White Lace and Promises (36 page)

Ruth chuckled. “You got Ma’s way with men. They’d do anything for you just to say they’d done it. You don’t have to stay here in New York; you could come back to Philadelphia and then you’d be close to Joshua again.”

“Joshua didn’t value me enough when I was his.”

“You are making the same mistake Ma did. You expect too much from your men. They are only men. They are not strong. They don’t know what they want.”

Beth turned back to Ruth. “Tell me true, did you know about Peter being my father?”

Ruth jerked her shoulders up and down. “I met her fancy man once. She’d come home to get her things. Lord, he was handsome. A charming, friendly fellow. He spoke to me like I was an equal but he didn’t give his name. She run off with him then and left you with Mrs Hazelwood.”

“She left—with a man?”

“A
gentle
man. She never came back. You better learn from her mistakes. Don’t never take a gentleman seriously. They’re a different breed. Cold and calculating. Just take what you can get from them and don’t expect nothing like love. Our Ma, she lost herself. Jumped off the roof.”

A chill tingled over Beth’s scalp. She put her hand to her throat. “Jumped off the roof?”

“Aye. Killed herself.”

Beth couldn’t get a breath. The air seemed to have become thin and the muscles of her ribcage seemed so weak. Life was so cruel, so useless. Her own mother had killed herself over a man’s fickleness. Were all women destined to waste their lives pining for some man, hoping he would change yet powerless to make him? She didn’t want to live like that. She wouldn’t. But she didn’t know what to do to change things.

 
She stood on legs shaking with raw, nervous energy. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

* * * *

“Mrs Sexton, please.” The tall, thin woman threw her body into Beth’s path. She bared her teeth in a trembling caricature of a smile. “If only you had told us you would like to drop in, we’d have called out for some cakes.”

Beth was at the school. She’d been compelled to come here, to find some part of her life that wasn’t so confusing. So defeating.

What Beth had seen so far disturbed her. Deeply.

All the music books she’d purchased, full of the latest European compositions available, were nowhere in sight. In their place, books of church hymns sat upon the pianos. The girls sat woodenly as they played. Like perfect toy soldiers.

The divans she’d ordered to be placed in the reading room were gone, as were the beautiful leather-bound books of Shakespeare, Ann Radcliff and Charles Brockden Brown. In that chamber, the girls now sat in high-backed chairs sewing on samplers, quietly, with solemn, tense expressions. And now Mrs Carlson was trying to deny her access to her own offices.

Beth drew her brows together and glared down her nose. The woman quailed and took two steps back, then stood there, shaking and darting her eyes from side to side as if unsure what to do now.

“Mrs Carlson, I wish to pass by.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs Sexton, but—”

Beth intensified that glare she’d so unconsciously given the other woman. Grey’s glare. She was discovering how vastly handy it was in certain circumstances. The woman gave a small whimper and stepped out of the way. Beth hurried up the stairs and then down the corridor. All the way, Mrs Carlson huffed and puffed behind her, her skirts rustling.

Beth entered Mrs Van Dyke’s office and saw the divans placed there. Mrs Van Dyke sat upon one of them, calmly reading aloud from her Bible.

A small girl stood in the centre of the chamber, on one leg with a book balanced on her head. Her little body shook.

Beth marched over to the girl and swiped the book off her head. “What is your name, girl?”

The little girl stared up at her with wide, brown eyes.

Beth smoothed the ruffled dark brown hair. “Go back to the piano room.”

The girl continued to look at her, fright apparent in her eyes.

“This is Mrs Sexton, our founder’s wife,” Mrs Carlson said in quivering tones. “Go on now and obey her.”

The girl darted a glance in Mrs Van Dyke’s direction, then hurried from the room with such alacrity that it made Beth’s heart contract. She turned and met Mrs Van Dyke’s outraged eyes.

“Mrs Sexton—what are you doing here today?” Mrs Van Dyke looked to Mrs Carlson. “Really, Mrs Carlson, you shouldn’t have made her walk all the way in here. I would have met her in the front parlour.”

“She insisted on coming in here,” the tall thin woman said in an almost pleading voice as she approached on the other side.

The older woman composed herself. “Well, good afternoon, Mrs Sexton. How may we help you today?”

“You may tell me what you are doing with that child.”

“I am attempting to instil some discipline.”

“I specifically stated there would be no corporal punishments in my school. Why are you disobeying me like this?”

“This girl is not being whipped.”

“It goes against the spirit of my intent and you well know it.”

The woman’s lips compressed and her spine went straight. “Mrs Sexton, you have no experience with teaching. You do not understand what is necessary to make little girls want to learn. And I—”

“You are dismissed.” Beth turned slightly to her left. “And so are you, Mrs Carlson.”

Mrs Van Dyke’s eyes went round and her lined face blanched. “What?”

Beth held the other woman’s gaze steadily. “You heard me. You are dismissed.”

Mrs Van Dyke blinked several times. “Mrs Sexton, has it perhaps escaped your awareness that I am a cousin to your husband?”

“Yes, a third cousin twice removed. Mr Heron told me when he hired you. It matters not. You are still dismissed.”

The woman drew her shoulders back and jutted her chin up. “Well, I shall take this directly to Mr Sexton and see what he has to say about the matter.”

“Do what you feel you must,” Beth said in unconcerned tones. Inwardly, her blood seethed and she balled her hands. She might have failed in her marriage but she would not fail in the school. If Grey insisted that awful woman must stay, well, then she’d fight him on it to the end.

