Death Comes to the School

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Did Mr. Stanford accompany you today?” Lucy asked.

  “No. He’s at my old home, interviewing my mother’s land agent and keeping an eye on the children.” Sophia smiled. “He really does take remarkably good care of me and our family.”

  Anna returned with a tea tray and had barely set it down before there was another arrival.

  “Mrs. Fletcher and Miss Chingford,” the new maid announced just as Penelope and her sister came in the door behind her.

  “There is no need to be so formal, Fiona. We are practically part of the family,” Penelope said as she curtsied. She took off her bonnet, revealing her blond ringlets and perfect complexion. “Good morning, Mrs. Stanford, Anna, and Lucy. We saw the Stanford carriage and decided to step in and pay our respects.”

  Anna raised her eyebrows at Lucy behind Penelope’s back and then moved forward. “Please join us for some tea. It is always delightful to welcome you both here.”

  Lucy had always thought it was a pity that Anna had not been born a man. She would’ve made an excellent diplomat.

  Within moments, Dorothea Chingford excused herself to search out the curate on a matter of spiritual guidance, leaving Anna and Lucy to deal with her older and far more outspoken sister.

  Penelope took off her gloves and settled into a seat. Despite her limited budget as the village doctor’s wife, she always looked like she had just stepped out of a fashion plate. “It seems my sister has set her cap at Mr. Culpepper, the curate. What do we know about his family? Are they wealthy?”

  “I believe his father is a vicar in the west of England and has several other children,” Lucy offered.

  “Then probably not wealthy at all.” Penelope wrinkled her nose. “What a shame.”

  “You realized that marrying for love rather than wealth was an excellent idea, Penelope. Why should your sister not follow your example?” Lucy asked.

  “Because she isn’t as foolish as I am.”

  “Are you not happy in your marriage?” Lucy raised her eyebrows.

  “I am very content with my choice, although if my dear Dr. Fletcher suddenly inherited a fortune, I certainly wouldn’t regret it or turn it down.” Penelope turned to Anna. “Has Mr. Culpepper said anything to you or your father to indicate his intentions toward Dorothea?”

  “He hasn’t said anything to me,” Anna said cautiously. “Would you like me to ask Father to speak to him?”

  “I’ll speak to him myself.” Penelope folded her hands in her lap. “I cannot have my sister wasting her youth on a man who has no interest in her. As you both know, I wasted far too many years waiting for Major Sir Robert Kurland to marry me.”

  After another wry glance at Lucy, Anna handed Penelope a cup of tea. “I believe you made the right choice in the end. It is quite obvious that Dr. Fletcher adores you.”

  Penelope patted her golden curls. “As he should, seeing as I condescended to forgo the rank and privilege my beauty deserved to marry a nonentity.”

  Sophia choked on her tea, and Lucy patted her on the back. Within seconds, Penelope was interrogating Sophia about current London fashions, leaving Lucy free to sit in comparative peace.

  Dorothea Chingford would make an excellent bride for the curate. They had known each other for three years and always sought each other out at social and church events. Dorothea did not have her sister’s ambition and would welcome the opportunity to stay in the village she had grown to love. In the village, there was a small house owned by the church that would suit the young couple to perfection. Lucy made a mental note to remind her father to offer it to George Culpepper if the wedding took place.

  “Lucy, are you still expecting us at Kurland Hall this afternoon to discuss the arrangements for the Christmas festivities?” Penelope inquired.

  “Yes, indeed.” Lucy placed her cup on the side table. “In truth, I should not stay much longer. I have to go and speak to Miss Broomfield at the school.”

  Sophia pouted. “You are leaving already? I have barely had a chance to speak to you.”

  “I will gladly avail myself of your company at Kurland Hall this afternoon. In fact, why don’t you and Andrew stay for dinner after that?”

  “What an excellent idea.” Lucy looked up as Robert entered the room with her father. He bowed over Sophia’s hand and then kissed it. “I was just coming to extend the same invitation. How are you, my dear Mrs. Stanford?”

