5. Schools and Trades
Rob stood before the mirror in his bedroom, adjusting the tie of his cravat. He had put on his most formal clothing—a fresh linen shirt, a blue waistcoat, matching breeches, stockings, and buckled shoes. He had combed his hair and tied it back behind his neck, leaving only some sand-colored strands hanging conservatively out at the sides. For once, the butler had had nothing to do but to lay out the clothes, and give Rob a pleased nod once he'd finished.
Rob was no stranger to dressing well. He liked it. He loved his new waistcoat, adorned with elaborate floral patterns. And he loved the overcoat, colored a dark, mature green. His shoes fit snugly and gave off a sprightly click when he walked. He'd spent a good portion of that morning shining them, cleaning away every fleck of dust until they gleamed. Years ago, Walter had told him that putting on a uniform was already halfway towards feeling like a soldier. And Rob had known he was right. Dressing one's best was the key ingredient towards feeling one's best.
But now, for some reason, his mood was sullen. Rob continued to tug at the cravat, weighing the optimality of its tightness, evaluating the degree at which he'd replicated his grandfather's crisscross knot. There seemed to be no flaws. He went to his wrist cuffs next, examining the way the white frills of his shirt fanned out from the coat sleeves, running his fingers over the large buttons. All of it was beyond reproach… reflecting every bit of the craftsmanship his grandfather had commissioned. Everything one needed for a perfect day.
Rob turned away from the mirror, sighing.
He fished his tricorne hat from the hanger and fixed it on his head. Right then came a knock on the door. "Rob, it's almost time," Walter called.
"I'm coming out," Rob replied.
He emerged into the corridor and swiveled around in place for Walter to see. Walter gave an appraising nod. "Very good, Young Master Swann. I say the secretary will take a liking to you immediately."
Rob gave a wan smile. "Well, he's got to take me either way, doesn't he? Grandfather's his superior."
Walter patted his shoulder. "Don't put yourself out. There's a big difference between liking one's apprentice and not."
"S'pose so…" Rob crossed his arms. It was awkward to do with the large sleeves of the overcoat, and wasn't very much of a businesslike posture. But he'd have plenty of time to do those soon.
A minute later, Elizabeth appeared from around the corner, the skirts of her fancy dress swishing. Walter stepped aside, and her gaze trailed to Rob. Elizabeth's eyebrows climbed. She stood there for a moment, blinking.
Rob spread out his arms, feeling for some curious reason sheepish. "Do I look good, Mum?"
A smile wobbled on Elizabeth's face. She knelt down. "Rob… look at you…" She placed her hands on his shoulders, giving them a comforting rub.
"I'm glad you like it…" Rob replied with a smile.
Elizabeth's gaze ran over his face. An odd, contemplative emotion flickered over her features right then, bringing a sheen to her eyes. It almost struck him as sorrowful.
"Are you all right?" Rob asked.
Elizabeth smiled. "You look so grown up… Well, you're going to be wonderful. I know you will." She cleared her throat and turned. "Now, where's your grandfather…"
Weatherby appeared moments later from the same way she'd come, also sporting his fanciest overcoat and plumed hat. "Ah! Robert, good, you're ready. Walter, tell Samuel to prepare the carriage."
"Yes, sir." Walter hurried off.
The three of them descended the stairs and emerged to the front steps. Samuel drove up with the carriage a minute later, its windows cleaned and its wood shining. Rob sat at the backseat, facing front. Elizabeth settled down beside him, and Weatherby across from them both. He gave a nod.
"Right. Well, let's get going."
The carriage started forward, the clop of the horses' hooves taking them into the town. Elizabeth looped her fingers through Rob's and gave him an encouraging smile. Rob returned it, though as he looked out the window at the busy morning streets, it faded. Soon, he would be stepping out, and her hand would inevitably part with his.
At last, they arrived at Port Royal's government office, a large stone building that stood near the harbor. Weatherby's head secretary awaited them by the entrance in person, his hands behind his back. His guards opened the carriage doors for them, and Rob hopped down, followed by Weatherby.
