Chapter 6

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I'm being watched. The feeling stays with me during a tedious dinner of lamb and

potatoes followed by pudding. Who would be watching me and why? That is, who else

besides the girls of Spence, who eye me and whisper to each other, stopping only when

Mrs. Nightwing reprimands one girl for letting her fork droop.

When dinner is finished, we are allowed a free period in the great hall. This is the time

we're given to be at ease—to read, laugh, socialize, or just sit about. The great hall is just

that—enormous. A massive fireplace commands the center of one wall. Six beautifully

engraved marble columns form a circle in the middle of the room. Mythical creatures

have been carved into each one—winged fairies, nymphs, and satyrs. Strange decor, to

say the least.

At one end of the room, the younger girls sit playing with dolls. Some have gathered to

read, some to embroider, and some to gossip. In the best possible corner, Pippa and

Felicity are holding court with a few other girls. Felicity has cordoned off a sitting area

and turned it into her own fiefdom complete with exotic scarves that make it seem like a

sheik's tent. Whatever she's telling the others seems to have them hanging on her every

word. I have no idea how thrilling it might be, since I've not been invited. Not that I want

to be invited. Not much, anyway.

Ann is nowhere to be found. I can't very well stand in the center of the room like an

imbecile, so I find a quiet seat near the roaring fire and open my mother's diary. Though I

haven't looked through it in a month or so, I'm in the mood to torture myself tonight. In

the firelight, Mother's elegant handwriting dances on the page. It's surprising how just the

sight of her words on paper makes tears sting at my eyes. So much about her has begun to

fade away. I want to keep holding on. And so I read, flipping through page after page of

notes about teas and visits to temples and housekeeping lists, until I come to this, her very

last entry:

June 2nd—Gemma is cross with me again. She wants desperately to go to London. That

will of iron is formidable, and I am quite exhausted by it all. What will her birthday

bring? It is agonizing to wait, and torture to have her loathe me so.

Sentences go blurry, words run together as the tears pool. I wish I could go back and

change everything.

"What are you doing?" Ann asks, hovering over me.

I wipe at my wet cheeks with the back of my hand, keep my head down. "Nothing."

Ann takes a seat and pulls out some knitting from a basket. "I like to read, too. Have you

ever read The Perils of Lucy, A Girl's Own Story?"

"No. I can't say that I have." I know the type of book she means—cheap, sentimental

claptrap about put-upon girls triumphing over adversity without ever losing that sweet,

kindhearted, feminine softness everyone seems to prize so highly. The kind of girls who

would never cause their families to worry and suffer. Girls nothing like me. The

bitterness is too much to contain.

"Oh, wait," I reply. "That's the one where the heroine is some poor, timid girl at boarding

school who gets bullied by everyone for being such a sap. She reads to the blind or raises

a lame brother or perhaps even a blind and lame brother. And in the end everyone

discovers she's really a duchess or some such who goes off to live like a queen in Kent.

All because she took her punishment with a smile and a sense of Christian charity. What

poppycock!"

My breath keeps catching in my chest. I've been overheard by the embroider-and-gossip

set, who giggle in shocked delight at my bad manners.

"It might happen," Ann says, softly.

"Honestly," I say, with a brittle laugh, as if it will excuse the harshness of my words. "Do

you know any orphan girls who've been plucked from obscurity and made into

duchesses?" Get yourself under control, Gemma. You mustn't cry.

Ann's voice takes on a new determination. "But it could happen. Couldn't it? An orphan

girl, a girl no one expected much from, someone who'd been dumped in a school because

her relatives thought of her as a burden, a girl the other girls laugh at for her lack of

grace, charm, and beauty… that girl might show them all one day."

She stares into the fire, knitting ferociously, the needles clicking together, two sharp teeth

in the wool. Too late I realized what I've done. I've struck at the very heart of Ann's hope,

a hope that she could become someone else, someone with a life that doesn't involve

spending the rest of her days as governess to some rich man's children, grooming them

for a wonderful life and opportunities she'll never see.

"Yes," I say, my voice hoarse and quiet. "Yes, I suppose it could happen."

"Those girls, the ones who misjudged… Lucy. They'd all be very sorry one day, wouldn't

they?"

