The Runaway McBride (9 page)

What delights? What Golden Fleece? Since the night of his granny’s apparition, he’d sworn off women, sworn off gambling and, sadly, sworn off whiskey and concentrated all his thoughts on one provoking problem: Faith. And he felt more alive, more in tune with the world than he’d felt in an age.

The half smile on his lips died the moment he recognized the gentleman who was coming from the house toward Faith: Mr. Danvers, the man who smiled too much. He greeted Faith like a long-lost friend, laughing, talking across her words. Cozy. Exclusive. Then Mr. Danvers glanced over Faith’s shoulder and shot James a look that was easy to read:
Keep your distance
was the unspoken message.
She’s mine.

Never tardy in taking up a challenge, James strolled toward them. He checked himself when he became aware that the precocious Miss Winslet was avidly observing everything from the shade of a weeping willow. He remembered Alex’s advice, to do nothing to draw attention to himself and to keep his mouth shut.

He had come here for a purpose. Time to get on with it.

 

 

It came to Faith, then, that she really didn’t like Robert Danvers. He took too much upon himself. He was easier to bear when he was the gay cavalier, but when he transformed into a model of virtue, she could hardly keep her distaste from showing.

She answered him shortly, “He is an acquaintance of my former employer, Lady Beale. I haven’t seen him for years. The other day, I met him quite by chance in Pritchard’s Bookshop.”

“And his name?”

When she looked at him sharply, he gave her an engaging smile. “He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him.”

“James Burnett,” she replied without elaborating.

He repeated the name softly. “Burnett. James Burnett. The railroad magnate?”

“He builds railroads, if that’s what you mean.”

He spoiled his handsome face by beetling his brows. “But what on earth would bring a man like that to St.

Winnifred’s?”

“His aunt, I presume. She gave one of the speeches.”

With that, she hastened her steps to avoid any more questions on a subject that brought her nothing but embarrassment and pain.

James made his plans with military precision. The object was
to break into Faith’s room and search for all the replies she had received to her advertisement. Had she confided in him, it would not have been necessary for him to go to such extremes. Since she hadn’t confided in him, he felt he had no other choice.

It was remarkably easy, as easy as reading a railway timetable. First came the speeches, then came a luncheon, and after a short break in the program, the teachers and their students were to go to their classes, where parents and guests were welcome to observe. It was the perfect time to slip away without being seen.

He’d based his plan on the school’s prospectus, which he’d obtained a few days before. It described the principles on which the school was founded, the kind of girls St. Winnifred’s wanted to attract, and a list of former alumnae who had made a name for themselves in their chosen professions. It was a formidable list. It seemed to him that the era of compliant, indolent ladies who had nothing better to do than make some man happy, namely their husbands, was on its way out, or it would be if the graduates of St. Winnifred’s had their way.

The last item in the prospectus was, for his purposes, the most important. It gave him a list of teachers’ names and their room numbers. This was for the benefit of students who wanted to discuss a problem when school was over, or needed tutoring in some subject, or merely wanted to visit because they had nothing better to do.

It seemed to him that the teachers at St. Winnifred’s had hardly a moment to call their own, and he wondered whose job it was to minister to
them
.

He stopped at the door of the classroom where Faith’s lesson was in progress, just to make sure that she was where she said she would be, then he boldly mounted the stairs to the top floor of the house where the teachers’ rooms were located. He held a book in one hand so that if he was challenged, he would say that he was returning it to Miss Elliot’s room at her request. He doubted that anyone would chase down the headmistress to verify his story.

The door to Faith’s room was locked, but he had come prepared. A length of wire inserted in the lock, a twist of the wrist, and the latch clicked open. He looked left and right, saw no one, and entered the room.

It was small, much smaller than he had imagined, though he should have expected it, knowing that before it was a school, the building had been the home of some wealthy family, and these were the servants’ quarters. The room faced south and was comfortably furnished: upholstered chairs by the empty grate, a small mahogany table with two upright chairs, the washstand by the window, a lady’s desk under a gas lamp, and beside it, a bookcase crammed with books. What the room lacked in elegance, it made up for in simplicity and charm. The occupant of this room did not follow the prevailing fashion of covering every nook and cranny with tasteless curios or suffocating the light with heavy drapes.

There was another door that he supposed concealed the clothespress. He opened it first. There was little enough to see. Teachers had no need for an extensive or elegant wardrobe. Even as a paid companion, Faith had had more garments than these, and of far better quality.

He went through the room methodically, and the more he searched, the more he began to feel like a Peeping Tom. The paucity of Faith’s belongings told him far more than she would have wanted him to know. He had to keep reminding himself that he was doing this for her, that his motives were noble. He didn’t feel noble. He felt angry and restless. Where were the cursed letters? Had she destroyed them?

On the stand by the bed was a leather-bound volume. He picked it up and read the gold lettering on the front cover:
A Companion to Herodotus
by Malcolm McBride.

A small smile touched his lips. She’d told him, a long time ago, that this book by her father was her most precious possession. One day, she would have it bound again and would pass it on to her own children.

Where are your children now, Faith?
His smile gradually faded.

That was what she had wanted: a home and a family. She was an orphan, and those things were important to her. All he had wanted was Faith.

