Chapter 3
KEATLEY HALL’S CONSERVATORY wrapped Ella in its warmth, and for the moment memories of the strained conversation with her father faded.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, flooding her lungs with the red Bengal rose’s musky, sweet aroma and allowing the scent to transport her to a moment from well over a decade prior.
“The Rosa chinensis. All the way from China!” Her mother’s dark eyes had been wide and bright when she first introduced the plant to Ella. “It blooms several times a year. Not like the European roses, which bloom only once. Isn’t that a marvel?”
“The China rose.” Ella whispered the bloom’s common name as she opened her eyes and gently touched her fingertip to the soft crimson petals.
This plant, with its prickly stems, lustrous dark leaves, and vibrant hue, had been her mother’s final addition to the lush conservatory before her death.
With each new blossom it felt as if her mother was still with her.
Returning to the task at hand, Ella smoothed the worn linen apron over her striped ivory muslin gown, secured it around her waist, then lifted her pruning scissors.
Three of the conservatory’s four walls were lined with broad leaded windows, and dusk’s purple glow cast a long streak of light on the plethora of plants thriving within.
Dahlias. Dianthus. Geraniums. Lilies. Two lemon trees.
Three orange trees. A Japanese hydrangea. And dozens more.
The stillness and beauty of this space usually offered peace and a sense of connectedness, but despite the memories residing here, melancholy and loneliness prevailed.
Several days had passed since she had spoken with her father in his study, and Ella continued to wrestle with their conversation.
He’d urged her to trust him.
Ella had always trusted her parents implicitly.
She had no reason to doubt that her unorthodox upbringing, which included an intense formal education that would rival that of any boy, could be anything but beneficial.
She’d never questioned her parents’ decision to forgo any instruction in traditional feminine pursuits that would equip her for polite society.
After her mother died, life with her father continued in the same patterns as it always had: education and study, debate and conversation.
She’d long been praised for her original ideas and enduring confidence, but somewhere in the past year’s murkiness and unexpected events, the tides had turned.
No longer was she encouraged to forge her own path, and her once-welcome opinions and suggestions now fell on deaf ears.
Her father’s new demand for compliance was demoralizing.
Ella understood his arguments—to a point. She’d been allowed much more freedom of thought and action than most young women. Would she enjoy such autonomy after he died, when she was left to contend with the world alone without his shelter and provision?
Time was not on their side, and difficult decisions needed to be made, but her trust in him, for the first time, was waning. How could she really trust anyone when the rules were constantly shifting in a game she did not understand?
She clipped a fading leaf from the rose’s stem and then another.
She should feel relieved at Mr. Abernathy’s interest. It was no secret that she had to marry, and it never had been.
If she did not, she’d lose her beloved conservatory, not to mention the dream she’d been planning for since her mother died—offering education for girls.
Her mother had been very clear: While grateful that Keatley Hall could provide such a stout education for boys, she was frustrated that young women were not given the same opportunity to develop and expand their minds.
Ella mirrored her mother’s abhorrence of the unequal treatment, and if she could help even a few young women find power through education, she would be gratified.
But somewhere, somehow, time had slipped by, slowly and largely unnoticed, and the practicalities of life had dwarfed urgency. Suddenly action was inevitable, and the price to keep her dreams alive would be dear indeed.
The idea of matrimony was generally agreeable to Ella, and she’d never opposed the idea of marriage to Nathaniel Rawlston.
She had not loved him, but he was amiable, astute, and could engage in a pleasurable conversation.
Most importantly, he shared her family’s vision for furthering the natural philosophies in all forms.
But Abraham Abernathy? The idea would take getting used to.
Movement at the conservatory’s glass door caught her attention. Mrs. Chatterly, their housekeeper, stood in the doorway, a shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders and a candlestick in her hand. “I thought I’d find you here.”
Refusing to appear out of sorts, Ella forced a smile. “Of course I’m here! Did you see these new blooms? Aren’t they lovely?”
Mrs. Chatterly had been Ella’s mother’s lady’s maid, and after Ella’s mother’s death, Mrs. Chatterly assumed the role of Keatley Hall’s housekeeper. Besides Ella’s father, Mrs. Chatterly had been the one constant in Ella’s life.
The older woman stepped in farther and wordlessly assessed the bloom in question before she spoke. “Your father informed me that he’d been in conversations with Mr. Abernathy. He also told me why.”
Ella’s smile faded. She knew better than to attempt to fool Mrs. Chatterly with a feigned cheery disposition. “I suppose I should be pleased. A solution at last. Father has figured it out. I shouldn’t question it.”
Mrs. Chatterly stepped to a small wooden worktable just inside the door, scooted a stack of empty pots to the side, and placed her chamberstick next to it. “But you are questioning it, aren’t you?”
Ella’s response felt heavy on her tongue, preventing her from an immediate response. Mr. Abernathy was such a diversion from the plan—a diversion that made her feel as if she’d been tricked instead of contributing to the solution. “You think he’s right, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, does it?” Mrs. Chatterly tilted her graying head to the side, her eyes unnervingly direct.
