for outright disobedience, but it would be stinging. Miss Martingale had an infallible belief in the structure of life. Everything and everyone had a place, a role to play. Keeping that place was an honorable pursuit. Anything else condemned one to the fires of hell.
Eleanor opened her eyes in time to see Miss Martingale thrust the kitten at Dottie, who clutched him to her. Jingles fur was raised, his ears were laid back, and his yellow eyes glared. The white, bell-shaped patch of fur at his throat, which had earned him his name, stood out, as did the pale oval of Dottie’s determined face. Eleanor remembered suggesting that the girl name him Alexander the Great, for from the first he had made it clear he intended to explore and conquer the world. Now, like Dottie’s courage, his tiger’s heart could only get them in deeper trouble. Eleanor wanted nothing so much as to scoop them both up in her arms and take them out of the room before doom could fall.
“I’m sorry to have to do this,” Miss Martingale intoned with martyr-like patience. “The Earl of Wenworth and the Darby family have always been very generous to this school: donating the school grounds out of the Wenworth estate, inviting the staff for an annual tea, encouraging the students in their studies.” She fixed Eleanor with a baleful glance. “Miss Pritchett has benefited from such generosity a number of times.”
Eleanor felt the color rushing to her cheeks. She did not need Miss Martingale’s reminder of how much the Darbys had done for her. She would never forget the summer they had asked her to help the second son, Justinian, study. It was she who had learned, how it felt to love and how to remember her place.
Dottie pulled the kitten closer and bowed her head. “My grandmother says the Darbys are known for their kindness. If my father was alive, he’d let me keep Jingles.”
Eleanor’s heart went out to the girl. She gazed at Miss Martingale imploringly. “It is a very little kitten, Miss Martingale. Perhaps, since Dottie is still in mourning. . . .”
Miss Martingale slapped her hand down on the desk. Everyone else in the room jumped. Jingles started hissing again. “The rules must be obeyed, by all students, at all times. Anything less is anarchy, and I will not condone anarchy. This kitten is obviously a symptom of a much larger rebellion, a rebellion that appears to have infected you as well, Miss Pritchett. You have left me with no choice but to take the creature out and drown it.”
Eleanor gasped. “Miss Martingale, no!”
“No!” Dottie cried, stumbling back out of reach. “No, I won’t let you!”
Miss Martingale sniffed. “Lady Dorothea, you appear to have been spoiled terribly. We do you no service by allowing you to continue this way.”
Eleanor felt a pang of guilt. If Dottie was spoiled, there was only one person to blame. She took a deep breath. Perhaps there was a small chance they might get out of this unscathed. And it all depended on how much fifteen years of loyal, unstinting service meant to Miss Martingale. “Please don’t blame Dottie, Miss Martingale. She is only being belligerent to shield someone else. The kitten doesn’t belong to her. It’s mine.”
Miss Lurkin collapsed against the wall. Dottie turned to stare at her wide-eyed. Jingles growled.
“I see,” Miss Martingale replied. “Yes, that does make a difference. You may go, for now, Lady Dorothea. We will speak again later. Please release that creature into Miss Pritchett’s care.”
Solemnly, Dottie handed over Jingles. Her dark brows were knit in concern, but Eleanor smiled encouragement at the girl’s trusting gesture. Dottie dropped a less-than-respectful curtsey to Miss Martingale and slipped toward the door. Jingles twitched in annoyance in Eleanor’s grip.
“As for you, Miss Pritchett,” Miss Martingale intoned, “you may collect your things. You are dismissed.”
Eleanor stared at her, feeling as if her stomach had dropped
Eleanor opened her eyes in time to see Miss Martingale thrust the kitten at Dottie, who clutched him to her. Jingles fur was raised, his ears were laid back, and his yellow eyes glared. The white, bell-shaped patch of fur at his throat, which had earned him his name, stood out, as did the pale oval of Dottie’s determined face. Eleanor remembered suggesting that the girl name him Alexander the Great, for from the first he had made it clear he intended to explore and conquer the world. Now, like Dottie’s courage, his tiger’s heart could only get them in deeper trouble. Eleanor wanted nothing so much as to scoop them both up in her arms and take them out of the room before doom could fall.
“I’m sorry to have to do this,” Miss Martingale intoned with martyr-like patience. “The Earl of Wenworth and the Darby family have always been very generous to this school: donating the school grounds out of the Wenworth estate, inviting the staff for an annual tea, encouraging the students in their studies.” She fixed Eleanor with a baleful glance. “Miss Pritchett has benefited from such generosity a number of times.”
Eleanor felt the color rushing to her cheeks. She did not need Miss Martingale’s reminder of how much the Darbys had done for her. She would never forget the summer they had asked her to help the second son, Justinian, study. It was she who had learned, how it felt to love and how to remember her place.
Dottie pulled the kitten closer and bowed her head. “My grandmother says the Darbys are known for their kindness. If my father was alive, he’d let me keep Jingles.”
Eleanor’s heart went out to the girl. She gazed at Miss Martingale imploringly. “It is a very little kitten, Miss Martingale. Perhaps, since Dottie is still in mourning. . . .”
Miss Martingale slapped her hand down on the desk. Everyone else in the room jumped. Jingles started hissing again. “The rules must be obeyed, by all students, at all times. Anything less is anarchy, and I will not condone anarchy. This kitten is obviously a symptom of a much larger rebellion, a rebellion that appears to have infected you as well, Miss Pritchett. You have left me with no choice but to take the creature out and drown it.”
Eleanor gasped. “Miss Martingale, no!”
“No!” Dottie cried, stumbling back out of reach. “No, I won’t let you!”
Miss Martingale sniffed. “Lady Dorothea, you appear to have been spoiled terribly. We do you no service by allowing you to continue this way.”
Eleanor felt a pang of guilt. If Dottie was spoiled, there was only one person to blame. She took a deep breath. Perhaps there was a small chance they might get out of this unscathed. And it all depended on how much fifteen years of loyal, unstinting service meant to Miss Martingale. “Please don’t blame Dottie, Miss Martingale. She is only being belligerent to shield someone else. The kitten doesn’t belong to her. It’s mine.”
Miss Lurkin collapsed against the wall. Dottie turned to stare at her wide-eyed. Jingles growled.
“I see,” Miss Martingale replied. “Yes, that does make a difference. You may go, for now, Lady Dorothea. We will speak again later. Please release that creature into Miss Pritchett’s care.”
Solemnly, Dottie handed over Jingles. Her dark brows were knit in concern, but Eleanor smiled encouragement at the girl’s trusting gesture. Dottie dropped a less-than-respectful curtsey to Miss Martingale and slipped toward the door. Jingles twitched in annoyance in Eleanor’s grip.
“As for you, Miss Pritchett,” Miss Martingale intoned, “you may collect your things. You are dismissed.”
Eleanor stared at her, feeling as if her stomach had dropped
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