A School for Unusual Girls (14 page)

“You failed yesterday. Try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I'd been so certain she would punish me or send me home.

“Yes,” she answered curtly. “Unless you're suggesting there is no solution to the problem?”

I was suggesting no such thing. I studied her, not sure how to answer, frustrated by the way she turned my words against me. “There
is
a solution. The Persians had a formula. So, did the Greeks. Pliny, the elder, refers to an invisible ink. I just don't know if I can—”

“You just don't know?” She didn't yell at me, but it felt as if she had. “Georgiana, this is not a child's game.”

No, it wasn't a child's game. It had
never
been a game. Oh, yes, it's true, in the past I took childish risks, but my intent had always been deadly serious. I couldn't fight Napoleon with a musket or a knife, but I had hoped to do this one thing—I hoped to make certain no one else lost their brother because a dispatch got intercepted by the enemy. I didn't want anyone else's world to grow as lightless and lonely as mine.

I leaned up on my elbows and chewed my bottom lip. But everything had changed. Before, the ink had been only a plan, an idea, a hope. Now lives hung in the balance.
Sebastian's
. The other diplomats. The leaders of Europe. I shuddered. My shoulders hunched. What if I failed again?

She stared at me, scouring my soul. “Either you are up to this challenge, or you are not.” Her words came at me like eagle claws. “Which is it?” she asked in a menacingly soft voice.

Which was it, indeed?

I wanted to run away again, not from her, from myself, from the confusion pummeling my head. Some cowardly part of me wished I could forget about Pliny's invisible ink forever. At the same time new ideas tumbled through my mind.

Oak warts
.

Why had the old hags chanted about oak warts? Oak galls. What did they mean by it? I knew, of course, the hags were only a figment of my imagination.
They
didn't mean anything. It had come from some far corner of my own mind. Oak galls, the round misshapen growths on oak branches, when ground to a fine powder, were used in making many types of ink.

Was there a way I could turn ink invisible, and then use a gall-based developer to bring out the color? Seed pods of ideas took root and germinated in my mind. A new theory bloomed and treacherously whispered,
what if
 …

Eager to test the idea, I sat up straighter. My head felt heavy as an anvil. Two words hammered against it.
What if
.

What if
always came at a price.

Those two words were the reason I had to continue my experiments. Those insidious words meant there would never be approving smiles aimed at me.
What if
s insured there would be no good-daughter pats on my head from my father. My mother would continue to dislike me.
What if
s promised no ball gowns in my future. No suitors bestowing adoring looks on me, least of all Sebastian.

It didn't matter. I could not escape the
what if
s any more than I could stop breathing or rip off my arm.

“Yes.” I lifted my head and looked directly at her, straight through the foolish water blurring my vision. “I will find an answer.”

“Good,” she said, only she didn't sound pleased. She thrust a handkerchief at me. “Dry your eyes, Georgiana.” She shook her head and her mouth twisted in sympathy. “You are a rather stubborn case, aren't you?”

I didn't understand her meaning. Madame Cho, on the other hand, was easy to understand. She chuckled—a dry unfriendly grunt. I guessed what that guttural sound meant. It meant she thought I needed a bamboo cane applied to my backside.

“Stubborn how?” The room joggled a bit as I leaned up, but at least it didn't spin as it had before.

“I'm too busy to explain at the moment.” Miss Stranje consulted a small clock she pulled out of her pocket. “You have slept through an entire day. Lady Pinswary is about to descend upon us this afternoon.” She slipped the timepiece back into her pocket, smoothed down her skirt, and turned just as Sera and Jane rushed into the room.

“She's awake.” Sera hurried to the bed and stared at me.

“I overheard the maids say she would never recover.” Jane focused on our headmistress for answers.

“Servants tend to exaggerate. See for yourselves. She's doing quite well.”

Miss Stranje adopted a more businesslike manner. “At any rate, she'll have to do. We've no time to waste. Lady Daneska and her aunt will arrive all too soon, and since one of the primary purposes of her visit is to scrutinize our new student, we must set our minds to the task of making her appear presentable.”

Presentable
.