"Yes, they would," I agree. I don't know what else to say and so we sit and watch the fire

crackle and spit.

Peals of high laughter draw our attention to the far corner. Pippa emerges from the sheik's

tent where the other girls still sit. She saunters over to the two of us and slips her arm

through Ann's.

"Ann, darling, Felicity and I feel simply awful about the way we treated you earlier. It

was terribly unchristian of us."

Ann's face is still slack, but she blushes and I know she's pleased, sure that this is the

beginning of her new, wonderful life among the beautiful. The end of The Perils of Ann.

"Felicity's mother sent a box of chocolates. Would you like to join us?"

There is no invitation issued to me. It's a huge slight. Across the room the other girls are

waiting to see how I'll rake it. Ann glances at? me guiltily and I know what her answer

will be. She's going to sit and eat chocolates with the very girls who torment her. And

now I know that Ann is as shallow as the rest of them. More than ever I wish I could go

home, but there is no more home.

"Well…" Ann says, looking down at her feet.

I should just let her wallow in her discomfort, force her to snub me, but I'm not about to

let them get the best of me.

"You should go," I say, flashing a smile that would put the sun to shame. "I really must

catch up on my reading."

Yes, after all, if I were to join you, I might enjoy myself, and wouldn't that be a shame?

Please, don't spare me another thought.

Pippa is all smiles. "There's a sport. Come on, Ann." She waltzes Ann off to the far end of

the room. With a forced yawn for the benefit of the girls watching me from the tent, I sit

down and open my mother's social diary again, as if I couldn't care less about being

ignored. I turn the pages as if I'm captivated, though I've already read each one. Who do

they think they are to treat me like this? Turn another page and another. More giggles

waft out from the tent. The chocolate's probably from Manchester. And those scarves are

ridiculous. Felicity is about as bohemian as the Bank of England. My fingers land on

something crackly and stiff inside the book, something I hadn't noticed before. An

account from a sensational London newspaper, the sort the , upper classes pretend not to

notice. It's been folded over so many times that the ink has worn away in the creases and

elsewhere, making it hard to read. I can just make out the gist of it, something about the

"scandalous secrets of girls' boarding schools!

It's tawdry, of course. And that's what makes it so fascinating. In lurid prose, the article

details a school in Wales where a few girls went out walking "and were never heard from

again!" "A virtuous rose of England snipped by the tragic dagger of suicide" at a finishing

school in Scotland. A mention of a girl who went "mad as a hatter" after some mysterious

involvement in a "diabolical occult ring." What's diabolical is that someone received

money for this rubbish.

I'm about to put it away when I see something near the bottom about the fire at Spence

twenty years ago. But it's too worn for me to read. It's just like my mother to save such a

sordid article to add to her list of worries. No wonder she wouldn't send me to London.

She was afraid I'd end up on the front page. Funny how the things I couldn't bear about

her bring a pang to my chest now.

A shriek comes from Felicity's sanctuary.

"My ring! What have you done with my ring?" The scarves fly open. Ann backs out with

the other girls bearing down on her, Felicity pointing a finger accusingly. "Where is it?

Tell me this instant!"

"I d-d-don't have it. I d-d-didn't d-do anything." Ann stumbles over her words and

suddenly I realize that part of her flatness, her control, must be an effort to keep from

stuttering like this.

"You d-d-didn't? Why d-d-don't I believe you?" Felicity's face is mocking and hateful. "I

invite you to sit with us and this is how you repay my kindness? By stealing the ring my

father gave to me? I should have expected something like this from a girl like you."

We all know what "like you" means. Low-class. Common. Plain, poor, and hopeless. You

are what you're born, always and forever. That's the understanding.

An imposing woman with a handsome face sweeps over to the girls. "What's going on?"

she asks, stepping between Ann, who is cowering, and Felicity, who looks ready to roast

Ann on a spit.

Pippa goes wide-eyed as an ingenue in a bad play. "Oh, Miss Moore! Ann has stolen

Felicity's sapphire ring."

Felicity thrusts out her ringless finger as proof and attempts a mournful pout. "I had it

earlier and noticed it was missing just after she came in."