But what power did an estranged wife hold over a husband?

* * * *

Grey slumped against the seat and studied his wife. She sat in the seat opposite him, her delicate features so sombre.

He didn’t know what to say. Depending on how she reacted to their separation, this might be their last ride together in a carriage. Yet she was here now, so vibrantly beautiful in the lamplight, her hair shining like silver-gold against the dark blue velvet of her pelisse. Her perfume surrounded him. It did not seem possible that she might soon be gone from his life forever.

But she might.

He’d presented his terms.

Now she would have to decide how to respond.

She cast another of those sidelong glances in his direction. Then her eyes flickered away quickly. Annoyance snapped along his nerves. He tapped his fingers on his knee. Why wouldn’t she simply say what was on her mind?

“Beth, what is it?”

“I dismissed Mrs Van Dyke.”

“I know. She came by the offices today.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I told her nothing. I instructed Mr Heron to pay her three months’ wages and send her on her way.”

“Oh.” Her pale brows drew together. Her body seemed to relax. “Well, then. Thank you.”

“I told you before, Beth. The school is yours to run as you see fit. I’ll never interfere with it.”

“I told the girls the school will be closed for at least a fortnight—until I can find a new matron to run things for me. Someone more suited to my ideas.”

Irritation flashed through him. Why wouldn’t she simply run the school herself? He’d bought it for her because she needed something of her own. Because he knew she could make the school into something special. She needed to make something special in the world. But he had vowed never to tell her how to run the school. He couldn’t order her to run the school herself. Yet he couldn’t respect her if she didn’t. He crossed his arms across his chest. “Do as you wish with it. Close it down completely if you prefer.”

* * * *

The warmth of Grey’s arm beneath Beth’s hand offered her no reassurance. It was as though her hand belonged to someone else. They stood in the octagonal ballroom of Belvedere House in dignified silence. Bayberry and pine and other greens entwined around all the brass candelabras and framed mirrors. The sharp, clean scent cleared some of the fuzziness from her mind but her throat hurt as though she’d swallowed broken glass and she shook with chills. She needed only to hold together for a few more hours, then she could take to her bed.

Slowly, the guests began to arrive. She smiled and said all the appropriate things and acted as though her whole world were not about to collapse on itself.

I will not be my mother. I will not throw myself off a roof over my abandonment.

Yet, right now, she wasn’t sure what she would or should do. She glanced at the elegant ladies in their colourful ball gowns. They smiled so brightly, chattering happily at each other. She didn’t understand how they’d found such happiness in their idle lives. She felt totally alien from them. Perhaps she should buck the whole social code of New York ladies and take an active role in the school.

Perhaps she would.

Her nape tingled and she turned to find a pair of sharp, ice-blue eyes—eyes so like her own—fixed on her. Dressed in a beautiful gown of pale blue velvet, Mrs Hazelwood was one of the last guests to pass along the receiving line.

Feeling as though her corset had suddenly gone too tight, Beth breathed slow and deep. Then, despite herself, fondness warmed her heart and a small smile curved her lips. Maybe things could be all right between herself and Mrs Hazelwood again. Maybe her aunt would explain and things would make sense.

“My dear girl, you are looking so well.” Mrs Hazelwood beamed her characteristic pleasant smile. Acid rose in Beth’s throat, choking her. The woman acted as if no wrong or betrayal lay between them. Surely the woman realised how she must feel. Beth tried to hold herself back, to keep the need for a polite façade for the occasion foremost in her mind.

But she couldn’t.

“You never told me. How could you never tell me about Peter?” she said in a low voice.

“Peter… Oh, that naughty boy. He did love a celebration.” Mrs Hazelwood’s eyes twinkled and she glanced up at the many glittering crystal and brass chandeliers. “He would have loved this ball.” Her gravelled voice suddenly sounded almost girlishly soft. “He used to call you his pretty little chit and give you sweets, do you remember? You were the child of my serving maid, but he doted on you. Peter was like that.”

A lump lodged in Beth’s throat. “Later, can we go somewhere private and talk? I need to—”

Mrs Hazelwood kept on smiling and holding her gaze, her eyes shining as clear and cold as the aquamarines in Beth’s necklace. She squeezed Beth’s hand. “Yes, you’re looking so very well, Mrs Sexton.”

Beth reached out and grasped the woman’s small, gloved hand. “Please, I need to know we can talk about Peter. I need to understand why you kept this from me.”

Mrs Hazelwood’s eyes moved beyond Beth and her mouth opened. “Why, Miss Watson, that is such a lovely gown! You simply must tell me the name of your dressmaker. I intend to do some grand shopping while I am here.”

She moved away, her hand sliding from Beth’s grasp. Her petite, birdlike frame blurred in Beth’s vision.

Beth sensed Grey at her side. He took her by the arm and led her through the crowd towards the row of antechambers. Dazed by her mixed emotions, she followed him into one of them.

She stared at the richly patterned carpet on the floor. It did nothing to ground her whirling mind.

He touched her under the chin and tilted her head up. His silver eyes searched hers. “Are you all right?”

“Yes…no…oh, I don’t know.”

“Beth, she’s never going to change. She’s never going to admit anything or tell you the things you want to hear.”

“She won’t acknowledge me. She never would.” She stared up at him. “She was all I had, and she wouldn’t acknowledge me. I have known it all this time—known I was really her kin—but I never wanted to admit it. Somehow, if it was my fault—my low birth—then it didn’t hurt as much.”