“What incident?”
“We don’t speak of it.”
“I see. And bedtime?”
“Eight on the hour. But Thistle never goes to sleep until at least nine because she says her brain is too full of thoughts.”
“My brainistoo full of thoughts,” Thistle confirmed. “Important thoughts about bugs and climbing and what would happen if I dug a really big hole.”
“All vital areas of consideration.” Mel looked toward the table.
“Viola, what are you reading under there?”
A momentary stillness hung in the air; then, in a voice so hushed that Mel had to strain to hear it, she whispered: “Robinson Crusoe.”
“An excellent choice. Have you reached the part with the footprint yet?”
A second pause lingered, longer this time, and then in a tone scarcely audible:
“Yes.”
“That part made me check behind my door for three nights when I was young.” Mel said this conversationally, as though sharing a confidence between equals.
“I was convinced there were mysterious visitors everywhere.”
From beneath the table came a sound that might have been, in a more confident child, a giggle. It wasn’t quite that, but it was close.
Anna was staring at Mel with an expression of dawning reassessment, the look of someone who had expected one thing and received quite another.
“The last governess made Viola put the book away. She said reading in poor light would ruin her eyes.”
“Reading in poor light might strain her eyes temporarily. But forbidding books ruins the spirit permanently, and the spirit is considerably harder to repair.” Mel clasped her hands before her.
“Now. I shall need approximately one hour to speak with Mrs. Kemp about household routines and unpack my trunk. During that time, I expect the following: Anna, you will create a list of all current schedules and procedures as you understand them. Viola, you may continue reading, but I would appreciate it if you would note any particularly interesting passages to share later. Thistle, Brutus will need to visit the garden for his afternoon constitutional, and you will need to wash your hands afterward.”
“Brutus doesn’thaveafternoon constitutionals,” Thistle said.
“All creatures benefit from fresh air and the opportunity to sit upon a rock. I’m certain Brutus would agree if he could speak.”
Thistle looked down at the pocket where Brutus presumably resided. After a moment, she nodded.
“He says yes.”
“Excellent. We understand each other.” Mel moved toward the door, then paused and looked back over her shoulder.
“One more thing. I do not make promises I cannot keep. So I will not promise to stay forever, because forever is a very long time and none of us can know what it will hold. But I will promise you this: I will not leave without saying goodbye. And I will not leave because you are difficult, or spirited, or prone to climbing curtain rods. I have managed far more challenging situations than three clever girls and a toad.”
She did not wait for a response. She simply walked out, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
In the corridor, she allowed herself one long breath, then another. The tight knot that had formed beneath her ribs during the journey, the familiar anxiety of entering yet another strange household, began to loosen.
They were not what she had expected. They were far better.
Intelligent, certainly. Starved for attention, obviously. Desperate for someone who would see them as they actually were rather than as problems to be managed. She had known children like this before, in grander houses and poorer ones, and they were always the same beneath the surface: small people who had learned too young that adults could not be trusted to stay.
I will not leave because you are difficult.
She had meant it. She had also meant it every other time she had thought something similar, and she had left those positions eventually, for one reason or another. A house that could not pay. A master who looked at her too long. A mistress who accused her of theft she had not committed. The world was full of reasons for leaving, and Mel had learned to keep her trunk packed in her mind even when it sat unpacked in her room.
