Chapter 6 #2
“But you are now nineteen,” pointed out Mrs. Daubeney between sobs. “Not that I begrudge the care I have given you, but money does not go as far as it did when dear Gentleman died, and all he left is spent.”
Mrs. Daubeney had nonetheless suffered very little from permitting Prunella to continue at the school.
Prunella had started teaching the littlest girls when she was fourteen, and she had run errands and helped with the work of the household even before then.
She did not remind Mrs. Daubeney of this, but for the first time it occurred to Prunella to wonder whether it really was the best course to tell Mrs. Daubeney of her discovery.
“You know the one wish of my heart has been to help England’s magical womanhood,” said Mrs. Daubeney.
“There are not so many magical schools for young ladies, and with a little effort we might easily become the first among them. The Sorcerer Royal’s visit was the answer to all my prayers, and to have such an opportunity squandered is what I will not stand for. ”
“Was the Sorcerer Royal very cross?” Prunella ventured. “He did not seem excessively put out this morning.”
Mr. Wythe had seemed far more vexed by the Seven Shackles, she thought. If Mrs. Daubeney had observed this herself, however, she did not mention it. In common with most of humanity, she possessed a convenient capacity for forgetting anything that might cause her discomfort.
“Why, what could he do but disapprove of an establishment that allows its girls such latitude?” said Mrs. Daubeney.
“But he is not the only one whose opinion must be considered. Clarissa Midsomer has told her family of what passed. It seems her brother taught the wretched girl to pass messages by zephyr, which is the worst possible thing he could have done. Why the family sent her to us if they were only going to spoil our work by teaching her spells, I’m sure I don’t know!
The result is that Mr. and Mrs. Midsomer have said that I must send you away, or they will ruin me.
And they are perfectly capable of it, Prunella!
All they need do is tell their friends what happened today, and everyone is bound to take their daughters out of the school, for who would educate their girls at an institution where they were permitted to brawl like prizefighters? ”
“Good gracious!” said Prunella in dismay. “What a shabby thing to have done!”
Even then it did not occur to her to be alarmed. She could not conceive that Mrs. Daubeney would really send her away for such a trifle as a spat between the girls. But Mrs. Daubeney said, in a voice trembling with passion:
“That is to understate the matter altogether! You have no notion of how very little stands between us and disaster. How could you, indeed? You have never known what it is to be at the mercy of a mortgage!” Mrs. Daubeney shuddered at the hideous word.
“I have laboured for years to establish this school, and if the Midsomers choose to set everyone against us, it will all be for nothing,” she said.
“Just when I have contrived to pay off poor Daubeney’s debts, and am nearly able to put us out of the reach of want forever!
If our credit with the world is not to be destroyed—if I am to preserve all I have worked for—I must be seen to take every possible step to prevent a recurrence of this morning’s incident. ”
The bottom seemed to drop out of Prunella’s insides, letting in a draught that chilled her to the heart. Mrs. Daubeney had never before spoken to her in this manner, with this combination of trepidation and self-righteous resentment.
“What will you do?” said Prunella. She was so determined she should not sound frightened that her voice was toneless, lending her words an insolence she did not intend.
Mrs. Daubeney bridled. Prunella was never ingratiating at the best of times, but it seemed outrageous to Mrs. Daubeney that she should be so unconciliating just now.
“Less than you deserve!” snapped Mrs. Daubeney.
“I ought to send you away, but I could not bring myself to do it when I thought of your poor father. In truth, if you have ideas above your station, I must take some of the blame, for it was I who indulged you, and gave you a greater sense of consequence than your position can support. But that will certainly change, and I do not think Mr. and Mrs. Midsomer can object to my penalty. You ought to be grateful, Prunella. It is not such a great alteration, after all. You have done such work all along.”
“What do you mean?” said Prunella. Her hands, folded in her lap, tightened their grasp until the knuckles were white, but her voice was steady.
Despite Mrs. Daubeney’s anger, she was not so composed, and she fidgeted with her bracelets as she spoke:
“Henceforth I must ask you to conduct yourself in accordance with your station. You may not teach any more classes, not even the infants, and you must not take your dinner with the girls, or address them by their Christian names. It does not do to be so familiar with girls whose station in life is so far above yours. I have told the servants, and they will expect you in the kitchen this evening. I think it best to begin today as we mean to go on.”
Prunella was stunned. It was one thing to clean out an attic or two, or to help with the dinners, to oblige Mrs. Daubeney. Mrs. Daubeney had been known herself to scrub a floor or make a bed, especially in the earlier days of the school.
But it was another thing altogether to be told she must have her meals in the kitchen, and call the girls “miss.” Prunella was on cordial terms with the servants, but she had no wish to be counted among them.
Her silence discomfited Mrs. Daubeney. She was genuinely fond of Prunella, and felt she had been forbearing.
Any other woman in her position would have conceded to the Midsomers’ demands, rather than offering them a compromise with which they were only half-satisfied.
No doubt Prunella was put out, but she was really very fortunate, and must be taught to take the correct view of the affair.
“I know it is not what you expected,” said Mrs. Daubeney, more gently.
“But there is nothing else to be done, Prunella. I had thought, before, that you might teach the girls when you were older, but it would not have answered. The parents expect our mistresses to be of a certain quality, you know, and poor Gentleman! Who knows what indiscretions he might have committed in his youth? No one knows anything of your mother. She might be anyone.”
She did not add that it was clear, at least, what Prunella’s mother could not have been—an Englishwoman. Prunella was as conscious of this as anyone could be, and though she flushed, she said nothing.
“What is more,” said Mrs. Daubeney, “and indeed what is worse, you are too magical, which is what of all things an instructress of gentlewitches must not be. For you work spells before the girls, Prunella—you know you do.”