Shanti smiled and did a dainty turn. “This is so decadent.”
“Not as much as you think,” she said, “These are just to start. Wait until you have an event.”
Her eyes widened. “Do I get to attend a ball?”
“You’re required,” she said, leading Shanti by the arm.
“Wow,” she said and followed Mrs. Banks home to the school and her suite.
“Don’t forget that you’re to be ready by three.”
“Yes ma’am,” she said and walked to her room feeling like a woman. She could almost believe her status as headmistress now. Mrs. Banks told the shop-girls to charge the clothes to the school’s account, and it would come out of her wages. She felt in awe of everything. Nothing in her life had changed so much before.
***
At two-thirty, Shanti pulled her long brown hair from its normal pony-tail into a severe chignon bun at the base of her neck. Her mother taught her how to do her hair at a young age, explaining she might not always have servants to do it for her. A maid came into the room to check on her progress.
“Do you need any help, miss?” the maid said, curtsying.
Shanti said, “Not now. This evening, I shall. I’ll need someone to undo the buttons at the back of the gown.”
The maid nodded. “I shall come back this evening before lights out. If that is all, I’ll be going.”
“Do you have a name?” Shanti asked, looking at the pale-brown skin of the girl and the unremarkable brown eyes. She looked about thirteen or so. Not much older.
The girl blushed. “No one ever asked me name,” she said, “It is Flo, ma’am.”
“You may call me Ms. Shah,” Shanti said and clasped the turquoise-green necklace around her neck.
Flo curtsied. “Thank ya, Ms. Shah. I shall be back a bit before bed time, then.”
Shanti nodded and watched the servant walk out of the room. She took a deep breath. No one knocked at the door, but she knew that most of the schools had similar layouts. And the girls' sitting room for tea would be towards the front of the school and thus off the main staircase. Each section of the space station had multiple “floors,” and the school had three or four floors each. The entrance and dining room were on the “first floor” of the school. The sitting room would either be one or two floors down. Shanti walked from her suites, hidden near the top of the school and walked down a flight of stairs.
She heard the hollering of girls who were late or about to be late for tea.
Ms. Striker met Shanti at the landing and gracefully glided her into the sitting room. The room was large, but only twenty-five or so girls. There were multiple tables that seated four and two or three sat empty. A large digi-fire roared in the fireplace to the right of the door. There were several unoccupied couches and one table that obviously belonged to the headmistress and the instructors.
She looked at Ms. Striker - the lack of girls sunk in her stomach.
“New Edinburgh Space Station is nowhere near as large as New Newe Yorke Space Station,” Ms. Striker said, “and we married off about fifteen girls in the first quarter.” She then looked at the girls and smiled. They wore blue-gray uniforms, the color of the space station. The instructors wore drab black or brown gowns made of synth-cotton.
She nodded. “I see.”
Ms. Striker leaned in and said, “Being so close to where the Northern Europeans settled means we get a large crop of Blues each quarter. The best Blues in this part of the galaxy.”
Shanti smiled. She didn’t know what Northern European meant or how it related to the girls sent to her school. She supposed she would figure it out as time went on. She felt like someone had dumped her into an ice-bath.
The girls watched her as she made her way from the door to the head-table. Ms. Striker sat at the headmistress’ spot and Shanti sat to her right. The teachers filed in. Ms. Striker said a brief prayer over the meal, Shanti didn’t really hear the words, but muttered the “Lord thank you,” anyhow. And after that the clatter of tea pots and sandwiches filled the room.
The teachers all looked dour and unsatisfied. She supposed she could see that. Most of their dresses were patched. And none of them were particular beauties. They had no hope of ever leaving the drudgery of the school. Instead, teaching young girls, readying them to be married off to the highest bidder. And seething in the knowledge they were somehow not good enough to be in the marriage market themselves.
Most of the teachers were older than her, but not by much. She imagined the truly older teachers left to raise their brothers’ children or to governess if they could manage. Governesses had more freedom than instructors at a school, but not as much as a headmistress. Shanti began to enjoy the realization that her life would be given to luxuries and comforts, so long as she could marry girls off fast enough.
That didn’t seem so challenging, at the offset. She poured her tea and drank it black out of habit.
Ms. Striker offered her sandwiches and she greedily took two, even when she noticed some teachers take only one or none. She ate both without compunction. How could she ever want again?
