“Are your shoes properly buckled?”

Olli stuck one shiny black shoe out, “yes.”

Miss Marsh with her cool eyes looked down her sharp nose at the offered limb. “Miss Olivia, you should not hold your leg out at such an angle. It is unbecoming for a young lady.”

“Why?”

Miss Marsh took up her heavy grey skirt in her own hands, pulling up first the skirt proper, then some of the petticoats beneath to reveal the grey boot she was wearing, the silver buttons briefly catching the light. “Doing something like this may imply an interest in a gentleman, or that you are of poor morals. Petticoats are not for the viewing of the public, and your own legs should remain firmly concealed. Especially in winter or any unusually cold days.”

When Miss Marsh had turned away to grab her bonnet, Olli stuck her tongue out. But she smoothed down her own slightly wrinkled blue dress to make sure no folds of petticoat had bunched up.

It had been a week since they had arrived at Rotwood and rather than getting to explore her new surroundings, find out where the de Mausargille siblings lived, or go anywhere interesting they had been shut up the entire time in what she was told was the nursery (although there were no babies).

Miss Marsh had very unfairly in Olli’s opinion declared that they had slackened too much in Olli’s education the past twelve days and that they would need to make up for it. So Olli spent most of her day hunched over her slate tablet, or her paper with the rough pencil in hand, writing down the various exercises in writing and arithmetic that Miss Marsh issued forth. This was enlived with geography from a yellowing map found in one room, music lessons on the dust choked piano and with a viola, and plenty of reading. But not interesting reading, it was mind-numbing drudgery of history and long stiff poets. Who won the Battle of Linder River? Who wrote ‘The Maiden Well’? When was the Black-toothed Cat spotted in the reign of King Cynbald, and what county burned six hundred of their cattle to appease the Apparition of the Auspex of Dreams?

These lessons had taken up so much time that neither Olli nor Miss Marsh had even stepped a toe out of the nursery, much less Rotwood itself.

To make matters worse, Theodore had been out of the house to attend to matters she was not told anything about, and a letter from Motzy had fallen into a puddle by accident so Olli did not even have the comfort of that.

Yet the light at the end of a tunnel made up of slate and paper had finally arrived. Before Theodore had left in the very early hours of the morning, he had made a list of addresses and names and gave them to Miss Marsh.

As the official feminine representation of Earl Graef, they would be going around Grovecross to do some ‘visiting’.

“Are we prepared, Miss Olivia?” Miss Marsh asked, her voice flat and stern.

“Yes.”

“Say ‘yes, Miss Marsh’.”

“Yes, Miss Marsh,” Olli did her best to not harrumph.

“Take my hand,” Miss Marsh ordered, offering her gloved hand to her. So Olli took it and they both stepped out of the manor.

Mister Burke was waiting for them outside next to what looked like a wooden tub on two wheels, and a fat black and white pony. “G-good morning, Miss Marsh, Miss Olli,” he greeted, rubbing his hands together anxiously. “S-so, I got a pony. I was assured this is a very good tempered one, th-the earl said money was no problem but I feel terrible spending it and-”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Thank you very much, Mister Burke,” said Miss Marsh gently, obviously sensing the poor man was about to start spiraling. Olli reached over and gave him a comforting pat as Miss Marsh continued, “it is a fine specimen you have procured for us, and do not worry for I am a neat hand with a governess cart… perhaps you should go inside and have some tea?”

“Tea?”

“Did you eat today?” Miss Marsh asked, “you look pale.”

Mister Burke blinked, then suddenly nodded. “Ah, yes! I should get something to eat. I have been feeling terrible all day today, that must be why!”

“Why didn’t you eat breakfast?” Olli asked.

“Oh, I woke up early to walk over to Bellforge to buy the pony,” he replied, sheepish. “I did not want to arrive too late and have someone else take the pony. I believe… I believe I will go eat now, thank you very much for your suggestion Miss Marsh, Olli. Good day.”

“Have a good day, Mister Burke,” Miss Marsh spoke, and Olli parroted her.

Miss Marsh opened a wide door into the ‘governess cart’, and helped Olli inside before getting inside herself. The seats were like rigid benches with only a small stuffed cotton padding on top.

Thus, they were off at a trot.

Grovecross, Olli had learned entirely unwillingly, was still largely spared from the industrializing mania that swept through the City so it still had pleasant wide roads where their cart safely went past carriages, barouches, phaetons, coaches, dogcarts, donkeycarts, and wagons with decent space between them all.

Olli watched well appointed, although not ostentatious or even particularly interesting, shopfronts go by in a thoughtful silence. She glanced over at her governess, who was briefly checking the written addresses in hand, and wondered if Miss Marsh ever got bored of the constant drilling of lessons, or if she wished Theodore was around more. Although as she lingered on that thought she realized that Miss Marsh spent her time entirely in the nursery. Did she even see Theodore at all?

The cart came to a slow stop in front of a blue building tucked beside a pastry shop and another shop that simply declared its business as ‘COUNTING’.

“This is the first person we are visiting,” Miss Marsh said as she carefully stepped out of the cart and helped Olli out. “This is the dwelling of the Roots, the note said that Mrs Root is most likely to be home.”

“How long are we going to stay?” Olli asked, eyeing the blue building. It was two floors, with surprisingly large windows covered in thick blue curtains.

“It should be only fifteen to twenty minutes for a proper visit, any longer would be rude since it is unlikely they have any meal or tea prepared, while any shorter would be seen as a form of a snub.”

They went to the door and Miss Marsh knocked on it. After a moment, it was opened by a drab older man in plain dark clothes, who looked at the two with a frown. “Good morning, may I ask who you two are?” He asked in a voice equally drab.

“I am Miss Marsh, and this is Miss Olivia. We have come to pay a visit on behalf of the Earl of Brynebourne.”

The man’s face changed into something more differential. “Ah, good day to you both. Let me go speak to my mistress and tell her you are both here.” He then shut the door softly, and was only gone for a moment before he returned. “Mrs Root will see you now,” he reported, opening the door and stepping to the side to allow Olli and Miss Marsh in.

They were led down a very short undecorated hall into a small room dominated by a large painting of a dark haired woman laying upon a stone chaise-lounge. There was also a low black polished table, a fire place with a fire screen painted to have butterflies on it, three chairs, and a sofa dominated by a thin elderly woman with ring-encrusted fingers.

“Hello, dearies,” she greeted, rising to her feet slowly. “I knew that the earl would send a visit soon! How is he, by the by?”

“He is very well, thank you,” Miss Marsh said.

The old woman smiled, “I am happy to hear. What about Steven? Is he remembering to eat? He gets anxious very quickly.”

“Steven?” Olli frowned.

“Oh, Steven Burke. I forget not everyone uses his church name,” she said.

“Are you his grandmother?” Olli asked. She felt a sharp pinch on her ear and flinched, looking up at Miss Marsh with a scowl.

Mrs Root laughed, however. “Grandmother? Oh dear me, no. I’m his little sister!”