"Mr. Barlow. How do you do?" Weatherby stepped forward and shook hands with the secretary. Next came Rob, who first doffed his hat and introduced himself.
He'd seen Barlow before; he'd been a regular guest at Weatherby's banquets, and on one occasion had even invited the Swanns to dine at his house. He was a well enough fellow. Though Rob's memories of that time were admittedly scant, since he and Allie had spent most of that evening fooling around. They'd been too young to sit still while the adults talked, so they had run about the garden playing hide-and-seek, much to the servants' exasperation.
But Barlow greeted Rob with as welcoming a smile as any, and showed them inside to his office room, which he and Rob would share from that day forward. Barlow and Weatherby began to exchange some conversation, reading over Rob's good marks and discussing his contract. Rob wandered over to his new desk, which stood in the corner by a window. It was a miniature version of Barlow's, with a map of Port Royal behind it and some small storage cabinets. The window looked out onto a small section of the harbor. Rob's gaze panned out over the coastline, the toothed battlements of Fort Charles in the distance. But he snapped back to attention when Barlow's voice rang out.
"What say we give you a taste of what's to come, Robert?"
Rob inclined his head. "Certainly, sir."
Barlow motioned him to sit and gave him some fresh parchment paper. He began to dictate a letter, addressed to one of the lower-level city officials. Rob transcribed it, then at the end, he proffered it for Barlow to sign.
"Wonderful. Excellent penmanship. I believe he'll do very well here, Governor."
Weatherby smiled. "I'm very glad to hear that, Mr. Barlow."
Right then, a staff member rushed in. "Mr. Barlow, sir! The court reports have just arrived. They need your review as soon as possible."
Barlow jumped. "Oh my! Governor, I'm terribly sorry. This might take a while. Perhaps you and Robert wish to go?"
"Nonsense," Weatherby replied. "I will return to my office, and Robert can help you until the afternoon. He is to learn this business, after all."
"Could he indeed stay, sir? Wonderful, thank you!"
Weatherby inclined his head to Barlow and gave Rob a more abbreviated, encouraging nod. "Good luck, Rob."
Rob nodded in return. "Thank you, sir." He watched as Weatherby left the premises, and more of Barlow's office staff filed in as a replacement.
He wasn't given much more room for thought, for immediately, Mr. Barlow placed a document on Rob's desk.
"We'll have a lot to go over today, Robert. First, I'll ask you to make thirty copies of this letter, then once I'm finished with the court reports, you may draft a response to the judge. After that, we'll continue with the other transcriptions I had planned for the day."
"Yes, sir," Rob said. He unfurled the master copy and read it over.
He started a fresh sheet of parchment, dipping his quill pen in ink, and readied the wax seal of the Governor's Office that he now had the authority to use. There was a creak as Mr. Barlow opened the window beside him, and a fresh, salty breeze blew inside. The palm trees beside the bay were rustling, the waves rippling with white foam. Cries of gulls accented the rush, distant and free. Rob sighed.
He stared at the parchment for a moment, ink dripping from his pen.
"Sir?" he spoke up.
"Yes, Robert?"
"Would you mind if we kept the window closed, sir? The breeze is slightly chilling."
"Not at all. You may do it."
Rob went to the window. He took a last longing look at the bay, one last smell of the air, then closed it.
: : : : : :
Allie sat at the dining room table, still in her yellow house dress. The hour of her departure to the school visitation was fast approaching. The cooks had prepared a mouth-watering lunch—meat, potatoes, vegetables, gravy. But she couldn't stomach a single bite of it. With Rob and the others away at the office, the house was significantly emptier. The silence was foreboding. Once they came back, it would be her turn.
Her sheet music lay on a chair to the side. She knew the notes backwards; in fact, she could play the piece without even taking a glance at them. But for once, Allie wished she weren't prepared. She wished she had some complicated matter to worry about, like whether she'd switch keys on time, or whether she'd accidentally mix up the second and third movements. She wished she'd had a reason to spend all morning in the parlor practicing, letting her mind be filled with concentration on doing well. With determination. With jitters.
