A gentle hand at her elbow caused her to come out of her reverie and glance up into the sweet face of her favourite teacher, Miss Bainbridge’s sister. It wasn’t just that this Miss Bainbridge taught dancing and drama, her favourite subjects, but she was the only teacher to unbend enough to call the girls by their christian names.
‘I understand you are travelling by the stagecoach to Sunderland where your uncle is meeting you? It is due in five minutes so I suggest you go downstairs and wait in the vestibule.’ Primrose Bainbridge smiled into the face she likened to that of an angel. She had said the same to her sister once, and her sister had come back with the remark that no angel had eyes the colour of Sophy’s, nor her mass of Titian, flame-coloured hair either. Which was probably true. Primrose had always tried not to have a preference for one pupil, but she had failed with Sophy. And to see the girl when she was reading poetry or dancing or acting in one of the little plays the school put on was sheer delight; she had a natural talent the like of which Primrose had never come across before. She would miss this girl. She now pressed a little box into Sophy’s hand, saying, ‘This is just a small memento to remind you of the happy times we’ve had in class, my dear. Think of us sometimes, won’t you?’
‘Oh, Miss Bainbridge. Thank you, thank you.’ For the second time in as many minutes Sophy was close to tears.
‘Now get yourself downstairs and make sure the coach driver provides you with a rug for the journey; it’s very cold.’
‘Yes, Miss Bainbridge.’ Sophy picked up her valise and then on impulse leaned forward and kissed the teacher on the cheek before making her way out of the refectory. She left Primose Bainbridge staring after her with moist eyes. Yes, she would miss Sophy Hutton more than a little. Her classes wouldn’t be the same from now on.
For once the coach had been a little early, and after Sophy had climbed aboard and wished the other three occupants a good morning, she settled back in her seat by the window and opened Miss Bainbridge’s box. It contained a small silver brooch in the shape of a ballerina, and she immediately pinned it to the lapel of her winter coat, her heart full. She felt as though she was leaving her home and travelling into alien territory, rather than the other way round, which perhaps wasn’t too far from the truth.
It wasn’t only the school she would miss, she had enjoyed living in the fast-growing, thriving town of Newcastle too. Miss Bainbridge’s establishment was situated in central Newcastle, and Sophy had found the life and vigour of the town fascinating. At the weekends the girls were taken in small groups to places of interest now and again, after which they had to write reports describing the background to what they had seen. She knew that the medieval town of Newcastle had grown up around the castle, the first wooden castle being built by the son of William the Conqueror, and that when in the fourteenth century a wall had been built around the town, it had constricted the growth of Newcastle for the next five hundred years. But it was the present town which excited Sophy, the noise and bustle, the wealth of churches and monasteries, the music halls such as Ginnett’s Amphitheatre and the People’s Palace, as well as Hancock Museum in Barras Bridge where the girls had had to write an essay on the large collections it housed from the Natural History Society and Mr John Hancock himself, a world-renowned naturalist. Charlotte had had the class in fits of laughter when she had – quite inn ocently – described Mr Hancock as a naturist, and Miss Bainbridge had had to explain, with scarlet cheeks, the different meaning of the two words.