We're returning from Equestrian, and I'm flushed with victory-Henry and Herr Hoffman had decided I was ready to join the others in the circle of riders! I rode in on my dear Gretchen, both of our heads held high, the Look firmly on my face, and with all eyes on me, I spurred us to the spot right in front of Clarissa, so that she would view my mare's behind as we circled around. Herr Hoffman cracked his whip and we were off on a fast trot, then a canter, then a full gallop, then "Veel!" and we turn about, and as we do I lock eyes with Clarissa and perfect understanding and perfect hatred pa.s.ses between us. Then it was my turn to stare at her horse's rump, but I didn't care. Later, Gretchen and I were called to the center, and while the others sat their mounts, we showed them a bit of dressage- first walking in place, then turn to right, forward three paces, then back up three and turn to left and then she paces forward, one step, pause with one foreleg held up high, then another step, another pause, then step. Then stop. I get a "Veil done, Madchen!" and then it's back in the circle with Gretchie and me. Glory!

Later, when we were walking the horses to cool them, I saw the Preacher standing off in the distance. He had climbed a small hill and was standing there, watching us. I got the uneasy feeling he was especially watching me. It put a little chill on my joy, but I shook it off.

Clarissa, of course, does not walk her own horse, but instead flips the reins to Henry for him to do it. She strides off alone back to the school, head high, whipping her riding crop at bushes and leafy branches and anything else she pa.s.ses.

So the gang of us plunges back into the school. We run up the stairs and burst into the dormitory to wash up a bit and we're startled to find Clarissa standing in front of Sylvie, pointing her finger in the girl's face and yelling at the trembling chambermaid.

"I told you to have that dress brushed and ironed before I got back!" Clarissa's riding habit is thrown across her bed and she is pointing an enraged finger at her dress hanging on a hook on the wall.

"I'm sorry, Miss, I-"

Clarissa's hand lashes out and catches the girl across the face. The sharp sound of the slap startles the room into silence. Sylvie puts her hand to her face and stands there stunned. Then she begins to silently cry.

I charges across the room and shouts, "Belay that, Clarissa! She ain't here for the likes of you to slap around!"

Clarissa whirls around to face me. "You shut your dirty mouth, you low-down piece of trash!" she snarls.

That's it. A red curtain of fury comes over my mind and I launches myself at her, fists all balled up and ready to bash her, dammit, bash her so bad, and she comes at me with hands hooked into claws.

We meet in midair, both of us squealing with rage. I catch her above the eye with my knuckle, which knocks her head back some, but she gets one hand in my hair and brings the fingernails of the other down my face. I cry out and try to get her hand out of my hair, but I can't, I can't, her fingers are locked in there and she holds my head against her front so I can't see to get at her, and I can't, I can't, I can't lift my head and I know she's gettin' ready to claw me again so I pulls back me fist and puts it in her belly and I hear her grunt and so I do it again and she goes oof! and I go to do it again but we fall backward over the bed and then down to the floor and we roll over and over, legs entwined, and I reach up and catch her hair in my fist and pull hard and strain against the hand in my hair and get my head up to where we're nose to nose and eye to furious eye, breathing hard in each other's face. Then I sense her other hand comin' at my face again, but I catch her wrist in time and we lie there locked in what seems to be a draw with me on top, but then Clarissa suddenly bares her teeth and lunges her head toward me and I jerk back just in time to hear her teeth click together a scant half inch before my nose. Failing to bite me there, she turns her head aside and sinks her teeth in my wrist and I groan with the pain of it, but still I don't let go, I'd rather be bit on the arm than clawed on the face, and I'm bringin' up my knee...

...And then I ain't. A very strong hand clamps around my neck and pulls me off Clarissa. She unclamps her jaws from my arm and looks over my shoulder and I know, from the sudden silence in the room, that she is looking up at Mistress.

It is the vile Dobbs who has his hand around my neck and who untwines both our fingers from each other's hair, a smug smile on his vile face.

"Stand up. Both of you," says Mistress.

