The spinster and the wastrel

by Louise Bergin

  His friend waved the apology away, causing the brandy to slosh in his glass. "You're my best friend. I won't forget you wanted to help." He toasted the baronet again and then gave a bitter laugh. "But you're in the same boat I am. You're a fortune hunter, too."

  "I don't like that name," Sir Gerard answered sharply.

  Linton shrugged. "It's the truth. Need to be leg shackled. Only marriage can save us now."

  Sir Gerard turned away, not liking to hear his own morning thoughts so crudely spoken. "There must be another way."

  "What?" His friend paused, but there was no reply. "At least, you have an heiress in sight. I have no one."

  Sir Gerard did not pretend to misunderstand. He strode over to the fireplace mantel and stared down at the fire burning there. "I do not want to marry Miss Courtney."

  "What choice do you have?"

  At this moment Sir Gerard could see none, but that did not mean one did not exist. He had lived by his wits for too long not to find a solution to this problem.

  How could he marry the spinster? She might not be the conniving adventuress he had first thought, but she still was not suitable as a wife. He amended the thought, At least not for me.

  He knew what he required in a wife: both money and town polish. As a society hostess, the future Lady West-court needed connections and a strong will. He was willing to concede Miss Courtney had the will, but not the connections. Where was the necessary polish to overlook aristocratic transgressions? Gloomily he knew she was a woman of impeccable moral integrity.

  His hand clenched the mantel, and he eyed the tempting decanter. He shook his head. Forgetfulness in drink would not solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he turned his back on the brandy and glanced around the room.

  The books lining the shelves, the rich wood paneling the walls, even the window glass, painted the picture of gentility and wealth. Yet, the money was only a facade.

  Miss Courtney already owned everything else, did she also own him? Did she control his choice of a wife? He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and tried to think rationally. If he married the spinster, he would gain control of his fortune. A husband controlled his wife's wealth— unless there was a lawyer around to draw up settlement papers keeping the wealth in the woman's name. With his luck, Sir Gerard just knew the solicitor Keller would be the one to interfere.

  Aloud, he said, "I will not be forced into marriage."

  "Ha!" Linton exclaimed. "Accept your fate and be done with it. Remember what will happen if that money-lender fails to get his blunt back."

  Sir Gerard frowned at his friend. "Your reminders are far from helpful." He began to pace through the library,

  striding from the fireplace to the window, then to the door and around again. "When I choose a wife, she will be of good family."

  Linton interrupted. "An heiress is always of good family. This spinster is the daughter of the late vicar, so she is at least genteel."

  Without breaking stride, Sir Gerard waved away this comment. "So she is, but she could never be my wife. After being on the fringes of the ton for so long, I intend to make my mark upon society. I need a wife who will be an asset to me."

  "A meddling spinster as a wife will cause those plans to change."

  Halting, Sir Gerard glared at the man still slumped in the chair. "I will not change my plans. I won't. There must be another way to obtain the money. Or at least enough of it to get that man off my back so I can breathe." He cast his glance around the library. "If only I could sell something."

  "Can't," Linton pronounced, while staring morosely at the little brandy remaining in his glass. "Everything you own is entailed. She owns everything else."

  Sir Gerard was silent, not wanting to admit the truth of that statement. Despairing, he threw himself into one of the wing chairs. "How do other people get money?"

  Not realizing it was a rhetorical question, Linton began enumerating on his fingers. "Inheritances, marriages, mortgages, betting ..."

  "I could mortgage the estate." He considered the possibility.

  "You are already in debt."

  "I would use the rents to pay it off." Sir Gerard's eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet. "That's it! I think I've got it."

  Interested at last, Linton straightened in his chair. "What? Got what? Tell me."

  "The rents. Why should I even mortgage the estate? Avoid the bankers altogether. I will raise my rents."

  The man asked dubiously, "Can you do that?"

  "Why not? It's my land." Another thought struck him. "Maybe I will even enclose it for sheep. People are making lots of money in sheep these days."

  Even more dubious, Linton raised his eyebrows. "You're going to make your mark in society as a sheep farmer?"

  "No, as a gentleman, as Baronet Westcourt." He bowed low. "Now, if you will excuse me, I need to find my steward."

  Annette was nervous. Her students seemed to sense it, for restlessness stirred throughout the classroom. One boy tapped his slate in a constant rhythm, while another sought to poke his bench mate whenever Annette glanced away. Her school was beginning with children from four farms, two boys from Mr. Tubbs, and the baker's youngest girl.

  She wiped her palms on her skirt and tried to concentrate on the lesson at hand. The chill in the room did not bother her. The trustees would be here at any moment. She wanted to show them her school at its best.

  The old warehouse was certainly in better shape. The roof was tight, and the cracks in the walls had been repaired. The old crates and barrel slats were gone. The children sat in rows on new wooden benches, which creaked under their fidgeting. The inadequate stove still needed replacing, but she had a new one ordered. She could make do for now.

