Barbara Metzger Read Online Free Page B

consider terminating your employment altogether.”
    There it was then, Cristabel’s choice, and she didn’t even hesitate. If Cristabel had paused, had thought about the gamble she was taking, she knew she wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do it. She did it.
    “I am going to London, to see my uncle’s man of business as soon as arrangements can be made.”
    While Miss Swann stood calmly, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, the headmistress grew proportionately more disturbed. Miss Meadow pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, making her resemble a petulant peahen more than ever. She flapped her pudgy hands in the air before holding them up and enumerating her points on the fleshy fingers. “Number one,” she squawked, “if you leave, do not expect to return. Two, do not expect a reference. Three, do not expect this quarter’s wages, since you have not finished the term. And four, do not expect that I shall regret your departure.”
    “I thought you were satisfied with my work. I am sorry.”
    “Sorry? We’ll see who’s sorry! Or did you think I couldn’t find someone else to replace you as music instructor? There’s many a gentlewoman who could fill your position admirably, young lady, and thank me for the chance.”
    That this was patently untrue—that there were many, or any other wellborn ladies who would perform Miss Swann’s duties so well, so cheaply, and so uncomplainingly—did not bother the angry old besom, as long as Miss Swann believed it. Cristabel did believe that the pupils would hardly notice if an orangutan were instructing them at the pianoforte. The younger girls pounded out their endless scales, unmercifully. The older ones got through their requisite Handel pieces so they might appear accomplished at house parties. Perhaps an ape would have better luck teaching them to appreciate the music, or even read the score, when they could barely get through
La Belle Assemblee
without referring to the pictures.
    A replacement harpist might be a rarer commodity, and Miss Meadow did like the image of her pupils, dressed all in white, performing for Patron Days. Still, Cristabel was sure the threat was true: she would be replaced before she reached London, and some other poor unfortunate would be helping those spoiled darlings look like angels—on her harp! The instrument had been Cristabel’s mother’s and had been one reason for her finding employment at such an early age. It had also been used and abused, scuffed, and strummed to shrieking by seven years of careless girls, for free.
    Cristabel smiled. She actually grinned, erasing the frown lines and momentarily changing the drawn, tired woman into a charming girl. The impertinence of it made Miss Meadow so furious she gobbled down an apricot tart. Cristabel’s words made her choke on it: “I shall remove as soon as I can pack my belongings and arrange transport to London for myself…and the harp.”
    “The harp?” Crumbs spewed all over. The beaky mouth twisted into a grimace. “Miss Swann, sometimes I forget the impetuosity of youth. I shall permit you twenty-four hours to reconsider this rash decision. I shall also expect an apology on my desk tomorrow evening, then we may consider the matter finished. I suggest you retire now and deliberate on your future.”
    Cristabel curtsied. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Twenty-four hours. One day.
    “Godfrey,” she called out to the half-deaf night porter stationed by the front door, “I need a hackney carriage to take me to the nearest posting house. Tell the driver to be here in an hour.” Just in case Godfrey hadn’t heard, or any of those touseled heads now leaning over the upstairs railing, or Miss Meadow herself, cramming tea cakes down her throat, Cristabel repeated, only louder and slower: “I need a carriage. Going to London. In one hour.”
    “Are you really leaving, Miss Swann?” one of the dormitory girls wanted to know.
    “Yes, I am traveling to