With anything but this.
Allie leaned her cheek on her fist while she started in a deadpan at the food, twiddling her fork. Walter kept her company at the table, busying himself with mending one of his tunics. Instead of eating, she watched him. He was oddly good at it—his hand moved swiftly as he twisted the needle through the fabric, stitching together a hole near the elbow. Though his gaze frequently went to Allie, and the untouched heap of food on her plate.
"Allie, you should eat."
"I can't."
"Just a little. You'll feel worse on an empty stomach."
Allie shook her head.
Walter approached and proffered one of the fruit bowls. "How about some grapes? A banana?"
"No."
He switched to a basket. "An apple. I bought them myself this morning. Best of the batch."
Allie looked at the stack of apples and picked one up, shiny red and green. "I don't want to go, Walter."
He lowered a hand to her shoulder. "You're just visiting today. You won't start for another month."
"Then I'll be there for three whole years."
"You'll come visit. Schools always have holidays; you'll certainly be home for Christmastide. Then you'll have Easer."
"That's hardly a comfort."
"We'll write you letters throughout the year as well. Monthly, weekly, as many times as you want. I'll deliver them myself."
Allie lifted an eyebrow. "You'll walk all the way over there?"
"Yes. I'll cross all the hills and fields and wait by the door until you come out."
"But how will you get past the gates? There's guards there."
Walter smiled. "I can get past anyone. Don't you know who I am?"
"You're Walter."
"That's Captain One-Eye Wally to you. And if I need help, I'll call on my trusted first-mate, Swift-Hand Sam. All right, matey?"
A laugh escaped Allie in spite of herself. "Aye," she replied. She took a bite of the apple.
Moments later, noises came from the main room, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of the front doors closing. Allie froze, nervousness blossoming inside her. Walter gave her a calm nod. "It's all right. Keep eating."
Allie managed another few bites, but as the sounds and chatter from the entrance hall increased, her stomach closed itself off. At last, footsteps marched up the corridor and Weatherby walked in. "Alice, it's time to get dressed."
"I haven't finished my apple."
"You can finish it in the carriage. Come."
Allie rose with a sigh, depositing her half-eaten apple onto her plate. She proceeded into her bedroom, where Estrella and Maria began the lengthy process of getting her into full dress. The tailor had dropped off her new gown the previous day after his final adjustments. The garment was a vivid, teal blue, consisting of a mantua over stays and a matching closed petticoat. Estrella complemented it with a silver necklace and sapphire earrings. Lastly, she did up Allie's hair, leaving a few curly locks hanging down at the front.
Allie left her bedroom, her heeled shoes clacking over the wooden floor. She wandered into her mother's bedroom, looking around at the peaceful blue walls, the familiar orderly dressers.
Elizabeth had lingered there sometime that morning; Allie noticed that she had left the lid of her escritoire open, her locked letterbox on top. Elizabeth seldom took the letterbox out, usually keeping it stowed in the nightstand drawer. Allie had never asked her about it. Though she knew what was inside; many years ago, she had held the key in her hands, Rob looking breathlessly over her shoulder, urging her on with frantic whispers. Allie had opened that box, taken out the letters, looked over the blurred ink and scratched-out lines.
Rob had tossed around the idea of investigating them further, perhaps using one of Mr. Doyle's magnifying lenses, but Allie had never summoned up the resolve. A strange apprehension and guilt had washed over her. Ever since then, none of her pirate missions had involved their mother.
Allie stepped towards the letterbox, her fingers brushing the surface of the writing table, not quite deciding to touch it. Her gaze went up to the wall, where Elizabeth kept an old sketch, depicting her with Allie and Rob on either side of her. They were embracing each other, calm and happy.
A beat of footsteps entered the room. "Allie?"
Allie gave a tiny jump. "Yes, Mum?"