  In the meantime, Annette was very pleased with the

  work of Tubbs the carpenter. He had done his best, plainly remembering several years ago when she had helped his family out when a fever had laid him low. Her baskets of food and clothing, along with some of Sir Nigel's precious coins, had carried him through that bad time.

  The clop of horses' hooves and the rattle of carriage wheels outside alerted her to the board's arrival. Every student turned to face the door.

  Swallowing, she reminded them, "Children, we must not be distracted from our work."

  They obediently bent their heads over their slates again, but their gazes strayed. She pretended not to notice.

  The door opened and three men entered. She barely noticed the solicitor and the Reverend Browne as her attention focused on the new baronet. The other men she had known for many years. Because they were familiar with her work, she could trust they would approve of it, even if it took determined convincing on her part. Sir Gerard was the unknown. So far he had plainly shown how much he disapproved of her. For some reason, which she did not want to examine too closely, she wanted his respect for her dream.

  "Good afternoon," she greeted the board and led them to the front of the classroom. "As you can see, the children are working very hard on their lessons."

  "What are you teaching them?" Mr. Keller asked.

  "I plan on reading, writing, and ciphering, but at first, they need to learn their alphabet. Eventually I hope they can read their own Bibles."

  The Reverend Browne nodded with pleased appreciation. "An excellent goal."

  The trustees gazed around the schoolroom and up at its roof. The vicar said, "Tubbs did excellent work on this

  warehouse. I wouldn't have thought it possible to repair it so quickly."

  "He did indeed," Mr. Keller seconded. "When you first explained your idea for a school, I frankly did not think it could be done. You are a remarkable woman, Miss Courtney."

  She smiled at them. "I think Tubbs wanted to help me as thanks for when I had assisted his family."

  "Cast your bread upon the waters," the vicar responded.

  No longer concerned about the support from the vicar and solicitor, Annette turned to the baronet. He had yet to speak, and his air of concentration c
oncerned her. Unfortunately he examined the stove. From its minute cracks, one could see the hot fire within, but little of its heat warmed the room. Most of the warmth escaped up the piped chimney.

  He frowned at her. "You are going to have high heating costs with this stove. It is not adequate for a room of this size."

  Naturally the stove would attract him. The one thing she had not yet fixed. She smiled through tight lips. "I have ordered a new one, but it has not yet arrived."

  "How long will that take?" he asked. "You could burn quite a bit of coal while waiting."

  "Are you concerned about the expense?" she challenged.

  "It is one of the duties of a trustee to oversee costs."

  "You need not worry, sir. I am covering the charges from my own money."

  His jaw tightened. "Perhaps it would have been less costly to wait until everything was in readiness before opening the school."

  She stiffened at his criticism, even if there was some

  truth to it. He would never approve of her school. As a wastrel, this man probably saw every coin she used as one lost to his gambling.

  "Ignorance has held Upper Brampton village in its sway for too long to allow me to wait for the propitious moment." Annette turned back to the other two men. "The children are now writing their letters on their slates. Would you like to see their work?"

  If any of the men wanted to groan at the prospect, they were too well-bred to display such ill manners. One by one she introduced each child who approached to display his work. Most of the letters were ragged and ill-formed, except for one student.

  "This is Jack. He is the son of Tim and Mary who farm for Hathaway Hall. One of your tenants," she told Sir Gerard.

  "I recognize Jack," the vicar said. He beamed at the boy of about eleven years with the raggedly trimmed brown hair and sharp nose. "Are you working hard, son?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The lad handed over his slate to the baronet. It displayed evenly written letters in a clear hand.

  "Why, this is quite neat!" the Reverend Browne exclaimed. "You are doing very well."

  "Thank you, sir."

  Annette said, "If he keeps on improving the way he is, I think he will be able to serve as a clerk someday." She cast a hopeful glance at the solicitor as she spoke, but he appeared to be studying the rafters.

  Sir Gerard handed the slate back to the boy. "How long have you been working on these letters, Jack?"

  "Only since the school opened this week, sir," the boy replied.

  The baronet nodded at the response, but did not speak further. Jack's speed at his studies pleased Annette, and she was glad she could already display an early positive result of her school. Maybe then Sir Gerard would drop his opposition.

  The rest of the inspection went quickly. Mr. Keller and the Reverend Browne praised her work and that of the children, yet she did not hear anything from the baronet.

  As she escorted them to the door, she asked Sir Gerard, "Are you pleased with the school?" And tried not to let her hopes rise before he answered.

  He paused during his exit and studied her. She met his gaze direcdy, but inwardly her heart raced. He did not like her, but would the dislike extend to her work? If he supported it, then her dream would be justified, despite the expense.

  He answered in a slow, deep voice. "I agree with the other men, you are a remarkable woman, Miss Courtney. This school is off to a good start. There is order here, and it was inexpensively done."

  A gratified feeling began to seep through her until he continued, "I will set aside a sum from my uncle's fortune to administer it in the future."

  She stared in disbelief. "Your uncle's wealth is already funding the school."

  "For now."

  The solicitor intervened, "Now, see here—"

  Annette's clipped farewell interrupted. "Thank you, gentlemen, for visiting my school. I am glad you endorse my work."

