The schoolroom was large and orderly—four desks, four chairs, and a teacher’s table at the front. Emma’s chosen seat was the one nearest the window; she had told Maggie that Mrs Ruthborne and Miss Lawless had forbidden her to sit there. Miss Swaddle, apparently, had not cared one way or another.
Droplets raced each other down the glass, distorting the view of the garden until it was nothing but grey and green blurs.
“Miss Emma?” Maggie said softly. “Your French exercise?”
Emma started and flushed. The paper before her was blank.
“I… I haven’t started it, Miss Winter.”
Maggie crossed the room to stand beside her. “That’s all right. Tell me what part troubles you. We’ll work through it together.”
Emma bit her lip. “I can’t concentrate, Miss Winter. I feel very…” she frowned, searching for the word. “Verymaudlin.”
Maggie hid a smile. “Yesterday’s word of the day,” she murmured. “And do you remember today’s?”
“Facetious,” Emma said solemnly.
“Excellent. Now—why do you feel maudlin, my dear?”
Emma wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know.”
Maggie crouched beside her. “Feelings are quite natural, you know. It would be strange not to have them. But when we feel something strongly, we must always try to find the cause. Feelings may rule us, if we let them—but if we understand them, they have less power.”
Emma considered this gravely, her small forehead furrowed. “I miss Uncle,” she said at last. “I haven’t seen him forthreewhole days.”
“Well, could you not visit him in his study?”
She shook her head. “I’m not allowed.”
“Well, I suppose we must just wait then, mustn’t we? He is a very busy man. In the meantime, what might we do to lift your spirits?”
Emma thought again, then traced a finger through the condensation on the windowpane. “I want to go outside.”
Maggie sighed. “I know, my dear. So do I. But it’s raining too hard—we’d be soaked to the bone and sneezing by evening.”
“I know.”
Maggie studied her for a moment. Then an idea struck.
“There’s nothing worse than a rainy day,” she said at last. “I hated them when I was your age. Well then, you don’t feel like French exercises, do you? Let us do something else.”
Emma’s eyes brightened. “Painting?”
“Wecouldpaint,” Maggie said thoughtfully, “but I think we’ve had quite enough of this room for one day.”
“The nursery, then?”
Maggie shook her head with a grin. “No. I thought we might explore the house.”
Jenny’s needles stopped clicking. Emma, however, beamed.
“Explore?” she repeated.
“Is that wise, Maggie?” Jenny asked, frowning slightly.
“Perfectly. I lose my way every time I step beyond the schoolroom—perhaps Miss Emma can show me the way. We might even finish our expedition in the kitchen, where Cook might be persuaded to grant a certain little lady a jam tart.”
Emma clapped her hands. “Ilovejam tarts!”
