St Victoria's Part 1

Chapter 1

The cold English rain feels like a slap against my face. For months, I have looked forward to arriving in England. I’ve waited eagerly to witness the rolling countryside with its lakes, mountains and rivers and its birds chirruping merrily. I’ve relished in the thought of passing the grand houses and gardens of the rich and noble. I’ve dreamt of attending lavish balls in London and to visit the many hundreds of shops and boutiques the city has to offer.

The grey sky and lingering smell of smoke and grime is hardly the welcome I was anticipating. I had expected the sun to be high in the sky smiling down on a quaint seaside port surrounded by squawking gulls, laughing children dressed in white dresses stained with ice cream, young men courting elegantly dressed women on the promenade and a village band playing traditional English folk tunes.

Instead, all around me I can see big ships chugging away from the noisy and oily port, carriages rocketing past at an alarming speed along the littered cobbled road. Rather than sitting pretty in their Sunday best, women are selling fish and shouting against the noise for people to come and buy their wares. Sailors and fishermen are huddled in groups all walking toward the local public houses, cigarettes between their teeth and grease smeared across their off white vests. Small children in rags are hanging around by the luggage departments of boats, many of them fiddling with the locks on the cases that are being flung from the deck of the liner that brought me and my family here, some are even pestering rich gentlemen for a penny or two. There is no grass or flowers to be seen for what looks like miles, muddy puddles are the closest to lakes and the tall factory towers that loom over this miserable harbour bear the closest resemblance to mountains. Dogs and mangy cats wander the harbour sniffing around at the rubbish in the corners, gulls swoop down dangerously low carrying dead fish in their beaks. As is tradition, I am unable to hide my disappointment from my parents for father gives me a smile and a knowing wink.

“Big smiles please, Rosetta.” He whispers so that mother will not hear him. At once I curse myself for not having the capability to rearrange my face into a passive expression at such times. I should be putting on a brave face simply for father’s sake. He never wanted to come to England, he was more than comfortable in our stately home in St Petersburg and did not understand why mother and I wanted to leave and go to live in mother’s more modest family home in the English country, as far as my father is concerned England has nothing that Russia has not. However, mother and I argued endlessly with him; Mother wanted to leave the climate behind, she wanted me to experience the same way of life as she had when she was my age, I wanted to leave so that I could enrol in the prestigious London School of Ballet which will be a marvellous grounding for my future career. Father was unconvinced:

“We have a wonderful house in St Petersburg with the Royal Ballet and theatres around the corner of the road,” he would say “We have good food and drink and there are plenty of boutiques for you ladies to spend my money in!” but mother’s persuasion forced him to eventually give in much to my delight. Now I feel very much like a spoilt brat for my initial disappointment and decide to brighten up for father’s sake. I force a smile and adjust my hat just as mother turns to me;

“You see Anatoly,” she says to father “Look at Rosetta’s face, she’s delighted!” At least if my ballet falls through I should make a convincing actress, I think. I follow mother and father down the cobbled street; I have to tred carefully to avoid catching a heel in between the stones and falling.

Father calls for a cab and a dirty rider helps us to load our bags into his carriage. He smells of sweat and smoke and I have to wrinkle my nose when he leans across me to collect my bags. The carriage is far from the luxury ones that I used to ride in when out in St Petersburg, it is small and uncomfortable with hunks of cushion torn out of the chairs. I clamber into the pokey wooden carriage and hang onto the railings for dear life as we plummet down the bumpy street.

Within minutes, we have left the grey port behind us and are travelling out of the unimpressionable town and out into the vast countryside. Once I am sure we are away from the fumes of the port I open the window of the carriage in an attempt to eliminate the stale smell inside. The air is clearer now and after a while the sky brightens and the sun appears. I look out of the window to admire the beautiful English countryside. We pass by meadows and fields highlighted with cornflower and wildflower; we pass through several villages each situated seemingly in the middle of nowhere. As we pass through the latest village I watch as a baker cycles past an old village church and waves at the vicar who is standing by the gates talking to a woman carrying a basket full of fresh fruit. Following this, we pass by a large woodland area where I see birds of prey circling their prey high above us in the sky. I smile as I spy a young fawn walking along side its mother towards the nearby meadow. Away from the gloom of the harbour I am starting to feel excited again. I sit back in my seat and shut my eyes allowing the cool breeze to caress my face.

After what seems like an eternity, I open my eyes as the carriage slows down. We have eventually arrived at Worthington Place, the home of my grandparents and the place I shall now call home.

It is a beautiful, large house with white stonewalls several balconies and a pretty fountain feature in the centre of the tidy lawn. A few trees and shrubs are scattered around the modestly sized garden, including a fir tree and some rose bushes. It is far from our grand home in Russia but it is no hovel either. As our carriage comes to a halt outside the large wooden front doors, I see my grandmother hurrying out to greet us. She is a slight woman with greying flaxen hair which is currently tied up in a bun.

“My dears how pleased I am to see you again!” she gushes as she kisses my mother and father on the cheeks “And Rosetta!” she says turning to me her bright blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “My you’re turning into a real lady aren’t you?” she smiles and her face creases like old parchment.

“Looks can be deceptive.” Father says as I clutch hold of his arm in order to prevent myself from tripping as I stumble down the wobbly steps of the carriage.

Grandma calls for the front man to collect our bags and leads us inside the house. I can vaguely remember the plush red carpet from when I visited as a child but the dark wooden bookcases and tall drapes are unrecognizable. We follow her down the corridor and into the large, bright sitting room where we find my Grandfather sitting in a cream chair at the window, cigar in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. He smiles as we enter and rises to his feet with a large grin.

“At last! It’s so wonderful to finally see you” he says happily embracing my mother as if she was still a child he shakes my father’s hand and turns to me with a big smile on his crinkled face. “Rosetta! My dear you look beautiful.” He says as he embraces me tightly. He smells of cigar smoke and I have to hold back a cough. “How was your voyage?” he asks offering us all seats on the large couch. “I heard the sea was a little rough,” I feel my chest tighten as mother and father both begin their contradicting tales of how dreadful the Russian liner was or wasn’t and I know I am in for a long afternoon.

After we have all embraced and shared sentiments Grandma calls for tea and cakes from the parlour, they look quite splendid but mother gives me a stern look when I reach for my second cream cake. As the afternoon progresses, mother shares her stories of the Russian winters and how they played havoc with her hair. Father sits quietly speaking only to reply to Grandfathers questioning and I know he is biting his tongue against my mother’s complaining.

At five o’clock a young maid walks in with a second trolley full of delightful looking cream cakes and buns topped with icing and stuffed with jam. As the tea is served the conversation turns to how the food in England is far better than in Russia. I see father chewing at his bottom lip, a trait of his that reveals his irritation and I know he is trying to stop himself from saying something he may regret. Being the patriot that he is, my father has difficulty hearing of Russia being compared to other countries in such a negative way, as far as he is concerned Russia is the greatest land on earth. My heart goes out to him when mother criticises the architecture of the theatres of St Petersburg and calls Moscow an ‘ugly place.’ I smile at him when nobody else is looking and he raises his eyebrows knowingly which indicate his inner smile.

“How is your ballet coming along, Rosetta?” Grandma suddenly asks. I am caught off guard since I have not been spoken to since the tea arrived, in fact I had been more interested in the grand piano in the corner of the room and had been daydreaming of having a handsome British suitor play me a self composed melody.

“Very well thank you.” I reply a small crumb falling from my mouth; I redden as all of the eyes are suddenly focused on me. I pop the crumb onto my china plate and gulp. Mother turns to Grandma and says

“I do believe she is my finest pupil.” Now I redden even more, it is unlike mother to compliment me but considering she was ballet tutor I realise that she is in fact praising herself. Mother ran a class in one of Russia’s finest ballet institutions and I was her pupil, and whilst my ballet skills are more than adequate I am far from her best pupil. Potential was the word my mother would always say to me. I have potential to be brilliant. I have good posture; my balance is perfect as is my flexibility and my dream is to perform on stage with the Mariinski Ballet in St Petersburg, something I apparently have the potential to do.

“It must be such a pity for you to give up such a unique and beautiful skill now that you’ve moved here,” Grandma says to me with a sympathetic look. “Still it isn’t proper is it?” I am puzzled, have I missed an element of the conversation? What does she mean by that? I am to attend the Ballet School in London am I not?

“I am afraid I’m not quite sure what you are implying Grandma.” I say looking at both mother and father for an explanation. Grandma gives my mother a strange look and adds another sugar cube to her tea. Mother shuffles in her seat and turns to my father who looks very uncomfortable. He clears his throat and turns to me with a wary look.

“Rosetta my dear,” he says, “Now that you are here in England you will no longer be able to continue with your ballet classes.” My heart skips a beat.

“What?” I ask feeling my chest tighten. Nobody replies. “Why not?!” I ask with more volume than is considered polite.

“There are no ballet schools in the area, my dear.” Mother says placing her hand on my arm. She’s lying now for there is a school in London but she eliminates that too; “The London ballet is simply not good enough for you and I shall not have all your potential wasted in an amateur institution like that!” I am in a state of shock and I’m still not entirely sure what is going on. Are my parents actually telling me that I will not be continuing with my ballet? What will I do without it? It is the only thing I am good at.

“Well then, what is it I am supposed to do?” I ask trying not to let my voice crack.

“Why, you will attend a proper school of course!” Grandma says sternly. I blink hard to stop any tears from escaping from behind my eyes. I don’t understand what she means by proper school, I was taught like all the other girls in a wonderful schooling establishment in Russia until I attended my mother’s classes in the ballet school.

“I don’t understand,” I admit hoping that this is all a twisted and horrible part of my daydream.

“Rosetta, you will be attending St Victoria’s Academy for Respectable Young Women whilst here in England,” Mother says “It’s a finishing school with a very high reputation, just like the one I attended when I was your age. You will learn how to be a proper lady and by the end of your year you should be in preparation for becoming a good.”

“And you will marry into a good family” Grandma adds casting a small look at my father. I suddenly realise that Grandma must have had some input in this idea. She would often write to mother telling her not to let me continue with my ballet for it would ruin my feet and bones. Now she wants to marry me off to a stranger within the year! I feel physically sick.

“But…I wanted to be a professional dancer.” I say feebly sounding rather spoilt. “You said I had potential!” I add accusingly at my mother who avoids eye contact with me. Grandma laughs heartily.

“Nonsense,” she laughs “That is no life for a woman; you mustn’t lower yourself to that kind of life, it isn’t respectable in this day and age.” For a split second I actually hate her.

“But…” I say feeling my neck and face redden and the tears coming dangerously close to falling.

“No ‘buts’ Rosetta,” says Grandma “you will enrol at St Victoria’s next week on the first of September and that is final.” I open my mouth to protest but mother shoots me one of her sternest looks and I have to remember my manners and sit in silence as they continue to plan out my life.

I spend the rest of the evening feeling drained and heartbroken. I keep telling myself not to cry for it would upset everyone. I get the feeling that the room is divided in the decision to send me to this finishing school because throughout the conversations that followed the revelation both father and Grandpa look uncomfortable.

I do not want to cause a rift in what should be a happy reunion but I cannot help hating them all; Grandma for taking control over my future, Mother for agreeing with her despite all her enthusiasm towards my ballet and Father for allowing this to happen to me and not doing something about it. I went upstairs to change for dinner and to wipe my eyes which are glassy and soaked. When I am called for dinner my stomach spins and I feel sick,

How can I possibly think of eating at a time like this?

I scold myself for sounding like such a thespian but inside the pain still gnaws away at my insides. I feel so betrayed and used. It is an injustice! Had I broken a toe or injured myself I could come to terms with no longer dancing but I had I so much potential!

Dinner is a large helping of roast lamb and seasonal vegetables served with lots of red wine and water for me. Even father manages to enjoy the un-Russian banquet, and tucks in gratefully. I however am too upset to even think about food. I barely touch it, not that anyone notices, they are all too busy enjoying themselves and having a good time. After swallowing as much of the dessert I can bear I excuse myself to bed.

Upstairs, I sit on the balcony where the air is cooler and calming. My room overlooks the gardens that I had been fantasizing about, with the colourful flowers and willows that hang over the edge of the sapphire pond. My despair cannot be soothed even by the view. I am broken hearted, to think I was the one who encouraged father to leave Russia with mother. I have brought this upon myself. Had I not been such a fantasist I would still be in Russia now preparing for my latest routine. I go inside and I lie on my bed allowing the tears to finally flow like waterfalls. I sob into my pillow not caring whether anyone can hear me or not.

How can this be happening to me? Coming to England was supposed to be a new beginning for me, the next chapter of my life. My life, not mothers or fathers life, my life, I should be the one who decides whether or not to continue with my ballet, I should be the one who decides what career I want and I certainly should be the one who decides who I shall marry! The unfairness of it all causes me to weep even more and I bury my face in the pillow.

I cry until I am drained. It is dark now. The moon is high in the sky and provides the only light in my bedroom. I sit up on my bed and stare hopelessly at the mirror on the opposite wall, only to see my dishevelled face glare back at me. I walk to the mirror to try and amend my image. Seeing my miserable, swollen face makes me want to cry again, my green eyes are bloodshot and puffy as are my cheeks and forehead. My lips are permanently drooped and my red hair is a tangled mess. I really shouldn’t cry so. I take a deep breath and decide that now that my life in England has been decided I might as well begin to go ahead with it, my lower lips trembles uncontrollably;

Pull yourself together Rosetta, you look a state. There is no turning back. You are to attend St Victoria’s Academy for Respectable Young Women.

I try to smile.

Chapter 2

The next morning I am to accompany Mother and Grandma into London in order to purchase new dresses to wear at St Victoria’s Academy. Despite still feeling as though the world has come to an end the thought of visiting London brightens me up slightly, because it I have always wanted to explore the famous, historical city. We travel there by train and even Waterloo Station makes me as excited as a six year old at Christmas.

We reach central London at twelve o’clock just in time to hear the chimes of Big Ben sound all across the city. My heart gives a little leap it is almost magical. I have dreamed of this city since I was a young child. I grew up reading books about the adventures people have in London, about the grand architecture and about the wonderful people that reside there. I’ve pictured the mazes of streets and markets, and the old buildings like the Tower of London and St Pauls Cathedral countless times.