  "Except for the stove," Sir Gerard reminded her.

  She glared at him. "I promise there will be a new stove here by your next visit."

  He bowed and left with the other men. She shut the door behind them and leaned against it. Her students watched her avidly, no longer making a pretense of working. With such dramatics playing, she did not blame them.

  However, she needed time to think, so she gave them the first command that occurred to her. "Finish writing your alphabet neatly."

  With her back against the door, she wondered why Sir Gerard's approval held such importance to her. He made very plain his only interest in her was caused by the inheritance. No dance at the Assembly could disguise the fact.

  Yet, his approval of her school pleased her, even if it was qualified. / am spending the money wisely, she told herself. It is not being frittered away. Why, I have used it to repair the church's roof and to start this school. And I have done it carefully, too.

  She nodded to herself for emphasis. Only the stove remained to bother her. She would take care of that detail right now.

  "Children, school is dismissed for the day." Above the instant noise for departure, she added, "Because you did so well during the inspection, I will treat you to candy at the store."

  Shrill whistles and loud cheers met this announcement, and she smiled. In no time, she led the children like a happy flock of chattering chicks to the merchant. They noisily selected their treats before dashing home.

  "Put the candy on my account," she instructed the shopkeeper.

  "Certainly, Miss Courtney."

  "I also wanted to check as to when the stove will arrive for the school."

  "It should take another week or so," he answered. "The

  winter roads are in a sad state this time of the year, making deliveries difficult"

  She nodded. The answer did not surprise her. It was February. Although it would be expensive to continue using the old stove, she could not afford to let the wintertime pass without her school. Once the weather turned, the children would be required to help with the farm work. She must give them as much education as she could before that happened.

  "Miss Courtney, will there be anything else you need today?" the man asked.

  "I will take some of that candy for Lucille."

  "Certainly. I'll wrap it." While he busied himself with the paper and string, he said, "It is a pleasure doing business with you."

  "Thank you," she replied politely. Since she had inherited the money, all the local merchants found pleasure in her business.

  When Annette headed back to her cottage with the candy package in her hand, she assured herself she was well satisfied with the day. Even if that baronet did not want to acknowledge it, he had to admit her school was doing well. Filled with determined righteousness, she declared, "I know how to handle the money. Now I need to consider the next project."

  Posture held upright, she tramped home along the wet lane and never noticed she did not claim the fortune as her money.

  (Laptev (Seven

  Annette anticipated that spring farm chores would interfere with her school's attendance. However, when for the third day in a row, only five students appeared, she knew something was wrong. This was only the third week of February, for goodness' sake. The weather was wet and cold and muddy. Too early for spring planting.

  She called Jack to her. "Do you know why the others are not here?"

  "Yes, ma'am." He shuffled his feet, while she waited patiently. "They must work, ma'am."

  "Work? At what? Spring planting is weeks away."

  More feet shuffling. He had washed his face and hands before coming, and his hair was combed but still ragged. "I don't right know what, ma'am."

  Annette took pity on his obvious reluctance. "You don't need to be afraid to tell me," she said gently. "I cannot help if I do not know what the difficulty is."

  "I don't know what they're working on," Jack burst out. "I couldn't think of anything to do so I came to school."

  The words echoed in the almost empty room. She over-


  looked the implication that school was his last resort. Something was seriously amiss. Placing her arm about his shoulders, she asked, "Why do you need to do anything? What is wrong? Is there sickness?" If so, it would be odd that no one had yet come to her for assistance.

  "No, no sickness. It's the rents."

  "The rents?"

  "They've gone up."

  Annette wasted no time debating the fact. "How much?"

  He seemed more at ease now that the news was out. "A lot. Me pa owes an extra ten pounds—by March quarter end. Where is he going to get so much money so fast?"

  'Ten pounds? In addition to the regular rent?"

  Jack nodded.

  "That's outrageous!" Her arm dropped from his shoulder, and she sputtered with indignation. "I expected some changes, but not this!"

  "Then you can do something?" Hope lit Jack's thin face. The other students also gazed at her as if torn between hope and fear.

  She asked them, "Are your families also facing such steep increases in their rents?"

  They nodded.

  She knew they understood her concern for them. "And the children who are not here, are their rents also raised?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Jack answered.

  "There must be a mistake." Annette squared her shoulders. "I will speak to the baronet about this."

  "Will speaking do any good?" The boy appeared to have become the spokesman for the class.

  "My words will because this mistake will be cleared

  up," she promised. She patted him on the back as she sent him back to his seat on the bench.

  Within her burned the need to confront Sir Gerard immediately. Obviously there was something wrong, some error committed. It was her duty to correct it.

  Perhaps he meant to raise the rent by ten pounds over the year and somehow it was reported as per quarter. With prices so high due to the war on the Continent, even an additional pound every three months would be a hardship to Jack's parents. The other tenants faced the same difficulties. She must make the baronet understand how impossible his intentions were. As soon as she dismissed the school, she planned to do just that.