Maisie looked forward to an evening ahead with light demands on her time. Lovely. She would have at least an hour to study, maybe longer. In the time that had passed since she rescued the medical texts that young Mr. Willows had tossed from his window, she had made her way through them twice and was ready to start a review of the most interesting chapters.
As she came up the last few stairs to the attic, she saw there was a book sitting in front of her door. She knelt down to pick it up, and her heart almost leapt from her bosom when she saw that it was a textbook on the spread of infectious diseases in urban centers. There was a note sticking out from it with her name formally and neatly written on it. Looking about to be sure no one was watching, she slipped into her room and locked the door before carefully breaking the wax seal on the letter.
April 19, 1902
Dear Miss Rosedale,
Please excuse my bold and inappropriate behavior in seeking to ask a special kindness from you. It is with the greatest respect for your position that I chance offending you with my request, and I do hope you don’t think poorly of me as a result.
It would please me greatly if you would accept this book as payment in advance for assisting me with my studies. I would be ever so grateful if you would consider reading chapter three and giving me your thoughts on the four assignment questions you will find at the end of the chapter.
I feel this material is hopelessly beyond my understanding, and I was greatly impressed by the knowledge you displayed in my presence the other day.
If you would consider it, it is my hope that we shall be able to enter into an arrangement to study together under the cloak of secrecy, of course, so as to protect us both.
With my sincere gratitude and my promise to uphold discretion of the highest order, I beg to remain,
Your fellow student,
James Willows
James had left his door ajar to enable him to hear Maisie’s return. His room on the third floor was near the end of the hall and he would easily be able to hear her on the stairs. With the other staff members away on Saturday evenings, James knew there was little chance that the surprise he had left for Maisie would be found by anyone but her. She was always prompt in her return. He was utterly consumed with delight in anticipating her reaction.
Finally his patience was rewarded with the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, marching energetically, as she hummed a tune. He waited. It couldn’t take but a minute before she would be back down the stairs. The minute passed, and several more after that. Had she missed it? How would that be possible? James paced about impatiently in his room before heading for the door to the service stairway. As he reached it, it flew open and hit him soundly on the head, sending him reeling backward and bringing stars to his eyes as he hit the wall and slumped to the floor. He looked up into the starry darkness and saw an angel, fluttering about in a terrible state of angst.
“Dear me, Mr. James! Please let me help you!” Maisie was horrified at the accident she caused. The second in less than a week! The book flew from her hands as she reached to help young Mr. Willows. “I’m so dreadfully sorry! Are you all right?” She helped him struggle to his feet.
“I’m fine, really I am. Just bad timing is all.” James rubbed the rising knot on his forehead, desperately trying to hide his embarrassment.
“I must be the clumsiest person on earth!” Maisie exclaimed. “Oh, I am so terribly sorry.” Her face had turned crimson and he quickly forgot his embarrassment in his desire to ease her concerns.
“Please, Maisie, it was an accident. Calm yourself. No harm was done. There now,” he said as he straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket. “See, everything is fine.”
“Thank you, Mr. James,” she said in full voice, certain they were not alone. “It seems this book was misplaced. I found it and believe it belongs in your collection.” The words streamed rapidly out of her mouth as she thrust the book forward.
Unable to mask his disappointment, he took the book from her hands. He opened the cover to see if she had retrieved his note, and was immediately heartened to see she had replaced his note with her own.
She smiled and immediately dropped her gaze onto the floor as she curtsied. “I do believe Mr. Chadwick is likely to have returned and may well have need for my assistance. Is there anything I might do for you Mr. James?”
“No, that will be all. Thank you, Maisie. I shall retire to my studies.”
“Goodnight, Mr. James.”
She hummed as she turned and disappeared in search of the elusive, ever present Mr. Chadwick, whom she suspected was lurking nearby, as James turned back to his room and closed the door. He held the note and felt his heart beating in his chest. He took his time getting settled at his desk before he opened it and discovered it held an astonishing surprise.
Dear Mr. Willows,
Thank you for the gift, but I already have this textbook. It fell into my hands shortly after I arrived at Ravenscraig, as luck would have it.
I completed all of the exercises in this book some months ago, and have written extensive notes. Here are the answers I wrote for chapter three.
With great appreciation, I most humbly accept your offer to study together, in secret, of course. I await your further instructions.
Sincerely,
Maisie Rosedale
Chapter Twenty-Five
A Letter from Elliot
January 18, 1903
While James was studying medicine in Manitoba, his younger brother, Elliot, was in Paris, studying architecture at the Ecole des Beaux Arts. At least Rupert believed he was.
Only Emma knew the truth, and it was enough to consume the child with both excitement and worry. Elliot had sent her a letter with his news, and she had been carrying it with her for ten days, not having told a soul about it. Their father was going to be most upset when he learned what Elliot had done. But Emma could only admire her brother for following his dreams.
