After my meeting with Ms Berks and returning back to my dormitory, everything sort of falls into a routine. Trying to be brave, I go down to the lounge a little before suppertime, say my hullos—not just to Violet and friends, but also to the ladies in my class. Things are still weird between me and everyone else. I’ve done a lot of smiling and greeting them in passing, so it’s not as uncomfortable as at the start of the school year, yet there’s not really anyone who greets me first. A handful do at least smile when our eyes meet, like Ladies Challock, Ashford and Lenham. They’re one of the groups in my class and I spent some time with the first two in water magic class last term, so I guess that broke some of the ice surrounding me.

Supper, breakfast, lunch—they’re becoming a comfortable part of my day. I say that, but there’s still… something. A pressure now that I’m inside the group to actually contribute. I thought I’d be happy just to be here, yet life isn’t so easy, is it? Anxious. I don’t know what’s actually the cause. Maybe I’m worried that I’ll be rejected, too boring to be friends with. Maybe it’s unease from being different, wanting to act the same and be treated the same, to belong. Two sides of the same coin, huh? Well, it’s not a big deal, and it’s entirely in my head. The feeling quickly goes away once we’re actually sat down and eating and I can listen to them talk.

I’m getting to know Ladies Hythe and Minster better. Jemima and Mabel are their names, used sparingly. (I wonder if that’s because of Violet or if friends here really do call each other Lady This all the time.)

Anyway, Jemima Hythe is lovely. Kind of. She somewhat reminds me of a dog, very happy to follow a conversation and play fetch with it. Not that, um, okay, I shouldn’t use this analogy. What I’m trying to say is that she’s a good conversation partner (for the others, me not talking much at all). She knows the questions you want her to ask and happily asks them. Also, maybe a mannerism she’s not aware of, she leans towards whoever’s talking. It reminds me of how a dog looks at you when you hold a ball—wait, I was avoiding this analogy. Besides, dogs don’t even exist here.

Mabel Minster, while another bout of alliteration (I wish everyone’s name was like that), is maybe not the most fitting name. Rather than a maypole, she’s on the shorter side and has an average roundness to her face. But that’s just me being a bit silly, isn’t it? I can’t really tell much of her personality yet. Nice enough, seemingly average or normal or however you want to describe it. I suppose she does put on a good smile when something funny comes up. Mostly, I learn of her hobby for naturalism (not naturism), which stems from her family’s business connections to flowers and trees. Couldn’t have called her Maple, huh? I guess it’s close enough.

There’s a lot I want to ask both of them, but I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time once we warm up to each other. Hopefully.

Lessons are as dull as ever. I do give the teachers a chance, really I do, yet I mostly end up reading the book and ignoring them (when all they are doing is reciting the book in a monotonous drone and adding unnecessary flourishes).

Oh but, for PE, we’re finally in the ballroom. It’s quite wonderful not having to wander around in the cold. And we have a uniform for it now: a blouse and sash and baggy trousers (barely different to a skirt sewn at the bottom), and boots that have practically no heel, almost like plimsolls that come up past the ankle. Pyjamas, really.

Anyway, rather than the walking of before, we have calisthenics. I’m told it’s Greek for beautiful strength. Derived from Greek? I’m somewhat distracted by how nice it is to wear something that isn’t a dress for the first time in forever. Anyway, it’s stretches and stuff. We’re not to exhaust ourselves, but develop a good constitution and an adequate strength for a lady. A glance in the storeroom when setting up, there are weights and such (maybe for the guys), and elastic looking things for, well, pulling apart? Chest muscles?

For today, we each have a wand. No, not a magic wand, but like a broomstick without the brush bit. As expected for this class, we do some stretches with it. Nothing strenuous, it keeps my breaths deeper and heartbeat quicker (if only a little).

Next, we move on to stretching while holding clubs. They’re shaped like bowling pins, made of wood, and have some weight to them (even though hollow). Again, nothing strenuous, yet strenuous enough that half the class sits out by the end of the simple routine.

The rest of the lesson, we learn stretches we are expected to practise every morning before breakfast or in the evening before bed (given a suitable break after supper). Chest stretches today, which will help open our lungs (or something). Waist and shoulder stretches are mentioned as what we’ll learn next week, Wednesdays being calisthenics and Fridays dancing.

Wonderful. I was hoping they expected us to just learn dancing at home, but…. Oh well, at least I have friends to dance with. That said, is it a split class? Poor Evan; I wish I could resist, but I might have to tease you. I mean, I could resist, but that’s hardly fun.

So I somewhat eagerly look forward to Friday, not asking if anyone knows just to keep my dream alive.