We struggle to our feet, and we stand there with our chests heaving, steam comin' off the both of us. My eyes never leave hers and hers never leave mine. I sense the other girls standing about, stunned, but I don't see them. All I see is Clarissa, who has the blood from my face smeared on the front of her camisole, the blood from my arm on her lips. She may have a bruise over her eye and I'm sure her belly's gonna be sore, but she came out the better in this battle, that's for sure, for she laid her mark upon me and I did not mark her.

"To my office. Now," says Mistress.

Neither of us turn. Clarissa is working her mouth-had I hurt her there? No, I didn't, I quickly find, for she suddenly leans in toward me and spits full in my face. As I see a thin bit of pinkish spittle hang from my eyelash, b.l.o.o.d.y Jack comes unbidden to my whirling mind. Aye, I thinks, but this time it's my own dear blood.

"Crawl back in your gutter where you belong!"

When she says this, I try to go at her again, but the vile Dobbs holds my neck fast in his filthy paw.

"Mr. Dobbs, you will bring them to my office. Now!"

The vile Dobbs reaches out and, with a huge grin on his nasty face, clasps a startled Clarissa about her own neck. Mistress turns and goes to leave, but before she does she turns to the other girls and says, "You have nothing better to do than stand about and gaze at the spectacle of two of your own debasing themselves?"

The girls flee like a flock of birds. Mistress follows them out and the vile Dobbs propels us after her.

My arm is throbbing and I look down to see two neat semicircles of teeth marks, oozing redly. "I know you are diseased, Clarissa," I say, "but I can only hope you are not rabid as well."

Clarissa goes to reply, but the vile Dobbs puts a squeeze on her neck and all that comes out is a strangled gurgle. We are taken into Mistress's office and released. I advance to the desk and put my toes on the line.

"You may wait outside, Mr. Dobbs," says Mistress from behind her desk. "I will call you if I need you. Oh, and make sure none of the other girls is hanging about the door."

A plainly disappointed Dobbs says, "Yes, Mistress," and leaves, closing the door behind him. Poor vile Dobbs, were you looking forward to a jolly good show at our expense?

Stop it. Stop being giddy. You are in a lot of trouble here, and you must keep your mind sharp. Steady down.

Clarissa does not put her toes on the line but instead starts right in with, "Mistress, how could you let that man put his hands on me in my state of undress, how could-"

"Miss Howe, you will put your toes on the line there, next to Miss Faber." Mistress says this with a calm, cold evenness of tone. She leans back almost languidly in her throne and surveys the both of us. Don't be fooled by her calmness, Clarissa, I thinks, Mistress is mad.

Clarissa hesitates, confused. I'm sure she's never been in here under these conditions before. "But-"

"Do you recall, Miss Howe, the rule about never talking back to me? Hmmm?" says Mistress. "And if you want me to call Mr. Dobbs back in here to put you on the line, well, that can certainly be arranged."

A seething Clarissa comes up next to me and puts her toes on the line.

"Now, then," says Mistress, "let's get to the bottom of this unseemly matter. Miss Howe, you will remain silent until 1 ask for you to speak. Miss Faber, would you care to explain your behavior?"

I stand at attention and give her the old Royal Navy response-there is only one answer in a situation like this when a superior officer asks you a question like this and that is: "No excuse, Mistress." What's it gonna matter, anyway? She's sure to believe Clarissa's side of it.

"Come, Miss Faber. I want more out of you than that." Mistress taps her stick on the edge of her desk.

"Miss Howe was mistreating a servant, Mistress," I say, my chest still heavin' and my breath still ragged.

"How so?"

"She slapped the girl Sylvie, who is the most shy and un-forward of any of your staff, Mistress. Miss Howe hit her and made her cry in front of the ladies, and I didn't think it was right." There. I have said it.

"You could have reported the incident to me."

"I am sorry, Mistress. I should have done that."

Mistress eyes me carefully for what seems a long while. Then she turns to Clarissa and says, "Now, Miss Howe. What do you have to say for yourself?"

A torrent of words pours out of Clarissa's mouth. How she was merely disciplining the girl for not doing her duty, how shocked and distressed she was to be a.s.saulted by me and treated most cruelly-at this Mistress glances over at the nail marks on my cheek and the teeth marks on my arm-how someone like me, so lowborn, a common a gutter girl that shouldn't even be in this school, how her father will certainly be told of this incident and- Here Mistress cuts her off with a sharp slap of her rod on the desktop.

