Читать книгу Hunter’s Moon - Alexandra Connor - Страница 20

The governors of Netherlands were exasperated with Clare Lees – and not for the first time. She was too much of an authoritarian, they said. Times had changed, there was no need for Victorian values any more. They had to hand it her, though; she had done sterling work at Netherlands, but her regime was outdated.

They told her so. She told them that she was preparing someone – one of the orphans – to take over from her in a few years’ time. This was news.

The Reverend Mr Grantley helped himself to three more biscuits and leaned his head towards Mrs Tomkinson, wife of Albert Tomkinson, wealthiest man in Salford. She moved away from the dyed head looming towards her and smiled stiffly.

‘A new brush always sweeps clean,’ she said.

Mr Grantley nodded and swallowed his second custard cream. Beside him sat the local MP, Sir Henry Hollis, irritable as a cornered wolf. The vicar addressed him.

‘I think –’

‘What’s that?’ Sir Henry said, leaning towards Mr Grantley, his thin face pinched with irritation.

‘Mrs Tomkinson was talking about Alice Rimmer, the young lady who might take over from Miss Lees.’

‘When?’

The clergyman sighed. ‘In a few years. Miss Lees has just been telling us about it.’

‘I didn’t hear anything about some foreigner.’

The vicar paused in his chewing and looked at the old man. ‘Which foreigner?’

‘This one you’re bloody talking about, Grantley!’ he snapped. ‘Don’t horse me about, I’m not a man to mess with.’

Mrs Tomkinson leaned across the vicar, the feather on her hat brushing crumbs off his biscuit.

‘We weren’t talking about a foreigner, Henry. We were talking about the young lady who is going to take over from Miss Lees.’

‘I don’t like foreigners!’ Sir Henry went on. ‘You can never understand a thing they say.’

Mr Grantley smiled obsequiously. ‘I don’t think –’

‘You’re right there,’ Sir Henry replied, ‘You never did think much. I could never see why you were made a governor here anyway.’

Mrs Tomkinson leaned further towards the old man, the vicar forced back into his seat.

‘I think it’s a good idea to train someone new for the position. We need new blood. Besides, the girl is an orphan; has been here since she was a child. From what I’ve heard, she seems admirably suited.’

The girl was at that moment waiting outside. Clare Lees had primed Alice carefully and was determined that her charge would impress the governors. It would reflect well on her, and besides, if Alice Rimmer succeeded to her job, Clare would never have to relinquish her status at Netherlands entirely.

Nervously, she went out to bring Alice before her inquisitors.

‘You know what to say, don’t you?’

Alice nodded. She was dressed in a navy suit, her full dark hair pulled back. The remarkable face was composed. Thank God, Clare thought, that its beauty had toned down – now that the wildness was gone.

‘I know what to say,’ Alice replied evenly.

‘I’m relying on you,’ Clare responded. ‘This is the chance of a lifetime, Alice. Do us both proud.’

Breathing in deeply, Clare ushered Alice before the governors. It was another sweltering day, Mrs Tomkinson looking like a broiled chicken under her feathered hat, Mr Grantley still chewing on his last biscuit. As for the old man beside him, Sir Henry seemed as dry and hard as a rock bun.

‘Sit down, young lady,’ he said, watching as Alice did so. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you. A great deal. You seem to have impressed Miss Lees. So you want to be principal here in due course?’

Alice nodded, then wondered how she had been cajoled into this position. No, she wanted to say. I don’t want to be principal of this dismal place. I don’t want to be another Clare Lees. I want to run away with Victor and get as much distance between myself and these grim walls as I can.

But she didn’t say it.

‘Miss Lees believes I can do the job –’

‘Speak up!’ Sir Henry snapped. ‘I can’t stand a woman who whispers.’

‘I said I believe I can do the job,’ Alice repeated, turning to look at Mrs Tomkinson.

The woman was watching her with an expression of interest and envy. She had been taken aback when Alice walked in; this was not the obedient little mouse she had been expecting. This was a beauty, a young woman who looked like she could turn heads and hearts. Hardly someone who would be satisfied with Netherlands.

‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ she asked Alice coolly. ‘I mean, Netherlands is not the most exciting place on earth. My husband was saying only the other day that he couldn’t for the life of him see why anyone would want to work here.’ She turned her head, the feathers on her hat wiping the underneath of the vicar’s nose. ‘It would be hard work.’

‘Indeed, indeed,’ Mr Grantley replied, nodding violently.

‘But you would be repaying the debt you owe,’ Mrs Tomkinson continued. ‘I mean, Netherlands has been a home to you since you were a baby.’

A home, Alice thought angrily. What kind of home was always damp, cold, overcrowded, comfortless? What kind of home, Mrs Tomkinson, Alice wanted to ask, never held its children? Or picked them up when they cried? I don’t owe you a thing. Not a bloody thing.