Thursday evening, Helena comes for tea. I try not to make it all about braiding hair, but I end up showing her how to do the braid Violet always has and lamenting that Violet won’t let me do up her hair for others to see—Helena is rather amused by this. There’s also a nice spot of rain going on. I lend her my hot-water bottle, both of us with our own blankets, and I open the window ajar to really let the sound in as we drink tea.

Come Friday, my dancing hopes are dashed when the guys head out to the field for rugby. Never mind. All in all, the dancing lesson isn’t much different to the calisthenics, practising stretches for legs and arms, and then following a few simple Waltz steps to a piano beat. From what my mother told me, a good Waltz is all one needs in this day and age, and it seems that’s true. So we follow the steps, making sure to stay in a closed position. A little more tiring than calisthenics because of how long we do it, but far from enough to tire me out. Even if I don’t run about like I used to, my weekend walks into town (and then working) aren’t nothing.

Ah, but, wouldn’t it be funny to see the reactions if I took to the street in jogging shorts and a sports top that’s little more than a bra? Mothers shielding their children’s eyes, men walking into lampposts—or would I just get thrown into a mental asylum? Hysterical.

Joking aside, I think school keeps me active enough when my weekend is taken into account. In Ellie’s world, there was all sorts of stuff about how good exercise was for you, but, like, being told more is better is a lot less motivating than one hour is enough, you know? When you ask how many carrots you have to eat, you’d rather be told one than that there’s more in the kitchen. Or is that just me being lazy?

Okay, fine, I’ll do morning and evening stretches. It’s not like I can go jogging even if I wanted to, and I’d only cause alarm if I went out walking in the darkness by myself. Morning walks? Maybe Violet and everyone would join me.

Speaking of Violet and joining me, she’s my guest of the evening. It’s not her longest visit and I surmise she wants to check if I’m still working tomorrow. Sorry, I am. I know, daughter of a duke and all that, but I’m also terribly self-centred and disregard risks that get in my way. Not that I say all that to her, just amusing myself with a bit of self-deprecating humour. Haha. Ha.

We don’t really chat about anything important. Classes, letters from home. (I sent one when I arrived that, well, said I arrived; the reply is pretty much, “Great.”)

Since she came before evening tea, I do rope her in to the calisthenics we learned. If she’s going to make me actually study, fair’s fair, right?

A click of the tongue, a sigh, a flatly asked, “Really?” but she does the stretching with me.

It’s probably just a coincidence that I fall asleep easily. I mean, I don’t have much to worry or think about recently, so I fall asleep easily on most days.

My early schedule for Saturday does mean I miss everyone for breakfast. I worry about them dropping in to invite me while I’m changing into my “commonfolk disguise”, but Violet surely knows not to. Probably. No, I’m sure everything will be fine. Once I’m changed, Len is here to walk me to Lottie’s. The weather is clear, albeit chilly, today, so I don’t feel as bad as I sometimes do for having her accompany me. Well, lead me.

After just a week, there’s a lot fewer remnants of the holidays around the town. Most of the trees look to be gone and the wintry decorations are reduced to the odd wreath. While we walk alongside the river, I peek in, but I can’t see any rubbish dumped there. That’s good, I guess.

Despite keeping a good pace, my ankles complain about the cold. My nose isn’t much better off. My baby-blanket-turned-shawl does a good job keeping my neck warm and (wearing it bunched up, not much different to a bulky scarf) it keeps the cold off my cheeks. Ears, well, they’ll probably start aching once they warm up enough to stop being numb.

Okay, I’m feeling awful for Len having to not only bring me here, but then go back in this cold. She’s hopefully wearing thicker stockings than me, yet it’s not exactly fashionable to wear a balaclava and so there’s nothing to save her face.

Fighting the urge to apologise, no need to make her awkward as well as cold, I knock on the door and plead for someone to come quickly. My prayer answered, there’s an immediate shout of, “Ellie!” and the rapid-yet-light footsteps of a certain seven-year-old.

Before the door even opens, I turn to Len and hurriedly bow my head; she doesn’t dally either, giving me a suitable bow in return and then turning heel at an even brisker pace. A click behind me, I turn back around in time for Gwen to slide through the gap and pounce on me. “Thank you, thank you,” she says, the loudness muffled by my coat.

Laughing, I shuffle us through. “Let’s not let the heat out, yes?” I say.

Her cooperation lasts until the door shuts, and then she’s hugging me tight enough it hurts. I guess she won’t need to worry about calisthenics anytime soon.

“I love it so much,” she says. “I wanted to keep it under my pillow forever, but mama says I should use it, so I put my birthday money in it.”

“Not your sewing things?” I ask, a wry smile in place to stop the laughter that wants to flow out.

She shakes her head.

Well, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.