blue glare turned her way, she shrank into herself. “That is,” she ventured timidly, “I believe it is a cat. Is it not?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. Nothing incensed Miss Martingale more than idiocy, expect perhaps outright rebellion.
“To be sure,” Miss Martingale sneered. “It is a cat.” The wrinkle of her long nose and the line on her thin lips made it obvious what she thought of cats. The kitten spit at her.
“To be precise,” Eleanor felt compelled to put in kindly, “it’s a kitten. And a rather tiny one at that.”
The icy gaze swept over her, and she dutifully lowered her own. As an employee of the Barnsley School, she owed Miss Martingale her loyalty. Having been the recipient of one of the woman’s few bouts of kindness, she owed her far more. She would be forever grateful that the taciturn head mistress had agreed to take in an orphaned twelve-year-old whose soldier father had died without even leaving enough to pay for her schooling. She was even more grateful that an allowance from the school’s patrons, the Darbys, had allowed that child to learn and ply a trade for nearly fifteen years. And all Miss Martingale and the Darbys had asked in return was complete and total submission.
Until the seven-year-old Lady Dorothea Darby had returned to the Barnsley School, Eleanor had been more than willing to do anything Miss Martingale asked. Since then, she had had more than one infraction. In fact, the last week she had had to try to be on her best behavior to ward off Miss Martingale’s suspicions. Still, it certainly wasn’t Dottie’s fault. Eleanor knew she saw too much of herself in the girl’s sadness at being orphaned. She had done everything in her power to ease the child’s pain, sneaking sweet meats from the kitchens, taking Dottie on walks about the fields near the school on her day off, and staying with the girl when she had nightmares. It was only for a time, Eleanor had assured herself and any of the other teachers who noticed. It wasn’t something worthy of Miss Martingale’s attention. If they all just kept quiet, Dottie would be herself again in no time.
And the plan was working. Dottie would never have been able to stand before Miss Martingale’s fury three months ago. Now she stood so tall that Eleanor’s heart swelled with pride. If only she could get Miss Martingale to see how the girl had blossomed, and not see the act as full-scale defiance!
“Thank you for that clarification, Miss Pritchett,” the head mistress said. “However, the size of the creature is immaterial. We have a policy at this school that forbids the keeping of pets, including cats, of any size. I am sure you are familiar with that rule, Miss Pritchett.”
Eleanor fixed a smile on her face and kept her tone pleasant. “Of course, Miss Martingale. Dottie would never seek to break one of the school rules, would you, dear? You weren’t actually keeping the kitten, I’m sure. You were just showing the other children and were going to return it to Farmer Hale in a day or so.”
Even though Eleanor was sure Dottie remembered the agreement they had made, she smiled encouragement when the girl glanced quickly back at her, biting her lip. Beside Eleanor, Miss Lurkin bit her own lip. Miss Martingale frowned.
Dottie turned to face the headmistress again. “No,” she said with a sigh. “I wasn’t going to give him back. I want to keep Jingles.”
Eleanor nearly groaned aloud. The request was impossible. Dottie could only be disappointed, and Miss Martingale could only be made angrier. She wracked her brain for a way out of the mess.
Miss Martingale’s eyes flashed fire. “Then you admit, Lady Dorothea Darby, to purposely breaking the rules of this school?”
Eleanor held her breath. The delicate black head rose a little higher. “Yes, Miss Martingale, I do so admit.”
Eleanor exhaled and closed her eyes. They were done for. She had no idea how strict a punishment Miss Martingale would exact
Eleanor rolled her eyes. Nothing incensed Miss Martingale more than idiocy, expect perhaps outright rebellion.
“To be sure,” Miss Martingale sneered. “It is a cat.” The wrinkle of her long nose and the line on her thin lips made it obvious what she thought of cats. The kitten spit at her.
“To be precise,” Eleanor felt compelled to put in kindly, “it’s a kitten. And a rather tiny one at that.”
The icy gaze swept over her, and she dutifully lowered her own. As an employee of the Barnsley School, she owed Miss Martingale her loyalty. Having been the recipient of one of the woman’s few bouts of kindness, she owed her far more. She would be forever grateful that the taciturn head mistress had agreed to take in an orphaned twelve-year-old whose soldier father had died without even leaving enough to pay for her schooling. She was even more grateful that an allowance from the school’s patrons, the Darbys, had allowed that child to learn and ply a trade for nearly fifteen years. And all Miss Martingale and the Darbys had asked in return was complete and total submission.
Until the seven-year-old Lady Dorothea Darby had returned to the Barnsley School, Eleanor had been more than willing to do anything Miss Martingale asked. Since then, she had had more than one infraction. In fact, the last week she had had to try to be on her best behavior to ward off Miss Martingale’s suspicions. Still, it certainly wasn’t Dottie’s fault. Eleanor knew she saw too much of herself in the girl’s sadness at being orphaned. She had done everything in her power to ease the child’s pain, sneaking sweet meats from the kitchens, taking Dottie on walks about the fields near the school on her day off, and staying with the girl when she had nightmares. It was only for a time, Eleanor had assured herself and any of the other teachers who noticed. It wasn’t something worthy of Miss Martingale’s attention. If they all just kept quiet, Dottie would be herself again in no time.
And the plan was working. Dottie would never have been able to stand before Miss Martingale’s fury three months ago. Now she stood so tall that Eleanor’s heart swelled with pride. If only she could get Miss Martingale to see how the girl had blossomed, and not see the act as full-scale defiance!
“Thank you for that clarification, Miss Pritchett,” the head mistress said. “However, the size of the creature is immaterial. We have a policy at this school that forbids the keeping of pets, including cats, of any size. I am sure you are familiar with that rule, Miss Pritchett.”
Eleanor fixed a smile on her face and kept her tone pleasant. “Of course, Miss Martingale. Dottie would never seek to break one of the school rules, would you, dear? You weren’t actually keeping the kitten, I’m sure. You were just showing the other children and were going to return it to Farmer Hale in a day or so.”
Even though Eleanor was sure Dottie remembered the agreement they had made, she smiled encouragement when the girl glanced quickly back at her, biting her lip. Beside Eleanor, Miss Lurkin bit her own lip. Miss Martingale frowned.
Dottie turned to face the headmistress again. “No,” she said with a sigh. “I wasn’t going to give him back. I want to keep Jingles.”
Eleanor nearly groaned aloud. The request was impossible. Dottie could only be disappointed, and Miss Martingale could only be made angrier. She wracked her brain for a way out of the mess.
Miss Martingale’s eyes flashed fire. “Then you admit, Lady Dorothea Darby, to purposely breaking the rules of this school?”
Eleanor held her breath. The delicate black head rose a little higher. “Yes, Miss Martingale, I do so admit.”
Eleanor exhaled and closed her eyes. They were done for. She had no idea how strict a punishment Miss Martingale would exact
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