The French Gentleman was not the only one who received Sara's smiles and good thoughts as she walked through the square every day.
The Large Family was still an object of wistful fascination for Sara. Over the years, she had learned that the family's actual name was Carmichael. In her heart, she still called them The Large Family, partly because there were still so many of them, but also because they all seemed to have such large hearts full of happiness and love for each other.
The oldest girl, whom Sara had always called Veronica Eustacia, but whose real name was Janet, had recently married. Her sister Rosalind Gladys (though more prosaically known as Nora to her family) was enjoying the London season, and Sara would occasionally catch a glimpse of her getting into the family's carriage, beautifully dressed and with shining hair elegantly done up.
Sara's own hair was too wild for her to do anything more than braid it and pin it up. Once in a great while, she wondered how her French maid Mariette would have styled her hair. Sara now knew all too well how difficult life could be for a servant and sincerely hoped that Mariette had found a good position after being dismissed by Miss Minchin on the day they received the news of Captain Crewe's death.
Little Guy Clarence, or Donald to everyone else, was also no longer home on a regular basis, for he was now away at school. Secretly, Sara had always held him in a special place in her heart after that winter's day when he had given her his Christmas sixpence, thinking she was a hungry beggar.
One day, not long after the incident with the monkey, Sara walked by The Large Family's house on her way to the butcher shop, and she saw a carriage draw up and Guy Clarence alight from it.
"He must be home from school for the Christmas holidays," she thought. "He looks quite well, if a bit tired. I suppose he must have had a long journey. I believe he has grown again. I am sure of it! He is much taller than I am now. I suppose he could not have stayed little forever, but how funny it is to see people stretch before your very eyes!"
Returning to the seminary's kitchen, Sara found Cook complaining to the kitchen maid about Miss Amelia's desire for goose for Christmas dinner.
"Greasy things to cook, them is!" Cook declared, her red cheeks puffing out in indignation. "But, Miss Amelia has her heart set on it, and for once, the mistress don't seem likely to object."
For once, Sara sympathized with Cook. She did not care for goose, either, especially when her portion of the goose to share with Becky would be the greasiest, gristliest part of the leftovers.
When Cook wasn't looking, Becky smirked at Sara and rolled her eyes. Sara hid a laugh and laid her parcels on the kitchen table. She hurried back upstairs to take up her post supervising tea time in the school room for the little ones.
Parents had begun to arrive that afternoon to collect their children and take them home for the holidays. Full of the festive spirit and excitement of going home, the school room was in a pleasant uproar, quite unlike the sedate tea times Sara usually superintended.
"Oh, your papa has come?" Sara exclaimed as one of her young charges ran up to her and hugged her goodbye. "Have a very Merry Christmas, dear little Ethel!"
"Merry Christmas, Miss Sara," the little girl replied, squeezing her fiercely one more time before dashing out of the room.
Sara stood watching after Ethel, lost in thought. She was trying to remember the last Christmas with her own dear papa. It had been in India, and the air had been warm and full of spices.
"I can see why my daughter simply raves about you."
Sara jumped at the voice close to her ear. Spinning around, she found herself face-to-face with a man she knew by sight but not by name.
"I…I beg your pardon, sir," she stammered, curtseying and taking a step back. "You have me at a disadvantage. Which of my pupils is your daughter?"
The man removed his top hat and set it down on one of the desks. He took a step toward her.
"Charlotte Blandings," the man replied. "She assured me many times that 'Miss Sara' was all that was good and kind and intelligent. She forgot to mention, however, that 'Miss Sara' is also all that is lovely."
"Indeed, Mr. Blandings," Sara said, moving to pick up a dropped ribbon as a way of putting distance between them again. "It is Charlotte who is a lovely girl. She has quite a talent for drawing."
"I believe that Charlotte would benefit a great deal from more personal instruction," Mr. Blandings said, once again coming toward her.
"I'm sure if you spoke with Miss Minchin that additional time with the drawing master could be arranged." Sara fought to keep her voice level, even as her heart was beating too fast.
"Perhaps. But, perhaps we might come to a more…agreeable arrangement between ourselves?"
Sara stared at him, dumbfounded. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for this. Mr. Blandings was standing too close to her. She did not like the look in his eye. But, she was trapped. She could not abandon a schoolroom full of students to get away from him. If Miss Minchin found her out, she would be dismissed. Yet, if she tried to tell the man she did not appreciate his forwardness, he might complain to Miss Minchin, and she would be dismissed.
"I am sorry, sir," Sara said, standing up very straight and attempting to be as dignified as possible. "But, you must take the matter up with Miss Minchin. I have no authority in such matters."
"Ah," Mr. Blandings said, surreptitiously backing her into a desk and leaving her no way of escape. "But, I should particularly like to negotiate with you."
"You'll, um, excuse me, sir, but I must attend to the students," Sara gasped, trying to wriggle past him, only to find his hand on her arm, holding her firmly.
"I'm afraid I must insist on discussing Charlotte's progress more fully," he said, a wicked smile on his lips.
"What is the meaning of this?"
For the first time in her life, Sara was positively glad to see Miss Minchin standing in the doorway to the schoolroom. Her face was twisted in fury, and her eyes were narrowed with something close to hate in them.
"Miss Sara and I were simply discussing Charlotte's studies," Mr. Blandings said nonchalantly, releasing Sara's arm and turning to face the woman. "Do you have any objection to me speaking with my daughter's instructor, especially considering that my wife also referred the Windemere's daughter to your seminary?"
Sara watched, horrified, as Miss Minchin blanched visibly, her rage barely contained.
"No, of course not, Mr. Blandings," Miss Minchin said, her voice still ragged from anger. "I merely came to inform you that Charlotte is ready and that your carriage is at the door."
He glanced at the older woman, then turned back to Sara and gave her a deliberately lecherous smile. "Excellent. I shall look forward to continuing my conversation with Miss Sara when I return Charlotte in a few weeks."
With that, he picked up his top hat and strode out of the schoolroom.
"My study. Now!" Miss Minchin snapped before turning and walking away.
Shaking, Sara made to follow her.
"I always tried to imagine what it must have felt like for aristocrats to ride the tumbril to the guillotine," she thought, trying to summon her courage. "I suppose now I know."
Somehow, that didn't make her feel any better about the fate that awaited her.