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‘Come along,’ she chided as Elodie turned to bid the driver goodbye, with a small, sad wave.
‘I understand you don’t speak English yet,’ she said in a plummy, accented French as she began to march back inside. Elodie raced to keep up. ‘You will bunk next to one of our top girls – she is fluent in French, she will show you the ropes—’
‘Oh, there’s another French girl like me?’ asked Elodie, perking up slightly at the thought.
‘Certainly not, her father is a Lord.’
‘So is mine,’ said Elodie, who didn’t know what that had to do with anything.
‘Except that she is a lady, and you are not,’ said Mrs Knight, who pursed her lips, her words designed to cause offence.
Elodie didn’t really care. Her mother had explained that she wouldn’t inherit a title because they had never been married. It didn’t bother her.
‘That’s all right, no one has titles in France anyway. No one alive, that is – the Revolution, you know?’ and she made a slashing motion across her neck in explanation.
Mrs Knight’s eyes widened in horror. She changed the subject fast. Every other sentence though was designed to barb. After a while Elodie started counting them to stop them from hurting.
‘For the first few months you will be tutored in English only – you’re a bit old to be learning it now.’ Barb.
‘But Mrs Hammond has promised she can work miracles, which you will need, but no doubt with your lack of education you will be quite far behind.’ Barb, barb, barb. ‘However, you will be expected to work hard.’
By the time she was shown the dorm room, Elodie was quite wishing that Mrs Knight didn’t know French quite as well as she did.
She had to still her tongue quite a few times and remind herself of Grand-mère’s words to keep her temper with the rude, odious woman.
The dormitory overlooked a large field, and housed six other beds. She’d been informed that breakfast was at seven, ‘sharp,’ luncheon was at twelve thirty, and supper at six. ‘Lights out at nine. I realise it will be quite different from your experience; I gather you were allowed to run wild.’ Barb.
‘Only a bit,’ admitted Elodie. It sounded so regimented. So very different to Lamarin. She felt a pang so bad she had to hug her stomach.
She raised a brow. ‘You’re not going to be sick, are you? You don’t want to let your family down, buck up.’ Barb.
Elodie felt the familiar rush of panic, but swallowed it down.
‘What?’ Mrs Knight asked, finally looking at her, sensing her stare. She seemed uncomfortable.
Elodie said nothing. She was just marvelling at how quickly it was that she’d come to hate her.
After she put her suitcase down and unpacked, she was taken down to meet her tutor.
It was a pleasant classroom with several wooden desks and chairs in neat rows. Huge arched windows overlooked the grounds, and at the front of the classroom was a woman, dressed in forest green. Her medium brown hair had a wave and was bobbled. Her eyes lit up at they entered.
‘Ah, the French girl,’ she said, holding out a hand to shake Elodie’s. Her green eyes were warm.
‘Yes,’ said the house mistress, as if she were handing over an item of some distaste, ‘This is Elodie Clairmont – and she does not speak a word of English, you will have your hands full, Olivia. The look I was given when I told her the way things were… well!’ she said primly. ‘Defiant, that’s what, can see that right away.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Knight, I’m aware she doesn’t speak English just yet, I’m sure we can handle it from here.’
As soon as she’d left, Mrs Hammond’s lips twitched, ‘So you gave her a look, did you? Well, I wouldn’t encourage it but she could tempt a saint to violence.’
Elodie snorted.
Mrs Hammond brushed off her clothes. ‘But I’ll deny ever having said that, it’s our secret, all right?’
Elodie nodded.
‘So English, how much do you know?’
Elodie pulled a face.
