Well, I fall into a routine. I’m in a place where I can happily sit with Violet, Helena, Jemima and Mabel for all three meals and spend some time with them in the afternoon and we go for a morning walk (when it’s not raining or too blustery). The discomfort I felt worn away by sheer stubbornness. Despite what people like to smugly say, a lot of problems go away if you ignore them for long enough. Of course, I’m not saying every problem will go away, but many do.

Friday goes like any other day. For embroidery club, I go pick up my blue fabric to cut out. Neither Violet nor Helena come visit, but Evan and Cyril join me, keeping to themselves and leaving me to my work. It’s still a while until the fabric Ms Berks ordered will get here, but I’m ready to say that this is for the exhibition if anyone does ask.

With my excuse for the weekend accepted (not that I’m actually lying about what I’m doing), I try to balance the time I’ll miss with my friends by spending most of the afternoon and evening in the lounge. It’s easier than I expected, just doing homework and a sort of revision session. Violet takes her education rather seriously.

The weekend, then, is, well, normal. I eat early and head out to town while it’s quiet, Len leading me to Lottie’s house for tea and talking. And work is, well, work. Waitressing with some chatting here and there. The other Len is getting really excited for her wedding and it has infected everyone else. Um, maybe not Neville. (Terri wants to see the dress.) I’ve picked up that Millie and Annie are going, and I think the Thatchers were invited but declined. Hard to take time off when you’re the boss. Although Iris could go by herself, I guess she doesn’t want to leave the café entirely short-staffed on the day.

For the afternoon, I get started on sewing my blue dress, and then spend the evening with everyone in the lounge. Just by being there so often, I’m getting a better idea of all the little groups of friends, until now mostly only aware of how the ladies in my class grouped up. Well, I already knew that Ladies Challock and Lenham are friends with Ladies Tudeley and Capel (from coming to the café together); however, Lady Ashford is actually closer friends with ladies from another class. I always see her with Ladies Challock and Lenham in class, so I (wrongly it turns out) assumed they were close friends.

Sunday is still tricky because of Lottie and Gwen attending church. I want to leave while most ladies are busy with breakfast, the best way to avoid running into anyone while I’m dressed up, so I decide I’ll just have to impose on Neville. That said, I do try and dawdle on the way in to town, wander past the stalls again. From what I hear, people think it’ll snow soon. That would be nice.

Even with all that, I turn up for a nine o’clock shift at eight or so. Oh well. Iris is surprised to see me, catching her washing uniforms (I guess belonging to the girls that work here during the week), but it’s a happy surprise. I almost offer to help her, and I still really feel the urge to offer to help even after stopping myself, yet it would be… poor etiquette. Like, she doesn’t need my help and I’m not being paid to be helpful right now. Maybe that’s just an upper-class thing. Don’t get in the way of maids doing their job, that sort of thing.

However, I can talk to her as long as I’m not distracting her. She seems comfortable working and chatting, so we do, mostly me asking what the café is like during the week. (To summarise what she tells me: busy.)

Eventually, I get changed and do have the chance to be helpful, sweeping the floor and setting the chairs neatly at the tables while she does the flowers. The other waitresses arrive, soon enough the store opening, serving guests regular and new. As always, Neville assigns me to the ladies from King Rupert’s.

When it comes to the evening, I feel a little lonely. I really liked having Violet come visit for an hour or two. These days, my Violet time is diluted. We don’t talk about the same things with everyone else around, don’t talk as frankly, a hesitation that I’m not used to getting between me and what I want to say. Even with Helena, I’m glad I had the opportunity to… open up to her.

Ah, there must be something about weekends that dampens my mood. This is the real reason why teenagers have to go to school and get given so much homework, bottomless pits of despair if left to their own devices for too long.

I’m joking, of course, probably just tired from working. I took a month off, so just getting used to it again. Maybe.

Monday, well, it goes by. Tuesday, Wednesday, and it’s the weekend again before I know it. I mean, nothing interesting happened. Violet and Helena didn’t come to either embroidery club, and I didn’t even speak to sleepy prince at water magic class, and for earth magic class we planted sweet peas, which mostly consisted of Julian complaining that I was being too rough and otherwise I asked him about flowers, his knowledge half-decent for someone who didn’t have to take any flower-related classes in his last school. My new dress is coming along well, the kites I settled on hardly taking any time to sew, much simpler than my last patterns. Maybe a week or two to finish? Should be just in time for the new fabrics to arrive.

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Like the week, the weekend goes by in a pleasant yet unsurprising way. A letter from home, and my letters to Ellen and Florence should have arrived, sewing and homework and chatting. I don’t really feel like I’m becoming closer to Jemima or Mabel, but I’m sure that’s because I’m used to oversharing and moving things along way too quickly. Really, this is how it’s supposed to be. Little by little.