Today, at last, she would be able to unburden her secret on her dearest friend. Mary Doogie was in her grade six class at Havergal School. She was finally home from her Christmas vacation travels with her parents and her arrival for a visit at Ravenscraig was a cause for great celebration between the two.
“Mary, I have missed you so!” Emma threw her arms around Mary, and the two hugged and laughed, as they spilled compliments over one another while desperate to hear all of the news each had to share.
“I have a secret!” Emma whispered when they were settled in the parlor. She checked over her shoulder to be sure none of the servants was about.
“Well, out with it then! Don’t keep me in suspense,” insisted Mary.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone. My brother’s very future depends on it!”
“Alfred is getting married?”
“No. This is not about Alfred.”
“James?”
“No, no, this is about Elliot!”
“Elliot! How is he enjoying Paris? Is it fantastic?”
Emma glanced around. “Yes,” she said, louder than necessary, suspecting they were not alone. “Elliot is loving Paris. Imagine studying architecture at the Beaux Arts!”
Mary stifled a giggle. “Are you sure it is safe to talk here?”
Mary put her finger to her lips. “Shh. This is extremely important to him and you are the only person on earth that I can tell. He gave me permission.”
“My goodness, Emma, whatever is it?”
“Shh! First you have to pinky swear that you won’t tell a soul!”
The girls linked fingers and swished their locked hands in the oath to secrecy.
Mary drew in very close as Emma cupped her hands and whispered in her ear.
“What?!” Mary clapped her hand over her mouth and squealed. “Your father is going to have a canary!”
“Well, that canary won’t be appearing anytime soon, because no one is going to tell him,” Emma whispered. “Mr. Chadwick might be nearby. Be careful what you say out loud.�
�� She reached into her dress pocket and brought out an envelope. “Elliot sent me the most exquisite dancing slippers and tucked inside the package was this letter. You read it for yourself.”
Mary handled the letter as if it were a great and fragile treasure. She hesitated, then gently pulled the letter from the envelope.
December 5, 1902
Ma chère petite sœur,
Paris is absolutely wonderful! I feel so alive and happy in this city with its charming cafés, vibrant art displays and endless museums. I see you reading this and shaking your head, wondering what has happened to change the dark and gloomy circumstances I wrote about in my last letter. I’m so sorry to have worried you with all of my troubles, Emma. Those days are gone. Now I feel as if I have absolutely become another person!
Dear Emma, please know that what I am about to tell you must be kept the strictest secret. My entire life will be turned upside down if our parents should learn my plans. Do you swear to keep my secret? I know you do. You are the only person at home that I am sharing this with. Now, because I trust you, I will say that if you absolutely must tell Mary, that is fine, as I know how close she is to you and I know she is of good character. However, if either of you betray me, you should have no doubt that it will be the last that I will ever speak to you. I am quite serious. I would never, ever forgive you.
My secret is that I am no longer attending the Ecole des Beaux Arts. As you know, I positively loathed it for every day of the sixteen months that I was there. Architecture is just not for me. I am still in school, though, but this is a different school, a dream school. Here is how it came about.
There is a café near my apartment that has the most scrumptious delicacies in the entire world. I take most of my meals there. The pastry is beyond imagination in both the beauty of presentation and superb taste. I am in seventh heaven the moment I step through the door and breathe in the fantastic aromas emanating from the kitchen. I very quickly became friends with the owners who are also the cooks. They are Henri and Solange Bouvier, and you could not find a more creative and talented duo.
So, here is what happened. One day, while dining, I suggested a technique to Henri to enhance the flavor of the Crème Caramel. He looked at me with surprise and asked how I would know the method I was describing to him, and I admitted my fondness for culinary pursuits and told him of my experimentations below stairs at Ravenscraig. He immediately invited me into the kitchen and since then I have practically become a fixture there, regularly experimenting with creating new dishes. Henri was so delighted with what he calls my “innate talent” that he offered to introduce me to one of the directors of the school where he studied. Emma, this school I speak of is the famous Cordon Bleu! I am floating above the ground in telling you that I have been accepted as a student. Your brother Elliot is going to be a chef!
Now, of course, I have no desire to cut short the life of our father, so you must allow me to tell him this news myself, at the time when I determine would be appropriate. I am so thrilled to tell you about this wonderful development. I absolutely had to share my news with you.
I do hope all is well with you and your studies. I know the winter is dreadfully long in Winnipeg and hope you have been cheered by my little present of the dancing slippers. I saw them in a shop on the Champs Élysées and could not resist buying them for you.
Affectionately yours,
Elliot
“Oh, Emma!” exclaimed Mary. “How utterly brave he is!”
“He certainly is. He won’t let anything stop him!”
“What did he mean about his experimentations below stairs at Ravenscraig?”