A shaft of light suddenly blazed through the gauze drapes, momentarily blinding him. It was enough to empty his mind of extraneous feelings and focus him on his impressions. Some small detail had registered, nothing sinister, but something interesting. What was it? He turned his head and gazed at the sewing box at the side of one of the upholstered chairs. He’d already been through it and had found nothing untoward. He crossed to it now, lifted it up, and carried it to the table.

It was a handsome piece, rosewood and inlaid ivory, too handsome to belong to the school. He’d decided that it must be Faith’s personal property, something she had brought with her when she’d taken up residence at St. Winnifred’s.

As carefully as before, he removed the contents, article by article: spools of thread, pincushion, scissors, needles, and all the paraphernalia peculiar to this womanly art. There was something different this time, not in the various articles, but in him. His fingers seemed to have developed a will of their own. His brain told him that the box was empty, but his fingers were not ready to give up. They smoothed the black velvet lining at the bottom of the box, and then he found it, a tiny flap that was almost invisible.

The bottom of the box came away easily, and he grinned. The secret compartment was stuffed with letters. He went through them quickly. There were eight responses altogether but only one that wasn’t asking for money. It was from Lady Cowdray, giving Faith instructions on how to get to the house when she arrived at Chalbourne station on Saturday next. Then she would tell Faith all she wanted to know about Madeline Maynard. It ended with: “I have something of Madeline’s that may interest you.”

Lady Cowdray. The name meant nothing to him, as little as Madeline Maynard’s name. How were they connected? Faith had always been selective in whom she confided, and he was the last person she would confide in now. He wasn’t going to let that stop him. She was heading into danger, and the only clue he had to go on was her interest in finding Madeline Maynard.

Girlish giggles on the other side of the door jerked him from his thoughts. It was time to go. He put everything back as he had found it and quit the room.

 

 

In the classroom one floor below, Faith’s nerves were just
beginning to settle. There were only half a dozen visitors present, but her girls performed as though Her Majesty herself was one of them. Their Greek recitation of Herodotus was flawless; their translation into English was fluent and accurate. To a certain degree, she was proud not only of them but of herself as well. On the other hand, these were the cleverest girls in the school, far cleverer than she was. It was easy to teach clever girls, so she couldn’t take the credit.

Her eyes kept straying to the door. There was no sign of James, though Dora had told all the girls that he’d promised to visit. She hoped that this was one promise he would break. She couldn’t order him out of her class just because he confused her. The headmistress would expect her to treat him with all the deference due a wealthy gentleman who might be induced to make a donation to the school’s foundation fund.

Her mind was jerked from her anxieties when the visitors broke into a round of spontaneous applause. Cries of “Well done!” and “You should be proud of yourselves!” as well as one “Bravo!” had the girls preening like peacocks. All the tightness across Faith’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. The hard part was over. The last few minutes would be taken up with questions from their visitors, and these visitors were obviously well-wishers and committed to what St. Winnifred’s had to offer, except perhaps for one elderly lady, Mrs. Elphinstone. She was of the old school and didn’t mind letting everyone know it, but she knew her duty and came every year to support her granddaughter. Thankfully, her son, the barrister, was there, too, and he knew how to handle his mother.

The first question was of a general nature. What did the girls want to do when they graduated from the school? Each girl answered in turn, and it was obvious that they had set the bar high. One wanted to be a doctor and had already enrolled at the Royal Free Hospital, one of the few hospitals that allowed women students into the operating room. Another wanted to go on to Somerville Hall at Oxford, the new women’s college, to read history, and Dora was looking forward to, as she put it, “Playing around with numbers,” if she was accepted at Cambridge.

“What Dora means,” said Faith in answer to all the blank looks Dora’s words had evoked, “is that she will be studying mathematics and physics.” She nodded at their looks of astonishment. “We fully expect that Cambridge will welcome her with open arms.”

This provoked a derisory snort from Mrs. Elphinstone.

“Now, Mama,” said the barrister, “we live in a different age. Girls want more than they used to. Let them have their chance. That’s what I say.” To Faith, he said, “You’re doing a splendid job, Miss McBride. Keep up the good work.”

He got to his feet and helped his mother to rise, but Mrs. Elphinstone had more to say and stood her ground. “What good will all this education do them? No one wants to listen to clever women. Whatever happened to small talk? That’s what a woman needs to know. If you want my opinion, an education is wasted on women.”

There was more in this vein, but the barrister possessed the same determined streak as his mother, though he was more tactful with it, and before the old lady could completely mortify her granddaughter, whose face was already flushed with embarrassment, he steered Mrs. Elphinstone through the door.

Faith was racking her brains for something to fill the silence before it became awkward, when a soft, Scottish brogue had all heads turning to the door. “The lady has a point,” said James Burnett.

He was lounging with one elbow propped against the doorjamb. A collective sigh from the girls went up. It never ceased to amaze Faith that even clever girls could lose their heads over a handsome face and a pair of broad shoulders. A Scottish brogue! That was all for effect. James Burnett’s accent was as English as hers. But his charm was working. Even the mothers who were present were breathing a little faster.

“Mr. Burnett,” she said, “to what do we owe the honor?”

He strolled into the room and took an empty chair in the front row. “Curiosity,” he replied with an easy smile, and he stretched one arm along the back of the next chair. “I met Mr. Danvers Senior on the stairs, and he suggested I consider a contribution to the school’s foundation fund. I never buy a pig in a poke, so here I am.”