Mother and Grandma lead the way down the bustling London streets but I dawdle behind staring up at the houses of Parliament that loom over my head trying to absorb as much of their beauty as possible before my feet must drag me onwards.

“Rosetta! Come along!” Mother snaps. I hurry to catch up with them and decide to stay close to them to avoid being scolded in public. As we continue on our way I spy a small cobbled street bustling with people buying fruit and vegetables and ladies selling flowers from their wicker baskets.

“Look mother,” I say pointing out the street which is to the side of the one we are walking down. “Let’s go down that street.” I relish the thought of what wonders lie down there and what kind of people I’d meet.

“Do not be ridiculous Rosetta,” she says frowning “We shall not go anywhere near such a horrendous street, goodness knows what sort of strange people frequent there, now hurry along!” she tugs at my arm slightly.

I follow sulkily glancing back at the street which disappears from view.

Grandma leads us to a grand building filled with shops that are awfully similar to those in St Petersburg and I spend the next three hours being measured by the fitting ladies and receiving sympathetic smiles from them as they record the measly measurements of my chest area. Eventually we are finished and have bought three ghastly dresses each in varying shades of navy and grey, they are nothing like the fabulous clothes I wore in Russia but Grandma assures me that all girls in England are more conservative and I shall not look out of place. Judging by the extravagant dresses the women are wearing in London I fear she is mistaken.

“I must say I am quite exhausted.” Mother says as we leave the store. I roll my eyes in irritation and have to adopt my father’s habit of biting my lip.

You’re exhausted? You didn’t have to stand around like a scarecrow for three hours!

A decision is made to have some tea in one of Grandma’s favourite teahouses. It is a small shop on the high street, over dressed with lace and frills and the air smells of strong, sickly perfume and sugar. I despise the place at once and want nothing more than to turn around, exit and find somewhere nicer to visit.

Grandma and Mother select a table at the window so I at least can have a view of the outside hustle and bustle. As we sit waiting to be served a group of Grandma’s apparent friends enter the teashop and are asked to join us. After a brief introduction I am left in the corner to endure my tea, which is far too weak for my liking. Mother and Grandma talk about some scandal that occurred last week, though it is beyond me how mother should know so much about it since she only arrived in the country yesterday. Grandma orders a tray of cakes to share with the other old biddies, I reach out for a cream scone but mother taps my hand sharply,

“Figure Rosetta,” she says to me pushing the cake aside “you can barely fit into the dresses we bought you.”

Not when they are purposely two sizes too small, in order to ‘enhance my figure,’ no, mother.

Hungry and miserable I sit in silence and endure the idle prattle the women natter about at our table.

A woman dressed in a high-end dress and hat enters the shop carrying what looks like an assortment of flyers. She glances around the room and then suddenly comes over to our table and offers my mother a leaflet.

“Join the Suffragettes and support Votes for Women!” she says cheerily and with a determination in her voice. Mother pushes the leaflet away with a flick of her hand;

“Certainly not!” she says “I should not care to lower myself to such a measure, real women know their place.” She adds with spite that generates nods and sounds of approval from the geriatrics at our table. I on the other hand thought she was quite rude and sink a little in my chair.

“Why Madam, real women stand for what is right!” the woman says still smiling despite my mother’s cruel refusal “Why should men be the only ones with the right to vote? Women are entitled to the same rights as men! Real women should be allowed to pursue their own ambitions without being frowned upon by men and society! The new century dawns and the time for change is upon us!” she rallies on with a seemingly well-rehearsed speech, and I cannot help but smile at her steel. She notices me smiling at her. “What is it you aspire to become my dear?” she asks me, I see mother stare at me angrily. I know that really I ought to side with my mother and not shame her in public but this woman is too good spirited for me to say anything unkind to.

“I…I should like to perform in the Mariinski Ballet.” I say much to Mother’s horror.

“Rosetta!” she protests grabbing my wrist.

“I assume your dreams have been demolished have they not?” the woman continues talking to me loud enough for the whole tearoom to hear. Grandma’s friends are glaring at me and tutting noisily at Mother.

“Enough of this now Rosetta, we’ve been through this ballet talk and we’ve decided that it is now out of the question.” Mother says sharply.

“You mean you’ve decided!” I say turning to look mother straight in the eye. I have no idea what is coming over me, but the anguish of the news I received yesterday is still burning inside me like a wildfire. I turn back to the smiling woman and explain “I am to attend an academy instead, to become a proper woman.”

“Now is the time for change! A ballet dancer is as real as all of these women sitting around you” the woman says to me smiling brightly “Join with the Suffragettes and fight for change!” she pushes the leaflet toward me, my fingers reach out to rake it but suddenly the woman is pulled away from me, the leaflet falling to the floor. There is a scream and many gasps as a police constable drags the woman out of the tearoom.

“Your lot have caused plenty of trouble today!” he says as she struggles against his grip.

“You will not silence the restless cry of women!” she begins to shout as though in battle, she still smiles brightly as though glad for the controversy. The constable lifts her slightly off the floor to stop her from running. She however clambers higher onto him as though he were a podium. “Men are no longer the leaders of the world! Why, England itself is being ruled by Queen Victoria the greatest monarch in our history, closely followed by her majesty Queen Elizabeth – alas another woman!” the police constable struggles to pull her out from the teashop. “Votes for Women!” she cries over and over “Join the Suffragettes!”

When she has finally been carried away, mother turns to me with a look as vicious as an angry python.

“I have never been so ashamed in my whole life!” she says to me her face reddening “It’s a good thing you are going to St Victoria’s else I shall end up with a Bohemian as a daughter!” she and Grandma stand hurriedly and make for the door. “Come Rosetta!” Mother snaps as she leaves. I stand and follow stopping only to pick up the leaflet that lies carelessly on the floor.

The journey home is unbearable, neither mother nor grandma look at me let alone speak to me and I begin to dread what the conversation at dinner will be. Back at Worthington Place, mother calls for father and has a very long discussion with him in the study. I retreat to my room, knowing that she is telling him all about my ‘bad behaviour.’ Being alone gives me the chance to read the leaflet that the Suffragette dropped.

Votes for Women!

Join with the Suffragette Movement in order to see a change in Britain!

Women will be equal!

Men will not rule over us and treat us like sub-servants

For more information find us at 12 Winterberry Avenue, City of London

I place the leaflet in the case that I have already started packing for my stay at St Victoria’s. Anything that identifies me as a free spirit an individual is to come with me. Today has proven what I feared, there is no alternative for me, I shall have to go along with my family’s plans because it is clear that there will be no other option for me. But just because I am going along with their plans does not mean that I will become what they want me to become, it doesn’t mean that I will do what they want me to do.

I have made my mind up and vow I shall not become another clone like mother or Grandma. I will not become another ‘real’ woman who spends her days drinking tea and gossiping about scandals whilst living off her husband’s fortune. I will attend St Victoria’s but I will not take much from it, I will attend the lessons and learn to speak properly and sew properly and present myself properly but that will be all. It will be nothing more than a place to stay, and when I finish my year there next summer, I shall leave and do whatever it is I please.

I am Rosetta Heroski. And I am a real woman.

Chapter 3

September the first actually comes as a relief for I am sick and tired of acting proper in front of mother and Grandma. In Russia mother was different, still very proper, but it was tolerable but here in England she has reached a whole new level of unbearable. So after this summer in Worthington House I do not feel at all emotional to be saying goodbye to my mother until Christmastime.

When the carriage arrives to take me away I feel choked when it comes to say goodbye to Father. He did not want to come to England and have our lives changed and neither do I…now.

“Don’t get upset Rosetta,” he says as my eyes brim with tears much to my annoyance. “You’ll be allowed to see us during the holidays.” He kisses my head and gives me a big hug that only makes me sadder. I cling on to him unable to pull myself away from his strong, protective, safe embrace, but mother taps my shoulder with her fan and ushers me into the carriage;

“Rosetta! Do hurry I don’t want you late on your first day!” she says. I hastily climb aboard the carriage and once everyone has established that I am secured inside, the driver snap the reigns and we slowly rumble away down the drive. I cannot bring myself to look out of the window behind me to wave farewell; it would only make me cry.

We ride for most of the afternoon, it is a beautiful day, perhaps the brightest day since I arrived here in England. Maybe it is a sign of greater things to come, a new chapter in my life about to unfold. Or maybe it is simply a sunny day which holds no relevance to the future of my life. Much to my dismay the clouds turn grey just as we arrive at a tall, castle like building.

The driver announces our arrival and lets me out of the carriage. Outside the air is muggy and the rain has begun to fall.

“Here we are Miss, Saint Victoria’s for you!” my carriage rider smiles wickedly as we both stare up at the unnerving building in front of us. I am flabbergasted at the sight. Looming over me is a tall, black stoned building with large turrets and hideous gargoyles that seem to laugh at me from their spots at the thin windows on the towers. The building is huge and daunting to me and I suddenly become aware that I am staring with my mouth open wide. The driver chuckles at me.

“Scared Miss?” he asks whilst leaning against his horses.

“Certainly not!” I say hotly not wanting a mere carriage boy to have me all worked out “I am simply admiring the architecture.” I say feeling a raindrop land on my cheek.

“Of course.” He says winking at me. “Anyways I should like me pay now if you please Miss.” He says arrogantly.

“Who says I am satisfied with your service?” I argue even though it was in my best intentions to pay him.

“Got you here didn’t I?” he says losing his cockney swagger. He lifts his brown shabby cap and eyes me cautiously. I see his face for the first time. He has straw-coloured hair and sky blue eyes and the rest of his rounded features are covered in dust and ash from London. His clothes look no better than the state of his face and for a moment I am overcome with pity. I reach for my purse and his eyes widen.

“There you go.” I say handing him a shilling. He inspects the coin as if he were evaluating its worth.

“Couldn’t spare us a bit more for a pint could yer Miss?” he asks his cockney accent sounding playful. All previous feelings of pity escape me. The cheek!

“Certainly not!” I say clutching my purse in case he dare make a move. “A shilling for the ride nothing more, nothing less.” He shrugs and jumps back to his riders’ seat,

“Awrigh’ see yer!” he snaps at the reigns and the horses stamp their feet.

“What about my luggage?” I ask pointing to my pile of bags that he has left next to the carriage.

“A shilling for the ride nothing more, nothing less.” He says grinning at me and with that he and the carriage rattled away down the road. I stare after him in dismay for now the rain is falling hard. Realising I have no other choice but to carry my luggage to the doors myself I sigh and begin to drag the bags. As I struggle with the third bag I spy a group of girls giggling at me from one of the windows above. I clench my jaw and continue. When I finally finish dragging my cases to the front doors I am a drenched mess. My hair is frizzy and tangles and my face as pale as a ghost. No doubt I look like a fine lady. I ring the ornate doorbell and wait for an answer, the large oak door opens to reveal a tall, stern looking middle-aged woman whose hair is tied into a bun so tight that it looks as though her eyes may pop out at any second. She wears a long black dress and heeled shoes.

“My name is Rosetta…” I begin my introduction but she cuts me off

“Miss Heroski we were wondering how long it would take you,” she says and I wonder whether she is referring to my arrival or whether she saw me struggle with my bags. I pray it is not the latter. “Leave your bags in the hall, Mary shall see to those, I am Mrs Henrietta Bumble Headmistress of this Academy, I am pleased that you have chosen us.” She adds and the corners of her mouth twitch slightly, I take it as a smile. She lets me inside. In front of me is a grand staircase bigger than any staircase I have ever seen, the floor is carpeted and various portraits hang from the stonewalls.

Mrs Bumble takes me to her office a drab room decorated with layers of dark wood. I sign various pieces of information before she tells me about my studies at the school.

“Here at St Victoria’s we pride ourselves on the ability of turning young girls into proper young women, we are also pleased with the number of our girls that find suitors whilst at the academy. When you are here you will study French, English, Music, Art and Dance, you will also learn how to do various other tasks such as archery and sewing. Lessons begin at eight o’clock sharp and end at five o’clock. Now then,” she says looking at me in such a way that I feel nervous. “Your room, you will be sharing a room with Miss Anne Burrows in the west tower. Number two. If you require any assistance I’m sure the other girls will be more than happy to aid you.” She stands and heads to the door, “The west tower is up that staircase,” she says pointing to a staircase that branch off the grand one.

“Thank you Mrs Bumble.” I say feeling terribly sorry that she had to acquire such an unfortunate name and I head up the staircase feeling her eyes on me the whole way up. The staircase is narrow and steep and it coils like a snake tighter and tighter the higher I climb. When I reach the top of the staircase I am standing in a dark corridor that has two large oak doors facing each other. One of them has a small brass ‘two’ fixed to it and I carefully push the door open. Inside are two four-poster beds decorated with dark green throws and pillows. There’s a large window in the far corner of the room that overlooks the school grounds and a forest in the distance. The floors are carpeted with the same dull green as the bedding and all of the furniture, two of everything, the dressers, wardrobe and desks, are made from dark mahogany. There is a wicker chair and a few books stacked on a shelf on the stone wall. I am surprised to see that my cases have already been placed neatly at the end of my bed. The room looks barely lived in, there is no sign of this Anne Burrows I am supposed to be sharing with. I sit at the edge of my bed unsure what to do or how to feel. I am all alone. In a strange school with people I do not know.

Suddenly I am shaking, fear strikes me. What if I do not fit in? What I cannot be a proper lady? What if I don’t want to? Ballet is in the past, I must wipe that from my mind, that dream has already been dashed. But my nerves and fears keep me from settling. I am scared of this new school, this new position I have been forced into. My eyes sting and I feel those wretched tears trying to break out. The door suddenly creaks open. I stand quickly unsure who to expect, in walks a girl of my age in a plain grey working dress and black shoes. She has white blonde hair that is tied back into a tight bun, her eyes are hidden behind thick black framed spectacles. She is no beauty and walks in a rather graceless manner. She looks unsurprised to see me.

“Hello,” I say my voice higher pitched than I had anticipated “My name is Rosetta Heroski, you must be Anne Burrows?” I extend my hand remembering my manners. The girl shakes my hand limply, her hands are clammy.