"I would give more credence to your story, Miss Howe, if I did not see you spit into Miss Faber's face with my very own eyes. If I did not see, with those same eyes, the considerable damage you have inflicted upon her. And you will listen to me, Miss Howe, and you will listen carefully," says Mistress, with the iron back in her voice. "If you think for one moment that your family's stature will have any influence in this matter, you are sadly mistaken. If your father withdraws you from this school, then so be it. Adieu, Miss Howe. I will have one less student, and that will be that." Mistress leans across the desk and looks into Clarissa's now perplexed eyes. "I run a superior school here, Miss Howe, and I am happy in what I do. But I would walk out of here tomorrow rather than let my judgment in how I run my school be dictated by anything other than my own convictions!"

Mistress stands to her full height and looks down her nose at us.

"For your disgraceful behavior you will both receive no dinner or supper today. You will instead each stand in a corner of the dining hall during the dining hour, facing the wall, during which time it is hoped that you will each reflect on what it means to be a lady." Again the rod comes down on the desktop. "The Position!"

I immediately flop over the desk and pull up my skirts. Thank G.o.d, I thinks, she's not gonna put me out!

She gives me four. Four hard ones. So hard I cry out on each, and my knees buckle on the fourth and I have to grab the edges of the desk to keep from sliding off the desk. But I don't. It's over and I stand up and wipe away at my tears.

Mistress folds her arms and again says to Clarissa, "Did you hear me, Miss Howe? Do you want me to call in Mr. Dobbs and have him stretch you across the desk? The Position, Miss Howe."

Clarissa stands there, mouth agape, not believing that this is going to happen to her. She looks over at me. It's gonna happen, Clarissa, believe it. I run my sleeve under my running nose and shrug. Better get down and get it over with, I thinks. She shudders and bends over the desk. She don't have to lift her skirts 'cause she ain't got any on.

Mistress swings. Clarissa gasps and bolts upright on the first one, she shrieks on the second, she goes into a high howl on the third, and on the fourth, Miss Clarissa Worthington Howe, of the Virginia Howes, falls to the floor, sobbing.

And even though Clarissa's meaner than a snake, I didn't like seein' her get it. Not really.

At dinner, before the others come in, I am placed in one corner and Clarissa is placed in another. I'm sure neither one of us would care to sit down, anyway, not just yet. I try to present a military att.i.tude-head up, back straight, arms held straight to my sides. I don't know how Clarissa's handling this, 'cause I can't see her, being crammed in the corner as I am, but I'm sure her back's as straight as mine. Clarissa's a nasty piece of work, but she is game, I gotta give her that- who'd of thought she had that much fight in her? She whupped the h.e.l.l outta me, that's for sure, and me an old Cheapside sc.r.a.pper.

h.e.l.lo, wall. I sigh and suspect I'm gonna be real familiar with every spot and crack in this corner.

I hear the chimes being rung for dinner and I hear them all tromping in and settling down. Then I feel a hand lightly placed on my arm.

"Miss Trevelyne," I hear Mistress say from her place at the head table. "You will please sit down, unless you, also, wish to stand in a corner in disgrace."

Amy withdraws her hand. Thanks anyway, Amy, I thinks, for the kindness.

Then there is a hush. Then a stir. What's going on? I duck my head and risk a look and what I see brings tears welling up in my eyes. Amy has placed herself in an unoccupied corner and stands there, presenting her back to her cla.s.smates and to her teachers. Through my filmy eyes, I resume my study of the wall and think on friendship.

During supper that evening, which was only marked by the loud rumblings in my belly, Amy again a.s.sumed her post. No one stood up for Clarissa.

Later, as we readied for bed, I took Amy aside and said, "You did not have to do that," and she said, "Yes, I did."

I was silent for a while and then I took her hand and turned it palm upward. "Spit in your hand, Amy." She is mystified, but she does it, looking at me with questioning eyes. I take my own hand and spit in it and then I lay my hand over hers, joining the spits and say, "This is the beginning of the Dread Sisterhood of the Lawson Peabody. We will now swear to always look out, each for the other, for whatever dangers might lie before us, to never betray the other in any way, and only to help the other to find happiness and joy in this life."

