The scene that greeted her would have sent a lesser woman directly back down the stairs and out into the rain without pause for breath or bonnet. Three children occupied the nursery in various states of disorder, each one engaged in an activity that suggested the previous governesses had taught them nothing whatsoever about decorum, or perhaps had simply given up trying.
The eldest, or at least the one who appeared to have appointed herself in charge, stood upon a chair near the window, lecturing the empty air with the conviction of a tiny parliamentarian delivering a speech to an invisible House of Lords. She had dark hair pulled back in braids that were already escaping their ribbons, a pointed chin that suggested opinions, and the sort of posture that dared anyone to question her authority.
“And furthermore,” she was saying, one finger raised for emphasis, “…the schedule for afternoon activities will be determined by merit and seniority, which meansIdecide, because I am the eldest by twelve minutes and that is asignificantmargin.”
Beneath the large oak table that dominated the centre of the room, a second child had constructed what appeared to be a fortress of books and cushions. Mel could see only a pair of eyes peering out from the shadows, wide and watchful, tracking her entrance with the wariness of a small creature who had learned that new adults generally meant trouble.
The third child was hanging from the curtain rod.
She had climbed the heavy drapes with what must have been considerable determination, for the fabric was thick velvet and not designed for scaling, and she now dangled approximately four feet from the ground with her legs wrapped around the rod and her braids swinging freely below her. In one hand, she clutched what was unmistakably a toad.
“Good afternoon,” Mel said, in the same tone she might have used to greet a duchess at a garden party.
“I’m Miss Grace. I’m your new governess.”
The child on the chair turned to assess her with eyes that missed nothing. She had, Mel noted, the particular expression of someone who was already calculating weaknesses and filing them away for future exploitation.
“The last one cried on the first day,” the girl said.
“I don’t cry on Tuesdays.”
“What about Wednesdays?”
“Wednesdays are for arithmetic. There’s no time for crying.”
The girl’s study of her was as thorough as an examination in court. Her gaze swept over Mel’s plain grey travelling dress, her practical boots, the sensible knot of brown hair that required no attention and made no statement beyondthis woman has better things to do than fuss with curling irons.
“I’m Annabelle,” she announced finally. “But everyone calls me Anna. I’m in charge.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I’m the eldest. By twelve minutes.”
“So I heard.” Mel inclined her head a degree, as one diplomat acknowledging another. “Melanie Grace. Mel, to those who have earned the shortening. Which, at present, is no one in this room.”
“What must one do to earn it?”
“Competence, patience and a reasonable record of not climbing the curtains.”
The child on the curtain rod, who had been following the conversation with interest, made a small sound of protest.
“The rule is recent,” Mel added, without looking up.
“It is subject to revision.”
Mel turned her attention to the book-fortress beneath the table, where those watchful eyes had not blinked once since her arrival.
“And who might be hiding under there?”
The eyes retreated further into shadow.
“That’s Viola,” Anna supplied, with the air of someone introducing a particularly difficult piece of furniture.
“She doesn’t talk to new people, or most old people, or really anyone except us, and sometimes the cat. She’s actually quite shy.”
“I see.” Mel did not crouch down or attempt to coax the child out. She had learned, over six years and countless shy children, that nothing sent them further into hiding than well-meaning adults trying to draw them forth. Instead, she simply nodded at the shadows and said, “Good afternoon, Viola. There’s no need to come out until you’re ready. I’m told the view from under tables is quite underrated.”
A tiny breath, almost inaudible, suggested surprise. The eyes, Mel noticed, had stopped retreating.