“Yes. It does.”
Mrs. Chatterly sighed and walked around Ella to the far side of the table, where a mature potted lemon tree stretched its glossy leaves and perfumed the air with its zesty aroma.
“Do you remember when you were a young girl and you’d encounter something you didn’t like or understand? What would your mother tell you to do?”
“Be curious.”
The unspoken words were ingrained on her mind and heart. The phrase had been her mother’s solution to any conundrum and was the first advice she would offer when faced with a dilemma—to neutralize the emotion and approach something rationally.
Mrs. Chatterly’s intense gaze did not shift, and Ella knew it would not until she gave the housekeeper the correct answer. “To be curious.”
“That’s right.” Mrs. Chatterly lifted her pointed chin, as if satisfied that her clue had incited the answer to her riddle. “And I believe she would urge you to be curious about Mr. Abernathy.”
Ella’s nose wrinkled in response.
Mrs. Chatterly’s dry laugh filled the chamber. “He’s not that ghastly, dear child. We’ve all known him a long time.”
Ella snipped another leaf.
Mrs. Chatterly was right, she supposed, but in all the years Ella had known Mr. Abernathy, she’d barely noticed him. He was quiet. Plain. Unremarkable.
Mrs. Chatterly did not stop. “I imagine the bigger question would be, why would he not be interested in this arrangement? He’s served the school loyally for over a decade, and becoming headmaster would be his next logical step.
It would mean great social advancement for him.
What reasonable man would not relish such prestige and responsibility? ”
Ella’s words seemed almost ridiculous as they passed her lips. “But he doesn’t care about me.”
Mrs. Chatterly shook her head. “You were not thinking of a romantic relationship with Mr. Rawlston. Why is this different? Mr. Abernathy’s a good man.
No, he’s not as entertaining or charming as Mr. Rawlston, but maybe he’s better suited.
This would hardly be the first marriage concocted for a specific purpose.
With mutual respect and common interests, it will end up all right. ”
Ella wanted to scream at the injustice of it. How could Mrs. Chatterly condone this idea? Just because she was a woman, she was forced into this horrid ultimatum—marry or lose the life she’d always known. Her mother would be appalled.
Ella could fight it. She could cry out all the reasons why this wasn’t fair, but what good would come of it?
She lifted her gaze to the leaded glass that formed the conservatory’s ceiling and to the fading twilight overhead.
Whether she liked it or not, she was bound to Keatley Hall by an inexplicable devotion that transcended her own personal aspirations and inclinations.
She was destined to live the rest of her years here, and she’d make any sacrifice necessary to make that happen. “I cannot leave Keatley Hall.”
“And there’s no reason you should.” Mrs. Chatterly’s tone lifted optimistically, as if to signal a change in topic. “Soon we will depart for London, yes? There you shall see Miss Hawthorne. Perhaps chatting with her about this will help you find clarity.”
The mention of Phoebe Hawthorne bolstered Ella’s weary spirits. As Mr. Hawthorne’s only daughter, Phoebe often accompanied Ella to Society events. Phoebe had been her best, and only true female friend for as long as she could remember.
“The fear of a thing is sometimes worse than the actual event. We build things up in our minds, but rarely do they meet our expectations. Don’t stay down here too late.
” Mrs. Chatterly offered a warm smile, but as she turned to quit the conservatory, she paused and retrieved a letter from the pocket in the folds of her gown.
“Oh, and merciful me, I nearly forgot. The entire reason I came to find you! A letter arrived for you.”
Ella accepted the missive, and after the housekeeper had left, Ella turned the letter to identify the sender and frowned at the strong, unfamiliar handwriting. She wiped her free hand on her apron before she slipped her finger beneath the seal to pop it open.
Instinctively her gaze flicked to the signature to find out who it was from.
Gabriel Rowe.
She jerked, surprised. It was a name she’d not heard in a very long time—a man who had been a student at their school years ago.
She flipped open the letter.
Dear Miss Wilde,
I apologize for the intrusive nature of this letter, and I hope I do not offend. My only goal is to provide information that I hope may prove beneficial.
It has been a while since we last spoke, but currently I am a solicitor and work in law.
I am aware that Mr. Bauer is to be the speaker at the symposium at Keatley Hall.
I have reason to question Mr. Bauer’s credentials and his intentions, and I am concerned that his reputation might negatively affect the school and the Society.
I do not wish to cause trouble, but because of my past relationship with the school and the Society, and my respect for your family, I want to share what I have learned.
If you would like the information, please contact me at the enclosed address and I will be happy to share it with you.
Shock slowed her thoughts.
Then her satisfaction roared to a flame.
This letter validated her concerns, did it not? And if Mr. Rowe made the effort to contact her after all this time, the information must be damning indeed.
Ella tapped the letter against her hand thoughtfully before she folded it again and put it in her apron pocket.
She’d promised her father she’d not intervene or act on her suspicions, but the dubious nature of her situation left her no option: If Mr. Rowe had viable proof, then she had no choice but to investigate it.
Perhaps all hope was not lost after all.