The Teacher at Orchard Hall

Chapter One

Scarborough, 1807

Giggling, carefree girls irritated her more than anything else in the world. Didn't they know their happy lives could crumble in an instant? Clara Lumley, Orchard Hall School for Girls' youngest teacher, glared down the main hall at a group of girls. In the ten years she had been educating the next crop of society's empty-headed, passably pretty, and tolerably rich debutantes, she had never met a group she could not curtail. Long ago, she used the same glare on her sisters.

Marching to the gaggle of ninnies, Clara saw the precise moment the favorite of the group noticed her. The young lady in question, Sylvia Linwood, silenced and nudged her friends. The other girls soon fell in step, but Clara's watchful eyes did not miss the shifting of a book behind Miss Cecilia Ward's hand.

"Hand it over," Clara said.

"I do not understand what you mean," Miss Linwood said sweetly. Her large eyes and angelic face could allow her to get away with highway robbery.

Unfortunately for Miss Linwood, Clara needed this job far more than any highwayman needed his stolen acquisitions. "That won't do. Miss Ward, you know the rules. Forfeit the contraband, or I shall ring for Mrs. Alderly, and you will be dismissed immediately."

Terror lit Miss Ward's eyes, and she handed over a small book.

Miss Linwood met Clara's gaze. "It is my book, Miss Lumley."

Clara turned it over in her hands. Histories, or Tales Past Time. Clara knew the book well. As a young girl, she reveled in the fairy tales translated into English by Robert Samber. The topic would certainly fit Miss Linwood's romantic sensibilities. However, she could easily read it in original French. She was one of the most intelligent and cleverest of this odd circle of ladies. No, Clara would wager the book belonged to Miss Ward.

Miss Ward was very much like her mother — a former opera singer and social climber, currently the third wife to her fourth husband, an aging baronet. Clara had been only a few years older than these girls when she discovered the pretension and vanity of tradesmen who found themselves grotesquely wealthy.

"Then I shall return it to your father at the end of the term," Clara said. "As the book is yours, you will write an essay on the comparing Queen Elizabeth's handling of the Spanish Armada and Eleanor of Aquitaine's involvement in her son's revolt."

"Com — comparison?" Miss Linwood's voice squeaked.

"Indeed. You will turn it in at the end of the week." Clara thrilled at the perplexed look on the insurrectionist's face. "Now, return to your rooms. The dinner bell rings in an hour. I believe Miss Linwood and Miss Jenners have already been late twice this term, and I have no shortage of essays to assign."

"Yes, ma'am," the ladies whispered, and Clara resumed her walk to the stairs.

Once in her room, she tossed the book on her bed. Fairy tales! She disagreed with Mrs. Alderly's curriculum for young ladies — surely they needed more than to be an adornment to some man — but fairy tales could not be further from what life offered. However, the girls of this school were blessed far more than she ever was. The students were made up of a few daughters of peers and heiresses from the landed gentry. However, the real money came from sources like Miss Ward, whose family skirted the edge of propriety, and those like Miss Jenners, whose family owned a large and lavish house and park with just a few tenants. Their income came nearly entirely from trade, not the land.

Brushing out her blonde hair and re-pinning the tight coiffure, Clara could not help but recall her life at fourteen. Her father had died when she was young, and her mother married a country clergyman when Clara was nine. She joyfully welcomed Dorothy, called Dottie the following year, and hoped for many more siblings. Her wish was granted at fourteen when Esther was born. Sadly, her mother died from a fever outbreak months later.