Chapter 5
At noon on Friday, Sylvia set out to call at the school, ostensibly to check on the state of supplies, but in reality, to see how everything was going and to reassure herself that everyone was settling into their new home.
She felt a happy thrill on setting eyes on the hall—solid and respectable, a much better place for the school, for teaching the boys that, with education and application, they, too, could aspire to inhabit such an area.
She opened the door and stepped inside to find lunchtime in progress—the boys seated cross-legged on the floor, munching whatever they’d brought from home and on the apples the school, through the good offices of Miss Meggs, provided.
The boys were listening to Cross, who was perched on a stool and reading aloud from a boys’ adventure novel.
All heads turned her way, and happy smiles spread across every face.
Closing the door behind her, Sylvia smiled back. It was transparently clear that the members of her small school community were reveling in their new surrounds.
She crossed to where Miss Meggs sat behind one of the unused desks. Sylvia caught the assistant’s eye. “All in order?”
“Indeed, Miss Buckleberry.” Miss Meggs’s smile said it all.
“We’re all so much more comfortable here.
” She nodded toward the boys, who had returned their attention to Cross.
“They’ve settled right in and have been behaving themselves and, I would say, paying even greater attention to their lessons.
Mr. Jellicoe, Mr. Cross, and I were saying just before that the change of venue seems to have convinced them that what they learn could truly make a difference. ”
Sylvia nodded. “One of those intangible effects, but all to the good.”
“Indeed.”
The door at the rear of the hall opened, and Jellicoe came in. He saw Sylvia, nodded and smiled in greeting, then strolled around the hall to join her.
Sylvia turned to Miss Meggs. “Do you need any further supplies?”
“Actually, yes.” The assistant started hunting through the papers on her desk. “I’ve been making a list… Ah, here it is.” She handed Sylvia a note with several items listed. “Just some chalks and more ink.”
Sylvia took the list, scanned it, then tucked it into her reticule. “I’ll probably call in on Monday—I’ll bring them then.”
Jellicoe halted beside her, his expression conveying his satisfaction.
“Next time you see Lord Cavanaugh, do pass on our profound thanks for our change of scenery.” He grinned.
“It’s reawakened our enthusiasm—and not just ours, but theirs, too.
” He tipped his head toward their pupils, then drew out his watch, consulted it, and tucked the timepiece back into his waistcoat pocket. “Time to get back to our lessons.”
A sharp rap on the front door had him pausing. “Hello,” he said, as the door opened to reveal a somewhat rotund gentleman. “Who’s this?”
The gentleman paused on the threshold. He carried a cane and wore a short top hat, and his striped waistcoat strained to remain decently anchored over his stomach.
After several seconds of surveying the scene—Cross had stopped reading and, along with the boys, was silently staring at the stranger—the gentleman harrumphed and, in a manner that screamed self-importance, walked in.
Sylvia moved to intercept him. “Can I help you, sir?”
The gentleman’s gaze, which had fixed on Jellicoe, shifted to her. A slight frown drew the man’s brows down. “And you are?”
Sylvia did not like his tone, but kept an assured smile on her face. “Miss Buckleberry. I’m the school’s administrator.”
“Are you, indeed?” The man looked faintly surprised, then his earlier, somewhat peevish expression returned. “In that case, Miss Buckleberry, it is, indeed, you to whom I wish to address my most strident protest over this school being moved into this area.”
Planting his cane between the toes of his boots and leaning on it, the gentleman glowered—at Sylvia, then at all those behind her, the boys especially. Sylvia could almost see the horrid man’s lip curl.
She drew herself up. “And you are, sir?” Her tone had turned decidedly frosty.
“I, Miss Buckleberry, am Councilor Peabody.” The man returned his gaze to her face and, as if the words gave him license to crush all there, triumphantly added, “Councilor for this ward.” He rolled on, “And I am here to tell you that siting a school such as this in this neighborhood is entirely unacceptable. My constituents don’t want dockside brats running amok around their houses.
All well and good to bring education to the poor, but institutions such as this should remain in their proper place—in this case, by the docks. ”
Sylvia had encountered men like Peabody before. With icy calm, she met his gaze and arched her brows. “Indeed? Tell me, does the Abbey fall within your ward?”
