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‘No,’ Nancy said firmly. ‘My maid comes in with me. You may show her where to go below stairs, but I won’t allow her to wander the streets of London on her own.’
The young maid looked as if she might argue but she jumped to attention at the sound of a stern voice. Nancy looked over the girl’s shoulder and saw a tall, thin woman descending the stairs. Her dark, glossy hair was drawn back from her forehead so severely that it looked as if it had been lacquered onto her skull, and cruelly confined in a snood at the back of her neck. Her face was pale and lined, and her hooded grey eyes took in the scene with a single glance. She glided towards Nancy with the bell of her crinoline swaying from side to side as she moved.
‘Welcome to the Academy, Miss Sunday. I am Miss Maughfling, proprietor and headmistress.’
‘How do you do, ma’am?’ Nancy bobbed a curtsey, which seemed to be the appropriate way to acknowledge such an important person. There was something almost regal in the headmistress’s manner. The entrance hall echoed with silence as Miss Maughfling cast her critical gaze over Nancy, Molly and the pile of luggage.
Nancy held her breath, wondering what was coming next.
‘Watkins, send for Little to deal with Miss Sunday’s belongings. Take the maid to the servants’ quarters and introduce her to Mrs Branson.’
Watkins hurried off with Molly following her, although Molly hesitated and turned her head to give Nancy a pleading glance. Nancy smiled encouragingly and nodded, but a sharp blast on a whistle made her turn to Miss Maughfling with a start. Molly scuttled after Watkins, leaving Nancy feeling alone and vulnerable in the presence of the strait-laced principal.
‘I use the whistle to signify an order, Miss Sunday.’ Miss Maughfling allowed the whistle to drop on its chain, which in turn was attached to a silver chatelaine hanging around her waist. ‘Now follow me and I will show you to your room. You’ve missed supper, so I hope you have eaten.’
‘Not really, ma’am.’
‘Then you will have to wait until breakfast. Meals are served on time each day without exception. If you miss one meal you have to wait until the next one. Punctuality is paramount.’
Miss Maughfling headed back towards the staircase with Nancy following. Not a word was spoken as they climbed three flights of stairs. The room that Nancy was to share with two other young ladies was at the front of the building, with two tall windows overlooking the park. The furniture was adequate and the rugs on the polished floorboards were dun coloured. The walls were Spartan white, with nothing to mar their pristine surfaces, and there was little in the room to encourage anyone to do anything other than sleep, wash and dress. Comfort was not on the curriculum.
‘That’s your bed by the window.’ Miss Maughfling pointed to an iron bedstead with a white coverlet. ‘Your maid will be sent to unpack your things, but tidiness is one of the things about which I am most particular. You are not allowed to keep anything on top of the dressing table, or the chest of drawers. Anything left out will be confiscated. No food or drink is allowed in the bedchambers. We do not call them dormitories. You are learning to be a young lady, Miss Sunday. We train girls to be able to conduct themselves in polite society and in all matters of etiquette, deportment and genteel conversation. You will, I hope, benefit from being here.’
‘Yes, Miss Maughfling.’
‘Good. I’m glad you understand. I’ll have your maid sent up to you. Breakfast is at eight o’clock. You will find a timetable pinned to the inside of the door.’ Miss Maughfling swept from the room, leaving a faint waft of lavender cologne in her wake.
Nancy perched nervously on the edge of the bed. The spotless coverlet was stretched so tightly over the bed that she was afraid she might leave it creased, and she jumped to her feet when, minutes later, a brief knock on the door was followed by Molly peeping nervously into the room.
‘Come in, please.’ Nancy sighed with relief. ‘Are you all right, Molly? Have they shown you where you’ll sleep?’
‘I’m in an attic room with six stuck-up lady’s maids. They’d better not poke fun at my Devonshire accent or I’ll end up clouting someone.’
‘Oh dear! I’m so sorry. Maybe I should have come on my own, but they all insisted that it was right for me to have my own maid.’
‘Don’t fret about me. I can look after myself. I’ll unpack your things and put them away. I expect things will get easier when we’ve been here for a while.’
Molly set to work and had just put the last garment in the clothes press when the door opened. A pretty young woman entered the room, followed by another who was not quite so attractive, but was dressed in the very latest fashion.
‘Thank you, Molly,’ Nancy said hurriedly. ‘That will be all for now.’
‘Yes, miss.’ Molly bobbed a curtsey and hurried from the room.
‘My goodness, we are friendly with the servants, aren’t we?’ The less appealing of the two raised a dainty eyebrow.
‘You must be the new girl.’ The pretty young woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Tamara Fitzallen and this is Eleanora Smythe.’
Nancy rose to her feet. ‘I’m Nancy Sunday.’
Eleanora curled her lip. ‘What sort of name is that?’
‘I think it’s charming,’ Tamara said hastily. ‘I hope we’re going to be good friends, Nancy.’
‘You are such a ninny, Tamara.’ Eleanora pulled out a drawer in the cabinet beside her bed and took out a silver case. She flicked it open and took out a small, black cigarillo, which she lit with a vesta. ‘I am sick of this place already.’ She slumped down on her bed and put her feet up, lying back against the pillows.
‘Do you have to smoke that thing in here?’ Tamara asked crossly. ‘I hate the smell.’
‘You are a frightful prude,’ Eleanora said, sighing. ‘I am so bored. I think I’ll elope with Sir Jack Marshall. He’s proposed to me so many times I’ve lost count.’
