Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(21)
“I’m surprised at you girls.” Miss Preston yawned wide, likely on account of the late hour. “You know better than to gallivant around wearing corsets and carrying firearms. You’re in your last year! I expect better from students about to graduate.”
“Miss Preston,” I said, raising my hand. “Can I just say that I am truly remorseful for my conduct? I understand that it is dismaying to know that a girl might be wont to strap a revolver to her thigh before attending an educational event. However, without my revolver those shamblers could’ve easily turned half that room. Wearing a corset is far more egregious a transgression. After all, the stays of the corset limit movement, and not being able to draw a proper breath could be the difference between life and death for the wearer.”
I could feel Katherine glare at me as I offered her up in the hopes of saving my own hide, and I’m certain that by the end she fairly had steam coming from her ears. Small price to pay to avoid getting the switch. But Miss Preston was having none of it.
“Jane, your point is well taken, but heroism means little when it rests on lawlessness. And don’t think Miss Duncan didn’t inform me of your outburst during the lecture. There are rules in this world, rules that are the only thing separating us from the restless dead. This isn’t the wild days of the Years of Discord, when anarchy reigned. We expect you to hold yourselves to a higher standard in civilized society. No, your choices were just as poor as Katherine’s. Both of you can look forward to getting the strap tomorrow after breakfast.”
Miss Duncan cleared her throat, and Miss Preston let out a sigh. “Yes, Amelia?”
“Headmistress, if it isn’t too much to ask, perhaps the girls could be given house detail instead of the strap? I know their behavior was appalling, but I’d hate for them to have to miss any of the upcoming drills this week because they’re laid up. The first-year girls are learning the sickle this week, and I need Katherine and Jane to help instruct. Also, I believe it should be recognized that, without them, this evening could surely have ended in tragedy. I know Mayor Carr is a close personal friend of yours, and even he was quite insistent that the girls had done a remarkable job.”
That last bit was a little fabrication on Miss Duncan’s part. What the mayor had actually said was, “It’s nice that we can depend on the Negro to do their part.” His tone had been almost insulting.
If you ask me, neither the mayor nor any of these other folks were taking things seriously enough. For all the mayor knows, there’s some other professor bringing the dead into city limits to work experiments on them—who knows how long it will be until we’re back in the dark days of the War Against the Dead?
Regardless, it fell out that Katherine and I were saved the corporal punishment and instead assigned house duty for two weeks. Housework ain’t too bad, and I ain’t ashamed to say this ain’t my first time doing it. It was a standard punishment whenever a girl did wrong. Poor marks, laziness, a general bad attitude? Miss Preston was convinced that the best way to correct minor misconduct was a little drudgery, and housework was the pinnacle of drudge.
So Katherine and I spent our free time polishing silver, dusting bannisters, beating carpets, and a dozen other randomly assigned tasks. We got up early in the morning and dragged ourselves to the kitchen, eating cold porridge that the cook gave us with a scowl. Then we started our chores two hours before class, returning after dinner to help Cook scrub the day’s pots and pans before heading off to bed.
For three straight days, Katherine refused to speak a lick. Now, on the fourth day, though, she talks.
“Your friend is here.”
I don’t even look up. We’re on our hands and knees, scrubbing the marble floor in the rear of the main building. It’s one of Miss Preston’s favorite chores. Sometime before the school was taken over by Miss Preston’s, some poor soul was killed here, his lifeblood seeping into the stone. It would’ve been easier to take up the stained tiles, but marble is expensive and hard to come by. So instead we scrub, trying to erase the signs of some bastard’s last few breaths.
This is the fiftieth time I’ve been made to scrub this same patch of floor over the three or so years I’ve been at Miss Preston’s, so I know it well. The rust-colored stain ain’t coming out, but scrubbing ain’t the worst way to pass an afternoon. The foyer is cool thanks to the marble and the sounds of girls outside practicing their remedial drills drifts in through the open windows.
“Jane!”
“Hmm?”
Katherine nods toward one of the big windows. “Your friend, the ruffian, is here. And you know that’s against the rules.”
I look over, and climbing in through one of the open windows is Red Jack, looking fresh as a daisy in a yellow waistcoat. His bowler is new as well, and he presents a dapper image.
I straighten but don’t stand, kneeling with my hands on my hips. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t come by the barrelhouse on Sunday. You said you’d bring me some of that sugar.” He says it with a wink that makes it abundantly clear that he’s being unseemly.
“I forgot, Jackson. And I wasn’t bringing you anything but my blade.”
“Anyway, I heard about your escapade through the grapevine, so I figured that, as per the usual, Jane McKeene had found herself in a spot of trouble with her headmistress. Hello there,” Jackson says, tipping his hat to Katherine.