Peabody nodded with smug satisfaction. “It does, indeed. The Abbey and all the surrounding streets.”
“In that case, sir, I’m surprised you haven’t realized that this hall belongs to the Abbey. The school couldn’t be here had the Abbey not agreed to lease us the hall.”
Peabody blinked. After a silent second, he blustered, “Clearly, the prior had no notion of what manner of school he was accommodating.” Peabody’s gaze returned accusingly to Sylvia.
“You may be sure that I will bring the matter to his attention immediately, and then you and this school will be out on your collective ear.”
Sylvia walked forward, forcing Peabody to turn to keep her in sight—to turn toward the door.
“If you wish, sir, by all means, do speak with Prior Robert, but I assure you he knows precisely what manner of school this is. He even went so far as to offer the services of the Abbey infirmarian, should we ever require medical assistance.” She continued walking slowly toward the door, drawing the obnoxious Peabody with her.
“I have to say that I myself would be reluctant to suggest that Prior Robert had leased us the building without convincing himself of our bona fides.”
That gave Peabody pause. His expression grew faintly concerned.
“I… Ah, yes. I take your point.” But then he rallied and straightened.
“Be that as it may, secularly speaking, having a school such as this bringing dockside brats into this neighborhood cannot be borne. The residents won’t stand for it—and I certainly won’t. ”
He’d worked himself into a lather of righteous indignation again.
Sylvia hesitated for only a second before saying, “As to that, sir, we will have to disagree, but before you think to mount any major push against the school, you might like to know that the school exists under the auspices of the Dean of Christ Church and has the financial backing of Lord Christopher Cavanaugh, who has recently taken up residence in the city. As a member of the nobility, Lord Cavanaugh follows the lead given by Prince Albert and our Queen regarding the education of those less fortunate in order to ensure the prosperity of the nation as a whole.”
Peabody had been trailing beside her toward the door. Now, he halted on the threshold, his eyes widening. “Lord Cavanaugh?”
“Yes.” Sylvia saw no reason not to gild the school’s lily.
“His brother is the Marquess of Raventhorne. I understand the marquess and his wife are known to Prince Albert and the Queen, and one of the marquess’s other brothers is also associated with the Prince via their shared interest in inventions.
Lord Christopher Cavanaugh’s interest lies in building yachts, and he’s in the throes of establishing a new workshop on the docks—indeed, his workshop has taken over the school’s previous premises off the Grove, and through that, Lord Cavanaugh elected to become the school’s sponsor. ”
Peabody grunted. After a moment, he scowled and harrumphed.
“Regardless of what his lordship thinks he’s doing, I’m sure that, once I see him and recast the matter in its true light, he’ll agree that this school should not be here.
” He flung a disparaging glance back at the boys, still sitting on the floor, silent and listening.
Then he narrowed his eyes at Sylvia. “Off the Grove, you said?”
Eager to have him gone, she nodded. “The third warehouse from the corner of Princes Street. He’ll either be there or at his office in that new building on King Street.”
“Good. I will hunt him down and speak with him directly. We’ll soon see this settled.
” Peabody faced forward and stepped onto the porch.
“Mark my words, Miss Buckleberry”—he emphasized his declaration with a jab of his cane—“you will have to move your school from this neighborhood. It doesn’t belong here. ”
With that parting shot, Peabody descended the steps, then, affecting his self-important swagger, strode toward the river and the docks beyond.
Sylvia was about to turn inside—to do what she could to repair the damage Peabody’s words had doubtless wrought—when she noticed the severe-looking lady in black standing once more at her gate.
As before, the lady was staring—it seemed malevolently—at the school, then she turned and, leaning heavily on her cane, stumped along the short path and up the steps to her front door and disappeared inside.
Inwardly shaking her head, Sylvia turned back into the hall to hear Jellicoe telling the boys, “You heard Miss Buckleberry tell the councilor where to find his lordship. After he spent all day yesterday helping us move here, what do you think his lordship is going to say to a suggestion the school ought to move somewhere else?”
The boys all grinned, and one called out, “His lordship will laugh and say no.”
“Exactly.” Cross had shut the book from which he’d been reading. He waved the boys up from the floor. “And now it’s time we did right by his lordship and got back to our lessons.”
The boys rose with alacrity and returned to their desks.