Miss Mabel's School for Girls (The Network Series #1)(5)

“Second-years,” Camille said, then stuck her tongue out at the girl near the door and quickly ushered me towards the stairs again.

“Where are the classrooms?” I asked, studying a carved floral design on the stair bannister. It looked like the ropes of Letum ivy that hung in the forest in the summertime.

“On the first floor. So are the dining room and the library. The teachers live in cottages just outside the yard. Here it is!” Camille announced, spreading her arms out. “The first-year floor.”

My first impression told me it wasn’t anything to get excited about. We had to walk down a chilly corridor to reach the empty first-year common area. Although a fire burned in the grate, I saw no one enjoying the sweet warmth. I moved closer to it, grateful to feel my fingers thaw. Camille kicked aside a few wrinkled scrolls and plopped onto a straight-backed, firm sofa. It looked as comfortable as a pair of shoes that pinched.

“I think you’ll like it.” Her face turned down as she leaned forward, propping her head on her palm. “Well, it’s less dreary when the students are actually out here. Everyone is getting ready for the feast downstairs.”

“It seems really nice,” I said, lying through my teeth. The stone walls were cracked and stained with dust. Floorboards stuck up at random intervals; black — perhaps from years of soot — edged the walls. Homework tables occupied most of the free space, lined by benches instead of chairs. Books cluttered the shelves in obvious disarray. Camille snorted.

“Nice, sure. Not compared to the second-years. The third-years have the best of everything. Follow me.” She bid me to follow her down another hallway with a wave of her arm. I obeyed, pausing to gaze at a portrait of a woman with black hair and solemn eyes. A previous High Witch, no doubt.

“Your room will be right next to mine,” she said. “Leda and I came a little late too. We just got here a week ago, so I know how it feels to be in your shoes. Don’t worry. It’s not so bad here.”

Her hair bounced to a stop. She opened a door to reveal a tiny square of a room with bare, wooden walls and a handful of built-in shelves. A scarlet blanket covered the narrow bed and a desk sat below the window. Age cracks snaked through the window panes, allowing a whistle when a gust of wind hit the house. The slow plod of a new rainstorm hit the glass with a soothing, gentle hiss.

“Looks like your stuff came already.” Camille nudged my trunk with her toe. “That’s lucky. One of the second-years is still waiting for her stuff to come. I think her parents sent it with a bad spell. I don’t think they’ll ever find it.”

A candle flame came to life as I stepped in. The shadows loomed like creatures dancing on the wall, making the room feel even more dismal and grim. I longed for the comfort of home, of familiarity.

Confidence in all things.

“When did school start?” I asked, hoping to distract my rising unease. Surely I’d lost my mind, coming to Miss Mabel’s School for Girls.

“Two weeks ago.” Camille sat on the end of my bed and let her legs swing. “But you haven’t missed much. Leda can help you catch up. She’s the smartest first-year because she likes to study, but she doesn’t really like people. You’ll meet her at dinner.”

She sounds delightful, I wanted to mutter, but bit my tongue. Despite what she said, the warmth in Camille’s tone told me Leda was a friend of hers.

A tinkling chime came from downstairs, so faint I thought I’d imagined it. Camille jumped to her feet.

“That’s dinner. We better get going. Miss Scarlett takes roll and she doesn’t like it when anyone is late.”

???

“Just follow me,” Camille whispered. We stood outside the dining room, peering in.

Six long wooden tables with benches filled the open area. A fireplace big enough to stand in warmed the room with crackling flames. Every spot at the tables was full, except for one in the back next to a girl with white-blonde hair, who appeared to be buried in a book.

“Are we going to get in trouble?” I asked.

“No, but I hate it when Miss Scarlett singles me out. She’s terrifying.”

Camille started into the room along the back wall at a cautious creep, and I followed close behind. The moment I stepped into the room every eye fell on me like metal to a magnet.

Fantastic. An entrance.

“Care to explain why you’re late, Miss Duncan?” A booming voice came from the front of the room. Camille halted with a wince.

“Y-yes, Miss Scarlett. Miss Celia asked me to show Bianca to her room before dinner.”

Camille stood at my side instead of retreating to her seat. I felt a moment of gratitude that she didn’t leave me standing in front of the school alone.

“You must be Bianca Monroe,” Miss Scarlett said, turning towards me. “I just heard of your coming. You’re a bit earlier than expected.”

“Yes, Miss Scarlett,” I straightened and looked right at her in the hopes of feeling more sanguine than I felt.

I arrived early because I lifted my skirts and ran here. Hope that qualifies me to fit in. If not, let me impress you with my secret talent at brewing the perfect tea.

Miss Scarlett stood in front of the fire at the top of the room. Her tall, broad shoulders, backlit by the flames, made her seem like a tree rising from the ground. Her reddish brown hair shone, pulled away from her face in a tight bun. Red bracelets dangled from her right wrist and sang when they touched. I couldn’t decipher whether she was friend or foe. She studied me with narrowed eyes.