clean outfits brought from the orphanage and sighed, wondering which would embarrass me less.
I decided on the one without the rip in its skirt. It was Sunday, after all.
There was a small looking glass upon the bureau, pushed off to the side by the stack of textbooks and papers I hadn’t yet examined. I was accustomed to slipping in and out my clothes without being able to see myself. We’d had a standing mirror in the dorm of the Home, but with fifty girls to a room, all of us bound to the same schedule, good ruddy luck getting in front of it to dress.
I honestly wasn’t used to seeing my own reflection. It was with a little jolt of surprise that, when I bent my neck to stick another pin into my hair, I saw a corner of a girl doing the same nearby.
I dropped my hands, curious, and picked up the frame. Yes, there I was. Hair of indeterminate color—but at least I’d gotten it up into its roll—eyes of indeterminate color. Eyelashes, eyebrows, reddish lips. Complexion, not the perfect peachy silk of a debutante but something more like … like stone, really. I tipped my head this way and that, critical. My complexion was probably my best feature, I decided, mostly because my skin was unblemished and uniformly marble pale.
I returned the glass to its place. I looked exactly like what I was, a slum girl from the city, where hearty meals were rare and the sun was a stranger.
I was ready when Gladys gave her next knock. I smoothed my hands along my hair one last time and followed her down the stairs.
• • •
I heard them before I saw them: high, chattering voices swelling and fading above the unmistakable clatter of flatware against china. The doors to the dining hall were open as we approached. I glimpsed a space deep and wide with pastel plastered walls and yellow spears of sunlight falling in precise angles from windows unseen. Chandeliers glittered with crystal. Tables gleamed with food. And girls in gowns of every hue were seated in chairs along the tables, rows and rows of rainbow girls, some beaded, some ruffled, gobs of lace.
As Gladys led me closer to the entrance, the vivid colors and increasing noise reminded me of nothing so much as a flock of parrots, swept into the castle to dine upon kippers and tea.
I would learn later that this confusion of colors was unique to the weekends at Iverson. For every other day of the week, we all wore the same uniform in the same style, crisp white shirtwaists paired with long, straight, dark-plum skirts and black-buttoned shoes. No doubt then we resembled a rather stilted colony of penguins, milling here and there in our ladylike shortened steps.
Gladys paused by the doors, and so did I. She seemed disinclined to take me forward, and as I wasn’t particularly inclined to go forward I merely stood there, allowing the voices and the delirious aroma of hot fresh breakfast to wash over me, looking at all those elite-of-the-empire girls and wishing I was anywhere, anywhere, else on earth. Even Moor Gate.
I dropped my gaze to the folds of my skirt. I’d accidently chosen the one with the rip in it, after all. They were both plain brown twill; we’d all worn brown at the orphanage, because it didn’t show dirt.
The toes of my boots stuck out, light and dark with scuffs.
“Miss Jones,” said a voice right in front of me.
Mrs. Westcliffe. No tear in her gown. The tips of her black leather pumps shone like glass against a discreet pleated hem.
I lifted my eyes.
“Late again,” the headmistress noted, with that pinch to her mouth.
I glanced back quickly at Gladys, but she’d vanished without a word.
Thanks ever so much. You bony cow.
“I beg your pardon,” I mumbled. I had the dismal feeling I was going to be using that phrase quite a lot in my time here.
“Breakfast begins at precisely eight-thirty every morning. Do make a note of it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Westcliffe sighed. “Very well. Let’s find your table, shall we? Seating is assigned for all meals, barring teas. Follow me.”
I did. And as soon as I took my very first step into the hall, all the girlish, parroty chatter choked into absolute silence. I suppose that was the moment the other students realized I wasn’t merely some disgraced scullery maid popped out of uniform, but instead someone who was going to be seated at a