The teachers didn’t speak to her and she didn’t speak to them. At the moment, she had nothing to say, and she knew that Ms. Striker would demonstrate to her how to handle the teachers. Shanti felt confident for the first time in her life. The green gown suited her and she knew that she could do this. Run this school. Marry off these girls. It would happen and from their marriages not only would their families’ prosper, but so would she.
Ms. Striker settled the girls after tea and about ten girls came to the head table to be sorted out into their groups. Four Blues, five Hazels, and one Brown. Not a bad crop, for so small a group. The girls went to their respective tables. The brown girl sniffled and sat next to the two others who patted her shoulder. The Hazels spilled into two tables. And there were two Blues from last quarter, but one had frizzy red hair and the other had splotchy freckles. Difficult sells.
“Good work,” Ms. Striker said and dismissed the girls from tea to their classes.
“Has the nurse come in this quarter?”
“Yes,” Ms. Striker said, smiling, as the room emptied. “The girls need to do ten turns a piece in the gallery, daily. Unless otherwise specified.”
“Who supervises them?” she said.
“The dance mistress, or Mrs. Banks sends a servant to ensure they all get along,” Ms. Striker said. She smiled. “You are quite adept at sorting them.”
“Thank you.”
“I can see why Ms. Van Stanton elected to send you here,” she said.
Shanti nodded. “Thank you. I am learning so much.”
Ms. Striker licked her lower lip. “Indeed you are. And have you found Mrs. Banks accommodating?”
She shrugged. “She is gruff, but gets the job done.”
“True enough,” she said, nodding. She sipped her tea. “You’ve taken the change well.”
“It is a lot of information,” Shanti said, playing with her china.
“Indeed,” Ms. Striker said, brushing a piece of hair off her face. “I didn’t know much as a girl of sixteen myself when they took me to become a headmistress.”
“Did you have your own school?” Shanti said, trying to figure out where she led.
Ms. Striker said, “No. I’ve never had my own. I’ve always been interim, but I’ve done quite well for myself…”
“Is there something I’m missing?” she asked. “Mrs. Banks mentioned the Global Alliance this afternoon in the shops. But it seemed to be a moot point. The space stations are run by it.”
“You’re so innocent and sheltered.”
She shrugged. “As are all of our students.”
“The galaxy is a large place,” she said, “and it has many ideas. Be sure that those ideas don’t corrupt you. For the sake of our girls.”
“How could an idea corrupt me?” Shanti said, feeling confused.
Ms. Striker shook her head. “Don’t worry your pretty little hea
d about it.”
“But…”
“Never mind,” she said, “you’re as much a schoolgirl now as when you left the station. I have the next quarter to transform you into a headmistress.”
“I am a good student,” Shanti said, circling the top of the china cup with her finger.
“Indeed. There are no stupid headmistresses. They are all shrewd.”
Shanti smiled at her.
“You are dismissed. You may join us in the evening for conversation. Until then you have free time,” she said. “Spend it as you please.”
“Do you have books?” she said, perhaps too eagerly.
Ms. Striker smiled. “I shall have Mrs. Banks bring you your new tablet. It will have books and news and anything you wish to watch.”
“Thank you.”
She waved her hand and Shanti left the large sitting room for her new suite. She’d never had a sitting room and a bedroom to herself before. It felt like a palace to her. She never did like spending all her waking moments with the other girls. And no she had the chance to be alone, in the quiet. And without faking sick from her turns around the gallery. She smiled to herself and idly wondered what downside, if any, this position could have.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks for Teresa Doyle for doing a great job copy editing for me. Any and all mistakes are my own. Thanks to S.M. Asmussen for designing a stellar cover. The rest of the credit goes to my family & friends for supporting me, believing in me…and pushing me to reach for my dreams and beyond.
About the Author
Karen C. Klein lives, writes, and plays in the Chicago area.
Also by Karen C. Klein
Fairy Tale Retellings
Redd's Hoodie
School of Brides
Test Day
The New Head Mistress
Greeting the Grooms
The Selection List
Observation Day
Decision Days
Shanti's Story: A Collection of the School of Brides Stories
Steampunk Vampires
True Love Bites
The Doors of Dellun
Battle of the Door
The Mages' Guild Chronicles
Shakespeare's Curse
Torin's Legacy
The Guild Master's Quest
Standalone
The First Day of Summer
Watch for more at Karen C. Klein’s site.
The New Head Mistress Page 3