I clasp her hand tightly and say, "So sworn, Sister?"

"So sworn, Sister."

I had thought this day was over, but it wasn't. As we knelt for prayers that night, I noticed that my pillow was lumped up strange. I put my hand under it and found a package, neatly tied up. After all were in their beds for the night, I nudged Amy and we crept into the hallway and opened the package. It was fresh bread and b.u.t.ter and thin cuts of choice meat and some cheese and two little jars of pudding. On top was a slip of paper on which the simple words "Thank you" were written.

The Dread Sisterhood of the Lawson Peabody sat down in the light of the moon and had a feast, and I, for one, knew that I would never again taste one quite as fine as this.

Chapter 6.

The morning after the fight, when we are all at breakfast, the girl Rachel gives me a note and I open it and it's from Reverend Mather saying I must come over to the church for counseling and guidance after cla.s.ses today.

Just what I need, I thinks. I look over at Clarissa to see if she got a note, too, but I don't see her reading one.

"I'm to get counseled and guided by the Preacher today," I tell Amy.

"I do not envy you, Sister," says Amy.

I knock on the door of the church and then push it open and enter. It is the main door and it opens on the back of the church, such that one is looking down the central aisle to the pulpit. The Preacher is standing at the pulpit, reading his Bible. I walk down the aisle toward him. I stop and wait, my hands at my sides.

"You will kneel down right there," he says, pointing to a spot directly in front of him. There is no rug on the polished wood floor and it looks right hard, but I march over to the spot and kneel down.

"You will put your hands in a prayerful att.i.tude and pray silently for fifteen minutes, asking forgiveness for your disgraceful behavior yesterday."

I put up the hands and close the eyes and pray for deliverance from this place. The knees set in to aching right off, and I find that fifteen minutes can be a long, long time.

"Very well, you may stand," he says after an eternity of boredom and pain. I climb to my feet and put my hands behind my back and wait for what's next.

"What have you to say for yourself?"

"I got in a fight and I am sorry for it, Sir," I say.

"That's all? That you are merely sorry for having savagely attacked an innocent girl."

Innocent girl? Clarissa?

"Sir, there was two of us in that fight," I say. Just look at my face, Preacher, for evidence of that! Innocent, indeed!

"The girl you a.s.saulted is an extremely well-bred young woman of the highest refinement. She would not have willingly entered into combat with you had you not physically engaged her."

"So you ain't gonna counsel and guide Clarissa Howe?" I asks, almost gagging with resentment.

"I gave her my condolences and conveyed my concern for what she had been through," he says. He sets his mouth in a prim line and folds his hands before him. "We prayed together for your salvation, so that you might see the error of your ways."

I roll back my eyes at the injustice of it all. Please, G.o.d, let this he over soon.

"You will maintain a respectful att.i.tude, young woman!" he warns. "Remember where you are!"

"Yes, Sir," I say, dropping my hands to my sides and coming to attention, my eyes straight ahead.

"That is better," he says. He looks at me carefully for signs of disrespect, but I let none show. He looks at me for a long time and the silence hangs in the gloom of the church. Presently, he leaves the pulpit and comes down to where I'm standing in the aisle and walks slowly around me. I hold the military posture, but I don't like him behind me where I can't see him. What if he should hit me? What if...

I'm relieved to see him come back into my sight.

"While I would usually ascribe an incident as occurred yesterday to the hysterical vapors common to the female," he goes on in a musing way as if he'd been thinkin' on it a while, "in your case I believe it is different. I believe the sordidness of your early life has affected your judgment, your character, and perhaps even your very soul."

He goes back up to the pulpit. "We must pray together. Back on your knees."

Thump.

It went on for hours, it seemed-praying and reading from the Bible and more praying and sermons on evil and sin and me, always back to me, me and my early life, me on the ship, me and how I got here, me and the devil that's in me till I was dizzy and ready to keel over in a dead faint.

Finally, after one last long prayer delivered with his one hand on my head and the other stretched out toward Heaven, he freed me and I ran back to the safety of my school.

Chapter 7.