Read Online The Runaway McBride by Elizabeth Thornton - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
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that will be the problem.”
Her irreverent snort turned into a chuckle. “Very true,” she remarked with a sideways glance at her nephew, “but at the end of the day, you must tell me the real reason for this visit to St. Winnifred’s. No. Don’t try to put me off with evasions and half-truths. I think I’ve earned your trust, don’t you?”
The truth, James reflected, would sound absurd. What could he say? That a teacher at the school was in danger and that he was the only one who could save her? That he did not know who or what threatened her and hoped to find some clue at the school to point him in the right direction? His aunt was a Burnett, like his father, and to them the McEcherans were prone to flights of imagination. No. The truth would not do.
Conscious of the gleam of speculation in his aunt’s eyes, he replied easily, “Alex is on a case, and he asked me to keep an eye on one of the teachers. I’m sorry, Aunt, I can’t say more than that.”
She looked as though she would argue the point but merely sighed and shook her head. “You and Alex,” she said. “You always blamed each other when things got sticky. And what do you mean, ‘he’s on a case’? Is it true what they say? Does he work for Scotland Yard?”
James shrugged. “It could be the Special Branch or the War Office. Your guess is as good as mine.”
She opened her mouth, but before she could blister him, a lady with iron-gray hair and penetrating blue eyes called from the top of the stairs. “Mrs. Leyland! It is you, is it not? How do you do? I am Miss Elliot, and I do thank you for coming to speak to our girls.”
The headmistress swooped down and swept Mrs. Leyland up the last few steps and into the school. James followed in their wake.
It was a shameful way to repay Alex for his invaluable advice, James thought with a faint smile, but Alex would have done the same if their positions were reversed. It was Alex who had suggested that Aunt Mariah would be welcomed with open arms at St. Winnifred’s since her name was a household word among women with radical opinions. James was the one who would stick out like a sore thumb.
He must remember to keep his mouth shut.
James was right about his aunt’s aptitude with words. It wasn’t, however, that she didn’t know when to stop so much as her audience would not let her. She was the last speaker and was laying forth on all the exceptional women of the nineteenth century that they should take as their examples, and her audience applauded wildly each time she paused, encouraging her to go on.
This didn’t have the feel of a Speech Day to James, leastways none of the Speech Days he’d attended when he was a schoolboy. He’d once, inadvertently, attended a Methodist revival. The same religious fervor he’d sensed then was present in this hall. The words were different, but the message was the same: “Go forth and make converts.”
All the teachers and girls were sitting in rows facing the lectern, but James’s eyes were trained on Faith. He wasn’t a member of the audience but had positioned himself at the side of the hall so that he could watch her unobserved.
He could tell from her pinched profile that she was aware of his presence. From time to time, she turned her head to speak to her neighbor, but her eyes never lifted to meet his. He recognized her friend but couldn’t put a name to her: Iris? Daisy? Fleur? Something like that. As he remembered, she’d been Faith’s friend when they’d met during the season all those years ago. Her back was to him, but he could read that rigid spine without reference to his psychic powers. Her hostility to him was equal to Faith’s.
It was the person on the other side of Faith that he found irritating: a flaxen-haired gentleman, perhaps a year or two younger than himself, with a mobile mouth that smiled too much. And those smiles were all directed at Faith.
He gave a start when someone touched his arm. Looking down, he saw one
Her irreverent snort turned into a chuckle. “Very true,” she remarked with a sideways glance at her nephew, “but at the end of the day, you must tell me the real reason for this visit to St. Winnifred’s. No. Don’t try to put me off with evasions and half-truths. I think I’ve earned your trust, don’t you?”
The truth, James reflected, would sound absurd. What could he say? That a teacher at the school was in danger and that he was the only one who could save her? That he did not know who or what threatened her and hoped to find some clue at the school to point him in the right direction? His aunt was a Burnett, like his father, and to them the McEcherans were prone to flights of imagination. No. The truth would not do.
Conscious of the gleam of speculation in his aunt’s eyes, he replied easily, “Alex is on a case, and he asked me to keep an eye on one of the teachers. I’m sorry, Aunt, I can’t say more than that.”
She looked as though she would argue the point but merely sighed and shook her head. “You and Alex,” she said. “You always blamed each other when things got sticky. And what do you mean, ‘he’s on a case’? Is it true what they say? Does he work for Scotland Yard?”
James shrugged. “It could be the Special Branch or the War Office. Your guess is as good as mine.”
She opened her mouth, but before she could blister him, a lady with iron-gray hair and penetrating blue eyes called from the top of the stairs. “Mrs. Leyland! It is you, is it not? How do you do? I am Miss Elliot, and I do thank you for coming to speak to our girls.”
The headmistress swooped down and swept Mrs. Leyland up the last few steps and into the school. James followed in their wake.
It was a shameful way to repay Alex for his invaluable advice, James thought with a faint smile, but Alex would have done the same if their positions were reversed. It was Alex who had suggested that Aunt Mariah would be welcomed with open arms at St. Winnifred’s since her name was a household word among women with radical opinions. James was the one who would stick out like a sore thumb.
He must remember to keep his mouth shut.
James was right about his aunt’s aptitude with words. It wasn’t, however, that she didn’t know when to stop so much as her audience would not let her. She was the last speaker and was laying forth on all the exceptional women of the nineteenth century that they should take as their examples, and her audience applauded wildly each time she paused, encouraging her to go on.
This didn’t have the feel of a Speech Day to James, leastways none of the Speech Days he’d attended when he was a schoolboy. He’d once, inadvertently, attended a Methodist revival. The same religious fervor he’d sensed then was present in this hall. The words were different, but the message was the same: “Go forth and make converts.”
All the teachers and girls were sitting in rows facing the lectern, but James’s eyes were trained on Faith. He wasn’t a member of the audience but had positioned himself at the side of the hall so that he could watch her unobserved.
He could tell from her pinched profile that she was aware of his presence. From time to time, she turned her head to speak to her neighbor, but her eyes never lifted to meet his. He recognized her friend but couldn’t put a name to her: Iris? Daisy? Fleur? Something like that. As he remembered, she’d been Faith’s friend when they’d met during the season all those years ago. Her back was to him, but he could read that rigid spine without reference to his psychic powers. Her hostility to him was equal to Faith’s.
It was the person on the other side of Faith that he found irritating: a flaxen-haired gentleman, perhaps a year or two younger than himself, with a mobile mouth that smiled too much. And those smiles were all directed at Faith.
He gave a start when someone touched his arm. Looking down, he saw one
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