Page 29 of Rules for Ruin (The Crinoline Academy #1)

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A short hackney cab drive later, Effie arrived at the tall black iron gates of the Academy. This time, she didn’t remain there, waiting impatiently for one of the junior teachers to let her in. Effie was no guest. No former inmate visiting her onetime place of confinement. She was a young lady returning home. She did what she’d been trained to do. She picked the lock.

It was slightly more difficult than the mechanism of an interior door or a simple desk drawer, but no match for her determination. Stabbing her dragonfly hairpins back into her rolled coiffure, Effie entered the grounds, shutting the gates behind her.

She strode up the pebbled path with uncommon purpose. She’d almost reached the door when Nell emerged. She wore a plain stuff dress, covered in a neatly starched apron.

Her eyes went wide. “Effie! What in the world—”

“I’ve come to see her,” Effie said. “I know you advised me not to return, but it can’t be helped. Circumstances demand it.”

Nell frowned, but she didn’t question her. She stepped back, admitting Effie into the empty hall. There were no students about at this time of day. The hour was yet early. They would still be in their classes.

“I just received your latest samplers this morning,” Nell said. “I gave them to Miss Corvus. It’s she who determines my replies.”

“She can reply to me herself.” Effie removed her bonnet and gloves. “Is she doing any better?”

“A great deal better, in fact. She still keeps to her rooms, but she’s growing stronger by the day. A period of enforced rest has worked miracles on her constitution.”

The weight of worry Effie had been carrying these many weeks began to ease. She had been afraid for her former teacher. Frightened she would die. It had made no sense at the time, given Effie’s bitterness toward Miss Corvus. But it made sense to her now.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” she said. “Will you take me to her?”

“Of course.” Nell escorted Effie through the hall. The painting of Judith Slaying Holofernes loomed large ahead of them. So, too, the portrait of Miss Corvus standing in the doorway. Effie glanced at them as they passed, taking comfort from their familiarity.

Arriving at the iron-banded wooden doors that marked Miss Corvus’s private chambers, Nell knocked once.

“Come!” Miss Corvus called out.

Nell opened the door. The faint, sickly sweet fragrance of decay emerged, tickling Effie’s nose just as it had when she’d opened the medieval books in Compton’s library.

“Miss Flite has come to see you, ma’am,” Nell said. “Shall I—”

“Send her in,” Miss Corvus replied tersely.

This time, Effie didn’t quail at the sound of her old schoolmistress’s voice. On the contrary, she was rather impatient to face her. Squaring her shoulders, she entered the cool, black-shrouded darkness of Miss Corvus’s rooms.

Nell moved to close the door after her. “I shall give you privacy.”

“There’s no need,” Effie said. “Indeed, I had rather you joined us.”

· · ·

Seated in the armchair across from Miss Corvus, Effie related what she’d learned about her mother, leaving out only the parts that overtly involved Gabriel Royce. She owed Nell and Miss Corvus honesty, but some things were lately too private to share. Gabriel was one of them.

It had been but a short time since Effie had left him on the train. Less than an hour altogether, yet her heart was still aching with love for him. It wasn’t a burdensome ache. Quite the reverse. Knowing he cared for her and that she cared for him in return was a powerful elixir. It bolstered Effie’s courage, giving her the strength to face Miss Corvus and to recount the awful details of what Mrs.Young had shared in Trowley Green.

Nell remained standing by the black-curtained window as Effie finished her tale, her arms folded and her face gone pale with sympathetic anguish.

Miss Corvus was similarly solemn, though it was irritation that etched her hardened countenance, not fellow feeling. She hadn’t expected visitors today. Rather than her usual black silk, she was dressed in a gray flannel dressing gown. A linen handkerchief was crumpled in her hand.

“How much did you know of all this?” Effie asked her.

Miss Corvus remained silent. The malachite table was arrayed beside her, just as it had been on Effie’s last visit. The same tray sat upon it, holding a glass of water, a silver pitcher, and a brown bottle of patent medicine. Despite the evidence of the sickroom, Miss Corvus did appear to be improving in health. She sat taller in her green damask chair, her eyes alert and her face no longer waxen with illness.

