“May I sit down with you, dear Bettina?” she asked. “Only I am in desperate need of some tea.”
Mrs. Fothergill, who had three finger sandwiches, two chicken aspics, and a separate plate containing a large piece of fruitcake, smiled while dabbing a napkin to her lips. The nephew rose slowly to pull out a chair.
“But of course, you look exhausted,” said Bettina. “This is my sister’s son, Charles Poot. Charles, do run along so that Mrs. Kent and I may have a pleasant tête-à-tête.”
“At once,” he said, picking up his plate and almost bowing his waistcoat into his egg sandwich. Agatha disliked him immediately, not for his ears but for his air of oily cooperation. She could not imagine Daniel or Hugh receiving any such peremptory order from her without a suitably defiant remark.
“A cup of tea and just some plain bread and butter,” said Agatha to the footman. The éclair, she decided with a sigh, would have to be forgone, as to eat one in front of Bettina Fothergill would be a weakness, and Bettina was prone to pounce on weakness like a weasel on a frog.
“Your Miss Nash seems a very pleasant girl,” said the Mayoress. “Perhaps not of the age and experience that some governors had been expecting,” she added. “And, if anything, too qualified for our poor little educational efforts?” She continued to exude a smugness that Agatha found almost as nauseating as the green straw hat.
“She is very well qualified, and we are lucky to have found her,” said Agatha firmly. “The Headmaster is quite content in his new appointment.”
“I’m sure he is,” said Bettina and sighed. “Any whispers of discontent are only that—the merest of whispers.”
“I believe the Headmaster has made an excellent decision,” said Agatha.
“Of course one always desires to stand firmly behind the Headmaster,” said Bettina, gazing with fondness at a cucumber sandwich. “Though technically you do remember that the governors may exercise a right of approval?”
“So I have been reminded several times this afternoon.” Agatha concentrated on breathing silently in to the limits of her corset. The footman brought her tea, and for once she welcomed the fussing about: the setting down of the elegant porcelain cup and saucer, and the careful aligning of the small plate of bread and butter. “Is there something I should know, Bettina?”
“I wouldn’t presume to say,” said the Mayoress. “Unlike you and dear Lady Emily, I was not appointed to the Board of Governors.” The school’s board was legally required to appoint two female members. In a marvelous sleight of hand, Colonel Wheaton, who chaired the board, had suggested that husbands and wives should not serve together, and then, after Agatha had been confirmed, he had neatly removed himself from the board in favor of his wife, leaving Mayor Fothergill to face the wrath of his own wife. “Perhaps you should ask Miss Nash to attend the governors’ meeting, just in case they wish to examine your choice further,” she added. Then she gathered her skirts, and sacrificing her plate of delicacies for the thrill of the victory, she bid Agatha good day and tottered away across the trodden-down grass.
—
Eleanor Wheaton’s skin was as white as if she had come from a sanitarium, and her dress, viewed from a close angle, was of a quality and subtle sheen that suggested costliness. Her hair was piled in intricate curls, but she carried her head with great ease. She would not have been out of place at a royal garden party, thought Beatrice, and was almost more dressed than even the grandeur of her family home could endure.
“Eleanor, may I present Miss Nash,” said Hugh. “No doubt you will have heard all about her.”
“How do you do?” said Eleanor, inclining her head before turning to Hugh to add, “Your cousin has yet to come over and see me. He and Harry are drinking all the champagne, and as you can see, no one has thought fit to bring me any. Fräulein and I are quite parched, are we not, Fräulein?” She leaned towards the nanny and added, in the loud voice reserved by the English for speaking to foreigners in any part of the world, “Wir sind parched, nicht wahr?”
“My goodness, your German is appalling,” said Hugh. “What have you been doing all year?”
“I would tell you, but I may faint at any moment. Do bring Fräulein and me some refreshment, I implore you.”
