Outside, Stella found Mrs. Symonds waiting with Robin, who was crouched down, examining a bug crawling on the brick wall of the school.
A lump rose up in Stella’s throat again. It wasn’t fair, but she knew what was expected—even if Robin had been the one to start the fight. He was to the manor born, and Bobby was just a little boy with a cook for an aunt.
She put a hand on her nephew’s shoulder. “Bobby, you must apologize to Master Robin and Mrs. Symonds.”
“We’re friends,” said Robin. “I’m going to teach him how to throw a cricket ball.”
“It’s true, Aunt Stella,” said Bobby.
“Well, in that case, it will be even easier for you to both apologize to one another, won’t it?” asked Mrs. Symonds.
The boys muttered hurried, insincere apologies. They weren’t sorry for what they’d done. They were just being boys.
Stella was about to grab Bobby’s hand and say their goodbyes before walking the long way back to the house—alone—when Mrs. Symonds said, “Robin, why don’t you run ahead with Bobby? Miss Adderton and I would like to talk.”
Bobby broke free from Stella’s grasp, laughing as he ran down the pavement with Robin, their friendship newly solidified. Her hand fell away. A child in a cook’s care did not harm the heir of the house. She should’ve reminded Bobby of that, but Stella hadn’t thought it was necessary. The separation between people like Bobby and people like Robin was so great, the rules felt self-evident.
Mrs. Symonds cleared her throat. “Miss Adderton,” she started slowly, “I believe I owe you an apology, even if my son doesn’t seem to think that one is necessary.”
“You? Owe me?” she stumbled in shock.
“I understand the very difficult position that Robin put you in by acting so disgracefully with Bobby. I can assure you that he will receive a fitting punishment.” Mrs. Symonds tilted her head as she watched the boys meander off down the road. “I think that some time spent weeding in the garden would suffice. Two weeks after school should do it, I think. Robin does so hate the wet, and this is such a wet time of year.”
“Could Bobby join him?” Stella asked.
A slight smile touched Mrs. Symonds’s lips. “I’m certain there are more than enough weeds in Highbury for two punishments.”
Mrs. Symonds began to walk, glancing back at Stella as though she expected her to join. Stella frowned deep. The stuck-up, stuffy lady who demanded preposterous things like a cheese soufflé for a Sir Something or Another and his wife wanted to walk with her.
Cautiously Stella followed, and Mrs. Symonds slowed her pace to match Stella’s.
After a few silent minutes, Stella ventured, “If you don’t mind my asking, Mrs. Symonds, do you object to the cane?”
“In schools, in homes, anywhere. I know it’s frequently used, but I don’t ever wish Robin to know it.”
Why? Stella wanted to shout. Why, when in so many other ways Mrs. Symonds seemed traditional to her very core?
“It was my late husband Murray’s wish,” said Mrs. Symonds, as though reading Stella’s mind. “He experienced a particularly brutal beating at his preparatory school. I had no desire to send Robin to such a school, much as my sister-in-law might disagree with me.”
“I see,” Stella said carefully.
“How is Bobby adjusting to life in the country?” Mrs. Symonds asked.
Stella sighed. “He’s clung to me. I think he is shy.”
“He doesn’t seem to be shy around Robin.”
He isn’t old enough to have the good sense to be.
She peered down the pathway to the two boys zigzagging, their arms stretched out like Spitfires. “No, he doesn’t.”
“You have asthma, don’t you? That is why you can’t serve?” Mrs. Symonds asked.
“Yes,” she said, preparing herself for the judgment.
“I’ve never seen Robin run before without becoming winded.”
“Maybe his lungs have grown stronger,” she suggested.
Mrs. Symonds made a noncommittal sound. “Has your sister indicated how long she wishes Bobby to stay at Highbury?”
As though it were anyone’s decision but Mrs. Symonds’s.
“No. Joan isn’t much of a letter writer unless she wants something. I’ve only had two letters since February.” She paused. “I hadn’t seen her since her husband’s funeral.”
“And yet still you took her son,” said Mrs. Symonds.
“Where else would he go?”
But even as she said the words she knew that they were only part of the truth. Yes, Bobby had no other family besides her. And yes, he was just a child. Yet it wasn’t as simple as all of that. If she could, she would be gone from Highbury. She’d take herself off to London, New York, Shanghai—she didn’t care where, so long as it wasn’t Highbury, where everyone knew her and there was no escape.
What she would do when she got there, she still didn’t know.
“This war has brought so much unhappiness, we must do anything we can to shield our children from it,” said Mrs. Symonds.
When she glanced over and found that Mrs. Symonds was gazing at her son, her eyes were blank—almost as though she wasn’t there.
“Master Robin looks very much like his father,” said Stella.
“He does.”
“Mr. Symonds was a kind man,” she offered.
“He was,” said his widow with a nod. “Some decency left the world the day he was killed, and the world needs decency right now. The convalescent home, for instance. He would have been delighted that the house had become a place of rest and recuperation for so many men. All I can see is the invasion of my home. I did ask Cynthia to speak to Mrs. George about respecting your needs, by the way.”
Stella jerked back in surprise. “You did?”
Mrs. Symonds shot a smile—tiny but sly—at her. “Some battlefields must not be lost. Given the state of rations these days, I am happy to declare the kitchen one of them.”
Stella was struck by the warmth of Mrs. Symonds’s gesture.
“If I might be so bold, madam, I think Mr. Symonds would want you to be happy.”
Something in the air shifted, and she could see Mrs. Symonds’s back straighten.
“Miss Adderton, you overstep,” Mrs. Symonds snapped. And once again, the walls were in place, the boundaries clear. One of them was the employer, and one of them was the cook.
“I do apologize. I—It’s only that I—” She tried to string together the right words.
“I expect dinner will be served at half past seven, as usual,” Mrs. Symonds said before marching off and leaving Stella very much on her own on the last strip of pavement before the village gave way to the road to Highbury House.
SPRING
• EMMA •
APRIL 2021
Due to necessary cuts across the foundation, we have decided to place the Head of Conservation position on hold indefinitely. This is in no way a reflection of the selection committee’s feelings about you as a candidate. Indeed, please accept my personal apology…
Emma gave the email from the Royal Botanical Heritage Society’s executive director one last scan and then locked her phone. After almost three months without a word, she wasn’t exactly surprised that the position had been effectively eliminated, but it still stung that they had made her wait so long to find out. She knew she’d been a good candidate.