  “I am very well.” Sophia smiled up at him. “Your best friend makes an excellent husband.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  As Robert spoke to Sophia, a bud of resentment unfurled in Lucy’s bosom. Her husband was being remarkably charming for a man who’d barely bothered to manage three sentences to her over the breakfast table.

  “May I bring the children with me today?” Sophia asked. “They are looking forward to seeing you both immensely.”

  Robert cast a wary glance at Lucy. “I’m . . . not sure. Lucy has not been well. She might—”

  Lucy cut across him. “I would be delighted to see your children, Sophia. How could you think otherwise, sir?”

  Sophia looked uncertainly from her to Robert and then back again. “I am glad to hear that, seeing as I am about to add to the brood.” She patted her stomach. “Not until next Easter, I believe.”

  A chorus of congratulations rained down on Sophia’s head, while Lucy smiled and smiled. Just to make matters worse, Penelope sighed extravagantly and came to stand beside Sophia.

  “I was going to wait until after the festivities to reveal my news. But I must confess that I am in an interesting condition, as well,” Penelope revealed.

  Lucy stumbled through another set of congratulations, and then, while she was unobserved, she left the room and climbed the stairs to what used to be her bedchamber. She fumbled for her handkerchief and couldn’t find it as tears dripped down to mark the patterned muslin of her bodice.

  When the door opened behind her, she delved inside the top drawer of her old dressing table and pretended to be searching for something.

  “Is that you, Anna? I was just looking for a clean handkerchief.”

  “Lucy.”

  She stiffened as a warm hand slid around her neck and she was turned into the comfort of her husband’s arms. A large handkerchief was pressed into her palm.

  “It’s all right.”

  For a long moment, she did nothing but breathe in his familiar scent and simply allowed herself to be held. Eventually, she used the handkerchief to blow her nose and eased out of his arms.

  “Pray excuse me. It’s not that I’m not delighted for both Sophia and Penelope. It’s just that it should have been me announcing my news, and—”

  “I’m fairly certain that neither of them noticed you were upset.” He was watching her carefully, his attention fixed on her face. “Have you told Mrs. Stanford what happened?”

  “It wasn’t something I was comfortable revealing in a letter. I intended to tell her when she arrived.” Lucy dabbed at her eyes “But how can I do that now, when she is so happy?”

  A small frown appeared on his forehead. “Surely, she would still want to know.”

  “That I am incapable of carrying a child?”

  “Lucy . . . that’s not what Dr. Fletcher said.”

  His unaccustomed gentleness made her chest hurt. “I do not want to put foolish fears into Sophia’s head about her own current condition.”

  “If she truly is your friend, she will notice you are out of sorts and will ask for an explanation. Do you plan on lying to her?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.” She raised her chin. “What do you suggest?”

  “It is hardly my decision to make, my dear. I’ll tell Andrew the truth. I would rather not lie to my oldest friend.”

  “Then may I suggest you don’t?”

  He stepped away from her. “I do not want to argue with you about this.”

  “I wasn’t aware that we were arguing.”

  “But we soon will
be, because every time I attempt to discuss what happened, you turn it into a battleground.”

  Tears started in her eyes again, but she ruthlessly held them back. “Are you suggesting that everything is my fault?”

  “No! I’m attempting to—”

  “Because you would be correct. Everything is my fault. Now, would you kindly remove yourself from my presence so that I can compose myself?”

  He visibly set his jaw. “I am your husband. Surely, I am entitled to express my feelings for you and discuss what has occurred.”

  “As far as I am concerned, you have already done everything required of you, sir.”

  “So I’m supposed to ignore the fact that you are tired and miserable?”

  “Yes!” She stamped her foot. “I would feel much better if everyone would stop remarking upon it and let me be!”

  “Everyone?” He took a step back. “Ah, I see.”

  She gathered the last of her pitifully stretched resources. “Can we not discuss this at home? I do not want my father to hear us arguing.”

