Chapter 2
By the time Padua slipped through the garden behind the house on Frith Street, the last of dusk’s light showed.
High-pitched voices leaked from the building’s second storey, where the girls ate their supper.
If she moved quickly enough, she could take her own chair in the dining room without attracting much notice.
If she were very lucky, Mrs. Ludlow would be none the wiser about Padua’s activities today.
She did not fear Mrs. Ludlow, the gentlewoman who owned this building and school, and in whose hands rested her ability to support herself.
Generous to a fault, and as warm as a mother, Mrs. Ludlow suffered from a level of absentmindedness that made her quite benign.
Learning one of her teachers had left the property would distress her, however, and Padua did not want to do that.
She checked the garden door, and was relieved to find it still unlocked. She strode through the back sitting room, removing her spencer while she walked. She rolled it up and tucked it behind a chair in the reception hall before mounting the stairs.
Assuming an expression of confidence, she entered the drawing room that now served as the dining room for Mrs. Ludlow’s School for Girls.
She made her way to the head table and slid into her chair.
She drew no particular attention from the others already into their meals.
Only Caroline Peabody’s gaze followed her conspicuously, first with a little frown, then with visible relief.
Caroline was one of three girls Padua tutored in higher mathematics.
Those lessons were not part of the curriculum, and took place late at night after Mrs. Ludlow retired.
She enjoyed the extra work, because it meant these girls could discover what their minds could achieve.
She found contentment in doing for them what her mother had done for her.
The pay at this school might be low, but it was a respectable living, one for which she held excellent qualifications.
The employment also permitted her to squirrel away some money for the plans she had.
“Miss Belvoir.” Mrs. Ludlow’s address drifted down the table, past the other teachers. “Please join me in my chambers after dinner. I would like a word with you.”
Padua finished her meal while the room emptied. She then made her way to Mrs. Ludlow’s chambers. The door to the sitting room stood open, as it usually did in the evening. Once she entered, however, Mrs. Ludlow closed it.
Padua loved the sitting room. Small and tidy, its upholstered chairs and patterned carpet created a cozy den.
She and Mrs. Ludlow sat near a low fire, in two of those comfortable chairs, with a small table between them.
On the table sat a tiny glass of sherry, which Mrs. Ludlow indulged in “for her health.” The chair, of decent size for a person of Padua’s height, almost swallowed short, plump Mrs. Ludlow.
If not for a footstool, her feet would have dangled.
Fifty and filmy-eyed, with a cloud of fair hair that resisted taming, Mrs. Ludlow forever appeared perplexed.
Indeed, the world confounded her on a regular basis.
She lacked constancy as a result, which Padua at times found exasperating, but often also found useful.
The school had many rules, as schools do, but Mrs. Ludlow could be swayed by tears or promises from the girls, or threats from the parents upon whom her fees depended.
Or logical persuasion from her teacher, Padua Belvoir.
“You left the premises today.” Mrs. Ludlow spoke an observation more than an accusation while she bent to tuck a throw around her feet. Contented with the result, she sat back into the fat embrace of the chair’s cushion, and reached for her sherry.
“I had a family matter to attend to.”
Mrs. Ludlow sipped, then cradled the fragile glass in her fingers. “I do ask that you inform me and receive permission. Those are the rules, Miss Belvoir. Without rules, where would the world be?”
“As you know, I think that, as an adult, I should not need permission. None of my classes or charges were neglected, and I returned before nightfall.”
“Barely. Had you walked in ten minutes later—” The very thought had Mrs. Ludlow flustering.
“What would the parents say if they learned my teachers went abroad in town at night alone? I would be entertaining a long line of them as they came to get their girls. Really, you must see that.” She flushed, and patted her hand on her heart.
“Why, we would all be ruined, Miss Belvoir. Ruined. I would have been forced to release you, in an attempt to stave off the worst.”
“There is no reason for any parent to know our business, unless we lack discretion,” Padua said. “Yes, the world needs rules, but as independent women, we should make our own, and ensure they are practicable.”
“Make our own? Oh, dear girl, that is rich. And so like you. As for discretion, allow me to enlighten you on the limitations of that. I needed to speak with you tonight about more than your absence today—and, truly, Miss Belvoir, I cannot have it, you know I cannot.”
