A Magical Regency Christmas: Christmas Cinderella / Finding Forever at Christmas / The Captain's Christmas Angel. Margaret McPhee

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СКАЧАТЬ yes.’ No point denying where he’d been. His Miss Polly? It was natural that he should take an interest in Miss Woodrowe’s situation, wasn’t it?

      ‘Little bit of a thing to be setting up for herself,’ said Fletcher. ‘Still, it’s a good thing for the youngsters.’ He scratched the collie’s ears. ‘Reckon we’ll all keep a bit of an eye on her, eh, Rector?’

      * * *

      The scholars stood behind their desks, faces scrubbed and shining, gazing solemnly at Lord Alderley as he introduced Polly the next morning.

      ‘Miss Woodrowe has agreed to teach you and I know you’ll all do your best for her.’ He gestured Polly forwards. ‘In a way, she is like a Christmas present—one that you’ll have all year. We want all of you to learn to read and write, and do your sums so that you can get good jobs and do them well. And now I think if Mr Martindale will finish with a prayer, we’ll get out of Miss Woodrowe’s way and let her start.’

      Alex stepped forwards and everyone bowed their heads as he spoke directly to God, thanking him for the gift of the children and—Polly blushed scarlet—for the gift of Miss Woodrowe, come at exactly the right time in answer to prayer for a teacher. She doubted that she was entirely what Alex Martindale, Lord Alderley, or even the Almighty for that matter, had had in mind. But here she was and here were the children, and she was going to do her very best for them. No matter that Aunt Eliot and her cousin Susan were standing stiffly at the back of the room with Lord and Lady Alderley. Polly had no illusions that her aunt approved of the situation—Lady Eliot was here because Lady Alderley had an interest in the school and would be present.

      Alex finished with the Lord’s Prayer and stepped back, gesturing Polly forwards.

      ‘Sit down, children,’ she said quietly.

      They all sat with a great scraping of chairs.

      ‘Can anyone read or write already?’

      Surreptitious glances all round, but one small girl raised her hand.

      ‘Yes?’ Polly smiled encouragingly.

      ‘I can write my name.’

      At the back of the room Susan Eliot tittered.

      Polly didn’t bother to look at her, but focused on the child. ‘Excellent. It’s Maryann Perkins, isn’t it?’

      The child beamed. ‘Yes, miss.’ And she spelt her name out painstakingly.

      Susan tittered again. This time Polly did look at her. Susan looked back insolently and Polly’s baser nature got the better of her.

      ‘Very good. Once I knew a little girl called Susan who took simply ages to learn to write her own name. You’ll probably be quicker with your sums, too.’ Susan had been the bane of successive governesses.

      Susan flushed as Lady Eliot turned an outraged stare on Polly.

      Alex Martindale sprang for the door. ‘We’ll leave you to it, Miss Woodrowe.’ He sounded as though he were trying not to laugh.

      Lady Eliot stepped forwards. ‘One word, Hippolyta—’

      Alex forestalled her. ‘No, Lady Eliot. Miss Woodrowe is busy now. I’m sure she will be delighted if you call on her after school.’ He smiled at Polly, a warm smile that had her heart doing things it had absolutely no right to be doing. ‘Good day to you, Miss Woodrowe. After you, ma’am.’ And he ushered Susan and Lady Eliot from the room. Lord and Lady Alderley followed them.

      Polly breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief, and, pushing all thought of her relatives from her mind, settled to her task.

      * * *

      By the time half past two came she was exhausted, three more children could write and spell their own names, they could all recite the alphabet, knew their scripture lesson for the day and had started on simple sums and counting. They had finished with a Christmas carol that most of the children knew already, but were more than happy to sing.

      In brief moments throughout the day Lord Alderley’s words had come back to her: that she was a gift to these children. Certainly her previous pupils had not considered her a gift. Quite the opposite. And perhaps the converse was true; these children were a gift to her. Without them, she would still be in her uncle’s house, a resented burden. Now, looking at the children lined up at the door awaiting dismissal, she realised that she had something to give. Knowledge, perhaps an altered future for these children.

      ‘I’ll see you all in the morning, children,’ she said gently. ‘Class dismissed. Off you go.’ She swung the door wide, expecting them to make a bolt for it. Instead they trooped out one by one, all of them stopping to say goodbye and thank her.

      Maryann Perkins, at the end of the line, explained, ‘Rector came to see all our families and said as how one of the best things we could do was to thank you each day because we’re real lucky to have you.’

      Heat pricked at the back of her eyes. Gifts, it seemed, came in all sorts of unexpected guises.

      * * *

      She had worked out a budget. For food, fuel, and how often she could afford a pot of tea. Coffee was out of the question, but she preferred tea anyway. And she had decided that if she was prepared to re-use her tea leaves, a cup of tea after her class left was perfectly affordable.

      A knock came at the back door as she waited for the kettle. Opening the door, she found Alex Martindale.

      ‘Oh.’ No doubt he wanted to know if he’d made a crashing mistake or not. ‘Come in.’

      ‘No need to ask how it went,’ he said, ducking his head under the lintel. ‘I met some of the children. They’d all enjoyed themselves and three of them repeated the scripture lesson to me.’ He grinned, and her heart somersaulted. ‘Caleb Fletcher repeated his sums. Well done.’ He put a small pot on the table. ‘Jam. Mrs Judd made rather a lot of blackberry last summer.’

      She flushed. He was just being kind. It didn’t mean anything. ‘Thank you.’ She loved blackberry jam. ‘They all did well. They want to learn. Not like—’ She stopped.

      ‘Not like your previous pupils?’

      She found herself smiling at the twinkle in his eye. ‘No. I wasn’t a very good governess,’ she admitted.

      He snorted. ‘That I don’t believe. In fact—’

      Footsteps in the schoolroom had them both looking around as Lady Eliot stalked in. ‘Ah. Hippolyta. I must protest—’ Her gaze fell on Alex and she frowned. ‘Mr Martindale. I cannot think it proper for you to be here with Hippolyta alone.’

      ‘I called to see how Miss Woodrowe had fared, Lady Eliot.’ Ice chipped Alex’s voice. ‘Just as I might call on any of my parishioners.’

      Lady Eliot sniffed and looked unconvinced. ‘Well, I dare say it doesn’t much matter now. And I needed to speak to you as well about that disgraceful incident this morning.’ She speared Polly with a savage look. ‘Poor Susan is mortified. I believe an apology—’

      ‘Oh, no, Lady Eliot,’ said Alex. СКАЧАТЬ