I actually have this head-canon that Miss Peregrine is different from most ymbrynes in how she treats her children, so I wrote this chapter to explore that a little. Since most of it's between her and other ymbrynes, I'm calling her by her first name for a change.
They arrived with no warning, like hunting birds dropping down on their prey. It was mid-morning, the time of day that Alma made her children spend on lessons – Abe, her newest arrival, was learning English, Claire and Bronwyn were learning to read, and she was teaching the twins sign language, since they couldn't talk – when they heard the knock on their front door.
Alma went into the hall and opened the door to find two other ymbrynes, Miss Avocet and Miss Cuckoo, on the front porch. Miss Avocet ran the academy where all ymbrynes were trained and took their vows, and she often liked to pay surprise visits to loops, to see how her former pupils were getting along. She usually made these trips alone and in the afternoons, but now, she was here in the morning, accompanied by Miss Cuckoo. It was enough to make Alma's protective instincts kick in. Had something happened? Had another loop been raided by hollows?
But her children didn't have her instincts, and they didn't sense that anything was wrong. They had followed Alma into the hallway – visitors were a rare treat in their loop – and most of them had met Miss Avocet before. When Hugh saw her, he rushed forward. "Ooh, are you bringing us a new one, Miss Avocet?" he asked excitedly. "Is that why you've come to visit?" Alma's children were always hoping that she might take in another peculiar child – a new one, they called it – even though she told them that she was busy enough looking after the thirteen of them.
She had told that to Miss Avocet as well, just last week. Shortly after Abe had joined her home, she'd sent a letter to Miss Avocet, saying that she now had thirteen children and didn't think she could properly care for more. All ymbrynes were required to notify Miss Avocet on whether their homes were full or still had room. Perhaps her letter had something to do with Miss Avocet and Miss Cuckoo dropping in like this.
Miss Avocet chuckled a bit as she answered Hugh, "No, I haven't brought any new peculiars today. Miss Cuckoo and I only came to talk to Miss Peregrine." She kept her voice light, but Alma couldn't shake her sense of foreboding.
She put a kettle of tea on for them and sent her children outside to play. They were curious to know what Miss Avocet wanted to talk about, but they were so happy to have their lessons cancelled that they hurried outside without protest. But Alma saw Enoch glance over his shoulder as he stepped into the September sunshine – his dark eyes narrowed beneath his messy bangs, as if he sensed something wrong, too.
"Is something wrong?" Alma blurted out, as soon as her children were outside. She knew it was rude to not even ask them how do you do first, but if they were in danger and she needed to create a new loop, there was no time for pleasantries. "Has another loop been raided?"
"No, the other loops are all safe right now, thank the birds," Miss Avocet answered, shaking her head, and Alma blew out a breath, relieved. "Nothing is wrong, exactly. We've actually come here about your letter." She drew Alma's letter from her coat pocket and unfolded it, and as she did, Alma's sense of relief vanished and she felt a prickling of unease. "I'm afraid I didn't realize until you sent this, Alma," Miss Avocet said slowly, "that you have so many children. Thirteen is a lot to manage by yourself."
"It is, but I think I'm managing quite well," Alma answered quickly, crossing her arms in a motion that immediately struck her as too defensive.
"You know most ymbrynes don't take in more than ten," Miss Avocet went on. The old woman's voice was gentle, as if she were breaking bad news.
Alma stiffened and said nothing. She didn't like where this was going.
"And you graduated from the academy very young," Miss Cuckoo added, speaking for the first time. "You're barely a hundred yet, and already trying to care for thirteen children, and two of them are gorgons, aren't they?"
Alma's pulse quickened. They hadn't come to... they couldn't possibly have come to take one of her children away? For a moment, she couldn't breathe, but then she made her mind up. Well, she wouldn't allow it. She simply wouldn't allow it. Most of her brood had already lost one family; she wouldn't let them lose another. You can have my children when you pry them from my cold dead hands, she thought fiercely, and she was just about to say that when Miss Avocet touched her arm.
"Take a breath, Alma," she said. "We've only come to make sure you haven't gotten yourself in over your head. I've seen many ymbrynes do that, especially ones as young as you. Actually maintaining a loop and caring for children is very different from just learning about it, you know."
"Of course," Alma said calmly, nodding, but she couldn't make herself relax. The tea kettle whistled just then, and she nearly jumped. Thank the birds that her children weren't there to see her so on-edge.
They drank their tea in the parlor, which felt almost like an interrogation. Alma remained composed as Miss Avocet and Miss Cuckoo questioned her at length about life in her loop, her children's routines, how she disciplined them when they misbehaved, how she helped them control their peculiarities – especially Olive and the twins, whose peculiarities were so potentially dangerous.