“He used to have trouble sleeping sometimes and he would go downstairs and bake. Can you imagine? Scones and cakes and things.”
“Surely he couldn’t keep that a secret!” Mary exclaimed.
“Well, no. He did get caught, but only by Mrs. Butterfield who came down early one morning. But he told me he traded his scones recipe for her silence.”
“You’re joking,” said Mary
“No. But she would never tell. You can trust Mrs. B.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“About Elliot’s decision? Of course not. You are the only person who knows except for me. Oh, Mary, I do feel so much better now that I have confided in you. It is such a weight to carry a secret all by myself.”
The girls went on to chat about their schoolmates and Mr. Chadwick grew frustrated. He had arrived in his eavesdropping spot too late to learn much about anything. All he knew was that Mr. Elliot was up to something and that somehow Mrs. Butterfield had information that he did not.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aaron’s Essay
April 12, 1903
The noon bell rang out through the school and Miss Mitchell touched her handkerchief delicately to her nose. The limited lunch offerings the children brought out of the tin pails they carried to school included garlic and goose fat sandwiches, bread and butter, and rarely, a chunk of cheese. She smiled sympathetically at those who were too poor to have been provided a lunch from home, and excused them to play out of doors.
Miss Edith Mitchell had devoted her life to her students and her devotion was being tested. She strained under her ambitions and unmet goals, as she considered the collection of unwashed children crammed into her classroom.
Her class was currently forty-two children from ages ten to sixteen in three different grades: four, five and six. Grades were assigned according to ability, not age. Hence, among her grade four students there were some boys taller than she was herself. Language was always the greatest challenge as most of the children struggled to learn enough English to understand their lessons. Of her class, only seven spoke English as a first language. Eighteen other languages were represented in the homes of the immigrant children. In the mix, the Jews were greatest in number, but close behind them were the Germans, then the Ukrainians and other Slavs. None of them rich, many of them undernourished, some of them bright stars in the midst of the most difficult circumstances. It broke her heart.
Miss Mitchell had found her purpose in life in her dedication to help these children raise themselves out of poverty. With her guidance, she believed that they would, one day, leave behind the grime, the lice, and the strings of garlic suspended around their necks, and assimilate to become productive contributors to the British Empire. She was very disappointed that eight students had already left the class during the school year. In almost all cases, the impetus for departure was a family’s desperate need of wage earners, thus dashing any hopes for further education for the child. It was particularly disheartening when she lost the children who were naturally good students. She took every loss as a sign of personal failure. With each child who dropped out, one more little foreigner was missing the opportunity to be transformed, under her tutelage, into a proper Canadian citizen.
Miss Mitchell took great satisfaction in the accomplishments of her pupils; chief among them was how capable they had become in English over the year. Her class was well ahead of the others at Selkirk Avenue School. She had pushed them hard and the proof of her method was in their conversations in the schoolyard. English conversations. She had done it. She was proud of them, and even more so, she was proud of herself. A spinster of twenty-nine, she had vigorously committed her life to excellence in education.
Her reward came in unusual payment. She saw it in the admiring eyes of the pale-faced girls who worked to imitate her British accent and in the teenage boys who removed their caps and said “Good morning, Teacher,” when she happened across them in the market. Most significant, and a fact she kept to herself, was that she saw her influence in their growing shame for their origins; the shame they felt for their illiterate parents. The evidence of this embarrassment was in the increasing number of report cards that got “lost” on the way back to school for lack of a parent’s ability to read and sign the documents.
She allowed her students their dignity and accepted their exp
lanations. Secretly, she counted their unreturned report cards as a sign of validation for her techniques.
From shame came ambition. In Miss Mitchell’s view this was the golden ticket to becoming Canadian. Shame allowed the children to distance themselves from their backward ways and embrace the culture and work ethic of the Anglo Saxon founders of the country. Some of the children were even considering changing their names to anglicize them. Yes, years from now, many of these young people would undoubtedly remember her for having had a profound impact on their lives.
When the children returned to their seats after recess, Miss Mitchell’s special guest was waiting for them. Mr. Sisler, the principal, had been invited to hear the results of the school essay contest.
The essay was part of a national competition, whereupon the best essay from each school would be sent to King Edward VII. Affection for the monarchy was deeply rooted in the Dominion, and held great appeal for the immigrants. Miss Mitchell had taken charge of the contest thinking it an ideal opportunity to show Mr. Sisler how valuable she was as a teacher. Sadly, it had not worked out as she had planned.
She was hoping Aaron Zigman would be the one to represent the school, as he was far and away the best writer. But what he had turned in for the essay assignment was shockingly disappointing, and defiantly off topic, in her view. This afternoon, she would have to make an example of him, to help him get back on track. She had no choice. The essay assignment was neatly written on the large black chalkboard behind her desk.
Selkirk Avenue Public School
Writing Assignment: Canadian Heroes
Ravenscraig Page 27