Chapter 4
The Wendy League stood in front of heavy, paneled doors. Violet read the newly engraved brass plate aloud. “Locke Hill College for Exceptional Young Women.”
Florrie bounced her Jack Russell terrier, Nibs, as Lydia and Ruby grinned. “Oh, I do like that,” she said.
“Although,” Lydia said, “had I been consulted, I might’ve suggested Extraordinary Young Women, or Brilliant Young Women, or Goddesses of Knowledge.” She tilted her head. “But this works, I suppose.”
Violet huffed. “It was difficult enough to get Father to agree to any name at all.”
Florrie’s delicate brows lifted. “Can you imagine your father’s reaction?” She lowered her voice in an attempt to match Violet’s alto. “By Tootles’ arrow, Father, let us call our new school Locke Hill College for Goddesses of Knowledge. It’ll be a smash.”
Ruby’s jaw dropped. “Oh, that sounded just like her. Do Lydia.”
Florrie lifted her chin. “Dash it all to Hades in a skirt. I’ll be driving the motorcar, Spencer. You can just sit there and gaze at me adoringly.”
Lydia gasped. “I do not say that. Aloud.”
The women laughed. Then sobered, gazing at the brass plate.
“It really is lovely,” Florrie said.
“It’s sort of a dream come true, isn’t it?” Ruby said. “The way your mother had to sneak your schooling in?” The Wendy-birds knew Violet’s thirst for knowledge had led to her clandestine studies. Young women of high society did not attend college.
Violet sighed, that shiver of excitement returning. “Yes, well, the important thing is that Father agreed. To all of it. Well, most of it. Some of it.” She laughed softly.
Ruby shook her head. “Your mama is a miracle worker.”
“She does take salesmanship to a new art form.” She gazed up at the ancient monstrosity in front of them.
Aged gray stone with white brackets, balustrades, and columns.
Four stories high, each with eight tall windows on either side of the central half-moon portico.
The property was Mama’s, an ancient estate at the base of a wooded hill, some miles southeast of Albury. The idea, though, was all Violet’s.
A girls’ school. Not just any girls’ school.
A college rife with revolution. Quiet, definite revolution, if she had anything to say about it.
Violet and Mama had worked for two years building an idea to plans, and from plans to action.
It had been a most difficult secret to keep from the Wendy League, though Florrie already knew.
Mrs. Janes had helped Mama with some of the rigors of putting a school together, and Florrie had puzzled it out.
As Violet said, a difficult secret to keep.
And now she need not keep it any longer.
“Are we going to stand here like a set of potted topiaries, or are we going inside?” Lydia asked.
To say the building had needed updating was an understatement.
But the interior was practically complete, and most of the remaining work had moved to the exterior buildings and the property itself.
Scaffolding currently scaled up the house on either side of them, and painters were putting the finishing touches on the window casings and trim work.
One of the younger painters paused and tipped his cap at Florrie.
She wiggled her fingers back at him with a coy smile.
Violet opened the door, hooked her elbow through Florrie’s, and pulled her inside. Florrie oofed with the swift displacement.
“You know I’m open-minded to a lot of things,” Violet said out of the side of her mouth, “but try not to flirt with the hired men, darling.” She closed the door after Lydia and Ruby had slipped in.
Florrie sighed. “They’re so yummy.”
“Yes, and I’m sure they’d find you a scrumptious dessert as well, and then what?”
“Oh, it’s just fun, Violet. Sweets never did anyone any harm.”
Violet arched a brow at Lydia. “Will you give her the bad news, or shall I?”
Lydia grinned. “You must do it. I’m afraid I’ve developed quite a sweet tooth myself.” She ran her fingers along the walnut paneling in the entry.
Violet placed a hand on her hip. “You and Spencer Hayes are not Florrie Janes and some painter out there on scaffolding.” She shook her head with a huff. “I can’t believe I just had to make that comparison aloud.”
Ruby smiled. “I’d think you’d be used to saying things you never thought you would with these two about.”
Violet pursed her lips in silent agreement.
Lydia sighed and reluctantly eyed Florrie. “She does have a point. Eyes watch you, not just in Albury. In all of Surrey. You are a face of the Grant-Janes empire. A very lovely face. You must take care.”
Florrie pushed out a pout. “I’m very aware of my place. And my face, thank you. I know what is expected of me, and for the most part, I’ve no opposition to it.” Her pout dissolved into a mischievous smirk. “I can’t help it if I’m a natural flirt.”
Violet clenched her jaw but was unable to stop the smile that came with her friend’s blatant self-regard.
