I answer one question for each of the representative items that I removed today, provided they are promptly removed when next you enter my studio.”
“Promptly?” She cringed at the idea of starting their sessions in such an undressed state. “Can you define ‘promptly’?”
His frown conveyed more than words. He jabbed a finger toward her plate.
“Agreed,” she said with little enthusiasm before finishing her eggs with two quick bites. She patted her mouth with a napkin, sipped the tea warming by her plate, and then delved into the matter at hand.
“I’d like to discuss the issue of pain.”
HENRY BROUGHT HER BACK AS BEFORE, LEAVING HER A discreet distance from the school. She walked the final distance, climbed the stone steps, then paused a moment. Full-bodied chords of an awkwardly played piano piece escaped through the stone and mortar.
Talent night, she remembered. The girls were required to demonstrate their musical progress. Every proper young lady should have some musical talent either through voice or instrument.
Emma was taught to play the piano, primarily to accompany Penelope at various dinner parties and outings. Actually, everything Emma was taught was meant to show Penelope to advantage. She was raised with enough knowledge of social mores to be Penelope’s companion, foil for her beauty, fodder for her conversation. At least in music Emma found a bit of revenge. Penelope never could carry a tune, a fact that was nevertheless blamed on Emma’s crude abilities. Penelope’s performances always signaled the end of a dinner party, which worked to Emma’s advantage. Why prolong an evening of gossiping debutants, lewd laughter, and awkward stares?
An off chord grated on Emma’s ear, rousing her from reminiscing.
The weekly recital should offer a diversion from her entrance. Congratulating herself on her bit of fortune, she opened the oak door as silently as possible. Once inside, she slipped out of her boots and tiptoed across the hall toward the stairs.
“Mrs. Brimley.” Cecilia’s voice stopped Emma in the process of avoiding the squeaky floorboard in the second riser. Her stomach roiled at the summons, but she dutifully turned.
Cecilia stood just outside the music room, a frown etched deeply in her face. “We were beginning to worry about your prolonged absence. Come here please.” Cecilia looked pointedly at her borrowed valise. “Now.”
Just as Emma made slow silent progress toward her, Cecilia left the gathering in the music room and led the way toward the sitting room that doubled as an office.
Without the accompanying clatter of boots, Emma sailed by the music room with only the soft rustle of crinolines. Yet to her own ears, each of her silent steps rang loudly as if someone were tolling a death knell. Sparring with Chambers had exhausted her reserves for intellectual combat. She feared she’d be no match for Cecilia if the older woman challenged her shield of deceit.
The labored repetition of practiced chords slowed as she approached the office. Cecilia waited at the far end of the room. “Close the door,” she said.
Emma noted even the lack of feigned courtesy. Just as she was about to comply with Cecilia’s order, Beatrice hurried in with a piece of handiwork. She quickly glanced at Emma, her eyes wide with alarm, then rushed to a seat near her sister, her head bent over her round embroidery hoop. Emma closed the door.
The headmistress did not bid Emma to sit or in any way make herself comfortable. Emma’s toes wriggled in discomfort on the cool, drafty floor.
“Mrs. Brimley, it is difficult enough to monitor and oversee the whereabouts of our twenty-seven students. I should not be forced to do the same for my teachers. You were hired for your presence, not your absence. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, madam,” Emma answered, feeling much smaller than the loss of her boots allowed.
“I realize life here may be vastly different to the life you enjoyed
“Promptly?” She cringed at the idea of starting their sessions in such an undressed state. “Can you define ‘promptly’?”
His frown conveyed more than words. He jabbed a finger toward her plate.
“Agreed,” she said with little enthusiasm before finishing her eggs with two quick bites. She patted her mouth with a napkin, sipped the tea warming by her plate, and then delved into the matter at hand.
“I’d like to discuss the issue of pain.”
HENRY BROUGHT HER BACK AS BEFORE, LEAVING HER A discreet distance from the school. She walked the final distance, climbed the stone steps, then paused a moment. Full-bodied chords of an awkwardly played piano piece escaped through the stone and mortar.
Talent night, she remembered. The girls were required to demonstrate their musical progress. Every proper young lady should have some musical talent either through voice or instrument.
Emma was taught to play the piano, primarily to accompany Penelope at various dinner parties and outings. Actually, everything Emma was taught was meant to show Penelope to advantage. She was raised with enough knowledge of social mores to be Penelope’s companion, foil for her beauty, fodder for her conversation. At least in music Emma found a bit of revenge. Penelope never could carry a tune, a fact that was nevertheless blamed on Emma’s crude abilities. Penelope’s performances always signaled the end of a dinner party, which worked to Emma’s advantage. Why prolong an evening of gossiping debutants, lewd laughter, and awkward stares?
An off chord grated on Emma’s ear, rousing her from reminiscing.
The weekly recital should offer a diversion from her entrance. Congratulating herself on her bit of fortune, she opened the oak door as silently as possible. Once inside, she slipped out of her boots and tiptoed across the hall toward the stairs.
“Mrs. Brimley.” Cecilia’s voice stopped Emma in the process of avoiding the squeaky floorboard in the second riser. Her stomach roiled at the summons, but she dutifully turned.
Cecilia stood just outside the music room, a frown etched deeply in her face. “We were beginning to worry about your prolonged absence. Come here please.” Cecilia looked pointedly at her borrowed valise. “Now.”
Just as Emma made slow silent progress toward her, Cecilia left the gathering in the music room and led the way toward the sitting room that doubled as an office.
Without the accompanying clatter of boots, Emma sailed by the music room with only the soft rustle of crinolines. Yet to her own ears, each of her silent steps rang loudly as if someone were tolling a death knell. Sparring with Chambers had exhausted her reserves for intellectual combat. She feared she’d be no match for Cecilia if the older woman challenged her shield of deceit.
The labored repetition of practiced chords slowed as she approached the office. Cecilia waited at the far end of the room. “Close the door,” she said.
Emma noted even the lack of feigned courtesy. Just as she was about to comply with Cecilia’s order, Beatrice hurried in with a piece of handiwork. She quickly glanced at Emma, her eyes wide with alarm, then rushed to a seat near her sister, her head bent over her round embroidery hoop. Emma closed the door.
The headmistress did not bid Emma to sit or in any way make herself comfortable. Emma’s toes wriggled in discomfort on the cool, drafty floor.
“Mrs. Brimley, it is difficult enough to monitor and oversee the whereabouts of our twenty-seven students. I should not be forced to do the same for my teachers. You were hired for your presence, not your absence. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, madam,” Emma answered, feeling much smaller than the loss of her boots allowed.
“I realize life here may be vastly different to the life you enjoyed
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