Read Online The Education of Bet by Lauren Baratz-Logsted - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauren Baratz-Logsted
Tags: Ages 12 & Up
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roof to stop pounding their hammers?"
"Poor Bet." Will laughed softly. Then I felt a feather kiss on my brow. "Good luck to you, sister."
"And you too, brother."
Then I rolled over and promptly fell back to sleep.
Later on I would count it a kindness that I had been too tired and too debilitated from the merrymaking of the night before to take proper note of Will's departure. Had I been fully aware of the reality—that we were parting now, and that I was to make the rest of my way alone—I might have begged him not to go.
Or at the very least, I might have begged him to take me with him.
***
September 5, 18—
Dear Uncle,
Well, here I am at the Betterman Academy for Michaelmas half, and what a first three months this is going to be!
Although some may regard the Betterman Academy as "last ditch," I say it is grand! Did you know that Henry V commissioned it in 1414 as a charity school for poor boys? At the time, there weren't even seventy students here. I'll bet that old Henry never guessed that over four hundred years later, that number would swell to five hundred, with enough buildings to accommodate them! Of course, the students now are not poor.
And the buildings! All those spires! I'll bet old Henry didn't have so many spires himself at Windsor Castle! The chapel is an imposing structure, with all that stone and all those stained-glass windows and—you guessed it!—all those spires. The grounds are spectacular, and even the food here, which is served in Marchand Hall, is better than at any of the other fine educational institutions you sent me previously. Why, by the time I come home for Christmas, I think you will find me quite fat!
The master of the house where I am lodging, Proctor Hall, is named Mr. Winter. He is a kindly gentleman whom all the boys love. On my very first day here, he showed me around, arranged for my uniform—black tailcoat, waistcoat, false collar, white tie, and gray pinstriped trousers; only special students like school prefects and king's scholars are permitted to deviate from the uniform, wearing more colorful waistcoats—and introduced me to all.
I know you said that the students here would be—what was that phrase you used? Ah, yes. You said this was "a place for misfits, miscreants, and ne'er-do-wells." Well, I can personally assure you that that is not the case. Everyone I have met so far has been on best behavior, and I cannot imagine they are merely putting on a show for "the New Boy." Indeed, a finer group of young gentlemen I never expect to meet in life.
I have made several friends so far, including Hamish MacPherson, who is one of the school prefects and a real leader among the boys; Johnny Mercy, apparently Hamish's best friend and just as good as his name implies; Christopher "Little" Warren, who is called so because of his diminutive size and who is quite jolly about being nicknamed thus; and, of course, my roommate, James Tyler, who does not talk nearly so much as the others, remaining something of an enigma, but whom I think I shall grow to like.
Naturally, as much as I enjoy the company of the other boys here, I will not allow mere socializing to interfere with my studies. The Betterman Academy would appear to offer the finest educational opportunities, and I plan to pursue a course of...
I was sure—and I really was sure, since I had read all Will's letters to his great-uncle—that Will had never written such an exclamatory letter in his life. Still, I wanted the old man to have some joy, to believe that this time things would be different, better. Nonetheless, even I could stomach the telling of only so many lies. For what in my entire letter had been the truth? The architectural descriptions, surely, but little else. I therefore finished with a loving signature and sealed up the letter after also including a second letter from Bet, having contrived a postscript explaining that Bet was including her letters to Uncle whenever she wrote to Will so that
"Poor Bet." Will laughed softly. Then I felt a feather kiss on my brow. "Good luck to you, sister."
"And you too, brother."
Then I rolled over and promptly fell back to sleep.
Later on I would count it a kindness that I had been too tired and too debilitated from the merrymaking of the night before to take proper note of Will's departure. Had I been fully aware of the reality—that we were parting now, and that I was to make the rest of my way alone—I might have begged him not to go.
Or at the very least, I might have begged him to take me with him.
***
September 5, 18—
Dear Uncle,
Well, here I am at the Betterman Academy for Michaelmas half, and what a first three months this is going to be!
Although some may regard the Betterman Academy as "last ditch," I say it is grand! Did you know that Henry V commissioned it in 1414 as a charity school for poor boys? At the time, there weren't even seventy students here. I'll bet that old Henry never guessed that over four hundred years later, that number would swell to five hundred, with enough buildings to accommodate them! Of course, the students now are not poor.
And the buildings! All those spires! I'll bet old Henry didn't have so many spires himself at Windsor Castle! The chapel is an imposing structure, with all that stone and all those stained-glass windows and—you guessed it!—all those spires. The grounds are spectacular, and even the food here, which is served in Marchand Hall, is better than at any of the other fine educational institutions you sent me previously. Why, by the time I come home for Christmas, I think you will find me quite fat!
The master of the house where I am lodging, Proctor Hall, is named Mr. Winter. He is a kindly gentleman whom all the boys love. On my very first day here, he showed me around, arranged for my uniform—black tailcoat, waistcoat, false collar, white tie, and gray pinstriped trousers; only special students like school prefects and king's scholars are permitted to deviate from the uniform, wearing more colorful waistcoats—and introduced me to all.
I know you said that the students here would be—what was that phrase you used? Ah, yes. You said this was "a place for misfits, miscreants, and ne'er-do-wells." Well, I can personally assure you that that is not the case. Everyone I have met so far has been on best behavior, and I cannot imagine they are merely putting on a show for "the New Boy." Indeed, a finer group of young gentlemen I never expect to meet in life.
I have made several friends so far, including Hamish MacPherson, who is one of the school prefects and a real leader among the boys; Johnny Mercy, apparently Hamish's best friend and just as good as his name implies; Christopher "Little" Warren, who is called so because of his diminutive size and who is quite jolly about being nicknamed thus; and, of course, my roommate, James Tyler, who does not talk nearly so much as the others, remaining something of an enigma, but whom I think I shall grow to like.
Naturally, as much as I enjoy the company of the other boys here, I will not allow mere socializing to interfere with my studies. The Betterman Academy would appear to offer the finest educational opportunities, and I plan to pursue a course of...
I was sure—and I really was sure, since I had read all Will's letters to his great-uncle—that Will had never written such an exclamatory letter in his life. Still, I wanted the old man to have some joy, to believe that this time things would be different, better. Nonetheless, even I could stomach the telling of only so many lies. For what in my entire letter had been the truth? The architectural descriptions, surely, but little else. I therefore finished with a loving signature and sealed up the letter after also including a second letter from Bet, having contrived a postscript explaining that Bet was including her letters to Uncle whenever she wrote to Will so that
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