“Surely, there’s no point in keeping secrets anymore,” Effie said. “I already know the worst of it.”

“You should never have known any of it at all,” Miss Corvus snapped back at last. “What good has it done you to learn these dreadful things?”

“It is undeniably painful,” Effie admitted. “But—”

“From the first, you’ve been determined to disobey me,” Miss Corvus interrupted. “Every chance I’ve given you to spread your wings, you have used the opportunity to fly backward rather than forward.”

“Learning about my past was the only way I could go forward,” Effie told her. “You of all people should understand. The past may not decide our future but it certainly informs it. If you knew about the life I had before—”

“I knew nothing,” Miss Corvus said tightly. “Only that you were emaciated and filthy, and moved as silently as a cat. Had I not turned around at the flower stall in that precise moment, I’d never have known you’d stolen my reticule. I’d never have known you at all.” She adjusted the neck of her dressing gown with uncharacteristically restless fingers. “As for that creature…the woman you insist on calling mother …had I any knowledge of what she’d done to you, I’d never have criticized your fear of heights. Perhaps I was wrong to do so in any case. I might have guessed—”

“No one could have guessed at such cruelty,” Nell declared from her place by the window. “That a mother should treat her child so! Any child. My heart breaks for you, Effie.”

“Your heart needn’t trouble itself on my account,” Effie said. “I wanted understanding, and now I have it.” It hurt her, yes. But she couldn’t regret the knowledge of it. There were only a few finer points on which she still needed clarification. She turned to Miss Corvus. “Did you pay her for me?”

Miss Corvus’s hand stilled at her throat. “I took you to her that day, intending to give her a piece of my mind. She had a rented bed in a communal room in the slum. The state of it. Of her .” Her lip curled with disdain. “I’d already founded the orphanage. The trustees and I anticipated choosing girls from the workhouse. But when I saw the conditions in which you’d been living, and when that woman offered you to me—”

Effie’s brows shot up. “She offered me to you?”

“For a sum,” Miss Corvus said. “There have always been those who would buy little girls for unsavory purposes. Brothel keepers and the like. The woman plainly suspected I was one of them, and sought to make a few coins for herself in the bargain.”

Effie’s stomach revolted at the thought. She pressed a hand to her midsection, willing herself to remain calm and unemotional. But to think—her own mother would have sold her into such circumstances. It was sickening. Devastating. “How much did she ask of you?”

“Four pounds,” Miss Corvus said.

Effie exhaled a trembling breath.

Across the room, Nell angrily brushed a tear from her cheek.

“I paid it, naturally,” Miss Corvus said. “You were half-feral, but you were quick and fearless and undoubtedly bright. I was confident I could make something of you. I flatter myself I succeeded, despite your constant attempts to thwart me.”

“I always believed you’d taken me from someone who loved me,” Effie said.

“I’m well aware what you believed,” Miss Corvus replied. “It was better than you knowing the truth.”

“How could it have been?”

Miss Corvus gave a dismissive sniff, as though the answer were obvious. “You were too young,” she said simply. “The truth would have destroyed you. You were ill-equipped to hear it. It’s the very reason you couldn’t remember the details of the years before you came to me. The experience was too painful for you to recollect. I count it a mercy.”

Effie stared at her former teacher, a powerful emotion holding her in its grip. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that Miss Corvus had acted out of kindness rather than cruelty. Effie had already learned so much of late that cast her former teacher’s actions in a more flattering light. And yet, she was surprised anew, finally comprehending that someone had acted to protect her fragile young heart and mind from additional pain. Not her mother, it was true, but another woman. A stronger woman.

Miss Corvus had been that person, always.

“I daresay you were right,” Effie said. “But it has been a long while since I was a child. You might have told me anytime since I came of age. I’m a grown woman. So is Nell. We deserve your candor if nothing else. There should be no more secrets between us.”

“To what purpose?” Miss Corvus asked. “Your pedigrees don’t define you. Nor do the actions of those who would abuse or victimize you. We forge our own identities here. The two of you have done so, not by my will, but through your own. It’s that which marks your character. Your integrity and achievements, not any accident of birth.”

“ Do we forge our identities?” Effie asked. “Or are they manufactured for us?”