  “We are not arguing.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “You are merely angling for a fight, and I am refusing to indulge you.”

  “Then if you will not leave, can you continue to indulge me and allow me to continue on my way?”

  He studied her for a long moment before moving to one side. He flung open the door and bowed low. “My lady.”

  She went past him and practically ran down the stairs and out the front door, forgetting her bonnet in her haste to leave. She didn’t want him to be kind and understanding. She wanted him to . . . What did she want?

  Mr. Coleman emerged from the kitchens and handed her into the gig. “Major Kurland said you were ready to leave, and to give you this.” He placed her bonnet on the seat beside her. “Now, let’s get you home.”

  “I need to visit the schoolhouse first.”

  “Then I’ll take you there, but no loitering around in the cold, now, my lady.”

  Chapter 2

  Kurland St. Mary School occupied a building, owned by the Kurland estate, on the edge of the village, close to the duck pond and open fields. It had once housed one of the village smithies and had fallen into disrepair when the family left to live in Hertford. It was built of sturdy brick and stone. The gutted interior had been restructured to allow for one large classroom and a cloakroom, where the students could hang their outdoor things.

  At the rear of the property was a separate door into the teacher’s living accommodation, which continued above the schoolroom. As the Kurland family had endowed the school, Lucy had spent many months poring over the designs and interviewing prospective teachers. Miss Broomfield, the current teacher, had only recently taken up the position, after the previous teacher, a woman Lucy had liked tremendously, had left to marry one of the local farmers.

  Miss Broomfield had come highly recommended by an acquaintance of her father’s; Lucy hadn’t formed an opinion of her yet. Because of the nature of a rural village, most of the children who did attend came after they had fulfilled their obligations to their families. Some of them worked on the local farms; others in the villages or alongside their parents at home.

  Robert had insisted that all the children who lived on the Kurland estate should have the opportunity to attend school, but there were many parents who resented the time their children spent away from home, and considered the idea of education wasteful. Lucy had insisted that girls be offered the chance to attend, as well, which had scandalized everyone in the county, except perhaps her father and her husband.

  In truth, very few of the girls attended, but two of the older ones had been employed to assist the teacher and were paid well enough to stop their families from grumbling. Lucy climbed the steps and pushed open the door that led into the cloakroom of the school. The smell of damp clothes and unwashed bodies engulfed her, and she tried not to breathe too deeply.

  The door to the schoolroom proper was ajar. Lucy could hear voices chanting a multiplication table. There were often more children at school during the winter months, when there was less for them to do on the land. The design of the school included a large fireplace, which kept the building warm even during the coldest of days. She suspected some of the children came to school simply to be warm for a few hours, and she could hardly blame them.

  “John Thacker!”

  Lucy flinched as the teacher’s cane smacked on wood.

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Are you sleeping again?”

  “No, miss.”

  As Lucy opened the door, the sight of the schoolmistress greeted her, cane raised, ready to strike the small boy cowering in front of her.

  “Good morning, Miss Broomfield,” Lucy called.

  The teacher froze in place, the tip of her cane quivering an inch from the boy’s ear.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing in my schoolhouse?”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows. “I’m Lady Kurland.”

  “Lady Kurland!” Miss Broomfield lowered the cane and placed it on her desk. “I was not expecting you.”

  “Obviously.” Lucy gave the teacher her haughtiest smile. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

  “If you insist.” Miss Broomfield pointed at an older girl sitting quietly at a desk on the side. “Rebecca, take over the lesson. I shall return momentarily.”

  “Yes, Miss Broomfield.”

  Lucy patted John’s head as she passed him, and followed Miss Broomfield into the more private part of the school. The teacher held the door open for Lucy and closed it behind her before going to stand behind her desk, her black skirts rustling as she walked. She was shorter than Lucy, her features were sharp, and she held herself ramrod straight, like a soldier on parade.

  “I would prefer it if you send a note asking if it would be convenient for me to speak to you before you arrive at my school, Lady Kurland.”

