Barbara Metzger by Miss Lockharte's Letters

Author:Miss Lockharte's Letters [Letters, Miss Lockharte's]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-12-17T08:36:41+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Miss Mirabel Merrihew made it a practice to know all about the ton. She knew she wouldn't let the harebrained Heatherstone twins near any of her girls. She was not being paid, and handsomely at that, to let the darling daughters of society mingle with basket-scramblers, her brother excluded, of course, being in the clergy.

What Miss Merrihew did not know about the Heatherstone brothers was if they had a sister or a cousin they wished to enroll in her academy, so she agreed to see them, despite the day's perturbation. There was nothing more she could do about the Lockharte female anyway. Miss Merrihew had already put a flea in Jonas's ear and had even written to notify the school's patron, Lord Vance. Let him take responsibility for a change.

She shooed away the moonstruck maid who brought twin calling cards and frowned a herd of hovering students into retreating up the stairs, before she opened the door to the “good” parlor, the one the students never saw except on visiting days. Two equine-odored gentlemen sprang to their feet, leaving muddy footprints on her Turkish carpet. One was holding his wet hat; the other was holding what appeared to be a wet dead squirrel. At her pointed glare he stuffed the sodden pelt inside his equally sodden waistcoat.

Most people, seeing the matching redheads with their freckles and grins, were usually charmed into a smile. Miss Merrihew was not charmed and never wasted smiles on any but the most influential of customers. She was sorry, in fact, that she'd wasted her courtesies on that dreadful viscount. She was not about to look with favor on two caper-wits who rode in open carriages on rainy days. If they could not afford a coach, she could not afford the time. They had better have two sisters.

"Yes, gentlemen, what may I do for you? I am particularly busy this afternoon."

She was particularly bothered by their request to see Miss Lockharte. What could these two flash coves want with a nondescript social outcast who worked for a living? She wondered where the showy Bond Street beaux had so much as come upon the problematic miss. Miss Merrihew knew for a fact that Miss Lockharte had not received communication from them, or any other gentlemen, in the years she had been at the academy. Miss Merrihew would have read the letter first.

Even more worrisome to the headmistress was the notion that the chit was so well connected. First Stanford, now these lesser sprigs of the nobility. Miss Lockharte was even more dangerous to Miss Merrihew and her school.

Eyes narrowed to slits, Miss Merrihew asked her callers, “What did you wish to speak to Miss Lockharte about, sirs? I cannot imagine you are acquainted."

"It's personal,” one of the twins answered.

"Private,” the other echoed.

"I see,” she said, seeing nothing but more trouble ahead. “Well, you cannot speak with Miss Lockharte, for she is gone."

"Gone?” Tom repeated, while his brother cried, “Gone? You mean we're too late? Damn, we're sunk!"

"No, we're soldiers.

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