seven

Seven: The Non-Mystery Related Mysterious Figure in the Woods Takes Up Residence in the Non-Mysterious Abandoned Cottage in the Woods

October 6, 1902
Wednesday

A week had passed since Virginia’s spat with Charlotte. During the day, Charlotte was never in the room, always in the Common Room or on the second floor with Regina and Beatrice. At nine p.m. Charlotte would return to the room, silently change into her flannel nightdress, climb into bed, and close the heavy green curtains without saying so much as how do you do.
Virginia thought she was being incredibly rude.

That morning during Mathematics, Charlotte sat in the back, as far away as possible from
Virginia and Josephine’s table in the front. During the lecture, Virginia would twist around in her seat and take a quick glance at Charlotte, pencil moving furiously across the page and showing no visible signs of anger or unhappiness at the souring of their young friendship.

A heavy book dropped on the table.

Virginia nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Unless you are quite enamored by Miss Penn," Fowles said, directly in front of her desk, "I suggest to stay seated in a forward position. Thank you." The class broke out into quiet giggling. Fowles did not bother to silence the class with a scowl but let Virginia suffer the humiliation, her cheeks burning bright red and trying to sink into the chair and become invisible.

The rest of the class passed with Virginia remaining as still as possible in her chair and resisting every urge to turn around and see the expression on Charlotte’s face.

"You’re being incredibly stupid about this," Josephine said, walking to class from the Great Hall, satchel tossed over her shoulder.

"I am not. I apologized and she did not accept. How am I being stupid about this?"

"She wants you to apologize, not me forcing you to apologize. There’s a difference."

"There is not. I would not apologized if I didn’t want to."

"You made her cry, Virginia."

"Maybe she should have thicker skin."

Josephine said nothing. She paused in front of one of the gruesome tapestries, this one depicting a man with what appeared to be scarlet wings on his back. "Have you ever really looked at these tapestries?"

"No, not really."

The tapestries were not woven in bright and colorful threads but were composed of hundreds of thousands of tiny stitches on ivory colored broadcloth. The images moved in a linear fashion, from left to right and were divided into six large panels. At the top ran a narration in Latin, the lettering uneven and fluctuating in size. The entire project was done freehanded, embroidered on the bare cloth.

"They’re interesting. They depict the story of Saint Edmund." The satchel landed on the floor by her feet.

"Don’t know him. There are too many saints for me to keep tract of."

"Well, this saint was a very worldly Anglo-Saxon king before he was martyred by Viking invaders."

"Nice story."

"See, here Edmund is in glorious battle."

"That’s not him with the arrow in his eye?"

"No, that was his father. Now Edmund becomes the king. And in this one he pays the danegeld so the Vikings will stop attacking. But in this panel the Vikings break their word and attack any way."

"And he is captured?"

"And tortured. This," Josephine said, pointing to the scarlet wings on Edmund’s back, "was a favorite technique the Vikings employed called Blood Eagle. Those are his lungs."

"Oh my god. That’s disgusting."

"And then he was chopped into bits."

"And they keep this here for children to see?"

"But a miracle happened. A wolf guarded Edmund’s head and would not let the Vikings take it to display the head on a pike."

"And the wolf was a miracle?"

"The wolf was the symbol for the kingdom of East Anglia, Edmund’s kingdom. So what was left of the righteous Anglo-Saxons buried the head and built an abbey on top of it, Bury-St-Edmund."

"And what is the point of this little story?"

Josephine fixed Virginia with her gaze. "The point is, sometimes when a person gets their butt kicked, they clean up and revise the story to make themselves look better."

Josephine picked up the satchel by the strap and walked away.

"This is not relevant to the situation at hand!" Virginia yelled.


* * * * *

Virginia arrived to World History and took a seat. Fowles was absent, his prescience not glowering at the front of the room and demanding that the girls cease their endless prattle.

Regina was talking loudly about being cast as the lead in Pirates of Pennzance. "Of course, to prepare for my role as Mable I will have to keep myself on a strict regime. No excessive talking to save my voice. Only tea with honey, it’s better for the vocal chords you know."

Auditions were still on going for that term’s dramatic production but Regina had seized the staring role on the first day. Virginia had thought about trying out but back down when she saw on the notice board that Charlotte had been cast as the Major General.

Regina fixed her cold gaze on Virginia. "You should audition," she said. She tossed her head and sausage curls bounced. "I believe there’s still an opening for a pirate or a crewman."

The girls around Regina laughed as if her words were the height of wit. She didn’t see what was so funny; girls were being cast in the male roles because there were no men in the school.

The door to the classroom opened. A woman wearing a large brimmed straw hat with a dark green velvet ribbon entered. She wore a light green dress with an hour glass shape and long white gloves.

"A fine looking class," she said and took off the hat, revealing a head of reddish blonde hair neatly coiffure. The hat rested on the desk. The gloves came off next. "I am Miss JuliaaHolz, pleased to make your acquaintance. As you may have so sharply deduced, I am the new history teacher. I apologize for my traveling costume. I have only just arrived this morning and have not had the chance to unpack."

She sat behind the desk. Stacks of papers were waiting, neatly arranged. She flipped through them idly. "I see Mr. Fowles has left me notes of your progress. I must thank him for his effort.
Now, please, will you tell me where you were at in the book."

A timid hand raised, Susan Finney. "Please, miss, you were starting to the subject of ancient Egypt."

"Where you? How exciting." Miss Holz moved from behind the desk to the front of the classroom. She had a pretty face with wide cornflower blue eyes "Ancient Egypt and the mysteries of the pharaohs has long been one of my favorite subjects and real passions. I have always wanted to travel the world with Egypt being the first stop on my tour. The pyramids are the last remaining wonder of the famed Seven Wonders of the World, you know. Tell me, has anyone actually been to Egypt?"

No one in the class moved. Virginia slowly raised her hand.

"And you are?"

"Virginia Smithson."

Recognition flashed in her cornflower blue eyes before being suppressed and replaced with smiling warmth. "You must be related to the archeologist, Dr. Jack Smithson."

"He is my uncle, miss."

"And you were in Cairo?" Virginia nodded. "Can you tell us about your travels"

Virginia thought back to the way the pyramids revealed these on the horizon, Jack’s endless lists of things they were not allowed to do, being picked up and carted away by unknown persons, her escape and subsequent return, and the week of Jack no letting either Virginia or Nessa out of the hotel room for fear of a repeat of certain unsavory events. She said, "We were not allowed to eat or drink or touch anything at the suk, which is Arabic for the market, and we saw the Great Pyramid from the window of the hotel."

"Is that all?" Miss Holz looked disappointed.

Virginia nodded. "Yes, we were not allowed to leave the hotel."

"Well, me dear, I guess we all do not have the spirit of adventure!" The class laughed.

Virginia instinctively curled one hand around her amulet; the cool metal calmed her nerves.

"What do you have there?" Miss Holz asked, leaning in close. She smelled like warm lavender in the summer.

Virginia uncurled her hand and revealed the golden disk with the blue stone.

"That’s very pretty. Where did you get this?"

"In Cairo."

"Oh, so you did not spend the entire time in the hotel?" The class laughed again. Virginia was growing rather sick of being the butt of every joke that day.

* * * * * * *

As the class let out, student voiced their opinions about the new teachers.

"Oh, I liked her very much," Susan Finney said. "She didn’t make the subject seem boring at all!"

She didn’t talk about the subject, Virginia thought. Miss Holz spent the entire class talking about everything but Ancient Egypt, mostly about fashion. She did discuss the wigs Egyptians wore, charcoal being used as eye makeup, bathing in milk and honey baths to keep the skin young, almost anything but actual history.

"What do you think, Regina?" a girl walking next to the queen bee asked.

"I thought it was a very interesting class. And the dress she wore was quite becoming. Perhaps I will wear a similar ensemble for my play."

The girls in the crowd instantly agreed that they enjoyed the class, it was very interesting, and

Regina would look gorgeous in such a costume.

Disgusted, Virginia packed up her books and left the room.

Walking quickly, Virginia exited the hallway, crossed the courtyard and then the drawbridge and was over all three bridges and on the grassy banks surrounding the lake.

The sudden quite surprised her. Constantly surrounded by the chatter and nonstop noises of one hundred adolescent girls dulled her senses when it came finding calm and quite. Even in the common room, reading by the fire, late in the evening when all the students were relaxing and growing sleepy, the atmosphere was still noisy.

Outside the castle there were only the noises of swans gliding on the water, the distant sighing of horses, chewing of sheep, and the wind rustling the treetops. Absolutely quiet.

Virginia used the opportunity to explore the Hedge Maze. A number of different maze type existed, Virginia knew. Unicursal, or a maze without branches, often a circuit to be completed from walking from end to end. Multicursal was a maze with branches and dea ends, perhaps the most common when one thought of mazes. Theta, a type of maze composed of concentric circles. Braid Mazes were a type of maze with branches but lacked dead ends. All the branches looped back to other branches. Perfect Maze, a maze with only one solution. Delta Maze, which was interlocking triangles. And finally, a Plainair Maze, a maze on something other than a flat surface.

Virginia quite enjoyed mazes. One day she would discover the location of the labyrinth of Knossos, of the fame minnotar legend. There were even rumors of an Ancient Egyptian labyrinth at the City of Crocodiles. Greek historians wrote about the wonders of the temple by the lake with a great labyrinth. Of course, no such evidence existed today, but Virginia knew she would find it.

The hedge maze at Mauldy was a unicursal. One path wound slowly from end to end, unfurling with each step. In the center of the maze was a fountain. Statues and benches dotted the journey.

The maze was constructed of vivid green hedges grown at least seven feet tall, too tall to peer over. Smooth green lawn carpeted the path.

Virginia came to the center of the maze, a wide-open area with a white marble fountain in the center, framed by thick growths of foxglove, milkweed and hollyhocks.

A man was leaning over the edge of the fountain, neck and shoulders completely submerged below the rim. A toolbox rested on the ground neck to his feet. Must be the groundskeeper.

"I say, what are you doing?"

"Minor repairs. Got to be perfect for the Ball." The man remained in the fountain.

"What ball?"

"The Halloween Ball."

The man righted, adjusting the scarf around his neck, obscuring his face.

"Are you cold?" Virginia asked. The scarf wearing man was the groundskeeper?

"What?" he asked in a muffled voice. The accent was undeniably American.

"I said, are you cold? It’s too lovely a day to be bundled up." Actually, today wasn’t. The sky was a bright blue but it was cold and the wind unforgiving.

A laugh came from behind the scarf. "You know what they say, better safe than sorry."

Virginia’s ears twitched. That sounded familiar. Unease grew in her stomach and quickly flourished into panic. She knew she was not safe.

"Right-o," Virginia said in forced cheer and rushed her way through the rest of the maze.

* * * * * * *

Back inside the castle, Virginia found Josephine in the library.

"Where have you been?" Josephine asked. "You look like you had your wits frightened out of you."

"Just went for a quick walk about the lake. I’m probably pink in the cheeks from exertion."
Virginia felt reluctant to share her experience with Jonas Broadfoot. She felt shamed that the man in the ridiculous red and white striped scarf unnerved her so.

Josephine looked at her with skepticism. "That must be it. You do look peeked."

"There’s nip in the air." Which was mostly true, there was a nip in the air. Autumn arrived quickly that year.

"Uh-huh."

Virginia smiled and pulled out her mathematics book. They worked in silence, conferring on difficult problems.

"So," Josephine said, "I discovered where the school keeps the mimeograph machine."

"It’s a bad idea," Virginia said. "You’ll get ink all over your hands and that ink does not wash off."

"I wasn’t suggesting we slip in surreptitiously and make illicit copies of socialist literature to distribute to our sisters."

"That ink does not wash off," Virginia repeated. "They’ll catch us indigo handed."

"You are no fun."

"Can we just get Fowles’ assignment done? I swear, he walks by and glowers and I feel guilty, for no reason at all. I’d rather not have an actually reason to feel guilty."

