“You’d better,” Wilf whispered.
“If we’re quite ready,” came Mr. Cleat’s voice, like a jab in the ribs.
The girls let go of one another’s hands, and both of them wiped their cheeks. Tess took off her glasses to scrub at her eyes properly, and when she replaced them, Wilf had stepped back to join the others. Beside her was Eunice McMullen, a girl from the next dorm, who put a comforting hand on Wilf’s arm. Prissy and Prossy stood by the stairs, waving, and Tess tried to press them all into her memory, taking their images and putting them in a book inside her head.
Then Miss Ackerbee was on her knees in front of her, pulling her close. “This is your home,” she whispered into Tess’s ear. “Never forget how much we love you.” Her voice faltered and Tess nodded, her tears soaking into her housemistress’s hair. Miss Ackerbee kissed her on both cheeks and stood up, letting Rebecca take her place.
“And don’t let that beastly man upset you,” she muttered, squeezing Tess tightly. Finally Rebecca got to her feet and stood arm in arm with Miss Ackerbee, both of them grim-faced, and Mr. Cleat placed his hand between Tess’s shoulder blades, pushing her forward.
“Time to go,” he told her, and Tess found herself walking to the sleek black car. Mr. Cleat urged her inside, and she twisted in her seat as soon as she sat down, trying to see out of the back window.
The slam of the car door closing made her jerk around, surprised. Mr. Cleat settled into his seat, which faced hers across a short expanse of meticulously clean carpet. Behind a glass screen sat the driver, the same person who’d opened the car door for Tess, and with a sharp rap of his knuckles, Mr. Cleat gave the order to leave.
Tess turned again, watching Ackerbee’s in the rear window until it vanished from her sight.
When she eventually faced forward in her seat, Mr. Cleat was looking at her quizzically, as though wondering what on earth to do with her. She clutched her small suitcase to herself and tried to ignore him, looking out of the window beside her instead. They were heading straight for the center of the city, swooping left and right seemingly at random down narrow, winding streets, and very quickly Tess lost any sense of direction.
Mr. Cleat cracked open a newspaper and buried himself behind it. Tess noticed the large ring on the smallest finger of his left hand as he held the paper; it was engraved with something but Tess couldn’t quite make out what. It looked like two letters, intertwined—was that an H? She leaned forward, squinting at the ring, but Mr. Cleat tucked his finger behind the paper, hiding it from further inspection.
Thwarted, Tess studied the newspaper instead. She could read the date, May 1, 1941, and the leading story: KING GEORGE AND PRINCESSES CONTINUE THEIR ROYAL TOUR OF THE BRITERNIAN ISLES; SOJOURN IN HIBERNIA A SUCCESS. She rolled her eyes and looked away, continuing to watch the world pass by outside, trying unsuccessfully to get a handle on where they were going.
Finally they turned to drive through a tall wrought-iron gate. The car’s interior fell into shadow as they passed beneath some overhanging trees, and Mr. Cleat was forced to put his newspaper to one side with a sigh.
Up ahead, on the far side of the road, she caught a glimpse of large squat buildings, which seemed totally at odds with the landscape around them; something like a ship’s propeller made of sheets of metal riveted together stuck out from the front of one of them, but Tess couldn’t figure out what it was.
She turned to Mr. Cleat, the question on the tip of her tongue.
“My work involves developing large machinery,” he told her before she had the chance to ask. “But don’t trouble yourself about it. It’s terribly boring.”
“So we’re nearly there?”
“Not far now,” Mr. Cleat said.
Then the car turned again and Tess caught sight of an extraordinary house. She gaped up at it as the car approached. The house was made of gray stone and had four turret towers. The main roof, high and steeply angled and covered in greenish-tinged copper, rose almost as high as the towers; into it were set many small square windows. Ivy grew up one wall, its glossy leaves like a companion to the green roof. The front door was thrown open, a beautiful fanlight stretching above it, and a bellpull with a red tassel hung by its side. People in uniform lined the steps leading up to it and Tess began to feel distinctly awkward.
“Time to introduce you to the staff,” Mr. Cleat said as the car came to a stop.