  “In future I will bear that in mind.” Lucy declined the offer of a seat. “I came to inquire as to whether the children would be available to sing at one of the Christmas services.”

  “At Kurland St. Mary Church?”

  “Yes. Have you continued Miss Brent’s music lessons?”

  Miss Broomfield’s dark eyes narrowed even further. “I am not in the habit of wasting valuable hours in the schoolroom on such frivolous undertakings, my lady.”

  “Then perhaps you might reconsider your position.” Lucy’s smile was pleasant enough, but she didn’t intend to be talked down to. “I’m certain it was made clear that we expect the children to receive a well-rounded education.”

  “When most of them barely know their alphabet?” Miss Broomfield snapped. “And arrive at school too tired and lazy to apply themselves?”

  “Most of them have already put in a hard day’s work before they get here,” Lucy reminded her. “I agree that reading and writing must be a priority, but there is always time for music and art.”

  “Humph.” Miss Broomfield’s determined expression didn’t waver. “I am not convinced that children should be allowed to perform in front of an audience. We do not want to put ideas into their heads.”

  “Ideas about what?” Lucy asked.

  “About other ungodly occupations, such as a career on the stage, or thinking they are somehow special because they have performed for their betters.”

  “As they will be performing in front of their own parents and families, I hardly think it will turn their heads.” Lucy reached behind her and rested one hand on the bookcase. Despite all her protestations to the contrary, she sometimes did feel terribly tired.

  “But still, Lady Kurland—”

  “Thank you for your time.” Lucy gathered her resources. “If you do not feel you can help with this matter, I will inform Sir Robert and my father of your decision.”

  Miss Broomfield frowned. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help out, Lady Kurland. I merely suggested that it doesn’t sit well with my conscience. I am, however, well aware that my position here rest
s on my ability to appease the whims of my employers.”

  “Indeed, it does.” Lucy inclined her head an inch. How could her father and Robert have offered this dreadful woman the position? If Lucy had been well enough to interview her, she doubted Miss Broomfield would have won her approval. “If you prefer it, I could come in and teach the children the carols myself.”

  “Oh, no. That won’t be necessary, my lady,” Miss Broomfield said quickly. “Just send me a note as to what they need to learn, and I will set one of the girls to the task.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy nodded. “While I am here, is there anything else you need to discuss with me, Miss Broomfield?”

  “Well, the chimney in my part of the school appears to be partially blocked,” Miss Broomfield said begrudgingly. “I dare not set a fire in there.”

  “I will send someone to deal with that directly.”

  “Thank you.” Miss Broomfield’s smile was less pinched this time. “Other than that, the accommodation you have provided is more than adequate.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Lucy turned toward the door. “Is John Thacker really falling asleep every day?”

  “Indeed, he is. I cannot understand why he even bothers to attend if he can’t keep his eyes open!” Miss Broomfield walked around her desk to join Lucy. She smelled of damp wool and strong lye soap. “His sister is almost as bad.”

  “It is probably because his mother has just had another baby.”

  The teacher sniffed. “And how many children does that make? Ten now, is it?”

  “Surely, the good Lord tells us to accept what is given to us and rejoice in it,” Lucy countered and mentally made a note to send poor Mrs. Thacker some extra provisions from the Kurland Hall kitchen. The family lived on one of the outlying farms, and the house must be full to bursting.

  “Well, as to that, there is such a thing as abstinence, my lady.”

  “Indeed, but who are we to judge what is right in another couple’s marriage?” Lucy said sweetly.

  “As I have never been married, or wished to indulge in such a union, I can hardly comment, Lady Kurland.”

  “Exactly.”

  Lucy returned to the schoolroom, Miss Broomfield behind her. John Thacker was already asleep, his head cradled in his arms on the desktop. He wasn’t the only child who had taken advantage of the teacher’s absence to take a nap. Lucy cleared her throat quite loudly, and several heads shot up. She nodded at Josephine Blake, who was helping one of the little ones read from the Bible.