"There you are." Elizabeth strode towards Allie, giving her an appraisal. A warm smile touched her face and she brushed her hands over Allie's shoulders. "You look beautiful." She did not address the fact that Allie was less than an arm's length away from the letterbox, though she paused slightly. But her gaze went to Allie again and she gave a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Come. It's time to go."
They walked hand-in-hand into the parlor. The room was empty, and Elizabeth frowned as she looked around. "Where are those two…?"
They went outside to the backyard, where Samuel was scrubbing his boots and Walter and Rob were sparring on the grass. The clink of silverware rang out, and Allie noticed they were using tablespoons, weaving them through the air as if they were knives. Walter was demonstrating some forms, taking turns striking and feinting. Rob was countering them, still in his elaborate office clothes, though he'd now donned Walter's gloves.
At the sounds of Elizabeth's footsteps, both of them froze. "Samuel, it's time to leave for the school," Elizabeth said. "Get the carriage ready."
"Right away, Miss Swann," Samuel replied.
Elizabeth nodded and he hurried off. Then she turned her gaze to Walter, hands on her hips. "And what are you doing?"
Walter cleared his throat. "I'm showing Rob some… self-defense formations."
"He's teaching me martial arts moves from the Orient!" Rob piped up.
"No, he is most definitely not." Elizabeth snatched Rob by the arm. With one hand she pulled off the gloves, and with the other she turned him in the direction of the house. "March to your room and review your new reading material."
Rob skulked, deflating. "Yes, Mum…" He ran off.
"And as for you." Elizabeth turned back to Walter, eyes flashing with hostility. She pushed the gloves back into his hands. "Now that my son has reached a mature age, you would do well to encourage mature behavior from him. Not continue to fill his and his sister's heads with nonsense."
Walter did not quite deflect the rebuke, but his expression flickered with a look of coldness and indignation that matched the one reserved for him. "As you wish, Miss Swann." He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat in a curt salute, then turned away.
Allie watched with a forlorn feeling as Walter disappeared up the steps to the house. "He wasn't doing anything bad, Mum…"
But Elizabeth tugged on her hand and pulled her along. "I meant it when I said no more games. This is about your futures."
They rounded the yard towards the front of the house, where Samuel was waiting for them with the carriage. He opened the door for them, then climbed up to the driver's seat.
"Straight to the school, then, Miss Swann?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "Hopefully we'll make it in time."
: : : : : :
Allie sat with her head lowered as the bumps of the carriage wheels rocked her about. She gave her fan a lethargic wave every so often, gaze fixed on the green, untamed nature that lay beyond the developed area of Port Royal. The sun was blaring down overhead.
Roughly an hour later, it came into view. The three-story building, fancy as any in the town center, painted a bright yellow and surrounded by gardens. Many carriages were here already, depositing dozens of girls her age, hand-in-hand with their parents and caregivers. Allie felt her shoulders slouch.
Samuel parked the carriage with the others and opened the door for Allie and Elizabeth. Allie's shoes hit the fine grass, barely eliciting a thump. Though her gait grew wobbly as they ventured towards the footpath, which was bordered by a moat of white rocks. Many other families were already on their way towards the building. Girls and their mothers, sometimes in twos or threes with sisters. Some of them wore bonnets, others had shawls wrapped around their arms. Just like she dressed. And yet… their faces were unfamiliar. Their voices rose up like foreign sounds, combining strange words and names. Allie avoided eye contact, clutching her sheet music to her chest.
Elizabeth hooked her arm through Allie's as they approached the building. The front lawn was occupied by a gathering of round tables, a welcome tea for the arrivals. Allie waited through all the formalities with the headmaster, where Elizabeth first introduced her and handed over their letter of registration. Then as soon as the headmaster confirmed them, Allie sped towards the tea area. Many families were sitting here already, enjoying sweets and cakes from the tiered dessert platters on every table. Allie sat down at the closest vacant table and proffered her cup for the household staff to fill. She picked a small vanilla pastry from the assortment before her, taking several bites. At least the food tasted good.
A hand lowered itself onto her shoulder. "Hm, that looks good…" Elizabeth said. "I think I might join as well." She winked and pulled herself a chair. She scooted it closer to Allie's, so that they were side-by-side, comfortably close.
