The Education of Portia (22 page)

She dismissed the crowding anxieties and concentrated on the child. With care and utter
honesty, she said, "Yes, Melicent, he is my step-brother. Though we have not the same mother
and father, we were raised together, and he is as much my brother as Penny and Sabina are your
sisters. He will never be less nor more than my brother, for I watched him grow from a
precocious child to an abominable boy and to a fine man who is affianced to Mme. Montlucon. I
can claim only a sisterly affection for him."

"Sisterly affection. That is what I feel for Sabina and Penny."

"It is. And you know how strong it is, how you wish to protect them and love them, even
while you might want to smack them."

Melicent giggled to hear her schoolmistress express such emotions. She nodded, her
eyes shining.

"That is how I feel about my brother. Now promise me you will not go abroad without
accompaniment. You must keep this vow, or I shall ask your father to take you away."

The child rose. "I promise on my honour, Miss Crossmichael. Is Madame truly betrothed
to Mr. Dent?"

"She is."

"Oooh, Sabina will be peeved." Melicent's small face contorted with mischievous
relish.

"Sabina already knows, my dear." Portia had made it her business to inform Sabina of
the engagement immediately upon the decision being taken. The girl had been mature in her
acceptance and, to Portia's relief, almost completely unaffected. "And you would not wish to be
unkind."

"Nooo," Melicent agreed, a more pleasant expression replacing her impishness.

"Very well, remember your promises. You may go. Mme. Montlucon is waiting for
you."

Portia dropped into her chair as the door closed behind the child. She suspected that she
would not have to request Lord Stadbroke to remove his middle daughter. If he found about this
start of Melicent's, he would choose to withdraw her.

And if Harold Dent spread his poison as he threatened, Ingram would be on her doorstep
before she could bear it, taking away all his daughters.

* * * *

The following week, despite the impending crisis, the life of the Mansion House
Establishment for Young Ladies continued as it had for fifteen years. Portia dared to hope, dared
to plan for the future. Nevertheless, she thought it only right to advise her students and her staff
of the possibility of trouble.

Every morning Portia breakfasted with her pupils in the pleasant, north dining room that
overlooked the gardens. The Morning Mercury was folded beside her plate always at breakfast. It
was her custom to browse through the paper reading to the young ladies such items of national
and international news as might benefit their education.

This pleasant start to the day was followed by the dispersion of the young ladies to their
classrooms and Portia to her study or her scheduled teaching. On this particular Friday, however,
Portia rose at the end of the meal, and tapped her spoon on her tea-cup to gain the attention of the
girls.

"I must tell you, ladies, that there may be a little upheaval in our routine over the next
few weeks. Someone is spreading stories--stories that are completely untrue--about our school,
particularly about Mr. Dent, and about me. Your parents will tell you more if they see fit. But I
want you to know that you are not to worry. You may be sure that any ill-natured tales are not
true, and that Mr. Dent and I will be taking steps to ensure that they are stopped. You may go
now to your classes."

As the girls clattered off, whispering and speculating among themselves, Portia sank
back into her chair momentarily. That had gone well enough, she thought. But more was to
come; now, at the weekly staff meeting, she must advise her teachers.

When everyone was gathered later in the day as usual, in her study, Portia gave her
employees essentially the same message, with only a little more detail.

Caldwell and Heloise stood at her side as she said, "I find it necessary to inform you that
we, Mr. Dent and I, as owners of Mansion House Establishment, are facing a slander, a
defamation of our characters, which may harm the school. We are taking steps to halt this slur,
and we have every hope that our work here will continue unaltered. You may be assured that
whatever rumours you hear are completely untrue, but if our denigrator achieves his purpose,
there may be unpleasantness. If you would rather not be associated with us during this troubling
time, we would accept your resignation."

