The Education of Portia (11 page)

Despite her fatigue and preoccupation, Portia began to be amused. The viscount as
supplicant was as unexpected as it was comical. She began to suspect what were his motives.
"Won't you sit down, Lord Stadbroke?"

She led him to the fireside and took one of the wing chairs that waited there.

He took the other with alacrity, but poised on the edge of its seat, stiff with tension. The
Ruffian, lugubrious but bright-eyed, pressed close to his side. "Your comments yesterday... The
girls--Sabina--told me that she saw me early in the morning yesterday in town. And that you also
glimpsed me and my...companion."

"I did, yes." Portia said no more; she had no intention of making this interview easy for
the viscount. She did not dare to question her own motives.

"You were quite right in speaking of...of gossip and discretion. I should be sorry for my
daughters' to be harmed by any such rumour."

He was attractive in his earnestness, Portia thought detachedly. His brown eyes pleaded
for her understanding, his handsome head was tilted at a perfectly appealing angle, and his broad
shoulders were bent with some degree of submission.

She was suddenly impatient with subtlety. "I can relieve your anxiety, my lord. Yes, I
did see you strolling abroad with your...your
cherie-amie
yesterday. Your daughters
fortunately did not. You are a fool to behave so when they reside not so very far from town, and
you will be fortunate do your exploits not reach their ears." Portia found satisfaction in voicing
the concern that had bothered her since she had heard of his reputation. "I know you value plain
speaking."

The viscount flushed darkly and stirred in his chair.

"Oh, and I would be extremely offended if you asked for assurances that I should not
mention the matter to them. I do not engage in salacious gossip with my pupils, especially when
it concerns their parents." Portia knew she sounded starched up and priggish but it was only the
truth.

Stadbroke seemed to pull himself together at her sharp words. "Self-righteousness does
not become you, ma'am. I deserve your strictures no doubt, but I do not offer myself for your
rebuke. I thank you for your reassurances and your advice. You may be assured in turn that the
girls will hear nothing of me from their friends." He rose unexpectedly.

"You look tired," he added abruptly. "I am sure it is no sinecure, this establishment. Is it
a family business?"

"Not at all, my lord. I studied here, and eventually was able to buy the business with the
help of a small inheritance. My paternal grandfather, though he did not acknowledge the
connection, was the Earl of Auchterader."

She wondered at herself, puffing off her titled relations in a way that she never had
before in her life. What was it about this man...?

"I had my season, made my bow to society, and as promptly retired from it. No this
school is not an easy task, Lord Stadbroke," Portia was surprised into saying. "But it is one I
love." The thought that she might lose the school suddenly overwhelmed her, and to her horror
tears filled her eyes.

Ingram was appalled by her sudden weakness. He had been embarrassed by her
frankness and infuriated by her high-handed moral smugness, but he had no wish to hurt or
distress her. He had found himself concerned over her apparent fatigue when he had first entered
the room but his own concerns had occupied his mind. Now he saw that she was weary to her
bones, and very, very worried about something.

To see her fine grey eyes swimming with tears disturbed him. He was accustomed to
women's tears, tears that manipulated, manoeuvred and controlled. But he knew somehow that
Portia Crossmichael did not cry without reason, that she never wept in public, and that she would
never resort to tears as a weapon. Therefore, something was seriously wrong. And he found, to
his surprise, that though he had frequently crossed swords with her, he had no wish to see Miss
Crossmichael in trouble. In fact he discovered that he respected, even liked her, and
now--because of her revelations--was intrigued by her. The Earl of Auchterader must be all about in
his head to deny the connection.

"Is there something wrong? Something I can do to be of assistance?" he asked, despising
the hesitation he heard in his voice. Ruff whined softly.

Portia had extracted a fine lace-trimmed handkerchief from her sleeve and was pressing
it impatiently to her eyes. Ingram found himself suddenly aware of the grace of her slender hands
and the narrowness of her delicate wrists. He met those fine grey eyes--now devoid of tears--
again. They were beautiful eyes, the grey of still winter water, birch bark in shadow and silver in
reflection, fringed with long, long lashes.