It's hardly a convincing performance. The organ-grinder's monkey is a better confidence

man, but there's no telling whether or not Miss Moore will be taken in by these two. After

all, they have money and position and Ann has none. It's amazing how often you can be

right as long as you have those two things working in your favor. I'm ready for Miss

Moore to straighten her spine and humiliate Ann in front of everyone by forcing her to

admit her shame—and calling her all manner of horrible names as well. There's a certain

type of spinster lady who takes her amusement by torturing others under the guise of

"setting a good example." But Miss Moore surprises me by not taking the bait,

"All right, then, let's have a look around on the floor. Perhaps it fell somewhere. Come

on, everyone, let's help Miss Worthington find her ring, shall we?"

Ann stands looking down at her shoes, unable to move or speak, as if she expects to be

found guilty. I know I should feel pity for her but I'm still a bit miffed over the way she

abandoned me, and an uncharitable part of me thinks she deserves this for trusting them.

The others move chairs and peer behind curtains in a halfhearted attempt to find the ring.

"It's not here," a girl with a pinched face announces in triumph moments later when the

ring doesn't turn up.

Miss Moore lets out a long sigh, chews at her bottom lip for a moment. When she speaks,

her voice is soft but firm. "Miss Bradshaw, did you take the ring? If you admit it, the

penalty will be less severe."

Ann's face has gone splotchy. The stutter returns. "N-n-no, mum. I d-d-didn t-t-take it."

"That's what happens when you let her class into a school like Spence. We'll all be

victims of her jealousy," Felicity gloats. The other girls nod. Sheep. I'm stuck in a

boarding school filled with sheep.

"That will be quite enough, Miss Worthington." Miss Moore raises an eyebrow. Felicity

glares back at her, places a hand on her hip.

"That ring was given to me by my father for my sixteenth birthday. I'm sure he would be

most unhappy to hear that it had come to be stolen and no one was doing anything about

it."

Miss Moore turns to Ann, reaches out a hand. "I'm sorry, Miss Bradshaw, but I'm afraid

I'll have to ask you to let me see inside your knitting basket."

Thoroughly miserable, Ann hands over the knitting basket, and suddenly I know exactly

what's going on, what's going to happen next. It's a prank. A vicious, nasty prank. Miss

Moore will find the ring in there. The incident will be noted in Ann's academic record.

And what family would possibly hire a girl as a governess who'd been labeled a thief?

The poor, stupid girl is just standing there, ready to accept her fate.

Miss Moore pulls a dazzling blue sapphire from the basket, sad disappointment

registering quickly in her eyes before she remembers herself and makes her face a mask

of restraint and propriety. "Well, Miss Bradshaw, what do you have to say for yourself?"

A mixture of deep wretchedness and resignation pulls Ann's head and shoulders low.

Pippa's mouth broadens into a smile, Felicity's a smirk as they exchange quick glances. I

can't help wondering if this is Ann's punishment for talking to me earlier on the way to

chapel. Is it a warning to me to watch my step?

"We'd best go see Mrs. Nightwing." Miss Moore takes Ann by the hand to see her

executioner. What I should do is go back to the fire and read my book. Every bit of

reason in me says I should keep quiet, blend in, side with the winning team. Some days

my reason is no match for my temper.

"Ann, darling," I say, copying Pippa's chummy tone from earlier. Everyone seems

surprised to hear me speak, no one more surprised than I am at the moment. "Don't be

modest. Tell Miss Moore the truth."

Ann's huge eyes search mine for meaning. "The't-t-truth?"

"Yes," I say, hoping I can make this up as I go along. "The truth—that Miss Worthington

lost her ring tonight during vespers. You found it and put it in your knitting basket for

safekeeping."

"Why didn't she return it right away, then?" Felicity steps forward, challenging me, her

gray eyes inches from mine.

Tricky, tricky. Make this good, Gem. "She didn't want to embarrass you in front of

everyone and make it obvious that you'd been careless with something so valuable, a gift

from your father. So she was waiting for a private moment. You know how kindhearted

Ann is." A little Perils of Lucy. A little smacking Felicity with her own petulant story

about dear old Father. All in all, not bad.

Miss Moore appraises me. There's no telling whether she believes me or not. "Miss

Bradshaw, is this true?"

Come on, Ann. Play along. Fight back.

Ann swallows hard, raises her chin to Miss Moore. "Y-y-yes. It is."