The other tables began to fill up. Allie sincerely hoped no one would come to theirs, but as Newton's laws of scarce public space dictated, theirs was picked soon enough. A mother and daughter approached them, asking politely if the seats were taken. The mother introduced herself as Mrs. Conway, the girl as Anne. The pair sat down, not adjusting the position of their chairs, instead keeping an adult distance from each other.
Mrs. Conway and Elizabeth began to talk, first about the tiring journey and then about the school's bright prospects. Allie and Anne exchanged a glance. Anne was around her age, with dark chestnut hair that was somehow straight and smooth like silk. After some standard pleasantries, they lapsed into a few second's pause, which Allie filled by taking more sips of tea. She tried to keep them from becoming greedy gulps.
"So, will you start boarding here today?" Anne asked.
"No, only in a month," Allie replied. "I live in Port Royal, you see, so we're already close."
"Oh. Well, we came all the way from Black River. It was five days' sail."
A spark kindled inside Allie and her grip on the teacup loosened. "You sailed? What was it like?"
"It was rather boring," Anne said. "But it was only five days, thank Heaven. Mother and I got a good room, right next to the captain's."
"Oh, that's… very fortunate," Allie replied.
"Yes, it was very good of him. My father's a Navy lieutenant, so he got us aboard a proper, speedy ship."
"Oh," Allie replied. She stirred her tea, watching the liquid whirl around. Words failed her for a moment, but then she swallowed and found her tongue. "I've never sailed…"
"You don't want to, trust me. Imagine, you have nothing to see all day except for water all around you. It's actually quite frightening. And it's very hot." Anne shook her head and fanned herself, as if from the memory. "It's dirty, and everyone's sweaty, and you're stuck inside your tiny cabin all day."
"You could go up on deck," Allie mumbled. "Watch what the crews are doing."
Anne crinkled her nose. "Roll around barrels all day? And get covered in tar? No, thank you." She gave a restrained shudder. "I'm just happy that the journey's over. And I get to sleep in a proper bed again. I've seen the rooms here already, and they're very nice, almost like home!"
Allie fell silent.
"Your mother's dress is pretty, by the way," Anne remarked. "It reminds me of one I have."
"Oh."
"Does her fabric have silk in it?"
Allie shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know. Sorry."
Another girl approached their table soon after, holding a yellow parasol over her shoulder. She introduced herself as Esther Dorsey. She gave a polite curtsy to Elizabeth and Mrs. Conway, then sat down next to Anne and Allie. Esther had come from Kingston and had had a governess, who would now be joining as a teacher at the school. She remarked that Anne's dress had unique embroidery on the sleeves and Anne's eyes lit up, saying she had done it herself.
Just like that, a fountain of words burst forth between the two girls, with such plenty that it would have made Ponce de León reconsider his course. Allie munched on some orange cake while they spouted tidbits about fabrics, stitch patterns, and fashion. It wasn't a good social practice on her part—she was quickly nudged out of the conversation, as the girls' pauses became shorter and left increasingly less room for her to chime in. But for once, she didn't care.
Allie's gaze alighted upon the ground, where there were more of the same white rocks that had lined the walkway. Suddenly one of the rocks wobbled. Allie blinked, thinking the sunlight was making her tipsy... But no. Moments later, the rock budged again, this time sprouting legs and a pair of beady eyes. The arms of a white rock crab emerged, pincers snapping.
Allie hung still, eyes glued to the creature as it scuttled about. What was a stone crab doing here, all the way in the countryside?
She looked around for a twig, but couldn't find any. At last, she slid out of the chair, holding up her voluminous petticoat to perform the complicated maneuver of squatting down. She tore off a blade of grass and approached the crab, giving it a friendly brush as a greeting. Crabs were friends. Elizabeth had told her long ago that seeing a crab in an unexpected place meant that someone was watching over her. Perhaps this one was here for company. Both of them, after all, were far from home…
"What is she doing?" came a voice. Allie looked up to see Esther staring at her, brow furrowed.
