Rebel Angels (Gemma Doyle #2)

Rebel Angels (Gemma Doyle #2) Page 13

Felicity's up now. " That is a lie, Elizabeth Poole. You know very well that it was an accident. Our Gemma would never do such an unkind thing."

Well, that /'s a lie, but I'm grateful for it.

Martha stands for Cecily. "She's always had it in for our Cecily. She is a most uncivilized girl, Mrs. Nightwing."

"I resent that!" I say. I look to Ann for help. She sits meekly at the table, still eating and unwilling to enter the fray.

"That is enough!" Mrs. Nightwing's harsh voice silences us. "This is a fine welcome for our Miss McCleethy. She will probably pack her things and head for the hills rather than stay amongst the savages. I cannot possibly loose you upon an unsuspecting London like the hounds of Hades. Therefore, we shall spend the day perfecting our manners and reflecting in prayer until what emerges is the sort of young lady Spence would be proud to call her own. Now, let us finish our breakfast in peace without any further unseemly outbursts."

Reprimanded, we sit and resume our meal.

"If I weren't a Christian, I should tell her exactly what I think of her," Cecily says to the others as if I can't hear her clearly.

"Are you a Christian, Miss Temple? I couldn't be sure," I say.

"How would you know about Christian charity, Miss Doyle, raised among the heathens in India?" Cecily turns to Ann. "Dear Ann, you should take care not to be associated with such a girl," she says, flicking her glance to me."She might do great harm to your reputation, and, truly, that is all you have to recommend you as a governess."

I have met the devil, and her name is Cecily Temple. The evil frog knows just how to sow fear and doubt in Ann--poor, orphaned Ann, a scholarship student who is only here at a distant cousin's largesse, so that she might work for them when she leaves. Cecily and her ilk will never accept her, but they make sport of using her when it suits them.

If I'd hoped that Ann would rise to the occasion, I was sadly mistaken.

Ann does not say, "Why, Cecily, you really are a toad of a girl." "Why, Cecily, thank heavens you've a fortune, for with that face you'll need it." "Why, Cecily, Gemma is my good, dear, true friend, and I should never speak against her."

No. Ann sits silently, letting Cecily think she's won by her refusal to go against her. And so Cecily does, making Ann feel, for the moment, as if she has been accepted into their circle, though nothing could be further from the truth.

The potatoes are cold and tasteless now, but I eat them anyway, as if I have no feelings to hurt and the snickers of the other girls are nothing more than the patter of rain.

When the dishes have been cleared away, we're forced to sit at the long tables and endure a lesson on manners. It has been snowing all morning. I've never seen snow, and I long to walk out into the lush whiteness, feel the cold, wet crystals on my fingertips. Mrs. Nightwing's words drift in and out of my wandering mind.

"You would not wish to find yourself snubbed by good society and crossed off the visiting lists of the best households . . ."

"Never ask a gentleman to hold your fan, bouquet, or gloves during a dance unless he is your escort or a relative. ..."

As I know no gentlemen besides my father and brother, this shan't be a concern. That isn't entirely true. I know Kartik. But we are unlikely to see each other in the ballrooms of London. What news has he for me? I should have gone to him on the way back from vespers. What a foolish girl he must think me.

"The lady of the highest rank shall enter the dining room first. The hostess shall enter last. ..."

"Talking loudly or laughing on the street shows ill-breeding. ..." ". . . Association with a man who drinks, gambles, or engages in other ills is to be avoided at all costs, lest he should bring disgrace upon your reputation. ..."

A man who drinks. Father. I want to push the thought away. I see him as I saw him in October, eyes glazed with laudanum, hands trembling. Grandmama's few letters since have made no mention of his health, his addiction. Is he cured? Will he be the father I remember, the jolly man with the gleam in his eye and a quick wit to make us all laugh? Or will he be the father I've known since Mother's death--the hollow man who doesn't seem to see me anymore?

"Ladies may not leave a ballroom unattended. To do so could invite gossip."

The snow piles against the windowpanes, creating tiny hilly villages there. The white of the snow. The white of our gloves. Of Pippa's skin. Pippa.

They're coming for you, Gemma. . . .

A chill passes through me. It has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with what I do not know; what I am afraid to discover.