The driver opened the door and helped Tess out as Mr. Cleat stood, settling his jacket. None of the people on the steps, Tess couldn’t help but notice, looked entirely welcoming. There was an older lady who Tess assumed was the cook; alongside her were four young ladies in uniform, probably maids. The youngest looked barely older than Tess herself. On the other side of the steps stood a weather-beaten man whose age was impossible to guess, and Tess had him pegged as the gardener. Beside him, facing the car with her hands clasped in front of her, was a tall woman in a black dress. She had a thin-lipped smile on her chalk-pale face, and her eyes looked like two black beetles fixed in place with pins.
The driver made his way to the steps, where he took his place beside the gardener. Then Mr. Cleat extended his hand to Tess, ushering her forward, and they began to walk toward the house.
“Pauline,” Mr. Cleat said as they drew near, and the beetle-eyed woman stood straighter, her face radiating helpfulness. “Will you take Tess under your wing? I’ve got something I need to attend to.” He turned to Tess. “I’ll see you for dinner,” he told her. “Pay attention to Mrs. Thistleton, won’t you? She knows the run of things.” And with a nod at everyone, he was gone.
“So you’ll be Tess,” said Mrs. Thistleton. “Welcome to Roedeer Lodge.”
“Th-thank—” Tess began.
“Now,” Mrs. Thistleton continued, “I’ll just tell you who’s who and then we can get on with the rules of the house.”
Rules? Tess was so preoccupied that she forgot everybody’s name the second Mrs. Thistleton introduced them—except for the youngest maid, who was called Millicent.
“Millie will do, miss,” the girl said shyly as she bobbed a curtsy to Tess.
“Please,” Tess said. “Call me Tess.”
“Come,” Mrs. Thistleton said, her tone crisp. “Millicent will show you to your room.”
“Is it just this, miss?” Millicent—Millie—asked, holding out a hand to take Tess’s suitcase. Tess handed it over without thinking, immediately feeling awkward but not knowing how to ask for it back, but Millie simply smiled and led her through the huge door and into the house.
“You’ll be up here, miss, on the second floor,” Millie said as Tess followed her across a black-and-white-tiled lobby and up a set of wide, thickly carpeted stairs. At the first turn in the staircase, Tess began to feel odd, and by the time they’d reached the second floor, she was distinctly queasy. “And your room is this one— Miss?” Mille turned, looking concerned, and she took Tess’s elbow in a firm, reassuring hold.
“I—I think I’m going to be sick,” Tess managed to say, and Millie helped her the last few steps to her room, leading her to a chair in the corner. Then quickly she placed Tess’s suitcase on the floor, pulled a chamber pot out from beneath the bed and held it to Tess’s face just in time for her to throw up into it.
“There you are now,” she said soothingly, rubbing Tess’s back. “All up, and you’ll feel much better.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tess began as she started to tremble. She felt wrong inside, like something had gone missing. An ice shard was lodged in her chest and her head was buzzing, like something inside it had been struck. Millie took away the large ceramic pot, covering it with a cloth and placing it on the table beside the bed. Just as she turned back around, Violet crawled slowly out from Tess’s hair to settle above her heart. The gentle movement made Tess take a deep comforting breath, but she looked up when she heard the young maid give a tiny
squeak of surprise.
“Millie!” Tess said. “Don’t be frightened. This is Violet. She’s perfectly harmless.”
“I’ll—I’ll just leave you to get settled, miss,” Millie said, picking up the chamber pot. She bobbed a slow careful curtsy, keeping her eyes on the pot, and then hurried out of the room.
Tess slumped in her chair, looking around. The room was large and clean, with three tall windows. Gauzy curtains billowed in the breeze. The bed looked comfortable, the wash stand gleamed, the carpet was neat. It was the first room Tess had ever had entirely to herself.
But she knew she’d give it all up in a heartbeat to have her old dorm at Ackerbee’s back, Prissy and Prossy and all.
“Right,” said Mr. Cleat to Tess after dinner that evening as the dessert things were being cleared away, “I didn’t mention the most important thing yet. I’ve prepared you a welcoming gift. Shall we go and take a look at it?”