“Hello,” she replies quietly “I am Anne Burrows yes.” She stares at the floor as she introduces herself. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” I say watching as Anne takes her place on her bed and picks up a discarded book. I am unsure what exactly to do with myself so I unpack my cases in silence. After ten minutes or so we still haven’t spoken, I have no idea what to say to a girl who seems so shy and well, boring! Soon the silence is driving me insane! This surely isn’t how proper ladies are supposed to behave toward one another. Half an hour passes and I have unpacked every case and rearranged the display on my dresser twice, the only sound is the pages of Anne’s book being turned.

“What a wonderful view we have,” I say my voice sounding like a foghorn in the silence as I look out onto the gardens below. There is a rose garden and willow trees hanging over the edge of a river that divides the school from the forest opposite.

“Quite,” Anne replies without looking up from her book. My cheeks redden, I will not spend my whole time here at St Victoria’s being completely ignored by my own roommate. She will speak to me even if no one else does.

“What book are you reading?” I ask sitting down on my bed to face her “It must be terribly good for you haven’t been able to take your eyes away from it since you walked in.” I add hoping to sound harmless rather than venomous.

“Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights,” she says looking at me this time, her voice sounds apologetic but I cannot tell whether that is how she normally sounds…pathetic. “You should read it.” She adds shyly. I am taken aback by her suggestion, she actually spoke to me!

“Perhaps I should,” I say to her with as much of a genuine smile I can muster “I suppose Emily is your favourite Bronte sister?” I ask hoping to find some common ground for I am a great fan of the sisters.

“Yes of course, I am afraid I do not think highly of the others,” she says a slight smile breaking out onto her face. I consider her reply.

“What about Jane Eyre?” I challenge her in order to create some kind of friendship with her.

“Boring.” She says returning to her book.

I have been defeated by her. I am obviously not nearly as interesting as Heathcliff and Catherine.

The next morning I awake by the sound of the door banging shut. I rise out of bed, which was, despite its ugly exterior awfully comfortable. It is still dark. I glance over to Anne’s bed but it is empty.

Well thank you very much Miss Burrows, leave your new roommate to fend for herself why don’t you?

I change into one of the navy dresses mother bought me, I struggle to put on my corset by myself since I normally have Edna our maid to help me to dress, back in Russia I hated the fact that mother seemed to find me incapable of putting on my own clothes, now I wish Edna were here to help. I tie my hair into a bun and apply just a tiny amount of rouge to my cheeks to disguise my paleness. I check the clock on the wall by Anne’s bed it reads seven thirty, I have only thirty minutes to somehow find the breakfast hall and my first lesson, which is Art.

I descend down the spiralling staircase and fortunately I see a group of girls heading down the grand staircase ahead of me. I follow them as they walk past Ms Bumble’s office and onwards down the corridor. At the end of the corridor there is a massive set of wooden doors that are open wide to reveal a large hall filled with long tables and further back books and seats for girls to recline on. There are plates of food on the tables and glasses full of juices. I follow the group of girls, all who seem about eleven years old, and sit a few seats down from them…on my own.

I force down a bowl of lumpy porridge and an overly sweet cup of tea, whilst scanning the room trying to find a friendly face. It would seem that I am the only girl of my age who has started fresh here, all of the other newcomers look around nine or ten. Nobody sees me, one group of girls come and sit opposite me but only to snatch the last pieces of toast before running off to the chairs at the far end of the room.

A loud bell chimes signifying the start of lessons. Most of the girls in the hall head towards the back of the room where I see another set of doors that seem to lead to corridors of classrooms. I follow them all making sure I don’t get too lost. The corridor is narrow and busy and on several occasions I feel someone step on my dress, I fear I shall need more than three dresses. I look at the doors dotted along the corridor, each door has a frosted glass window, I peer through one but see only a piano and I take it as the music room. The second one I peer through opens right in front of me and a girl with mousey hair shrieks,

“I’m sorry to scare you!” I cry hoping that she will shut her mouth before I am embarrassed even more than I thought possible.

“You stupid girl!” she says holding her hand across her heart dramatically, “I could have fainted, get out of my way!” she pushes past me and I stumble backwards into another girl who was walking past.

“Careful!” she says I turn to apologise but she is smiling not glaring at me. “You must be Rosetta,” she says, I falter wondering how someone could actually know me after I’d spent all of last night and this morning alone. “My name is Nancy, I am a friend of Anne, your roommate.”

So she actually has friends…it makes one of us.

“So sorry for walking into you,” I say taking in Nancy’s appearance as I do so. She is tall, taller than I and I was the tallest girl in my ballet class, and she has flame red hair that is tied back into an extremely messy bun, at least I think it’s a bun, she has a bright face with smiling blue eyes. Basically a prettier version of myself, apart from her eyes, mine are green. I take a note of her dress, it is old, grey and cheap, and so much so that I fear that is was once black.

“So you are Rosetta?” she asks and I note a hint of cockney in her voice, perhaps she was roped into becoming a ‘proper’ lady too.

“Yes, Rosetta Heroski,” I say suddenly feeling a little more confident at the thought that she and I may both share a mutual dislike for having our lives written out for us. Then I remember that I am supposed to be in class. “Do you happen to know where the art classroom is?” I ask her, she gives a sly smile.

“It’s behind you,” she says pointing at the door I just fell out of.

“Oh,” I say “Thank you.” Nancy gives a laugh and links her arm through mine rather forcefully and leads me into the room. It is a large square room filled with famous prints by Da Vinci and Manet, bottles of watercolours are piled upon shelves on the walls. There are five large circular tables in the centre of the room and three of them are already covered in girls. By the windows there are rows of easels with blank canvases waiting to be used. There is also lots of unfamiliar art on the walls all of the same style. A woman with long black hair and skin the colour of ivory wearing a red dress snakes her way around a tall man as they dance on the dusty road, a tiger surrounded by young Indians, another woman drinking wine as she reclines, her dark curls covering her breasts as she does so. I blush and turn away from that picture, Nancy sees me cringing and laughs.

“Mr Harrods’ art never ceases to amaze or disturb!” she chuckles as I redden even more than before, I fear people will think I have been playing with the red paint. Nancy leads me over to one of the tables in the far corner of the room. I sit down next to her and collect my drawing pad from my satchel.

“Any good at art?” Nancy asks rather informally, the truth is no, I am awful at art, I once drew my father a picture of a dog when I was young and he thought it was an elephant.

“Not exactly,” I say to her as she pulls out a fresh page from her pad.

“Don’t worry, Mr Harrods is ever so nice, I can’t draw either, and everything just ends up looking like a scribble.”

“Mister, Harrods?” I ask, for I had presumed that the academy was run only by female staff.

“Yes it is rather odd isn’t it?” Nancy says obviously latching on to what I meant. “Miss Pinkerton got married last year and so the academy needed a replacement, he was the best they could find!” I am not sure whether she is complementing Mr Harrods or not. My focus is suddenly averted to Anne, who walks into the class and smiles weakly at me as she sits next to Nancy.

Then I see them. They had followed Anne in through the door. Two other girls. They are both tall and slim and very beautiful. One of them has creamy blonde hair that is tied up into an elegant bun, she has pink cheeks and lips and bright blue eyes the colour of sapphires, and she wears a long navy dress that fits her perfectly. She smiles at me and I smile back feeling somewhat ugly in the process. The second girl is also tall but slightly thinner and less voluptuous than the blonde, she is still, however, very sensuous, she had jet black hair tied up the same as all of the other girls in the school, her skin is pale and clear and she has big brown eyes that look almost black. She too wears the navy uniform, but there is something different about the way she wears it, about the way they both wear it. There is something different about them altogether, the way they walk with their backs straight but not stiff, with their chins up but not their noses. The way small strands of their hair fall forward onto their faces, the way that their dresses are fitted ever so slightly better than everyone else’s, the way they wear the dresses lower than everyone else, and the way they are wearing that extra bit of rouge on their cheeks. These girls are different. They are dangerous.

And they are heading towards me!

“Morning girls,” the blonde one says, her voice was young, almost childish, then she turns to me “You must be Rosetta, my name is Pippa, Pippa Lake it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she extends her hand and I see that her nails are painted a very light shade of pink. She takes a seat next to me and gets out her art supplies. She smells very sweet, almost unbearably so.

The dark haired girl sits down away from me near Anne; she doesn’t even look at me.

“That’s Polly Greene,” Nancy whispers and I stare at the girl. The Greene family was one of the richest in the country; even I know that, Lord Frederick Greene owned several mansions all over the world thanks to his involvement in science, including one in St Petersburg. I lean forward to say hello to the girl when the room fell silent as a tall, young man in a grey suit entered.

“That’s Mr Harrods” Nancy whispers to me. Mr Harrods has short brown hair and a pale face that looked worried and stressed. His suit looks second hand and he carried a battered suitcase that was bursting with art supplies. He had paint satins on his trousers.

“Settle down please ladies,” he says as he places his case on an old wooden desk at the front of the room. He knocks over a vase full of flowers and it shatters all over the floor. He reddens and hurriedly tries to sweep it up onto a piece of paper. A few of the girls titter quietly and Nancy scoffs rather loudly.

“Imbecile.” She says out loud. Mr Harrods freezes. He stares up and down the room,

“Who just used such foul a language?” he asks quietly. I am startled by how afraid I suddenly am. I glance at Nancy who is looking around the room feigning innocence. Such an actress.

“It was the new girl, sir,” I turn in horror to Polly who is looking at me with determination, a slight smile on her face. I look at Nancy hoping for some support but she is staring at me along with every other girl in the class.

“Is that so?” says Mr Harrods “Stand up Miss,” I shrink lower into my seat desperately hoping that Nancy will admit it was her. “Stand please, Miss,” he repeats raising his voice ever so slightly. I stand slowly, I feel sick, and every single person is staring at me, some giggling some looking disgusted. Mr Harrods walks over to me. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced,” he says to me as he reaches the table.

“I am Rosetta Heroski, sir,” I whisper unable to look him in the eye.

“Well then Miss Heroski, it would seem that you are quite unaccustomed to proper etiquette here in England,” Mr Harrods says and the class sniggers around him. “Foul language and disrespect towards others, especially gentlemen, is not the correct way to conduct oneself.” I look up at him. ‘Especially gentlemen?’

“I was under the impression that men and women were equal, Sir,” I say squaring up to him much to my surprise. “I suppose England is still living in the past,” I add wishing myself to stop speaking such nonsense. But then I see myself turning into mother.

Mr Harrods’ face had gone from pillar-box red to deathly white.

“You do not speak to me like that Miss Heroski,” he says quietly, in the corner of my eye I see Polly raise her perfectly shaped eyebrows slightly. I could slap her. How dare she humiliate me like this! I look back to Mr Harrods who is still glaring at me.

“Yes sir,” I say and sit back down into my seat. He looks at me a little longer before turning and marching back to his front desk. I stare straight ahead not making eye contact with anyone. My head is spinning. What has come over me? Why am I being so…rebellious? Then I think of Nancy and Polly and shudder, to think they would trick me the way they had done. I must not let myself lose control like that again. I don’t want to be a ‘proper’ lady but neither do I want to be regarded as an outcast from society. A balance is what I need for I am nobodies clone.

The remainder of the lesson is spent listening to Mr Harrods talk about the correct way to use watercolours. Why does everything have to be ‘correct’? Why can we not experiment? I feel trapped and I haven’t even been in this wretched school for an entire day. As soon as the bell rings for next lesson I am up out of my seat and heading for the door, anything to get away from those witches. My eyes are burning again and I have to blink hard to stop the tears flowing. Making sure my eyes are dry and that Nancy and her companions are not around I check my timetable. Dance. My heart lightens a little; dance will have elements of ballet. I smile to myself and follow a few girls that I recognise from art down the corridor towards yet another hall.

Inside the hall groups of girls are huddled together gossiping and laughing, some are already practicing their poises. I look around to see where the changing rooms may be but I cannot see any indication anywhere. A young woman dressed in a cream coloured dress marches into the room clapping her hands,

“Alright ladies let’s settle down shall we?” she says walking to the centre of the room gracefully. She has light brown hair that is tied back rather loosely. Her face is stern but very pretty.

“Pair up then everyone and prepare for the waltz,” she glances in my direction seeing that I have no partner. “Ah you must by the new girl,” she says coming over to me “Miss Heroski yes?” I nod feeling eyes upon me again. “My name is Miss Clare,” the woman says “Have you any previous dancing experience?” My stomach twists knowing how she will react when I tell her.

“I was a student at Eglantine Heroski’s Ballet Academy in St Petersburg,” I say wondering if she has even heard of my mother’s academy. I see some of the eavesdropping girls exchange sceptical looks. Miss Clare smiles at me and takes me by surprise.

“Why how wonderful!” she exclaims “For once I shall have a girl who actually knows her dance!” I beam despite myself; for once someone appreciates what I am doing. Miss Clare turns to me “Are you Vaganova or Cecchetti?” she asks

“Vaganova, Miss Clare.” I say remembering my lessons back home. I am suddenly overcome with emotion, maybe there is still hope for me, and maybe I shall still dance with the Mariinski Ballet.

“Excellent,” she says looking around at all of the other girls, “I shall have to find you a partner for our waltz lessons”

“I shall dance with her Miss Clare!” calls a sweet voice from behind me. I turn to see Pippa Lake with her hand in the air looking straight at me with a sweet smile on her face. Polly stands next to her and shoots her an angry look.

“You’re supposed to be my partner!” she protests. Pippa smiles at her haughtily,

“Don’t worry Poll,” she says softly “You can dance with Miss Clare.” Polly looks as though she could hit Pippa. Miss Clare considers Pippa’s proposal and nods,

“Very well, you shall dance with Miss Lake,” she walks to the front of the hall, leaving me to face Pippa. She smiles at me when she arrives.

“Let us begin with the same steps as last year,” Miss Clare says adjusting the Victrola so that the beats of the waltz fill the room. “Take turns leading please ladies and remember: posture is paramount! I shall not have crippled old hags on my dance floor!”

Pippa takes hold of my hands unexpectedly and begins to lead me around the floor with far too much force than is necessary. My feet stumble across the dance floor and I see Miss Clare raise her eyebrow at me. I clench my jaw, I shall not be humiliated again, dancing is the one thing that comes naturally to me, the one thing I am good at. Pippa Lake and her little chums shall not take trap me this time. I pause purposely and Pippa gives me a cold look. Then I fall into step as gracefully as a gazelle, causing Pippa to trip over her dress. My dress is getting in my way, in Russia, we wore proper costumes and shoes, the tightness of my corset does nothing to ease the dance process either. Pippa leads me toward Nancy and Anne who have been watching us since we began our dance. They begin to move towards me with determination on their faces. We are to collide I can see it happening, Pippa is now nearly dragging me towards them, I look to Miss Clare but she is assisting two other girls who have badly missed the timing. Just as we are to collide I spin myself into Pippa pushing the two of us out of the frontline, to my horror Pippa stumbles backward and the two of us are lying on our backs on the floor.