"Playing with the crab," Allie replied.
"What crab?" Esther lifted herself up a little and squinted. "I don't see anything."
"It's right here." Allie pointed.
"That's just a rock," Anne replied.
"No it's not. See, it's got pincers."
Anne and Esther exchanged quizzical looks. At last, Anne shrugged, and the girls went back to talking to each other.
Allie looked back at the gravel. The crab was gone.
Sighing, she stood up, brushing her petticoat to return it to its former smoothness. She sat back down at the table. Esther remarked that the sun was scorching and offered Anne her parasol. They both ducked under its shade, giggling.
Allie finished her tea, until there were only a few drops left in the cup. She rose from the chair, primly lifting her skirt. "Mother, I'm ready to go inside."
Elizabeth smiled. "Wonderful. Let's go." She stood up, exchanging a final parting with Mrs. Conway, and took Allie's arm in hers. As they walked away, Allie caught glimpse of Anne leaning towards Esther, whispering.
They went inside to tour around the halls. Here, the crowd of visitors thankfully dispersed, and people's attention focused on the school proceedings. Allie wandered towards a small ballroom, where some girls were practicing the steps to a French dance. The instructor was helping one of the girls, adjusting her arms to the proper position.
Allie watched the girl as she mimicked the teacher's steps. She had red hair that cascaded down her shoulders in waves. The color shone like copper whenever she stepped into a square of sunlight. Her dress was pretty too, a pale gold mantua with elegant floral embroidery down the sides. Not like Allie's own attire… The dress had seemed nice enough in her bedroom, fresh from the tailor's wrapping. But now, all of a sudden, it seemed lackluster. Its teal color seemed too strong for her complexion, its frills too childish. But as it stood, it was the fanciest one she had. And it would likely be the last she'd get in the near future. The governor's household had been having to make sacrifices more often as of late: A new dress versus new books. A social gathering, or house repairs.
Allie knew Elizabeth would be the first to say that appearances weren't what mattered most. What mattered was character. And also skills, talents… Things that she said Allie had in droves.
And yet, she and her mother were different. Elizabeth fit into the school's world perfectly. Allie watched her mother as she observed the girls, calmly fanning herself. She was the picture of beauty, her curled hair hued gold in the light and her face gentle and serene. Her mother would look beautiful in any dress, old or new, and even in colorless pirate garb, as she'd played pretend with her and Rob when they were younger.
Meanwhile, Allie caught a glimpse of her own reflection and saw a long, sullen face staring back at her. Dark hair and dark eyes, clouded and pensive. Though people complimented her otherwise, oftentimes Allie found she didn't look like her mother at all. There was something else in her face—something that was Allie Swann, purely and truly. Something much farther from the image of beauty and grace that was framed inside her mind.
"That stare of yours, child, why it could freeze water," an old tutor of hers had said. "You spend too much time learning coarseness and defiance from your brother. Soon, it will be time for you to become a lady. And ladies, above all else, must be demure."
That had been five years ago. Of course, Allie hadn't listened to a single word of it. She had continued to play rough with Rob, chase Walter and Samuel around, and swing sticks like they were swords and laugh like she was screaming.
Only once had she genuinely felt like her mother. It had been at one of her grandfather's banquets, a rare occasion that gathered Port Royal's cultural and intellectual scene. Naval captains had been there, as well as officers, artists, and scholars from Europe. What more, the date of the event had coincided with Allie's and Rob's ninth birthdays, so Weatherby had ordered her a custom-tailored dress from France. It fit perfectly, the deep red and gold colors lighting up in her face and eyes.
Allie had walked on air the entire day. Within the confines of that glittering ballroom, she felt like she had entered a magical world. Everyone she usually saw on a daily basis had seemed different—Weatherby dashing and energetic, his smile vibrant like the summer; Elizabeth noble and poised with the Navy wives; Walter and Samuel like royal cavalrymen in their Company uniforms. Allie had greeted everyone, conversing with faces old and new, mingling with them like a dutiful hostess. At last she had found Mr. Doyle, who was talking to some fellow philosophers, and rushed over to greet him. The scholarly men had accepted her company, paying her compliments, telling her tales about their lives in universities.
