The Headmistress of Rosemere (Whispers on the Moors)

by Sarah E. Ladd

  “Neither one of us knows how to run this school.”

  Patience sucked in a deep breath at the insulting blow. “And what do you think I have been doing these many months?”

  “Will you hear what I have to say before you become defensive? Ewan was the one who learned how to be an educator from Father. Not me. Even though Ewan has been gone for many years, I knew he would know what to do. And I was right. He’s been headmaster of a boys’ school in London for the past three years.”

  Patience pursed her lips and looked over at the fire. Angry as she was, she could not look her brother in the eye as he stepped out from behind the desk and walked toward her.

  “You are aware of the financial situation of this school. Things cannot continue as they are. Besides, you are not a headmistress.”

  She winced at the offense and met his gaze with her own unwavering one. “What do you mean, not a headmistress? What else have I been doing?”

  “Nurse? Governess?” His voice oozed with condescension. “I don’t know what you have been up to, Patience, but do not fool yourself. You might as well be aware of my intentions. I am opening a boys’ school in addition to the girls’ school to make money, and I need O’Connell’s help.”

  Patience felt as if she’d been struck in the chest. “A boys’ school? You cannot be serious.”

  “If this school is to be profitable, we need more students.”

  “Then we will take on more girls.” Frustration propelled her to the window, where the cool air seeping in around the casings cooled her. “Father would never have approved.”

  “Do you not remember? It was Father’s plan. If—when—he ever turned a profit.”

  “We have done well as a girls’ school for over thirty years. This was Father’s vision.”

  “Well, Father’s vision is going to bankrupt us all. He may have been able to survive and thrive on his ideals, but I have a different future in mind for my family.”

  “But we don’t know the first thing about educating boys.”

  “O’Connell does.”

  His words smacked as sharply as a slap across the face. There was his argument. This is why he brought Ewan back.

  “We don’t have the funds to invest in expanding. You said so yourself that the school’s financial situation is less than stable.”

  “I have Lydia’s dowry, which is substantial enough to apply toward such a venture.” Patience shot him an incredulous look, and he quickly added, “And Lydia knows full well my intentions.”

  “So you married that poor girl for her fortune? Rawdon, how could you—”

  “Of course I did not marry her solely for her fortune,” he hissed. “But I did also need to consider my future. And Mother’s. And yours.”

  Patience winced at the reference to herself. He thought her a burden. His spinster sister whom he was obligated to provide for.

  Rawdon walked to the fireplace and turned to face her. “Neither of us is fit to do the work that Father did. He and O’Connell are of the same school of thought. I have decided we need O’Connell, and I have hired him to run things. And that is final.”

  Patience felt again as if she had been struck. The past few months had been hard, but she had poured her everything into them. Her heart. Her soul. And he was not even going to give her a chance to prove herself. “The situation is not as dire as you think. I have been overseeing the books. After all, someone had to.” Patience could not prevent the biting retort from slipping her lips. “Perhaps if you had stayed instead of leaving right after Father’s death, you would understand how things are.”

  His face reddened. “Do not speak of things you do not understand. I was the one Father named to run the school, not you. And I have taken the necessary steps to secure our futures. The school’s future. And since I have returned and seen things with my own eyes, I am even more certain of the path that must be taken.”

  Patience was not about to give in without speaking her mind. “And where do you propose that you will house these boys?”

  “In the west wing.”

  “The west wing? But that is where we live. How do you—”

  “We will build a cottage. On the grounds. You and Mother will live there. With Lydia and me.”

  Patience crossed her arms. “Have you spoken with Mother about this?”

  “No.”

  “She will not leave Rosemere.”

  “Are you so sure? She is miserable here.”

  “She is miserable only because she is still grieving. She would grieve anywhere she was. This is her home.”

  “Her home, yes. But there are too many memories here for her. I can see that, and I have been home only one day.” His voice lowered. “You may not believe me, but I am thinking of you too.”