“You clumsy oaf!” Pippa says standing up and straightening her dress, I get the feeling however her words are directed at Anne and Nancy. Miss Clare stops the music and marches over to us.

“What on earth is going on?” she demands as I adjust my hair “Miss Heroski, I thought you could dance?” I redden and a look of triumph spreads over Pippa’s face.

“Terribly sorry Miss Clare,” I say through gritted teeth “I got a little carried away; I am not used to working with such uncoordinated partners.” Pippa’s face hardens before me. Miss Clare eyes me suspiciously then turns away. “Swap positions!” she calls and starts the music again.

“Now let’s see who can dance,” Pippa says into my ear. I lead her across the room unused to having to provide the gentleman’s moves. Pippa moves as if overcome by magic. Her feet sweep over the floor with such a grace that it makes me look like a hippopotamus trying to dance on ice. Her arms are straight and high and her back arches elegantly as she leans backwards during a shift in the music. She does not take her eyes away from me once and a sly smile rises on her lips. She has beaten me. If only I could break away from her and show her my full capability. I wonder if she can perform an Arabesque with the same strength and poise as I. Can she execute a Jete as well as I can, with balance and accuracy? I highly doubt it. Yet she is good, very good. She would make a fine student at my mother’s academy. She’d most probably be the best in the class. Gradually, the music stops and we both face each other and curtsey. Miss Clare looks very pleased with us all.

“Excellent work girls,” she beams “We shall continue to perfect our waltzes over the next few weeks so that each and every one of you will be prepared when it comes to the first ball of the year in October.” There are some sighs and squeals at the idea of attending a ball.

“Miss Clare, do tell us where the first ball shall be!” says one girl whose nose looks like a growth on her face.

“Miss McGammon I do not even know myself.” Miss Clare says though it is obvious that she is lying. The class is dismissed and we exit the hall in groups so that we may take lunch. I gather my bag quickly before having to confront Pippa and the others. Miss Clare stops me on my way out much to my annoyance.

“Beautiful dancing today Miss Heroski,” she says to me

“Thank you Miss Clare,” I say politely with my eyes fixed on Pippa who is slowly walking towards us.

“She was good wasn’t she Miss Clare?” Pippa says interrupting our conversation “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if ballet was taught here?” Miss Clare looks at Pippa with a warning look,

“Now, Miss Lake, we all know that ballet is far too…” Miss Clare struggles to find her words “…complicated for many of the girls at this school.” Meaning she too thinks that ballet should not be taught to young girls who wish to become ‘suitable ladies.’

“You are a fine dancer too,” I hear myself saying purely out of courtesy, Pippa’s face looks surprised for a second, then she composes herself,

“Why thank you,” she smiles

“You should take up dancing professionally,” I say hoping to insult her, Miss Clare frowns at the idea, similar to the way my Grandma would.

“What an excellent idea,” Pippa whispers slyly.

Chapter 4

The rest of the day passes without any more drama; my French is so appalling that I embarrass myself without the aid of a certain few. Madam Rocher winces as I attempt to excuse myself from a dance.

“Ekscoozem wa,” I say feebly

“No, no, no! Pay attention Miss Heroski! I shall not go over it again!” she groans

By five o’clock I am drained and want nothing more than a hot bath and my pillow. I climb the twisting staircase back to my dorm, I know that I shall have to endure Anne but she is far too meek to bother me. My feet ache as ascend and I cannot wait to remove the horrendous shoes I am wearing. I push open the door of my room only to come face to face with Anne, Nancy, Pippa and Polly. Nancy and Pippa are sprawled out on my bed reading a magazine of all things. I stand in the doorway unsure whether to go in or just turn around and run, there is no way I shall be tormented in my own room.

“Evening, Rosetta!” Pippa calls waving at me “Do come in we won’t mind.” I have the right mind to drag her out of my room by the hair. Instead I turn and force a smile at Anne,

“You didn’t say we would be having visitors,” I say calmly feeling my temper boil, all of the strains of the day resurfacing ready to be unleashed as rage.

“You didn’t ask,” she replies and Pippa and Nancy titter.

“There are such things as manners!” I snap “This is as much my room as it is yours now!” Anne shrinks and looks around at the other girls for support; Polly sits up on Anne’s bed.

“Listen Rosetta,” she drawls “We are Anne’s friends and we were here a long time before you were, so might just have to get used to us.”

“And if I don’t want to put up with you?” I ask shrilly, losing my temper with them all. Polly stands up and walks towards me.

“Then that is your problem,” Polly purrs “However we have assessed your potential and we are more than willing to invite you to join us.”

Join them?

“What are you, some sort of sect?” I say sardonically, Nancy smirks at this.

“You could call us that,” Polly says mysteriously, obviously waiting for me to press them for answers.

No ignore them, they are just trying to make a fool of you again.

“I do not wish to become a part of your prank, now if you please I should like to get to bed and that means I should like some peace and privacy, so it would be best that you all leave at once,” I say and Polly’s face drops.

“What if we refuse to leave?” Pippa challenges

“Then I shall call for Mr Harrods,” I say. Pippa and Nancy exchange amused glances and even Anne has to bite her lip. I sense there is something about what I’ve just said that has hit a nerve with Polly for she is unreadable,

“Very well,” she says coolly “let’s go girls.” And she heads to the door. Pippa and Nancy look shocked but Polly beckons them to the door. Reluctantly they get up and leave, Pippa stops only to give me a small kiss on the cheek,

“Pleasant dreams, Rosetta,” she says and with that, the three of them are out of the door. I sigh and collapse onto my bed which smells of sweet perfume. Anne picks up her discarded book and turns away from me. I do not care, she is the one stuck with vile friends not I. I take a long hot bath in the bathroom that Anne and I must share. The heat soothes and relaxes me, I pray that tomorrow will not be as bad a day as today. When I return to the room Anne is in her nightgown and is reading in bed, she looks up at me through her glasses,

“You took your time,” she comments returning to her book, I ignore her for I am in no mood for petty jibes and insults. Instead I curl up into my warm bed and shut my eyes. My pillow still smells faintly of sugar and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. Sleep does not come, much to my frustration and soon I hear Anne’s heavy breathing turn into snores. I shut my eyes but an orange flicker keeps stopping complete darkness from filling the room.

Surely she hasn’t left the lamp on?

I sit up and peer over to Anne’s bed, the light is out but the orange light still flickers across my bed. I climb out of bed to inspect the room, I pray to God that those fiends have not set fire to my room just to prank me. But after looking under every item of furniture in the room I am satisfied that there is no risk of me burning to death. I look back at my bed to where the flicker was dancing, but it has disappeared. I shrug and return to bed blaming my lack of sleep for the mysterious lights I saw.

The next morning I wake and once again Anne has left without me. I do not care that much. I get out of bed and get changed without bothering to use the modesty curtain since Anne has already gone. I struggle slightly with my corset and my hair but I am pleased with my appearance as I turn from the mirror to the door. As I pass Anne’s bed something colourful catches my eye. Lying on her bed is a scrolled up piece of yellow paper. Curious, I unravel the paper, fancy pink handwriting is scrawled at the top of the paper reading ‘Sisters Bohemia’ and underneath are various pictures both hand drawn and cut out from newspapers of dashing young men, suffragette slogans and the labels of various alcoholic drinks. I frown, what would Anne want with such a piece of paper? It has no information on it and looks cheap and tatty; I cast it aside and take it as a bookmark of sorts.

Downstairs in the main hall there is no sign of Anne or any of the other girls and I am relieved, one girl who looks about ten is handing out newspapers down the tables. I take one from her hoping it will give me something to read that does not involve the economy or politics. The headline is interesting enough and a photograph of a woman carrying a large banner reading ‘Votes for Women’ grabs my attention. I read down the page interested,

Wild Women Cause Chaos

Last night the streets of London were a chaos when a group of around thirty women of all ages marched into Downing Street and shouted abuse at the Prime Minister Lord Rosebery as well as the police constables at the scene.

“Take a look at New Zealand a country that moves with the times! Queen Victoria sits on the throne today proving that men are no longer the leaders of this world!” one woman reportedly cried.

Lord Rosebery did not make any statements but it would seem that the government have growing concerns over the amount of outbursts from highly-strung and over emotional women such as these.

“There is nothing liberal about Rosebery’s government!” one woman raged as she carried a banner through the streets “What part of equality does he fail to understand?”

Several of these women were arrested and their leaders were rounded up and face many charges. One police constable described the riot as

“…utter chaos, the women or suffragettes as they are known, have no remorse they simply hurl insults left, right and centre thinking that that will do some good!”

It took four hours to calm down the women and remove them all since there were many other women and men who joined in on the demonstration throughout the night. In Kensington there were reports of mailboxes being set on fire by middle class women who were wearing the colours green, white and purple.

There are worries that these suffragettes who are only a minority group will grow into a larger radical group and cause more trouble.

The introduction of the Women’s Franchise League five years ago has done nothing to ease the tension in the middle class. In addition, the Local Government Act assented in March this year, which will commence in December of this year will undoubtedly quell some of the disturbance amongst women who own properties but also enrage those who do not own such property.

“Good read?”

I look up and see Nancy sitting opposite me with a piece of toast in her hand.

“Yes thank-you.” I reply tartly, she licks butter from her fingers and watches me.

“I didn’t have you down as a liberalist, you seem far too…” she pauses trying to think of a suitable word.

“Far too what?” I ask folding the newspaper away.

“Conservative,” she giggles and walks away. I glare after her just as the bell sounds for lessons to begin. I have English with Mrs Bumble, I head to class and much to my annoyance, I see Pippa, Polly, Nancy and Anne waiting outside the classroom door. I queue up at the end of the corridor avoiding eye contact with them. Mrs Bumble arrives and we enter the room in single file. The room smells musty and of books but it is cosy and I take a seat in the middle row of the rows of desks.

“Today we shall be learning the skill of informative writing,” Mrs Bumble says from her position at the front of the classroom, “a woman must know how to inform others of skills and events through her writing.” She produces a newspaper from her desk. I realise that it the same one that I had been reading earlier. “Now, the headline news in this paper is informing us of the dastardly deeds that those silly middle class women have been engaging in,” she wrinkles her nose as she reads the first paragraph out to us aloud. Many of the girls in the front row shake their heads in disgust. “As you can see from this first paragraph the writer has given us an accurate, unbiased and truthful account of what happened on Downing Street last night thus, informing us the reader,” I frown, what makes Mrs Bumble think the writer has been truthful? She is just like my mother and Grandma, too set in their ways to see change waving in front of them. And now she has the nerve to try and brainwash her students into believing that the suffragettes’ actions were dastardly and sinful. “Are there any questions so far?” Mrs Bumble asks I raise my hand. A few girls giggle and regard me as a simpleton, Mrs Bumble sighs, “Yes Miss Heroski?”

“What makes you think the writer is being so truthful?” I ask, Mrs Bumble smiles sympathetically,

“Had the writer lied, he would not be doing his job as a reporter correctly would he?” she says not answering my question, she turns her attention back to the article, I raise my hand again. “Yes Miss Heroski?” she says impatiently

“You said the writer was a he,” I say “what makes his opinion so unbiased?” I ask, a few girls gasp slightly as I question Mrs Bumble

“Miss Heroski, the writer is giving us an account of the night’s events, he has no reason to be biased or unbiased,”

“Then why did you point out that he was unbiased?” I ask without putting my hand up. People are now turning in their seats to watch me with disgust.

“I am simply pointing out the three most important factors of informative writing,” Mrs Bumble tells me looking rather irritated.

“But why then, does he write about the events in such a dark manner?” I ask hotly. A few of the girls giggle at me and Mrs Bumble smiles softly as though holding back laughter.

“I’m sorry Miss Heroski I did not realise that you are so unaccustomed with the politics of this country. These women are bad and a disgrace they do not deserve to be sympathised with.”

“I am perfectly aware of the politics in this country,” I say angrily feeling quite insulted “I just fail to see what it is that makes these women such a disgrace, I was under the impression that Britain was under a liberal leader?”

“Are you saying that you are in support of these women? At your age?” Mrs Bumble says sounding surprised

“I don’t know!” I say “but I do not see why demanding equality is such a terrible thing, after all women are no different from men, I for one should like to vote when I come of age regardless of my social class, I say votes for women and equality amongst men and women alike!” I realise that I am now standing up.

“Mrs Heroski! I will not tolerate such nonsense in my classroom-“

“You mean you, like all of the other conservatives out there, will not tolerate my opinion!” I interrupt and there are many gasps. Mrs Bumble is furious, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.

“Please leave my classroom until you have come to your senses, Miss Heroski.” She says sternly her voice calm and deadly.

“Fine!” I shout “But you are just as stupid as the idiot who wrote that rubbish!” I point to the newspaper “Real women have the right to vote!” I add not quite believing what I have just said. I pick up my satchel and head to the door ahead of me tears brimming in my eyes. I catch Pippa and Polly staring at me as I leave.

Stare all you like I don’t give a damn

I practically run upstairs to my dorm, and when I get there I throw myself onto my bed and burst into tears. Why am I behaving this way? Why do I have to be programmed to act like every other woman on earth? I do not want to be made to follow the rules! I just want to dance. All I ask for is some freedom.

I am called to Mrs Bumble’s office where I am told to apologise for my behaviour, I tell her that I was not feeling at all well during her lesson and apologise profusely not to cause any more trouble between her. When I leave her office I receive many stares and glares form the girls from my class. Now I am hated by everyone. I decide to have an early night to try and clear my mind from the day’s events. I tell myself to stop the silly outbursts I keep having and to just put up with the opinions of the school’s teachers until I leave.

I open my door and find Anne sitting on her bed reading a piece of paper.

“What a display.” She says without looking up. I know full well that she is referring to my outburst in English. “You’re making quite a reputation.” She throws the paper aside and I catch a glimpse of the heading.