He shook his head in puzzlement at his unexpected reaction.

"I am fine, Lord Stadbroke. I have my brother, and I have an excellent staff who support
me." She rose to indicate that their conversation was at an end. "I will keep your daughters safe,
and I am certain that you will protect them also. Good day."

He had been dismissed, thoroughly and peremptorily. Ingram's temper rose again and
the Ruffian stood and uttered a short, sharp bark. "Good day to you, ma'am." He added with
sarcasm born of confusion, "It has been a pleasure discussing matters with you."

The door opened as he strode to it. Dent was on the point of entering, but hesitated at
Ingram's ferociously controlled greeting and the dog's minatory look.

"The viscount is just leaving, Caldwell. Do come in."

Stadbroke tightened his jaw on the pleasant welcome given to the other man. Miss
Crossmichael had a captivating, mellifluous voice--a silk and satin voice--he realized with
sudden unwilling acuity.

He nodded to Dent and contented himself with banging the door behind him. It was only
as he accepted his tall hat, and his gloves from the porter that he realized that Dent had looked
every bit as haggard and weary as did the schoolmistress. There was trouble, it seemed, at
Mansion House School, and a mystery. He wondered about it, all the way back to London, as he
drove his phaeton into the teeth of a nasty east wind with Ruff at his side.

Though her attention was alternately consumed by thoughts of the trouble Harold Dent
was bringing upon her school, and the difficulties Lord Stadbroke threatened to bring on his
children, Portia was by the middle of the next week aware that there was a new problem.

On Wednesday two of the young ladies in Melicent Perrington's class had taken to their
beds, and were being cosseted by Matron and her maids, drinking quantities of barley water and
having cool clothes placed on their small foreheads.

On Thursday, little Penelope burst into tears doing her sums, and Portia was
summoned.

With a comprehensive glance around the classroom, she noted one or two abnormally
flushed faces and one small nose hidden by a deplorable handkerchief. She swept Penny up, and
exchanged an expressive glance with her teacher of arithmetic, Mr. Gamston. She said, "Young
ladies, I wish those of you who are not feeling well to retire to the senior dormitory chamber.
Those of you who feel themselves in good health should retrieve your needlework or your books
and retire to the parlour. And I wish everyone to ask those staff members you see to attend me in
my study."

Within half of an hour, most of Portia's staff was assembled before her. She sat at her
desk still nursing Penelope, whose flushed face was pressed firmly into her shoulder. "It seems
we have an epidemic of sorts amongst us."

There were nods of agreement from all sides. Caldwell groaned.

"You may take yourself to your studio and stay there until you are notified!" Portia
informed him; he knew as well as she that the students' health must take priority over any of their
other problems. "Mr. Gamston, you are likewise relieved of your classes until further notice, and
if you will advise Mr. Billockby when you pass his dancing class, I will be in your debt." The
gentlemen withdrew, their relief apparent. The female staff urged them on their way.

"Now ladies, I think we should separate the well from the infirm, both for ease of
tending and to preserve the health of the well. We have done this before, and we have had
success with this scheme of separation if you will remember. As usual the senior girls' dormitory
would seem best suited to tending the sick. Mrs. Yaxham, you and Mrs. Shap will know how
best to effect the transfer. If you will take your maids, and be about this? And do help the girls to
find whatever they need to keep them occupied and happy--well or ill. Well in the junior
dormitory, ill in the senior."

The matron and the housekeeper bustled off, trailed by the three maids.

"Mme. Montlucon, is Gavrielle well or ill?"

"Well, Miss Crossmichael. She is to join me shortly." Heloise was all business; they had
discussed and refined their plans for such an eventuality.

Portia was grateful for her friend's support. "Then if you will keep her with you, and act
as my secretary here in my study, I would appreciate it. Have Mrs. Yaxham provide you with a
list of the sick, and write to their parents, the usual notification. I think there is no serious danger
from this illness, but a few uncomfortable days must be expected. No one should be unduly
alarmed." A maid was sent to find Gavrielle. "Once the letters are gone out, I think you should,
with Gavrielle, retire to your home and preserve your health."

