My mind whirred with possibilities, as I clearly couldn't exit here. I could try to sneak past Dolge and Sweeny in the loading area, but there was a good chance Turnbull would work his way down there to question them, and I really wished to avoid running into him.
Which left the east entrance. Not to be deterred from my visit to Wigmere, I ran to that side of the museum. Unfortunately I didn't have enough money on me for a cab, which meant I would have to walk—very quickly. I opened the door, my mind full of all that I needed to tell Wigmere, only to run smack into Miss Sharpe, who was standing just outside, trying to catch her breath.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Foiled Again
"MISS SHARPE!" My heart sank all the way to my toes.
She smiled at me. "That's right. Have you forgotten we're to start our lessons today?"
Of course I had, but I didn't want to say so. "Not at all. In fact, I was coming here so I could greet you when you arrived." How on earth was I going to get word to Wigmere with Miss Sharpe hanging around my neck like an albatross all day?
"That was very kind of you. And I'm sorry I'm late, but I thought we were to meet at your house this morning and do our lessons there, as your grandmother had wanted to get you out of this stuffy old museum."
Well, she was exactly right. Grandmother had planned for us to conduct our studies at home, until I'd persuaded her otherwise.
"May I come in?" Miss Sharpe asked.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course!" As I stood aside to let her in, a movement in the bushes caught my eye. Surely the Grim Nipper couldn't have made it over here already? But no. I could tell by the reddish brown jersey and waterproof cap it was only a public sweeper. Although what he was sweeping over there in the bushes, I had no idea.
The sweeper caught me watching him and winked.
Embarrassed, I started to turn away, then caught sight of the bright blue eyes hidden under the lip of the cap.
Will. In yet another disguise.
As Miss Sharpe shrugged out of her wrap, I motioned frantically at Will to let him know I had a message for Wigmere. He jerked his head in Miss Sharpe's direction and shrugged.
He was right. He couldn't approach me while she was around. This was getting more complicated by the minute.
"Theodosia? What are you doing?"
"Oh, I was just enjoying the feel of the morning air."
"Well, do close the door before one of those hideous newspapermen finds his way over here."
"Of course, Miss Sharpe." I resigned myself to a long, frustrating morning.
"Is there a place for us to begin our lessons?"
There was only one place, really. "Yes. The reading room should be perfect. Hardly anyone ever goes in there."
"Excellent. Will you show me the way? Your grandmother mentioned something about an essay you were writing."
"Yes, but I've only just started it."
"Even so, I look forward to seeing it. I would like to examine a sample of your writing skills and penmanship."
Bother. I'd have to be more careful about tossing Grandmother excuses in the future.
When we reached the reading room, I turned up the lights and stepped aside. Miss Sharpe looked around the room. "I think over in that corner will do nicely," she said.
I followed her over and took a seat. She gave me a quick, fierce perusal, then frowned. "Come here, Theodosia. Let me get a better look at you." She grabbed my hand and pulled me directly into the light, her eyes widening in faint horror. "Oh, my! This will never do. It looks as if you slept in your clothes! Look how wrinkled and mussed they are."
Her eyes moved from my frock up to my face. She shook her head. "You look like a beggar child! Has no one ever taught you to wash in the morning? Or to run a comb through your hair? I'm afraid your grandmother doesn't understand how dire your manners and behavior truly are."
I was very hot under the collar by this point, and my cheeks were burning. I started to explain that I had indeed slept in my clothes, but something about Miss Sharpe's pursed mouth bade me hold my tongue. She'd already made it clear that she thought my parents were severely lacking, and I'd no wish to give her any additional ammunition on that score.
"Have you nothing to say for yourself, Theodosia?"
"Our maid is ill," I lied, "and the ironing isn't getting done."
"But how does that explain your shocking filth?"
Shocking filth? I'd just forgotten to wash my face, for goodness sake. "I was in a hurry?"
"Lazy is more like it. Well, excellent. This presents us with our first opportunity for a good lesson. Come with me." Once again she grabbed my hand and began pulling me along behind her.
"Where are we going?"
She looked back over her shoulder at me. "Ah, ah, ah! You have not been spoken to." She held up her thumb and index finger as a reminder, and I clamped my mouth shut.
Moments later we reached the lavatory, where Miss Sharpe dragged me over to the sink. She snatched one of the coarse hand towels from the shelf and thrust it at me. "Now wash."
Resentment at being treated like a four-year-old bubbled inside me. It made it worse that I did indeed need a wash, but when one is woken up by police pounding on the door, one doesn't really have time for such niceties. I glared at Miss Sharpe.
Faster than I could have blinked, her wretched hand darted out and pinched me on the arm. I bit my tongue, refusing to make a sound no matter how much it had hurt.
Miss Sharpe dimpled and shook her head. "I would so hate to have to contact your grandmother about this, Theodosia. I don't think you realize how dire your situation is. If I can't bring you to hand, you will be shipped off to Miss Grimstone's School for Wayward Girls. Is that really what you want?"
I felt all the blood drain from my face. Even I, with my limited knowledge of schools, had heard warnings of that place. Trust Grandmother to have picked the most wretched school available. And she would make sure my parents did it, too. Recognizing defeat—at least for the moment—I wet the towel and scrubbed at my face. As horrid as Miss Sharpe was, it did feel good to have a wash. When I was done, I folded the towel and went to place it on the sink.
"Again," Miss Sharpe said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Again. You will wash your face twenty times this morning so you will not forget again."
Not believing my ears, I stared at her.
She reached out and delicately straightened one of her cuffs. "I hear at Miss Grimstone's they have to break a layer of ice on their basins before they can wash in the morning."
I gritted my teeth and picked the towel up once more.
When we returned to the reading room half an hour later, my face was red and raw. Miss Sharpe did not realize it yet, but she had just edged Grandmother Throckmorton off the top of my Most Disliked People list.
I spent the next several hours studying grammar and being told my handwriting was atrocious. This agony was made worse by the fact that there seemed to be an unusual amount of activity in the reading room that morning. Every single one of the curators managed to make an appearance. I found myself hoping they would think my face was red from exertion—or even embarrassment—rather than guessing it had been scrubbed to death.
Miss Sharpe pointedly ignored both Stilton and Fagenbush but simpered sweetly at Vicary Weems. The attention from her caused him to puff up so thoroughly that he could hardly fit through the door on his way out.
At long last, Miss Sharpe checked the watch pinned to her dress and announced it was time for a lunch break. Excellent news—I hadn't had time for breakfast and I was starving.