Free The Runaway McBride by Elizabeth Thornton Page B

him.”
    “James Burnett,” she replied without elaborating.
    He repeated the name softly. “Burnett. James Burnett. The railroad magnate?”
    “He builds railroads, if that’s what you mean.”
    He spoiled his handsome face by beetling his brows. “But what on earth would bring a man like that to St.
    Winnifred’s?”
    “His aunt, I presume. She gave one of the speeches.”
    With that, she hastened her steps to avoid any more questions on a subject that brought her nothing but embarrassment and pain.

Chapter 6

    James made his plans with military precision. The object was to break into Faith’s room and search for all the replies she had received to her advertisement. Had she confided in him, it would not have been necessary for him to go to such extremes. Since she hadn’t confided in him, he felt he had no other choice.
    It was remarkably easy, as easy as reading a railway timetable. First came the speeches, then came a luncheon, and after a short break in the program, the teachers and their students were to go to their classes, where parents and guests were welcome to observe. It was the perfect time to slip away without being seen.
    He’d based his plan on the school’s prospectus, which he’d obtained a few days before. It described the principles on which the school was founded, the kind of girls St. Winnifred’s wanted to attract, and a list of former alumnae who had made a name for themselves in their chosen professions. It was a formidable list. It seemed to him that the era of compliant, indolent ladies who had nothing better to do than make some man happy, namely their husbands, was on its way out, or it would be if the graduates of St. Winnifred’s had their way.
    The last item in the prospectus was, for his purposes, the most important. It gave him a list of teachers’ names and their room numbers. This was for the benefit of students who wanted to discuss a problem when school was over, or needed tutoring in some subject, or merely wanted to visit because they had nothing better to do.
    It seemed to him that the teachers at St. Winnifred’s had hardly a moment to call their own, and he wondered whose job it was to minister to them .
    He stopped at the door of the classroom where Faith’s lesson was in progress, just to make sure that she was where she said she would be, then he boldly mounted the stairs to the top floor of the house where the teachers’ rooms were located. He held a book in one hand so that if he was challenged, he would say that he was returning it to Miss Elliot’s room at her request. He doubted that anyone would chase down the headmistress to verify his story.
    The door to Faith’s room was locked, but he had come prepared. A length of wire inserted in the lock, a twist of the wrist, and the latch clicked open. He looked left and right, saw no one, and entered the room.
    It was small, much smaller than he had imagined, though he should have expected it, knowing that before it was a school, the building had been the home of some wealthy family, and these were the servants’ quarters. The room faced south and was comfortably furnished: upholstered chairs by the empty grate, a small mahogany table with two upright chairs, the washstand by the window, a lady’s desk under a gas lamp, and beside it, a bookcase crammed with books. What the room lacked in elegance, it made up for in simplicity and charm. The occupant of this room did not follow the prevailing fashion of covering every nook and cranny with tasteless curios or suffocating the light with heavy drapes.
    There was another door that he supposed concealed the clothespress. He opened it first. There was little enough to see. Teachers had no need for an extensive or elegant wardrobe. Even as a paid companion, Faith had had more garments than these, and of far better quality.
    He went through the room methodically, and the more he searched, the more he began to feel like a Peeping Tom. The paucity of Faith’s