daughter, the better. She released her hair from the braid she wore to bed and began to brush it out.
Cynthia was only now sliding from her bed, her movements languid. As she drew on a warm wrap that had been draped over a chair, she said, “What is it like to go through life looking like a plain brown wren?”
Tory froze, shocked by the other girl’s meanness. Cynthia had a gift for finding a weak spot. Tory had always been aware that her sister, Sarah, was the family beauty, though Sarah had never flaunted that. She’d always been quick to say that Tory was just as pretty in a different style, which was kind if not true.
But Cynthia was not kind, and she’d placed her dart well. Knowing it would be fatal to show the words hurt, Tory said coolly, “Wrens are quite pretty and charming. What’s it like to go through life as a sharp-tongued shrew?”
Cynthia gasped with fury. “How dare you!”
Tory coiled her hair in a knot on her nape and stabbed pins in with more force than necessary. “I dare because I will not allow you to insult me with impunity.” She turned and stared at her roommate. “Treat me rudely, and I shall return that. Treat me with civility, and I will return that, too.”
Cynthia looked like a teakettle on the verge of boiling over, but she was spared having to answer when another girl entered the room. Tory recognized her as one of Cynthia’s dinner companions. She looked like a rather pretty rabbit, with light brown hair and blue eyes that blinked too fast. Like Cynthia, she wore clothing that was too elaborate for a school day.
The newcomer studied Tory. “This is the girl they forced on you?”
“It is,” Cynthia said brusquely. “She’s just leaving now. You’re late, Lucy. You’ll have to hurry to dress my hair before chapel.”
Guessing that Cynthia had bullied the girl into acting as her personal maid, Tory said with her most charming smile, “How lovely to meet you, Lucy. I’m Victoria Mansfield. Please call me Tory. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
Lucy blinked. Cynthia’s description of her new roommate had surely painted Tory as dreadful. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mansfield,” the other girl said with a shy smile. “Tory.”
Pleased to see Cynthia fuming, Tory collected her plainest shawl and left the room. As she neared the stairs, two girls emerged from the last room on the corridor. Penelope and Helen had been part of the group she’d dined with the night before, and they greeted her pleasantly.
After greeting them in return, Tory asked, “Can I go to the chapel with you? Elspeth Campbell pointed out the tower yesterday, but I haven’t been there.”
“You’re in for a treat,” Helen said dourly. “It’s cold as a crypt even in high summer. Come January, we’ll be huddled together like sheep for warmth.”
“I don’t suppose we get heated bricks for our feet like we do in my family’s church at home,” Tory said as she fell into step with the other girls.
Penelope sighed. “Conditions at Lackland are rather better than a workhouse, but this is not what any of us are used to.”
At the bottom of the stairs, they turned left through a door that led behind the building. Fog from the sea lay over the grounds. The chapel was barely visible, floating uncannily in the mist. “I feel like I’ve wandered into a Gothic novel,” Tory murmured.
“But no handsome count named Orlando will rescue us,” Helen said with a smile.
Chuckling, the girls joined the stream of students entering the chapel. Yet despite the biting cold inside, Tory found the chapel more appealing than the main abbey. Nuns had prayed and sung here for centuries. Perhaps the walls remembered their devotion.
Tory sat at the end of a wooden bench next to her companions. As the chapel filled, she saw that the girls separated into groups as they had at dinner.
Elspeth was one of the last to enter. Her gaze met Tory’s and she raised an ironic eyebrow
Cynthia was only now sliding from her bed, her movements languid. As she drew on a warm wrap that had been draped over a chair, she said, “What is it like to go through life looking like a plain brown wren?”
Tory froze, shocked by the other girl’s meanness. Cynthia had a gift for finding a weak spot. Tory had always been aware that her sister, Sarah, was the family beauty, though Sarah had never flaunted that. She’d always been quick to say that Tory was just as pretty in a different style, which was kind if not true.
But Cynthia was not kind, and she’d placed her dart well. Knowing it would be fatal to show the words hurt, Tory said coolly, “Wrens are quite pretty and charming. What’s it like to go through life as a sharp-tongued shrew?”
Cynthia gasped with fury. “How dare you!”
Tory coiled her hair in a knot on her nape and stabbed pins in with more force than necessary. “I dare because I will not allow you to insult me with impunity.” She turned and stared at her roommate. “Treat me rudely, and I shall return that. Treat me with civility, and I will return that, too.”
Cynthia looked like a teakettle on the verge of boiling over, but she was spared having to answer when another girl entered the room. Tory recognized her as one of Cynthia’s dinner companions. She looked like a rather pretty rabbit, with light brown hair and blue eyes that blinked too fast. Like Cynthia, she wore clothing that was too elaborate for a school day.
The newcomer studied Tory. “This is the girl they forced on you?”
“It is,” Cynthia said brusquely. “She’s just leaving now. You’re late, Lucy. You’ll have to hurry to dress my hair before chapel.”
Guessing that Cynthia had bullied the girl into acting as her personal maid, Tory said with her most charming smile, “How lovely to meet you, Lucy. I’m Victoria Mansfield. Please call me Tory. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
Lucy blinked. Cynthia’s description of her new roommate had surely painted Tory as dreadful. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mansfield,” the other girl said with a shy smile. “Tory.”
Pleased to see Cynthia fuming, Tory collected her plainest shawl and left the room. As she neared the stairs, two girls emerged from the last room on the corridor. Penelope and Helen had been part of the group she’d dined with the night before, and they greeted her pleasantly.
After greeting them in return, Tory asked, “Can I go to the chapel with you? Elspeth Campbell pointed out the tower yesterday, but I haven’t been there.”
“You’re in for a treat,” Helen said dourly. “It’s cold as a crypt even in high summer. Come January, we’ll be huddled together like sheep for warmth.”
“I don’t suppose we get heated bricks for our feet like we do in my family’s church at home,” Tory said as she fell into step with the other girls.
Penelope sighed. “Conditions at Lackland are rather better than a workhouse, but this is not what any of us are used to.”
At the bottom of the stairs, they turned left through a door that led behind the building. Fog from the sea lay over the grounds. The chapel was barely visible, floating uncannily in the mist. “I feel like I’ve wandered into a Gothic novel,” Tory murmured.
“But no handsome count named Orlando will rescue us,” Helen said with a smile.
Chuckling, the girls joined the stream of students entering the chapel. Yet despite the biting cold inside, Tory found the chapel more appealing than the main abbey. Nuns had prayed and sung here for centuries. Perhaps the walls remembered their devotion.
Tory sat at the end of a wooden bench next to her companions. As the chapel filled, she saw that the girls separated into groups as they had at dinner.
Elspeth was one of the last to enter. Her gaze met Tory’s and she raised an ironic eyebrow
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