Then, the music had started playing, and Mr. Doyle had walked her out onto the dance floor. He had been twice as tall as she was, but he held her hands gracefully, and they kept pace as deftly as if they'd been practicing. All heads in the room turned to watch as they spun about the floor to the musicians' tune. Allie's joy had been reflected in everyone's faces: her grandfather's, her mother's, the maids', the guests'. She had danced the volta with Walter next, then with Samuel, the guards lifting and twirling her like a delicate figurine. Even Rob joined in, managing to recollect some of his lessons to make a presentable minuet, giggling when she corrected him. All the other ladies had come to the floor at the end, linking arms with her in a festive circle. Allie couldn't recall a time when she had felt happier.
Then, of course, the fun and games had ended. The banquets gradually stopped. Mr. Doyle grew sour and withdrawn. The dress became too small for her.
And the feeling of that day, powerful as it had been, had never returned. Not in any of Allie's subsequent outings, or in her home lessons. She looked about the furniture and decorations of the girls' classrooms now, the paintings of lords and ladies on the walls, the gleam of gold in every corner. And she felt only a ghost of that former kinship, only an echo of that call of belonging she'd heard all those years ago.
Elizabeth stayed at Allie's side as they walked, their arms looped tight together. They passed by various classes that were being held, ranging from French, to music, to etiquette. There would be no talk about history or classics here; it wasn't meet. Allie would have to be tactful, maintain propriety. Not ask too many questions, nor expect too-detailed answers.
In the next room, they happened upon a poetry class. Girls were practicing their diction, reading aloud stanzas from Shakespeare's sonnets.
They read them well. Their voices kept to the proper pentameter, counting the ways of love, comparing it to a summer's day. But through it all, Allie's mind retaliated with other things.
"The caves black and cold like dungeons, the smell of rotting corpses and the sound of a thousand lost souls screaming through the fog…"
Captain Ward's words still sent chills down her spine. My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates, the book was called. Its lore and legends captivated her with mystery no matter how many times she read them, and she knew them nearly by heart. Her favorite before that had been The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Distant islands, mythical ships, golden coins… that was her element. That was the world that called to her mind when she dreamt at night.
Once, she had tried penning a sea saga, but her tutor had scolded her, saying that girls had no business writing about those sorts of topics. The language of seamen was no English a proper lady should use. And a lady certainly shouldn't be cluttering up her mind with images of gore and grotesques.
At last, a call came for the new girls to proceed to the audition room. Allie and Elizabeth hurried to the grand ballroom, where a stage and benches had been set up. A sizable audience had gathered, consisting of teachers and older girls. The new ones sat at the front rows, some just with sheet music, others with flutes or violins brought from home. Excited chatter filled the air, stirring an energy of nervousness and anticipation.
It was time.
Allie clutched her sheet music and marched towards the benches, sliding into a vacant space. She hardly noticed Elizabeth sit down after her; she was enveloped in focus, channeling all her energy towards being calm.
The headmaster stepped onto the podium, giving a brief opening speech, then began to call up the girls in alphabetical order. The first few girls played the violin, others the clarinet. Anne Conway walked onstage, performing a piece on the fortepiano. Esther Dorsey was called soon after and performed a ballet dance. She rushed to chat with Anne after she was done, along with some other girls who had somehow coalesced into a friend group. It brought a burn of bitterness to Allie's stomach, but she looked away.
At last came her own surname: Swann. Allie stepped up to the fortepiano, lowered her sheet music, and strummed the keys in an opening trill. Then, in the same wave, she transitioned to the first notes of her piece: the Allegro movement of Bach's Italian Concerto. She loved its upbeat pace, which she could play quickly and precisely, but also beautifully. Her music tutor had remarked that he'd never seen the piece imbibed with such cheer. Back when she had practiced it, she had imagined herself as Pirate King of Tortuga, serenading the laughing, drunken crowds.