"You enjoy his class, don’t you?"

"I do, surprisingly," Virginia said.

"Why? He’s so…mean and goofy looking! I mean, that carnation, seriously."

"Perhaps he is mean because he has suffered a lifetime of torments at the hands of others who are cruel and unforgiving when it comes to his goofy appearance?"

"You are very over dramatic, do you know that?" Josephine asked.

"And yet I am no fun, you say."

"Surprisingly, you are no fun. Very few people can pull off the no fun drama queen."

"It’s a gift. Now, what did you get for number twenty-one?" Pencil was posed on paper, waiting a valid answer.

"The question we should be answering is what was Fowles doing in the woods by the cabin?"

Not a valid answer. The pencil fell to the page in disgust.

"He said he was searching for missing students," Virginia said.

"Was he really searching for missing students like he said?" Josephine asked. "Or is that a convenient excuse he invented because we stumble into his path while he was on his way to a meeting? Interrupt him? " Josephine countered.

"Maybe he was taking a walk?"

"A walk?"

"People take walks," Virginia reasoned. Her argument was weak. Imagining Fowles taking a leisurely stroll through the lush green landscape of Mauldy was ludicrous with his big ears, red cheeks, and sour disposition. No, he was not the type to take strolls.

"Look," Virginia said, "we saw someone in the woods at night. There’s not much of a mystery there. Maybe the groundskeeper has a girlfriend and they were meeting for a late night tryst?"

"Secret moonlight meetings?"

"I suppose someone must find the man attractive. Besides, the second time we saw the figure, it had a light. Only someone who had nothing to hide would be so bold as to use a light." Or had a reason so believable for being out in the middle of the night that no one would question it.

Josephine stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. "Fine, spoil my fun. There’s no mystery. Moonlight meetings between lovers, abandoned cottages in the woods, and the most unpleasant man in the world caught in the rain for no apparent reason. No mystery here."

"Exactly," Virginia said. "No mystery what so ever."

* * * * * * *

The shared bedroom had exploded with cluttered with the residency of Virginia, Charlotte, and Josephine.

Virginia was never the best housekeeper in her own room, but the mess of one thirteen-year-old girl was multiplied by three, the result was the room before her. Shoes that were meant to line neatly under the bed were kicked off immediately and under various pieces of furniture. Skirts and blouses draped the backs of chairs. Socks causally littered the floor. Desks were piled with books and papers and little jars of cosmetics. A fine layer of face powder covered every surface. The bed was not made. The room was a disgrace. Already it was beginning to feel like home.

Housekeeping only visited once a week to sweep the rug, change the bed linens and polish the furniture.

Charlotte had already sequestered herself on her bed, closing the heavy green curtains. Charlotte’s icy silence was one minor little flaw in the otherwise comfortable and homey atmosphere of the room.

Josephine read a week old newspaper at her desk, clipping articles she found interesting. The articles were then pasted into an album.

Josephine presented the album to Virginia with a fair amount of pride. Josephine called it her Revolution Handbook, saving articles relating to protests and rallies. Virginia recognized some the clippings, suffragette protestors, the occasional arrest made at a rally, and editorial comments regarding the merits of such suffragette behavior and the down right shamefulness of such unwomanly action. Josephine was clearly not only studying the methods employed by activists but also the mind set and thought process of the enemy.

Virginia had flipped through the book and stopped at the photo of Mrs. Pankhurst being lifted off the ground by a police office. Her face was flushed and livid, even in the poor quality black and white copy, and she was still shouting for her rights even when under arrest. Virginia had the feeling that Josephine was really preparing for her own scrap book for the time when it would be her photo of being arrested and carted off by the police in the newspapers.

"Do you mind shutting the curtains on the window," Virginia asked, undoing the long plait of hair and attempting to tame the softly curling mess with a brush.

No response from Charlotte. A slight twitch in the bed curtains, as if they were about to part.

"Charlotte? The curtains?"

No response.

Virginia went to close the draperies over the window. "You are the one who asked to be near the windows," Virginia muttered under her breath. "You might be mature enough to at least acknowledge that I was speaking, non-window closing, pro-drafty…"

Across the lake she could see the glow of a fire. Despite the darkness of the night, it was possible to see the outline of the old groundskeeper’s cottage and thick smoke curling from the chimney in the wind.

"I thought Fowles told us the groundskeeper’s cottage was abandoned," Virginia said.

"He did," Josephine said, looking up from the newspaper. Heavy silver scissors rested on the desk. "The groundskeeper know lives in the old mill."

"Then why is there a fire burning in the cottage?"

Josephine looked out the window. "It’s like something’s burning in the fireplace."

"How can that be?"

"Maybe our non-mystery related mysterious figure in the woods has taken up residence in the non-mysterious abandoned cottage."

Chapter 6A?

Author's Note: I know, 6A, what was I thinking? But this popped up after seven was already merrily on it's way. I'll go back and rename the files properly in December or whenever it is i can stomach to look on this mess again.

Six A: The Letters of Charlotte Penn

Mrs. Stella Penn
Pennsbury Manor, Pennsylvania

October 1, 1902

Dearest Grandmother,

It has been a week since school began and I finally believe I am beginning to find my way in this strange new land. It has not rained every day, despite the popular notion of the charms of British weather. It has been pleasantly warm, the sky mostly free of clouds.

My room is on the upper most floor, in the corner of the tower. As a result, it is very large and I share it with two other girls, Virginia Smithson and Josephine Bailey-Smythe. You may have heard of Virginia’s uncle and guardian, the archeologist Jack Smithson. He is the man who discovered a few years ago a cache of royal mummies, coated with a golden substance, near the Valley of the Kings. Virginia says it was a small cache, only three intact mummies, the rest destroyed from either grave robbers or the elements. A bit gruesome, I know, but I do remember reading of the "golden mummies" quite clearly.

Virginia is intent on following into her uncle’s profession and is currently buried in tombs of Ancient Greek and Latin. What she really wants to study is Ancient Egyptian but our language teacher, Miss Radcliffe will not let her until she has a firm grasp of Greek and Latin. Of course this does not stop Virginia. I see the volumes of Egyptian grammar she stuffs into her book satchel and has to sneak past Miss Radcliffe’s door. (Miss Radcliffe is also the Warden of our floor and her door is always opened, offering her a perfect view of the stairs and the common room.)

Josephine’s father is lord something of somewhere north but I have not been able to get the exact title out of her yet. She is very modest about her family, which is a refreshing, and thinks little of titles or lands and estates. She is very political minded, though, and I suspect might be a revolutionary if placed in the proper climate.

As you may have guess, she has been studying political philosophy and history. Apparently, these are "independent study" courses and have been designed specifically for her. She carries around a copy of The Communist Manifesto like it was the Bible and quotes political theory to the maids in the kitchen. They smile warmly, give her a plate of fresh scones for her trouble, but I seriously doubt Josephine will be spearheading a kitchen revolt any time soon.
Please do not think ill of Josephine. She has been kind to me when no other student here has been. Josephine has been instrumental in escorting me about the castle and showing me the ropes, as it were.

Having assured you of the virtue of my roommates, let me do share that we have already had our first taste of detention. On the first night, Virginia was dead set to search for "Secret passages." She assures me this is a standard feature of all castles. We never did find a secret passage but the housekeeper, Mrs. Flood, did find us. We spent the following night peeling potatoes in the kitchen.

These are my two friends: Virginia has but a thin regard for the rules and Josephine encourages her to disregard that thin regard.

Mauldy Castle is enormous. Beautiful, of course, placed picturesquely in the center of a lake in a lush green valley. It’s stunning, but much of the English countryside that I have seen has been charming and beautiful. But the castle proper…I am habitually late to ever class, I’m sorry to admit. I keep getting lost! I can never find my way from one point to another. Parts of the castle have been modernized and wired with electrical lights but some parts remain positively medieval. The overall effect is a hodgepodge of warm, bright rooms and dark, mysterious corridors and steep, slick stone stairs that terrify me.

Sometimes I suspect the rooms shift when I am not paying attention. I can find my way to a class with ease but finding my way back to the dormitory always proves an adventures. Perhaps it is only the dormitories that shift about when I am not looking.

The grounds are beautiful. I have two classed held outside the castle. One is Sport, as the title implies, we participate in a variety of different sporting games. I share this class with both Virginia and Josephine. I must say, Virginia has amazingly poor control over her croquet mallet. She whacked the ball too hard and sent it flying into the trees. (Trees in England are nothing like the thick wooded forests of home. Here the growth of trees is thinned and has no underbrush growing.) We tromped our way through the trees and could not find that ball. We did find an abandoned cottage, looking mysterious and forlorn.

The teacher retrieved us and told us that the old groundskeeper cottage was dangerous and not to get any ideas into our heads. I swear, there is no way better to insure that we will investigate the cottage than elaborating the dangers therein. Virginia, as you may have reasoned, is pacing back and forth with impatience to get at the cottage.

The other is Horticulture, which the students plant and tend their own garden. The teacher, Mrs. Jensen, says I am at a disadvantage, being completely unfamiliar with the British climate, but assures me that I am doing well. Do not fear, Grandmother dearest, your granddaughter is not going to run off and become a gardener.

At the end of the month, I am told there will be a Halloween dance held near the Hedge Maze. I forgot to mention the Hedge Maze. Apparently, the hedge maze was installed for Henry VIII (Mauldy was one of his many residences) and has changed little over the years. I’m walked the maze. There are no blind alleys or dead ends. A path branches in a few places but winds it’s through to the other side. In the center is a fountain with benches. It is rather charming.

Not all has been well, though. Yesterday I had a spat with my roommate Virginia. We were in our sport class. The weather was miserable. The sky was dark gray and the wind was wet with the promise of rain. I was under dressed, as usual. Virginia and Josephine both shoed up wearing thick woolen sweaters and study rubber boots, referred to as Wellingtons. I have neither. So I was clothed in only a cotton blouse, which the wind sliced through. And it started to rain. Virginia knocked her croquet ball into the thick growth of trees. I suspect it was not as accidental as she claims. Josephine follows her in search of the ball so I had no choice but to follow. Trough the trees and the bushes, looking to no avail for this ball, when we stumbled onto a clearing with an abandoned, uninviting cabin. But this time I was soaked to the bone. Virginia wanted to explore the cabin. I asked not to. I asked to go back. The teacher had already told the class to go inside. I asked to return to the warmth of the castle.

Virginia said I complained too much. Too much! Did I complain when she dragged us about the castle in the dark, looking for secret passages? Did I complain when we dragged before the headmistress for violating castle rules? Did I even complain when we peeled potatoes in the kitchen for three hours? Until my hands turned shriveled and rubbery? No. I only asked to come in from the rain.

Now she acts as if she has no idea why I am angry with her. She apologized this evening. When I say Virginia apologized, Josephine put her up to it because she only wants peace in the room. We will have peace when Virginia Smithson realizes that she can not order about everyone she meets.

I have made other friends, broadened my social circle. You may recall Beatrice, we met on the voyage to England. I know you spent a great many days of that voyage ill, but I did make the acceptance of Beatrice and her brother, Linus. Imagine my surprise when I caught sight of Beatrice’s vivid red hair of the platform in London? What were the chances that we’d go to the same school?

Beatrice is a good friend of Regina Pomepanz. She is easily the most popular girl in the school. After Regina and Beatrice had dinner with me, everyone knows my name and speaks to me in the hall. Other girls want to sit next to me during class. It’s amazing what knowing the right people can do for you.

Regina suggested I go out for the school’s play. She had secured the lead female role in The Pirates of Pennzance. She assured me that I had a lovely singing voice and should at least be a minor character. Well, I thought, what’s the harm in trying? So I auditioned. I was scared and nervous, mostly. Couldn’t eat or drink all day just thinking of the audition. What if my voice cracked? What if I was terrible? Or worse, what if nothing came out at all? Well, all things worked out in the end and I sang at the audition and nothing mortifying happened and your granddaughter is now the very model of a modern major general!