She looked around the room. There were varying looks of concern on the faces of her
staff: anxiety, curiosity, apprehension and disquiet. An expressive chatter of indignation,
determination and support broke out. She silenced it with a lifted hand. "Please come to me with
any worries you have. On a happier note, I must tell you that Mr. Dent and Mme. Montlucon are
to be married. They have not set upon a date as yet, but I know we all wish them happy."

Before alerting her staff to the possibility of trouble, Portia had asked permission of her
brother and his betrothed to reveal their engagement. She had hoped the news would assuage any
lingering doubts her teachers and staff might have about the truth of Harold Dent's claims, and
she had thought that good news never came amiss.

She was right. The staff left her parlour more interested in the forthcoming nuptials than
in the possibility of tribulation. They filed out, talking animatedly, and Heloise and Caldwell
followed them, leaving Portia to stare thoughtfully from her window at the lifeless garden.

The peace held for another day or two, then the storm broke around them. That morning
when everything changed, an ordinary breakfast of porridge and boiled eggs graced the tables
and a warming fire flared in the grate. Yet more February rain streamed down the wide windows,
as Portia opened the newspaper.

She read aloud three items before she turned to the fourth page. There a small line of
type heading a short, close-formed column leapt out at her. A quick reading caused her to drop
her teacup with a clatter in its saucer. Every young lady at each of the four tables turned to stare.
Portia was conscious of the particularly concerned looks of Sabina, Melicent and Penelope
Perrington.

"Please do continue with your meals," she said, and drew in a deep, sustaining breath.
"There is a matter which requires my attention. You will excuse me."

She got herself from the dining room, she could not have said how. In the corridor, she
asked a maid she encountered to have Mr. Dent--and Mme. Montlucon if she had
arrived--directed to her study. Making her own way there, she sank into her desk's chair with relief. After
a long moment, she spread the newspaper flat before her on her desk, and read the column
carefully.

The headline which had caused her such shock read merely, "Mansion House
Establishment". It was the following text that had the power to kill all her dreams.

The parents of those young ladies resident at the Mansion House
Establishment for Young Ladies should be aware that the moral integrity of the
owner and head instructress of the said Establishment may be in doubt. There is a
situation of grave immorality in place at the school which each parent would be
well advised to question. Further information may be had upon application to an
interested party who may be found at the Afrique Coffee-House, St. James, every
morning this week.

Harold Dent had done his worst. She felt all the colour drain from her face and
wondered, with a curious detachment, if she would faint.

She rather thought not; it would after all be only a brief escape from her problems.

The door burst open to admit Caldwell, and close on his heels entered Heloise.

"What is it, Portia?" Heloise's pretty face was full of anxiety.

Caldwell's arm went immediately about his betrothed's shoulders. "Has he made good
his threats?" Caldwell asked. "I discovered yesterday he left the inn two days ago. I feared the
worst."

Enclosed in a cold shell of impassivity, small details loomed large for Portia. She coolly
noted the damp hem of Heloise's wine-red merino gown and the rain seeping, ever so slightly, in
the corner of the terrace door. She regarded her friends blankly, envying them their
intimacy.

Wordlessly, she displayed the newspaper for their perusal. After reading it, they seated
themselves and stared at each other in grave distress.

Heloise was the first to find her voice. "What shall we do?"

"We must expect the first parents tomorrow, if not this afternoon," Portia was surprised
by the calm detachment of her words. She did not know if her calm was engendered by strength
or shock. "Please tell the staff, show them this." She handed the paper to Caldwell. "I shall go
back to the dining room and talk to the girls."

She faced the thirty girls with words of explanation that came to her more easily than
she would have thought possible.

"There is an article in the Morning Mercury today which has to do with the falsehoods
being spread about our school. You should know that some of your parents might deem removal
from this school to be in your best interests. If they make that decision, I wish you to accept the
fact without argument or unseemly displays of regret or emotion. In fact, that is how you may
best help me through this difficult time. Do as your parents instruct you."

