Among the Darkness Stirs

The woman studied her closely. “Where do you come from?”

Audrey swallowed. “Kingsdown in Kent.”

“Quite far from Norwich.”

“It is.”

“And you’ve never been employed before. Ever.” Again, the words came out as a statement, not a question. “Strange that they should agree to place an inexperienced girl in the workhouse as schoolmistress.” Matron eyed Audrey and then looked down at the piece of paper she had taken from the folder.

“I’m eager to make a suc

cess of it,” Audrey assured her.

“You attended Queen’s College.”

“I did.”

“Unusual for a woman to have a college education.” Like her mother, the woman didn’t sound all that impressed with the idea.

“My father wished it, as did I,” Audrey said coolly.

“You’re in mourning.” She looked at the black gown Audrey wore.

Audrey beat back the swell of sadness at thinking about her father. “For my father.”

“I’ve met Mr. Ryland several times over the years. He seems a good man of good character and judgement. So, I’m at a loss as to why he would choose you as our schoolmistress,” Matron spoke plainly.

Audrey refused to squirm, even though the woman made her nervous. “I cannot say, madame.”

“Hmmm,” Matron returned. “The schoolmistress is not a comfortable position where you take tea and crumpets on the lawn whilst you teach a bit here and there such as you might do as a governess in a fine house.”

“That’s not what I imagined it to be either,” Audrey said, irritated that the older woman assumed she was of a frivolous nature.

“Good. Because although you are not an inmate and are highly regarded as the schoolmistress, the work can be difficult,” she told her.

Audrey straightened her spine. She wasn’t afraid of hard work. “I expected as much.”

“The children come from difficult circumstances. Poverty, abuse, neglect are common occurrences in the homes. They go hand in hand with the hardships these families face and the workhouse. Mr. Meacham, the Master, and I run a tight ship. It is not cruelty. Those who pay to keep the workhouse going do not wish to see people here year after year resting on their laurels. This isn’t charity. That won’t do. Our job is to provide them food and a roof whilst they perform work until they leave. Thus, the name. Work. House.”

“I understand, Matron.”

“The children who come here will be under your care. I understand Mr. Ryland gave you a list of your duties?” she asked.

“He did.” Audrey thought back to the list.

“You’ve reviewed them.”

“I have.” She had several times, in fact.

“Very good. I suggest you map out a plan for the next month of what you plan to teach. At this time, we currently have sixty-seven children in the workhouse, ranging in age from five to fourteen.”

“Sixty-seven?” Audrey asked, shocked at the number. She hadn’t expected so many.

The Matron gave her an impatient look. “We have over five hundred inmates at Bowthorpe, Ms. Wakefield.”

“Of course,” she replied.

“It stands to reason a certain percentage will be children who do not work but attend school. In the past, we have split the boys and girls, and a schoolmistress would see to the girls, while a schoolmaster saw to the boys. However, we are understaffed at this time and only have you. But do not fear. We will rotate the classes,” Matron told her, shuffling the papers around.