  Patience sniffed. “There is no need to concern yourself with me.”

  For the first time since his return, Rawdon’s words softened. “This is no life for you, Patience, cooped up here. Working day in and out. You need to be married, you—”

  At the word, heat rushed to her face. “I do not need to be married. I am doing fine on my own.”

  “Do you not wish for a family?”

  She needed to make him understand. “This is my calling, Rawdon. This is why God put me on this earth. I’ve no desire to marry.”

  “Every woman desires to marry.”

  “What a presumptuous thing to say.” She tapped her index finger on the desk. “My place is here. I am happy here.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, things started to make sense. “So this is why you had Ewan return. Did you think of him as a suitor for me?”

  Rawdon shrugged. “He’s a good man. And after all these years, he remains unmarried. I never understood why you refused him.”

  Her chin trembled. “How dare you meddle with matters of the heart. My heart. I already made my decision on that point quite clear, and it has not changed. Really, Rawdon. I will not have this conversation with you.” She stomped from the room and slammed the door, her face flaming with embarrassment and anger.

  Did he think she was not capable of knowing her own heart?

  “So here it is,” muttered William as he dismounted Angus, planting his feet firmly on the iced grass. “Latham Hill.”

  He heard Carlton dismount behind him, his boots crunching the unmarked snow.

  “Yes.” Carlton groaned, his breath heavy from the exertion and puffing white in the frigid air. “Very nice, indeed.”

  Riley walked in front. The raw wind swept from the bare birch branches and caught his great coat, billowing it behind him. “See, Carlton, just as I told you. The river is down past those trees. See there? The trees will need to be removed, but there is a shortcut that runs along the river to town square. Even a bridge. Nothing extravagant. Ideal location.”

  Carlton pivoted on his heel, surveying the land along Sterling Wood, a greedy gleam in his eyes. “Yes. And what’s that over there?”

  William followed the direction of his nod. Rosemere’s stone chimneys rose above the barren tree line, and the new stable was visible through the black branches.

  William said, “That’s Rosemere.”

  Carlton raised an eyebrow. “Tenants of yours, I presume?”

  William nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s a school run by the Creighton family.”

  Riley folded his arms across his chest and looked toward the school. “That bit of land is the jewel in the Eastmore property crown, is it not, Sterling?” A smile spread across Riley’s broad face, but his voice held a hint of . . . something. Contempt? Annoyance? Riley turned back to Carlton. “But he’ll not sell it. No, sir. Won’t sell this land either. Believe me, I’ve tried to buy it myself a time or two.”

  William gritted his teeth, then relaxed his jaw. “Like I’ve said before, the land is not for sale. Besides, Rosemere is leased. If you want to buy a horse, I can help you, but the land is off limits.”

  The older man shifted his weight and looked out to the moors. “Everything has
a price, lad.”

  A sickening feeling swept over William. If he would sell even a portion of his land, his problems with Rafertee would be over. Like that. But the fullness of unfulfilled expectation weighed on him. If he had any pride, any dignity left, he needed to keep his birthright intact. Or at least have a better reason for parting with it than covering his gambling debt.

  William studied Carlton, watching the portly man’s every movement. He walked over to the edge of a large boulder and rested an arm on top of it. “We are discussing a partnership, not a land sale. If I am mistaken, make your intentions clear, for I have other matters to attend to.”

  Riley stepped between them, holding his hands out as one would to a horse. “Gentlemen. Sterling’s right. Nobody is going to buy or sell any land. We just need a location. And this one should suit nicely.”

  Carlton seemed to let his argument go. He knelt down, brushed the snow away, and dug a clump of loose, frozen dirt and rocks out with his stocky fingers. “It would take awhile to get supplies up here to build, but once we did, shouldn’t take too long. Weather depending, of course. Might have to wait a bit more toward spring, after it warms up. Must be fireproof. Getting the iron here will take the longest.”