Miss Corvus’s lips compressed at the suggestion, but she didn’t deny it. She’d given them their names. Their knowledge. Their singular purpose.

“You taught us to be independent. To defend ourselves and think for ourselves.” Effie paused. “So long as our thoughts don’t diverge from yours.”

Miss Corvus flinched. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Your disapproval weighs heavily. That, and the promise of a stipend. I’d have done anything to earn them.”

“You never disagreed with my philosophy.”

“Not on principle,” Effie said. “But empowering women means allowing them to make their own decisions, for good or ill. Even if they wish to accept things as they are. To be part of society rather than battle against it.”

“Is that what you want?” Miss Corvus couldn’t hide her dismay. She looked from Effie to Nell and back again. “To be ordinary?”

“No,” Nell said. “It’s never been what I wanted.”

“Nor I,” Effie admitted. “But I’d rather it had been my choice. One made with full knowledge of my past.” She hesitated but a moment before asking, “What was I called before I came here?”

“Effie Grace,” Miss Corvus replied stiffly. “Not so very different from the name I bestowed on you.”

Effie nodded slowly. She felt no particular connection to her former name. Miss Corvus was right. Effie’s identity had been forged here at the Academy. She was Euphemia Flite now. Had been for more years than she’d ever been anyone else. “And what were you called?” she asked quietly.

Miss Corvus was silent for a long moment before answering. “Elizabeth Wingard.”

At last. Effie had often wondered. She exchanged a glance with Nell.

“Artemisia Gentileschi painted the original of the framed reproduction in the entry hall,” Miss Corvus said. “ Judith Slaying Holofernes . The epitome of a woman taking matters into her own hands. When I returned to England, I adopted her Christian name as my own. It seemed appropriate.”

“But not your surname,” Nell said. “For that you preferred a raven.”

Miss Corvus’s slim shoulder lifted in an offhand shrug. “Birds have always been a fascination of mine. Unlike people, they can fly away from their troubles. Among them, the raven is unique. An intelligent and prophetic bird. Ravens don’t abandon their young. They remain with them into early adulthood, flying beside them.”

Effie’s eyes prickled. She leaned forward in her seat in an earnest desire for understanding. “Why did you start the school? Was it because of what Lord Compton did to you?”

A spasm of pain crossed Miss Corvus’s face. She drew back in her chair, reaching for her glass of water. “What do you know of it?”

“I know you believed he would marry you. That instead, he and your half brother conspired to steal your fortune. I know you went abroad afterward and that you returned with a different name. A different fortune.”

“Not a fortune.” Miss Corvus took a sip of water before returning the glass to the tray beside her. “A small sum, only. It was the remainder of my inheritance from my mother. That, Compton and my brother didn’t manage to touch.” She dabbed at her lips with her handkerchief. “It was my father’s money they stole—in excess of fifty thousand pounds.”

Nell gasped at the figure. It was more than most people would see in a lifetime. “Why did you not go to the authorities?”

“And say what, pray?” Miss Corvus asked. “I had no proof. The documents were taken away by my brother before I fully realized what had happened—the entirety of my correspondence with Compton, the little tokens of esteem he’d given me, the copies of the papers he’d bid me sign. All that remained was my own accounting of the events. Had I come forward, it would have been reduced to my word against his.”

“You surely would have prevailed,” Nell said. “If he was found to be in possession of your money and property—”

Miss Corvus gave a derisive snort. “Do you have any idea of the scandal it would have caused? What it would have done to what remained of my reputation? At the time, that was all I had left to sustain me. But to go public…Me, a jilted young lady, claiming such things against a man who no longer wanted me? A spinster scorned? I was already considered odd. Isolated. Friendless. While Compton—he had gone to London. He had allies. Connections.”

“He went to London on your money,” Effie said angrily. “It’s how he was able to marry an heiress, making himself even richer and more powerful.”

“Do you imagine I don’t know it?” Miss Corvus’s face darkened with remembered fury. “I was obliged to flee, as if I were the one who had done wrong. To relinquish my home. To change my name. For a time, I thought only of avenging myself on him. Even when I returned from the continent, even when I started the school.” She looked at Effie with mingled bitterness and regret. “Even when I met you. I thought to forge you into a weapon. Not only against Compton, but against all men. You, Miss Trewlove, and Miss Sparrow—the three oldest of my girls. My formidable, intelligent army of women. No man could ever take advantage of any of you. You were too bright. Too dangerous. I gave you that.”