“What’s that?” I ask her, Anne looks from me to the paper and suddenly starts to stutter,

“It’s um...j.j.j.ust a p.p.peice of p.p.paper,” she stammers making a grab for the paper, I am too fast for her and I snatch the paper from underneath her nose. It is my flyer that the suffragette gave me when I was in London with my mother and grandmother.

“This belongs to me,” I say angrily for I know that the flyer had not left the bottom of my case since I arrived here. “Did you go through my belongings?” Anne does not answer, “How dare you!” I exclaim feeling my anger burn, this flyer is my personal belonging.

“I just wanted to see if you really meant what you said,” Anne whimpers curling herself into a tight ball.

“About what?” I demand clutching at the flyer as if it were a diamond necklace or a treasured photograph.

Anne says not looking at me but the bed. “I needed to know if what you said was truthful, earlier, in English that is,” I am confused, why would Anne care about whether I was speaking the truth or not?

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles and I am taken aback by her apology, unable to argue further with her I sigh,

“Very well, but you must promise not to look through my belongings again or I shall summon a policeman.” I nearly laugh for I know I would never do such a thing. Anne blanches and nods her head vigorously.

“I promise,” she says.

“Good,” I say and turn away from her in order to put the flyer back in its case, still wondering why Anne cares so much about my honesty. I start to change into my nightgown; Anne lets out a small sound that sounds like a rabbit.

“What’s the matter?” I ask hoping she is not in need of any medical help since I have no first aid knowledge.

“Could you please use the modesty curtain, that is what it’s there for,” she says embarrassed not looking in my direction. I scowl half tempted to change right in front of her in order to make her feel humiliated but then I should not like to be considered a sapphist either so I retreat behind the curtain. I change into my nightgown and then climb into my bed hoping I’ll get some sleep.

Soon I am dreaming. I am standing on a dark stage. A single spotlight falls on me and I see the outlines of hundreds of men and women who are all watching me immersed. Suddenly a violin strikes a note and my feet begin to move, step by step, the violin is joined by a piano and my feet begin to move faster. I spring across the stage and spin and swirl endlessly with elegance and perfection, the piano falls into a slower rhythm and a feel someone take hold of my wrists from behind. I spiral into the dancer, a tall, muscular Russian with short blonde hair and blue eyes. He lifts me above his head and I hold my pose, the music stops and I find myself in the streets of London. I am wearing a long fancy dress and am carrying a large banner that has Votes for Women painted across it. I am outside the tea shop I visited with mother and grandma. A crowd is watching as I wave my banner above my head and chant along with four other women. I see faces in the crowd frowning at me, Miss Clare, Mr Harrods, Bumble, Mother even Father. One man runs forward, he is the Russian boy I danced with,

“Get them!” he shouts pointing at me and the four others, I gasp as the crowd moves forward arms outstretched, I turn to the other women but when I face them they are laughing at me, their hats covering their faces. One of them steps forward and raises the brim of her hat,

“Gotcha!” says Nancy.

I wake up with a start, my palms are clammy and I am trembling.

It was just a dream

Something heavy suddenly lands on my bed and a face appears before me, I scream but a hand presses hard against my face.

“Don’t say a word!” comes a voice I recognise as Nancy’s. Light fills the room and I see Anne, Pippa and Polly standing at the bottom of my bed all wearing their daytime dresses, Anne is holding a candle and Pippa has a bottle in her hand. “Do you promise not to make a sound?” Nancy asks, I nod and she removes her hand.

“What’s going on?” I ask still shaking after my strange dream.

“We want you to join our assemblage,” Pippa says smiling at me with wide eyes

“What do you mean?” I ask

“We’ve watched you over the last few days and we think you’d be the perfect member!” Nancy gushes

“Perfect member for what?” I ask exasperated. Anne unravels a piece of paper from her dress pocket and hands it to me. It is the ‘Sisters Bohemia’ paper that I thought was a bookmark. I take another look at it but still do not understand.

“Sisters Bohemia is a group that we have set up together whilst here at St Victoria’s,” Pippa says excitedly “It’s for girls who don’t want their lives written out for them by their parents or teachers or what have you,” she says and my heart beats a little faster “It’s for girls who wish to pursue their own realistic dreams whether it’s singing or acting or dancing. It’s for people like you.”

“People like us,” Polly whispers

“You mean you’re all part of this…this group,” I ask “and you have all been forced to lead a life that you do not want to lead?” They all nod looking at me with eager eyes. “What do you do?” I ask suddenly realising that no group of girls will be able to get away with defying their parents.

“We meet up every night and day,” Pippa answers “and we do things that other girls are forbidden to do,” she grins and shakes the bottle in her hand which I realise is whiskey.

“We’re the independent girls who can excel in everyday studies like French and art,” Polly says “But at the same time can live our own lives and do whatever we please.”

“Come on Rosetta,” Anne says pushing past Pippa and clutching my arm “I’ve seen your poster from the suffragettes, and we all saw how you reacted in English today-you’re the perfect Sister!” she gushes her cheeks burning as brightly as her eyes.

“But you don’t even like me!” I say quietly thinking of all of the mean tricks they’d played on me the last few days.

Pippa laughs and rolls her eyes

“We were testing you Rosetta!” she says as though it was obvious, “We can’t go telling just anyone about our plans to defy our teachers and our parents now can we?”

The realisation hits me hard: the dancing in the hall, tricking me in the art classroom all of their giggling and pointing was all to see if I was worthy enough to be a part of their ‘group’

Sisters Bohemia

I think about how my parents made me come here, to St Victoria’s. I think about how much it hurt. And I think about what could happen now that I have found people that are just like me.

I smile at the girls with a new found vigour.

“I would be delighted to join with the Sisters Bohemia,” I smile.

“Excellent,” Pippa beams. She and Polly rush forward and kiss me on my cheeks; Nancy has dived under Anne’s bed and is rummaging around looking for something. She reappears holding a small object that looks like a crafts stamp. She tosses it across the room to Polly who catches it without looking. I see the letters SB engraved into the red rubber that is stuck onto the dusty wooden block.

“Time for you to receive the mark of Sisters Bohemia,” Polly says holding the stamp toward me, and then she unbuttons three of the buttons of her dress so that her collar and top of her chest are showing. She pulls some of her dress away to reveal a faint white mark upon her already pearly white skin, I peer at the mark as close as is respectful and see SB dotted across her collarbone. I stare at her in surprise and glance around at the other girls who have all followed suite and are revealing their mark. Polly takes hold of my shoulders and Pippa unbuttons my high collared dress, I cringe at my bare shoulders and chest and shiver slightly as Pippa pushes away some of my dress to reveal the same spot of skin as Polly had just shown me.

“This will hurt a little,” Polly says gravely as Pippa takes her position holding my shoulders. She approaches me with the stamp held facing my skin, I blanch as up closer I see that poking out of the red rubber are hundreds of tiny little pins.

“What are you doing?”I ask a little shrilly, Polly does not reply but instead pushes the stamp hard against my chest. I cry out in pain as the pins pierce my skin and burn me. Polly pushes firmly on the stamp and I feel as if I am to faint, as quickly as she came onto me Polly pulls away. Pippa drops my shoulders and I immediately look to inspect the damage. To my surprise, the result looks nowhere near as terrible as I had imagined. Sitting squarely on my collarbone is the faint outline SB, the pins did not draw blood but the lettering is illuminated by tiny red speckles lying beneath the skin.

“Will it scar?” I ask worrying about how it may affect my future chances of performing ballet. I have obviously asked the wrong question for the girls all exchange sceptical looks.

“Does it matter if it does scar?” Pippa asks sweetly, flashing a gleaming white smile at me.

“No,” I lie “Not at all.”

“Besides, the rubber coats the pins to stop any real damage being done,” Nancy says examining the stamp.

“Rebellious doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice beauty,” Pippa says looking in the mirror next to Anne’s bed. “It will fade after a few days, now where did I put that drink?” she adds turning away from the mirror to look for her bottle of whiskey. “Aha! Here it is!” she exclaims in her sugary voice picking the bottle up form Anne’s bed. She unscrews the cap a little too eagerly and spills a little down her front. “Bother!” she pouts, then she sighs dramatically, pulls herself out of her dress, and sits herself neatly onto Anne’s bed in nothing but her corset. I flush at her crudity but then realise that my dress is also far beyond civilized style. She takes a swig from the bottle and passes it along to Nancy who follows suite letting some liquor stray onto her chin, she hands the bottle to Anne and wipes her chin with the back of her hand. The bottle comes around to me, I hesitate, I have never had an alcoholic drink before apart from a small glass of champagne during a wedding. I take a subtle sniff at the bottle, the aroma is warm and sharp and attacks the back of my throat, I do not have any desire to taste the whiskey but with four pairs of eyes watching me. I take a small sip. The drink instantly burns my throat and mouth and I cough, splutter and feel my eyes burn. I hand the bottle back to Anne, who smirks and says,

“You’ll get used to it,” and she takes another swig with ease. I frown failing to see how downing spirits makes us any more independent than we would be whether we train to become ‘proper’ ladies or not. As if reading my thoughts, Pippa nods her head at the bottle, which is now nearly empty.

“We may as well have some fun while we’re at it!” she grins. I smile weakly back feeling the cut on my skin throb. I wonder if I am making the right choices by joining with the girls. Would life really be that bad if I were to go along with mother’s plans to marry myself off to a rich Lord or Duke and settle down for good? Does ballet really matter? I shock myself with that thought. I shake my head deciding that that idea is just the whiskey taking effect.

Meanwhile the girls have made themselves comfortable on Anne’s bed and mine. Nancy has the remainder of the whiskey and Anne and Pippa are helping themselves to a box of chocolates that Anne has evidently been keeping hidden. Polly is gazing out of the window, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows pulling together in a small frown. I wonder what she is looking at for the sun is set and it is dark outside.

“Fire,” she says softly to herself, she turns to face me. “Do you see it?” she asks rather intensely, I walk over to the window and look out at the faint outline of the forest below. In the distance a faint orange light glows from between the trees, a thin grey line spirals upwards into the sky.

“There must be people in the forest!” I exclaim feeling all of a sudden uneasy. By now, Nancy and Anne have crowded around the window as well. Pippa yawns and stretches out on my bed and helps herself to another chocolate.

“How odd,” Nancy says “Ms Bumble never lets people into the forest, its school property,” she says to me.

“Maybe we should report to Ms Bumble,” Anne says her voice not controlled enough to hide her nerves.

“Listen to yourselves!” Pippa laughs from the bed “Who cares if the whole forest is ablaze? Stop fretting over such insignificant little outbreaks and come and eat these chocolates with me!” she pops another chocolate into her mouth and licks her lips.

“Pip’s right,” Nancy says positively “Why should we care about what happens down in the forest?” she takes a chocolate from the box and swallows a mouthful of whiskey along with it.

“Maybe it’s the campfire of a mysterious prince,” Anne says dreamily. Nancy and Polly burst into fits of laughter and Pippa swings my pillow across Anne’s head.

“Keep dreaming dear Anne!” she giggles.

“Perhaps it’s a ghost!” says Nancy mischievously poking Anne in the ribs, making her jump in surprise, I jump too for the clock chimes loudly signifying the hour.

“Two o’clock,” Polly says urgently “Ms Bumble and Jane start the dorm watch in a while,” She, Nancy and Pippa get up quickly and creep toward the door as Anne turns down the gas on the lamp.

“See you in the morning!” Nancy whispers closing the door gently behind her. Anne and I wait in silence until the sound of their footsteps fade into nothing. Anne lets out a tired sigh, and curls into her bed. I follow suite feeling as if the last half hour passed in only a matter of seconds. My head spins a little and I wonder how this night will affect the rest of my time in St Victoria’s or even the rest of my life.

“By the way,” Anne says sleepily from her side of the room “If you’re wondering who Jane is, she’s the caretaker,” and her voice trails off into a gentle snore. I lie down and shut my eyes feeling both confused and elated that I have finally found a place I belong. I cannot resist the powerful force of sleep and before long, I am dreaming…

I am back in London, the same mob racing toward me; I turn to Nancy who is laughing. She turns to Pippa, Polly and Anne who are also laughing, but not at me, at the crowd. Before I can stop them, Nancy and Polly take hold of my ankles and raise me above their heads. Next thing they propel me into the air and I burst from the dress and hat into an elegant leotard and twist my body into a complex and elegant arc. The crowd stares in awe as I land and a single spotlight falls upon me again. The tall Russian takes his place next to me and we bow as the crowd clap and cheer, and above the noise, I hear only one word cheering on and on and on:

“Rosetta! Rosetta! Rosetta!”

Chapter 5

The next morning I awake feeling refreshed and positive. Anne has already changed and is brushing her hair in the mirror,

“You’d better get changed quickly,” she says looking at me in the reflection of the mirror “The girls will be here soon,”

“What do you mean?” I ask sleepily rolling out of bed. Anne turns to face me, her hair tied back into a prim bun.

“Pippa wants to give you a makeover,” she says apologetically, “It’s her sort of ritual,” she shrugs her shoulders. I stare back at her in dismay; do I really look so bad? Anne smiles at me and squeezes my shoulder, “Just grin and bear it,” she says.

The door flies open and Pippa bustles in carrying a small black bag and smiling from ear to ear; Polly and Nancy follow and take their places on Anne’s neatly made bed.

“I’ve been dying to fix you since I met you!” Pippa squeals in delight as she opens the bag and begins to pull out hairbrushes, brooches and all sorts of makeup. She picks up a dark red lip colour and beams at me, “Ooh, this is going to look beautiful!” She takes hold of my arm and practically drags me to the dressing table. “Sit down,” she orders pointing to the wooden chair next to the mirror. I sit obediently, cringing as Nancy and Polly exchange amused glances. Pippa begins tie my hair back into a bun, I whinge and squirm as she pulls the hair back tightly,

“Stay still!” Pippa scolds tugging harder on purpose. When she finishes she pulls three strands of hair forward and they fall over my eye elegantly, then she pulls some strands out from the back of the bun. After making my hair messier than ever, she then empties all of her makeup onto the dressing table. She powders my face as normal, then she lines my eyes with a thick dark layer of kohl, far more than was required, making my eyes look feline and alert. Next, she colours my lips a dark purplish red colour, which is going to get me into trouble for sure. She finishes off with the blush for my cheeks, which she layers on artistically like some sort of professional. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I look so, so, different! Different and dangerous, exactly how I had described the girls when I first saw them.