Good girl

I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself until I lock eyes with Felicity, who is glaring at me

with a mix of admiration and hatred. I've won this round, but I know that with girls like

Felicity and Pippa there will always be a next time.

"I'm glad that's settled, Miss… ?" Miss Moore stares at me.

"Doyle. Gemma Doyle."

"Well, Miss Gemma Doyle, it would seem that we are in your debt. I'm sure Miss

Worthington would like to thank you both for retrieving her lost ring, wouldn't you?"

For the second time tonight, Miss Moore surprises me, and I'm almost certain I see a

satisfied smile pulling at the corners of her proper British mouth.

"She could have come forward sooner and not frightened us all so," Felicity says by way

of thank-you.

"Grace, charm, and beauty, Miss Worthington," Miss Moore admonishes, waving a finger

disapprovingly.

Felicity looks like a girl whose lollipop has just landed in the dirt. But then she's all

smiles again, the bitterness gone, pushed down deep,

"It would seem that I am in your debt, Gemma," Felicity says. She's goading me by being

so informal with my name when I haven't given her leave to do so.

"Not at all, Felicity," I volley back.

"This ring was a gift from my father, Admiral Worthington. Perhaps you've heard of

him?"

Half the English-speaking world has heard of Admiral Worthington—a naval hero,

decorated by Queen Victoria herself. "No, I can't say that I have," I lie.

"He's very famous. He sends me all sorts of things from his travels. My mother runs a

salon in Paris, and when Pippa and I are graduated, we're going to Paris, where Mama

will have us outfitted by the finest couturiers in France. Perhaps we'll take you along as

well."

It's not an invitation. It's a challenge. They want to know if I have the means to keep up

with them. "Perhaps," I say. They don't invite Ann.

"It's going to be a wonderful season, though Pippa will probably get the lion's share of

attention." Pippa beams at this. She's so lovely that scores of young men will prod their

relatives to introduce them. "You and I will simply have to be good sports about it."

"And Ann," I say.

"Yes, and Ann, of course. Dear Ann." Felicity laughs, giving Ann a quick kiss on the

cheek, which makes her blush again. It's as if all is forgotten.

The clock strikes ten and Mrs. Nightwing makes an appearance at the doors. "Time for

bed, ladies. I bid you all good night."

Girls shuffle out in twos and threes, arms linked, voices and spirits high. The excitement

of the evening lives on in a contagion of whispers that trickle from girl to girl. We're

going round and round in a maypole dance of stairs and more stairs, inching toward the

maze of doors where our rooms lie.

I'm finally unable to hold back my irritation with Ann. "You're welcome, I'm sure."

"Why did you do it?" she asks. Is no one here capable of saying a simple "thank you"?

"Why didn't you defend yourself?"

She shrugs. "What's the point? There's no winning against them."

"There you are, Ann, darling." Pippa comes up and takes Ann by the arm, slowing her

down so that Felicity can slip in beside me. Her voice in my ear is confession-quiet.

"I shall have to think of a way to repay you for finding my ring tonight. We have a bit of

a private club, Pippa, Cecily, Elizabeth, and I, but there might be room for you."

"Aren't I the lucky one? I'll rush right out and buy a new bonnet for the occasion."

Felicity's eyes narrow, but her mouth never loses its smile. "There are girls who would

give their eyeteeth to be in your position."

"Fine. Then ask them."

"See here, I'm offering you a chance to get on at Spence. To be a part of something and

have the other girls look up to you. You might do well to think about it."

"To be part of something the way you made Ann a part of something tonight?" I say. I

look back at Ann, several steps below me now, her nose running again.

Felicity sees this. "It's not that we don't want Ann involved. It's just that her life isn't

going to be like ours. You think you're being so kind to her when you know very well that

you can't be friends with her on the outside. It's much crueler to make her think

otherwise, to lead her on."

She's right. I don't trust her farther than I can run full-steam in a corset, but she is right.

The truth is hard and unfair, but there it is.

"If I were interested in joining—which I'm not saying that I am—but if I were, what

would I have to do?"

"Nothing yet," she says, her face breaking into the sort of smile that doesn't make me feel

at ease. "Don't worry—we'll come to you." She lifts her skirts and runs up the stairs,

shooting past the rest of us like a comet..