Death of a Duchess by Nellie Steele (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📗

it. Instead, she viewed it as abnormal, evil, a thing to be reviled. Her attitudes regarding my capabilities with the dead led her to treat me as subhuman in many instances.

Still, in this moment, as uneasiness bordering on fear flashed through her eyes, I experienced only empathy for the woman. “Thank you, Headmistress Williamson,” I replied. “Please let us consider the matter concluded.”

Headmistress Williamson glanced to Robert, her eyes questioning his evaluation of her performance. “My wife is most gracious,” he noted.

“Indeed,” Headmistress Williamson breathed. “Again, I meant no disrespect.”

“Understood, though in the future,” Robert responded, “you may consider exercising greater judgement in your behavior. You oversee the development of several young women who should be taught better judgement than you displayed.”

“Indeed,” the headmistress repeated.

Robert nodded his head at her. “We shall take up no more of your time, Headmistress Williamson. Come, Lenora.”

Headmistress Williamson stood as I did. “Perhaps an arrangement can still be made…” Headmistress Williamson began.

Robert turned back toward her. “That will not be necessary,” Robert replied. “We have made other arrangements. I am afraid you may be correct in your assessment that girls from your school would not fit within our household.”

“I see,” the headmistress responded. “Then perhaps you would consider a…”

Robert interrupted her for the third time. “A donation?” he inquired.

Headmistress Williamson paused a moment. “It would further the girls’ educations so that perhaps we would provide a more appropriate match for households such as yours in the future.”

Robert considered her request for a moment. “I leave the decision of your request to my wife,” Robert answered, setting his gaze on me.

I glanced between the two of them before responding. “I am sure the girls here would benefit from a donation,” I responded.

Robert nodded. “I shall see that my man provides you a generous donation within the week, headmistress. Good day.” Robert drew me through the door, guiding me across the foyer.

“Thank you!” Headmistress Williamson called from behind her desk. “We are most grateful!” Her voice echoed in the entryway as we departed the building. We descended the stairs, climbing into the carriage, and set off.

As the carriage pulled away, I glanced to Robert. “You are more generous than I am, Lenora,” he admitted.

“That was unnecessary,” I replied. “I do not mean to be ungrateful nor lecture you, though I did not require an apology for her poor behavior.”

“Require or not, you deserved one. I cannot imagine how you tolerated that woman for over ten years.”

“I had little choice,” I conceded. “One becomes accustomed to their surroundings and learns to accept them.”

“One should never accept such poor treatment.”

“Which is why I chose generosity. Those girls do not have a choice to accept their lives or not.”

Robert gazed at me a moment. “The wisdom you display at your young age is a constant surprise to me.”

“I have a significant advantage,” I quipped, referencing my ability.

Robert smiled at my attempt at humor. “Well, at the very least, she should not trouble you any further if you have any future dealings with her. Though I would not recommend it.”

I smiled and nodded at him, settling back into my seat for the journey.

Chapter 7

As the carriage rumbled along beneath me, a smile crossed my face as the notion of us inching closer to Blackmoore Castle, my home, swirled in my mind. My thoughts turned from my impending arrival at home to the life I’d left behind. The confrontation with Headmistress Williamson frothed in my mind. Competing memories fought for my attention. I replayed the conversation between my husband and the headmistress over. Despite the harrowing years spent at the orphanage, I’d experienced compassion for her in that moment. With the reputation of the orphanage on the line, she had been backed into a corner and forced to apologize. I doubted the sincerity of the apology, but she had still made it, if only to save her own job.

My mind regressed further, pouring over that decade spent at St. Mary’s. Following the unceremonious drop off by my previous guardians, who imparted the details of my mysterious affliction to the headmistress, I had endured less than pleasant treatment. Headmistress Williamson viewed my special talent as a curse. I spent my first night in the orphanage in the attic. No bed existed at that time in the attic of St. Mary’s. Instead, I spent a chilly night on the floor, a tattered blanket the only item offered to me. I curled under it as tears spilled down my cheeks. A second time abandoned in less than two years, I, a child of seven, struggled to accept my fate.

As I sobbed, a woman, appearing aged and frail, approached. She pulled me into her arms, drying my tears with the papery skin on her fingers. She possessed surprising strength for a woman of her age. I buried my face in her bosom, weeping as she pulled me close. She offered no warmth, but the comfort of her presence soothed me enough to sleep.

The next morning when I awoke, prodded by a stick I would later be struck with for oversleeping, I confessed my midnight visitor. I inquired about her, hoping she would be a teacher there, some kind soul I could draw strength from. After providing a careful description of the woman several times, I managed to raise Headmistress Williamson’s ire. She slapped me, calling me a wicked child and scolded me about the evils of lying.

“I’m not lying!” I cried, my face smarting from the crisp smack.

“You are you wicked child!” she screamed at me, her face red and twisted with fury.

“I am not!” I insisted, a tear escaping my eye and sliding down my cheek.

Another slap landed across the other cheek as I sniveled. “You are lying, admit it. Admit it, Lenora! Say you are lying, and you will spare yourself some of the further punishment you will receive for your wicked ways.”

I remained silent, sniffling and choking back sobs. “Stop your sniveling, you wicked brat. If anyone should shed tears,