“Ha,” I scoffed, and wished them best of luck in that endeavor. If presentable meant anything beyond making me clean and tidy they were going to be sorely disappointed. “My mother has tried for nearly sixteen years and met defeat at every turn.”

The three of them gathered around, studying me as if I were a fireplace mantel they wished to decorate for Christmas. Miss Stranje tilted her head to one side, contemplating the daunting job before them. “Seraphina, you're the artist. What color would suit her best?”

“Let me see…” Sera tugged the bedroom drapes open wider, came back and inspected me under the full glare of the sun. Tapping her finger against her chin, she squinted at me. “Hmm, I should think blues would complement her eyes. As well as certain shades of green. We ought to steer clear of pinks. And avoid stark whites.”

Jane sorted through my armoire. Apparently a servant had unpacked the contents of my trunks. “There's not a stitch of blue in here. Or green.”

Of course not. I could've saved her the trouble of checking. Everything I had was either white with purple sprigs or lavender. A color in which I looked abysmal. I'd begged my mother to allow me to stay in black. I hadn't felt ready for half-mourning anyway. But she insisted that white or sprigged muslin were the only suitable fabrics for a young lady. I'd always felt rather like a snow-covered strawberry toddling into the room wearing one of her frosty confections. My poor mother winced every time she saw me.

Jane shut the doors on my wardrobe with finality. “Nothing in there will suit.”

My mother would have burst a blood vessel if she'd heard Jane's assessment of my wardrobe. “What?” she would cry. “All that money spent on seamstresses, for naught?” After a lengthy tirade, my mother would fall silent and fix me with an expression of painful disappointment. Her plan to marry me off to a duke doomed to failure. It was, after all, my fault.

Jane did not lament. “You and I are much the same size. I have a blue-and-white striped sarcenet gown that would do very well for the occasion.” She collected it from her armoire, draped it across the bed and pulled it up under my chin. “See.”

“Yes, just the thing,” Miss Stranje declared.

“Humph.” Madame Cho gave us a curt nod and shuffled out of the room.

Sera spoke directly to me, acknowledging me as a person, rather than a scarecrow they were attempting to dress. “It's a lovely color on you. Brings out your eyes.”

No matter how handsome the blue stripes might look on me, I knew I would never be anywhere near as beautiful as Sera.

Maya dashed into the room, amber and scarlet robes billowing behind her, like wings on a brightly feathered bird. She rushed to Sera, breathing hard from her haste. She looked me over and confusion lit up her face. “She is not dying? A maid just told me—”

“Heaven's no.” Miss Stranje tsked. “She's a bit dizzy, that's all. Now, I really must attend to other matters. I leave you girls to figure out what to do with her hair.” She took one last look at me, frowned, and added, “I'll send a maid to help.”

I groaned.

Jane pointed at the flute clasped in Maya's hand and suggested, “We might try snake charming.”

They chuckled behind their hands, but I wasn't much amused at being likened to Medusa with a head full of snakes.

Sera untied my ribbon, raked through the tangles with her fingers, carefully avoiding the bump that was still tender on the left side, and twisted my hair back. She scooped it up and turned every which way to see the effect. “Perhaps if we minimize any decorations near the neckline, her hair will form an attractive pattern to please the eye.”

“Doubtful,” I grumbled. “My hair might poke someone's eye
out,
but
please
it? Never.”

They ignored me. Jane shook her head. “We could scrape it all back and leave a few curls around her face.”

Sera let go and my hair tumbled out like Moses's burning bush.

“I have a pomade we might try,” Maya suggested.

“It's no use,” I said. “My mother has tried every possible pomade or fixative. Sugar water only makes it worse. Potato starch is a disaster. Lard. Beeswax. Duck grease and egg whites. Rose oil…” I stopped ticking off failed attempts to tame my hair and threw up my hands. “Unless you are a magician, all we can do is tie it back and hope for the best.”

