The Education of Portia (26 page)

"It seems a good omen," Heloise said, reaching for another biscuit from the porcelain
plate on the tea tray.

"I hope so," Portia agreed. She leaned back in her desk chair with a long sigh.

The threesome had a brief hour's respite from teaching and business and had gathered,
with unspoken accord, in Portia's study to take tea. The young ladies, well bundled against the
bright and sunny early March day, were taking a turn in the daffodil-strewn gardens beyond the
terrace. The elder girls were as giddy as the youngest by the look of the foolish frolics taking
place.

"He must have decided he could not damage you further," Heloise said, watching her
daughter skip with her friends on the lawn. "He has done his worst, and he has failed. You have
made your position clear: there is no more money to be had, and your reputation cannot be
destroyed. The
beau monde
is having its doubts erased by your confidence and sincerity
and the loyalty of your elevated friends.
Eh voila
, he leaves... Abandons his schemes
and returns to whence he came."

"I do hope so," Portia repeated. She sipped her tea abstractedly. "I am growing weary of
this double life I am leading. I never thought to rejoin society, especially at such an advanced
age."

"Your friends have been so kind to include us in their invitations," Heloise said. "At
Lady Dartington's last
salon
, there was no consciousness at all, and Caldwell and I were
fêted!"

"And Lord Dartington commissioned a portrait," Caldwell added.

"I think it was not kindness led him to that," Portia said. "They have been talking of it
for some time. Lady Mottingham's delight with their portrait has influenced many. To say
nothing of Lady Jersey's ecstasies as her sittings proceed."

"And Lord Stadbroke's recommendations. The Perrington girls were delighted when
their sittings recommenced," Heloise said. "Portia, have you been avoiding the viscount again?
He was looking rather like his own hound when he was here the other day."

Portia felt a warm tide of colour rise. "I have not avoided him. I cannot," she said with
dignity. "He is at every rout,
salon
, card party and musicale that I attend. I have been
busy when he comes here to the school, and he has not requested to see me."

"He should not have to, Port," Caldwell reminded her. "We owe him everything. It was
due to his intervention that the scandal created by my father has resolved itself so well. You need
to indicate our gratitude to Stadbroke at every opportunity--tea in your study after portrait
sittings, visits with the girls--you even should entertain the blasted dog."

Portia peered at her step-brother wondering if he was in jest, or in earnest. It was bad
enough that Lord Stadbroke's image had taken permanent residence in her mind, and that his
handsome person walked ghost-like with her during her demanding days. If she had as well to
play hostess to him at home, in addition to encountering him at social gatherings, all her fragile
comfort would once more be gone.

Even now, after three weeks, she was not confident that Dent had been vanquished. She
remembered Caldwell's father all too well from her childhood; he had never let a grudge be
forgotten and had never abandoned an undertaking even if it appeared lost.

She was happy, though, that her step-brother and his betrothed took such a positive view
of recent events. They looked well, more rested, more happy than they had a month previously.
She of them all was the least convinced of Dent's defeat. She hoped against hope that they had
the right of it. Certainly the tide of public opinion had been turned in their favour; there had been
no more pupil withdrawals, and one young lady had been returned to her studies.

Caldwell replaced his cup on the tea tray, and made for the door. "Back to my easel," he
said with a jaunty smile. "With so many commissions, we shall be able to afford a wedding
before you ladies can prepare for it."

Heloise only laughed. "Then go and labour." She sped him on his way with a delicately
blown kiss.

Then she turned to Portia. "You look tired," she said. "You work too hard, and this
social campaign adds much to your
travail
. And you worry... Are you sleeping well
enough?"

Portia shivered. How could she answer? Lord Stadbroke's suggestive words to her at
their encounter at Lord Lanark's home had caused her to lose considerable sleep. She
remembered in its every detail their embrace, and their kiss, in his conservatory. His words
indicated that he recalled it also. The thought that he would trifle further with her emotions was
unbearable.

