Chapter 1089

Sometimes, the malice between women is the most dangerous. Trevor's high standing as royal chancellor didn't shield young Rosalind from the reluctance some students felt toward accepting her as their teacher. That, however, was easily manageable. Carissa's concern lay deeper: the possibility of sabotage against Gracewood Women's Academy, orchestrated by someone using Jocelyn's group as a front. There was no overt evidence of outside influence.

Carissa's considerable leverage over the Quinton family made their disruptive actions particularly galling. Her immediate priority was to reassure Rosalind, mindful of the potential impact on her spirits.

Rosalind sat in her private study, engrossed in a pile of practice sheets. Her brow furrowed in concentration, so deeply she didn't notice Carissa enter. Only when Carissa spoke did she look up, irritation briefly flashing in her eyes before she composed herself, rising to greet Carissa with a polite, if somewhat strained, bow.

"Headmistress, I didn't see you enter. I apologize for my rudeness."

Carissa returned the greeting. "No need for formalities. Please, sit."

As they sat, Carissa noticed the stack of papers and Rosalind's earlier frown. Gently, she inquired, "Are they falling behind on their assignments?"

Rosalind offered the top sheets. "Take a look, Headmistress."

As Carissa accepted them, Rosalind explained, "I assigned essay copying for writing practice. These girls, however, wrote their own stories—and their handwriting...well, it's more scribbles than writing. It feels deliberately mocking."

Carissa flipped through the pages. The stories centered on a woman, Rosalind Lopez, from a previous era. Lopez, portrayed as shallow and greedy, broke off her engagement when her fiancé's family fell on hard times. Three years later, her former fiancé became a top scholar, marrying the daughter of the former prime minister. Driven by jealousy and spite, Lopez attacked the scholar's wife in a jewelry shop with a hairpin, killing her, and was ultimately executed.

It was clear the story targeted Rosalind, portraying her as shallow, greedy, and hideous—unfit to be a teacher, even suggesting a pitiful canine rebirth in her next life.

Carissa chuckled at the childish spite, particularly the final curse. Checking the signatures, she confirmed the authorship of the offending students.

She set down the papers and asked Rosalind, "Do you want me to intervene, or would you prefer to handle this?"

Rosalind responded with quiet determination, "As their instructor, it's my responsibility. It's trivial, not worth troubling you. But I am curious—these girls were privately tutored. How can a short essay contain over thirty errors? What were they learning?"

Carissa blinked, re-examining the papers. The errors were numerous, primarily misspellings and substitutions of similar-sounding words in longer words.

"You're upset about the errors?" Carissa asked.

Rosalind straightened. "Headmistress, you mustn't overlook this. These girls had private tutors. Such basic mistakes show a lack of commitment to learning. They believe minimal literacy suffices, enough for managing account books.

"Men assume a lack of talent equates to virtue in women. How can we accept this? Especially given the Quinton family's history—a renowned scholar and literate servants—how can their daughter be so ignorant and careless?"