Page 7 of Fortune’s Final Folly

Chapter 2

Miss Katherina Elliott did her utmost to keep her eyes from straying toward Mr. Stuart as he left the schoolroom. If anyone listened carefully, they’d note her tone was a bit stilted and raised as she read from Gulliver’s Travels. Thankfully, her pupils were more engaged with the adventure of the story as opposed to what had transpired as they arrived for their morning lessons.

Though the story fell from her lips without hesitation, her nerves were certainly frazzled from Mr. Cuttlebottom’s visit. His anger was becoming concerning, even though Kate had known the man and his family her entire life. He’d never proven prone to violence or unrest of any kind before. He was upset, and though Kate was unaware of any dealings between him and her father, she could not blame the elderly man for feeling slighted. Over the last year or so, the gentile man who’d called her father friend had been replaced by an angry tyrant who truly believed she’d stolen something from him. She prayed nightly that it was only a matter of time before he saw reason, and their association could return to friendlier terms.

The last thing Kate wanted was Mr. Stuart becoming entangled in the situation.

Though her father had implored her to always trust the solicitor and heed his advice, Kate hadn’t the spare funds to pay his service fees. Certainly, hiring a solicitor required a sizeable amount of coin. Slipping her hand into the apron tied at her waist, her fingers grazed the envelope he’d delivered to her. It was a few days later than she’d anticipated. Many debts had been incurred over the last several months that she needed to settle: her tab at the mercantile, the butcher, the candlemaker. And she desperately needed the heel on her boots mended but could not bring herself to visit Mr. Cuttlebottom’s cobbler shop nor spare the coin to journey to Smithe’s shop several streets over.

As well as teaching the children, she often provided them with a hot meal before they returned home since many of their families worked as tirelessly as she did to make their money stretch far enough to keep the hearth burning at night. Sending her pupils home with empty stomachs was not something Kate would allow if she could, in any way, prevent it.

“Miss Kate,” a tiny voice interrupted. “Which side of the egg do you crack?”

She blinked, silently re-reading the passage she’d finished without realizing it. “The middle, Constance, I crack the middle.”

“Well, I think the larger end is far more suitable,” Peter, her eldest pupil, declared, his voice already deepened. A boy on the cusp of manhood. “It is what my father would have done.”

Kate smiled. “I am certain you are correct, Peter. However, I hold to my position on the matter.” She closed the book and set it aside. “Older children, please open your primers to your arithmetic section. Younger children, practice your numbers on your boards.”

As they set about their assignments, Kate moved to the front of the room and sank into the rocking chair her father had crafted for her mother. Her fingers traced the etchings on the side of the armrests. She missed her parents with a fierceness that consumed her most nights. The cobbler’s ranting and raving did naught but remind her that she was alone, left to find her own way in this hectic, unpredictable world.

If only she’d had a few more years with her parents, mayhap things would have been different. Perhaps if she’d complied with her father’s wishes, she’d have found a suitable gentleman and wed. Maybe she should have followed her mother’s wishes and sold the building, moved out of London, and settled in a small village where she could grow her own food and mayhap even procure a dairy cow for fresh milk and cheese.

Kate feared it was too late for such maudlin musings. Besides, the children needed her. They counted on her for their education, and Kate would not let them down. Ever.

Mr. Cuttlebottom would not best her in this situation, nor would she allow him to continue ruffling her feathers as her mother was fond of saying.

She glanced around the room, focusing on the stairs at the rear that led to her residence. Though her parents had said she hadn’t been born in Cheapside, Kate had never known any other home. She’d taken her first steps in the residence above. She’d learned to read in this very room. And she’d sought her prayers each day in her father’s parish a few doors down the lane.

The building was brimming with memories—both joyous and heartbreaking.

Though her mother and father had wanted something more, something better for her, Kate was content with her place in the world. She knew her role well, and she excelled at teaching.

She was a schoolmistress. It mattered naught that her schoolroom did not boast a fancy name or that her pupils did not possess shiny, tailored uniforms. It was hers and hers alone.

Cheapside was her home. This room and the ones above were all she’d ever known.

And she cherished them ever more, knowing her parents had worked their entire lives to give her this place and her position. Never would she need depend on a man for her survival. Never would she need wed a man and hand over what little she had as a dowry.

Kate would continue as she had since taking over the schoolroom from her mother. The mysterious envelopes she received every three months would go to cover the necessities, and everything else would have to wait. Wait for what, Kate was uncertain.

Leaning forward, she picked at the heel of her half boot as it pulled away from the sole. They would not be mended anytime soon. The schoolroom needed heat, the children needed food, and there were always new supplies to purchase. How was she to educate her pupils without books, maps, and primers?

An idea dawned. If she let out the bottom hems of her dresses, the skirts would reach the floor and keep hidden the travesty of her boots. The notion was silly. The children did not notice her threadbare gowns or worn footwear. Why was she so concerned with it?

She glanced toward the window that looked out over the street as a man walked before her schoolroom, briefly glancing in at her before continuing on his way. The stranger moved out of view when Kate focused the office opposite her with its sign that read: Solicitor.

Her cheeks flushed with warmth at the familiar shingle swinging gently on its rusted hooks. Kate need not stand below it to know it creaked softly as it moved in the breeze.

How many mornings had she watched Mr. Stuart arrive at his office in his fancy enclosed coach? How many times had she rushed to the window in her bedchamber in hopes of catching a glimpse of the man as he departed at the end of the day? How many days had she been disappointed when he hadn’t arrived to work at all?

Far too many to count, Kate feared.

Mr. Joshua Stuart was a properly learned man who had studied law at Oxford.

Kate was merely the daughter of a lowly vicar and a school teacher, educated enough to teach the basics of arithmetic, spelling, and geography, but not sufficiently learned for University.

Despite both of their presences in Cheapside, they were not part of the same world.