“Pippa,” I say breathlessly unable to find words to describe how amazed I am at my transformation.

“No need to thank me!” she says diplomatically “Call it part of the membership, the less painful option,” she adds “How is it?” she asks pointing to where the SB mark is hiding underneath my nightdress. I unbutton it and inspect the shallow cut on my chest. The mark has turned a pink colour and stands out like a sore thumb on my clear skin.

“How unfair!” Nancy pouts, “Mine turned into a horrible scab!”

“Go and get changed,” Pippa says to me as I button my nightdress up again, “And don’t be so prim!” she adds catching my hand as it goes to button my final button.

I change into my navy school dress behind the modesty curtain despite the girls all rolling their eyes. I return to face Pippa’s next scrutiny, she smirks at my dress, I purposely left the top button unclipped not to come across as too tidy. Pippa is giggling as she approaches me; she takes hold of my arms, rolls up the sleeves of the arms so that my wrists show, then she undoes another two buttons, and then to my horror produces a pair of scissors.

“What are they for?” I demand anxiously.

“You have such a fabulous figure and this dress does nothing but make you look like a frumpy old fart,” Pippa says kneeling on the floor before me. “We need to lose some of this ridiculous layering,” she snips the scissors menacingly. It is only then as I look around that, I realise that all four of them wear slim fitting almost skin-tight dresses. Pippa suddenly tears at one of the ruffled layers of my dress and pulls it away in a clean swipe. I let out a gasp despite my best efforts to remain calm. Polly and Nancy laugh from Anne’s bed. Pippa continues to snip away at my dress and tear it to shreds. I pray that she will not mess up and leave me with a tattered dress. After fifteen minutes, Pippa stands up and steps back to inspect her handiwork.

“Excellent,” she smiles, I walk over to the mirror hoping that the result really is ‘excellent.’ In the mirror, I gasp for I cannot believe that Pippa has managed to transform me in such a way. The dress sits perfectly around my body, hugging all of the right places. It makes me taller, slimmer and overall more ladylike than ever before in my life. Not even my ballet costumes complemented me the way this dress does.

“Well?” Pippa asks softly from behind me, “What do you think?”

“It’s wonderful,” I say whilst giving a small twirl.

“You look lovely,” says Nancy genuinely, smiling at me, “You look how a girl is supposed to look,”

“Thank-you,” says Pippa sweetly as if every complement is directed at her. “There is quite an improvement isn’t there?” Thankfully, the clock chimes seven before anyone can answer; we all head out of the door to the great hall for breakfast. Downstairs, I can feel eyes staring at me again, I wonder if my change in appearance is that drastic. We sit at the end of one of the long tables and help ourselves to the porridge that waits in large pots up and down the table.

“So what do you think of Mr Harrods?” Nancy asks me casually as she makes some final adjustments to her fruit bowl sketch in her drawing pad.

“He seems pleasant,” I reply remembering that I was framed by the girls during my first lesson and shouldn’t bear any grudges towards Mr Harrods himself.

“I think he’s a marvellous artist,” Anne says brightly through a mouthful of porridge, “and he’s awfully enthusiastic!” Polly snorts and takes a sip of her tea.

“Well he’s bound to be enthusiastic, working in a building full of young and naïve girls,” Anne frowns and pushes her bowl to the side,

“Well he’d never take advantage of anybody here, he’s a gentleman, and besides, he’s a teacher,” she says emphasising the word ‘teacher’ as though it made all the difference. “That means he’s respectable and trustworthy,” she gives Polly a hard look which is intensified by her glasses enlarging her eyes. The bell soon chimes again at eight, indicating the start of lessons; we all get up and make our way toward the art room. It still feels strange to be spending time with the girls who I had hated with a passion no more than twenty four hours ago, still, I have no other friends to turn to, so I may as well focus on developing a friendship with Pippa, Polly, Nancy and Anne. I sit at the back of the classroom and take out my papers and pencils. Mr Harrods stands at the front of the classroom shuffling papers and knocking pieces of chalk and rubber onto the floor in the process. Pippa and Nancy snicker at his expense. Realising his clumsiness, he drops the papers and bends over to pick up the chalk and rubber only to knock a box of watercolours onto the floor. All around people giggle quietly as he runs his hand through his dark hair and leaves a streak of chalk dust there.

“Alright, so we won’t be using the watercolours today,” he says to himself as he kicks the pots into the corner of the room, leaving a green smudge on his shoes. He turns to the class with a surprised look as if he had only just realised that we were here. He sighs deeply, and shakes his head wearily, “Just, take your books out and…erm,” he scratches his head as he tries to find something else for us to do for the lesson that he just single-handedly ruined. “Well just…er…draw the person opposite you please-and no moaning please ladies,” he adds more sternly as the class breaks into a chorus of mutters and groans. Nancy throws her head back as though in agony,

“I drew Anne five times last year!” she growls.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Anne teases,

“It would help if you at least changed your hairstyle for once in a while!” Nancy retaliates cheekily. Anne throws a piece of graphite at her. I turn to Polly, who is sitting opposite me,

“Shall I draw you first?” I ask her, still not sure how the girls operate in everyday situations.

“Oh no, she won’t let you,” Pippa says before Polly can answer, “Only the best are permitted this fine beauty,” she says sarcastically, stroking Polly’s jet-black hair.

“I’m not too bad,” I say defensively, feeling rather offended that they should think that I am not skilful enough to draw a half-decent portrait of Polly. Pippa giggles feverishly and Polly gives her a dark, sullen look.

“Ignore her,” she says to me. Pippa opens her mouth into an ‘O’ shape,

“What?” she asks her voice raising an octave, “You never let me draw you!”

“You always deface me,” Polly snaps back, Pippa straightens herself her face looking quite grave.

“Is that so?” she asks coldly “Well I was under the impression that only one artist was good enough for your high maintenance standards, perhaps Rosetta has a piece in the Louvre that I am unaware of?” Polly rolls her eyes and Pippa reddens with anger, she turns to me,

“Tell me Rosetta, for I am anxious to know, is your work of art that has gotten dear Polly so fervent, a watercolour or is it chalk? Then again, who is to say it is a painting? Do indulge me; is it a sculpture, a mosaic? I’m absolutely dying to find out!”

“I don’t have to draw her,” I say apologetically for I did not intend to upset Pippa, whose lower lip is trembling slightly,

“Now what’s all this fuss about?” Mr Harrods has strolled over to our table with a pencil stuck behind his ear.

“Nothing Sir,” Pippa says suddenly regaining her composure with such a speed, I wonder if I had just imagined her previous outburst. “We were just discussing which one of us had the most challenging face to draw and decided it was to be Polly,” she smiles sweetly at both Mr Harrods and Polly.

“Ah, I see,” Mr Harrods says with a bemused expression, “Well I shall let you continue with your debate since it is on the subject of art.” He smiles and walks over to the table next to us.

We sit in silence for the rest of the lesson and I am thankful when Mr Harrods eventually lets us leave. Pippa picks up her bag and marches off without a word to anyone, I look at Nancy and Anne, worried that I have caused a massive disruption. Nancy smiles,

“Don’t worry, this is quite a natural occurrence, everything is a drama with dear Pip,” I sigh relieved, Mr Harrods walks over as the rest of the class flock out of the door,

“Polly,” he says, “I would like to see you before you leave please,” Polly nods and Mr Harrods looks over at Nancy, Anne and I understand that it is a private matter.

“Do you think he knows she had a fall out with Pippa?” I ask Nancy, concerned. Nancy just shrugs and shakes her head.

I spend the rest of the morning with Anne and Nancy. Pippa does not show for our English lesson and neither does Polly. The whole day passes without as much as a sign from either of them. At five o’clock, the three of us return to my room. I do not want to ask about Pippa and Polly too much in case I offend anybody. It is such a bad start to my newfound friendships. As I sit on my bed in order to read the essay papers Ms Bumble has given me, Nancy begins to bounce around the room.

“Whatever is the matter?” I ask her “Why are so jittery and excitable?”

“Because it’s a Wednesday!” she squeals diving onto my bed much to my annoyance.

“Her special friend is coming to visit her tonight!” Anne tells me, pulling Nancy off my bed in the process.

“Special friend?” I echo, intrigued. Who could this person be? There is evidently a lot more to learn about these mysterious girls.

“Every Wednesday Nancy gets a visit from her boyfriend,” Anne says emphasising the word boyfriend. My eyes widen in awe, Nancy has a boyfriend!

“His name is Cammie,” Nancy says coyly sitting with her legs crossed on the floor. “He lives in London, he comes to visit me every Wednesday- it’s his night off,” she adds

“What time will he be arriving?” I ask hoping to meet this boy, for I never spent much time in the company of young men before.

“Around midnight,” Nancy says checking the clock on the wall, “Only seven hours to go!”

“Hold on a moment, are you telling me that the staff doesn’t know about this Cammie?” I ask. Nancy and Anne look at me as if I am an imbecile.

“Do you truly think that Ms Bumble would allow Cammie to come to see me?” Nancy asks shocked, “If she were to find out both Cammie and I would surely be separated for good,”

“Ms Bumble would not approve of Cammie,” Anne adds sadly.

“Why ever not?” I ask

“Cammie is a stagecoach driver,” Nancy explains “He lives in London and is not a Lord or a Duke or noble in any shape or form, and as you know, St Victoria girls deserve only the finest, Cammie does not even reach the borderline of the standards of this place.”

“So he sneaks in to my room every Wednesday and they go for a walk down to the woods either that or they stay in Nancy’s dorm.” Anne says.

“However does he get in?” I wonder for our dorms are on the top floors.

“Why he climbs of course,” Nancy says with a cunning smile, “Like I said he’s from London.”

Whatever that is supposed to mean, I glance over at the window half expecting to see a face staring back at me, this seems too dangerous for me but I am not about to says so in case they decide to kick me out of Sisters Bohemia for being too much of a sissy.

“You’ll have to meet him!” Nancy says to me “You’ll love him!”

“We all do,” Anne adds enthusiastically, Nancy shoots her a disturbed look,

“What do you mean by that?” she demands, Anne reddens like a tomato.

“Nothing!” she says her voice raising in pitch “I’m just saying that he’s such a nice character, that’s all!” Nancy gives Anne a sceptical look before letting it go.

“Well I shall see you both here at midnight,” Nancy says getting up off the bed with a big grin. We wave her goodbye and then it is once again just the two of us. Anne picks up her book and settles down on her bed. I can’t help wondering how Pippa and Polly are and whether they have made up yet.

“I’ll be back soon,” I say to Anne as I get up and head to the door, feeling rather surprised at my own spontaneity.

“Where are you going?” she asks me sounding rather surprised, I lie to her quickly in case she tries to stop me from leaving.

“I have some business with Ms Bumble that needs dealing with,” I try to sound assuring, “I won’t be too long,” I add. Anne shrugs and I leave. I decide to go to Pippa and Polly’s dorm which is just down the corridor. I knock against the door but there is no reply. Maybe Pippa is in the dance hall, after all, if she is anything like me, she will dance to relive her stresses. But when I get there, the dance hall is empty. I decide to give up my search and deal with them tomorrow. I walk down one of the corridors and see a light glowing form my Art room. I peek through the glass window to see if it is either Pippa or Polly but I cannot see anything. Daringly I push the door open hoping that Mr Harrods is not the other side of it. The door creaks open and I tip-toe inside, the lights are on but the room is empty. I creep over to the desks at the back of the room where it is darker. A strange sound comes from behind the door at the back of the room. I sneak over to the door to investigate, a bronze plaque is fixed to the door reading, Mr J. Harrods Office. Overcome by curiosity, I press my ear to the door, I hear voices but cannot make anything out clearly. Suddenly the handle of the door turns, I stumble backwards in fright and fear, I am to be caught for sure. I propel backwards and crash into one of the desks, spilling pots of paint all down my dress. Mr Harrods stares at me in disbelief.

“Would you care to explain what is going on?” he asks me as I get to my feet and kick smashed glass off my shoes.

“I was um, I was just looking for my…my…” I struggle to think of a plausible excuse, Mr Harrods’ eyebrow raises in suspicion; he crosses his arms and sighs impatiently. “My sketch pad!” I conclude spying a discarded book on the table next to me.

“Ah, I see!” he says and I can tell he is being overly sarcastic “Well did you find it?”He asks. I feel my cheeks redden under his scrutiny,

“No, no I didn’t…unfortunately,” I say feebly looking at my feet in order to avoid his penetrating glare.

“Well then I shall keep my eyes open for it, in the meantime I expect you to go back to your dorm, Miss Heroski.” I snap my head up in surprise; surely, he isn’t going to let me get away with this? However, he nods his head toward the door and I quickly make for the exit as quickly as I can manage. “Oh and Miss Heroski,” he calls just as I reach the door “The next time you wish to rummage through my classroom please have the decency to make an appointment.” And with that, he turns and disappears into his office.

I spend the rest of the evening with Anne and Nancy in my dorm. I do not mention my encounter with Mr Harrods simply to avoid the sheer embarrassment of the situation. Nancy is prancing around like a fool and her constant simpering and sighing plays havoc on my nerves.

“Why can’t this Cammie fellow sneak into her room instead of ours?” I whisper to Anne as Nancy checks her appearance in the mirror for umpteenth time.

“Nancy’s room is full of snitches,” Anne “not to mention that her room is directly above Ms Bumble’s office,”

We stay up until midnight even though Anne and I are far too tired to stay awake, however neither of us want to be seen sleeping when there is to be a boy in the room. Midnight comes and goes as does both five and ten minutes past the hour. Nancy begins to look worried; she peers down out of the window,

“I do hope he has not fallen,” I whisper to Anne who merely sighs and checks the time. Suddenly at twenty minutes past the hour exactly Nancy lets out a tiny scream of delight.

“He’s here! Cammie is here!” I sit up and look over to the window. Nancy leans out and I fear she will fall.

“Bloody ‘ell, Nancy, I can’t keep doing this climbing lark, I’ll be hunchback!” moans a scratchy cockney voice that is vaguely familiar. Nancy huffs as she helps to pull a scruffy, wet, lanky boy into the room. She slams the window shut and before I can either look at the boy or even brace myself, she takes his face in her hands and proceeds to apparently eat his face in embrace. I look away in disgust. When they are eventually finished reuniting, the boy, Cammie turns to Anne and me and lifts his threadbare cap to us. He is tall and skinny, rather like a lamppost, his clothes are dirty and his trousers too short. He has dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes but I hardly anything to look at, I get the feeling I have met him before but I cannot think where.

