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

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. And Polly blinked at the bite in his voice. He continued, ‘As long as Miss Susan realises how very wrong she was to laugh at Maryann, I am sure no more is needed.’

Polly choked, Lady Eliot’s jaw sagged and Alex went on, ‘I am sure she understands that to laugh at a child’s achievements is not at all the behaviour you expect of her, so we shall say no more.’

The ample, velvet-shrouded bosom rose and fell. Lady Eliot’s lips pursed tightly. ‘I see. You do not think that making a mockery of her betters–’

‘—is any worse than mocking a child?’ said Alex. ‘No. I do not. And I am not entirely certain why you would consider Miss Susan as Miss Woodrowe’s superior.’ If his voice had been chilly before, now it could have frozen hell solid.

Hoping to change the subject, Polly said, ‘Should you like a cup of tea, Aunt?’ Regrettably, she’d have to use fresh tea leaves.

Lady Eliot looked around and visibly shuddered. ‘I think not, Hippolyta.’ The disdain in her voice brought a stinging retort to Polly’s lips. She choked it back somehow and Lady Eliot smiled thinly. ‘Good day to you.’ She favoured Alex with a chilly nod, ‘Rector’, and swept towards the door. Reaching it, she turned back. ‘Your uncle feels that it would look best if you were to come to us for Christmas and New Year, Hippolyta, despite this foolishness.’

Polly stared at the door her aunt had closed with something close to a bang. She had refused even to think of Christmas, had expected to spend it alone. She wasn’t entirely sure that mightn’t have been preferable...but, no—the Eliots were her only remaining family. Surely once they realised that she no longer depended on them, that she asked nothing of them beyond being her family...why could they not see that?

Because without your fortune, you’re nothing to them. Only a shop-bred upstart. Their inferior.

‘Sir Nathan’s great-grandfather made his fortune importing silk,’ said Alex meditatively. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. I never met your father, but my uncle used to speak of him as a very good sort of man.’

‘He did?’ There was a lump in her throat.

‘He did. Now, if that offer of tea could be extended to me—?’

Alex’s voice was very gentle. She turned to him and somehow the quiet understanding in those clear eyes calmed all the hurt rage. If she allowed the Eliots to make her feel inferior, it would be a betrayal of her father’s hard work. Alex’s quiet words had shown her that.

‘Yes. Yes, of course it could.’ She fetched the teapot to wash it out, and took down the tea caddy he’d given her. Her fingers tightened on it, as she consigned her budget to perdition. For him she’d use fresh tea leaves gladly.