at the ugly brown dress. “But I have clothes. I like my dress better.”
The older woman cast a scornful glance at Marie Anne’s attire. “Your clothes are completely inappropriate. Far above your station. You are at St. Anselm’s now, and you will wear the dress I gave you.”
Remembering the stinging slap, Marie Anne decided not to argue. She merely hugged the stack of her new possessions tightly to her chest and followed Mrs. Brown into the room beyond the cupboard.
It was a long room, lined with narrow beds along either side. Beside each bed was a small chest with three drawers. In each bed lay a girl. Marie Anne had never seen so many people sleeping in one room before. Was she expected to sleep here, among so many other children? Where was her room? She thought with longing of the nursery at home, with her own snug little room, and John and Nurse and the baby all in their little rooms across the schoolroom from her.
Some of the children slept, but most of them awoke at Mrs. Brown’s entrance. In the glow of the woman’s candle, Marie Anne could see wide-open eyes peeking out from beneath their blankets. Mrs. Brown turned to Marie Anne.
“Now, I want you to undress and get into bed. Tomorrow you will be introduced to the other children and assigned your duties.”
“Duties?”
“Of course. Everyone earns their keep around here.” The woman turned and started away.
“But—what about the light?” Marie Anne asked, unable to completely hide the tremor in her voice at the thought of being left here in the dark. “How can I see to undress?”
“There is plenty of light from the windows,” the matron answered, indicating the tall, curtainless windows that lined either side of the room. “I don’t allow children to waste candles.”
With those words, the woman strode out of the room. Marie Anne watched the flickering light of her candle recede. Tears welled in her eyes, and her chin began to wobble, no matter how hard she struggled to keep it still. She had never felt so alone in all her life, even the night her mother had handed them over to Mrs. Ward, then hurried out the door, sobbing. At least then she had had John and Alexandra, and she had known Mrs. Ward, who was a kind, soft-spoken woman. But now—now she was utterly alone and abandoned.
A small hand slipped into hers, and a soft voice whispered, “’Ere now, don’t cry. It’ll be better tomorrow, you’ll see.”
Marie Anne turned to see a girl about her size, but with a face much older than hers. She looked at the girl curiously, her tears slowly subsiding. She wiped them away with her hand and said, “Hullo. Who are you?”
“I’m Winny,” the girl responded with a shy smile. “I’m eight. Wot’s your name?”
“Marie Anne. But that woman said now I must be Mary.”
The little girl nodded. “She likes plain names. ‘Ow old are you? Would you like to be my friend?”
“Aw, don’t be daft, Winny.” A rough voice spoke from the bed on the other side of them, and an older girl swung around to sit on the side of the bed, facing them. She had curly dark hair poorly suppressed into braids, and a round, pugnacious face liberally sprinkled with freckles. “’Oo’d want to be friends with the likes o’ you?”
“I would,” Marie Anne told the other girl stoutly. “Winny seems very nice.”
“’Winny seems very nice,’” the other girl mimicked in a high voice, striving to imitate Marie Anne’s precise diction. “’Oo’re you, a bleedin’ princess?”
Marie Anne lifted her chin. “No, but I shall be a duchess one day, if I want. Mimi said so.”
“A duchess!” This statement afforded the other girl much amusement, for she slapped her thigh and rocked with laughter. “Lookee ‘ere, everybody, we got a bleedin’ duchess among us.”
Marie Anne frowned at her. “You shouldn’t use such words. Nurse says it’s wicked and—and low class. Beside, I’m not a duchess now. But I will be, if I want to. Mimi said I could—and she’s a countess!”
“The Duchess of St. Anselm’s,” the other girl pronounced, still chuckling.
“Never mind her,” Winny whispered. “Betty don’t like anyone. I think you look like a duchess.” She touched the sleeve of Marie Anne’s dress admiringly. “But you’d best get into your nightgown now. Miss Patman will be coming through shortly. She comes every hour to check on us, and she’ll punish you if you’re out o’ bed.”
Marie Anne sighed. She didn’t want to take off her clothes and put on the rough nightgown, but she was dreadfully tired. And perhaps if she went to sleep, she would wake up the next morning and find herself back in the nursery with John and the baby, and Nurse waking them up with a cheerful hello and a cup of hot chocolate.
She unbuttoned her dress with Winny’s help, pulled it off and reached for the nightdress to put it on.
“’Ere! Wot’s that?” Betty, still watching her, leaned forward now and reached for the locket around Marie Anne’s neck.
Marie Anne stepped back quickly, her hand closing around the precious locket. Mimi had given it to her last Boxing Day. It was gold and opened to show a cunning little portrait of her mother on one side and of her father on the other. The front was inscribed with an ornate, looping M for Marie. Mimi had given one just like it to the baby, with an A on the front for Alexandra. Of course, the baby was too young to wear it, only two, but Marie Anne had put hers on and never took it off.
“Give it to me,” Betty demanded, getting up and coming around the bed toward her.
“No! It’s mine! Mimi gave it to me.”
Betty’s face lit with a wicked glee. “It’s mine now.”
Her hand lashed out and grabbed Marie Anne’s smaller fist. She jerked it toward her, and the chain of the locket bit painfully into Marie Anne’s neck. All the anger and fear of the past few weeks exploded now in Marie Anne, and she let out a feral shriek and sank her teeth into the other girl’s hand.
Betty jerked back her hand, letting out a yowl. She drew back her other fist to hit the smaller girl, but Marie Anne was on her like a wild thing, hitting and kicking and biting. Finally, laughing, the oldest girl in the room came over and hauled Marie Anne off the bully and set her on her feet. Betty sat up, hunched over, trying to nurse both her injured hand and her bleeding nose, and gasping for air from a blow that had landed square in her stomach.
“I think you met your match, Bet,” the fourteen-year-old said in an amused voice. She made a mocking bow toward the little girl standing beside her, still rigid with fury. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Duchess. I’m Sally Gravers.”
“Thank you. I’m pleased to meet you, too,” Marie told her, giving a little curtsy, just as Nurse had taught her to do when she met important adults. Sally Gravers wasn’t an adult, but she looked the most important person in this group, so the gesture seemed appropriate.
The older girl grinned, further amused. “You’re all right.” She turned toward Betty and scowled. “You leave ‘er alone now. You ‘ear me? That trinket’s ‘ers.”
“All
