ToLoveaLady (28 page)

“Yes, we hope to enroll students this spring.” She stared at the floor, avoiding Cecily’s gaze. “I imagine you will be gone by then, won’t you?”

“Gone? Where would I go?”

Hattie’s cheeks blushed the color of peonies. “I just thought. . . well, the paper said. . . I mean, won’t you be married in England?”

Cecily suppressed a sigh. Like everyone else in town, Hattie must have read the newspaper article introducing Cecily as Charles’s fiancé. How foolish she’d been to ever mention it to Mr. Adkins. “I don’t know when, or where we’ll be married,” she said. She could have added she didn’t know if they’d marry, but she couldn’t bear to reveal that news to anyone just yet.

Hattie cleared her throat. “I. . . I think I know why you’re here today.”

“You do?” Cecily stared at her in astonishment.

She nodded, gaze still fixed on the floor. “Before you say anything, I just want you to know how very sorry I am. You must have a terrible impression of me. If I’d known that Charles. . . I mean, Mr. Worthington. . . Lord Silsbee. . . what I’m trying to say is, if I’d known that he. . . that you. . . “

“Oh, my dear.” Understanding washed over her, followed closely by a wave of sympathy. Hattie must think she’d come to confront her about her feelings for Charles. To think how the poor woman must have felt when she’d learned from a newspaper article that the man whose attentions she sought was already engaged.
 

Cecily leaned forward and touched Hattie’s arm. “Please, don’t upset yourself like this. I promise, I have no ill will toward you at all. Charles should have told you he was engaged. I’m sorry if he led you to believe otherwise.”

Hattie closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “He didn’t lead me to believe anything. I led myself!
 
When I think how I behaved at supper the other night, and you sitting right there!”

“It’s all right.” Cecily patted her arm. “I understand.” She did allow a sigh to escape her then. “I suppose every woman has made a fool of herself over a man at some time in her life.”

“I’m glad you’re not angry with me.” Hattie regained some of her composure. “I do wish you both happiness.”

“Thank you.” Anxious to avoid further discussion of her uncertain future with Charles, she launched into the speech she’d rehearsed on the way here. “The reason I wanted to see you is that I’d like to apply for a position teaching at the Academy.”

Hattie’s eyes widened. “But surely a lady in your position doesn’t need to seek employment.”

Not only did the Thorndale women not need to seek employment, Cecily was certain the very idea of someone of her social standing taking a job would be a scandal on the order of murder or divorce. “It isn’t usually done,” she said. “But I’ve discovered I really enjoy teaching and, well, I’d like to do something useful with my life instead of always sitting back and waiting for things to happen.”

Hattie looked thoughtful. “What does Charles think about the idea?”

“He doesn’t care what I do.” A pain shot through her at the words. Apparently, Charles really
didn’t
care, at least not enough. “I hoped you could tell me how to go about applying for a position.”

“Since Charles is the board president, a recommendation from him should get you in.”

Her spirits sank at the idea of asking Charles for anything. “I really want to do this on my own.”

Hattie smiled. “I wasn’t aware that England was so advanced in their understanding of the ideal of women’s independence that American suffragettes have been battling for. I can see I was wrong.”

For the first time today, Cecily felt a glimmer of hope. “Then you’ll help me?”

She nodded. “I’ll do what I can. Since you have no experience, you’ll need to find some way to demonstrate your ability to teach.”

“I taught Fifi and Estelle to read.”

“The two, um, fallen women?” Hattie looked doubtful. “I’m not sure the board would approve.”

“But learning to read will make it possible for them to do other work,” she said. “Isn’t that one of the goals of your proposed adult education program?”

“Yes, but how could you demonstrate this to the board?”

She furrowed her brow, thinking.
 
She recalled Mr. Adkins’s suggestion. “What if they give a reading at the ribbon cutting ceremony? Something dignified, in keeping with the occasion.”

Hattie nodded slowly. “That would be impressive. Yes, that might be just the thing.”

“I’ll send for Fifi and Estelle and get started right away.” She rose and clasped both Hattie’s hands in hers. “Thank you for your help. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Hattie smiled. “I’m glad you came by today. I was worried I’d made an enemy. I’d much rather have you for a friend.”

Friend. The word had a comforting sound. Though friends could never fill the hole Charles had left in her heart, the companionship of another caring woman was certainly a good start.
 

* * *

“Try it one more time, Fifi,” Cecily encouraged. “And read a bit more slowly, please.”

Fifi squinted at the paper in her hand and began again. “The Tyger, by William Blake. Ty-ger!
 
Ty-ger! Burning bright!
 
In the forests!
 
Of the night!” she exclaimed, arms extended as if to envelop the beast in a hug.

A thrill raced through Cecily as she listened. Only a few weeks ago, Fifi could not even read her own name. Who would have thought opening the doors of knowledge for another person could be so exciting, so rewarding, so. . . fulfilling?

“What immortal hand or eye!
 
Could frame thy fearful sym-met-try!” Fifi pronounced the last syllable to rhyme with eye and looked up at Cecily in triumph.
 

Cecily struggled to keep a blank expression on her face. “Perhaps a tad less dramatically,” she said.
 

“Let me try.” Estelle moved into the center of the room, looked down at her book and began to read. “This one is called Elegy Written in a County Churchyard, by Thomas Gray.” She cleared her throat and continued in a monotone. “The curfew tolls the. . . the knell of parting day. The lowing herd wind slowly over the. . . the lay.”

The entire audience will be nodding off
, Cecily thought. She stood and walked to Estelle’s side. “That was good, but you want to convey more emotion.”

“Like this.” Fifi threw up her arms again, and screwed her face into what perhaps was meant to pass for rapture, but looked more like pain. “Ty-ger!
 
Ty-ger!
 