Tess glanced up at him. Her mostly uneaten pudding still sat on her dish and she put down her spoon. She’d hardly had any dinner but—unlike at Ackerbee’s—nobody had seemed to notice, or care. “Thank you,” she replied, unsure of what else to say. Violet stirred in her hair so slowly it almost felt like she’d been sleeping and had woken at the sound of Tess’s voice.
Mrs. Thistleton cleared her throat. “Isn’t it a bit late for that?” she asked in a mild tone. Mr. Cleat looked at her, the start of a smile on his face.
“Beg pardon?” he said, though Mrs. Thistleton had spoken clearly.
“Tess has had rather a day of it, don’t you think? We don’t want too much excitement before bed.” She gazed coolly at Mr. Cleat. “It leads to dyspepsia. Disturbed sleep. That sort of thing.”
Mr. Cleat looked amused. “Finish your biscuit, Pauline, and leave the guardianship of my charge up to me, thank you,” he said, and Mrs. Thistleton turned bright red. Instead of pudding, Mrs. Thistleton had made a point of allowing herself only a cup of weak-looking tea and a single plain biscuit, most of which still sat on her saucer. She glared at it as though hoping her stare could set it on fire.
“Of course, Mr. Cleat,” she said, pulling her lips tight once the words had slipped through.
“Good. No further complaints?” Mr. Cleat said, looking brightly from Tess to Mrs. Thistleton and back again. Neither of them said anything. “Come along then,” he said to Tess. He threw his napkin down beside his scraped-clean pudding dish and got to his feet. Tess followed suit and soon they were walking down a long corridor lined with tall windows. Every few feet there was a piece of sculpture, or a potted plant on a spindly table, or a stiffly upright chair with ornate legs. She wondered why everything seemed so strange—like she’d seen it all before but every bit of it had been different. The sick feeling rose up her throat again but she forced it down.
“Here we go,” said Mr. Cleat. His voice broke into Tess’s thoughts, making her jump. “I hope it meets your requirements.”
He pushed open the door of a room halfway along the corridor and flicked on a light switch. The bulbs pocked and flickered before finally coming on and Tess caught her breath as she looked around. There were her glassware and her old gas burner—and there, on a desktop, her experiments notebook, its blue-and-yellow cover unmistakable. Across the back of a chair lay her lab coat, and her heart lurched painfully at the thought of Ackerbee’s, where she’d last seen it, and of Wilf, who must have been the one to pack it away. Violet sat up, as though she recognized it too.
“My—my lab!” she said. “But these aren’t my things,” she added after a few seconds.
A proper full-sized rack filled with gleaming test tubes and beakers stood on one desk and laid out beside it were a pair of tongs, a selection of spatulas and a box that looked to be filled with glass rods. A heavy pestle and mortar made of white marble stood on another desk beside a wall-mounted magnifier, its lens as large as Tess’s face. It had a handsome band of brass around it, which shone like it was freshly polished, and gearwheels down the side to adjust focus and clarity—it was something she’d never dreamed she’d own. She looked at Mr. Cleat. “I hope there hasn’t been a mistake. I don’t have any of this equipment—maybe there was a mix-up somewhere?”
“I told you this was a gift, didn’t I? A present, from me to you.”
Tess’s mouth fell open as she took in the lab. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“What you’ve already said is plenty,” Mr. Cleat assured her. “Now, does this room suit your needs?” He let the question hang as Tess looked around, her head slowly shaking from side to side.
“My last lab was in the basement classroom,” she told him with a shrug. “It was mostly used for detention.”
A warm laugh burst from Mr. Cleat. “I should think this is an improvement then.”
“You could say so,” Tess agreed, still looking around. She walked to the magnifier and ran her hands over its brass fittings and flywheels, almost afraid to properly touch it. “This is really for me?”
Mr. Cleat came to stand beside her. “The person in the shop said it was the top-range model. Will it do?”
Tess held her breath and let it out slowly. This equipment cost more than she could bear to think about. “It must have been very expensive,” she said.