Rehearsals start in a mid-October and the show starts in December. I think I’m even more nervous now.

Virginia said last night that the only reason Regina and Beatrice are being nice to me is to make Josephine upset. Didn’t even mention the play. Why can’t she be happy for me? Is it so unimaginable that a person might actually like me for myself? I have friends because they want to be my friends, not because of some contrived revenge scheme.

You may have noticed, Grandmother, that I started this letter with only amiable feelings for my roommates and now it ends with heated emotion. I apologize for my tirade. I imagine there is always a few rough patches to work out at the beginning of any school year.

Your Loving Granddaughter,

Charlotte

Six: Where Do All the Lost Croquet Balls Go?

Six: Where Do All the Lost Croquet Balls Go?

September 30, 1902

A week into the new school year and Virginia had to admit that it was not as bad as she feared it would be. Her teachers embraced the notion that she would be the leading archeologist in Egyptology. Miss Radcliffe laid the foundation requirement that Virginia be proficient in Latin and Ancient Greek before moving on to hieroglyphs. She was even managing to avoid Mrs. Flood’s temper and the subsequent potato peeling. Opportunities to get outside of the castle, however, were few and far between. The drawbridge went up at dusk, no exceptions.

The course mysteriously title "Sport" took place outside the castle in the spacious grounds surrounding the lake. The class met at the entrance to the Hedge Maze, located in the southern meadow. Virginia longed to explore the maze.

The sky was ominous with dark clouds heavy with rain. For the moment, it was dry but a cool wind kicked up and smelt of rain. The sensible inner voice Virginia spent most of her energy ignoring, told her to wear a warm woolen jumper this morning and she complied.
Charlotte shivered uncomfortably, wearing nothing more than a thin cotton blouse under her bicycling costume.

Miss Gorman was waiting for the class. She was a tall, stout woman with iron gray hair. She wore a bicycling costume of Turkish trousers that verged on the pantaloon in their proportions, a white blouse, and short jacket. The entire classed was outfitted in a similar costume. A tantalizing glimpse of the maze could be seen over Gorman’s shoulder.

"A fine looking class," Gorman said, hands on considerable hips. "Right, before the rain starts, it’s croquet today. Grab a mallet, a ball, and form groups of three."

Virginia, Charlotte and Jo formed their own group. On the far side of the crowd were Regina and Beatrice, holding court to decide their lucky third partner. Despite the lack of sunshine, Regina’s short reddish blonde curls seemed to glow.

Regina’s voice drifted above the crowd, her words clear and carried on the wind, "I don’t know girls, and I really want to avoid another side show."

Josephine looked as if she could spit nails. With red cheeks and a death grip on her mallet, she said, "Let us start on the far side of the course."

Virginia and Charlotte followed without comment.

"There goes the Bearded Lady and the American Savage. Listen to its native noises approach authentic speech!" Giggling ensued.

A distant rumble of thunder sounded in the sky. The storm could not be far off.

Josephine turned around, gritting teeth. Virginia touched her elbow and said, "Let the idiots talk but do not give them the show they want."

A growl escaped from Josephine. "Okay," she said slowly, "let’s go."

They set up at a hoop on the far side of the field. Charlotte tried a few practice hits with the mallet. "You have me at a disadvantage. I’ve never actually seen croquet played. I’ve only read about it in Alice in Wonderland."

"Flamingos are not standard equipment," Jo replied dryly.

The playing field on was the western meadow of the castle. On the far side, where Virginia, Charlotte and Josephine puttered with anonymity, was a thick growth of trees. The leaves sighed and whispered in the strong breeze. While Josephine explained the rules of rule, Virginia stared at the growth of trees.

"I’m freezing," Charlotte said, rubbing her arms to generate heat.

"Hit the ball, please," Josephine said.

"I did!"

"Not you, Virginia. Stop staring at the trees and please hurry up so we can back inside. It’s not fit for man or beast out here."

Virginia absently hit the ball, sending it the wrong direction.

"We need to go investigate the area where we saw the figure," Virginia said. The breeze set her dark brown fringe flying into her eyes. A hand helped to hold down the unruly hair.

"When?" The solid, satisfying thunk of wooden ball colliding with wooden ball. "Every minute of the day is accounted for with classes and we can’t leave the castle after sunset. Maybe on a Saturday, or Friday when we have no classes," Charlotte said.

"How about now?" Virginia asked.

"We’re in class," Charlotte replied in a less than pleased manner. "We just can’t go skipping class because you want to ‘investigate’ something we thought we saw in the dark a week ago."

"Can’t we?" Virginia righted her shoulders and looked around, surveying the class. The other students were hitting balls, sending them off course, chasing after the stray balls.

Virginia hunched over, knees bent, and aligned her mallet to the croquet ball.

The mallet hit the ball too hard and sent it flying into the woods, disappearing into the dark of green vegetation.

"Better go retrieve it, Smithson," the teacher ordered.

Virginia shrugged and skipped off the trees. Jo followed. Lacking any partner and no balls to speak of whatsoever, Charlotte followed. The first drops of rain fell, splashing to earth with weighted droplets.

Within moments, the rain increased from mild spitting to a steady pattering. The rain pattered against the canopy of leaves in a soft drone. The trees shielded them from the majority of the rain.

A shrill whistle sounded. "All right girls, let’s take this in doors."
Virginia pushed her way through the wet foliage, leaves sticking to her warm skin. Her head was completely wet and water droplets rolled down the bridge of her nose.

"Maybe we should go back," Charlotte offered.

"We’re already wet and will not get any drier walking back to the castle. This is our opportunity, let’s not waste it," Virginia said.

"We might get another detention."

"We won’t get a detention. Don’t worry so much."

"I want to go back," Charlotte insisted. "I’m cold, I’m wet. We’ll catch our death of cold."

"Maybe you should go back, then," Virginia snapped.

"Maybe I will."

"No one invited you to follow, anyway. All you do is complain, honestly."

In the dark under the trees, it was hard to see Charlotte’s face. Virginia thought she could make out the glassy wide eyes of tears about to be spilled. Virginia bit down her response to order Charlotte not to cry, which would have only made her cry, but chose to ignore the rapid, jagged breath and watery eyes.

"What is that?" Josephine moved aside a branch. In a clearing was a small cabin.

The cabin appeared abandoned, white paint dingy with age and flaking off in great sections. The windows had a dusty, sad and forgotten look. The roof sagged in the middle, weighted with the accumulation of leaves. The porch looked near collapse.

"What is this place?" Virginia whispered.

"I don’t know," Jo said.

They said nothing, observing the cabin in the relative silence. The rain obscured the building, softening the harder details.

The crack of a twig snapping pierced the drone of rain on the leaves.

The girls gasped in unison and jumped.

A pale figured emerged from the dark under the shelter of the trees, jerking with hesitant footsteps, almost battling the trees themselves. An umbrella was at Fowles’ side, thrashing it’s way through the underbrush like a machete, useless to protect its owner from the rain.

"What are you girls doing here?"

Wet leaves and tiny twigs stuck to the damp white of Fowles’ flannel suit. He and his white flannel suit looked equally as ridiculous out of doors in the rain as the ensemble looked indoors and perfectly dry. Fair hair was dark with rain and plastered against the shape of his skull, making his ears look ridiculously out of proportion for the rest of his face.

Charlotte was the first to answer. "We are searching for our lost croquet ball." Her voice
quivered and was barely louder than a whisper.

"Pardon, Miss Penn?"

Louder she repeated, "We are searing for our lost croquet ball."

"In the rain?"

"It wasn’t raining when we lost the ball," Charlotte replied, near tears.

Josephine chimed in, "Gormie told us to go find it and then we were caught by the rain."

"And where is the rest of your class?" Fowles asked with skepticism.

"Gormie must have sent them in doors but we were caught by the rain," she repeated, as if stating the obvious.

Fowles frowned but looked as if he believed the story. Perhaps Charlotte’s tears pushed him in that direction. He made a clumsy attempt at comfort, "Now, now…hmph, there’s no need for that. It’s only a little rain."

"It’s not…the rain…"

"What is that building?" Virginia asked, interrupting Charlotte. No sense in not asking, they were already soaked to the skin, couldn’t get any more soaked to the skin, and cornered by a teacher. If they were going to get a detention, might as well make it worthwhile.
Fowles’ hair was plastered to his forehead with rain. "That is the old groundskeeper cottage. It has not been used for some years because it is unsafe."

Fowles must have anticipated Virginia’s next question because he added, "The groundskeeper, Mr. Broadfoot, now lives in the old mill by the lake. It is a prudent position, I think, to monitor the activities of the students." The mill was the first island in the lake and the first section in the three bridges required to enter the castle. Third if one was leaving the castle.

"Now if you do not mind," Fowles said, "I am most anxious to return to the castle."

Charlotte was the first in the bath. She had not said a word since returning from the woods. At dinner, she sat at another table from Josephine and Charlotte, preferring to eat alone than in their company.

Then an amazing shift in the cosmos occurred. Plates clattered down onto the table on either side of Charlotte then Regina and Beatrice appeared, bringing to Charlotte the center of the universe and the light of a thousands suns.

Virginia watched in silence as Charlotte made conversation and laughed. Glances were tossed in Virginia’s directions.

Suddenly ashamed, Virginia broke the gaze and looked down at her plate. Bloody vultures, swooping in when they smelled blood. Regina and Beatrice were trying to take Charlotte away or drive a wedge between their trio. Maybe they deserved to have Charlotte. Charlotte seemed spend all her time asking if Virginia’s ideas were good decisions and warning about detentions. One little detention and all the girl’s desire for adventure was squashed. That wasn’t the type of person Virginia wanted to always be dragging behind her, and she would always be dragging Charlotte, kicking and complaining about detention.

Josephine said, "I’m not sure what happened between you two but you better fix it. I will got go through another year with warring roommates."

Virginia was beginning to feel remorse for the mean things she said, letting her irritation and impatience get the better of her.

In the Common Room, Virginia found a chair next to the divan where Charlotte wrote quietly in her journal.

"That was very clever, what you said to Fowles," Virginia said.

Charlotte looked at her with cool disdain. "It was only the truth."

So much for flattery.

"Look," Virginia said, "I’m sorry."

The journal closed with a snap. "No you’re not. You’re not sorry. You’re only apologizing because Josephine made you. I heard her! Apologies mean nothing if you’re forced into them."

"I’m trying to apologize but if you can’t have the decency to accept…"

"Decency! You think you can boss everyone around but you can’t, not always, and you can’t boss me around. I will not accept your half-hearted apology, Virginia Smithson."

"I didn’t mean to be bossy," Virginia said.

"Please leave me alone," Charlotte said.

Virginia did as Charlotte asked and left her alone. She went down to the second floor dormitory.

Nessa was playing chess by the fire with a brown haired girl who had enormous spectacles.

"Virginia!" she exclaimed when she saw her sister.

"Who’s winning?" Virginia asked, pulling a chair up to their table.

"It’s not about winning," Nessa said, thumping her forehead with her index finger. "It’s about
strategy."

"So you’re winning," Virginia said, addressing the girl with the spectacles.

"Quite soundly, too." The bishop moved across the board with motive and purpose. "Check mate," the girl said, smiling broadly. The broad smile nearly dwarfed the enormous glasses.

Nessa shrugged her shoulders. "Oh well, good game though." She studied the board for a few moments. Looking back to Virginia, she said, "Oh! I got a letter from Cyril."

"Really? And what does the little barbarian have to say for himself? More mice coming in the post?"

"No, something’s happened."

"Something?" The sickening feeling of cold dread curled about her stomach. She knew she could leave Jack alone to his own devices; the man had no regard for his own safety or the well being of his nieces, who depended on him…

"It’s not bad," Nessa said. A crumpled letter emerged from the front pocket of her green pinafore. She held out the letter. "Please read."