“Evenin’ ladies,” he says merrily “Aha! Well, well, Miss Heroski! Fancy seeing you here! I didn’t think our paths would cross again!” Anne and Nancy stare at me in surprise and to my horror; I remember exactly where I have seen this urchin of a boy before. He is the driver of the carriage that brought me here on my first day.

“Still don’t fancy sparin’ me a copper do ya?” he says wickedly. Nancy and Anne are staring like codfish,

“Would you care to explain how the two of you are already acquainted?” Nancy asks sounding a little put out.

“Oh, we go back a long time,” Cammie teases, clearly enjoying Nancy’s obvious discomfort.

“No we don’t!” I interrupt before things get any more awkward, if that is even possible. “We met-briefly-on my first day here, he was my coach rider.” I cringe as Nancy eyes me sceptically.

“She was too tight to give us some spare bread an’ honey,” Cammie pouts playfully, beginning to seemingly enjoy my discomfort as well. “How did she expect me to eat that night I don’t know,” he adds in mock dismay, “Look at me and these rags! I’m barely a skeleton!” he pulls at his very loosely fitted shirt.

“What are you talking about?” I demand “you didn’t ask me for bread or jam or honey or what have you! Why would I even have bread with me in my carriage?” Why is it that everyone in this rotten school has to make up tales and lies about me? I am quite literally at my wits ends!

Cammie, Nancy and Anne all burst out laughing which does nothing to make me feel any better.

“What?” I ask “Why are you laughing at me?” this only causes them to laugh harder and louder. Cammie wipes a tear from his eye.

“Cammie doesn’t literally mean honey and bread!” Anne says as she composes herself “It’s cockney for money!” she giggles

“What?” I say for I have absolutely no idea what she is referring to.

“Cockney slang,” Nancy says to me but I still have no idea what she means “London talk?” she looks surprised “Haven’t you been to London?”

“Of course I’ve been to London!” I say, insulted

“Well you haven’t been to my end!” Cammie laughs with bitterness. “Browsed the high end did ya? All ‘em boutiques and tea rooms I bet, well that’s not the real London.”

I feel ashamed, Cammie is right, the one time I went to London I spent the best part of the day trying on hideous dresses and drinking tea. I remember how mother had forbidden me to go down the street with the market stalls and flower ladies, now I wish more than ever that I had gone down that street. My disappointment must show, for Cammie stops laughing and wraps a dirty arm around my shoulders,

“I suppose I’ll just have to teach ya!” he smiles and I can’t help but like him. Nancy pulls him away from me with a little more force than I think is necessary.

“I do believe you have a previous engagement tonight, Mr Dawson,” he says and Cammie blushes and casts me an apologetic look.

“Looks like I’m going to be a very busy chap!” he grins as Nancy proceeds to drag him toward the window.

“Now, we’ll be gone for about an hour, remember to leave the window open for me,” Nancy says rather urgently to Anne, she lifts her skirts up in an extremely inelegant way and climbs carefully out of the window.

“How on Earth does she expect to get down?” I ask Anne who is turning the lights down.

“She’ll climb down using the ivy.” Anne says as-a-matter-of-factly. I gulp dreading the thought of Nancy and Cammie climbing down with nothing but ivy to support them.

“See ya later then girls,” Cammie says and he leaps out of the window as quick as a flash.

About an hour later when I am lying in my bed trying my hardest to fall asleep, I hear a creek coming from the window side of the room. Nancy clambers inside her hair and clothes wet from the rain.

“Anne? Rosetta?” she whispers, Anne’s only response is a gentle snore. Nancy passes my bed and creeps out of the door back to her own room; I stay quiet for I do not wish to point out that her nightdress is now suddenly inside out.

The next morning Pippa and Polly have clearly made up for the five of us sit merrily at the breakfast table as though yesterday’s dramas never happened. As I attempt another mouthful of Mary the housekeeper’s lumpy porridge, Nancy leans forward and says in a hushed voice,

“You’ll never guess what Cammie and I saw last night,”

“Please keep that sort of information to yourself Nancy!” Pippa teases rather crudely and Nancy smirks.

“Seriously now girls, listen to this, we were taking a walk down by the forest edge, away from the school’s lights so that we wouldn’t be seen,” Pippa giggles suggestively but pipes down when Polly and Anne both shush her. Nancy continues eagerly her London accent becoming more apparent due to her excitement. “As we were walking, we saw this faint light glowing between the trees, now, the forest is out of bounds to pupils so we decided to go into the forest to take a look and see what was causing that light. We crept into the forest and Cammie saw a sort of pathway so followed it, we crept deeper and deeper into the woods, it was ever so exciting, then we suddenly heard voices and some sort of music, we crept a tiny bit closer and that was when we saw them,”

“Who? Who did you see?” Pippa squeals, bouncing up and down on her chair. Nancy sits back in her chair and casts us a satisfied smirk.

“Gypsies,” she says and the four of us gasp quietly “Four of them, they were sitting around a campfire and one of them was playing a guitar, they had boats with them too,” she adds

“Boats? How did they get boats into the forest?” Polly asks with a disbelieving tone to her voice, Nancy squirms slightly,

“Well they weren’t real boats they were like canal boats, barges that sort of thing, the river must flow into the forest as well as across the school grounds.”

“I see,” Polly says cynically picking at the burnt bits of her toast. We all sit in silence for a minute; I wonder what it must have been like to see real life gypsies in the forest. I for one would have been terrified, in Russia Father always warned me about gypsies, that they would sneak into the homes of the rich and wealthy and steal their silver and kidnap the daughters for their own pleasures. Thank goodness Nancy wasn’t seen…

“We really must go and meet them,” Polly says, breaking the silence.

What?! Has she lost her mind?!

“What a good idea!”Pippa agrees “I’ve always wanted to meet a gypsy,”

Really? Is that really true?

“Why don’t we all go this afternoon?” Polly says enthusiastically “We all have a free period during the last hour of the schooling day, we could into the forest and meet them!” I cannot believe that I am hearing this, why would any girl in her right mind want to go and meet a group of gypsies? They’re practically savages!

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Anne asks warily, thank heavens somebody has some common sense “We don’t know what they may be like or how they will react to us, we should at least wait until next Wednesday when Cammie can escort us.”

“They may have moved on by then!”Pippa says, dramatically stamping her foot. “These people never stay in one place for long; it’s not in their nature,”

“And you’re an expert on gypsies all of a sudden are you?” Anne snaps rather uncharacteristically Pippa begins to retort but Polly silences her with a tap on the arm.

“Maybe Anne’s right,” she says “but we can meet up this afternoon anyway and discuss our options,”

“Here’s one for you, let’s not go,” I say nervously but nobody laughs or answers. Thankfully the bell rings and we are forced to head to class. I spend the rest of the day enduring Ms Bumble prattling on about the role of women in society; I somehow feel she is purposely making me feel uncomfortable although this time I am less rattled for I know that at least four other girls share my views. At the end of that lesson I am the first through the door, as I head down the corridor to go back to my dorm so that we can all ‘discuss’ the prospects of going to ‘meet’ the gypsies, I walk headfirst into Mr Harrods.

“Oh my goodness!” I say as his paint pallet crashes to the floor along with about one hundred sheets of paper, “I’m terribly sorry Mr Harrods, sir, let me help you,” I bend down to help gather his supplies but he snaps at me,

“Forget it Miss Heroski, it would be far more helpful if you were to simply leave me alone.” His milky blue eyes flash with anger and frustration and before I am able to respond he has gotten up and slammed his classroom door shut. I stand in the corridor for a moment feeling totally stunned; I cannot understand why he should react so aggressively toward me. Then it dawns on me that he must be holding some sort of terrible grudge on me since the first day when I apparently insulted him in the lesson. I feel awful, I do not wish for Mr Harrods who is such a gentleman to take a dislike to me; it would ruin my reputation in the school! I squirm at that final thought for I sound too much like mother. I glance at his office door, I want really to go and apologise for my behaviour and start afresh, but I am too conscious of how my fellow ‘Sisters’ would react to my apology. I decide to let it go and vow that I will not upset Mr Harrods any more than I have already done so.

Back in the dorm, the five of us sit around mine and Anne’s beds, Pippa has brought along a box of Belgian chocolates that her mother has sent her, they are quite divine.

“So, how are we going to visit without getting raped or whatever other silly ideas Anne has stashed in her head?” Pippa says condescendingly I see Anne frown and shake her head in silent protest.

“If only we had some Lord or Duke like Simon Livingston, he’d make sure we were safe!” Pippa sighs. I frown who is Simon Livingston?

“You really don’t know a thing do you?” Nancy says laughing as she reads my mind “Simon Livingston is THE most sought after man in the country!”

“He’s absolutely divine!” Pippa swoons and the others all giggle hysterically.

“But who is he exactly?” I ask wondering who exactly could be so wonderful.

“He’s the son of Lord and Lady Livingston!” Pippa squeals rather frantically “He is studying to become a lawyer in the University of London! He can speak French and read Latin! His parents hold the most lavish balls in the country!” she gasps for breath and has turned red in the face.

“He’s not that great,” Polly says coldly and Pippa turns to her with a stunned face.

“What!?” she demands “He’s perfect!”

“I can think of better,” Polly replies with the same cold tone. Pippa begins to retort but stops herself which shocks me for I was sure she had no self control whatsoever. Nancy suddenly takes hold of my arm and pushes a crumpled piece of newspaper cutting under my nose.

“That’s him there,” she says pointing to a tall young man in the picture “That’s Simon Livingston!” I look at the paper carefully; despite the paper being torn and discoloured this Simon fellow has certainly done himself justice. He is tall and strong looking even whilst wearing what looks like an overly expensive dinner jacket. It looks as if he has fair wavy hair but I cannot be sure because the picture is in black and white, he is smiling and his face is very handsome. I can understand what the attraction is but I would imagine that he is a very pompous and stuffy fellow; after all he is studying law.

“How nice,” I muse “he is indeed very pleasant looking.” Pippa looks horrified at me,

“Pleasant!” she echoes loudly “He is more than just pleasant! He is a God!”I laugh at her childishness but she only looks more annoyed.

“Are we going to talk about Simon Livingston all night or are we going to discuss how we are to get down to the gypsies’ camp?” Polly asks breaking the slight tension. “I propose we go at night once everyone else has gone to sleep, that way we can spend as much time with them as possible.” I feel sick, she cannot be serious!

“And how, may I ask, do you propose we get out of the building at night?” Pippa asks frostily clearly still agitated at my laughing at her. “Ms Bumble always locks the main doors and I for one do not intend to shimmy down a strand of ivy, I should rather like to keep all of my bones in tact thank-you very much!” she sniffs and tosses her gloriously blonde hair, she has the elegance of a spoilt brat, which is actually quite admirable. Polly rolls her eyes and Nancy scowls,

“I manage to shimmy down the ivy,” she mutters

“Well it’s not the first thing you’ve shimmied down is it?” Pippa retorts with a satisfied smirk. Nancy bites her bottom lip furiously and quietens down.

“Look, I know Ms Bumble keeps the doors locked but all we have to do is figure out where she keeps the keys, it can’t be that complicated to find them,” Polly says casually helping herself to another chocolate, she pops it in her mouth and pauses for a second as if to savour the flavour. Pippa eyes her carefully with an unreadable look on her face; she turns to me and smiles slowly.

“One of us could always go and snoop around her office,” and I suddenly latch on to what she is suggesting

“Certainly not!” I protest standing up in order to heighten my anger “I shall not be made the scapegoat here, you’ve all already gotten me into enough trouble to last a lifetime, no, I will not do your dirty work, NO!” I shout feeling rather close to tears. Anne takes my arms and sits me down; I am trembling slightly the stresses of the week taking their toll.

“Don’t get upset Rosetta,” she says softly “We’ll think of another way to meet the gypsies, Pip is just being mean, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” I nod slightly like a little child and blink hard in order not to cry. I cannot believe how upset I have become over such a trivial matter. I look up and see both Pippa and Polly looking disappointed and I little resentful at me, even Nancy looks irritated.

“Never mind,” Polly says with false cheer. “We’ll just have to wait until something else remotely exciting happens and then we can enjoy ourselves,” she cannot manage the sweetness and spits her last words.

“Leave it Polly!” Pippa says half-heartedly

“No I won’t leave it! I thought you were supposed to be one of us” she is shouting directly at me now for there is no need to pretend that her snide remarks are not directed at me anyway. “I thought you were adventurous and eager to become more than just a social clone, but you don’t even have the nerve to go and look for a set of keys, we were wrong about you…you stupid little Russian doll!” she is red in the face and gasping dramatically.

“Polly! Shut your mouth!” Nancy says coming to my rescue for I cannot do anything but stare for nobody has ever spoken to me in such a way before. “Listen to yourself you’re acting like a spoilt little brat, in fact you’re acting like Pippa,” Nancy ignores Pippa’s angry objection “Rosetta doesn’t have to take this hideous talk from you, now apologise!”

Polly looks over at me with hate in her emerald green eyes. I brace myself for more harsh words and insults but she simply shakes her head and sighs softly.

“I am sorry Rosetta; I suppose I was being too…too unkind.” She seems to be choking on her words as if they are too painful for her to speak. I notice how Nancy, Pippa and Anne are all giving her stern looks and I am fully aware that she does not mean a single word that she says. “Please, do forgive me, I acted wrong.” Her voice is strained and there is a very hard edge to it.

“I accept your apology.” I say keeping my voice as steely and as level as I can manage. She looks at me for a long moment and then the corners of her mouth twitch which I take as an attempt at a smile. Nobody says or moves for a long while, after what seems like an eternity Polly gets up off my bed and walks to the door,

“I’m rather tired,” she says “I think I’ll retire now, coming Pippa?” Pippa gets up and walks out of the room without a word of a goodbye. “Sorry about what happened earlier Rosetta,” Pippa says casually “but you are going to have to toughen up a little, life isn’t sugary and sweet when you’re with us Sisters, just remember that.” And after her warning she slides out of the door and closes it silently behind her. I sit on my bed thinking about what Pippa had just said, what exactly was she trying to tell me? I will not allow myself to be pushed around by these girls I think to myself with grit. But at the back of my mind the initial doubt over joining Sisters Bohemia starts to wake, am I doing the sensible thing? Am I really doing what is best for me? Do these girls really care about me or find me endearing in any way or am I just the cohort of the group? I shake my head and try not to think of these things for I know they will only make me paranoid. I decide to go to bed and after saying goodnight to Nancy and Anne I turn out my lamp and lie in the cold bed. Nancy leaves soon after for I hear the door creak and not long after that I hear the ever familiar sound of Anne snoring.