“I’ll be right back,” said Hugh, jogging off towards the marquee. Beatrice wished she had asked for another cup of lemonade, but she did not like to call after him.
“Miss Nash, this is Fräulein Gerta—Gerta, das ist Miss Nash,” said Eleanor with the bored air of one used to the flow of smooth and unimportant social niceties.
“Freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen,” said Beatrice. The nanny nodded her head and broke into a smile that transformed her from stone to apple-cheeked youthfulness.
“Ganz meinerseits,” she replied.
“You speak German?” said Eleanor. Her blue eyes flashed interest at once, and she threw off her air of boredom as she smiled widely. “Oh my goodness, perhaps you were sent to save me. I have been struggling like the devil to pick it up, but Fräulein speaks no English at all, and it is too exhausting to be always throwing myself across the chasm of understanding.”
“I expect your husband is fluent in both languages?” asked Beatrice.
“Yes, he is, damn him, and he seems to think it should be easy for me to be the same,” said Eleanor. “Now do sit down here beside me and tell me do you think it at all reasonable for him to accept a summons home and leave me surrounded by a German staff who speak no English?”
“I have often found that necessity does make one pick up languages a little faster,” said Beatrice. She sank cautiously into a canvas deck chair. “I once had to lease an apartment in Cairo…”
“Yes, yes,” said Eleanor, tossing her beautiful head and threatening to dislodge her hat. “But could he have at least engaged a bilingual nanny or lady’s maid? No, Fräulein Gerta and Liesl the maid are from families who have served his family for centuries, and the Baron’s family only has one way of doing things.” Here she assumed a slightly deeper voice and wagged a finger at herself. She crossed her eyes while doing so, and Beatrice could not help laughing.
“I hear your husband is young and handsome and that you are both very much in love,” said Beatrice, who had heard the same whispered by several admiring matrons during the afternoon.
“Oh, he is besotted, and I have him twined around this little finger of mine,” said Eleanor. “But on this one issue he is immovable because his mother insists I cannot be presented at court until I have enough German to answer should their Imperial Majesties stoop to speak to me.” She sighed and kicked off her white, heeled shoes onto the grass. “With two thousand people circulating in the most complicated of processions, I would be lucky if a footman asked for my wrap.”
“Oh dear,” said Beatrice, trying not to grin.
“And so I am confined to making little signs and pointing like a blind person,” Eleanor complained, leaning down to massage toes encased in white silk stockings.
Beatrice was not quite sure about the analogy, but she lost her train of thought as she saw Hugh coming across the grass, bearing with him not only Daniel but also Harry Wheaton and a footman with many glasses carried on a tray with legs.
“We weren’t sure what everyone would want to drink, so we brought everything,” said Harry Wheaton, his face as innocent and unself-conscious as that of a spaniel puppy.
As the footman set the tray table next to Eleanor’s chair, Beatrice stood up to make a hasty withdrawal, but Wheaton forestalled her. “I say, Eleanor, I made an absolute donkey of myself insulting Miss Nash the other day, and I beg you to help me make my apologies.”
“Did you really, Harry?” said his sister. “Well, you may have to leave immediately, because if Miss Nash is not of a mind to forgive you, I’m afraid I must choose her over you. She is going to teach me German.”
“Really, it was nothing,” said Beatrice. “But I should find Mrs. Kent. If you’ll excuse me…”
“But w
e will certainly not excuse you,” said Eleanor. “We will have my oaf of a brother removed by several footmen. Do pass me some champagne, Daniel.”
“Miss Nash, I really do apologize, most sincerely,” said Wheaton. “Do stay and have a glass of champagne—or have a glass of lemonade, as I intend to do.” He picked up a glass of lemonade, causing his sister and Daniel to go off into peals of laughter.
“I forgive you, Mr. Wheaton,” said Beatrice, “if only for the sake of your mother, who has been so kind to me, and your sister, who is so charming.”