Dearest Cousins,

I feel it is my familial responsibility to inform you of recent events here in London. As you know, Uncle Jack left London nearly the same day as yourselves. Two days latter, nefarious persons broke and entered his residence. Nothing was taken, nothing that is obvious. Perhaps the thief thought the house abandoned, it is idle speculation at this point. What it is obvious is that the thief thought the house empty because a great deal of noise was made, as the staff would attest to. The butler heard glass breaking and raised the alarm. Within an hour, London finest was on the scene but the thief has long since left the premise. A description was given to the police but I’m not sure how much good a panic look in the dark will do for capturing the crook.

I write to you not only out of the ties of family but also out of concern for your safety. I think we all know the curiosities that Jack has housed in his home. Perhaps this thief was after something more than silver cutlery? Perhaps it was only a common thief looking for something shiny and pretty to sell quickly. Mother says that my imagination has fixed on this event in an unhealthy manner and not to think anything more of a common thief.

But cousin, if it was a common thief, why did they not take anything? While interrupted by the butler, there might still have been time to grab at least one item. I will continue to scour the newspapers and look for any of suspicious activity that might be related. Consider me your man in the field.

Mother does not want me to write to you so I am attaching this to a letter for Nessa regarding her request for another mummified mouse. Hopefully mother will be so horrified by the content she will not read the second page.

Warmest Regards,

Cyril Jones.

Five: In Flood's Kitchen

London Evening Standard

September 23, 1902

A burglary was reported to a residence on Pickwick Lane. The serving staff was waking by the sound of shattering glass early in the morning hours. The police were called but nothing of value seems to have been removed from the premise. The house is the primary residence of archeologist Jack Smithson, who is currently in France on an expedition.

Five: In Mrs. Flood’s Kitchen

Wednesday

September 22, 1902

Jo gave terrible directions. Fortunately, the layout of the castle was very easy to navigate. The more she walked the castle grounds and the more familiar she became with the castle, the more Virginia realized that it was designed as a trap. There was only one way to get anywhere, only one entrance for any room. Although the library had two floors, there was only on entrance. There was only one entrance to the dormitories. If one wished to attend a class on the third floor, one must exit the dormitory, go down to the ground floor, walk across the courtyard to the main staircase in the south wing, and climb three flights of stairs.

The school was a maze of repetitive journeys, dead ends, long corridors with only one exit, and a very elaborate means of controlling the traffic of one hundred girls. Every morning the students filed past the Warden’s door, all classrooms were accessible along the same corridor. The library, laboratory, music and art rooms were on the upper levels, entry to which was gained through the main staircase. There were no back doors, short cuts, or alternative routes.

Virginia’s class schedule ran as follows:

Monday mornings were biology with Miss Digress, afternoons in Ancient History. Tuesday belonged to languages: Greek in the mornings with Miss Radcliffe and Latin in the afternoon. Wednesday morning was mathematics with Mr. Fowles followed by world history in the afternoon. Thursday was a class mysteriously noted as "sport." Fridays were gloriously empty of responsibility.

