Clara Harlow turned with a smile to her student, a fond scolding in her expression. “Comment dire ‘ça,’ Caro. The word you are wanting to use is ça.”
The girl nodded obediently even as her brow creased with thought. “Comment dire ça, Mademoiselle Harlow?” she asked again, pointing to the passage in their assigned reading.
Clara came over to her, peering over her shoulder. “Ah. Fourrure,” she said clearly, emphasizing the difficult word as succinctly as possible. “La fourrure. Que pensez-vous que ce mot est?”
Caro returned her attention to the words and read the line again, her lips moving on each word, the barely audible breath of her voice still fumbling over pronunciation. “Fur?” she finally asked Clara aloud.
“Très bien, Caro,” Clara praised, nodding in encouragement. “Continue à lire.” Caro beamed at her, then turned fully to her book once more.
Relief cascaded down Clara’s spine as she turned away from the girl and continued to move about the classroom. Caro was one of the scholarship girls at the Miss Masters’ Finishing School, which meant she had no fortune, no status, and no education beyond what she had been given since being brought into their fold. She was one of their star pupils for the rudimentary Rothchild Scholarship Academy and had exceeded anyone’s expectations for what she might have accomplished.
At fourteen, she was still behind what other girls her age of a more elevated station were capable of, but in a year or two, that gap would close.
Educationally, at least.
It wasn’t always easy for the parents of their upper-class students to accept that there would be students of lower stations receiving the same education and sharing the same meals as their daughters. There had been some rather disgruntled moments surrounding the principle, in fact, though Miss Masters had always intended the school to serve the spectrum of classes when she founded it. She certainly had never been intimidated by the complaints of powerful families and had never been ashamed of what they did for the less fortunate.
Miss Bradford, the current headmistress, was just as committed to the cause, and even less likely to be intimidated.
Clara, for one, always felt the desire to give a little more attention to the girls who had to overcome so much to gain their education. Having once been of high station, and then being forced into diminished circumstances, she fully comprehended just how vast the separation between stations could be.
Why couldn’t a girl like Caro become one of the most educated women England had ever seen? She’d likely never be hailed for such things, but it would be a triumph, nevertheless. She could one day teach here or become a governess to the wealthy and powerful families who had objected to her education in the first place. There was a certain distinction that came with completing one’s education at Miss Masters’, and their placement of scholarship girls had, to this day, been perfect.
Not one girl had left without gainful employment.
Not even one.
Those of high standing, obviously, needed no such placement, but they were considered the most accomplished of ladies, there was no doubt.
It was an establishment Clara was proud to be part of, and she felt gratitude for her good fortune daily.
Her life could have been so much worse.
“Pardon me, Miss Harlow.”
A voice from the door brought Clara around to see one of the most senior students at the school standing there, fingers clasped before her, the very picture of composed dignity.
Considering the girl had been quite a ragamuffin only a few years before, the change was astonishing.
“Yes, Martha, what is it?” Clara inquired as she crossed to her.
Martha bobbed a quick curtsey. “Miss Bradford has asked to see you, Miss Harlow. In her office, if you please.”
Clara nodded at the request. “Class ends in a few minutes. Would you tell Miss Bradford I should like to wait to dismiss my class, and then I will come straightaway?”
“Of course, Miss Harlow.” Martha curtseyed again. “Je vais lui dire tout de suite.”
The perfection in her accent warmed Clara’s heart and she nodded in approval. “Très bien dit, Martha. Merci.”
Martha smiled and left.
There was no telling what Miss Bradford could want, but there was nothing to fear from her. It was customary for the headmistress to request to speak with any or all of the teachers at a moment’s notice. While she maintained her position of authority, Miss Bradford also took great care that her teachers felt themselves part of a family of sorts. She