I think about what Polly said, about me not having the nerve to search for the keys. It makes my blood boil, I would love to see her go out in the night and try and find those keys. She talks about having nerve yet she is the one who feels the need to send me out rather than go herself! I begin to wonder if this is another sort of test to see if I really am suited to being a Sister Bohemian but it seemed all too real for that to be a conclusion. I bet fifty pounds I could find those keys. I bet I could find them any day. I bet I could find them tonight.

The desire to prove Polly wrong is too strong for me to control, I climb out of the bed quietly not to wake Anne and wrap my night robe around myself. I pull open the old oak door and look down the dark corridor, there is no sign of anybody else that may catch me, so I tip-toe down the corridor and hurry down the twisting stair-well. The hallway is deserted and is dimly lit by the oil lamps that burn on the far wall. I creep towards Ms Bumble’s office making sure I stay in the shadows so that there is as little chance as possible that I will be caught. My heart is pounding and my nerves are tingling with anxiety but the adrenaline that rushes through my veins keeps me from turning back. I race across the hallway down into the corridors where no lamps burn. I relax slightly and creep down the corridor toward Ms Bumble’s office. I reach the office door and turn at the handle and to my surprise it is unlocked, I enter slowly praying that the door does not need oiling. I slide in silently and press the door shut behind me. There is a large desk at the centre of the room where I’m guessing the keys are kept. I try one of the draws but it is locked. I curse in my head; there is nothing I can do now for there are no keys on the desk or anywhere else in the room. Just as I decide to give up the office door bursts open, I duck behind the desk before I am seen and pray that whoever is in the room has not seen me. No lights are turned on and the door shuts noiselessly. I hold my breath hoping that I am not seen or heard. Suddenly a pot of pens and pencils falls from the desk above me and the pens scatter all around me. I hear a thud on the desk and suddenly a loud gasp, I cringe for I know that I have been seen. But nobody shouts or demands to know what I am doing under the headmistress’s desk. Whoever is in the room has not seen me. I hear the sound of the ruffling of layers of skirts that we all have to wear and heavy breathing, I glance up toward the desk above me bracing myself for another shower of pens or worse. Suddenly I hear a voice gasp,

“James,” it is a familiar voice but I cannot make out who it belongs to, “James, James, James,” then I hear the second voice and it sends shivers down my spine,

“Polly,” whispers the voice. In a flash I am out from under the desk and I turn the lamp on. Polly screams in shock. I cannot say anything for I am too shocked to even move. Polly is perched on the desk her hair wild and her cheeks flushed, she has lipstick stains on her chin and the back of her dress has come loose and standing opposite her with his hair a mess and his shirt unbuttoned is Mr Harrods. I open my mouth in shock but he rushes over to me and presses his hand to my mouth.

“Don’t say a word,” he says his voice shaking and I sense the panic in his voice. Polly rushes over and yanks his hand from my face.

“Take your hands off her you fool,” she snaps and pushes him aside. “Rosetta,” she looks close to tears and her voice shakes “This isn’t what it looks like…this isn’t...I…I don’t know what to say,” she looks at me as if I were the one with the answers.

“What is going on?” I breathe. I cannot quite comprehend what I have just discovered. Polly with her dress unbuttoned in the dead of night with our teacher.

“Rosetta, please listen Polly and I could be in a lot of trouble should anyone else find out about this,” Mr Harrods says desperately.

“This is disgusting,” I say to Polly “Do you realise what he’s doing? He’s using you to fulfil his sordid little fantasies!” I feel my temper raging and I have the desire to charge at Harrods and kick him where it hurts.

“No, no, no, Rosetta,” Polly says shaking her head “You’re wrong, this is not just some dirty little affair, I love James and he loves me!”

“James?” I echo regarding Harrods in a new light, I always had him down as a Toby.

“My Christian name,” he says feebly

“I gathered that much,” I reply forgetting my manners. “How long has this been going on for?”

“About six months,” Polly says gravely, I feel sick to the stomach. “And we only get to see each other at night so please don’t tell on us Rosetta, please.” I sit down in Ms Bumble’s chair and try to make sense of the situation.

“How did this happen?” I think aloud. Polly and Harrods glance at each other.

“It was my fault,” Polly says quietly “it all started last spring, when Miss Pinkerton left the academy, James was the new teacher and I fell in love with him the moment I saw him. Pippa warned me not to get involved in such a scandalous situation but I couldn’t help myself. I decide I needed to get alone with James so I purposely began to perform badly in my art, I begged James for extra tuition after lessons and eventually he gave in. I started going to see him every night and we fell in love.”

I squirm as she mentions love for I did not have Polly down as the sentimental type.

“We continued to see each other and James even began to paint the most beautiful portraits of me, all of the other girls know about us but I wanted to keep it from you a little longer to make sure I could trust you,” Polly looks me in the eye and I believe that she truly means what she says.

“Very well,” I sigh “I shan’t say a word.” Polly sighs and her shoulders relax, Mr Harrods straightens his tie and sighs.

“I should like to thank you Miss Heroski,” he says nervously, Polly rolls her eyes and pushed him towards me,

“Look let’s drop the formalities shall we?” she says a hint of her usual steel returning, “Rosetta this is James, James this is Rosetta,” she laughs haughtily and ‘James’ offers me his hand to shake.

“How very nice to meet you,” I giggle and curtsey. We all laugh and for a moment I fear we shall be heard.

“May I ask,” James says wiping a tear from his eye “What exactly are you doing down here at this time of night?”

“Yes, what were you up to?” Polly asks with enthusiasm, I cringe for now I do not want to bring up the heated debate we had earlier that night.

“Oh, nothing,” I say trying to sound indifferent; Polly raises an eyebrow, which seems to be a signature move for her. “Well, if you must know I was looking for the keys to the front door,” I say to her, her sceptical look fades and she smiles slightly.

“Oh Rosetta, you didn’t have to do that!” she rushes forward with her arms outstretched and embraces me like an old friend. I see James scratch his head in confusion,

“I shall explain later,” Polly says dismissively

“You know I could get you expelled,” he says to me

“I could get you fired.” I reply smoothly. He flinches and the room is filled with an awkward silence. Polly suddenly bursts out in a false laugh.

“Good one Rosetta! Good one!” she says as she pretends to hold back her laugh. James and I titter in response and the air clears.

“You two had better get back to your rooms,” James says rolling his sleeves up “I’ll tidy this up.” He sighs regarding the mess around him. Polly nods her head vigorously and she hitches her skirts to make a hurried escape. I follow suit and the two of us scurry upstairs like mice on the run from a tabby cat. Once back in the safety of our corridor the two of us stop to breathe. Polly smiles small at me and her eyes are sad and apologetic.

“About earlier this evening,” she says quietly without looking me in the eye “I am genuinely sorry, I was a brat, it’s just that I was angry with myself for...” she goes silent suddenly as if she is hiding something from me.

“For what?” I ask intrigued “What Polly?”

She looks me straight in the eye and her perfect brow creases slightly as though in pain.

“I did not want you to become a Sister,” she says softly. I stare at her; I am not upset merely confused, why would she suppress me becoming a Sister? “The other girls said you were perfect material to become one of us-and I am not denying that,” she adds quickly as if worried to offend me but I am still simply confused, my insides are twisting slightly with worry. Polly always has come across as the ringleader of the girls, Anne is far too passive, and Nancy does not have the correct leadership qualities and Pippa too immature to be behind the group’s plans. Polly is probably the only one who has any power and if she does not think I am cut out to be a member of Sisters Bohemia then she will banish me from them. But surely if Polly did not want me there then I would not be here in the first place? They cannot possibly get rid of me now, not after all of the foolish spectacles I have made of myself as a result of their ‘tests.’

“Listen Rosetta, you are a wonderful addition to the Sisters but I did not want you because I felt that you would be better placed in a more structured world, ours is chaotic and shameful,” she says and I wonder if she is referring to her and James. “But you are here and you are a Sister and there is nothing I can do about it,” I interject before she makes the situation even more awkward.

“Please Polly, let me be, if I do not fit in then I will leave and never bother you and your friends again,” I try to lighten the atmosphere but her gaze turns icy.

“You’re wrong Rosetta,” she snaps “If you do not fit in then on your head be it, there is no turning back now, once you’re in you’re in for good, we don’t have second chances in life, you made this decision and you should stick to it, else it will end in tears for all of us.” And with that she turns on her heels and disappears down the corridor. I scowl unwilling to let her silly threats get the better of me, if I decide I’d like to leave the Sisters then leave them I will! I storm into my room not caring about waking Anne for I know she can sleep through an earthquake.

How dare her! How dare she threaten me like that especially after making me feel like such an invalid earlier this evening! If only I had gotten to that key, if she had not barged in with her fancy piece then maybe I’d have been able to find it. I sit down on my bed exhausted, frolicking around with her teacher, the dirty mare. I smile to myself, satisfied with the description.

The next morning at breakfast neither Polly nor I mention the events of last night, I think we are both too embarrassed to bring the topic up for conversation. Pippa is pouting for she still wants to go and visit the ‘mysterious strangers’ in the forest.

“Pipe down Pippa dear, you’re moaning is giving me a headache,” Nancy scowls from across the breakfast table.

“If only Rosetta had bothered to get those keys,” Pippa whines as if I am not present “Had she not been so selfish then maybe we’d be down in the forest right now rather than sitting here eating lumpy old gruel!” she slams her spoon onto the table like a spoilt child. I scowl; I wish Polly would defend me, after all I did go down to the office last night to find those keys, but then again there is slim a chance that Polly will ever be civil towards me. She is such a stubborn mare.

“Rosetta you are awfully selfish,” Pippa sulks, folding her arms across her well developed front.

“Oh we’re still talking about me I see,” I quip feeling the anger build up inside me, Anne and Nancy both give me looks as if to warn me but I do not care about Pippa’s reaction right now I am simply too vexed to care at all.

“I am sorry to have upset you Rosetta dear!” Pippa says flaring up as she does so, “but I was under the impression that you wanted to keep your new found friends?” she has a satisfied smirk on her pretty little face but it will not deter me, I am full of fight this morning.

“Apology accepted Pippa darling,” I coo with false sincerity “now if you still wish to become acquainted with the strangers in the wood then I suggest you walk your pretty little face down to Bumble’s office and get the keys yourself instead of making me do all of your donkey work!” I cannot stop myself from shouting a little towards the end of my rant. Pippa stares at me in surprise and I spot her lower lip curling. Now you’ve done it Rosetta, caused yet another argument! But Pippa does not snap back at me instead she simply bursts out laughing,

“Oh Rosetta!” she giggles “you are feisty! I don’t think anybody has ever spoken against me before!” she smiles and wipes a tear from her eye “You certainly showed me who is in charge!”

“Please Pip, she’s not the first person to have spoken back to you,” Nancy says rolling her eyes “I’ve done that a million times,”

“Oh whatever,” Pippa snaps readjusting her hair. “It’s just I could do with some excitement for a change, nothing ever happens around here it’s all so boring!” she sighs dramatically, we fall into silence and I have the feeling that the others are all thinking the same thing. I spy Polly looking thoughtful over on the other side of the table.

“Well, maybe there is something I could do,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. Pippa’s eyes widen and she leans in closer to Polly,

“What? What do you have in mind?” she asks excitedly but Polly simply grins and smiles.

“All will be revealed,” she says pertly. I wonder because I have the terrible feeling that her little idea involves a certain Mr Harrods. The bell sounds for lessons and we all get up and head toward our classroom, I catch Polly by the arm as she gets up.

“You’re not going to involve Mr Harrods in your plan are you? We wouldn’t want to get him into trouble.”

“Rosetta, you must understand that what I decide to do with James is my business, none of the other girls have ever stuck their noses in before and I don’t think that you are in a position to do so either.” Polly says venomously. I stare at her shocked by her harshness.

“Fine,” I say and walk away quickly before the two of us start to argue again.

That evening the group of us sit in my room. Nancy has brought a bottle of whiskey to the room and is draining the bottle pretty much single handily, I worry that one of the maids will smell it when they clean the room in the morning. Polly keeps standing by the window and peering down below.

“I really hope that we get to go to some balls this year, after all, we are eligible now,” Pippa says dreamily her eyes glazing over. Nancy grunts and Anne shrinks, I gather that balls are not on their priority list. “Those gypsies have their fires burning again,” Pippa adds failing to sound casual.

Suddenly Polly jumps up from the bed,

“Alright girls, let’s go,” she says with a hunger in her voice, we stare blankly at her in unison,

“What do you mean ‘let’s go’?” Pippa echoes looking at Polly as if she may have lost her mind.

“What I mean is let’s go down to the forest and meet those strangers once and for all,” she says coolly. We all stare at her in silence, I am highly suspicious, exactly how does she intend to get us out of the building at this time of night?

“We shall get caught Polly,” whimpers Anne nervously

“Who’s going to catch us?” she retorts and Anne gawps at her like a goldfish “Come on girls, are you coming or not?” she says walking out of the door and leaving us all in a daze. I look around at the others; Anne is still impersonating a fish, Nancy seems blissfully unaware of the conversation as she drains the remains of the whiskey from the bottle. Only Pippa seems intrigued.

“What do think Rosetta?” she asks me, her eyes dancing with excitement.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully, I am worried that Polly may do something incredibly stupid and get us all into trouble.

“Well I’m going,” Nancy slurs from across the room, she gets up and sways over to the door, “Come on Anne,” she laughs yanking Anne by the elbow and dragging her out through the door. Pippa stares after them and then turns to me.

“Well?”

I squirm under the scrutiny, I wish I could simply have a quiet night in but it seems that I have made friends with the wrong sort if that is all I ever want to do. The sudden thought of rebelling sends a pulse through my body and I suddenly feel ready for anything.

“Let’s go!” I smile.