She played through the piece, not fumbling on a single note. One she was finished, Allie folded her hands in her lap like she had been taught, then stood up and bowed.
The audience clapped. Allie descended from the stage, while the teachers murmured compliments to Elizabeth. "She will make a fine student," they said.
Allie joined them, exchanging some pleasantries, giving all the nods and smiles in their proper places. The teachers bade her the best of wishes, assuring that they were looking forward to having her among them. But then the next girl was called, and they turned away, as did the rest of the audience. When Allie took her seat at the benches, it was only Elizabeth beside her, the two of them scooted just slightly farther away from everyone else. Soon, Allie would be left there alone.
At last, when the sun had dipped towards the horizon and left the sky a tired orange, they departed the building. They walked with the rest of the crowd down the path towards the carriages. Elizabeth turned to Allie, offering a smile. "So, what did you think?"
Allie's face clouded over. "I don't like it."
"Why not?"
"Those girls aren't me. I can't be like them. It's not my place."
A frown creased Elizabeth's forehead. "Why wouldn't it be a place for you?"
"I'm just not like them," Allie said. She couldn't stop her voice from falling. "I'm not like you…"
"Yes, you are. You're my daughter."
Allie set her jaw. Tears began to well up in her eyes as she shook her head. "I don't want to go, Mum. Please don't make me go to that place."
"Allie…" Elizabeth knelt down and cupped her hands around Allie's face. "My love, please, you must understand. This is very important to me."
"Why?" Allie bit the word out slowly, lowly, letting out every color of the pain that had been blooming inside her.
Elizabeth bit her lip. She stroked Allie's hair. "Allie… I need to see you and Rob settled somewhere. You can't stay in the house forever. And if there ever comes a day where something happens to me, I want to be reassured that you have enough resources to carry on without me."
Allie felt a stir of puzzlement and surprise. "Why should something happen to you?"
"I'm not saying it will," Elizabeth amended quickly. "But all sorts of things could come up in the future. What if I have to make a trip someday? Take Grandfather somewhere? Or fetch something?"
Allie let her head sink. At that point, Elizabeth lowered herself the rest of the way onto the gravel and wrapped both arms around her. Not like the other mothers who walked with their daughters, hands grazing their shoulders in dainty cordiality. Elizabeth's hug was tight, unrestrained. The kind that only she could give. "The school won't be forever," she whispered. "Your grandfather and I will be keeping close watch over you, and if anything is wrong, we'll look at other options. But in the meantime, I want you to get acquainted with your teachers. That's what's most important. They must get to know you, as well as your abilities. Who knows, maybe some of the other girls might even become your friends."
Allie leaned into her mother's shoulder, gaze trailing to the ground, half-obscured by her hair. "They won't. Not those kinds of girls… I'm nothing like them. And I'll never be."
"Allie…" Elizabeth kissed her temple. "That's not true. Nothing could be further from the truth."
Allie closed her eyes, so that the somber sky disappeared, so that the school disappeared, only feeing her mother's embrace.
When she was back in her study that night, Allie flipped through her mission logs in their pirate code. She found her and Rob's analysis of Elizabeth's letters. They had a distinct recipient: Honoured Sir. Elizabeth had clearly been vexed while writing them, wrought with emotions. Allie had no way of knowing what had become of those emotions. Or what had even triggered them.
But Elizabeth kept those letters in that box, for whatever reason. When she had been younger, Allie had surmised that she had intended to finish them, on some better day in the future. In the back of her mind, Allie had speculated that a time would come when the letters would find their recipient, and he'd appear through the doors of their house, a long-awaited arrival. But now, she thought she could finally glimpse the truth. Letters were memories; letters were chests of long-buried treasure frozen in time. Letters were comfort. Even when hope was lost, even when communication had been rendered impossible, they still carried the memory of a time when it hadn't been. When someone had been there on the other side.
Allie wondered how long it would be until she, too, only had ink and parchment to remember someone by.
