Frau Vogel’s mouth snapped shut, and she felt a brief flicker of irritation – she was only trying to help, after all – but she soon discounted it. After all, Lord Covington was always like this. Rude, pig-headed, far too full of his own self-importance – the list could go on. But no matter how odious his personality, the fact was that he was still her employer, and the owner of the school.
The sole owner, soon, Frau Vogel realised with a jolt. She looked over at Lord Covington. They were stood in her office, away from the prying eyes and listening ears of the girls. Lord Covington looked sad, which was to be expected, but also angry. This, too, was hardly out of the realms of normal, but it still sent a shiver of dread down Erminhilt’s spine. She was well aware that Lord Covington didn’t like her – she wasn’t entirely sure why, because she’d always made sure to be polite and respectful, but if she had to guess she’d say her being German certainly didn’t help matters.
Lord Covington began to speak again.
“As you know, it has always been my wife’s dream to start this school.” He glanced around, his eyes catching the multitude of papers pinned up on one of the walls – art projects from the girls, mostly, with a few written compositions as well – and his lip curled slightly. He turned his attention back to Erminhilt. “However, it is not mine.”
“I see, sir.”
Lord Covington was now examining his pristine white gloves – Erminhilt would have liked to think that it was an admittance of some level of shame over his next announcement, but in reality Erminhilt knew that it was far more likely to simply be an indicator of Lord Covington’s deep disinterest in the subject. She sighed.
“As such, upon my wife’s… death,” he said, seemingly struggling with the final part of that sentence, “I will be selling this house, and closing the school.”
There was a moment of silence, as Erminhilt’s stomach slowly filled with ice. “I’m – I’m sorry, sir?” she asked faintly. “You’re closing the school?”
“Yes, I believe that’s what I just said,” nodded Lord Covington, still straightening his gloves.
“But…” Erminhilt’s thoughts were whirling at a million miles per hour. She couldn’t believe this. “But, sir, what about the girls?”
“They can return to their families,” answered Lord Covington, employing the sort of patronising, know-it-all tone that men used when they had no experience or knowledge of a matter but thought that they did, “And I’m sure you can find a convent somewhere.”
That still leaves Bunty, Erminhilt thought, but didn’t bother voicing that statement. She was well aware that Bunty was the only person in the school that Lord Covington like less than her.
“But, sir,” she said, trying her best to stay calm, “The girls are all orphans. That’s why the school was founded in the first place.”
Lord Covington rolled his eyes. “Then they can go to an orphanage!” he answered impatiently. “Is that not what we pay taxes for?” He finally stopped straightening his gloves, and grasped his walking stick. “Now, I really must be going.”
Hopefully straight to hell, is Erminhilt’s immediate thought, before she reminds herself that she’s a nun and therefore is meant to be forgiving and kind and charitable, etcetera. Even when speaking to thoroughly detestable old men who deserved a good kick in the backside. She took a deep breath, and stepped aside to open the door to Lord Covington.
“Of course, sir,” she said, hopefully managing to keep most of her anger out of her voice. “Here, let me show you to the door.”
Lord Covington sniffed, but allowed her to show him all the way to the door, shutting the door sharply behind him. Erminhilt took a deep, shuddery breath, and blinked rapidly, leaning back against the door and burying her face in her hands. Upstairs, she could hear the noise rising, suggesting that Bunty’s control of the class had once again descended into something more like a minor uprising than a peaceful learning environment.
She took another deep breath and stood. She had things to do – there was no point dwelling on the matter. She had twelve girls to take care of.
