Chapter Twenty-Eight

“M rs. Baxter, I want a word.”

Mrs. Chantry stood at the school entrance, her expression resembling a crow ready to pick over a carcass.

“What about?” Bella asked.

“Your children, of course.” Mrs. Chantry beckoned to the interior of the building. “Inside. Now.”

“Would you speak to my husband like that?”

“Your husband’s not here, is he?” Mrs. Chantry wrinkled her nose as if Bella exuded a bad smell.

Lawrence had been away for two days, leaving Bella friendless in Brackens Hill now Sophie had moved to the next village with Sam. With a sigh, she followed the teacher inside to where her children waited in the classroom.

William stuck his thumb in his mouth. Roberta sat, arms folded, defiance in her eyes, fidgeting as if trying to find a comfortable position. Jonathan poked Roberta in the ribs as Bella entered.

“What have you done?” Bella said.

“Ha-ha!” Jonathan sang. “Bobby’s in trouble again!”

“Go and jump in a ditch!”

“Roberta Baxter!” Mrs. Chantry cried. “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you spoke again in my presence?”

Roberta opened her mouth to respond. Mrs. Chantry stepped toward her, and the little girl cringed.

“Mrs. Chantry, please explain what’s going on,” Bella said. “What have you done to my daughter?”

“ I’ve done nothing,” the teacher said. “ She’s refusing to tidy up the classroom.”

Bella suppressed a laugh, remembering the battles she’d engaged in, and lost, with the children about tidying their bedchamber. “Is that all ?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Do the other children refuse to tidy up?”

“I don’t require them to do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because the other children are boys. Roberta is a girl !”

“So, you expect my daughter to clean up after everyone because she’s a girl,” Bella said. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s perfectly fair, Mrs. Baxter. Your daughter will have a home of her own to keep clean, and a husband to obey. Or do you want her to fail in that as in everything else?”

“In what way is my daughter a failure?”

The teacher snorted. “ All your children are failures. Especially that little brat.” She gestured toward Jonathan. “He can’t even read. He refuses —as I discovered only today.”

“You’ve discovered it today ?” Bella asked. “That doesn’t say much for your teaching skills.”

“He’s been lying to me, and his brother and sister have been part of that deception.”

“Children, is this true?” Bella asked.

Jonathan’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away.

“Don’t ask them ,” Mrs. Chantry said. “They’re incapable of telling the truth, the vile little beasts.”

Vile…

Swallowing her guilt at having used that word herself, Bella took a step toward the teacher.

“Please explain what gives you the right to describe my children as vile .”

“They refuse to listen. They’re unruly, disruptive…”

“In what way?”

“They won’t stop asking questions.”

“Isn’t school a place to ask questions?” Bella asked. “To learn?”

“Children don’t learn by asking questions—they learn by being told what to do.”

Bella let out a laugh. “You can’t tell children what to do!”

“You can, Mrs. Baxter, if you set a good moral example—in which you’re sorely lacking.”

Bella curled her hands into fists. “What right have you to speak so?”

“Someone has to say something about those brats,” Mrs. Chantry said, “not to mention their slattern of a mother.”

“Slattern!” Jonathan cried.

Roberta gave him a push. “Shut your mouth!”

“Desist, you brat!” Mrs. Chantry advanced on Roberta, hand raised. But before she could strike, Bella grasped her wrist.

“Don’t you dare touch my children,” she said through gritted teeth, “unless you’re prepared to get what you mete out in return.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m defending my daughter against a bully,” Bella said. “Children, wait outside.”

“But Mama…” Jonathan whined.

“Outside!” Bella yelled. “Now!”

The children slid off their seats and exited the classroom.

Bella released the teacher’s hand. “Leave my children alone.”

“With pleasure,” Mrs. Chantry said. “They’re no longer welcome in my school—at least then I’ll not have to deal with their whore of a mother.”

“ What did you call me?”

“You heard,” the teacher sneered. “The whole village is talking about how you abandoned your husband. Ran off with a lover, no doubt, to satisfy your base urges. Then, fool that he is, he took you back when your lover grew tired of you.”

“That’s a lie!” Bella said. “Nothing but vile gossip you’ve heard—or peddled yourself. I suppose it’s impossible for you to entertain the notion that the husband could ever be at fault?”

“A wife’s duty is to keep her husband satisfied, and maintain the moral standards of the home,” Mrs. Chantry said. “You, Mrs. Baxter, have failed on every count. Perhaps you’re not satisfying your husband. Have you thought of that?”

“I have no knowledge of what I may or may not have done in the past,” Bella said. “I only recall being pulled out of the river and subjected to the attention of strangers—until one stranger claimed to be my husband and brought me here. I don’t know whether I committed the sins you accuse me of. But I do know that I’m not satisfying my husband , as you call it. I know that he spends his time with painted women while I remain at home cleaning up after him. Is it therefore any wonder that I object to Roberta being expected to suffer the same fate? Why should she—or any girl—submit to a man only to be cast aside when he takes a fancy to another? I chose that life by pledging obedience to my husband—but I don’t want my daughter making the same mistake, unless she knows that the man of her choice will appreciate, love, and cherish her.”

The teacher’s eyes widened. Then she shook her head. “A woman’s place is—”

“A woman’s place should be wherever she wants it to be, Mrs. Chantry,” Bella interrupted. “It is not to sit quietly at home while men—and women like you—blame her for the sins of others.”

“If your husband’s carrying on with a doxy, then he’s succumbed to her wiles.”

“So, you blame the doxy rather than the man who breaks his vows.” Bella said. “Doxies would not exist if men didn’t want—”

“That’s enough, you slattern!” Mrs. Chantry snarled. “With such unsavory views, it’s no wonder you can’t keep your husband!”

Before Bella could reply, a deep voice spoke from behind.

“I’ll thank you not to insult my wife.”

Lawrence stood in the doorway.