Chapter 11
A brief rain had just slowed, and the early-afternoon sun peeked out, incrementally brightening Father’s stately study.
“Mr. Burke will preside over the natural sciences curriculum, which includes chemistry, physics, biology, mechanics, botany, and zoology.” Violet’s father paced along the room, his hands behind his back. His increasing interest set her ill at ease.
Mama stood beside the enormous desk, where Violet and Cyril sat across from one another. “And Violet will preside over the arts, language, literature, mathematics, and athletics.”
Her father spun on his heels, and Cyril’s head came up from the notes he was taking. “What was that?”
“Athletics?” Father said. “Violet?”
Violet sighed. Again. “Do you know me at all, Father?”
“Violet is a natural athlete,” Mama said. “She excels in archery, shooting, tennis, golf, fencing, and horsemanship.”
“Not to mention croquet,” Violet murmured sardonically, then batted her lashes when she caught Cyril watching her. She leaned forward and whispered loudly. “It is an Olympic sport, you know.”
She watched his mouth tilt upward, then she looked quickly away, pursing her lips against her own smile.
“I’m sure Mr. Burke is a fine athlete.” Father waited, then cleared his throat.
Cyril was brought to attention. “Oh. Yes. It so happens that I am wicked with a racquet.”
“There, you see? Tennis.” Father rocked on his feet.
“I was referring to badminton, actually.”
Violet snorted and quickly covered her nose.
Cyril leaned forward. “Also an Olympic sport.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“Come, Mr. Burke,” Mama said. “I happen to know you play tennis and cricket, you fence, you swam competitively, and, if I’m not mistaken, you are an excellent equestrian.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Whittemore,” he said with a small nod. “I also box, but I can’t imagine that would be welcome in a girls’ school, even one so modern as this.”
Violet wanted to argue but had to agree. “No, you are right. We would lose applicants left and right if parents learned we were allowing pugilism directly after botany class.”
“But before lunch,” Cyril said.
“Naturally.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he returned the expression. They were not supposed to be getting on. She turned her attention to her father.
“Father, it’s not as if we’ll each be teaching all of these classes and overseeing each and every activity,” she said. “This is merely the dividing up of responsibility. I already have leads for instructors in athletics.”
“I might have some suggestions as well,” Cyril said.
Father clapped his hands together once. “I propose we divide athletics into two parts.”
“Let me guess,” Violet said brightly. “You shall give me lawn bowling and badminton, and Mr. Burke everything else.” She dropped her smile.
Cyril cleared his throat. “I believe I’ve already established my skill at badminton.”
Violet refrained from growling. Just barely.
“No, no, we shall not be dividing up athletics,” Mama said, quite sensibly.
Violet nodded her approval, then lifted her chin ever so slightly in Cyril’s direction.
“You shall share it.”
Mama had lost all her senses.
“Whyever for?” Violet asked.
“Because I believe in this area, two heads may be better than one.”
“You do not need two heads to oversee an athletic curriculum,” Violet argued.
“Nevertheless, with the skills each of you possess, we might have the finest athletic curriculum for girls in all of Britain.”
“I didn’t realize that was an aim of yours, Anne,” Father said.
“Why shouldn’t it be?”
“I didn’t say it shouldn’t be. I just didn’t know it was. It’s … admirable.”
Mama looked at Father with an unreadable expression for several moments.
Then she blinked, shuffled some papers on the desk.
“Anyhow,” she said, “it’s settled. We’ve finalized professors for the business courses, mechanics, botany, dance, French, and German.
I shall be overseeing domestications for the time being.
We have several more applicants to interview this week and next.
I expect your choices of classes under your own instruction, along with a brief plan for each, no later than Monday.
That gives you the weekend. Any more questions about the division of responsibilities? ”
The others made ready to quit the meeting.
“I have one,” Violet said.
Everyone settled back to their previous positions. Violet ignored the collective sigh.
“If Mr. Burke has his portion over here, and I have my portion over here, how will you judge how we would do running the school in its entirety? Or how well Mr. Burke would do running my half or I his?”
“Miss Whittemore,” Cyril said, “I have complete confidence that your parents will be able to gauge our administrative styles by midterm.”
