“Are you sure?” Eliza asked, even as she straddled the bike.
“Yes. Please. Just . . . beat her,” she said with a laugh. “She’ll be insufferable if you don’t.”
Eliza took off after Theresa, letting the wind whip through her hair and blow away her irritation and surprise over the way Theresa had treated Catherine—her supposed best friend. Theresa had ridden all the way down the hill and was now racing along the tree line, and Eliza pumped her legs to catch up. Lavender, Genevieve, and Marilyn chased after them, running and chanting the Spell of Silence over and over again like a triumphant mantra. Petit Peu brought up the rear, leaping about merrily at the chance to stretch his little legs.
“You can’t catch me!” Theresa shouted over her shoulder, bending low over the handlebars.
“Watch me!” Eliza retorted. She leaned into the pedals as the tires bumped over rocks and tree roots and skidded on dusty dirt patches. Soon she had brought herself even with Theresa, and just before they hit the walkway to the McKinley building, Eliza burst ahead.
“I win!” she shouted, skidding to a stop.
Theresa slid to a halt a few feet ahead of her. Eliza heard her mutter a curse under her breath, but when she turned around, her expression was perfectly placid. “That’s twice now you’ve beat me at a race, Eliza. You’re so athletic, you’re practically a boy.” With that, she rode back past Eliza, giving her a condescending grin as she slipped by. Eliza was left with her jaw hanging open over the insult.
“Do not listen to her,” Marilyn whispered to Eliza, coming up alongside her with Petit Peu in her arms. She scratched the little dog’s head and bumped Eliza with her elbow. Together they watched Theresa as she hopped down from the bike and walked it back up the hill, toward the spot where the rest of the girls played badminton and
cheered one another on. “You are prettier than half the girls in Paris.”
Eliza laughed as she dismounted, then slung one arm around Marilyn’s slim waist. “And you are lovely for saying that.”
They walked together up the hill with Lavender and Genevieve trailing behind. Up ahead, Clarissa let out a screech as the birdie sailed wide of her racquet. Then, as if from nowhere, Eliza heard a voice whisper in her ear.
“Turn back.”
Eliza whipped around suddenly, loosening herself from Marilyn’s grasp. There was no one behind her. No one anywhere in sight.
“Eliza? What is it? What is wrong?” Marilyn asked, following Eliza’s startled gaze.
Eliza swallowed a terrified lump in her throat and turned around again. “Nothing. It was nothing.”
But then, she saw something move in one of the Crenshaw windows. Her blood stopped cold. The movement had come from the window all the way at the far end of the first floor—the very same window in which she had noticed something flicker during the carriage ride from the train. This time, however, the blonde watching her didn’t duck away. Instead, she stayed and stared, her eyes as blank as stones.
It was Helen Jennings, the maid, who undoubtedly had seen everything.
“Do you think she’s tattled on us yet?” Theresa asked, running to catch up with Catherine and Eliza as they walked into the Prescott dining hall the next morning. She glared at Helen, who stood with Mrs. Hodge near the wall behind Miss Almay’s table, at the headmistress’s beck and call as always. Helen had her eyes trained on her feet. “Look at her, so smug. Doesn’t she know I could have her fired right now if I wanted to?”
“You wouldn’t,” Eliza protested.
“Wouldn’t I? I’ll wager she
has
told,” Theresa continued. “She has that look about her. Anything to please the headmistress. Probably went to Miss Almay with her hand out, looking for some kind of reward.”
“Theresa, please,” Catherine said as she pulled out a chair at their assigned table and seated herself.
“Helen seems like a nice girl,” Eliza said, sitting as well. “Perhaps she’s said nothing.”
Theresa laughed derisively. “She’s a servant, Eliza,” she said, opening her napkin with a snap and folding it in her lap. “They’re always looking to make an extra buck.”
Eliza cast an appalled look at Theresa. One of the servers rushed forward to fill their water glasses. As soon as the girl had scurried away again, Eliza spoke.
“Theresa. How can you lump all of the serving class together?” Eliza asked. “Everyone is different.”
“It’s not as if I’m saying it’s her fault,” Theresa replied, rolling her eyes. “It’s simply in her very nature.”