“Not too bad,” Mr. Cleat said, unconcerned. “And if you find it useful, then it will be worth the price.”
“It will be brilliant,” Tess said. “Imagine the drawings I’m going to be able to make with this! I’ll be able to see cell features, and crystal structures, and I’ll be able to do a close-up study of—” Tess stopped short, almost clamping her hand over her mouth. She’d been about to say a close-up study of the object Miss Ackerbee gave me.
“A close-up study of what?” said Mr. Cleat, looking at Tess curiously.
“Of Violet,” Tess said, thinking fast. “But I didn’t want you to think I was cruel.”
Mr. Cleat’s face twisted in distaste. “What on earth for? Don’t you see enough of her?”
“But I’d be able to do detailed anatomy sketches,” said Tess, improvising. “I could do a study of her eyes, maybe, and I’ve always wanted to take a closer look at her leg joints—”
“Yes, yes!” Mr. Cleat said quickly, drowning out Tess’s words. “That all sounds wonderful. And it’ll keep you busy, at least. Too busy to be sad, I hope.”
Violet shrank back against Tess’s scalp as Tess looked up at Mr. Cleat. “I’m still going to miss my home,” she said after a moment or two. “No fancy equipment is going to fix that.”
“But this is your home, Tess,” Mr. Cleat replied. There was a strange light in his eyes. “You won’t be returning to Ackerbee’s. So I did my best to bring some of Ackerbee’s to you.”
“And I said thank you,” Tess retorted, suddenly lacking the courage to raise her voice.
“The best thanks is seeing you in here, content and productive,” he said. “Why not pick up on that experiment you were working on a few months ago, trying to make a flame burn with several different colors at the same time? That looked promising.”
Tess stared at him. “How do you know about that?” A thought clicked into place and her gaze fell on her experiments notebook for a moment before returning to Mr. Cleat’s face. “Have you been looking through my notes?”
“Only the last few entries,” Mr. Cleat said, unfazed. “I wanted to get a sense of what sort of thing you were interested in.” He gave Tess a sidelong glance. “Just making sure I hadn’t wasted my money equipping you with the lab of your dreams.”
Tess thrummed with rage. Her notes were private; he’d had no business looking at them. “No, of course not,” she found herself saying. “Thank you. But please don’t look in my notebook again.”
“If you insist,” Mr. Cleat said with a sigh. “Though I am interested in your work, you know. You
have talent. And you have what every scientist needs—attention to detail, methodical thinking and seemingly endless patience.” He raised an eyebrow. “With objects, at least. Not so much with people, I see.”
Tess felt her cheeks grow hot. “I didn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cleat said, backing toward the door. “It’s getting late, so I’ll bid you good night. I’m looking forward to seeing what sort of work you produce in here—and of course if there’s anything you need, just let me know. I’m happy to be a patron of scientific inquiry.” He raised the corner of his mouth in a half grin.
“I’m not really that good. I just sort of make things up as I go along and see where I end up.” Tess put one hand on the fabric of her old lab coat, hoping it would help her to feel less light-headed and more solid.
“But that’s how most of these world-changing discoveries were made, my dear,” Mr. Cleat replied as he opened the door. “Completely by accident or while searching for something else.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Remind me, once you’re happily settled here, to tell you about some of the stuff I like to tinker with. Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to take my work to new heights. Now that would be worthy repayment for this gift.”
“All right,” Tess replied, because she couldn’t think of anything better to say.
“Until tomorrow, then,” Mr. Cleat said. “Sleep well. I hope the demons of indigestion don’t keep you awake all night as Old Thistlebum—” He stopped himself, drawing his lips tight as he tried to hold back his mirth, and raising his eyebrows at Tess. “I mean, Mrs. Thistleton, of course, had feared,” he continued after a beat.
Tess, despite everything, managed a watery grin. “I’ll try my best,” she told him.
“Good enough for me.” He gave her one final nod, then slipped out of the room, leaving the door standing open.
Tess turned back to face her new lab. She reached out to touch her coat again, the sad pressure in her head beginning to build once more, and then—
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