“I am often so forgiven,” he said. “I will drink this lemonade in their honor and promise to be a better man hereafter.”
“Good,” said Eleanor. “Now Beatrice can sit down and we can all be comfortable while Daniel reads us some of his poems.” The footman offered lemonade and champagne, and Beatrice took the lemonade and promised herself it would be the last time.
“I’m an invited guest, not the entertainment,” said Daniel. “I only show my poems on the most serious of occasions.”
“You used to show me one for a penny,” said Eleanor. “I have a whole box of ditties tied up with a tartan ribbon from my twelfth birthday.”
“I was less discriminating in those days,” said Daniel. “Discrimination being less affordable when one is a small boy with no pocket money.”
As the talk ebbed and flowed, Hugh pulled up a deck chair and Daniel sprawled on the grass with no regard for his light flannel trousers. Harry Wheaton perched on the end of his sister’s chaise, and there was talk of a picnic expedition to the hop fields and of the new bathing machines at Camber Sands, and then Eleanor was expressing a wish that Beatrice accompany her to bathe as neither Fräulein nor the maid enjoyed the water and had made such a fuss last time. Beatrice, pleased to be still and cool and among this laughing circle of young people as the shadows lengthened across the lawn, felt for a moment released from care and repeated to herself that it had been a happy decision to come to Rye.
—
When the time came to leave, Agatha Kent seemed distracted and was still looking about her after she, her nephews, and Beatrice had already taken their farewells of Lady Emily. “There he is,” said Agatha and waved her sunshade quite rudely at the Headmaster, who seemed to be slipping away down a side path.
The Headmaster changed direction and came to say goodbye. “Lovely afternoon,” he said.
“We have been looking for you everywhere,” said Agatha. “You have been positively elusive.”
“I have been looking for you too,” said the Headmaster. “Quite impossible in the crush, of course.” The small group of guests remaining on the large lawn did not seem to Beatrice to qualify as a crush, and Agatha’s pursed lips suggested she thought the same.
“Mrs. Fothergill seems to be under the extraordinary impression that Miss Nash should appear at the governors’ meeting tomorrow,” said Agatha. “I am sure she meant no offense to your independence and judgment, Headmaster, but I did suggest it would be the height of rudeness to suggest any debate of your decision in such matters.”
“I appreciate your support, Mrs. Kent,” said the Headmaster. He looked uncomfortable around the neck and pulled at his collar. “I do hope my letter to you, Miss Nash, indicated that a final approval of our Board of Governors was usual.”
“And usually automatic,” added Agatha.
“Quite so,” said the Headmaster. “And it seems to me that Miss Nash has little to fear from any last-minute candidate.”
“So there is a candidate?” said Agatha.
“Quite sudden and unexpected,” said the Headmaster. “I assure you I did not suggest nor promote the young man in question, but it has been argued persuasively that should we deny the board a chance to hear from all parties, we may be open to criticism at a later date.”
“Bettina Fothergill’s work,” said Agatha.
“Is it that weaselly-looking nephew of hers?” said Daniel. “He had the audacity to ask me where I purchased my tie, and I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.”
“That’s it,” said Agatha. “For once you are perspicacious, Daniel.”
“Are you suggesting I am usually a fool?” said Daniel.
“Of course, in the event of an unforeseen decision in the unfavorable direction,” said the Headmaster, smoothly refusing to engage in answering the question, “I will make myself personally responsible to return Miss Nash to her family entirely unburdened by any travel expenses. So there is no need to worry at all, young lady.” He smiled widely and patted Beatrice on the arm. She fought against the urge to push him to the ground.
Agatha took her other arm and pressed it firmly. “We shall see you at tomorrow’s meeting and Lady Emily and I will rely on your continued support,” she said. “We must not tolerate underhanded machinations.”
“Not unless we instigate them, of course,” Beatrice heard Daniel whisper to Hugh. “We must do something to help Aunt Agatha, Hugh.” She could not help but admire and despair of the family loyalty expressed in his urgent tone, which only highlighted her own lack of any family to stand with her.
