Born Wicked

I lean forward, curious. “How so?”

“It seems you’ve been isolated since your mother’s death. Maura feels the lack of companionship. I can be a friend to her. Let’s be honest, shall we? My job here is less about teaching you French—I understand Tess is already quite fluent—and more about teaching you how to make conversation with dull people you don’t care for. Whatever your reasons for keeping apart”—she fixes me with a look that’s more than a little unnerving—“you’re clearly beginning to attract attention. Mrs. Corbett says you’ve developed a reputation as bluestockings.

“The Brotherhood is quite firm about women’s roles. We are to be seen and not heard. Men want wives who are meek and agreeable, not clever and opinionated. You must learn to be more pleasing, Cate. For your own safety. I can help you do that.”

I narrow my eyes. “Become a pretty little doll, you mean?”

“Become a woman who knows when to keep her mouth shut.” Elena’s voice is like a whip, and I flinch as though she’s struck me. “Has it occurred to you that not all women who refuse to flout convention are mindless? Perhaps it means that they’re clever enough to remain inconspicuous.”

Is she implying that our reputation is my fault? That I’ve mishandled things because I’m notcleverenough? I’ve kept my sisters out of Harwood, away from the Brotherhood and their snooping informants. Whatever the old cows in town might say about us, I consider that a success.

“Is that what you did with Regina Corbett? Taught her to be less threatening?” I smirk.

Elena doesn’t rise to the bait. “Regina has no brains to speak of. Her mother paid me handsomely to ensure that she married suitably. She had no other options. You and your sisters are a different case. You could do very well for yourselves.”

“What does that mean? To do well?” I’m curious. Her frank assessment of Regina—it almost makes me like her.

“You could marry, too, if that’s what you want.”Like Regina,her tone seems to say dismissively.Like every other empty-headed nitwit.“It seems you have a suitor. Or. There’s the Sisterhood. The three of you are scholarly, are you not?”

“Tess and Maura are.” My face burns, remembering Father’s impatience with me. I struggled to keep all the old gods and goddesses and their exploits straight, I faltered over which declension to use, I butchered my pronunciations. I can add and subtract and multiply numbers in my head faster than he can, but what good is that besides keeping the household ledgers? Women aren’t allowed to have their own money.

“Well.” Elena’s mouth purses, and I find myself unhappy to have disappointed her. “The Sisters would allow you to continue your education. Their libraries in New London are marvelous. The gardens, too. And they appreciate learned women.”

“We are not a very pious family,” I point out.

She shrugs one enormous puffed sleeve. “There are ways around that. They took me in when I was orphaned. Gave me a home and an education. If you’re interested, I’m certain I could get them to grant you an interview. Or Maura. Even Tess—girls start at the convent school at ten.”

The way Elena describes the Sisterhood, it doesn’t sound so impossible. The three of us could stay together, at least, and look out for one another. But wouldn’t we have to take orders swearing to uphold the Brotherhood’s teachings? Study scriptures and pray all day, surrounded by dozens of other religious girls—girls who would surely condemn us if they learned what we are?

“You’ve been here only a few hours. I think deciding the course of our future is a bit premature.”

“I disagree. It’s vital for girls your age to consider your options. Lord knows there aren’t many.” Elena rolls her eyes, her exasperation obvious. It makes me wonder how she fits in with the Sisters. Aren’t they meant to be models of womanhood? She hardly seems the meek and subservient sort. “You could be happy in New London; I feel certain of it.”

“You barely know me,” I point out, bristling. “How do you know what I’d like?”

“Well, you don’t seem very happy here,” she says bluntly, and I wince. It’s not Chatham that’s the problem; I love my garden and our house and the rolling farmland that surrounds it. It’s the Brothers and the looming deadline for my intention that plague me. “Just think about it, Cate. Don’t jump to conclusions before you gather all the facts. It is possible for other people to have clever ideas, you know.”

I open my mouth to argue—to rail at her for her impertinence—but Elena just smiles and sweeps out of the room.

I don’t know much about the Sisters. Mother studied at their convent school when she was a girl, but she seldom spoke of it. She met Father when she was sixteen and left the school a month later to marry him. It happened so fast; I used to think it was all very romantic. Now, knowing how little she trusted him with the things that really mattered, I wonder whether she had other reasons for wanting to leave the Sisterhood.

I’m just outside my room, eager to get back to Mother’s diary, when Maura charges up the stairs behind me, grabs my wrist, and drags me into her room. “What?” I ask, annoyed.

“What do you think?” she whisper-shrieks, closing the door.

I bounce onto her bed, rumpling the coverlet. Lily must have been in already; Maura never makes her bed. “Of what?”

She curls up in her window seat. “Of Elena, goose.”

“Oh.” I can tell by the excitement in her voice that she likes her. “Too soon to say. I wouldn’t go telling her any of our secrets yet.”

“So I shouldn’t have let her read my diary then?” Maura asks, wide eyed with alarm.

I shoot to my feet, not realizing the joke until she giggles. “You don’t really keep a diary, do you?” I sigh.

“Not really,” she clarifies. “Lord, you’re jumpy as a cat. Sit down.”

I sit, grabbing one of her pillows, turning it over in my hands.Familyis embroidered in wobbly pink letters across the front, surrounded with hearts and flowers. I have a matching one in blue. “I don’t like having a stranger around.”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear. She seems nice, though, doesn’t she? Not at all what I expected. I remembered she was pretty, but her dresses! I helped her unpack her things and they’re all like that. All fancy brocades and those taffeta petticoats and silks. She even has”—Maura lowers her voice, flushing—“silk underthings. And she has the dearest kid gloves for church, and the prettiest green velvet slippers with little embroidered pink roses! I told her we don’t have anything new, and she said she’d talk to Father about it, that perhaps we could get something made up quick in time for Mrs. Ishida’s tea, if he’s willing to pay a bit extra.”

“We don’t need all that,” I argue.

“We do, too. Just because you’re content to tramp around the gardens like some—wait. How did your visit with Paul go? He was flirting with you, wasn’t he? Where did he learn that, I wonder?”

I think of what Paul said about going wild in New London. I don’t like the idea of him flirting with other girls, escorting them home from services. Not one bit. But he came back for me, didn’t he? I think of his voice in my ear, his breath tickling my neck, and hug Maura’s pillow to my chest. I wonder what it would be like to have a proper kiss. Or improper, depending.