“I’m quite certain you will be forgiven.” At least until next time, Emma thought. Would the girls, with the exclusion of Penelope Fontaine, ever stop teasing and blaming Amy for everything? Penelope and Emma did what they could to help Amy, but they were of different ages and not together all the time. It was time to talk to Penelope and come up with a way to get back at Jeannie. It would not be long before Emma and Penelope graduated from here. Who would look after Amy then? And what would happen if Miss Beauregard sent Amy back to the orphanage? Emma shuddered at the thought.
***
Later that afternoon, Emma’s heart palpitated as she knocked on the headmistress’s door. It was certainly not the first time during her three years in residence she had been summoned. It was more a weekly occurrence. Miss Beauregard was forever scolding her, too. Emma could almost hear the headmistress’s nasally voice even now taking her to task. “Miss Hamilton, you missed dinner again. Miss Hamilton, you skipped your music lesson. Miss Hamilton, get your head out of the clouds.”
This time she wondered if Miss Beauregard had found out about the revenge they planned on Jeannie. Or maybe Emma’s papa had arrived early. That must be it. Emma’s heart beat more rapidly at the thought of seeing her beloved papa again. She could hardly contain her excitement as she knocked on the door.
Miss Beauregard ushered her in and closed the door quietly. “Miss Hamilton, I’m afraid I have some rather distressing news for you.”
Emma, her heart pounding now but for a different reason, forced herself to look at Miss Beauregard. The headmistress appeared distressed, her face pale as she played with the quill in her hand.
“I am sorry to have to tell you this, child, but I received a letter from your papa’s barrister with news about your papa. He passed away during his travels in England.”
Tears instantly burned Emma’s throat and pooled in her eyes. My papa gone. He couldn’t possibly have died. Did she not receive a missive from him just this past week?
“There must be some mistake,” Emma stammered with a quivering chin.
“No mistake, child. I am very sorry.” The headmistress held out a letter. “This arrived this morning from London. It is addressed to you.”
Emma, chewing her bottom lip, took the parchment and ran up to her private room on the third floor. Once her door was closed, she bent over, arms folded under her chest, and sobbed for what seemed like hours. Several times she heard knocking on her door. Each time Emma sent whoever stood on the other side of the door away. Exhaustion eventually took over, and she flung herself on her bed. She curled up with the unread letter, afraid to read it because it would make her papa’s death real.
When Emma awoke, moonbeams lit her room with their soft glow. From the silence of the school, she guessed it was past curfew. Still clutched in her hand was the unopened letter. Taking a deep breath for bravery, she tore the crushed missive open, drew close to the window, and read the words. Then, with heart pounding and hands shaking, she reread it.
Dear Miss Hamilton;
I am extremely sorry for the loss of your father. Mr. Hamilton was a true gentleman and will be missed by many here in England and in America.
You and I have never met, but apparently my father and your father were childhood friends. Your father named me his heir in his will. Therefore, I have become your guardian, and you are now my ward.
I will travel to Boston soon to take care of his business affairs and will then collect you before traveling back to my home in London. You will be glad to know that I have two sisters near your age, and they are looking forward to making your acquaintance.
Please accept my condolences on the loss of your father. I hope this letter finds you well.
Your guardian,
Thomas Seabrook, Fifth Duke of Wentworth.
Emma tried without success to keep the letter dry. Her vision blurred, causing the words to run into and over each other. No matter; she’d memorized it. A strange man named Thomas Seabrook and a duke no less––should I be honored––would collect her much like a person did luggage and then take her across the Atlantic to his home. Her insides knotted. What would he do with her? Visions of her in servants’ garb cleaning out fireplaces flashed in her mind.
A guttural cry escaped her throat. “Papa.”
Sitting there feeling sorry for herself would not bring her papa back. She wiped dry tears from her stinging cheeks. Her stomach growled.
Emma lit one of the many oil lamps her papa had donated to the school before creeping out of her room and down the stairs toward the kitchen. She silently prayed the cook was about and she could beg some bread and cheese or even a bowl of soup. Emma also needed the comfort of the old woman. If there was ever a time she felt alone, it was now. Was this how Amy felt on a daily basis?