Duchess Material

Three

P hoebe had never been so happy to spend the night in her own little bed. She had done her best to appear blasé about the whole situation in front of the duke, as if she were hauled into police stations every day, but in truth she had been terrified. Then she came dangerously close to oversleeping the next morning. Luckily Marion Hartwell, her flatmate and fellow teacher, woke her with a cup of tea and a biscuit.

“Here. Drink this,” she commanded. Marion was the school’s mathematics teacher and had a fearsome reputation that was well earned. She was also an incredibly loyal friend.

Phoebe took the cup. “Ah, bless you, Mare.”

As a young man, Marion’s father had been a midshipman in the Royal Navy and met her mother while in Bombay. After a brief courtship, they married and returned to England, but the rest of the Hartwell family refused to accept his new bride on account of her Indian heritage. The estrangement was never mended and after her father’s death five years ago, Marion embarked on her teaching career in part to support her mother and younger brother. Marion didn’t waste a second dwelling on her father’s family, but on more than one occasion she had implored Phoebe to make amends with her own.

“I did knock first, but you sleep like the dead.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Are you unwell? Did you catch something in that ghastly place?”

Phoebe took a restorative sip and shook her head. “No, I was just tired. Overwrought, I suppose.” She had briefly related her ordeal to Marion yesterday before turning in early.

“Well, you best get ready. The headmistress sent a note last night while you were asleep calling for a meeting before the first bell.”

Phoebe sat up a little straighter. “You don’t think she’s heard anything about Alice?”

Marion gave her an exasperated look. “If she had, she certainly wouldn’t call a meeting over it.”

Girls leaving the school was hardly an uncommon experience.

“I know Alice was your pet and I am sorry she’s gone, but you’ll run yourself ragged trying to save every one of them.”

Phoebe ran her thumb along the rim of the chipped teacup. “It just doesn’t make any sense. She was doing so well. And we had plans. She was very interested in the typist program”

“And where was she to get the money for that?” Marion said impatiently. They had had this conversation several times before. “Alice needed to work , especially after her mother died. We’re lucky she stayed on as long as she did. This school provides a basic education for working-class girls, which is a miracle in itself. And heaven knows that isn’t enough, but you can’t be everyone’s fairy godmother.”

“I’m not trying to be. Only I… I hate seeing such potential wasted.”

Marion’s eyes softened. “I know. And I love you for your soft heart. But please, you need to do a better job looking out for yourself. What if Detective Inspector Holland hadn’t been on duty when you were brought in?”

Phoebe hadn’t mentioned Will’s role in her release. “Do you think he’ll say anything to the headmistress?”

“No, he’s a good sort. Actually cares about doing the job.”

Phoebe recalled the look of disgust on his face when Will tried to give him money. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Now get dressed. If we’re late, Mrs. Richardson will have us cleaning chalkboards after last bell,” she said with a wink.

Once Phoebe washed and dressed, they took the omnibus to Langham Place School, which Mrs. Richardson had founded five years ago. It mostly served the daughters of the shopworkers in and around Oxford Circus, many of whom were the descendants of migrants from every corner of the empire. The diversity of the student body was also reflected in the teaching staff, as Mrs. Richardson believed it was important for the girls to see something of themselves in the women teaching them. The headmistress had grown up in the neighborhood herself, the exceptionally bright daughter of a milliner who had scrimped and saved to see her properly educated. She had been sent to board at the North London Collegiate School for Ladies on a scholarship, as the local schools didn’t educate girls after age twelve.

It then became her mission to open an affordable neighborhood school for girls that offered the same educational opportunities as boys. One only needed to spend a few minutes in Mrs. Richardson’s company to understand how she had managed such an accomplishment. An imposing figure who generally adhered to the usual stereotypes about headmistresses, she was sharp, direct, and suffered no fools. Phoebe admired her immensely.