The slip of paper Miss Radcliffe gave Virginia gave cryptic references to the location of the classrooms. S:3; R:1, which translated as the south side of the castle, third floor, first classroom.
First days were always nerve racking. A bell woke all the students at half past six. At that hour in the morning, the sun had barely crested the hill and reached into the castle’s valley. A thick layer of mist clung to the surface of the lake’s water, shrouding the castle in wooly fog. The bedroom’s window proved to be above the line of fog. Looking straight down was like looking into a white abyss.
Virginia trudged down the hall to the shared bathroom, washed her face and grimaced at herself in the mirror, checking for any unsightly object lodged in her teeth. After bathing quickly, she went back to the room to dress. Every student wore a uniform of dark green skirts with white blouses. By the time Virginia arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast, half of the student body was already bustling like snow covered leaves, consuming cups of tea, crumpets with sticky strawberry jam and bowls of hot cereals.
Jo and Charlotte were already seated. Jo looked disappointedly at the bottom of her cup and Charlotte was added sugar to the bowl of hot cereal.
"How did you get down here so fast?" she asked, amazed.
"We don’t trudge to the loo and walk about like a zombie," Jo said, "we fly." Jo picked up a teacup and demonstrated their flight by zipping the cup in a flight pattern above her plate. Cold tea sloshed at the sides. She said, "Because if you are too slow, only the burnt crumpets are left."
Point taken, only the burnt crumpets were left. So far the experience at Mauldy was exactly the same as her last school only with different scenery.
Virginia’s day began with mathematics, on the third floor. Charlotte and Josephine also shared the course, as it was required of all third years. The journey to class was preposterous. Her dormitory was on the third floor, the upper most level. Leaving the common room, she heard the lament of other fellow students. "Only Mr. Fowles teaches on the third floor. He does it on purpose. He doesn’t like his students."
"I heard her didn’t even chose the profession of teaching," a girl with dark brown hair in long plaits said. Virginia believed her name to be Susan Finney.
Susan continued, "I heard that the only reason he teaches here is because he is Lady Mauldy’s cousin and will inherit the castle."
"But why is he teaching?" the other girl asked.
"Protecting his investment," Susan stated authoritatively.
Virginia whispered to Josephine, "Is that true?"
Josephine nodded. "But course you must realize that the concept of private property is one used to oppress the working classes. This castle belongs more to the servants and staff who work here, to dedicate time and energy to its upkeep and functioning than it belongs to one single person."
"I wasn’t suggesting that the castle be turned into a commune. I was asking if Fowles is related to Lady Mauldy," Virginia replied tartly.
Down the stairs three flights, which conveniently emptied at the housekeeper’s door, across the main courtyard, into the southern wing of the castle, and up the main staircase for another three flights. There could have easily been a door on the third floor to connect the dormitories to the classrooms but where would have been the forced controlled march of the green uniformed students up and down stairs? It was a subtle form of torture.
The third floor was not used often for classes, the teachers not liking the long climb up the stairs as much as the students. The corridor had a dusty, forgotten aspect. Virginia knew it was silly, that her own bedroom was on the other side of the brick wall that separated the classes from the dormitories, but the third floor gave her a sinister, creeping feeling at the base of her spine.
Folwes’ classroom was the first one off the main staircase, directly to the right. Students filed in quietly and sat at the tables. Virginia, Josephine, and Charlotte sat at a table in the front of the class.
In the center of the room, mimicking her place in the universe, was Regina.
Regina’s eyes fixed on Josephine. "I see you brought your sideshows. That must make you the ring leader of your very own three ring circus."
Vicious giggly ensued. Josephine turned bright red. Judging from her grip on the pencil, the red complexion was due to anger, not embarrassment.
Fowles entered the room. The giggly immediately ceased. Slowly he surveyed the class before setting down his satchel.
"I am not one accustomed to flowery speeches. Let me only advise you that this is mathematics and I am Bernard Fowles. Mathematics is a science. It is art. It is music. Mathematics can express so much more than simple sums and divisions. It is the language of God himself."
Fowles spoke in sharp tones and short sentences.
"Now, the happy few of you will advance to the more complex courses that I offer. Congratulations. Until ten, this is required core curriculum until fifth year and we will have to see it through to the bitter end."
He picked up a piece of white chalk and wrote on the board in large letters: Rules of the Classroom.
"First rule, no talking out of turn. Please write these down, I will not repeat them."
The class reached into satchels and pulled out paper and pencils.
"Second rule, all assigned homework is due at the beginning of the next class. I will not accept late work. Third…" The barrage of rules continued. Virginia wrote until her hand began to cramp.
"Excellent," Fowles said, setting the chalk down and wiping the dust from his hands. "Now we can begin our work. I trust you all have your texts, A Third Year’s Mathematics. Excellent, please turn to page fifteen and read silently."
The next hour was spent with Fowles lecturing on equations, the balance and perfect symmetry each equation wanted to achieve, the mysteries of X equals Y, demonstrating with examples, and the modest fifty problems each student was assigned.
Josephine and Charlotte needed to return to the dormitories briefly. Virginia proceeded to the Great Hall for Lunch.
Lunch was in the Great Hall, where all meals were served. Until like at the banquet the night before when the food was already waiting on the tables, the food was served at a buffet along eastern wall. Servers doled out portions of mushy peas and mashed potatoes.
Virginia found a table where she had the space to set up her mathematics book and solve a few problems and eat at the same time. She had a system. Every question solved was rewarded with a few bites. The exercise kept her distracted from the sad fact that she was eating alone.
"I trust, Smithson, that you will not get mashed potatoes on my assignment," a dour voice said.
Virginia replied before looking up. "No, that was not part of my plan."
"I do not look kindly on stained and greasy papers," Fowles said. "And your conclusion for number four is wrong."
"I don’t like to eat alone," Virginia said, erasing the conclusion for question four. "I did not see my sister or my friends, so I will distract myself with work. Unless you would like to eat with me, please leave me to my methods."
A smile tugged at the corner of Fowles’ mouth. "As you were, Smithson."
Pencil had barely returned to the page when, "Who was that? Was that your teacher?"
Nessa sat herself opposite Virginia, tray with food platter, silverware, and drink clattering noisily.
"You teacher, too. Mathematics."
"He seems grumpy."
"I think it’s an act to get us unruly students to behave. I bet he’s alright."
Josephine and Charlotte appeared. They had needed to retrieve their books for Literature, a course which they shared in the afternoon.
"Is Fowles’ picking on you," Jo demanded.
"Probably but I’m not scared of him." Virginia quickly introduced her sister to her roommates.
"He terrorizes, that’s what he does," Jo said. "And he always singles out one girl in particular and heaps on extra abuse for her."
"Extra abuse? But we all do get the abuse?" Virginia asked.
"There’s plenty for all."
"Even about Bernard Fowles," Charlotte said. "What about the mysterious figure in the woods?"
"Oh!" Nessa shouted. "That’s much more exciting than maths."
"Could have been anyone," Virginia said.
"Anyone," Jo said, "but probably not a student or a teacher. The drawbridge is lift at night. There’s no way out of the castle."
"The groundskeeper?"
"He wasn’t at the banquet last night," Charlotte added. "But what was he doing?"
"Grounds keeping?" Virginia offered.
Josephine laughed. "Do you have a serious bone in your body?"
"Oh, she can," Nessa said. "Do the face you make when you’re yelling at Cyril. That’s a rather good face."
"Do be quiet," Virginia said.
"That’s the face!"
World History was in the afternoon. This class was held on the ground floor, in the wing behind the Great Hall. As before, there was no way to get there from Great Hall. Virginia was walking down the corridor past the series of gruesome tapestries to the exit when she walked past an open door and caught a glimpse of the Gallery in the daylight. Compelled, she entered.
The room was flood with soft daylight provided from the enormous windows on the north-facing wall. The windows were draped with heavy green velvet, tied back with golden cords. Between the windows were more paintings. Beyond the windows were the blue waters of the lake and the shore, dotted with trees. No mysterious figures in the woods now.
Virginia turned to find the painting that caught her attention last night, before the figure appeared.
The remaining three walls of the Gallery were covered in paintings, every possible surface. In the dark was possible only to make out the size and shape of the largest pieces but not the smaller ones closer to the ceiling. Very little of the wood paneling showed between the gilded golden frames.
There were so many paintings, so many faces starring down at her, illustrious members of the Mauldy family, and scenes of the bible and mythology enacted with pretty, nearly nude models. Models were always nearly nude. Apparently no one dressed properly back in the mists of time.
The catalogue painting was hanging in the vicinity of where Virginia remembered it to be. The painting showed a large room filled with paintings. It was this room, the gallery. In the center was a tall, older man. He stood behind a settee. One handed rested on the shoulder of a small child sitting on the settee. She wore a navy dress with a wide pink ribbon at the waist. Her feet did not touch the ground.
The pair was having their portrait painted. The artist’s back was to the audience and his work in progress was on display.
Virginia searched the walls of the Gallery. No where in the room was the family portrait on display.
However, a large portrait hung between the two windows caught her eye. It was the same serious old man, frown heavily, one hand behind his back, the other pointing to something off the canvas. Virginia followed to where his finger would be pointing, which was a cluster of paintings on the other side of the room. She turned back to the painting. There was no label on the frame and no obvious artist’s signature. The old man looked as if he had too much important work to let old age catch up him, much less waste his remaining time on this earth posing for a painting.
"That is my grandfather, Sirius," a masculine voice said from behind.
"He looks as if he never smiled," Virginia replied, not taking her eyes from the painting.
"I don’t think he did." Fowles stood in the doorway, carrying a satchel heavy with books.
A moment of silence as they both regarded the unhappy old man’s portrait.
"You do not want to be late, Smithson."
Virginia said nothing but quickly dashed out of the room.
The bell signifying the start of class rang just as Virginia slide into a seat the front of the class. She wasn’t a teacher’s pet but the only seats open were at the front. No one liked to be directly in the line of fire.
In the middle of the seats, at a table with Beatrice, was Regina. The heaviest concentration of students was clustered around their table. It was probably her table. Regina most likely did not share anything.
Fowles entered the room, the door banging behind him. "Please stop all idle chatter, I am not in the mood to indulge you."
He paused as he reached the podium and look at Virginia quizzically. "As you may have noticed, I am not Miss Whoever it Was Who Last Held This Post, nor would I want to be. I have been assured that there is a proper history teacher on her way this very moment, until then, I will substitute." A groan seemed to escape from the collective body of the class.
"I am as thrilled with the situation as you seem to be. Please open your books to Chapter One."
Virginia opened her tomb entitled ubiquitously World History to the first chapter, The Nature of History. Fowles barked out commands for various students to read a passage.
Virginia read her passage, "In essence history is the total recorded past of humankind on this earth: the totality of human experience. Inasmuch as all aspects of this great experience are not of equal importance either to an understanding of how the world of the present got the way it is, or in comprehending how men lived in the past, or in learning how changes were made which got us from primitive society to the present complex societies, the historian has to make selections from the total record for special study." This text was the height of tedium.
"Thank you. Miss Pomepanz, if you please."
Regina began to speak, "These selections, based upon the major categories of man’s behavior in society, provide the historian with his orienting themes. Thus the historian endeavors to…" She paused. "I’m sorry. I just don’t see why I should have to bother with learning about boring events that happened a longtime ago and really don’t make a difference in my life."
Folwes’ face seemed to get just a touch red. "I am no lover of history or antiquities, Miss Pomepanz, but let me assure you that the subject must be of some merit to warrant a class in this institution."
"It just doesn’t seem very…relevant," she said at length. The class broke out in a nervous tittering of laughter.
Fowles’ top lip drew back in a sneer. "If you chose to remain ignorant, Miss Pomepanz, that is your choice but I implore you not to plunge your classmates into darkness."
Virginia really liked Fowles at that moment.
"I believe we all can benefit from an academic exercise. Three pages on the importance of learning history’s lessons. I implore you, please learn from this lesson, lest you be doomed to repeat it."
The class groaned. Fowles remained unmoved. He said, "You may all thank Miss Pomepanz for your essays."
Class was dismissed. Virginia gathered her books and papers.
Crossing the courtyard, the stooped hawk figure of Mrs. Flood was waiting, talon hands clasp in front of her person. "Ah, Miss Smithson. I trust to see you and your associates this afternoon. I have a little list you can help me with."
Twenty minutes later, Virginia was peeling potatoes in the kitchen with Charlotte and Josephine.
"And she just called the class boring?" Charlotte asked in disbelief. They sat at a wooden worktable, a pile of potatoes and a pot of water between them.
"It was," Virginia said, "but I can’t believe the nerve, interrupting Fowles. He’s a man you don’t cross."
"Or question."
"I like him," Virginia said, surprised at her own opinion.
"You can’t be serious," Josephine said. "He’s a tyrant, always glowering, never smiles, assigns extra homework when he’s in a bad mood, and he punishes the entire class when he really wants to hurt just one person."
"I think he’s funny."
"Funny? There’s nothing funny about the man." Jo dropped a potato in a pot of salted water.
"I don’t know. I was in the Gallery after lunch and Fowles found me."
"You couldn’t have gotten in trouble," Charlotte said. "Lady Mauldy said we were welcome to visit the gallery anytime during the daylight."
"I wasn’t in trouble," Virginia said. "It’s not that. There’s a portrait of a really horrible old man and Fowles said it was his grandfather, Sirius."
"So it’s true, he is Lady Mauldy’s cousin," Josephine said.
"A cousin of some sort. But that’s not the weird thing."
"Having a nearly civil conversation with Fowles is weird."
"No," Virginia said, "in the catalogue painting I say last night, Sirius’ portrait was hanging in a different spot. And another painting in the catalogue is missing. I mean, it wasn’t in the Gallery."
"So?" Charlotte asked. "I sure people rearrange their paintings from time to time."
Virginia pressed her lips together, remember the old man’s serious glare and pointing to something. Staring into his eyes, you felt for sure that he was trying to show you something.
"Even museum rearrange their collections," Charlotte continued.
Mrs. Flood’s voice pierced their conversation. "More peeling and less talking, girls. This is not a socializing event."
The kitchen was located next to the Great Hall. Long and narrow, it had high ceilings with tall, narrow windows to let in the light. The kitchen was filled with cast iron stoves, brick ovens, the ancient hearths and fireplaces no longer in service and table after table with food being prepared. A modest army of twelve women cleaned, prepared, and cooked food all day long for the students. The kitchen was a blur of activity and a den of the most welcoming fragrances.
A rosy cheeked woman set a plate of biscuits on the tables. "Don’t mind her, girls," the woman said. "She’s always barking orders at someone. Have a little bite to eat, girls. You’re working so hard, you must be peckish."
"Thank you, Flora," Jo said.
"Spend a lot of time in here?" Virginia asked.
Flora patted a flour-covered hand on Jo’s shoulder. "Seems you spent most of last year in here with my girls."
"No better place in the entire castle," Jo said.
"Now you’re just teasing." Flora left, leaving the appetizing biscuits on the table.
"You should organize with the other staff and demand better wages," Jo said.
"We’ll have none of that labor union talk today," Flora said.
Charlotte stuffed a biscuit in her mouth. "So spill the dirt," she said, mouth full.
"I had some trouble last year," Jo admitted. Despite Flora’s admonishments to continue on gossiping and that Flood was harmless, they spoke in softer tones, the better to avoid the ears of Flood.
"What kind of trouble?" Virginia asked. She was use to some form of trouble. Between Nessa and herself, they had a complete disregard for their safety and wellbeing. The Smithson girls were usually in trouble.
"I believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my previous roommates."
"Who?" Charlotte asked
"Who else?"
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "I’ve met so many people."
"Regina," Virginia said.
"And Beatrice. What a charming duo."
"And so you had a civil war in the room?" Virginia placed a peeled potato in the pot and grabbed another from the pile. Her hands were sticky with starch from the raw tubers.
"We got on well for the first two months." Another potato in the pot. "Then Beatrice spread this horrible rumor about my family."
"What rumor?" Charlotte was good with the obvious questions.
A sour looked crossed Josephine’s face. "It’s well known that my mother is American, an heiress from a wealthy family. My father is what some politely call the impoverish nobility."
"Your father married your mother for money," Charlotte said. "Lots of people do that. Nothing new there. Edith Wharton wrote an entire book about it."
"But the question is where did my mother’s money come from."
Virginia spoke. "There’s no shame that your mother’s family worked for their money. It speaks of ingenuity, determination, and…and…There’s nothing wrong with hard work. My family owns a textile mill in Southwark."
"Beatrice said my money came from a circus," Jo said.
Virginia and Charlotte looked at her in stunned silence for a second. A potato fell to the floor.
"That explains the three ringed circus comment during maths," Virginia said.
"Barnum and Bailey’s circus, the greatest show on earth. Everywhere I went people made elephant noises. Sometimes at my desk I would find peanuts in their shells. I’m not from circus money."
"Where does your money come from," Virginia asked casually.
"That’s not important," Jo replied.
"And how does Regina fit into this?" Charlotte asked.
"Oh," Jo said, tone of voice becoming falsely light and sweet. "She was my friend, would never believe a negative word about, even if I did come from circus money."
"I like the circus," Virginia said feebly.
"There’s nothing wrong with the circus," Jo snapped, "but you can’t imagine the whispering and conversations that stop when you enter the room, and the only people you counted on as friends laugh at you behind your back." Then, quietly, "The worst part was having absolutely no one to trust."
"We’re your friends," Charlotte said.
"You don’t know what Regina’s like. Everyone loves her, absolutely loves and adores her. It’s like she can do no wrong. She sets the fashion, the trends, and everyone follows. Even when she’s mean, and she is, the girls just smile and can’t believe that Regina actually talked to them."
"Popularity," Virginia murmured.
"That’s not how the real word works," Charlotte said.
"No," Jo stated, "this is a perfect example of how society works, with elitist classes insulting the lower classes and the lower classes just tickled pink that a high and mighty spared the time to berate them. Such an honor."
Mrs. Flood drifted through the kitchen. She paused at the table, the three girls with frowns on their faces and silently peeling potatoes. She smiled, pleased.
Virginia broke the silence. "So how did you get all that detention last year?"
"Oh, I cut off Regina’s beautiful hair."
"What!"
"Snip snip in the middle of the night. Of course, they couldn’t pin the blame on me. No scissors, no evidence. No suspension but plenty of detention."
"What happened to the scissors?"
"Dropped them out the window into the lake."
"And what did Regina do?" Charlotte asked.
"Nothing," Jo said, "Regina walked about pretty as you please. Suddenly it was all the rage last winter to wear one’s hair short. She’s untouchable, that one."
Eventually the last potato was peeled. Flora appeared with a tray filled with cucumber sandwiches. "You might as well eat in here, dears. Help yourselves."
Hands aching from the repetitive motion of peeling and stomachs full, the three made the journey back across the courtyard and up the steep stairs to the dormitories.
Virginia was prepared for bed, in flannel nightdress, and lounging on the bed, writing in her journal.
Charlotte sat on her bed by the window, absently brushing her hair.
"Shall we leave the window open?" Jo asked.
"Let’s close it, please," Virginia said. "The air is so damp tonight."
Jo moved to close the window. "What is that?"
Across the lake, on the shore, a light was moving through the trees.
Virginia and Charlotte were at her side, jockeying for a clear view from the window.
"The light?" Charlotte asked.
"Yes, the light." Jo said.
"Someone must be in the woods," Virginia said.
"Could be the groundskeeper," Charlotte offered helpfully.
Virginia and Jo remained silent, churning over reason why it was not the groundskeeper. The groundskeeper, in theory, would have nothing to hide and would use a light to move through the trees at night. He was keeping the grounds; it was his job. The figure they saw last night did not have a light, was seeking in the cover of darkness. That was the mystery.
"Must be the groundskeeper," Virginia concluded.
"But what if it’s not?" Jo asked.
"It can’t be a student," Virginia reasoned aloud. "The drawbridge is closed at night. We’re locked in the castle until morning."
"Then it’s not a teacher, either."