All ymbrynes were required to give Miss Avocet a list with the date and location of their loop, and their children's names, ages, and peculiarities. They had brought Alma's list with them. "Oh, you've got a gardener," Miss Cuckoo said, impressed, when she spied Fiona's name. "How convenient. My children hate having to work our vegetable garden. I don't suppose you'd be willing to trade her?"
Alma glared at the woman over her teacup, fighting the urge to take her bird-form and scratch her eyes out. Fiona was very sensitive about how useful her peculiarity was, and she often worried that people liked her peculiarity more than her. Just recently, after Hugh and Millard asked her to grow some blackberries, Alma had found Fiona pouting and reassured the girl that she and the other children liked her for who she was, not for what she could do. She'd told her that if she ever decided to stop using her peculiarity – which she never would, of course, she loved her garden far too much – and never grew any food for them to eat again, they would still like her just as much.
"Would you really, Miss P?" Fiona had asked, brightening. "And you'd still let me live here and take care of me and everything?"
"Of course I would, Fiona," Alma answered, pulling her close. "After all, I took a vow to care for you, not for your peculiarity."
Thinking back to it now, Alma cringed to imagine what Miss Cuckoo would have told her, or how exploited Fiona would've been living in her loop. "Her name is Fiona," she answered sharply, "and none of my children are up for trade."
That was something Alma had always despised about her fellow ymbrynes, though it wasn't her place to say so. Some ymbrynes traded children, based on whose peculiarity was most useful or easiest to control. But when Alma had taken her vows, she'd made another vow to herself, that she would never do such a thing.
She had sworn off other practices, too. Miss Avocet and Miss Cuckoo were both surprised when she said that she never spanked her children or sent them to bed without supper, which were common methods of discipline among ymbrynes. Alma's children were usually well-behaved, but when they weren't, her punishments varied between having to spend all day in your room, or having to eat bread and milk for supper by yourself in the kitchen, while everyone else ate a proper meal in the dining room, or having to go to bed early and miss the reset.
"And the reset in our loop is quite a show," Alma couldn't help bragging. "My children look forward to it every day."
"Well, I still think good old-fashioned spankings are necessary to keep children in line," Miss Cuckoo snipped, raising her eyebrows.
"And I think it's something only sub-par ymbrynes resort to," Alma snapped back. She was so angry that her teacup rattled in her hand, and she had to set it down. You don't know what it's like, she wanted to scream. You don't know what it's like to be struck by someone who's supposed to care for you. Her brother's angry face flashed through her mind, and even after all these years, Alma couldn't help flinching. No, her children would never know what that was like.
"Settle down, both of you," Miss Avocet cut in, tapping her cane on the floor. "We're not here to debate how children should be disciplined." She picked up the list of Alma's children and perused it again. Alma suddenly sat up very straight, alert. "Well, you do have quite a full house here, Alma, but I think–"
"Excuse me, please," Alma interrupted, and without another word, she got up and dashed out of the room. Miss Avocet and Miss Cuckoo blinked at each other for a moment, bewildered, then got up and followed after her.
Alma had hurried outside to the back garden, where Enoch was holding hands with Claire, leading her across the grass to the house. Little Claire was sniffling piteously, trying not to cry, and her pink dress was streaked with blood and dirt. Enoch explained what had happened, even though Alma could tell just by looking. Claire, Bronwyn, and the twins had been playing tag when Claire tripped and fell, catching herself with one hand in the gravel that bordered the walk.
"Let me have a look at that hand, Claire," Alma ordered gently, and the girl whimpered but didn't protest as Alma unwrapped her hand from the folds of her skirt and pried her fingers open. Her palm was bleeding badly and still had bits of gravel stuck to it. It must have been a nasty fall, Miss Avocet thought, but it hadn't been a noisy one. They'd heard nothing at all from where they'd been sitting in the parlor, and yet Alma had known immediately that one of her children was hurt. Miss Avocet felt a new admiration for the younger ymbryne; few of their kind had that instinct.
"I'll take her from here, Enoch," Alma said. She bent down and picked up Claire, and as she did, Miss Avocet saw how the child fit on Alma's hip like a missing puzzle piece, how her sniffling instantly ceased, how she curled her uninjured arm around Alma's shoulder, how she tucked her little head against Alma's neck like it was the safest place in the world.
As an ymbryne, Miss Avocet had very sharp eyes. She could certainly see what was right there in front of her face. Until that moment, she hadn't fully decided whether thirteen children were too many for one ymbryne, but now, she saw that Alma and her brood were too intertwined to be pulled apart.
"I think most ymbrynes with thirteen children would be grateful to be free of one," Miss Cuckoo said softly, as they watched Alma carry Claire into the house, murmuring soothing nothings to her. She seemed to have forgotten all about her two visitors, but that was as it should be. An ymbryne's children should always come first.
"True," Miss Avocet nodded, looking after Alma and smiling, "but I think Miss Peregrine isn't most ymbrynes."