"Of course. Though I hate to leave you with all the work." The Frenchwoman smiled at
her friend.

"We have been through it before, have we not?" Portia reminded her. "Oh, we must
advise the Rev. Sainsthorpe that Latin and religious studies will not be required for the duration
of our immurement."

"I shall write to him also." Madame moved to Portia's desk before the window.

Portia vacated her chair with a smile, lifting Penelope to rest on her hip. There was a
clattering of feet to and fro overhead, and a growing din in the parlour next door as the girls who
were in good health gathered there.

She turned to the remaining teacher. "Miss Gosberton, have I thought of everything?
You will as usual be my prop and mainstay. May I ask you to oversee the young ladies who are
feeling well? Direct them in whatever studies you see fit, take them for refreshing walks in the
garden and keep up their spirits, you know better than I the requirements. And probably they
should confine their activities to the parlour, the junior dormitory and the dining room; it will be
easier for you than using the classrooms. I will help you as I can, of course." The teacher agreed
with a nod and a word of agreement and took her leave. The noise in the parlour next door
quieted after only brief minutes.

"Now, little one," Portia was touched by the unusual dependence of feisty little Penny.
"Let's get you to bed." She left the chamber still carrying the child.

The child burrowed her head further under Portia's chin. "I want Papa."

Portia heard her with surprise; usually an ill child would ask for its mother. "Papa will
certainly be told you are not well, but we wouldn't want him to take the catarrh from you, would
we?"

"Papa alwayth cometh when I am ill."

"Well, we shall see what we shall see," Portia suggested with appropriate obscurity. She
could not imagine the impeccable Lord Stadbroke in a childish sickroom; in her experience,
parents were more than happy to allow someone else to deal with the illnesses of childhood.
"Meanwhile here is Mel."

Melicent appeared from the bustle of young ladies milling about the entry, and rushed
up to her sister's side. She sneezed explosively.

"Handkerchief, Melicent," Portia said automatically, and watched the child search her
apron pocket, her sash and her sleeve before locating the square of linen.

The porter sneezed and Portia sighed inwardly. This looked to be developing into a
difficult few days. If her staff was disabled by illness life would be fraught indeed.

Sabina appeared at the top of the stairs. She appeared to be in good health as she hurried
down them.

Portia said, "Sabina, you should go with the other girls who are not ill, to the
parlour."

"No Miss Crossmichael, I shall stay with Penny and Mel." Sabina took Penelope from
Portia's arms.

Portia repressed a sense of loss upon Penelope's transfer. "Sabina, we don't need another
girl to be ill. In our experience, if you stay with the well girls, you will remain well
yourself."

"My sisters need me, ma'am. I will stay with them." With calm determination, Sabina
stared at her over her small sister's head.

Portia could not mistake the resolve in the girl's voice and gaze, and she admired the
self-less sisterly affection that put herself in harm's way for the good of her siblings. "Very well,
my dear. But I would not have you in the midst of the dormitory surrounded by sniffles. Where
can I put you? I've not had sisters here before."

"We shall do very well with the other girls, ma'am," Sabina said.

Melicent sniffed tremendously, coughed and asked, "Will Papa come?"

"I am sure he will if he thinks it necessary. Madame is writing to parents even as we
speak. Come along--upstairs, ladies." Portia urged the girls gently toward the staircase.

By the time she and her staff had all the girls settled in their new arrangements the
evening was well advanced. Madame and her daughter had retired to their home, the letters had
been long since taken by one of the grooms to be delivered in the city, or posted to distant
parents. A light supper had been served to the young ladies who were in good health, and the
girls who were ill were tended by Matron and her maids, aided by Portia.

She was sitting down to a much delayed supper of cold meat and bread with a wedge of
cheese when the door knocker crashed with authority. The clock had just chimed nine on the
chill autumn evening, and Portia was reviewing her arrangements as she ate. She heard the porter
in discussion with another deeper male voice and then without ceremony, the viscount strode
into her study.