  William tried to concentrate on the man’s plans, but his gaze kept flitting to Rosemere. The mist hung heavy, shrouding the building in filmy drapes. What would Miss Creighton think of having a mill so close to the school? It would be visible. Traffic would increase. The path leading from Darbury to Eastmore and running behind Rosemere would likely become a road, just on the other side of the stable fence.

  Why should he care? This was his property, was it not?

  But he did care.

  He did want to please her. To know she was happy.

  Riley laughed at something Carlton said, jolting William back to the task at hand. But his thoughts were far from the conversation occurring on Latham Hill and far more intrigued with what was going on inside the walls of Rosemere.

  “So let’s forget about this selling land business and get down to mill business.” Riley rubbed his hands together. “Do we start building, gentlemen?”

  Both pairs of eyes were on him. William drew a deep breath and then nodded slowly.

  A short laugh burst from Riley, and he slapped William on the back. “You won’t regret this, mark my words.”

  20

  As William rode down the narrow path from Latham Hill, heading to the shortcut to Eastmore Hall, he mulled over his conversation with Riley and Carlton. The answer seemed so obvious. They would build the mill. He would share in the profits. It sounded good, too good.

  And that was what worried him.

  He recalled seeing a mill in Manchester similar to the one that Riley had described. It was big. Dirty. Carlton had promised that the mill he proposed would be relatively small. But what if it was indeed successful and expanded? Was he prepared to evict tenants to free more land? And what of the local weavers? He knew of at least two men, one of whom was a tenant, who made his livelihood by selling wool.

  As he wound his way toward Wainslow Peak, he sat up straighter in the saddle and arched his neck. Through the branches of the trees, he could see the stone walls of Rosemere. The setting sun painted pink ribbons against a darkening sky, the shadows making the snow appear almost blue in the fading light. All was quiet on the school’s grounds. Light poured from several windows, and a shadow could be seen passing a window on the second floor.

  So full of life.

  So different from Eastmore Hall.

  William and Angus moved farther down the path, and through the trees, he saw two men walking around the new stable. He recognized Rawdon Creighton. After the shock of discovering his mother’s brooch the previous day and not wanting to intrude on their reunion, his words to Creighton had been short. Instead of continuing on his way home, he turned toward Rosemere. In the still hours of evening, he found a gate in the stone wall and rode up to the new stable.

  “Ah, Sterling,” Creighton exclaimed as he drew closer. “Come to check on the progress?”

  William stopped his horse by the men. “I was riding to Eastmore and saw you out here.” He looked at the building in progress, squinting to see in the fading light. “It appears they are moving quickly.”

  “Indeed.” Rawdon studied the stone foundation before turning toward the man next to him. “Allow me to introduce my colleague, Mr. O’Connell.”

  William nodded. “Good day.”

  “You may remember O’Connell. He studied under my father for several years. I have persuaded him to come back to Rosemere as headmaster.”

  The words struck William as strange. Miss Creighton had not mentioned anything about anyone coming to help. In fact, it appeared that she had everything under control. “Well then, welcome back to Darbury, Mr. O’Connell.”

  Creighton patted his hand down Angus’s neck. “We were about to return to the house for dinner. Won’t you join us?”

  William shook his head. “I could not intrude.”

  “I’ll take no refusal. We are celebrating. And you have yet to meet my wife. Besides, I have a business matter to discuss with you.”

  William’s pulse quickened at the invitation. He would spend time with Miss Creighton, and that would be reason enough. Perhaps he could learn more about how the brooch he’d given Isabelle came to be in her possession. “If you are certain it is not an imposition, I will be most happy to join you.”

  “Excellent. We will get George to tend your horse until it is time to depart.”

  William followed the men inside. Indeed, he was glad for the diversion of dinner at Rosemere. He was growing weary of dining alone, with only Lewis for company occasionally. Yes, this diversion was exactly what he needed.

  Patience opened the door to her wardrobe and studied her modest selection of gowns.

