Twice Upon A Time (Unfinished Fairy Tales #2)(68)
There is no response from Miss Cavendish, at least not any that I can detect. Oh no, I hope that she isn’t considering Bianca’s offer.
“Surely you cannot be hesitating.” A sound of paper rustling. “Name your sum. As I am the mistress of Pembroke Place and the sister-in-law of Prince Edward, you may freely write whatever you wish.”
The bell rings.
“I’m afraid I cannot give you a definite answer today, Lady Pembroke,” Miss Cavendish finally says. “I must talk it over with the school committee.”
A pause—I imagine Bianca looking incredulous. She must have expected that Miss Cavendish would jump at her offer. From Bianca’s perspective, it must be a win-win situation.
A moment later, the door opens. Tall and regal, Bianca steps out, her expression stone-cold.
“The school is not for sale,” I say.
“You.” Her eyes narrow, and her lip curls in disdain as she takes in my admittedly simple dove gray gown, without a single ruffle or piece of lace. I seldom bother to dress up when I go to Princess College. “How lovely it is to run into you.”
I lift my chin. “Lovely indeed.”
“How long do you think you can keep this school open? There are only a few pupils left, using a large building established in a central location in the capital. What a colossal waste.”
“It’s not a waste. We are offering young girls a different opportunity in life.”
She stares at me for a long moment. “Since when did you get such peculiar notions in your head? When we were children, you complained of your lessons all the time.”
My heart hammers in my chest. I must be a huge departure from what the real Katriona was like, and since I’m no longer living with the Bradshaws, there’s less of a necessity to pretend to be Katriona Bradshaw. “Thank you for your concern, Bianca, but as the head patron of Princess College, it is my duty to see that the girls are brought back. I won’t hear of anything about selling the school. Now, if you don’t have anything further to say, allow me to bid you good day.”
I step aside and notice that Liam is standing at the end of the corridor, his expression unreadable. A few girls are also poking their heads from classrooms. I smile reassuringly at them, hoping they don’t notice that my shoulders are trembling.
Bianca’s eyes are flashing, her nostrils flared. When she speaks, her voice has an edge of a jagged saw. “This isn’t the end of it, Katriona. One day you will regret turning me down.”
It sounds so comical that I swallow a laugh. As if I would ever feel remorse for refusing her offer. “I look forward to the day,” I say sarcastically. “Goodbye, Bianca.”
Most of the school board is assembled when the meeting starts. There’s the headmistress, her assistant, several members of the aristocracy, a few skilled tradesmen who have their daughters enrolled, a couple of teachers, Elle, and me.
After the teachers report the current progress of the girls, Miss Cavendish stands up. She’s a dignified lady in her fifties, and also a great friend with the queen.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she says. “I have no doubt that you are aware that recently, the dropout rate at our school has increased alarmingly. Up to yesterday, we have twenty-four students, down from the one hundred girls we originally had. Hence, we need to figure out a solution to retain these girls and also to attract more pupils.”
I pinch my lips together. I knew a lot of students had left school, but I didn’t know there were so many. No wonder Bianca felt that she was being magnanimous when she’d offered to buy the school.
“If we cannot come up with a solution, the school will have to shut down,” a teacher says miserably. I glare at her. If the teacher herself is in low spirits, then it will undoubtedly affect the students as well.
“I can set up a scholarship from my foundation,” Elle says. “I’ve been researching what other boys’ schools have practiced, and I learned that they offer medals and prizes for attendance and grades. Perhaps if we adopt a similar scheme, the girls will be more inclined to come to school.”
“We should also alter the curriculum,” an aristocrat says. “There should be more lessons on music and painting, as well as etiquette and deportment. This school should live up to its name. With the enrollment of more upper-class girls, there’ll be less concern for financial security.”
“No,” I say firmly. “This school isn’t meant to be a substitute for lady lessons, nor is it limited to students from particular backgrounds. I refuse to change the classes to accommodate them.”
The aristocrat pulls on his beard. “Ideal, but impractical. I am not denouncing the poor, but they are affecting the performance of my child, who complains that she cannot concentrate in class with the unwashed stench in the air.”
I’m stung by his description, but instead I press my lips together. When Molly’s father came to remove her from school, I did note the dismal state of Molly’s appearance.
“And the clothes they wear! They can’t help wearing rags, and you should have heard some of the girls making fun of them,” another woman says. I think she’s one of the teachers. “And the filthy state of their hair—why, I have to spend ten minutes before class with a fine-tooth comb to get rid of the lice. Frankly speaking, I don’t want to discourage the poor things, but their conditions are not appropriate for school.”