At the age of one and twenty, Florrie Janes had already been named heiress to her father’s transportation empire and was learning the running of things, inside and out.
At times, Violet suppressed a mean twinge of jealousy.
Mr. Lucas Janes was a very different male creature from Mr. Hugh Whittemore.
Taking in the changes in the entrance hall, Violet switched tracks.
“They’ve made much progress.” It had been two weeks since she’d been able to visit the school.
Dust and debris littered the broad black-and-white tiled floor, but it was the stuff of carpentry instead of neglect.
The upper walls had been stripped of dark coverings and painted a pale blue.
The walnut staircase had been sanded, cleaned, and rubbed deeply with finish until it shone, mellow and lustrous.
Base and crown moldings gleamed. Sounds of hammering and shouts of direction echoed from different parts of the house.
The sounds of finishing one dream and beginning another.
The home was not Kinthwaite Park nor Grantmore.
No roses or cherubs or curling plumage deeply carved into the hardwood, only simple columns and corbels throughout the home and tall, arched windows in every room.
The staircase, though a lovely feature, was not the grand focal point of the hall.
But, she thought, a lovely central pedestal table would be, with a Chinese vase overflowing with cut flowers grown on the property.
Violet could see it, the welcome this room would offer to all who entered in only a short while.
An efficient-looking woman in a dove-gray dress and a brass chatelaine hanging at her hip descended the staircase, smoothing her hair into its roll.
“Miss Whittemore, I thought I heard your voice. I apologize for not greeting you at once, but there was a question about furniture placement in the classrooms, and, well, desks are quite heavy, aren’t they?
I’m guessing you’re here to assess our progress?
And these ladies are your friends I’ve heard mention of?
” She reached the hall and folded her hands in front of her, smiling expectantly.
“They are. Miss Wooding, Miss Janes, Miss Burke, may I introduce Mrs. Cole, the new housekeeper for Locke Hill.” Mrs. Cole dipped a curtsy, and the friends smiled. Violet reached and scratched Florrie’s dog under his chin. “And this little cur is Nibs.”
Mrs. Cole dipped again. “How do you do, Nibs.” Nibs lifted a paw, and Mrs. Cole took it with delight. “Well, aren’t you a smart little thing?”
“Just don’t ask him to fetch your slippers,” Violet warned.
“Or your ermine muff,” Ruby offered.
Lydia sighed. “Or your favorite riding gloves.”
Florrie’s brow puckered and she pulled her arm around Nibs’s ears. “Shh. We are working on it.” She turned to Nibs. “Aren’t we, my little lost boy?”
Nibs licked her nose with his quick pink tongue, and the adoration on Florrie’s face nearly melted Violet’s rational heart.
Violet returned to the matter at hand and addressed Mrs. Cole. “I cannot wait to see the improvements since I was last here.”
Mrs. Cole clasped her hands together. “I hope you find everything satisfactory. I’ve been thoroughly impressed with the contracted work, if I do say so myself. I did have my doubts when I first stepped into this hall.” Her eyes roamed about and she nodded. “It will be a fine institution, indeed.”
“Have you worked at a school before, Mrs. Cole?” Lydia asked.
Mrs. Cole puffed up her ample chest. “I have. I was a housekeeper at Cheltenham for seven years. But when given the opportunity to come back to my beloved Surrey, well, I took it.” Her brow rose as she leaned forward. “Who wouldn’t?”
The women nodded in assent.
Violet bobbed her head. “Well said, Mrs. Cole. Now, we won’t keep you any longer from your duties. I’ll take the ladies on a tour myself. I promise we’ll stay out of the way.”
The housekeeper smiled. “Pardon me for saying so, Miss Whittemore,” she said, turning to go upstairs, “but I’ve come to know you enough to know that it is not your inclination to ‘stay out of the way.’”
Violet grinned at the housekeeper’s retreating form.
“Oh, I like her,” Florrie said.
“She has your number, anyway,” Ruby said.
“Am I becoming so easy to read in my dotage?” Violet asked. Instead of waiting for an answer, she opened her arms, gesturing to Lydia. “President? Shall we make this official?”
“Indeed, we shall.” Lydia stepped forward, glancing around and upward toward the above floor. She grinned. “I call to order the ninety and first meeting of the Wendy League.” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Do you swear to secrecy and silence?”
“We do,” the others answered in chorus.
Florrie set Nibs down, his leash looped around her wrist. The dog sat obediently.
Lydia nodded. “I shall lead us in the motto. Ahem.” All of them straightened, and Lydia kept her voice soft. “Like Wendy Darling at the nursery window, we seize the opportunity to fly.”