Always the same. I have no doubt we have you to thank. Rummaging through the letter pile, he picked out another. He knew all about Jennifer and her upcoming marriage. It had been in the paper every day for a week. The girl many had thought would never even debut due to her tomboy attitude to life was to marry Sir Peregrine Morris of Bond Street, a man more than thirty years her senior. He hoped she would be happy. Once her layers of defence had been stripped away, it had become clear all she truly desired was undiluted love and affection, something Morris was sure to offer her.
Dear Sir,
I write on behalf of the Benevolent Little Foundation of the United Kingdom. As you are no doubt aware, those littles heading towards retirement often end their days in one of our little almshouses. But we are stretched beyond capacity in recent years and are writing to the proprietors of all little schools to ask for just a pound a year to help the services we provide. As you know…”
He stopped reading, turning to his journal and making a note to send two pounds off to the Foundation. He knew of their work, having visited a number of the almshouses himself to observe the conditions therein, finding the sight of ancient littles in playrooms of the late 1700s style more than a little surreal. But that was the price of this method, there would always be some who outlived their husbands. He turned to the next letter.
Dear Sir,
I beg you will help me and I know not where else to turn. My husband’s daughter is a brat. There is the word sir and I see no other way to say it. Since clapping eyes on her, I knew she needed a firm hand and a strict manner to rectify her insidious behaviour. He will not allow me to discipline her in the manner befitting her behaviour, nor is he willing to take on the task for himself. As such, I feel I have little choice but to turn to you and beg you will take her on. Money is no object and I have heard the most wonderful things about your establishment.
The letter went on for some time but he only skimmed over the details. His heart had already begun to beat a little faster, that hint of excitement he knew so well every time a new student was heralded. The writer listed flaw after flaw in the girl but he had no doubt she exaggerated. They always did. Nonetheless, she did sound like a handful and it had been some time since he’d had a challenge worthy of his skills. Could Laura Rothsfield be that challenge?
He drafted a response and rang the bell on the corner of his desk. Within seconds a maid appeared.
“Take this letter to the address listed there. There will be a shilling in it if it is there by nightfall today.”
“Yes sir.”
She ran off with the letter leaving him to muse. If the letter was with them by tonight, they would reply within a day or two. She might be there by the end of the week. The thought excited him. It had been some time since a new enrolment and one that sounded like she might be a proper challenge too. He just hoped she knew what she was letting herself in for if she came here. She sounded like someone who had never in her life undergone any form of punishment, let alone that of the corporal variety which was his personal and professional speciality. She would soon learn if she misbehaved that the consequences could be severe. He smiled as he silently hoped she would misbehave, that if he was lucky, she might misbehave rather a lot.
Chapter 3
Lord Rothsfield ducked as a perfume bottle flew over his head.
“Sent away?” Laura screamed in disbelief, picking up another bottle from her dressing table and hurling it towards her father. “Like a leper? Ashamed of me are you father? You should be ashamed of your new wife, the whore.”
“I’m not ashamed of you my angel,” Lord Rothsfield replied. “It’s just that Maria believes…I mean we both feel you might benefit from a formal finishing school education.”
“So you are ashamed of me. All you care about is that whore of yours, not your own flesh and blood.”
“Please do not call my wife a whore.”
“She is a whore. She beds you for your money doesn’t she? Whore is the only word for such a person. Whore, whore, whore.”
He turned away from her as another bottle smashed into the wall on the far side of the landing. “The decision is made. He will be here to collect you this afternoon.” Pungent aromas of rose and sandalwood filled the air as he walked away leaving Laura to stew in her fury.
By the time the clock chimed in the entrance hall she had an idea. The sonorous tones were still echoing as she leapt from her bed and ran down the backstairs. She wondered why she had not thought of it sooner. If she were to find Robert, the gardener who often flirted with her, despite the age and class gap between them, she might be able to prove to her father the dangers of crossing her, the things she might do in revenge.