Burning bright!”

“Perhaps not that much,” Cecily said. She looked from one woman to the next. “I thought you two were used to performing in public.”

“I am, but not this rot.” Estelle tossed the book onto the sofa.

“Then what do you do?” Even as she asked the question, Cecily wondered if she really wanted to hear the answer. Performing in a house of prostitution might entail anything from the can-can to more vulgar acts.

“I’ll show you what I do.” Hands on hips, Estelle struck a jaunty pose and began to sing:
 
“
An old man came home one night, as drunk as he could be, and saw a horse standing in the barn, where his own horse ought to be.”

Estelle had a clear alto voice, and an expressive face that mimicked the emotion of the story
. “Oh my wife, my darling wife, now tell me how can this be? There’s somebody’s horse standing in the barn, where my own horse ought to be.

“Oh my wife, my darling wife, now tell me how can this be? Somebody’s head’s in bed with you, where my own head ought to be.”

She shook her head and frowned mockingly, sure to draw chuckles from her audience and sailed into the finale of the piece:
 
“Oh you fool, you blind old food, oh can’t you plainly see? It’s nothing but a cabbage head, that my mother gave to me.

“I’ve traveled up, I’ve traveled down, ten thousand miles or more, but hair growing on a cabbage head, I never saw before!”

Cecily stared in amazement, then felt laughter tickle at her throat. Goodness, she ought to be scandalized, but really, it was quite amusing. A head of cabbage, indeed!

“You think that’s funny, listen to this.” Fifi gave her audience a saucy wink and launched into her own performance. “
I would not marry a man that was tall, for he’d go bumping against the wall. I’ll not marry at all, at all, I’ll not marry at all.

“I’ll take my stool and sit in the shade. I’m determined to live an old maid. I’ll not marry at all, at all. I’ll not marry at all.”

Cecily’s amusement was tinged with sadness this time. Was this her own lot in life, ‘determined to live an old maid’?

“
I would not marry a man that preaches, for he’d have holes in the knees of his britches.”
Fifi raised her skirt above her knees and shook her finger at her audience. “
I’ll not marry at all, at all. I’ll not marry at all.

“I would not marry a man that was small, for he’d be the same as no man at all. I’ll not marry at all, at all. I’ll not marry at all.”
She finished with another wink, and an elaborate curtsey.

Still fighting laughter, Cecily nodded. “You both obviously have a lot of talent. We simply need to find something more, um, suitable for a family audience.” She picked up the book again. “Besides, the intent is to demonstrate your new talent for reading, not necessarily your other, um, abilities.”

Estelle’s face clouded. “That’s the whole problem. It don’t matter what we do, all those people will be standing there, looking down their noses on us.”
 

“That’s right.” Fifi put her arm around Estelle. “They think what we do — taking money for sex – is so terrible, but I’ll bet every one of them has done things that were just as bad, only they do them in secret, so other people don’t have to know.” She raised her head. “At least me and Estelle are honest about what we do.”

Had she and Charles been honest with one another? Cecily wondered. She had tried to be, but now she wondered if the passion of the moment had overwhelmed all other considerations, at least for Charles.

“You can’t do anything about what people think,” she said. “But there’s no reason to do anything to add to their misguided judgment of you.”

Fifi looked mournful. “I don’t think reading this poetry is going to improve their opinions of us. Even I think we sound ridiculous.”

“Maybe poetry isn’t the thing for you two,” Cecily said thoughtfully. “Maybe we should try reading from a play. That would draw on your natural dramatic abilities.”

The sound of the front door opening distracted her. Familiar steps echoed on the oak floors of the front hall, followed by Gordon’s muffled greeting as he took Charles’s coat and hat.

“I know what that sound means.” Estelle rolled her eyes at Fifi. She collected her book from the sofa. “The lesson’s over for today.”
 

“Oh no,” Cecily protested. “We can continue if you like.”

“Now that your
amore
is here, your mind will not be on your work.” Fifi winked. “Especially after last night.”

Cecily’s face burned as she busied herself straightening a stack of books. She hoped the others didn’t notice the way her hands shook, or realize how quickly her happiness of the night before had evaporated.

“If I was engaged to a man like that, I’d be in a rush for him to get home every evening, too.” Estelle moved past her, toward the door.

“Enjoy your time alone with your fiancé.” Fifi fluttered her fingers in a wave as she and Estelle left the room.

As the women’s footsteps faded, she heard Charles’s heavier tread in the hallway. She held her breath, hoping he would pass her by. She had not seen him since breakfast that morning, when she’d refused his proposal. The pain of that moment was still fresh. How could she bear to face him again so soon?

A moment later, he appeared in the doorway. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Of course not.” Suddenly too weak to stand, she sank onto the sofa and tried to look indifferent. But even then, she could not keep from watching him out of the corner of her eye. Her first thought was that he looked tired. Was she the cause of such weariness?

He sat in the chair across from her, poised on the edge of the seat as if ready to flee at any moment. And yet his gaze lingered on her, intent and searching. “I looked for you this morning, but Alice told me you’d ridden into town.”

“Yes. I went to visit Hattie Simms.” She started to tell him why she had called on Hattie, but held her tongue. Most likely, he wouldn’t approve of her desire to teach, or understand what it meant to her.

“I wanted to ask. . . that is, I was hoping you would attend the Texans’ Independence Day Celebration with me.”

“Of course.” She hadn’t thought about
not
going with him. To do anything else would create an awkward situation for both of them. “I want us to still be friends,” she said earnestly.

He looked away. “Of course.”

It seemed that all conversation would die then, the thin connection they had reestablished now severed. Just when she was ready to despair and leave the room, he took a deep breath and said, “I was surprised to see Fifi and Estelle here. I thought they would be busy preparing for their grand opening tonight.”