Chapter Twenty-four

E vangeline had never heard of a school inspector, and she didn’t like the sound of it. She allowed not the slightest hint of uncertainty or worry to touch her expression. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Garvey.” She executed a curtsey worthy of her governess’s approval.

He gave a brief dip of his head before passing her and stepping further into the classroom. He looked over the students, though whether his impression was favorable or not, Evangeline could not say.

“Students,” she said. “This is Mr. Garvey.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Garvey,” they said in near unison.

He made a sound of ponderous surprise. “Good afternoon, pupils.” With those three words, Mr. Garvey showed himself to not be a Yorkshire man. That would make the children more wary.

Mr. Garvey turned to Uncle Barton. “I am ready to begin my evaluation. Are there particular areas of concern?”

Aunt Barton answered. “I have observed the school many times, Mr. Garvey. Though progress has been made, the children are struggling with their reading. And I have not yet observed any attempts at mathematics.”

Concern and embarrassment crossed the children’s faces. Only with effort did Evangeline maintain her aura of calm ladylike civility. How dare these three come in and belittle her students?

“Please be seated, children,” she said, giving them her most reassuring smile.

“First,” Mr. Garvey said, “I will examine your school log.”

Evangeline hadn’t the first idea what that was. “You will forgive me, but I was not told anything about a school log.”

“Have you not kept a daily record?” He sounded both shocked and annoyed.

“I did not know I was supposed to.”

Mr. Garvey shook his head and muttered, “I warned them about untrained teachers.”

“I will begin keeping a record if that is required.”

“It is decidedly required.” His chest puffed out and his tiny chin jutted. “A log of attendance, visitors, and subjects taught each day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I would like to hear someone read,” Mr. Garvey said. “Choose one of your students, Miss Blake.”

He would be impressed by what he heard; she felt certain he would be.

“Susannah. Would you be willing to read for Mr. Garvey?”

She held Susannah’s gaze for a long moment, hoping to convey that she had faith in her but also that she would not be disappointed if the girl’s efforts were less than perfect.

Susannah rose, her chin high and her posture firm. “What’d tha like us to read, Miss Blake?”

Evangeline pulled a well-worn sheet of paper from her pile on the lectern and handed it to Susannah. She knew the sentences were familiar to her; they had spent much of the previous week studying the words. She stepped back, giving Mr. Garvey ample space to hear and be impressed.

“No,” Aunt Barton said. “Something new.”

Susannah paled. Evangeline likely did as well. The students weren’t as comfortable with their reading as she would have liked. Unfamiliar text would present a challenge.

“If you truly wish to measure their progress, would it not be best to hear what they have learned to read?” Evangeline pressed.

“The ability to read is more than merely repeating memorized words,” Aunt Barton countered. She took up James’s book from where it rested near the window. “The child can read something from this.”

“Mrs. Barton, that is unrealistic. These children have only been learning for a few weeks—”

“Two months,” her aunt interjected.

“Six weeks.” Evangeline couldn’t help the correction, though she knew she would likely be scolded for it. “These children cannot possibly be expected to read a book as advanced as this one.”

The look she received ought to have left her quaking. A few short months earlier, it would have done precisely that. But she would not permit her students to be trampled on simply because her aunt held an inexplicable grudge against her.

“Miss Blake is correct.” Uncle Barton came to her defense. “We will learn nothing of the children’s progress if we ask the impossible of them.”

Aunt Barton set the book down with a thud. “Of course you would defend her ,” she muttered.

The cryptic declaration remained unexplained, but it filled her uncle’s face with weariness. The couple neither looked at nor spoke to one another.

“The girl may read the paper you have chosen,” Mr. Garvey said to Evangeline.

She nodded for Susannah to proceed.

With only the slightest wobble in her voice, Susannah read aloud, “T’ cat is fat. It has a hat. T’ cat sat on t’ mat.”

Mr. Garvey spoke before Susannah could read the next set of sentences. “The paper, please.” He held out his hand.

Susannah glanced at Evangeline, who nodded.

Mr. Garvey looked over the sheet, his thick brows knit.

“The sentences are very simple,” Evangeline acknowledged. “We have been working on the letter a , and the most basic words seemed best.”

“I have no objection to the words,” Mr. Garvey said. He gave the paper back to Susannah. “This girl simply was not saying what was written.”

Evangeline had heard enough students practicing those exact words to know quite well that Susannah had, in fact, read each one perfectly. “On the contrary, sir.”

Mr. Garvey turned to face her fully. “You are charged with more than teaching them to piece together letters, Miss Blake. You are required to improve their minds.”

“I believe I am doing precisely that.” She refused to look at her aunt, knowing the disapproval that would be there. Contradicting a man with authority over her actions was seen as undesirable behavior. “When they first began attending, not one of these students could identify a letter, let alone knew what sound it made. They can do that now. Many of them can even read, though perhaps not at the advanced level Mrs. Barton hoped for. They also can do basic mathematics, though we have focused mostly on reading, as I feel that will be the most difficult for them to master.”

Mr. Garvey offered only the slightest acknowledgment. “While I am pleased to hear that, my concern lies with more than the acquisition of a list of skills. This girl may well have read every word on that paper, but I could hardly understand her.”

