The next morning, Jemima has her new look. It’s not the same makeup that I put on her, but, after I finished last night, I talked her through the things I did. The maids here are pretty good, so whoever did her makeup this morning understood what she asked for.

Still, Jemima doesn’t bring attention to it, but she looks pretty. And I’m reminded of what Evan said about Helena’s makeup: Jemima looks healthy. While the fashion isn’t for makeup that’s heavy and white, pale skin is the beauty standard, so it’s easy to end up looking sickly, the makeup obvious. Instead, she looks warm and natural, the makeup hardly noticeable. That’s my preference, but I guess she was happy with the result last night.

I’m just glad I was of help to her.

The rest of the day goes as normal, ending in a dance lesson that is (still) more waltzercise than anything else, following steps to the music without a partner. Even after the break, I’m in good enough shape that it only leaves me in a light sweat.

Then it’s a quick stop at my bedroom (to pick up the fabric for Iris’s dress) and then over to the clubroom. I again told Evan he doesn’t have to come, so I wait outside the room by myself until Ms Berks arrives. She doesn’t say anything when she sees me, just walks past and unlocks the door, but I think I hear her sigh.

I marked out the pattern after Jemima left last night, letting me now get straight to work on cutting the fabric. When I finish, I carefully return it all to my bag, and then mark out the pattern for the last exhibition dress pattern. A white fabric like for Iris’s dress, but this one is just cotton in a normal weave.

When I was coming up with the designs, I wanted a balance across the whole exhibit, if that makes sense. The seascape dress uses the dress itself to create the illusion of waves through the horizontal pleats, and this last dress is like a canvas, a blank sheet of plain white—a sort of opposite. The other two are earth and sky, one looking straight down and the other straight up. I also tried to balance between dark and light, one very dark (the night sky), one very light (this white dress), and two middling ones (a field of dirt, the sea). Though I didn’t design it out of concern for time, I was thinking to have a fiery dress to better balance the colours as well.

Anyway, this last dress is going to be something like a minimalist painting: a blossoming tree with petals falling. I was thinking of a peach tree or cherry tree at first, but Ms Berks suggested a crab apple tree. The flowers are a more impactful pink, very vivid, more red to them than the delicate pink of peach blossoms or cherry blossoms (helping to balance the colours).

I don’t quite finish cutting it, but I make good progress. There’s plenty of time before the exhibition, so no need to rush, more important not to make careless mistakes.

Back at the dormitory, another afternoon and evening passes with my friends. We chat, go for a walk, admire the flowers, have dinner (Violet’s diet going well), go for another walk, and chat all the way until sunset.

Saturday morning, I sneak out with Len. As we walk into town, I have a heavy feeling of listlessness, or maybe it’s more like I’m worried I’ll feel listless. By the end of last term, I had started to really feel my loss of purpose. I felt like I was just being a nuisance coming to see Lottie and Gwen. Even though Lottie… what was it she said? “You are a nuisance, but we don’t mind,” I think she said. Not all that reassuring.

Still, I try to be positive and focus on how much I like visiting them. I meant what I said to Violet—that it really is rewarding to shower Gwen with attention. Seeing her happy gives me a sense of comfort I can’t really find with Joshua any more. It’s just… I spent so many days studying through the governess’s lessons, and Joshua was more proud of me for climbing a tree than my parents ever were of any of my accomplishments. That’s not to say they were cold, far from it, but… children can believe in you in a way grown-ups can’t.

We come to Lottie’s house and I go through the greetings, Gwen even more excited after not seeing me for a while. She tugs me over to the lounge to show me her sewing, and Lottie makes tea, and I’m already lost to the cheery mood.

A short while later, there’s another knock on the door. Iris. Gwen is still a bit weary of her, but I think is warming up. That they’re both my sewing apprentices maybe helps. After Iris talks a bit with Lottie (and has a cup of tea), she joins me and Gwen in the lounge, and I end up supervising their sewing practice. Both are better, Iris more so. I can see the callouses building up on her fingers too, different from the marks left behind by waitressing, and it’s a bit worrying.

“You should make sure to always use a thimble, okay?” I say to her.

She ducks her head, a little embarrassed. “It’s fine.”

I stop her, loosely sandwiching her right hand between both of mine (taking care not to prick myself on the needle). “Promise me you will.”

Though she doesn’t look me in the eye, she gently nods.

So I let go of her. Not wanting the mood to stay peculiar, I bring up another topic. “That reminds me, I asked my club advisor and she said it should be fine for you to wear a dress for the exhibition,” I say.

Iris perks up. “Really?” she asks.

“Yes. I have finished the dress too, very pretty—almost as beautiful as you.”

She giggles. Then, leaning closer, she whispers, “Oh behave, no flirting in front of children.”

I look over at Gwen. She’s rather not impressed, but I’m not sure why. “Gwen, is something the matter?” I ask.

“What’s an… eggabishin?”

I glance at Iris and see her on the verge of laughing, and I’m barely able to keep myself together either. “It’s, well, I made some pretty dresses and I’m going to show them to people. You usually have an art exhibition for paintings, though, so my exhibition is a bit unusual,” I say.

She nods along, but I don’t know how much sense my explanation made to her. After a moment, she asks, “Can I see it?”

“I… don’t think so. However, I will try to bring the dresses here for you to see them,” I say.

