Break of Dawn by Rita Bradshaw Page B

neat flowerbeds which was the girls’ exercise area when the weather permitted. Today, with only ten days until Christmas, the lawn was buried under an inch or two of snow which had fallen during the night and frozen, creating a scene which looked as though it had been painted in silver. But Sophy wasn’t seeing the garden or the mother-of-pearl winter’s sky above, she was remembering passages from the book each girl leaving the school had been presented with two days ago:
The Manual of Home-Making and Fine Etiquette
.
    A wife and mother, the book had stated, was called upon to be agreeable at all times, and any talents she possessed should be developed for the edification of her husband and sons. As she packaged the dinner to please her husband’s tastes, with skill and care, so she should package herself and particularly her intellect to avoid being too clever in the company of her menfolk. The purposes of a woman’s intelligence should be limited by the expectation of her husband. A husband would not bring his problems home with him to be discussed with his wife, but wives, nevertheless, with gentle intuition, were to understand that such problems existed and do all they could to mitigate them.
    She had read that bit out to Charlotte, half-choking on the words, and Charlotte had looked at her strangely. ‘But everyone knows men don’t like clever, opinionated women,’ she had said reasonably. ‘That’s all it’s saying.’
    ‘And you think that’s right? That women should pretend to be stupid, or at the very least less intelligent than they are?’ she’d asked hotly.
    Charlotte had shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose so, but does it matter?’ she’d answered, before leaping up as the dinner gong had sounded, at which point the conversation had ended.
    But Sophy had thought about it several times since and now she sighed deeply. It
did
matter. Of course it mattered. Another passage in the book had stated that should the man of the house come home in a fractious mood or appear unreasonable or even tyrannous, then the wife’s course was clear. She must bear all things with a meek and quiet spirit and thus spread the balm of her humility and gentleness over troubled waters.
Reverence your husband
, the manual had stated,
and remember at all times he is the breadwinner and his authority is not to be questioned. Your reward will be the knowledge that you have done your duty to the best of your ability. And this same duty,
the passage went on,
also applies to the ‘private’ side of marriage. A husband’s needs must be accommodated without complaint.
    What these needs were, the book hadn’t explained, and none of the girls in Sophy’s year had any idea what they consisted of. Belinda Wynford had said she thought if you kissed a boy on thelips it made a baby – but when Charlotte had commented that couldn’t be true because what about male cousins and brothers? – Belinda had admitted she didn’t know. It was all very confusing. And Amelia Middleton had caused them all to become silent when she had whispered that her eldest sister who had been married for some years had told her there was a personal side to marriage ‘in the bedroom’ that was highly distasteful and far too embarrassing to talk about, and if she had known what it entailed she would have chosen to remain a spinster all her days.
    ‘Sophy, dear?’
    A gentle hand at her elbow caused her to come out of her reverie and glance up into the sweet face of her favourite teacher, Miss Bainbridge’s sister. It wasn’t just that this Miss Bainbridge taught dancing and drama, her favourite subjects, but she was the only teacher to unbend enough to call the girls by their christian names.
    ‘I understand you are travelling by the stagecoach to Sunderland where your uncle is meeting you? It is due in five minutes so I suggest you go downstairs and wait in the vestibule.’ Primrose Bainbridge smiled into the face she likened to that of an angel. She