Padua avoided making any promises. The situation with her father prevented that. “What other matter concerns you?”
“I have received a letter today, from a parent, complaining.”
“Not about the lessons, surely. Your curriculum is far superior to what is normally found.”
“As it happens, that was the complaint.” Mrs. Ludlow sighed, then sipped again. “This father expressed dismay that his daughter wrote to her brother like a braggart about her lessons in geometry. It appears the boy has not yet mastered that at the same level, and he is a year older.”
“We cannot be blamed for either the brother’s lack of ability, or his tutor’s lack of attention.”
“Quite so, quite so, and yet—this man had not expected such a thing. Well, they never do. Sewing, drawing, music, French, basic ciphers—you know the sort of lessons he wants.” She looked over, all confusion and little confidence.
“Perhaps he is correct. Maybe—I am not sure. It is so hard to know. There can be no harm, I think, then I receive such a letter and . . . ” She looked around her sitting room as if expecting some figure of authority to emerge from a wall and tell her the best course of action.
The parents expected the curriculum the school had before Padua arrived. She had quickly convinced the impressionable Mrs. Ludlow to allow a few changes. Now she wondered if she would be reduced in the future to teaching basic arithmetic to girls who could do much more.
“His objection to the mathematics only served as a prologue,” Mrs. Ludlow continued, her hand flashing gestures of distress.
“After that, his letter became much more pointed. Indignant, he was. Aghast. His girl, it seemed, also wrote to her mother, this time about a fascinating pamphlet a teacher had loaned her. She encouraged her mother to find it and read it for herself.”
Padua wished she did not know what was coming. Only she did. “She asked to borrow it. I told her not to let anyone know.”
“Oh, dear. I had hoped . . .” Mrs. Ludlow patted her heart again. “Did I not tell you that you must not teach your ideas about women’s rights to the girls? I am sure I did.”
“I have not taught the girls anything. I have not openly discussed such things, although for an educated female to be ignorant of such arguments is comical. However, I have kept those ideas out of the schoolroom.”
“But not out of the school. You must do so in the future.”
What a bizarre suggestion. The ideas were in her head, and she was in the school. There was no way to keep the ideas out of the school, unless . . . Better not to point out the obvious. Mrs. Ludlow was a dear woman, and good at heart, but she was also afraid.
“She saw the pamphlet among my books. She asked to borrow it. I allowed it, but warned her to be discreet.”
“Hence my first words, about the limitations of discretion,” Mrs. Ludlow said sadly.
“I would be sorry to lose you, Miss Belvoir. Most sorry. However, those pamphlets must be locked away, so the girls cannot see them. And you must obtain my permission before leaving the school in the future, and explain your purpose in doing so, lest I get more letters.”
Padua bit her tongue. Of course she could not tell Mrs. Ludlow that she intended to leave again tomorrow, to bring food and clothing to her father in prison. If Mrs. Ludlow learned of his situation, she would surely send Padua packing by morning. She would have no choice.
Padua did not argue. She excused herself and retired to her chamber. Jennie waited for her there.
“Did she let you go?” Honest concern showed in Jennie’s blue eyes.
A young widow of good birth, Jennie was as dependent as Padua on her situation at Mrs. Ludlow’s.
Handsome, blond, and well-bred, she taught the girls comportment and etiquette.
Her relatives may not give her a penny, but Mrs. Ludlow liked dropping their names to parents of prospective students.
“No. She said she does not want to either.” But she would, if necessary. Padua knew that.
“Then you must not do this again. Where did you go?”
Jennie was the closest thing to a friend that Padua had, but they were not so close that she would admit to Jennie that her father was in prison. “I thought I knew where to find my father, so I might see him.”
Jennie shook her head sadly. “He avoids you so he does not have to give you any money, Padua. I have told you that.”
It was why Jennie’s family avoided her, so she assumed it was a rule that governed all lives. “I know he has nothing to give. Anyway, I had to try.”
Jennie turned to the door. “I must go. I am going to tell those girls not to sneak in here tonight, for those extra lessons. You do not want to risk forcing Mrs. Ludlow into making a choice, Padua.”
“Skipping a night or so might be wise.”