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“And of course there is the ball at Yardsley Hall,” Felicity continues. “That promises to be quite grand. Did you hear about young Miss Eaton?”
I shake my head.
“She wore diamonds before evening!” Felicity nearly squeals with delight. “It was the talk of London. She’ll never make that mistake again. Oh, you should see the gloves Mother sent round for the Collinsworth ball. They’re exquisite!”
Ann pulls a thread on the hem of her dress. She won’t attend the Collinsworth ball or any other unless it is as chaperone to Lottie or Carrie someday. She will not have a season or dance with handsome suitors. She will not wear ostrich feathers in her hair and bow to Her Majesty. She is here at Spence as a scholarship student, sponsored by her wealthy cousins so that she might make an appropriate governess to their children.
I clear my throat. Felicity catches my eye.
“Ann,” she says, far too cheerfully. “How was your time in Kent? Is it as lovely in the spring as they say?”
“Little Carrie called me a pudding.”
Felicity tries not to laugh. “Ahem. Well, she’s only a child. You’ll have her in hand soon enough.”
“There’s a small room for me at the top of the stairs. It looks out on the stables.”
“A window. Yes, well, quite nice to have a view,” Felicity says, missing the point entirely. “Oh, what do you have there?”
Ann shows us a program for a production of Macbeth at the Drury Lane Theatre, starring the great American actress Lily Trimble. Ann gazes longingly at the dramatic drawing of Miss Trimble as Lady Macbeth.
“Did you attend?” I ask.
Ann shakes her head. “My cousins went.”
Without her. Everyone who knows Ann at all knows how much she adores plays.
“But they let you keep the program,” Felicity says. “That’s quite nice.”
Yes, just as a cat that lets a mouse keep its tail is nice. Felicity can be so beastly at times.
“Did you have a fine birthday?” Ann says.
“Yes, ever so enjoyable,” Felicity purrs. “Eighteen. What a glorious age. Now I shall come into my inheritance. Well, not straightaway, mind. My grandmother did insist I make my debut as a condition of her will. The moment I curtsy before the Queen and back away again, I shall be a rich woman, and I may do as I please.”
“Once you make your debut,” Ann repeats, swallowing the last of her chocolate.
Felicity takes a chocolate for herself. “Lady Markham has already announced her intention to sponsor me. So it’s as good as done. Felicity Worthington, heiress.” Fee’s good spirits vanish. “I only wish Pippa were here to share it.”
Ann and I exchange glances at the mention of Pip. Once, she was one of us. Now she is somewhere in the realms, most likely lost to the Winterlands. Who knows what she has become? But Fee still clings to the hope that she might be found, might yet be saved.
The tent opens. Cecily, Elizabeth, and Martha crowd inside. It is far too close with all of us here. Elizabeth falls into Felicity while Martha and Cecily take a seat next to me. Ann is pushed to the very back of the tent.
“I’ve just had an invitation to a ball hosted by the Duchess of Crewesbury,” Cecily says. She settles herself on the floor like a spoiled Persian cat.
“And I as well,” Elizabeth adds.
Felicity does her best to look bored. “My mother received ours ages ago.”
I haven’t received such an invitation, and I hope no one will ask me if I have.
Martha fans herself, grimacing. “Oh, dear. It is rather close in here, isn’t it? I’m afraid we cannot all fit.” She glances at Ann. Cecily and her lot have never treated Ann as more than a servant, but since our unfortunate attempt to pass her off in society as a duke’s daughter of Russian blood last Christmas, Ann has become a complete pariah. The gossip has spread in letters and whispers and now there isn’t a girl at Spence who doesn’t know the story.
“We shall miss you dearly, Cecily,” I say, smiling brightly. I should like to kick her squarely in the teeth.
Cecily makes it quite clear she won’t be the one to leave. She spreads out her skirts, taking up even more space. Martha whispers in Elizabeth’s ear and they break into tittering. I could ask what they are laughing about, but they won’t tell me, so there’s no point.
“What is that smell?” Martha asks, making a face.