Though she was called Mrs. Richardson, the headmistress was only married to her work, and there was an unspoken assumption that she expected the same single-minded focus from her teachers. That meant no other jobs, no other interests, and, most importantly, no men. If a teacher was courting, it was expected she would marry and that meant leaving the school. Of course, Mrs. Richardson’s tacit disapproval didn’t really stop anyone. It only meant they had to be quiet about it. But none of that was a concern for Phoebe, as she truly couldn’t imagine a man worth the sacrifice of her hard-won career.

They made their way to the teacher’s common room, which was already filled with their colleagues, and found seats next to Miss Cecily Sanderson, the unfortunately named music teacher.

“Any word yet on what this meeting is about?” Marion asked.

Cecily shook her head gravely. “No one knows a thing.”

Marion exchanged a worried look with Phoebe. That didn’t bode well. But before they could speculate further, Mrs. Richardson entered the room. Phoebe’s stomach clenched as she took in the headmistress’s expression, which was even more dour than usual.

Mrs. Richardson came to a stop at the front of the room and scanned the group. “Good morning, ladies. Thank you all for being here,” she said, then paused for a tense moment. “I’m afraid I have some difficult news to share with you. Lady Montgomery has passed away—” Miss Blakenship, the drama teacher, let out a comically loud gasp, and the headmistress shot her a quelling look. “Given her advanced age and recent decline in health, that in itself is not a surprise, though it is sad. She was a great champion of female education, and as you are all aware, she held a charity auction during her annual garden party that greatly benefited our school. Those funds were crucial to our operations, and though she did leave a small bequest in her will, it does not make up for the loss of her patronage, especially given the ever-rising cost of rent and supplies. You all make a great many sacrifices to work here, so I am committed to keeping your wages intact, but that means we need to find another source of funding to keep our doors open. And quickly. I welcome your suggestions.” She then folded her hands in front of her and looked expectantly at the audience.

The room fell silent for several long moments as people exchanged bewildered looks and hopeless shrugs until Phoebe slowly raised a hand. “What if we held a charity auction of our own?”

Cecily shot her a nervous glance. “But we couldn’t possibly put on an event that compares to Lady Montgomery’s garden party. She was so elegant.”

Phoebe resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was quite easy to be elegant when one possessed a great deal of money and a houseful of servants. “Then we’ll do something different,” she said, as her mind began to spin with ideas. “Perhaps we could put on a fair of sorts with the students. They could show what they’ve learned and how valuable the school is to them. We can open it up to the entire neighborhood and solicit donations from local businesses, so more people will attend.”

Lady Montgomery’s garden party was usually the purview of society women who attended rather less out of a sense of civic-mindedness and more so they could show off their newest afternoon gowns.

The headmistress’s expression offered only the barest hint of interest. “What you’re suggesting would be an enormous undertaking, Miss Atkinson.”

Marion immediately raised her hand. “I’ll help.” Phoebe shot her a grateful look and a few other teachers raised their hands as well.

“We can form a committee,” Phoebe said. “Organize it ourselves.”

Mrs. Richardson seemed pleased. “And are you offering to lead this committee, Miss Atkinson?”

It wasn’t really a question.

“Of course.”

“Excellent,” Mrs. Richardson said as one corner of her mouth slightly lifted. It was the closest she ever came to smiling. “Please come see me this afternoon so that we may discuss this further.”

The headmistress then made a few other general announcements before they were dismissed. The rest of the morning passed quickly, as Phoebe was consumed by the gargantuan task of keeping a room full of girls ages twelve to fifteen interested in the works of Homer. As Phoebe explained the historical background that had inspired The Odyssey , her gaze wandered to Alice Clarke’s empty desk by the window.

Each morning when Phoebe admitted she still hadn’t heard from Alice, the girls’ collective disappointment was palpable. It hung over the classroom like a fog, thick and impenetrable. They were a close-knit group with a genuine sense of camaraderie, which had made Alice’s absence particularly distressing for them. Marion could think whatever she wanted, but Phoebe knew that Alice wouldn’t have simply disappeared without a word to anyone.