Eliza forced herself to keep her tongue. This was neither the time nor the place to debate matters of class. Soon Alice, Viola, and Bia had filled the other three seats at their table. Viola kept her hands folded in her lap. Bia’s every movement was a flinch, and she knocked her silverware from the table more than once. Alice had nary a conjecture about what the boys might be doing right then, and Catherine kept glancing up at the headmistress as if waiting for her to bring down the hatchet on all of them.
By the time the dishes were cleared, Eliza’s stomach was so knotted, she’d hardly been able to choke anything down. She reached up and rubbed her gold locket between her thumb and forefinger.
“If she’s already told, then why has the headmistress yet to say anything?” Viola said finally, looking up as the waitress whisked her dish away.
“I don’t understand it either,” Catherine whispered. “This is torture.”
“Perhaps that’s what this is meant to be,” Eliza mused, glancing sidelong at the headmistress. “Miss Almay’s own personal style of torment.”
She was just reaching for her water glass when her eyes caught Helen’s from across the room. Helen was staring right at her. Eliza felt the force of it right down to her toes. Why did it seem that Helen was always watching her?
Suddenly the maid stepped away from the wall, leaned down, and whispered something in the headmistress’s ear.
“Oh, no,” Eliza said, placing her glass back down so hastily that half the water spilled over the rim. “Don’t look, but I think she’s telling her right now.”
Alice whimpered quietly, looking up at the head table, as everyone else held their breath. Slowly Miss Almay placed her spoon on the table and rose from her chair. As she did so, Helen backed up to her spot near the wall, casting an unreadable glance at Eliza.
“Ladies, if I may have your attention,” Miss Almay said, casting a dour look at the room.
Instantly every conversation in the room came to a halt. Eliza felt her heartbeat pounding behind her very eyes. This was it. This was the end of her short tenure at the Billings School for Girls. Would any other respectable school have her once she was expelled? Would her mother even let her back into their home?
“As you all know, many of our students were put on probation on the first night of the term,” the headmistress said, her eyes sliding over those tables which were home to the offending girls, all of whose
faces had drained of blood and now appeared pale and waxy. “At that time I revoked their welcome dance privileges and wrote out chores and punishments for each of them. But due to their recent ameliorated behavior, I have been forced to reconsider my decision.”
Eliza glanced at Catherine across the table. Confusion filled her friend’s eyes. “Because of their superb conduct over the past week, I have decided to allow these girls to attend the dance after all,” Miss Almay announced.
A shriek of delight emanated from the depths of Alice’s lungs, and all the girls laughed happily. Eliza was so baffled, she was not yet able to feel relieved. Why hadn’t Helen told? She looked at the maid, but the girl’s gaze was once again fixed squarely on the floor.
“Do not make me regret my decision!” Miss Almay announced loudly enough to be heard over the hubbub. But still the girls gasped and chattered and began to plan their dresses and hair. Eliza smiled slowly and turned to Theresa with muted glee.
“Well. So much for Helen’s debased nature,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
Theresa’s grin dropped from her face. “No one likes a know-it-all, Eliza.”
But Eliza was unaffected by the slight. All she could think about was the dance, and whether she’d get a chance to take a turn with Harrison Knox.
“Oh, oh! What about this one? The Smitten Potion?” Alice giggled and pointed at the open page in front of her. “If a boy and a girl drink from the same draught, it’s guaranteed to make them smitten for twenty-four hours. I think we have all the ingredients for it too!”
Eliza glanced at Catherine in the three-way mirror at the dressing table they were sharing in the parlor. Three such tables had been added to the room for the night so the girls could all get ready for the dance together.
“I suppose we should have expected this,” Eliza joked. “There will probably be more spells cast tonight than any other night of the year.”
Catherine smiled slightly. “So long as no one overdoes it. There’s a fine line between good spells and bad.”
“And what do you think that line is?” Eliza asked, genuinely curious.
“Anything that alters someone’s mind or soul, anything that goes
against the natural order of things,” Catherine replied, reaching for her powder compact. “I admit, it’s a fuzzy line. I suppose everyone has to define it for themselves,” she added, glancing over at Alice.
