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“Shewon’t.”
“Shewill.”
Maren hung her bonnet on a peg in the wall and walked between her sisters without a word, and into the classroom. Beck was right—she was the smartest of them all.
“All right,” Amelia said, putting herself between the two girls. “As Maisie’s hem will be dry by the time your mother sees it, we can only wait and see how cross she will be.”
“See?” Maisie tossed her bonnet behind her, not caring where it landed, before skipping into the classroom. Mathilda sighed loudly and picked it up, handing it to Amelia. “No oneeverbelieves me. Mama will be socross.” She handed her bonnet to Amelia and walked into the classroom.
Amelia looked down at the two bonnets. She was a chambermaid. She had come all this way to be a chambermaid. She hung the bonnets on wall pegs and turned to go, but very nearly collided with Mr. Roberts, the headmaster.
“Oh! Miss Ivanosen. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Roberts.” On the first day she’d escorted the girls, the kindly headmaster had seemed a bit befuddled by her. She’d introduced herself as Miss Ivanosen as a lark, thinking he surely knew who she was. The poor man didn’t know. Frankly, he seemed to be befuddled by any number of things, and every day he was in a frantic search for lost items—his eyeglasses, the key to the door.
This morning, his hair was standing on end.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Oh, very well, indeed, madam, thank you. It’s just that I can’t seem to find the school bell. Got to have a proper school bell.”
“Got to have,” she agreed. “Shall I help you look?”
His expression melted into relief. “Would you be so kind?” His gaze moved over her shoulder. Two girls who were just arriving were distraught that there were no pegs left for their bonnets.
Amelia politely moved out of the way.
Now, where would someone put a school bell? Not in the foyer—it was too small. She peeked into the classroom, where girls were standing in clumps of twos and threes, all of them talking at once. Not in here, for someone would surely be ringing it. Probably Maisie.
She returned to a much smaller room that was serving as an office. How anyone could accomplish anything in this room was astounding—it was a complete and utter mess. Papers were stacked inches high on the desk. Books and slates had been piled haphazardly onto a chair. On the floor were various cloaks and boots and fishing gear. A variety of walking sticks in different sizes were propped in one corner. Two empty bird cages hung before the window; the bookcases were stuffed with books; and a hand-knitted one-eyed toy cat stared down at her from a perch on a chest of drawers.
But there, very plainly in view, on top of a pile of papers, was the school bell. Amelia stepped over a bucket to pick it up. She happened to glance at the top paper beneath the bell. It was a letter. It was open, as if Mr. Roberts had intended to read it, but had been called away and left his bell there to remind him. She cocked her head to the side to scan the contents. It was a request from a gentleman seeking to admit his daughter to the school.
She didn’t see where they would possibly place his daughter—the students were practically stuffed to the rafters as it was.
Amelia shrugged and walked back to the main classroom. She held up the bell so that Mr. Roberts, from his vantage point at the head of the class, could see that it was found. She placed it carefully on the windowsill, and he waved to her in a show of thanks.
As she exited the school, she heard the bell ring and his voice, clear and strong, announce grandly, “All right, young ladies, it is time for our schoolwork to begin!”
Amelia stepped out onto the path. The mist had receded a bit, she was pleased to see. She could walk a little longer.
Who would have thought she’d enjoy long rambles as she had? She’d never had occasion to walk much in Wesloria—there were always carriages and horses and guards about. But she liked it so much that she’d asked Lordonna to please make the necessary arrangements for her to obtain some sturdy walking boots. Lordonna had said she would do so straightaway, but had looked concerned, as if she privately thought it unseemly for princesses to wander the countryside.
It probably was.
What Amelia loved about her long walks was that in addition to it being something to do, no one bothered her. No one seemed to evennoticeher. Even her two Weslorian guards, who had been dispatched to keep her safe, had concluded there was no harm in her ambling around, and sat outside the stables with the English grooms to play betting games while she wandered.
Amelia always wore a plain brown gown for her walks. It was the only one in her large wardrobe that she could bear to see dirtied or wet. Her shawl and her short coat were equally plain. She delighted in the idea that she must look like a farm girl on her way to market. Maybe one day she’d walk all the way to the village and return with a chicken. How amusing that would be! Would anyone notice her then?
She liked her newfound anonymity. She’d never been free to roam, and when she’d mentioned that to Beck, he’d laughed and said, “You’re in Devonshire, Your Royal Highness. Not much happens here.”
Most days she meandered along the road, as she was this morning, pausing now and again to lean against the stone fence and look at the sheep. She’d passed them enough that she felt they were friends—not that any of them ever came to the fence to greet her, but still.
The entrance to the school was marked by an old stone archway just at the point where the footpath intersected the main road through this dale. Amelia stepped out onto the road and turned to admire the arch with its cherubs carved into stone. She couldn’t imagine why such a modest property would think to install such a heavenly arch. She was studying the cherubs for any clue and didn’t realize that a rider was coming at her at a high speed around a curve in the road. By the time she turned to the sound of it, the rider was very nearly upon her. With a cry of alarm, she leaped into a shallow ditch beside the stone fence, her hand going to her bonnet to keep it from being whipped off her head by the swirl of wind the horse left in its wake. Her heart climbed to her throat when she realized it was the Grim Reaper thundering past and kicking up mud onto her gown and her face. The same one that had nearly collided with her carriage.
Amelia shrieked with surprise or fear, which caused the rider to draw up several feet away from her. He turned his mount about and trotted a few feet back to have a closer look at her. He was a large man, his shoulders very broad in his black cloak. He wore a hat pulled low over his brow. He had a dark beard that did not look trimmed. And he did not get down off his horse to assist her. When it became apparent to her he wouldn’t, she climbed out of the ditch. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t even deign to speak. But then he said, “Pardon.”
Amelia gaped at him. “Pardon?That’s all you have to say? That is what you would say to someone you accidently bump into at a market stall.” She stepped back onto the road. “You might havekilledme. My body might have lain in this ditch for days before anyone found me.”