“I am sure it is all quite a formality,” the Headmaster was saying. “But it was not within my power to refuse.”
“I think I would like to go home now,” said Beatrice faintly, the pleasures and potential pleasures of the conjured afternoon falling away like so many blowing ashes. As she allowed Hugh to lead her away, she gathered up a few thoughts of the lovelier parts of the afternoon and stowed them away in the back of her mind, where they might remind her at some future date that lovely afternoons do not survive the chill of dusk.
Despair had a way of making tea taste bad. Beatrice recognized the feeling and knew that the lady’s parlor of the finest coaching inn along the high street was probably not as drab as it appeared to her at this moment. The white wainscoting seemed bright enough, and fresh flowers adorned a low table in front of the fireplace, but the floral upholstery of the chairs made her dizzy, and the sun, lancing in at tall courtyard windows, was painful to her eyes.
A sleepless night counting and re-counting her small stock of money had left her feeling weak. By no creative arrangement or stringent budgeting could she contrive to manage independently on the small allowance under her control. She might have managed abroad, in some small French town perhaps, but her father’s family would never advance her the funds to establish herself and she had no intention of humiliating herself by asking. In the dark she had considered writing again to those American friends of her father to whom she had already written, thanking them for their condolences. There had been expressions of concern and support on their part, and perhaps she had been too elliptical in her replies. But in the pale hours of the dawn, she knew she had been clear in her expression of a desire for meaningful work and a productive life. She had all but asked them to find her a position. Only two had found it necessary to reply again, and both carefully worded letters had extolled the virtue of home and reminded her of her father’s dying wish to see her safe in the bosom of his family.
She had declined one other teaching offer in favor of Rye. A northern mill town had offered just the productive life, the challenge of public service that she craved, but her heart had failed her at the thought of soot-blackened streets and rows of tenement cottages running across the hills. She had been forced to laugh at her own hypocrisy in choosing seaside Sussex over the surely greater educational impact she might make among the children of factory workers. Now she wondered if she would have time to write again and ask them to reconsider her. If not, she might eke out a few weeks at a friend’s home near Brighton, but her chances of finding some other position immediately were not good. She had no romantic notions of becoming a parlor maid or an actress, and she had never had patience with those more literary heroines who solved their problems with a knife or an oncoming train. She would have to write to Marbely Hall at some point and ask to come back.
“Excuse me, miss,” said a serving girl
, peering around the door. “They’re ready for you in the Green Banqueting Hall.”
“Thank you,” said Beatrice, rising reluctantly from her chair. She shook out her skirts and smoothed a hand across her hair, looking at her face in the over-mantel mirror. She would face the Board of Governors with her very best smile and a forthright presentation of her skills and qualifications. She would not let them see that she knew the answer was already decided. They would pick the man over her, but she would make sure they knew, in their hearts, that she was the better candidate.
—
Hugh and Daniel were hovering outside the coaching inn, which presented an august Georgian façade to the high street and was the site of many a municipal meeting and festivity. Or rather, as Hugh acknowledged, he was hovering, conspicuous in his anxiety, while Daniel leaned against the inn’s front wall, smoking a cheroot and gazing upward in the annoying way he did when he was suddenly struck by some fortunate arrangement of words. Hugh could only hope he would not start pulling out his notebook and a pen when time was so precious.
“He said he’d be here,” said Daniel, still musing. “I do wish you’d stop fidgeting.”
“And Harry Wheaton is the most reliable man we know,” said Hugh.
“He is most reliable when there’s a prank to be played or a girl to be courted,” said Daniel. “He seemed to regard the removal of Mr. Poot as a lark.”
“Well, Poot is sitting in the hallway now, and Miss Nash is already in with the governors,” said Hugh. “We should go and talk to him ourselves.”