Like the rest of the girls, Alice had already changed into her dress for the dance, a peacock blue frock with a low neckline, of which Miss Almay would certainly disapprove, and a full skirt that accentuated her tiny waist. She was now seated on a parlor chair with the book of spells open across her lap and Viola and Marilyn leaning in from either side to better see the pages. Theresa stood nearby, tugging on her black gloves and admiring herself in a full-length mirror, while the other coven members helped one another with makeup and hair.
“Lavender, hold still,” Jane instructed from a settee in the corner. “It’s one of the basic spells. I’m sure it won’t hurt. And you don’t want that blemish on your chin distracting boys from your lovely eyes.”
Lavender blushed. “You think I have lovely eyes?”
“Of course you do!” Bia told her, looking up from her compact mirror. “With all those tiny gold flecks? I wish I had tiny gold flecks.”
“All right, then,” Lavender said, lifting her chin a bit higher. “Go ahead.”
Jane raised her hand and held it an inch from Lavender’s chin. Lavender squeezed her eyes closed but stayed completely still.
“Clarus!” Jane said.
The telltale snapping sound filled the room. Lavender’s eyes popped open as Jane and Bia clapped their hands.
“It’s gone!” Bia said, handing over her mirror.
Lavender’s jaw dropped as she inspected her face, turning it from left to right. “Thank you, Jane!”
The two girls hugged, and Eliza smiled. It was nice to see her friends growing closer—to see the way magic could bring them all together.
“Clarissa!” Theresa said suddenly, looking up at the door. “
What
are you wearing?”
Everyone turned to stare. Clarissa’s dress looked like something out of a prairie girl’s nightmare. It was green and purple gingham with frayed lace trim and a high neckline. Her braids had been pinned to the back of her head in a coil, making her appear almost like a scary old maid out of a children’s book.
“It’s the best one I have,” Clarissa lamented, her arms drooping at her sides. Eliza had never known Clarissa to be vain, so she knew right away that the frock was truly bothering her.
“Well. We can fix that, can’t we, girls?” Eliza said, standing.
“Yes, we certainly can,” Genevieve said, laying aside her finger sandwich and standing up.
All the other girls gathered around Clarissa as Catherine stood up to close the double doors leading to the front hall—an act that was strictly forbidden but necessary for the moment.
“What color dress would you
like
to have, Clarissa?” Eliza asked.
“I’ve always loved dark pink roses,” Clarissa said. “My grandmother grows them in her garden.”
“Pink rose it is.” Catherine held out her hand toward Clarissa’s dress. “Hubeo deep rose.”
Instantly, a swirl of color appeared in the center of Clarissa’s stomach. Just as Alice’s nightgown had changed that first night, Clarissa’s dress transformed into a lovely solid pink.
“It’s beautiful!” Clarissa exclaimed, giving a twirl.
“Not so fast!” Viola said. “We must do something about that neckline.” She held her hand out and bit her lip. “Collar exposé!”
With a snap, the fabric around Clarissa’s neck tore free and fell to the ground, leaving her collarbone exposed. Clarissa’s hands flew to her neck.
“I’ve never worn anything so revealing,” she protested with a blush.
“Trust me. I know fashion, and this is au courant,” Viola replied, taking her hand in a reassuring way. “What do you think, girls? Shall we fix the skirt next?”
“
Absolument
!” Marilyn said, clapping her hands.
Soon all the girls were comparing ideas, holding out their palms, and making adjustments. Scraps of fabric fell to the floor. The lace trim shot right into the fireplace. A set of ribbons lifted off Alice’s dressing table and flew over to adorn Clarissa’s bodice, and another set wove through her hair. When Eliza and her friends finally stepped back, Clarissa looked as if she’d stepped out of a magazine. Her hair was done up in a curly, chic updo with blond tendrils around her face. Her skirt was slim around the hips with a slight flare at the ankle, and the rose color was perfectly complemented by the dark purple velvet ribbon trim.
“The boys are going to fall over themselves to dance with you,” Eliza assured her.
Slowly Clarissa turned and looked into one of the mirrors. She touched her hair carefully with her fingertips, her mouth open in awe. “Thank you, girls! Thank you so much!”
Eliza hugged her as the others congratulated themselves over a job well done.
“Come on! Let’s get to work on that potion for wandering hands!” Jane suggested, grabbing Alice’s wrist.
“What does this one do, exactly?” Clarissa asked, carefully lifting her new skirt as she followed them to the far wall.