Portia paused and an intemperate flood of exclamation overwhelmed the room. She
allowed the girls their indignation and curiosity for a few moments. Then she said, "That is really
all I can tell you. Your parents will decide whether or not to inform you further. We shall
continue our classes without alteration until there are further developments. You are
dismissed."

She watched the girls go, their heads together, chattering, wondering, speculating. She
loved them all, she realized, even the dull, the shallow and the foolish. Her eyes filled with tears
and she had to turn away before the room was empty. The view from the window before her was
awash with rain and her own tears.

She thought she was finally alone when a hand crept into hers.

She looked down to discover Penny Perrington at her side. Her sisters were beside
her.

"Don't cry, Mith Crossmichael. Papa will make it right."

Melicent was frowning ferociously. "It's that man, isn't it, Miss? I knew it. I knew he
was making trouble."

"Is there anything we can do to help you, Miss Crossmichael?" A sweet new maturity
showed itself in Sabina's lovely face.

Portia knew that her feelings for her other students was a pale thing compared to the
motherly love she felt for these girls. The surge of emotion was nearly her undoing. "Go about
your business, my dears, and help the others to do the same. If your father comes, do his bidding
without argument. Now go, please." She urged them away with a wave of her hand, if they
stayed she would disgrace herself with an excess of emotion. To her relief, they obeyed her
promptly, but not without backward looks.

Sabina shut the door softly after their departure. Portia stared blankly at it for long
moments, then a wrenching sob convulsed her.

* * * *

Lord Stadbroke received with pleasure an invitation to dine with the Lanarks and
accepted it with alacrity. Lord Francis and his wife laid an excellent table, and he might be sure
of meeting congenial company in their home. On the appointed day, he dressed to a nicety in a
dark blue evening coat, pearl grey pantaloons, and a finely striped grey silk waistcoat. Then he
dismissed his valet, thinking about the note he had received from Caldwell Dent cancelling their
portrait sitting the next day.

His daughters would be disappointed, he knew, and he decided that he would see them
within the week, whether or not Dent kept the next appointment. He wondered what had
interfered with the sitting. Surely a portrait painter cum teacher of art could order his own time
without difficulty? He shrugged mentally, caught up his gloves, his beaver, and his walking stick
and set out for the Lanarks' town house two streets away.

He had been asked to arrive a little early, for a private chat, but had been delayed by
series of small hindrances during an extended ride in Hyde Park. The result was that when he
arrived the guests were mostly gathered. He had only time to extend his apologies to his host and
hostess for his lateness before the company went in to dinner. As he had expected, a congenial
group was gathered about the Lanarks' mahogany table and he thought no more of the portrait
sitting until the ladies withdrew to the drawing room.

The port was presented as the covers were removed, and a selection of snuff, pipes and
seegars was laid out for the gentlemen. They redistributed themselves about the gleaming
surface, chatting, laughing and drawing about the chairs for comfort and convenience.

Lord Francis drew Ingram aside and said in an undertone, "I wish I might have spoke to
you alone, Stadbroke. I was sorry you were delayed."

Ingram stared in some surprise. "It was the most niggling of incidents that slowed me.
But what is wrong? Was your need to speak to me urgent?"

"Well, what did you think of the Mercury advertisement this week?" Lanark was smiling
at his other guests, even as he conducted the low-voiced conversation.

"Mercury? What advertisement?" Ingram made no effort to lower his voice as had
Lanark.

They were overheard. "Mansion House," someone said, knowledgably.

"I've no doubt the ladies are talking about it, even now. It'll be a nine days wonder.
Surprised no one mentioned it during the meal." Bluff Lord Isley, half way down the mahogany
table, interjected. "Suppose it ain't appropriate for mixed company."

Lanark sighed. "This is not the way I hoped to discuss the matter with you, Stadbroke. I
had hoped for privacy, especially as I had touted the school." He rubbed a long hand over his
face. "An advertisement in the Mercury suggested there are problems at Mansion House
Establishment for Young Ladies."