Not that he had indicated a desire to do so. He was politely pleasant during their
encounters, kind and sympathetic. He took pains to introduce her to every person who might
conceivably aid her struggle against the slander and, without making their connection notorious,
helped her in every possible way. He had not again said a word to make her uncomfortable.

She owed him too much. When she added her love for him to her debt, the burden
staggered her.

Heloise was still waiting for an answer.

Portia summoned a smile. "I wonder about Stadbroke's motives," she managed to say in
an offhand manner.

"What should be his
motifs
beyond a good education for his children? You fear
his
convoitise
--his lust?"

Portia felt the hot flush of colour rise again to her cheeks. "I--no--of course not."

"You might well," Heloise said, neatly stacking the dishes on the tea tray. "I see him
watch you sometimes, when you do not. When you wear a new gown, or dress your hair in that
new style. I think he did not know that you could appear to such advantage; he finds you
tres
jolie
."

"Don't be silly," Portia said sharply. She rustled through the papers on her desk
impatiently. Finding her
chatelaine
among them, she tied its ribbon to the sash of her
work-a-day dimity gown.

"It is not
idiot
. He told me--I do not know why--that he was used only to look
for beauty in a woman, but that now he thinks intelligence, kindness, and confidence are more
important attributes. And that those characteristics are what he would wish for his
daughters."

"He has been your confidant, indeed," Portia said, unable to keep a waspish note from
her words.

"We have spoken often at all these jollities we attend. He needs, I think, to talk to
someone he trusts but someone he does not know well. A disinterested stander-by, if you
will."

"By-stander," Portia corrected absently.

Heloise waved a hand insouciantly. "He says that he can no longer afford to hold a poor
opinion of women, and he finds that he has been wrong all these years. There are plentiful good
women and intelligent women; he had only to have his eyes opened to them."

"I hope he also understands that he can still have a part in shaping his daughters'
characters, that they were not formed in some mysterious female mould." Against her will, Portia
was drawn into the discussion.

"He says that you have given him back his joy in his children. And that he will always
thank you for that."

Portia rose, her colour still high she knew. She had, for her peace of mind, to bring this
conversation to a close. "Then why does he not say any of these things to me?"

"Perhaps he is afraid that you will bite his head off," Heloise said with a brisk
satisfaction.

* * * *

Another chill March day had faded to a cold night. Portia worked in her study after
supper, glad to be free of agonizing worry, welcoming the boredom of accounts, lists and grades.
She noted the sound of a ragged wind without, beyond the warmly curtained windows, and
sipped her hot tea with appreciation.

An urgent scratching at the door made her replace her teacup in its finely painted saucer.
A glance at the watch on her
chatelaine
told her the students should be preparing to
retire; noise from the parlour had ebbed half of an hour before. She called a rather impatient
"Come".

Melicent and Sabina Perrington tumbled into the room, tripping over each other in their
haste. They were dressed in their percale wrappers, though Sabina had as well a mohair shawl
drawn over her shoulders, and warm slippers protected their feet. With their dark hair in plaits,
they looked very alike. Their faces--Sabina's bearing dawning maturity and beauty, and
Melicent's yet unmarked by adolescence--were full of concern.

"We cannot find Penny, Miss Crossmichael," Melicent cried, her voice shrill with
tension.

Sabina gulped and said, "I thought I did not see her at supper, ma'am, and I wanted to
say good-night to her. I went to the junior dormitory, and she was not there."

The older girl was holding back tears with a great effort. "I spoke with Matron who had
just realized Penny's absence."

"Where could she go, Miss Crossmichael? I saw her this afternoon. She and her friends
were making believe they were ponies, when we were outside, Miss. They ran off beyond the
glass house. That is the last I saw of her." Melicent's lips trembled.

Portia clamped down on her own sudden panic. She rose and, with the abrupt
movement, her
chatelaine
clattered against her desk. "I think she must be about some
mischief with her friends, my dears. Just you wait here, while I speak to Matron and take a quick
look about for them."