When the bell finally rang for luncheon, Phoebe headed straight for the headmistress’s office, as one was never late for an appointment with Mrs. Richardson.

years ago Phoebe had watched the headmistress give a lecture on the importance of public education for girls at her mother’s social club, and working-class girls in particular. Phoebe had recently graduated from Bedford College and taken a position at a finishing school. She liked her students well enough, but they were mostly preparing for a life of upper-class luxury, and Phoebe often found herself bored. She approached the headmistress after her lecture and asked if there were any open positions. Mrs. Richardson had, rightly, been skeptical of Phoebe. She knew how she appeared, like the starry-eyed rich girl she was. But Mrs. Richardson had invited her to visit Langham Place School the following day and Phoebe never left.

The work was often challenging and many of her students had experienced the kind of profound loss and extreme hardship she had never experienced. But Phoebe loved her students and she believed in the school’s mission. She saw firsthand how the girls grew more confident the longer they stayed there, and how they marveled at the skills they developed. They began to see more possibilities for themselves, and many went on to shape their own futures. Every girl should have a right to an education and learn as much as they wished. And Phoebe would do whatever she could to keep this school open.

She rapped on the open door, and the headmistress glanced up from her seat behind a massive desk piled with papers, books, and assorted bric-a-brac. Mrs. Richardson was surprisingly messy in her private quarters, but Phoebe knew she could locate anything she needed, and quickly.

“Miss Atkinson. Please take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her.

As Phoebe obeyed, Mrs. Richardson set aside the papers she had been reading and folded her hands.

“I liked your suggestions this morning very much. But to be frank, we need your family’s connections to make this a real success.”

Phoebe shifted in her seat. She kept the more grandiose details of her upbringing to herself, as she didn’t want the other teachers to dismiss her as some kind of interloper. Only Marion and Mrs. Richardson knew just how patrician her background truly was.

“I don’t see why we need to involve anyone outside of the neighborhood, ma’am.”

The headmistress narrowed her eyes. “Unfortunately, we aren’t in a position to be selective, Miss Atkinson. Though I’m sure your committee will come up with something unique, profitability is our primary concern. We must cast a wide net, and see what we can bring in.”

Phoebe glanced out the window where the youngest students were playing with a weather-beaten ball in the tiny yard. She let out a sigh. Of course she would do it.

“I’ll visit my mother after school lets out. I’m sure she will be happy to provide any assistance we need.”

Even if it made Phoebe feel like a hypocrite.

The headmistress cracked another half smile. “Splendid.”

Phoebe moved to rise, but Mrs. Richardson raised a hand. “One more thing before you go: I know you have been looking into Alice Clarke’s whereabouts, but I can’t have one of my most dedicated teachers ending up in jail .”

“Ma’am?” Phoebe attempted a look of confusion that was undermined by the blush flooding her cheeks.

Mrs. Richardson was unimpressed. “Detective Inspector Holland is my neighbor. He told me what happened yesterday, and that he was able to let you go with only a warning. But you may not be so fortunate in the future.”

Phoebe bowed her head in what must have appeared to be remorse but was actually relief. Mrs. Richardson didn’t know about the duke then. Phoebe supposed she should thank the inspector for that little bit of discretion.

“I know you are concerned about Miss Clarke,” she continued, her tone gentling. “But the inspector assured me he is looking into it.”

A scoff escaped Phoebe’s lips and her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You know the inspector far better than I do. I’m sure he is doing everything he can.”

Mrs. Richardson gave her an arch look. “He is. Now you must leave him to his work so you can focus on your own. Make sure you aren’t seen in that tenement house again.” She then dismissed Phoebe with a wave of her hand.

Phoebe left before she could get into any more trouble. She found Marion in her empty classroom eating the remainder of her luncheon and correcting what looked like ghastly algebra homework.

