Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,28

people the system as well, and it allowed them to write and even read.”

“How?”

“I’ll show you. Do you have a sheet of parchment?”

Mrs. Northgate pointed to the small desk on the other side of the room. Pru rose and gathered parchment, pen, and ink. She drew a six by five matrix and labeled it with numbers along the top and side and then characters in the middle. “Do you see how the letter N is located at the number 5 on this axis and the letter 3 on this axis?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Northgate peered over the table at the diagram.

“We would represent it with five dots in this column and three in this column. If the person reading the dots has memorized the location of the letters and sounds on the diagram, then he would know five dots and three dots is the letter N.”

“I don’t understand.”

Pru was not deterred. She had plenty of experience teaching this. “Let’s say we want to write the word not. We would write five dots then three dots for N, one dot then two dots for O and four dots then two dots for T.” She turned the paper over and pressed gently on the opposite side, pushing the paper up slightly in the pattern of the dots. “A blind person would read this with their fingers.” She turned the paper and ran her fingers lightly over the raised bumps. “They would read 5-2, 1-2, 4-2 and know the word was not.”

Mrs. Northgate blew out a breath, seeming to consider the paper and the raised bumps. “This is for French,” she said, pointing to the characters of è and é.

“I modified it for English.”

“You modified it! Why on earth would you do that?”

“To teach my sister.”

“You have a blind sister?” Before Pru could answer Mrs. Northgate waved a hand. “Never mind, I do not want to know. I do not want to encourage you in this, Miss Howard. This is all very strange and...unique, but Mr. Pope is quite mad and trying to teach him all of these letters and numbers will simply result in you ruining perfectly good paper.” She crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the fire.

Pru frowned as her work began to smoke and blacken. Mrs. Northgate pushed the sewing across the table. “That ruffle will not finish itself, young lady.”

But Pru ignored the material. “He is not mad. I spoke to him myself on two occasions. He is quite sane.”

“He points a pistol at anyone who comes near and lives in utter squalor.”

“It’s not quite that bad.” She did not mention he had pointed that pistol at her.

“He shot a man!”

“I am certain it was an accident.”

“His father does not take your view of the matter. He is already making arrangements to have Mr. Nash Pope sent away.”

Sent away? But where? Her own parents had considered sending her sister to a home for the blind, but Pru had talked them out of it. One heard stories of abuse in these so-called charitable homes. She had cared for her sister until Anne had learned to be independent.

“His own father would do that to him?” Pru rose, too upset to listen any longer.

“It is for his own good, not to mention the safety of those around him. Where are you going, Miss Howard? I have not given you leave.”

“I have to go, ma’am. I am sorry. I will be back tomorrow.”

Pru ran to the door, opened it, and rushed out.

“You had better not be planning to visit Wentmore!” Mrs. Northgate called after her. Pru ignored her and ran down the steps. At the bottom, Miss Northgate and Miss Mary were coming out of a small parlor, their mouths agape. Their mother, Mrs. Northgate, was right behind them.

“I will thank you not to charge down my steps like a stampede of horses,” she said. Pru didn’t dare slow down, though. She raced past them with a hasty apology, grabbed her coat from the rack, opened the door, and dashed out into the late afternoon.

She had no time to waste.

NASH HAD NOT COME OUT of his room since the pounding had begun. He found it all but unbearable. Even when he expected the next blow of hammer striking nail, he flinched. The cacophony reminded him too much of the noise of war, the sound of rifles firing. The dull thud when the ball hit its mark.

Nash closed his eyes and covered his ears. He didn’t know how long he’d been in his room. Rowden