She hurried out of the room, pressing a shaking hand to her mouth. Her first thought
leapt to Harold Dent, but surely, surely that was to overreact. Penny was a mischievous child
with a dedicated group of followers. They would be busy with some adventure in the attics or
even the cellars. Before requiring assistance from her staff, she inspected the parlour, the dining
room, and the entry hall. They were empty as befitted the late hour.

Without revisiting the sisters in her study, Portia found Matron, and Euston the porter,
knocked on Miss Gosberton's door, and fetched Caldwell from his studio. Separately, and
together, they searched the house with care and thoroughness, most particularly the attics, the
kitchen and the cellar which abounded with useful hiding places. They met again, well within the
hour, in the entry hall. Heads were shaken in response to her quick questions, no clues had been
found.

Portia, dismayed by their lack of success, prepared to return to Sabina and Melicent.
Caldwell accompanied her; his pleasant face wore a grave expression.

Sabina collapsed into tears at the sight of their concerned faces. "You've been an age,"
Melicent burst out.

"We have searched the house, and she is not here," Portia revealed the bad news as
gently as she could. She gave them the courtesy of absolute honesty. "Every other girl is
accounted for. The dormitories will be watched for her return. Cook and the maids have been
roused in case she comes to the kitchen door. Even the root store has been searched.

"Calm yourselves, my dears. Come sit." Portia comforted each sister with a warm
embrace. "Fresh tea is being prepared. Mr. Dent is going to initiate a search of the grounds; he
will rouse the grooms and the gardeners. Euston is going to Madame's home to ask for her
assistance." She ignored the clutch of fear at her own heart in order to calm the girls. "Tell me
again when last you saw Penny?" she asked.

"She was with her friends this afternoon. Miss Gosberton had taken them outside,"
Sabina was twisting a handkerchief desperately in her small hands. "We--my friends and I--were
watching them for a little, and saw them run behind the glasshouse. Penny was there; I saw her
blue cloak, I could not mistake it."

"Gavrielle spoke with her at nuncheon. I know because Gavvy said Penny was still
annoyed with me for taking her favourite pencil. Oh, Miss, I didn't, and now she's gone,"
Melicent wailed.

Heloise slipped quietly into the room. "No news?" she queried, removing her cloak and
greeting each girl with a pat on the cheek and a warm glance.

Portia shook her head, glad to have her friend's stalwart company.

"Ah well, she is no doubt in the hawthorn wood, cold and hungry. The men will bring
her home, and we shall scold her--after feeding her well, and warming her with hugs and
kisses."

The Perrington girls seized eagerly on her words. "Surely, yes, she loves the wood,"
Sabina said.

"Can you think of anywhere else she might have gone?" Portia asked. Had it been
Melicent, she would have checked every stable within the vicinity. Penelope however, other than
her abortive trip to London had been a contented child, never wandering far from her
friends.

Both girls shook their heads. "Is Gavrielle here, Madame?" Melicent asked.

"She is, my dear. She will be here shortly with some cakes that Cook has found for
us."

Gavrielle came, and the cakes and tea, but they were ignored. Heloise's daughter joined
the two sisters sitting on the sopha near the fire, and their linked hands showed small white
knuckles. They spoke in whispers, and nothing Portia or Heloise could offer comforted
them.

Two hours later Caldwell returned and one look at his face told them the news was not
good.

A slight shake of his head struck Portia to her heart. She felt a cold anxiety freeze her
blood and slow her brain. Never had such a thing happened before. That it should happen to one
of the students she most dearly loved was a nightmare.

She tried to speak and failed. On her next try, she managed to summon a calm she was
far from feeling, "I think the men are going to have to look a little further afield, my dears. And I
think you should try to sleep, so that you will be fresh when Penny comes home." She rose,
forcing her fear-stiff limbs to natural movement. "Come now, Madame will take you up to my
bedchamber, you may be together there, just as when you were ill."

"But Penny was with us then," Sabina wailed. She dissolved into tears and leaned into
the embrace Madame offered.