Page 23 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“You are Ben Burke’s eldest boy, are you not?” Mr. Whittemore’s direct questioning could only mean censure would follow. Cy had expected it, just not quite so soon.

He lifted his chin. “Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve practically had the run of the estate the past few years.” It was a statement, not a question, though how it was this man’s business, he knew not.

“Yes, my father has made sure I learned the running of things from an early age.”

“But you are here for ateachingjob.”

Professor Cornell observed them as if he were watching a tennis match.

Cy dropped his head with a quiet chuckle. “I believe the headmaster has voiced his description of the position, but yes.”He lifted his gaze and met the gray-green eyes of Mr. Whittemore. “And before you lecture me on my place in society or my duty to my estate, let me assure you that both are in the foremost of my mind. But also let me share that education is a passion of mine, and as it so happens, my own at Cambridge gave me a degree in Natural Sciences and a continuing connection with that university, where I lectured, led research expeditions, and most recently, helped in creating the framework of the new diploma in anthropology.” He paused to breathe. “Though, that was merely some consulting.” He left out the part where most of that had taken place years ago. But Cy had given this man more information and, frankly, emotion, than was necessary. His hands clenched in frustration at his own defensiveness.

Mr. Whittemore still scrutinized him. “Your great-grandfather founded the Guildford school, did he not?”

“Great-great-grandfather. Yes, sir.”

“Seems a passion for education runs in the family.”

“I suppose it does.”

The man’s expression cleared and he turned to Professor Cornell. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. You have other candidates, I presume?”

The headmaster frowned in confusion. “Indeed, though Mr. Burke is every bit as worthy and would be quite an asset, in my opinion. His family’s good name is an asset as well.”

Mr. Whittemore seemed to nod with reluctance. “Interesting. Thank you for your time, Professor.” He lifted a leather attaché case in gesture. “I appreciate your insights.”

“My pleasure. And I wish you luck. I’ve always had a mind that our nation’s women are severely underrated in their potential for higher learning.”

That was quite a turn of subject. Cy blinked and caught Mr.Whittemore’s gaze as the man grumbled a response. He skewered Cy with a look. “What about you, Burke? Are you in agreement?”

“About … women, sir? I happen to know too many brilliant women to argue with it.”

Mr. Whittemore harrumphed. “I’ll be,” he muttered. “Good day to you both.” He doffed his hat and left them both standing a moment without any words.

“What was that about?” Cy muttered, mostly to himself.

“Interesting fellow. How well did you say he knows your family?”

“I didn’t.” Cy winced and shook his head. “That is to say, my mother has been a longtime friend of Mrs. Whittemore. I don’t recall speaking to Mr. Whittemore before, except perhaps a greeting here and there.” He hadn’t ever been sure the man was even aware of the connection between his family and Cyril’s.

Professor Cornell held his arm open toward his office, seemingly ready to move on. He smiled encouragingly. “Well, it seems as though we’ve had half the interview out here. Shall we continue in my office?”

Cy nodded and, quite distracted, entered the office to continue the interview for—despite what the headmaster had said—what was essentially a teaching job.

Y

An hour later, Cy descended the stairs to exit the college’s administration wing, hopeful because the position was one of respect and, although unorthodox for the heir, would not be a blight on his family’s status. Not drastically, anyway. Eyebrows would certainly lift. On the other hand, the salary was on the lower end of modest. He wasn’t sure the time away from hisfather and his duties would be worth it, Pimms Mill aside. Still, he couldn’t help feeling invigorated, being on a campus again. He exited the building, took a deep breath, smelled the damp sharpness of coming rain, then put his hands in his pockets and strolled in the direction of the nearest pub. He’d eaten little before the interview, and now he was famished.

“Mr. Burke.”

Cy halted as Mr. Whittemore stood from a bench on the walk, tucking a folded newspaper under his arm.

“Mr. Whittemore. What can I do for you?” Would the set-down come now? The idea that Cy had once envisioned approaching this man about his daughter rankled. Hugh Whittemore might very well be thelastperson Cy would’ve wanted present at his first job interview to join the working class. He nearly laughed at the absurdity. Then sobered.

No. Violet would’ve been the last person he would have wanted there.

Imagine the dinner conversation that evening at Kinthwaite.