“You did,” Nell murmured. “Yet still you permit Compton to take advantage of you.”

“We are not the same,” Miss Corvus said.

“The devil we aren’t,” Effie retorted. “You made us in your image.”

“No,” Miss Corvus said. “I made you into what I wished I could be myself.” She lowered her handkerchief from her lips. “I was raised as are most respectable British girls. Kept in ignorance of politics and the law. Brought up so the world—and even my own body—was a mystery to me. Only after having been exploited did I recognize what I was lacking. It was other women who illuminated me. They guided me during my time on the continent. Strong, extraordinary females. They already knew then what I was only coming to comprehend, that absent knowledge, absent rights, ladies are obliged to seek guidance from men. Our fathers, brothers, and husbands. It’s how they defeat us. It’s how they win.”

“But they can’t win,” Nell said. “Not if we fight. Not if you fight.”

Miss Corvus shook her head. “My battle is long past. You’re the fighters now. That’s what I’ve given you. The skill to affect conformity and the grace to move in society, when all the while you’re focused on the future. Not just for yourselves, but for all women.”

“A woman looking through a doorway, not behind her,” Effie murmured, thinking of Miss Corvus’s portrait. “Her true face hidden from the world.”

“In time, perhaps, society will be different,” Miss Corvus said. “When that day comes, we can show them who we truly are. For now, we must adhere to our roles. To change the world, we must seem to be of the world. And the world at the moment is no respecter of women’s strength.”

“Perhaps that’s the problem,” Nell suggested. “Perhaps we should show them our strength.”

“And terrify the men in power?” Miss Corvus scoffed.

“Perhaps they should be terrified,” Effie replied.

Miss Corvus again shook her head, sternly dismissing the idea. “They would be even less likely to enact change for our benefit. No. You must do no more and no less than exactly as I’ve told you to do. Find evidence of Compton’s wrongdoing so we might expose him.”

“There’s nothing yet to connect him to any wrongdoing except that which he did to you,” Effie said. “ That must be how we destroy him.”

“I agree,” Nell said. “It will be unpleasant for you to relive it, but—”

“He can’t harm me now,” Miss Corvus said. “I left Elizabeth Wingard on the road somewhere between Paris and Marseille. The world believes her dead. I intend her to remain so.”

“Then let her stay dead,” Effie said. “It can only worsen the narrative of Compton’s crimes against her.”

“There’s no proof of those crimes,” Miss Corvus said.

“There is,” Effie replied. “Not the documents your brother stole, I grant you, but the translation of Aristotle’s Historia Animalium . I told you in my latest sampler, it has your note in it. It proves a connection—a contract of engagement. And the fact that he’s now in possession of your entire collection…Surely, that must count for something?”

“A revelation, admittedly,” Miss Corvus acknowledged. “I’d have thought he would have sold it by now.”

“It belonged to your family?” Nell asked.

“My mother’s branch. One of our treasured possessions. Generations upon generations had safeguarded it for centuries.” A rare trace of self-loathing infiltrated Miss Corvus’s voice. “All for me to give it to a man for whom I was deluded enough to cherish an affection. If I never see it again, it will be no less than I deserve.”

“I shall get it back for you,” Effie said.

Miss Corvus blinked. “Impossible.”

“Not the whole collection,” Effie amended. “Even I have my limits. But I can certainly retrieve the book that holds your message to Compton. It’s proof, if you’re willing to use it.”

Miss Corvus stared down at her hands for a moment, appearing to wrestle with her thoughts. Longing and regret warred in her face. “Very well,” she said at last, lifting her gaze. “Bring it to me if you can. I shall know how to act.”

“And if that fails?” Nell crossed toward them from the window, arms still folded at her waist. “If you’re unsuccessful in retrieving the book. Or worse—if it’s not enough to undo the man. What then, Effie? What is your contingency plan?”

Effie’s mouth hitched at one corner. “Chaos,” she replied. “What else?”