“Mrs. Richardson knows,” Phoebe said without preamble as she entered the room.

Marion glanced up and furrowed her brow. “Knows what?” As understanding dawned, she took on a look of horror that would have been funny under different circumstances. “She knows ?”

Phoebe nodded and began to pace in front of Marion’s desk. They only had a few minutes before her class returned. Marion sat back in her chair. “Goodness, you’re lucky she didn’t sack you on the spot!”

Teachers were supposed to conduct themselves according to the school’s strict moral code at all times—or at least have the good sense not to get caught. They weren’t supposed to be carted off to Bow Street in the middle of a Sunday, and they most certainly weren’t supposed to be rescued by a bachelor duke.

“For now,” Phoebe added ominously. At Marion’s confused look, she winced. “There’s a tiny, tiny detail I neglected to mention yesterday.”

“Oh God,” her friend muttered.

“When the constable arrived I panicked a bit and mentioned the name of an old family friend…”

Marion eyed her with suspicion. “And?”

“And he came down to the station—”

“He?” Marion nearly fell out of her chair.

“Yes. He. More specifically, the Duke of Ellis,” she said in a rush.

“You know a duke ?” Marion squeaked, and Marion had never squeaked before.

This was exactly the kind of reaction Phoebe had wished to avoid. Marion was now staring at her as if she had sprouted a pair of angel’s wings.

“He wasn’t always a duke,” she said, only just a little defensively. “He was our neighbor growing up. And back then he was just a man. Well, not a man man. He was mostly a boy when I knew him best,” Phoebe corrected, but she was blathering on and Marion only looked more and more confused. “The point is, he came to the station and asked the inspector to release me into his care.”

“Don’t tell me you left with him.”

Phoebe hadn’t known it was possible for a person’s eyes to grow so large. “He insisted on taking me home, but I made him drop me off a block away.”

“Well, at least you were discreet,” Marion said dryly.

“I know how it looks, but the inspector didn’t mention him to the headmistress.”

Yet.

Marion mulled this over. “You aren’t… involved with him, are you?”

Phoebe blinked. “Who? The duke?”

Marion rolled her eyes. “No, the postman, you goose.”

“Of course not,” Phoebe said far too sharply. “What would I want with a duke?”

As if it were even an option.

She instantly recalled the look of annoyance that had barely left Will’s face the moment he entered the inspector’s office. Lord knew what kind of elegant women he actually associated with. They certainly didn’t spend most of the day in skirts smeared with chalk dust.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Marian said sarcastically. “Wealth, a title, power?” Then she paused. “Wait, he isn’t one of those very old dukes, is he?”

If only.

“No, he’s just a little older than my sister Alex.”

Marion gave her a sly smile. “Is he handsome?”

Phoebe crossed her arms. “Who cares?”

“ Definitely handsome, then.”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“Excuse me, but a young, handsome duke rescued you from jail and you said nothing about it! Have I done anything to give you the impression that I would not be interested in such information? Because I am .”

Phoebe shook her head. “You’re making this into far more than it is. It’s not as if I’ll be seeing him again.”

“Why not?”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “Funnily enough, our paths don’t cross very much given our respective positions in society.”

“You could change that,” Marion argued. “Easily.”

You could probably see him this evening, if you wished.

Lord knew Freddie was invited everywhere.

“But I won’t.” She said it more for herself than Marion.

The bell then sounded, signaling both the end of luncheon and her interrogation. “We are far from done here,” Marion said as she pointed her finger at Phoebe. “I want every little detail when we get home.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but your inquisition will have to wait,” Phoebe replied as she headed toward the door, suddenly grateful for the excuse. “I’m visiting my mother after school to discuss the charity bazaar.”

“Perhaps you should invite the duke then,” Marion teased.

Phoebe let out a burst of genuine laughter at the idea and headed back to her own classroom. As if someone like Will would ever lower himself to bother with her little school. How absurd.