes or, like last week out on the moor, in clothes just as worse for the wear.
Still, she seemed fond of him. That was encouraging.
He gave a quick rap on the door then pushed it open.
“Dermot, you’re here.” She crossed directly to him.
“I am,” he answered, watching her for signs of happiness or disappointment. What he saw was something far closer to panic. “What has you so on edge, my dear?”
She held up a small oval pendant on a dainty chain. “I want to wear this necklace. My father gave it to me, but I can’t manage the latch. I don’t usually struggle with it, but I’m nervous and that’s making me clumsy and—” She stopped abruptly, folding her fingers around her necklace. “I just need you to tell me that everything will be fine. Even if you don’t fully believe, I just need to hear you say it.”
The poor woman truly was in a panic.
He took her face gently in his hands. “Everything’ll be grand, Evangeline. Grand altogether.”
She met his gaze. “And if it all falls to pieces?”
“We’ll put it back together again.”
She took what sounded like a fortifying breath. “Grand altogether,” she repeated. “I believe I shall adopt that as my rallying cry.”
He dropped his hands to her shoulders, then slid them down her arms, watching her for signs of further distress. Though she appeared overwhelmed and concerned, there was a calmness in her demeanor that was reassuring.
He took her hands in his. She offered a tremulous but determined smile. He leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. His lungs seized on the instant, and his pulse began racing.
How fond he had grown of the scent of flowers, and how quickly he was growing enamored of the warmth of her when she was near.
“I wish I could have been here during your inspection today,” he said. “I suspect you could have used a friendly face.”
She sighed. “I was terribly nervous, though I’m embarrassed to admit it.”
“But you faced it. That’s reason to feel proud.”
She stepped back. ’Twas tempting to reach for her again, but she’d moved all the way to the window. She pulled the jewelry around her neck, fumbling with the clasp in the back.
“Are you needing help with that?” he offered.
She shook her head. “I’ll manage it.”
Ronan sat in his usual seat, content with his wooden horse and dog. He hadn’t even looked up when Dermot had arrived. ’Twas a wonderfully odd thing for his lad to be so at ease in another person’s home.
“How did the school inspection go?” Dermot asked.
She was still working at her necklace clasp. “I cannot say with certainty, but I do believe Mr. Farr was not displeased. Mrs. Barton clearly was, but her opinion is not nearly of as much importance.”
“You’re not intimidated by her, then?”
“Certainly not.”
Dermot couldn’t help but grin at the thought of how many of his men were thoroughly daunted by “her high-and-mighty lordship,” yet Evangeline, whose well-being depended so heavily on the largesse of the Bartons, was no longer cowed by them. “There’s the fiery Evangeline I’ve come to know.”
Evangeline shook her head as if she thought he was teasing. She secured her necklace. She straightened the pendant, then turned to face him. “I understand you had something of an inspection today as well.”
“I did at that, though I can’t say what Mr. Farr’s impression was of the work.”
She smiled at him. He rather adored that smile. “I can tell you what he thought.”
“Can you, now?”
A teasing glint entered her eyes. “Would you like to know what he said?”
He’d not have guessed when they’d first met that she’d be one for playful banter. Truth be told, he’d not known that about himself before Evangeline had arrived in his life. “I’d not object to it, though it’d depend on how much you’re meaning to charge me for that bit of information.”
“Are you saying that I could make my fortune on this?”
“Well, I’d have to pay you in coddle.”
Her eyes pulled wide. “Cuddle?”
He laughed long and hard. “Good heavens, woman.” His attempt at controlling his mirth only led to a deeper fit of laughter. “Coddle. Not cuddle. It’s a stew from
Dublin.”
She pressed her hands over her mouth, color splotching her cheeks. He likely should’ve stopped laughing then, but saints above, the particular nature of the misunderstanding coupled with her look of shock was simply too much.
“Stop it.” Her eyes danced, a sure sign she was not truly humiliated by the error. “It was an honest mistake.”
“What was that you said? A hopeful mistake?”
She nudged him with her shoulder as she passed. “Hopeful on whose part, Dermot?”
Oh, on his part, to be sure. He’d have enjoyed a bit of cuddling with Evangeline, but that was getting a far sight ahead of things. He knew his feelings but not hers. Slow and steady was the safer course.
“Is it for a special reason you’ve put on your father’s necklace?” He’d not known her to wear jewelry in all the months she’d been in Smeatley. In fact, a closer look showed she’d also done something different with her hair.
“I’ve been asked to have dinner at Hillside House.” She made the statement as if being invited to dine with the wealthiest and most influential people in town was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Dinner with the Bartons? Mr. Farr will be there, I’m assuming.”
She nodded. “He extended the invitation.”
“You’re not quaking in your boots at the prospect, I see. Most would be.”
“It seems I missed my calling.” Evangeline flourished her hands. “I should have been an actress.” Then she dropped her smile and her posture slumped. “I am not looking forward to this evening. Mrs. Barton will most certainly spend the evening speaking ill of me in every way she can manage. Mr. Barton will do nothing to contradict her. And Mr. Farr will hear every word. I will spend the evening either allowing the disparagement of my character, because contradicting them would be unladylike, or defending myself in an impolite show of defiance. So much hangs in the balance: my continued presence here, the possibility of having Lucy with me again, the children’s education. What if I choose the wrong approach? What if I only make things worse?”
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