When the meal was finished, Mrs. Randall and Hazel retired to the drawing room so the men might enjoy their port.
“I am very glad we have the chance to speak alone, Mrs. Penhale. I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”
“Me?” Hazel said as she lowered into her chair.
“For my rudeness, when I visited you last week.”
“You were not—”
Mrs. Randall put up her hand, and Hazel stopped talking.
“I had recently returned from a visit to my sister, who is . . . rather beastly. My husband reminded me last night that I have brought too much of her home with me. We rather had a row about the fact that I visited you and learned absolutely nothing.”
Hazel remembered Mrs. Randall seeming to be in a hurry that day, but it had not bothered her.
“Please do not worry about that. I did not—”
“I did not want to come,” Mrs. Randall interrupted.
Hazel felt her cheeks pink up.
“Not because of you, dear, just . . .” She sighed. “I had been home only two days, which meant I was still reviewing with rage all the ridiculous conversations I’d had with my sister. Also, I had not yet adjusted back to sleeping in the same bed as Peter—he snores something awful. He was so eager for me to make the visit, but as it was not my idea or priority, I did not put my heart in it.
“Patrick asked me about the visit yesterday evening, and after I recounted it, he told me it sounded as though I had been rude. I snapped at him instead of admitting he was right, and he took offense and so it went. Thus, my apology.”
Hazel suddenly missed having a tea tray to offer up some distraction for the conversation that felt very awkward in the empty parlor. “Mrs. Randall, you do not owe me anything. Morning visits are new to me, and I had no expectation. Please do not worry over it; I assure you that I have not.”
Mrs. Randall took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you.” She smiled. “You held your own in the dinner conversation tonight, which is impressive. Patrick told me you are a former teacher. If I’d been the least bit gracious, I’d have heard as much from you, but now I have the chance to remedy everything I missed. Begin with where you were born and tell me your story.”
Hazel hesitated, but then told her “story” as directed. Mrs. Randall asked thought-provoking questions, and somehow the conversation easily turned to the idea for the parlor school.
“And what will you teach them exactly?” Mrs. Randall asked.
“Letters and numbers to start. I understand many of the girls are destined to service but—”
“The ability to read could put them in reach of a position as a lady’s maid or even a housekeeper one day,” Mrs. Randall interrupted, her eyes brightening.
“Exactly what Duncan said,” Hazel said.
Mrs. Randall nodded, thoughtful. “What age will you teach?”
“Well, I think eight should be the youngest. I do not have much room for behavior modification.”
“And the oldest end of the spectrum?”
“As old as they come to me, I suppose,” Hazel said. “I understand many girls enter service before they are sixteen, so I imagine I will not have many who are older than that, but if there are some who are available and willing, I shall teach them all.”
“And what of grown women?”
“I had not considered that,” Hazel said slowly. Education was for young minds, or so she had always believed, but teaching grown women was an intriguing proposition. “I shall need to determine how many students I can accommodate before I begin to seek them out, but I am not opposed to teaching grown women, so long as they can make the commitment to come regularly and are willing to be taught alongside girls and younger women.” She paused, feeling conspicuous with her theories and ideas. “That is assuming I find any students at all. Mrs. Marcum visited before Christmas and seemed to think educating girls was a rather silly goal.”
“Mrs. Marcum is not the sort of woman who will support an endeavor like this.”
Hazel looked at Mrs. Randall, a woman at least thirty years her senior. “And you are?”
Mrs. Randall smiled widely. “I grew up a farmer’s daughter. I knew my numbers and measures and enough letters to get by, but I married far above myself. A physician. Patrick was educated and confident in ways I had never seen. I shall ever be grateful to have had the chance to rise with his station as I did.
“We raised three children—two boys and a girl. The boys went to the parish school, attending with Duncan for a time, and then Jeffery went to university like his father, and Lindon chose to go into the church. We could not afford to send Regina to a private school. She was our eldest child and still young when Patrick began his profession. I tried to do the teaching, but I knew I could not give her the quality education I had hoped to.
“She married a merchant and is quite happy in her life, but I am frustrated by the limits it passed on to her. Her eldest daughter is nearly four, and I am watching the same patterns play out with her that played out with me. So, yes, I am the sort of woman who will support an endeavor like this. How can I help?”
“I did not expect such an answer as that.” This was the first real conversation she’d had with another woman since coming to Ipswich.
Mrs. Randall smiled. “I like the idea of surprising you, but truly, what do you need?”
“Students, I suppose. I am unsure how to find them. I only want to teach those who want to be taught.”
Mrs. Randall nodded, then stood and walked to the bellpull. “Finding students will not be difficult.”
Corinne entered the room so quickly Hazel suspected she may have been listening in the hallway.
“Ma’am?”
“How many nieces do you have now?” Mrs. Randall asked.
Corinne hesitated, looking between Hazel and Mrs. Randall before answering. “Four, ma’am.”
“And do any of them read?”
Corinne lifted her eyebrows as though she’d never heard the question. “Read?”
“Or write?”
“No, ma’am.”
“And your sister?”
“Diane cannot write either, ma’am. Our father was a fisherman, and our ma died when we were very small.”
“And you, Corinne?”
Corinne’s cheeks turned pink, and Hazel held her breath.
“I have no desire to embarrass you, Corinne, forgive me, but Mrs. Penhale is considering the idea of teaching women and girls to read and write and factor numbers.”