But she said nothing of what she was feeling, her eyes unfathomable. ‘I think I could do the job –’

‘That’s not what I’m asking, is it?’ Mrs Tomkinson replied. ‘I need to know – we all need to know – if you are suitable.’

Alice studied her dispassionately. She knew who Leonora Tomkinson was and wondered how a woman as ridiculous and plump as she was could have landed a rich husband. Rumour had it that her Albert wasn’t faithful, but Alice doubted if his wife minded. After all, she had the power and the money, why should she worry about her husband’s flings?

‘I’ve been at Netherlands nearly all my life,’ Alice went on calmly. ‘I know how the home runs.’

‘But would you be prepared –’

‘What?’ Sir Henry interrupted, ‘what about affairs?’

‘No one said anything about affairs!’ Mrs Tomkinson snapped, her head whipping round and catching Mr Grantley in the eye with a feather. ‘I was about to ask Alice Rimmer if she would be prepared to dedicate her life to Netherlands.’

‘I didn’t hear that –’

Mrs Tomkinson rolled her eyes. ‘Because I hadn’t got around to saying it.’

‘Then how could the girl answer?’ Sir Henry asked blithely.

At this point Clare Lees interrupted. ‘I took the liberty to write out some notes for all of you about Alice,’ she said, gesturing to the papers in front of them. ‘They explain why I think she is qualified and what her qualities are that make her the best candidate for the post.’

‘I thought you were keen on your Welsh deputy head?’ Mr Grantley said, ducking to dodge the pheasant feathers.

Clare was not about to be sidetracked. ‘Mr Evans has many good points, but I feel that Alice – although so young – would make the better principal.’

‘Well,’ Mrs Tomkinson said, looking over to Alice. ‘She certainly seems very … composed.’

‘I was thinking the very same thing,’ the Vicar chimed in.

Ignoring him, Mrs Tomkinson asked Clare Lees, ‘Do you think that this girl could really be your successor?’

Alice could feel her temper flare. They were talking about her as though she wasn’t there. And what could she do about it? She was a nobody, some orphan who had to be grateful for any consideration. She was beholden to them – these powerful people who had given her a home, who were now considering her for a position as lifelong dogsbody. It made her sick, Alice thought. She wanted to knock off Leonora Tomkinson’s ludicrous hat and push the Vicar’s dyed head into the plate of biscuits.

Clare Lees was aware that there was a friction in the air and did her best to soothe it.

‘Mrs Tomkinson, Alice has the makings of a very good teacher, and she is very reliable. She works hard and explains her lessons clearly.’

‘I dare say … but are you willing to make running Netherlands your life’s work?’

Alice smiled, almost surprised to be addressed directly.

‘Yes,’ she lied, the sarcasm tingling her tongue. ‘it would be an honour.’

They were selling her into slavery, Alice thought, the dull drone of Leonora Tomkinson’s voice continuing, Sir Henry peering at her through his thick glasses. Her attention wandered to the courtyard outside. It was Friday; soon it would be Sunday and she would see Victor again. Her eyes fixed on the wall outside, sunlight making it temporarily golden.

She should tell them that she wasn’t interested in being the principal – but what would that do? Result in her being sent off to a menial job outside. But so what? Alice wondered. Outside it would be easier to meet up with Victor … Oh Victor, she wondered, why don’t I tell them that I don’t give a damn about any of this?

Then she remembered what he had told her so many times. You have a chance to be someone, take it. I’ll be a qualified tradesman and you’ll be a teacher. When we leave then we can make some real money. Think about it, he’d urged her. You’re too clever to be a nobody.

So she went along with it.

‘Alice?’

She turned to Mrs Tomkinson. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘I have to tell you that I’m not wholly convinced –’

‘Well, I like the girl,’ Sir Henry interjected.

Mrs Tomkinson gave him a look that should have turned him into a pile of ash there and then.

‘I like her and I think it’s a good idea. I’m not a man to mess with and I approve,’ the old man went on, Clare Lees beaming. ‘You have my permission to train her up. We need a good-looking young woman to bring this place into the present.’

Clare Lees wasn’t sure why Alice’s good looks made her the right candidate, but she didn’t complain. If she got her way, that was all that was important. So she happily ushered Alice back out into the corridor and briefly tapped the girl’s shoulder.

‘You did well.’

For a moment Alice felt a real guilt. She wanted to confess that she was a fraud, that she didn’t want the job. Then she thought of the odious Welshman and smiled.

‘Thank you, Miss Lees.’

‘Mrs Tomkinson needs to be won over, but Sir Henry has the real clout, so what he says, goes,’ Clare went on. ‘This is an important day, Alice. This is a day which marks out the rest of your life.’

The words wedged firmly into Alice’s chest like an arrow tipped with poison.