Four: The Adventure to Find the Water Closet

London Evening Standard – September 21,1902

Noted archeologist, Jack Smithson, departed this afternoon from the Isle of Dogs to commence his latest expedition in France. The site in question has long been the point of speculation…


Four: Lady Mauldy Welcomes the Returning Students and the Great Adventure to Find the Water Closet

From the journal of Charlotte Penn:

Now that we’re finally back, I’m writing this while Regina and Virginia prepare for bed. I know that in a few minutes they’ll complain about the light on my nightstand and ask me to turn extinguish the flame. Accommodating roommates is something I will have to get use to. I suppose if my light really bothers them, they can close the curtains on the bed. I want to write all of this down before I forget.
Josephine led Virginia and me down to the Great Hall. I don’t think I could have found it without her help. This castle seems to be made of endless corridors and doors and staircases. And it’s dark. Some of the corridors are wired for electricity, the heavy black wires crawl along the walls, but the light bulbs only give off a pale sulfuric glow. I blink and squint but that does not work and nothing comes into focus.
We passed from the modern refurbished wing to distinctly Tudor looking sections to a rougher medieval area. Virginia pointed out the architectural details. I, myself, am ignorant. I suspect Josephine may have been taking the scenic route. “Look at the Norman arch, fantastic detail.”
“How do you know it’s Norman,” Josephine inquired.
“The jagged teeth like design in the stone of that arch, that’s Norman.” Virginia’s tone implied that she was an expert on the subject, having been to so many castles. The jagged designed seemed to transform the arch into a great gaping mouth.
Virginia seemed to marvel at every turn and new passage, pointing out interesting features I did not notice. I don’t know how she could see so much in the dark.
I wish I had a candle. I wish I had brought my silly glasses instead of leaving them on my nightstand.
Down a cold gray stone corridor and a short flight of stairs, past a series of grim tapestries, we entered the Great Hall.
The Great Hall was in the center of the castle. It is a large vaulted stone room with a dozen long tables filling the space. Suites of armor and displays of swords lined the walls. Above was a gallery with a short banister; it ran the length around the hall. At the far end was the Mauldy coat of arms, crossed swords on a field of green. The room glowed warmly with hundreds of flickering lights: gas lights. Not all of the castle was equipped for electricity.
“Minstrel’s gallery,” Virginia said, pointing to where I was looking. I must appear a slack jawed yokel, never having seen a castle before, much less romp through as if I owned the place. We just don’t have castles in the United States and we certainly don’t have old buildings by English standards. An Old Building in America pre-dates the Civil War. A Really Old Building predates the Revolution. I can’t believe I was casually standing in a thousand year old castle, complaining about the lighting.
The hall was filled with a dozen long tables, enough for ten students a piece. At the far end of the hall, under the coat of arms, was a long table designated for teachers. At the center sat an old woman, possibly Lady Mauldy, the headmistress. Her dress was old fashioned, stiff looking with an impossible amount of ruffles and lace, the height of Victorian fashion. Hair was piled on top of her head in a very full coiffeur. Her hair was wider than the rest of her body, which was unfortunate, as she appeared to be very short and round. How could she sit so casually in that rigid gear? Or keep her head from bobbling from side to side, desperately seeking balance? Fashion has relaxed in recent years, much to my comfort and Grandmother’s approval. While she demands modesty, as the older fashions provided, it is a sin to waste so much fabric on embellishments and decorations. Must be her Quaker roots, preferring simplicity.
I prefer simplicity but I don’t think that’s the force of Grandmother’s personality over me. Clothing that is too fussy or too ornate is just not comfortable. No one can be happy if they are wearing itchy clothing.
A small girl with hair coming out of plaits stood on her chair and waved madly. Virginia waved back. “That’s my sister,” she said.
Josephine found space enough for us near the entrance. All the other tables were full. Counting tables and heads, I figure there must be a hundred students. A hundred girls rattling on, voices bouncing off hard stone walls…it was loud.
The food was already on the table: roast beef with pudding, vegetables and a basket of bread. Josephine was barely in her chair before she reached across the table for the pitcher of water. Virginia didn’t waste anytime with niceties before serving herself a generous portion of beef. I could get use to dining without worry about the proper forks or on which side of the plate the water glass goes.
There were a dozen teachers sitting at the head table but only one man, Mr. Fowles. He was frowning, of course. I can’t imagine him smiling. His lecture earlier was enough to frighten the socks of any students, let alone one fresh off the boat. He probably enjoys it, scaring little girls. The other teachers seem pleasant enough. I recognized the tightly drawn hair and face of Miss Radcliffe.
Josephine and Virginia did not talk much while they ate. Virginia muttered something about sardine sandwiches between mouthfuls. I had not eaten myself since that morning. Grandmother marched me to the train station an hour and half before the train was scheduled to leave. In a café at the station, she had coffee and a sweet roll and I had tea and a scone with as much jam and cream as the laws of physics would allow.
At nine, Grandmother snagged a porter with the crook of her parasol. He was obliged to help with my baggage. There was a large crowd at the platform, students and parents milling about. Grandmother pushed her way through with her parasol, poking into feet and whacking people liberally. Useful tool that parasol. I know for a fact that she buys them with reinforced steel shafts, the better with which to whack, and probably has the tip sharpened.
Bright red hair caught my attention. Beatrice was sitting next to Regina, in the center of the hall. She glowed softly but intently, like a firefly in a jar. The room seemed too radiant from her point of presence.
“She’s the most popular girl in the school,” Josephine said, pointing a fork in Regina’s direction.
“And you dislike her.” It was obvious from the tone of voice, not to mention the show earlier in our room.
“It’s mutual, I assure you.”
“And Beatrice?”
“Regina’s goon, second in command. Vicious gossip. Spreads the most insidious rumors and lies.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll find out.”
I remember the events on the train in painful detail. Nervous and alone, I climbed on board the train. Sure, I was glad to be away from Grandmother and that enormous thumb and all that went with it, but it’s frightening to be on your own for the first time. What was she thinking, sending a thirteen-year-old girl off on her own in a foreign land? We barely speak the same language! Two countries divided by a common language, thank you, Mark Twain.
I spotted Beatrice entering a car. You really can’t miss that hair. My heart left my throat. Someone I knew. Just knowing someone, a single person, gives you a lifeline that you can hold on to.
I knocked lightly on the door before entering.
Beatrice was sitting opposite a pretty, blonde girl, wearing icy blue. “Can I help you?” she asked in a disdainful tone.
I swallowed before answering. Please don’t let me babble like an idiot. My mouth opened before I could help myself, “Hello, Beatrice. I was wondering if I could sit with you for the journey. I don’t really know anyone else on board. I didn’t even know you were going to Mauldy. When you brother said you were returning to school, I had no idea we would be attending the same school. Talk about a small world…”
“Do you know her?” the blonde asked.
Beatrice looked as if she smelled something foul, her nose crinkled in an unflatteringly manner. “No, I have no idea who she is, Regina.”
“Oh,” I said, groping for words. My cheeks were burning with shame. “I’m sorry, I thought I recognized someone I knew.”
I backed out of the car, knocking into the doorframe on my way out. The glass rattled in protest.
I eventually found a compartment at the back of the train with no other passengers. At I wouldn’t have to embarrass myself for a second time that morning. With knees drawn against my chest, I stared intently out the window, trying not to think of how mortified I felt.
Josephine said Regina was vicious. I’m inclined to believe it.
“Are you feeling okay,” Virginia asked. “You’re staring daggers at someone and hardly eating a thing.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I replied hastily, shoving a butter roll into my mouth.
The old woman in the center rose. Her head bobbled from side to side for moment, the mass of silver hair finding balance. She was impossibly short. I suspect she might have been standing on a footstool or else her face would barely clear the table.
A hush fell over the crowd.
Lady Mauldy seemed to inspect the crowd before speaking. “Welcome to another year at the Mauldy Institute.”
The crowd clapped.
“That is the end of my prepared speech,” Lady Mauldy said, holding a small piece of paper to demonstrate. “However, there is much I want to say to you. For some this is your final year, for others this is your first. Let me assure you now that this fine institution has no likeness anywhere else on this fair sceptered green isle.
“This is by design. At no other place will you or could you achieve such a comprehensive education. Nowhere in the curriculum will you find embroidery, etiquette, or other ignoble accomplishments. This school does not produce accomplished young ladies. Accomplished is a polite way of saying pretty but useless. No, no accomplishments at Mauldy. We produce extraordinary young ladies.
“As you may have noticed, I am extremely aged. With my advanced years, I am a bit dotty, eccentric, and more stubborn than ever. Fortunately, I am very rich, so no one complains. My main eccentricity is the insistence at founding a school that produced women of merit. Squandered my fortune and sacrificed my ancestral home, such sins in the eyes of the aristocracy. The first years at the young Mauldy Institute were trying and a rough ride. Very exciting times. But I am stubborn, a trait I had even in my youth, and created a fine school of which I am very proud. Very proud indeed.”
Lady Mauldy paused in her speech and took a drink of water.
“We have before us a new school year and the promise of staggering possibility. Every classroom is at your disposal, every book is meant to be read, and every idea you wish to pursue is valid and exciting. We are forging the women of the twentieth century. Everyone one of you girls has the seed of greatness in her. After all, I don’t let just anyone in my school.
“A few general announcements. We have a new groundskeeper, Jonas Broadfoot. Please make him welcome when you do see him. And a sad announcement: due to a family emergency, Miss Hill relinquished her post as history teacher. Due to the short notice, this position will be filled as soon as possible…”
Virginia leaned in and whispered, “I bet this place is crawling with secret passages.”
I scanned the room, looking for obvious signs of a secret passage. Of course, if it were obvious it wouldn’t be secret. “How do you know that?”
“Because all castle are built with escape routes, handy things like that to slip out during a siege or invasion.”
“I though you said all castles were designed to keep invaders at bay, to bottleneck soldiers in a staircase, and to let a single man hold back an army.”
“That…and with an way to escape while the one solder is holding back the army.” Virginia’s tone of voice implied that it was obvious.
“That makes sense,” I agreed meekly. I recalled the steep narrow staircase to the dormitory and how easy it would be to simply push a person down as soon as they reach the top. And if they had a sword and were wearing, twenty pounds of armor…Yeah, made sense.
“So we’re agreed.” Virginia pushed her chair away from the table. “We’ll go looking for secret passages.”
“I didn’t say that!”
Josephine laid a warning hand on my shoulder. “Not so loud. We should leave one at a time to avoid unwanted attention.”
“But I don’t want to go looking for secret passages,” I protested weakly. I might as well have been speaking French for all the attention Virginia and Josephine were paying me. Great, roommates who ignored me as if I didn’t exist.
“You complain an awful lot,” Virginia said sourly.
“I’m not complaining,” I said, “I just don’t want us to get into trouble.”
“We won’t get into any trouble.”
“Yes we will. There are rules, Mr. Fowles told us so, and he said that ignorance was no excuse and we would be held accountable for any rule breaking, he said so, and I really don’t want to break any rules on my first day.” It all came out so fast I could barely breathe.
“If we get caught,” Virginia said, “we’ll just say we were looking for the water closet.” It really is amazing the way she can completely ignore what was just said. She continued, “I assume there are water closets.”
“Of course, but all of us?” Josephine inquired.
“Safety in numbers.” Virginia left the table and walked boldly up the main stairs, as if she had nothing to hide and in no way was about to sneak about the castle exploring. An admirable quality, this fearlessness.
“She’s trouble,” I mused out loud. Josephine looked surprised and then laughed.
When the back of Virginia disappeared around the door, Josephine stood from the table and said, “Follow me.” So I followed.
Virginia was waiting in the hall, inspecting the tapestry. This particular one illustrated the demise of a king with an arrow through the eye. There were letters on the tapestry but they were difficult to read, probably in Latin, the official language of the past.
“So what clues denote a secret passage,” Josephine asked.
“Drafts, inexplicable currents of air, walls that are too thick, portraits with eyes that follow you, that sort of thing.”
“What about rotating bookcases or wall sconces that are really triggers?” Josephine asked with a smile on her face.
“Bah,” Virginia said dismissively, “those sort of things only happen in books.”
“And why are you such an expert?” I asked.
“My uncle is an archeologist. He tells me all the time about finding secret passages and lost tombs and so on.”
Down the hall, we found an opened door. We entered a long room that ran parallel to the corridor we had just left. The walls were covered with portraits, presumably illustrious Mauldy ancestors. The other wall was dotted with large windows. In-between the windows were more painting. It was hard to see anything beyond the gleam of moonlight on the varnish of the paintings. “Can we do something about the lights?” I asked nervously.
“Parts of the castle have not yet been wired for electricity,” Josephine explained. “Some areas are plunged into complete darkness.”
“Can’t really explore in the dark,” I said like a Nervous Nelly, afraid of the dark in a large and ominous castle.
“That’s were you’re wrong,” Virginia said. She looked intently into the eyes of each portrait.
“The eyes never move when you’re looking at them,” Josephine said.
Virginia seemed to blush. “You never know.”
The only light available spilled in from the outside, pooling at the base of the window. Darkness makes me nervous. I edged as close to the window as I could.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Virginia said, peering at a painting. I joined her, leaning in close. I recognized the style of the painting. It depicted a large room filled with paintings. In the center was a man standing and a child dressed in vivid blue sitting on a settee.
“It’s a catalogue painting,” I said. “Art collectors had paintings made of their collections, so insurance reasons mostly, but also ego.”
I returned to the window, to the small pool of moonlight. For being an older section of the castle, the glass was clear and not hazy with age. The round panels did not sag towards the bottom, tiny particles of glass moving south slowly but steadily over the years. These were modern windows.
The window offered a view of the ground beyond the lake. The waters of the lake were still, dark shapes of swans gliding silently across the surface. The moonlight illuminated the tops of the trees and the silvery expanses of the lawn.
“And when did you become such an art expert?”
“Grandmother drags me to museums for my edification,” I said absently. “I must have inadvertently learned something when I wasn’t paying attention.”
“But that still doesn’t explain…” Virginia started.
A figure moved in the darkness beneath the trees.
“What is that?” I gasped. Virginia and Josephine were by my side faster than imaginable. I pointed to where I saw the movement.
“Where?” Virginia pushed me out of the way.
“In the trees.”
We were still for a moment, waiting. Just as I began to think I had imagined it, a figure moved from the dark of woods, briefly illuminated in the moonlight, and disappeared again into the trees.
“What are you girls doing here!” A shrill voice shocked me to the bone.
We three turned simultaneously, our backs to the window.
A tall, thin woman stood in front of us. She was dressed in back, thin bird like hands clasped in front of her. Her nose was large; glasses perched on the every tip of her nose. Thin lips were pressed together in disdain.
“Mrs. Flood,” Josephine started, “my friends and I were…were…” Josephine’s voice trailed off, unable to continue the rehearsed excuse.
“Water closet,” Virginia said and looked quickly at her feet.
“I needed the water closet,” I said, surprised at the level control of my voice. “Josephine offered to show me the way but we got turned around. The halls are very dark.”
“Yes, dark,” Josephine added, as if that clenched the argument.
Mrs. Flood’s eyes narrowed. Her index finger pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose. She didn’t believe us but we were doing nothing more wrong than looking out a window.
“I hoped we had seen the last of your rebellious behavior, Miss Bailey-Smythe,” she said, hands still folded calmly.
The lecture continued, “You know you are not to wander the castle hall at night. It is very dark and it is also very dangerous,” Mrs. Flood said. “You will follow me.” Tone of voice indicated that we had no choice. We would follow.
Mrs. Flood turned and walked swiftly down the hall, the black of her garments fading into the dark of the hall.
Students were pouring out of the Great Hall as we approached. Mrs. Flood cut a path through the students like Moses parting the Red Sea, I would imagine, and walked directly to the headmistress, Lady Mauldy, who was enjoying a glass of wine with the other teachers.
“What is it now, Constance?” Lady Mauldy’s cheeks were flush with the wine.
“I found these students wandering the halls. They were in the Gallery.”
“Oh, I see.” Lady Mauldy set down her glass and considered our trespasses with a serious look on her face.
“They must be punished!” Flood said with a snap in her voice. “Girls who would wander and get up to no good must be made an example of, or else the others girls will take it to their wee heads that wandering the castle at night is good sport.” The more impassioned Flood became, the more a brogue crept into her voice.
“In the Gallery?”
“The Gallery,” Mrs. Flood confirmed.
“Was any property damaged?”
“No.”
“Irreplaceable treasures lost for all time?”
“Err, no.”
“In that case, thank you, Mrs. Flood for bringing this to my attention. These girls will join you tomorrow afternoon for whatever activity you deem an appropriate punishment. Scrubbing pots, I should imagine. Thank you, I no longer require your prescience at this moment.”
Mrs. Flood stood quite for a moment, taking in what Lady Mauldy said. When she did speak, it was calm, controlled, and icy in formality. “Very good, Madame.”
When Mrs. Flood had left the room, Lady Mauldy spoke. “Constance likes to make a sacrificial lamb of a few students every year. Puts the proper sense of fear in the rest of the student. What were you doing in the Gallery?”
“Water closet,” Virginia answered intelligently.
Lady Mauldy’s eyes twinkled. “There is no water closet in the Gallery, and if you did indeed find one I will either be amazed or vastly horrified. Now, what where you doing?”
Josephine spoke, regaining the voice she lost in Mrs. Flood’s presence. “I wanted to give a little tour of the castle, Lady Mauldy, for my new roommates. I am sorry. It is my fault.”
“Josephine, you know that wandering the castle at night is forbidden.”
“Yes.”
“It is a very old building and can be dangerous.”
“I am sorry,” Josephine repeated.
“This is exactly the type of behavior than landed you in so much trouble last year, Miss Bailey-Smythe. A repeat of certain events will not be tolerated.”
“Certainly.”
“And to included you newest roommates with your escapades…I can certainly see why you go through them so quickly. No one can stand up your will. You are either destined to be a great political leader or a criminal mastermind.”
Josephine seemed to be trying to make herself look very repentant but kept smiling in spite of her best efforts.
“One night with Mrs. Flood should set you right. Cheer up, girls, it’s not the end of the world. Now off you go.”
The Great Hall was nearly emptied. We turned to leave; our pride handed to us curtly.
“And girls,” Lady Mauldy said. “You are welcome to visit the Gallery in the day light. My father amassed a rather nice collection. And see Miss Felding if you are truly interested in the fine arts.”