“Hope is the best kind of magic.” Maya trilled a few notes on her flute. “I will get the pomade. You will see.” From her armoire, she retrieved a filigreed chest painted bright turquoise, yellow-orange, and vivid red. Reverently opening it, she lifted out an earthenware jar of cream. It smelled heavenly.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Flowers from our garden in India. Ginger, almonds, and honeysuckle.” She breathed in deep over the jar. “The smell of home. Many women in my country wear this. It is an old recipe. My grandmother made it.” Maya's gaze drifted to the far wall. I could tell she was seeing not our sedate oak-paneled dormitorium but the colorful blossoms of a faraway garden, and a grandmother who no longer lived.

“I can't take this.” I handed it back. “It's too important to you.”

She pushed the jar into my hands. “Use it. I will enjoy having the fragrance of home near me. Perhaps later you can help me make more.”

I nodded, silently thanking her for such a kindness. Even if my hair could not be tamed, it would smell wonderful. Maya tucked up into the window seat and, bathed in afternoon sun, she played her flute while Jane and Sera wrestled with my obstinate locks.

As they worked, I heeded Sebastian's advice and asked, “Why did Miss Stranje have you all bound and gagged in the ballroom?”

Maya stopped playing the flute. All work on my hair paused. It fell so quiet I could hear birds outside our window. Jane took a deep breath and smoothed pomade through my hair carefully avoiding the bump. “We were practicing.”

“Practicing?” It made no sense.

Sera laughed uncomfortably. “Escaping out of the ropes, of course.”

“Exactly.” Jane brushed out a curl, and Maya's flute rippled cheerfully as if they were done explaining.

“Why?”

Jane pinned down a curl and stood back with her hands on her hips. “Why must you ask so many questions?”

Having heard that criticism all my life, I bit back my irritation and pushed onward. “It is a perfectly reasonable question. Furthermore, I don't understand why you continue to protect Miss Stranje with your silence.”

“Very well,” Sera said matter-of-factly. “We were practicing because one never knows when one might need to escape from being bound to a chair.”

I'd never heard anything so absurd, but Jane nodded as if it was a completely rational explanation.

“Tess is the only one who succeeded within the time limit,” Sera offered up this glowing praise. “Clever girl slipped out of the gag without even untying it.”

“I would've done,” said Jane, “but my knots were so tight I broke a fingernail.” She held it up for us to commiserate.

“See here,” I said, fed up with their lack of forthrightness. “You can stop pretending. I saw the skeleton in the cave. I demand an explanation.”

“Demand?” Jane tugged on a lock of hair.

“All right. It's not a demand. I would very much like to know what's going on here.”

Jane smoothed down the hair she'd tugged. “Mollie, you saw Mollie. That's the name we gave the bones.”

Sera combed out a snarl. “That cave was used for smuggling long before any of us were born. In all likelihood that skeleton belonged to a smuggler from a hundred years ago, and judging by the size, it was a man.”

“But…” I pulled away for a moment. “It had on a dress, a pink gown?”

Jane smiled mischievously. “One of my castoffs. A few months ago Tess and I snuck down on a lark and dressed it. What did you think of the sign?” She whispered in a spooky voice, “Beware the hangman's waltz.”

“A joke!” Angry, I stood up, scattering pins everywhere. “How could you? I was terrified.”

Jane had the decency to look guilty. “Not a joke.
Not exactly
. It was meant to ward off intruders.” Under the force of my glare, she added, “Tess's idea.”

“I should've guessed.” My hands balled into fists.

“A bit of fun, that's all.” Jane picked up the scattered pins.

With a gentle hand Sera pressed me back into the chair, and pointed to the doorway. “Hush, Abigail is coming.”

I sat and brooded silently. Nothing was as it seemed in this place. Everything was upside down and wrong side out. I felt completely at sea. After my disastrous experience in the rowboat, that phrase held considerably more meaning.

Abigail came and went, carrying water and towels, bringing ribbons and combs, picking up hairpins, offering advice, and finally leaving us to our own devices.

I'd had years of practice sitting perfectly still while my hair was being tugged, pulled, unsnarled, brushed, ironed, pinned, and plastered into place. Today, by far, proved the least painful and most successful. After they slipped the blue dress on me, Sera held up a mirror to show me their handiwork. My anger evaporated.