“I wish to be thorough, Mr. Burke. As thorough as I would be as headmistress of this school.”
“As do I, Miss Whittemore, as if I were headmaster.”
“How would I know to trust you with the arts? Music?”
“Come now, Violet,” Mama said. “All of us here know you took violin instruction from the same man who taught Mr. Burke.” Violin lessons had not been kept a secret from Father. “He is an accomplished musician in his own right.”
“He quit!” It was true. Cyril had quit the violin when he could no longer keep up with Violet’s skill. It had filled her with a sense of victory and baffling disappointment.
Mama and Cyril exchanged an unreadable glance.
Cyril tipped his head, studying her. “You could trust me to take on any aspect of the school. Have no doubt of my capability. I have no doubt of yours.”
Violet folded her arms. “So you would trust me to oversee, say, the mechanics curriculum? Or zoology?”
He nodded. “Or physics or chemistry or even badminton—”
“You see?” Violet said, standing and pointing a finger at Cyril and looking between both her parents. “If he trusts me with the curriculum, why are we even having this—”
Cyril stood, his chair scraping the floor.
Though he did not shout, his tone was firm.
“I would trust you, if … if, Miss Whittemore, your parents judged your administrative leadership of the school to be superior to mine. That is the bargain, is it not? Your parents judge and decide who has earned the run of the school, and the other bows out gracefully. Your terms.”
Violet clamped her mouth shut. Her father had shoved his hands in his pockets and watched his shoes. Mama scrutinized her as if Violet had spoken in tongues. Violet had pushed too far with her outburst. She swallowed. “You are correct. Forgive me. I should not have interrupted you. Of course.”
Griggs appeared at the open door of the study. “Luncheon is ready, ma’am.”
“Yes, Griggs.” Mama took in a deep breath and let it go.
“Well, I’m guessing we are all hungry.” She brightened her expression, though Violet recognized it as not entirely genuine.
“Let us adjourn and get something to eat before we take Mr. Burke on his tour of Locke Hill. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us a moment. ”
The men nodded and left the room.
Violet faced Mama, though she could not meet her gaze.
“Violet, what—”
“I’m sorry, Mama, I—”
“Violet.”
She clamped her mouth shut once more.
“Half of successful leadership is listening.”
Violet nodded, a flush of heat rising in her face. “Yes, Mama.”
“The second half is putting those you are leading before yourself.”
Violet lowered her head. Even in her shame, she wanted to fight, to list all the ways she’d poured herself into planning the school so that other girls wouldn’t have to hide their desire to learn. But her tongue was tied fast. Which was probably a good thing after her childish outburst.
Her mother stepped closer. “You want this so badly, don’t you, darling?”
The words pulled tears from her eyes, confirming her answer. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered. “It is already such a part of me. I cannot relinquish it.”
She felt her mother’s kiss on her forehead. Gardenia soap touched her senses. “Talk to Mr. Burke. You will know what to do.”
“But, Mama, he came out of nowhere. As if Father were a magician and pulled a rabbit out of his horrible hat. The rabbit has no idea he’s part of the trick, but he’s still a very unexpected rabbit. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
She sighed and smiled. “My sweet Violet, you always know what to say.”
Violet gestured to the desk behind them. “I believe I just proved that wrong.” The reminder of her behavior filled her with humiliation. She’d acted like a child, stomping her foot over a marble.
“Dearest, you were so caught up in staking your claim for the school, did you even hear what Mr. Burke said?”
Violet frowned. “Which part?”
“The part where he claimed, before your father, that he finds you absolutely capable.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but no sound came out. Have no doubt of my capability. I have no doubt of yours. “I’ll be a lost boy,” she whispered. “He can’t have meant it.”
“Talk to your foe,” Mama said with a smile. “The other half of successful leadership is communication.”
Violet’s brow wrinkled. “That’s three-halves.”
“See?” Mama squeezed her shoulder. “I knew giving you the mathematics curriculum was the correct choice.”
They both laughed quietly.
Mama sobered once more. “No more games, Violet. No more battles with words. Just get to work. Yes?”
Violet bit her lip. She knew the wisdom of it. She just didn’t know if she was capable of it. War was won with battles. “I’ll try.”