Her head droops. Oh no, she looks disappointed. My heart aches.

To distract her, I lean closer to her and whisper, “Shall we make your mother dress up when I do?”

It takes her a moment to process my words, and then a smile blooms; her eyes pinch and cheeks puff out. “Yes!” she happily says.

The situation dealt with, we go back to sewing, but my mind wanders. Knowing that I only have a year and a few months longer to spend with Gwen like this, it makes me want to… leave a lasting legacy, or something. Is Gwen a better person for having met me? Is her future brighter for all my doting?

I struggle with those questions, yet she’s the one who gives me an answer when we stop for lunch.

“Thank you for teaching me,” she says, lightly hugging me.

Ruffling her hair, I say, “It has been my pleasure.”

Iris leaves to go have lunch with her sister, saying her own thanks to me on the way out. So it’s just Gwen, Lottie, and I around the table. The food today I guess would be called a stew. Tough and bitter beans boiled in a sort of gravy until soft and flavoured, I think. Given how different recipes are in this world to Ellie’s, I really don’t know much about cooking, just what I’ve picked up from books and can tell from eating the food.

It might be a cheap meal, but it brings a warmth as I eat it. Some spice to it? Could be. Or, it could be the company.

My thoughts keep grinding and churning as I eat; Lottie insists on a measured silence during meals, so I’m not interrupted by Gwen chatting away or anything like that. Thought after thought, coming and going, breaking down and building up.

At the end of the meal, I thank Lottie. She picks up on what I don’t say.

“Why don’t you practice your reading for the play?” she says to Gwen.

Though Gwen fusses, wanting me to go listen to her, she gives in after one look from Lottie. I feel bad, but I have spent the whole morning with her; a few minutes with Lottie should be fine, right?

Once Gwen goes through to the lounge, Lottie moves to the kettle. “Tea?”

“No, thank you,” I say.

She leaves it on top of the stove and walks back to the table, sitting down with as much elegance as any Lady. Someone who can learn from observing, very clever, capable. Wasted on being a maid. Or rather, it’s a shame she never had the choice to do something else, because I know she would say that serving my family was a great honour if I asked her if she would have done something else if she had the chance. (Excuse all the if’s.) Whether she truly believes that is something only she can ever truly know.

Summoning my resolve, I look down at the table and say my piece.

“I wanted to ask if you would consider letting me teach Gwen mathematics, maybe basic literature, writing skills, history, and geography as well. A general education. If any of her friends wished to join, they would be more than welcome to also attend.”

Those words linger in the air for a long ten seconds, fifteen, and then I finally find the courage to look at Lottie. Only, her head is bowed and, unusual for her, her hands are fidgeting.

“I greatly appreciate the offer; however, we simply cannot adequately reimburse you for your time,” she says, a whisper in a controlled voice.

The realisation that I’ve been infringing on her and her husband’s pride crawls up me. I… feel like an idiot. The gifts, the outing…. These sewing lessons, how much would someone charge? A couple pennies? But a governess, if you factor in the lodgings and meals….

I mean, I was so busy thinking I was just getting in the way, yet thoughtless. Ugh. My mind’s a mess, struggling to rearrange itself. Lottie’s so kind that I forgot I have to look after our friendship as well. How much have I stressed her by putting everything on her? Thinking it’s okay to spoil Gwen if I run it by Lottie first, never factoring in my own status. How considerate of me to use cheap fabric, pat on the back, no problem at all.

So busy giving I didn’t notice her hands are already full. It must be uncomfortable holding everything by herself, right? Give and take.

“Would you teach me to cook?” I ask.

Lottie’s so surprised by my request, she stills for a second, and then slowly raises her head with a confused expression.

I giggle, rather pleased by the sight. But I don’t indulge in it. “I won’t touch anything, if you could simply show me and talk me through it. As curious as I am, I don’t wish to interfere in the kitchens at home,” I say.

By this point, she has collected herself and shows her usual face. No, not quite, a touch of something I can’t quite place to her expression.

Before she says anything, I quickly finish my little speech. “As for Gwen, I… really do believe that every child should have a general education. I promise I’ll do my best to make that come true in the future. For now, though, I can only make a small difference. I understand I haven’t been as considerate of your family’s status as I should have been, but I hope you can grant me this last indulgence. I promise I’ll be more sensitive going forward.”

Although I do feel bad for still trying to force the issue, if I could, I would undo any other thing and replace it with this. It’s more important to me than taking Gwen to the palace, than the dress I made for her. So I have to try.

Lottie doesn’t easily come to an answer, the seconds turning to a minute, and then two, and all the while she shows a complicated expression. Vulnerable. She’s spoken about difficult topics with me before, but this is the first time I feel like I’m seeing her really expose her emotions as she processes them. However, it hurts my heart that I am the cause of such emotions.

“You’re too kind,” she whispers, and I’m not sure if I was supposed to hear those words.

Regardless, they weren’t words of praise. A sharp kindness that cuts her hands as she accepts it. Every time we meet, I force it a little deeper into her chest, slowly piercing her heart. Maybe Jemima knows me better than I know myself. I can see Lottie’s heart, forcing it to resonate to my words even if it pains her.

“Okay. You may teach her, and I shall teach you,” Lottie gently whispers.

And it hurts me to hear her say it.