  Ewan O’Connell would be joining them for the evening meal. She felt more like one of her schoolgirls, selecting a gown for a first dance rather than for a simple dinner with family. She closed her eyes. Long-suppressed memories of her brief romance with Ewan flooded her. She slammed the wardrobe door shut. She would not let her mind go to that place. She had made her decision many years ago. She would abide by it and think of it no more.

  Realizing she had forgotten to select a gown, she opened the door wide enough to pull out a modest long-sleeved garment of black crepe trimmed with black velvet.

  Cassandra, who was helping Patience dress for dinner, took the gown from Patience’s hand.

  “Mr. O’Connell’s return must be a shock, but everything will be fine.” Cassandra smoothed the ruffles on the sleeve. “You will see. Time, I am sure, has healed all wounds.”

  Patience wasn’t sure if Cassandra was referring to Ewan’s wounds or her own, but she had Cassandra help her pull the dress over her petticoat and then turned around so she could fasten the tiny buttons down the back.

  Cassandra patted Patience’s shoulder when she was done and smoothed the folds of the gown. “Think of this as dinner with an old friend. That is all, nothing more. I am sure that he will not stay in Darbury too long, and all will be as it was before.”

  If only those words could be a comfort, but Patience knew better. For had Rawdon not said that he wanted Ewan to stay on as headmaster? To run the school? How she wanted to tell her closest friend everything that Rawdon had told her about the plans for the future. But such an act would be a selfish one, for how could Patience tell Cassandra news of Rawdon without causing further injury?

  Cassandra nudged Patience toward the dressing table. “Sit. I will dress your hair.”

  Patience tried to remain still as Cassandra adorned her hair, just as she had so many times before. Her gaze followed Cassandra’s silver brush as it slipped through her own black tresses.

  Pretty, sweet Cassandra, with her kind smile, her warm eyes. Long, dark lashes. But instead of her usual ruddy cheeks, she looked pale. Ashen. All of these recent developments must have been unima
ginably hard on Cassandra.

  Patience winced as the brush caught a tangle in her hair.

  She looked at her own reflection. The candle sitting on the dressing table cast a warm glow on her complexion. She pressed her lips together, watching her cheek dimple as she did so.

  Ewan had been the only man to call her beautiful. But that was so many years ago. How foolish she had been, delighting in his praise. In her naivety, she did not realize where the compliments were leading.

  And since his return, what did he think of her?

  At twenty-five, she was a spinster. That fact had never embarrassed her before, but now, facing a man she had once refused, she could not deny the sting. She had always expected a handsome and dashing man to sweep her away. But he never came.

  Once her skin had been bright and smooth. Was it still? And her eyes had shone with brightness. Ewan had said they were like the sea . . . like green glass. She’d never seen the sea, but she sincerely doubted her eyes still shone with the vibrancy of unaffected youth. Responsibility weighed heavy on her. How she would love to go back to the innocence of those days.

  Patience tapped her toes against the floor as Cassandra swept her black hair up off her neck and pinned it away from her face in a style that still allowed tendrils to cascade down her neck. The sight seemed odd after months of wearing her hair up in a simple twist.

  After a knock, the door swung open, and Mary, round and flushed, hurried into the room. “We are to have another guest tonight for dinner.”

  Patience whirled around. “Another guest? Who?”

  Mary placed a tea service on the table. “Mr. Sterling, Miss. Mr. Sterling has arrived. He called on Mr. Creighton, he did, and of course he was invited for dinner. I declare, I hope there is enough food. First he invites the Hammonds, then Mr. O’Connell arrives. I hadn’t planned for all of this company.”

  Patience heard nothing after “Mr. Sterling.” “You say Mr. Sterling is here?”

  “Yes. Been down with the men nigh a quarter hour. You know how your brother fancies a large gathering. Always been the social one of the family. And him and his missus being so used to London, he must miss all the people.”