Page 13 of Love Lessons for a Lady

She edged toward her desk.

“Can I help you?” she asked, settling into the recently vacated chair once more.

Mrs. Crenshaw had wandered to the window and gazed toward the music room. Her expression a combination of pensiveness and longing, her shoulders slumped the merest bit. In a blink, however, her ramrod straight spine was back, and her countenance was once more that of a woman in control.

Hands folded, she scrutinized Chasity’s office as if she’d never been inside the room before. Or as if she was seeing it clearly for the first time.

“We have—how shall I say it?—a delicate situation, Miss Noble, and I would ask for your assistance. Naturally, I require your absolute discretion.”

“Of course. I shall help if I am able.”

What sort of delicate situation?

One that could cause a scandal, such as one of the girls or teachers being in the family way. If so, how had such a thing occurred? Or something far less nefarious such as a shortage of tea or sugar this month, and Chasity would be required to inform the students and instructors?

Naturally, Mrs. Crenshaw would continue to enjoy her usual portions.

Something of that nature had occurred twice this month already. Once they went without bread for five days and another week, the use of lamp oil and candles were drastically limited. In point of fact, the shortages were very odd since there should’ve been sufficient to last the month, given the amounts purchased.

Chasity made a mental note to recheck those figures. Occasionally, Mrs. Crenshaw also edited Chasity’s entries, claiming she’d found an additional bill or receipt. Up to this point, Chasity had never questioned the headmistress. But the pattern continued, and though she couldn’t put her finger on what precisely, something was off.

Quelling her impatience and suppressing the impulse to tap her toe, Chasity crossed her ankles. There was no rushing Mrs. Crenshaw. She’d get to the subject troubling her when she was well and ready.

“I’ve received a correspondence from Lord Woolbury.” Turning her back to the window, Mrs. Crenshaw’s already thin lips drew into a tight, displeased ribbon. “He’s Mr. Terramier’s grandfather, and he objects to his grandson teaching at Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies. His lordship is most insistent the matter be rectified at once. If I don’t comply, the viscount will…make things…most difficult.”

She chose those last words with infinite care, and Chasity had no trouble understanding what Mrs. Crenshaw didn’t say. The viscount–pompous, presumptuous prig—had issued a threat of some sort. One that the unflappable Mrs. Crenshaw had taken to heart and which had her now pacing before the window.

No wonder Mr. Terramier had chosen to make his own way. His grandfather was an egotistical tyrant.

“I see.” Chasity wasn’t sure that she did, except, of course, as unfair as it was, Mr. Terramier would have to be terminated.

Mrs. Crenshaw hadn’t hesitated to dismiss a pair of maids, a stable hand, and an instructor. In fact, her ability to remain coldly objective and unemotional as she turned them out was somewhat off-putting.

Chasity’s stomach coiled into a tight knot when she thought of Mr. Terramier receiving his congé and that she wouldn’t see him thrice weekly anymore.

What other solution was there, though?

Seldom were influential peers denied anything. The viscount had made his wishes known, and Mrs. Crenshaw was expected to comply with all due haste. Or suffer the threatened consequences. For assuredly, a threat had been issued, couched in the politest of terms, of course.

Chin to her chest, Mrs. Crenshaw made another stiff-legged sweep before the window. Surely, she realized there was only one recourse. Regardless, Chasity knew better than to offer advice unless Mrs. Crenshaw specifically asked for it.

“I don’t believe that you do see, Miss Noble.” She shook her head. “How could you?” she mumbled beneath her breath.

Indeed, how could I?

Mrs. Crenshaw’s bony chest expanded as she inhaled a deep breath. She faced Chasity straight on, then said in a rush, “Mr. Terramier signed a contract to teach dance and music for one year, at which time he has the option of renewing. With an increase in wages, of course. I cannot dismiss him without cause, else, I owe him the wages he would’ve earned. The school does not have those funds to spare, and the viscount has insinuated he will have the school closed if I do not dismiss Mr. Terramier at once.”

Chasity’s jaw sagged in a wholly unrefined fashion as she gaped at the headmistress. She opened and closed her mouth twice, unable to articulate a single sound.

If Mrs. Crenshaw didn’t send Mr. Terramier packing, the viscount would bring trouble down upon Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies. If she did break the contract, Mrs. Crenshaw would have to pay Mr. Terramier’s wages for the remaining contract term. Ten months.

“How much is Mr. Terramier paid monthly?” Chasity asked, rapidly calculating ways to economize.

Mrs. Crenshaw had the good grace to look utterly chagrined. “Ten pounds per month.”

Chasity made an inarticulate noise. She only received five-and-thirty pounds annually.

Was Mrs. Crenshaw off her head?