And then another week flashes by, and I’m finalising a birthday present for my mother (it’s rather handy having Clarice home, father entirely unable to keep a secret from his wife), and I’ve not even thought of troublesome things like Gerald and Leo and Gerald (and Leo), and certainly not worried over anything other than homework. I’ve just enjoyed myself, teasing Evan, teasing Julian, not teasing Cyril. Belonging to a group of friends is something I’m still adjusting to, still hesitant to speak up, afraid of embarrassing myself with a bad joke or coming off as rude and all those little things that get to shy people when they’re not entirely comfortable. Despite that, I’m enjoying my time with my friends and trying my best to include myself in conversations.

I even finished my dress, so I’m proudly wearing it (underneath my coat) as I come into town. Being Sunday, I’ll only get to show Lottie and Gwen after work, but I have something great to talk about with Iris until our shift starts. It’s the sort of cheery mood that could survive anything.

Arriving at the staff entrance to the café, I bow my head to (maid) Len, silently dismissing her. I take a deep breath to prepare myself, and then push open the door and slip inside. It’s quiet at this hour but for the kitchen, the cooks having preparations of their own, and I can’t tell where Iris is by ear. No need to carry my handbag around, I go to check for her in the dressing room first. Not wanting to be misunderstood as a thief or something like that, I say a hullo to the cooks on the way. The door to the dressing room ajar, I don’t have to knock, so I go straight in, bumping it with my hip enough to squeeze through and already taking my coat off.

And my good mood evaporates as I see Len sitting there with unshed tears.

Although she instantly reacts to me, she can’t dry her eyes before I see, can’t hide the blotches on her face behind a half-hearted smile. “Ah, Ellie, you’re really early,” she says, her voice strained.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, my own heart already aching out of sympathy. I hope it’s not something to do with her fiancé, but I’m deeply afraid that it must be. What else could upset her like this? Her family, maybe? I hope nothing happened to her parents, or her sister or brother.

She clears her throat, but it doesn’t help her sound any better. “Oh it’s nothing,” she mumbles.

“If it’s nothing, then you won’t mind telling me,” I say, resting a hand on top of hers and giving it a squeeze.

She tries to look me in the eye, only for her gaze to slip to the side and gradually fall to the floor in front of her. From what I can see, there’s nothing worth looking at between her feet. “The, um, church where the wedding….”

Oh no, it’s been so windy recently. “A tree, or?” I say, trying to prompt her.

She nods.

What a nightmare for her, the church being damaged by a falling tree just a month before her wedding. No wonder she’s beside herself. All that planning, inviting family and friends, probably paying for a coach or two, gone to waste. Of course, they could still have the ceremony outside or in a side hall (no idea how damaged the church is), but it won’t be what she wanted, will it? And if it rains….

I mean, it’s like ordering pasta and getting served pizza. Even if you like pizza, it’s disappointing, right?

Not even sure if I should ask this, I do it anyway, wanting to avoid an awkward silence. “Say, where would you get married if you could choose anywhere? The Royal Palace gardens?”

A second, and then she laughs. It’s not as pretty as her usual laugh, but it sounds all the sweeter right now, and she follows it up with a bittersweet smile. “I didn’t think you’d be so romantic,” she says.

“It’s not where I would choose, but I’ve heard it a lot,” I say, somewhat lying—it’s where Violet said she wanted to get married, back when we were children.

Len lets out a sigh, her composure mostly back now. “I guess that’d be nice. But really, any of those great manors would do. Iris told me the Kent estate even has a lake—wouldn’t that be wonderful? Standing by the water, surrounded by acres of meadow….”

I resist the urge to blurt out that it’s more of a pond. However, I can’t resist the urge to help.

“So, if you could, you would?” I ask.

She softly laughs it off until she looks up and sees my face. Her expression sort of crumples, from relaxed to a frown. “You’re not thinking of asking Lottie, are you? I know Lady Kent visited here with her, but she was just a maid—you know that, right?”

I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t going to,” I quietly say.

“That’s good, you had me worried there,” she says, breaking into a relieved expression. “It’s not good to put people in those kinds of positions, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” I whisper.

There’s silence for a moment that’s then broken by her, a long sigh accompanied by her brushing the front of her dress before she stands up. “Thank you, that’s helped settle my heart. I left the house early thinking the fresh air would do me good, but all I’ve done is imposed on you and Iris,” she says, putting on a smile.

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just glad I could help,” I say, my own smile far from natural, and then a thought comes to me. “Ah, you didn’t answer me, did you?”

She idly combs a couple of fingers through her fringe, I think a nervous habit of hers. “I guess, yeah, that would be my dream wedding.”

And my heart aches selfishly in my chest, not for her sake, but because I know that I’m going to lose my place here. Yet I don’t for a second consider letting this go.

I mean, she’s my friend, isn’t she? I have to make her dream come true.