Am willing to accept suggestion for a better chapter title

A History of Mauldy Castle

Mauldy Castle predates the conquest of 1066 and is included in the Doomsday Book. However, finding the beginning of the castle is more than a dig through the past. In some sections inside the castle, the old bones show through with clarity. In others, the years and endless successions of remodeling have quite effectively obfuscated the original structure. The original structure was a Roman garrison built on a large island in a lake. An Anglo-Saxon fortress followed but archeological records indicated it was an earthen structure with a collection of wood huts inside the earthen walls. It was then rebuilt as a mott and bailey fortress by William the Conquer that was practically a collection of wood huts inside earthen walls. Henry II turned it into a proper stone castle. Henry VIII turned it into a stunning example of Tudor architecture and a castle justly referred as the "most charming castle in England."

Three: Welcome to the Revolution (God, how I hate this title!)

September 20, 1902


The train pulled into the single platform Mauldstone Station a quarter to noon. The gray stale air of London gave way to the crisp air of the countryside. Backs of houses slowly transformed into green spaces. The journey was of modest length, dashing through the oat and hop fields of Kent for two hours after departing Victoria Station. Girls of all ages departed the train. Dozens, all shouting and waving at friends not seen for a summer, giggling and smiling at the reunion. A blonde haired girl seemed to be in the eye of this activity. All the girls waved to her. A girl with long red curls followed behind. Virginia recognized the shuffling movement as a servant following its master. The platform swelled with energy and excitement. Perhaps this was not going to be an entirely unpleasant experience. Porters scrambled to carry baggage and steamer trunks. Clearly this was a scheduled train, depositing students back to Mauldstone for a fresh year of school.

"What’s that smell?" Virginia asked, covering her nose with a handkerchief. She carefully stepped down from the train.

"I believe that’s the healthy country air," Nessa replied, clattering down beside her sister.

"Smells like sheep."

"They say the London air will turn your lungs black. I imagine you miss the pollution."

"I think I prefer coal dust over sheep."

"Mauldy students, this way," a tall man shouted in an American accent. He was thin with dark clothes and a preposterous red and white striped woolen scarf bundled about his neck. The day was not chilled at all. A light layer of perspiration clung the white blouse to Virginia’s back. "Leave your baggage," the scarf man said, "they’ll find they way to you."

The older girls, who had been through the process before, followed the man, leaving trunks and baggage on the platform. The Porters seemed to be loading the trunks into a wagon.
Virginia followed, pulling Nessa behind her.

The crowd moved outside the station and formed a single line alongside an omnibus.

"A motorcar," Nessa breathed in wonder. "Do we really get to ride in that?"

"Beats walking," Virginia replied. She had ridden an omnibus once in London. Even though she had the fare for an handsome cab, she craved the novelty of the omnibus.

The students sat calmly down on the cushioned seats inside the bus. It was a tight fit, some girls having to stand in the aisle. The thin American climbed into the driver’s seat. "Hang on now. Next stop Mauldy Castle!"

The omnibus lurched forward and the engine seemed to sputter before finally taking off with substantial acceleration. The bus passed through the village of Mauldstone quickly. There was a pub, a handful of shops, a sweet shop, and an open-air market. The village was charming but very small. The houses of villagers were overcome with fields of oats and the odd pasture with sheep. The narrow gravel road wound its way through the fields, cresting hills and snaking in-between valleys. After some minutes, the road plunged into the forest primeval. The trees blocked the sun. The warm, pleasant day disappeared into a dark chill. Virginia could hear no birds over the rattle of the motor. The narrow gravel road swung dangerously between trees, the bus squeezing through passages and over a stone bridge that was clearly not designed for the wide berth of the omnibus.

The omnibus broke free of the forest as it crested the hill. In the valley below was Mauldy Castle smack in the middle of a lake, as the brochure promised. The sunlight turned the stone into a fair shade of blushing pink. Square in design, each corner had a small tower. The roof of the building inside the walls rose higher than the turrets. Pale green flags with the Mauldy crest of crossed swords snapped in the wind. The stonewalls seemed to plunge straight into the glass surface of the water. The waters were deep blue. Virginia knew it was built on an island, one side of the castle butting against the water, the other side leaving a wide space of green. The manicured lawns of the castle were the deepest green Virginia had ever seen. Mauldy Castle certainly earned it reputation for charm.

Beyond the lake was a wide space of even green fields at the floor of the valley. From the window of the omnibus, she could see the orchards, the stables, the horses lazily flicking tails, the gardens, the famed hedge maze, and the empty green spaces used as football pitches and playing fields. It was beautiful.

The road widen and leveled, no longer tossing students haphazardly about in the omnibus. Virginia rubbed the top of her head. Nessa pointed out the window. "Look at that cottage! Look at that duck! Oh, a deer!"

The omnibus rattled to a stop at the edge of the lake. "Right, over the bridges," the driver said, scarf still firmly fixed at his neck. Virginia felt it was rude to stare as she passed so she fixed her gaze on her feet, stealing side-glances.

Nessa tugged at her hand. "I dropped my mouse!"

"You didn’t bring that thing with you?"

"I have to go back." She pulled free of Virginia’s hand and fought her way upstream the rose of girls disembarking.

Virginia could not take her eyes off the scarf. What was it the man felt he needed to hide? A disfiguring scar slicing across his throat? The mangled remains of his voice box?

"Tips of his ears sliced off in a vendetta," a voice said beside Virginia.

Virginia smiled. The girl speaking had dirty blonde hair and warm brown eyes. "I was thinking a hideous scar across his throat." Virginia said. "Would account for the croaking voice."

"It’s a good theory. Obviously the man has something to hide. I’m melting out here in the sun. I’m Charlotte Penn."

"How do you do, Virginia Smithson."