Was that all? She smiled. “The people of Yorkshire, you must remember, have their own unique way of speaking. Your ears will grow accustomed to it in time.”

“One of the express purposes of this nation’s educational system is to teach children to speak properly,” Mr. Garvey said. “You are charged with that every bit as much as with teaching them academic skills.”

“You wish me to change the way they speak?” Her shock rendered the question a bit broken.

“There’s nowt wrong with t’ way we speak,” Hugo loudly declared.

Evangeline looked over her shoulder at him. “Please, Hugo. Not now.”

“But there i’n’t.” He was on his feet, every inch of him exuding defiance. It was the first bit of life she’d seen in him all day. “Happen we speak different from thee in t’ south. Don’t mean we talk wrong.”

“I agree,” she said. “There is something lovely in the Yorkshire voice. I did not appreciate it when I first arrived, but the sound has become beautiful to me.”

“Miss Blake,” Mr. Garvey said. “Language usage is a directive for all schools in the kingdom. This one is no exception.”

“I will not take away their language,” she said.

Mr. Garvey looked anything but pleased. “I wish to speak with you. Alone.” He walked to the door. If the school inspector insisted on speaking to her, she was required to listen.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs but did not step outside. She descended at a dignified pace, not the least encouraged by his tense posture and firmly set jaw. His fingers tapped against his leg with ever--increasing speed.

Upon reaching the landing below, Evangeline summoned her calmest voice. “What is it you wished to discuss, sir?”

“You seem to be under the impression that yours is a position of some privilege.”

“Not at all, sir.”

He either didn’t hear her words or chose to ignore them. “Ihave been appointed Her Majesty’s Inspector for all the schools in this area. You are not here to put forth your own ideas of education and schooling. You are not here to bandy about your opinions on what these children ought to be taught. You are here to do as you are told.” His words snapped and echoed off the narrow walls of the entryway, reverberating against her with growing force. “I have been trained in the intricacies of education. I have authority from the Committee of Council on Education. You, Miss Blake, are simply one of hundreds of replaceable cogs in this machine.”

Though she attempted to hide the pain his words inflicted, she suspected her effort was not wholly successful. His description stabbed and twisted inside her, adding an edge of agony to her uncertainties.

“Fortunately for you, this visit was not a formal inspection. Iwill return at a later time to undertake that assessment, and I will expect to hear your students reading, doing their mathematics, and speaking properly.” He emphasized the last two words. “If I discover otherwise, you will find yourself unemployed.” His unforgiving eyes bored into her. “Am I understood?”

In a voice quieter than she would have liked but as loud as she could manage, she answered, “You are asking me to trade their language, their identity, and their dignity for my economic peace of mind.”

“I would advise you to choose wisely.” He left on that declaration.

Aunt Barton made her way downstairs, her air one of triumph. She slowed as she approached Evangeline. In a pitying voice, one hardly above a whisper, she said, “You are not the beloved daughter of a fine house any longer. It is time to stop acting as though you are.”

She swept past as regally as a queen. The effect was fitting; Evangeline felt rather like a peasant.

Uncle Barton reached her side. Evangeline hazarded a glance, not daring to hope that she would see even a hint of the same approval she thought she had spied earlier. He looked at her with confusion and concern, though without any earnestness.

“I—” Whatever else he meant to say was cut off by Aunt Barton calling to him.

He looked at Evangeline for one brief moment, then set his hat atop his head and slipped out.

She remained alone, the words spinning in her mind. “Do as you are told. You are not the beloved daughter of a fine house any longer.”

For weeks she had managed to push aside her loneliness and the ever-present feeling of being adrift. All her doubts, all her uncertainties rose to the surface. She had no formal training as a teacher. She had never even been to a school herself.

But I know these children. I know the lives they live. Surely that gave her some degree of expertise. Surely.

A small cough from above pulled her attention upward. At the top of the stairs, several of the students stood, watching, their faces pulled with worry. The sight proved both encouraging and heartbreaking. In the few short weeks she had been their teacher, these little ones had found a permanent place in her heart. What if she truly was providing them with a second-rate education, one marred by her own inexperience? What if she was forced to leave?

“Is he gone?” Cecilia Haigh spoke before anyone else. Quiet, bashful little Cecilia. And her words, so rare and precious, were filled with distress.

“Yes. He is gone.” She moved swiftly up the stairs, offering quick embraces and reassuring words.

The children retook their seats, but their eyes retained the wariness that had entered them when Mr. Garvey and the Bartons had arrived.

“I am sorry for the interruption,” she said. “We were having such a lovely afternoon. And I am sorry that our visitors did not recognize how well you all are doing and how much you are learning. I could not possibly be more proud of each of you.”

She heard the break of emotion in her voice and quickly pulled herself together. Her students needed steadiness. She was determined to give them that in full measure.

Mr. Garvey had been quite clear on what he expected of her. She knew her directive to do as she was told, and she further knew that not doing so would likely cost her this job and her time with these children.

She eventually had to make a choice.

Her income or their language. Her job or their identity.

Her future or theirs.