Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(12)

In a rare show of defiance, I muttered, “Oh, yes, confusion would be completely out of the question.”

Mrs. Winter’s hand whipped out like a snake, grasping my jaw between her vice-like fingers and yanking my face to eye-level with her. “Do not mistake my efforts to make you comfortable for weakness. I will not tolerate disrespect or ingratitude. I am vital to your survival, not the other way around. And yes, your splashy debut has the potential to give me a boost of popularity in my social circles, but so would the right dress. It would be very easy for you to become more trouble than you’re worth. You so much as make a less than respectful facial expression towards me again, and I will turn you over to Guild enforcement myself, and let them figure out how best to take you apart and study you. Is that understood?”

I shrunk back and ducked my head, all defiance drained out of my system. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And while we’re on the subject, we must change your manner of speaking.”

I frowned. If anything, “my manner of speaking” was quite polished in comparison to some of my peers. Mum wouldn’t allow us to drop consonants or use “ain’t” when we meant “isn’t.” Foul language resulted in soap in our mouths. And my reading had given me an extensive vocabulary, mocked by Mary’s friends as “putting on airs.”

“First, when you’re asking for permission, you say, ‘May I?’ not, ‘Can I?’” she said. “And you should reduce the number of contractions you use. It may take less time to say ‘I’d’ or ‘I’m’ but their use makes you sound coarse.”

“I am coarse.” I held up my hands to show her my work-roughened palms.

“Yes, well, that does not mean you have to sound coarse.”

“Curtsy rhymes. Contractions. Color schemes.” I shook my head. “I’ll – I will never be able to remember it all. I will never be able to pass myself off as one of you.”

She brushed her hands over her skirt and took a deep breath, a neutral smile sliding into place. “Now, now I will not have any more of this self-defeating talk in my home. This is Raven’s Rest. Sniveling self-doubt has no place here. We start with the outside and work our way in. We will take this lump of clay and create a great work of art. You will be a great beauty, celebrated and sought after for your charm and talent. Soon, you will begin your lessons on comportment, etiquette and basic magical theory.” She smiled blithely, a shallow expression that barely crinkled her face. “For future reference, my dear, whenever you can’t find a proper or polite response to something, you simply say, ‘How lovely’ until you can determine the best course of conversation.”

Keeping my expression as bland as possible, I parroted, “How lovely.”

“A little less sarcasm in your tone, if you please. And we will have you ready for Miss Castwell’s in just a few weeks.”

“Miss Castwell’s!” I exclaimed. “Miss Castwell’s Institute for the Magical Instruction of Young Ladies?”

Miss Castwell’s was not some fancy finishing school where a girl learned how to embroider cushions, pair the right wines for dinner parties and conduct social terrorism. Mrs. Winter was going to send me to one of the best magical schools in the world, where the students also happened to learn about embroidery and social terrorism. Sarah Smith had missed almost half of her days at the Warren school because of illness, but she would have access to the most talented teachers and the most diverse library available to young magical English ladies.

I would finally get a full education. I’d done well in school, for as long as we were allowed to attend. What I lacked in formal instruction, Mr. Winter had made up for with his selections from the library. Maybe there was some bright spot to this mess, after all.

Mrs. Winter replied dryly, “Well, we are certainly not sending you to Miss Castwell’s Institute of Carpentry. But no one in the know would actually use its full name. In fact, girls from proper families refer to it as ‘Miss Castwell’s’ or simply, ‘school,’ as if there is only one school to refer to, because it is the only school that matters. Remember these little details, and you will move about our world as if you were born to it,” she assured me. “With the right tools and just a touch of audacity, even you will begin to believe that you were. And the first of those tools is a new name. From this moment, you will be Cassandra Reed. That is the only name you will answer to.”

“I like it, I think. It’s certainly fancier than Sarah. But why did you choose ‘Reed?’” I asked, unable to recall any Reed family with a connection to the Brandywines.

Mrs. Winter gave a small smile. “Reed Warblers are a common variety of cuckoos.”

I gave an indelicate snort. She’d named me for a type of bird that shoved eggs out of other birds’ nests and swapped in their own, forcing the parents to raise substitute offspring.

“And when I develop that touch of audacity you mentioned, will I be allowed to see my family?”

Mrs. Winter sighed, “Your condition at the moment is very delicate, Sarah. You’re fortunate that we found you when we did. I do not think it would be beneficial for you to see your family. It would only confuse you. For now, your family has been instructed not to speak to you, even if you approach them.”

I took a deep breath and tried to keep the annoyance from my tone. “How lovely.”