Nessa emerged triumphant at the door of the omnibus, holding her mummified mouse high in delight. The girl behind her drew back in shock and curled her lips in a little scream. Nessa did not notice and bounded happily towards her sister. "Found him. He fell under the seat."

"What an…unusual stuffed animal," Charlotte said.
"It’s the best one yet. This one should last a few months." Nessa lovingly tucked in a stray bandage.
"Before?"
"She loves the stuffing out of it," Virginia said. "This is our first year here."
"Mine as well. Also my first time in another country. Grandmother took me on holiday and decided I was stay here for school."
The mass of students went over a series of connecting bridges, each planted firmly on a small island. The first was an old mill, the giant wooden wheel motionless in the water.
"Are you from America?"
"Philadelphia," Charlotte said.
"Do you have cowboys and Indians and outlaws and gun fights in Philadelphia?" Nessa asked.
"No, we’re a little more civilized that that."
The second bridge brought the student to a guardhouse, shaped like a tower. The heavy iron gate was drawn up but Virginia warily eyes the polished spikes at the bottom of the gate.
"My sister and I are from London," Nessa said, "but we were in Cairo this spring."
"Very exciting," Charlotte said. "Did you see the pyramids? Did you go inside? Is it really filled with bats?"
"Yes, no, and I don’t know," Virginia answered. "We really weren’t given the chance to go exploring. Seems a shame to go all that way and to be told to stay in the hotel all day."
"I haven’t seen a thing," Charlotte said with a sigh. "Grandmother drags me from museum to museum to tea with other old women who only complain that the food is not like what they serve at home."
"In Cairo, we only ate British food," Virginia said. "Our uncle would not let us touch, let alone eat, anything that was not properly sanitized."
"What’s the point of traveling if you sequester yourself with people just like yourself and complain about how nothing is like home?"
"Exactly."
The guardhouse had a tunnel that ran straight through the small tower. On the other side was a drawbridge in the lowered the position. Every student passed of the bridge, the wood thundering with a thousand footsteps.
They were in the courtyard of the castle. The stones were a warm golden tone in the afternoon sunlight. Teachers were waiting, directing students to form lines.
"First years!"
Nessa squeezed Virginia’s hand. "That’s me," and took off at a run.
"She’s fearless," Charlotte observed.
"Gets us into more trouble than anything," Virginia said. "I’m a third year."
"I believe I am as well."
Virginia and Charlotte stood in line beside a glowering teacher. Approximately 8 over girls waited with them, including the girl with the vivid red curls and the blonde girl. The other girls chattered and seemed to vie for the blonde’s attention.
The instructor’s eyebrows seemed too large and bushy to be lifted higher than anything but a glowering position. He wore a white flannel suit, which was far too festive and casual for a man of his disposition.
"I am Mr. Fowles, the mathematics instructor," he said in a booming voice. When he spoke, everyone listened. "Welcome back to another at Mauldy. I’m sure each and every one of you had exciting adventures over the summer that you’re bursting at the seams to share with you friends, but I do not care to hear them. You may waste your time in idle prattle if you wish but you will not waste my time.
"Now, you’re rooms are the same. Any new students? Yes, you two, see me afterwards. Baggage will be delivered by this evening. There will be a banquet this evening at six in the Great Hall. Lady Mauldy will wish to welcome you back and make her customary little speech. Class schedules are posted by the library. Now please calmly take yourselves back to your rooms."
The crowd of girls rushed off, leaving Virginia and Charlotte behind, looking lost.
"Are you girls new this year?"
Charlotte opened her mouth but only moved it like a fish.
"Yes, sir," Virginia replied.
Fowles turned sharply on his heel and called over his shoulder, "Follow me."
"I’m Virginia Smithson," Virginia said, running behind Fowles. "And this is Charlotte Penn, from Philadelphia."
Fowles walked quickly with hands clasped behind his back.
"I don’t care where you come from, only where you go. There are rules to the Mauldy Institute. Learn then. Know them. Ignorance is not an excuse in my book; you are as accountable for your actions as any first year. Students suites are arranged by floor, each floor has a common room and well as a teacher who lives on that floor. This teacher can discipline or reward you as he or she chooses, including suspension of dinning privileges and inordinately early curfews. All students are to be confined to their floor by eight p.m., in bed by ten. Never break curfew and never let me catch you breaking curfew."
Fowles stopped abruptly at the foot of a spiraling staircase. Virginia could not stop fast enough and ran into his back. He turned and his lip quivered in the hint of a snarl or the threat of a smile.
"Sorry," she replied meekly.
"You are on the fourth floor. Jane Radcliffe is the warden of this floor. She is very strict, even by my standards, but a very good French teacher."
Virginia cast a sly look at Charlotte, who looked as if she was going to cry with fright.
"Good day." Fowles turned sharply and left down the hall at a fierce pace.
"Hate to have him as my warden," Charlotte said, regaining her voice.
"He has more rules than Uncle Jack."
The stairs pivoted around a giant oak timber. The timber was from a single piece, a massive tree, looking as if it had been barely carved or finished before the staircase rotated around it. A rope functioned as a hand rail.
Virginia and Charlotte climbed the stairs, a narrow and steep journey. The stones were slippery and Virginia could well imagine why the students were discouraged from wandering the castle at night: it was easier to fall and break a bone in the dark. The stairs were plenty dangerous in the light.
"Are all the stairs going to be so tiny?" Charlotte asked.
"It’s a function of a medieval castle. The stairs are narrow and steep because it is very hard to run an army up narrow and steep stairs. A single man at the top of the stairs can keep an army at bay, just knocking them backwards. It’s a bottleneck."
At the fourth floor, the very top, the stairs spilled into a large common room. There was no guard in armor waiting to push them back down the stairs. The common room was filled with comfortable looking furniture occupied with girls laughing and talking. A fire burned in the fireplace. Despite the warm autumn day outside, it was chilly inside the castle. A marmalade cat slept on the carpet in front of the fire.
There appeared to be six suites with one at the far end and one immediately by the stairs, the warden’s room. No sneaking past in the night.
Virginia knocked on the door.
"Come in," a cheery voice replied.
Inside the room was like stepping into a spring. At a desk, sat a small woman, her dark hair pulled back severely. She smiled and the severity vanished. The book closed with the slightest motion of her hand.
"You must be my new wards. What a delightful pleasure. Please, sit. Now, who is who."
"I’m Charlotte Penn," Charlotte said.
"My American, wonderful. And you must be Virginia, the explorer and archeologist. You uncle has written to warn my of your antics."
Virginia felt herself blush. "My uncle surely exaggerates. He only has my best intentions…"
"Nonsense, a scholar such as your uncle has no reason to exaggerate. He probably has every reason to warn my of your reckless behavior and so on." She waved her hand in a vague manner. "But I encourage willful and reckless behavior, that is my weakness."
From the top desk drawer, Miss Radcliffe produced two slips of paper. "These are your class schedules. If you disagree, please see me so we can come to an arrangement. You are encouraged to study whatever you like but we do have core classes every student is required to take."
Virginia read her slip: mathematics, Latin, biology, sport, and world history. She liked her classes.
"Now, let me show you to your room."
Miss Radcliffe escorted the girls through the common room and down at the hall. "Because you are both new, I thought it best that you share a room. All the students must share a room. Builds camaraderie and friendship. However, you both will be in the largest room the floor has to offer. It is so large that we put three girls together."
Miss Radcliffe stopped in front of the last door in the hall. She knocked lightly. "I’m sure you’ll find it spacious even with three."
The door opened to a round room with three beds, each with a dark green canopy. In the middle bed was a dark hair girl with glasses, flat on her stomach reading.

"You roommate, Miss Josephine Bailey-Smythe," Miss Radcliffe said. "Baggage should be arriving any moment now. I’ll be in my room if you need me."

The round room appeared to be in one of the turrets of the castle. The room was furnished with three beds, three identical desks, and three identical wardrobes. The walls were bare stone, whitewashed but unmistakably stone, draped with colored cloth. There was one window, leaded glass hazy with age, opened to let in a breeze.

The girl with the glasses sat crossed legged on the bed and inspected the new roommates. "Are you in this room?"

"Yes, I believe so," Virginia said.

"Good, you look interesting."

Virginia’s hand instinctively flew to her hair, smoothing down her plait.

"Interesting, not messy," the girl said. She climbed out of the bed and extended a hand. "I’m Jo. Actually, Josephine Bailey Smyth, but that’s pretentious and a relic from a system designed to cowl the average man. Call me Jo."

"Virginia Smithson. This is Charlotte Penn."

"I’m dead tired of constantly introducing myself," Charlotte said. Her hand flew to her mouth, as if she were surprised she spoke.

"You’re only with me because I’m difficult to live with," Jo said in a matter of fact manner. "Drove away last year’s roommate. Had her begging and crying to Warden Radcliffe, pleading to be with anyone else but me."

"So you’re that bad?" Virginia asked.

"No, just though you might want to know why you’re bunking with the most unpopular girl in the school."

A figure shadowed the door. The blonde girl wearing the iciest blue dress walked in, her eyes wide and one hand on chest. The red head followed at a servile two paces behind.

"Oh! Josephine!" the blonde exclaimed. "What a surprise it is to find you here. And I thought I detected l’aire de nouveau riche."

The red head giggled. The blonde girl smirked. "And you must be the new roommates. Charming."

"Don’t hang around too long," Jo cautioned, "you won’t want to get that smell on your clothes."

The blonde gave weak little laugh and left, red head following at two paces.
"Regina Pomepanz," Jo said. "And her goon Beatrice Fox."


"Charming," Virginia said.

"Another product of England’s social structure: the rich snob."

"I’ve met them already," Charlotte said.

"So you know that she looks like a dumb bunny, head full of fluff and fashion, but she’s vicious. Clever and cunning."

"We just met on the train," Charlotte said meekly.

Jo looked at Charlotte as if she knew the hurt inflicted by Regina and Beatrice merely from the tone of Charlotte’s voice. "She’s my enemy and now she will treat you as her enemy because of my proximity. That’s the kind of person she is."

"I think I can judge what kind of person she and her friend are."

"Which bed do you want, Charlotte?" Virginia asked, changing the subject.

Charlotte looked about the room, considering. "The one nearest the window. I’m always warm."
"Excellent." Virginia tossed herself on the bed nearest the door. The mattress was thick and comfortable, firm but not too firm.

On the cover of Jo’s bed Virginia could plainly see that the book she had been reading was the Communist Manifesto.

Jo saw where Virginia was looking and smiled as she picked up the book and clutched it to her chest. "My mother does not like me reading political tracks at home. I have to hide books every time she enters a room and pretend I was working on my needlepoint. I despise needlepoint. I always get more blood on the canvas than anything."

"I have to sneak books out of my uncle’s library."

"I spend all my allowance at the bookshop every week. Tell me, do you believe in women’s suffrage?" Jo asked earnestly.

"I suppose," Virginia said, turning over a concept in her mind that she had never considered. "Women should be allowed to make their own decisions, to vote as a man would, and legally own property."

"I knew we’d get on. So when can we protest at Parliament?"

"What?"

"How else will we achieve women’s suffrage if we do not raise the consciousness of society as whole? How can you not protest while the flame of indignation at the plight of our fellow sisters burns in your bosom?"

"You’re a bit of a radical, aren’t you?" Virginia asked.

"I have to hide my books from my Grandmother, too," Charlotte said. "But they’re only gothic romances or adventures. Nothing about over throwing society."

Jo sank onto her bed with a sign. "My mother seems horrified that she’s harboring a political minded women in her house. She’s too well breed to think that women might be equals to men and want to be more than be an angel in the house, look pretty and raise children. She looks at me as if I’m a changeling, left in the cradle in place of her real daughter, the meek one who does as she is told."

A knock came at the door. A footman carried in three large steamer trunks. All three girls began the process of unpacking. Books on desks. Clothes in wardrobes. Trunks stored neatly at the foot of the bed.

A bell rang, signifying that dinner was ready in the great hall.