Chapter fifty-two: The New Teacher
Two days of silence and relative seclusion passed. Although, I was still forced to attend Matilda’s lessons of mass ignorance. After each “lesson” which was the equivalent of scolding and ruler slapping, I was directed back to my room.
On the third day, instead of being guided back to my quarters, one of the maids led us down a different corridor. She chatted about everything and anything – while speaking nothing of note. Each phrase she used sounded rehearsed and uncomfortable. She stopped talking when we reached an open door, and motioned me inside. I brushed past her and entered, unprepared for what was to come.
A woman who looked to be in her mid sixties stood with her back to me, holding a large book in her hand. She muttered to herself and slapped the book shut, turning around. Glasses, thick and on a braided string hung around her thin neck. Her eyes, beady and dark, narrowed.
“You must be the future Lady Blaine.” She clicked her tongue, walking over. “Hmm.” She rubbed her chin, scanning my face. “You have too much fire in you.” She pointed a bony finger toward a small table. “Sit.”
I sighed and sat down, not willing to argue with her. Even if I did, Justin would find out and most likely throw a fit.
“Back when I was young, proper women knew how to speak, think, and act,” she cleared her throat and walked before me, tapping the desk with her index finger. “You are not a lady. I don’t expect much from you, seeing as you are a bastard child.”
Then why are you teaching me, you old crone?
“My name is Madam Greston,” She turned around and pulled off fabric that had been, evidently, covering a large chalkboard. “You will only address me as Madam Greston or Madam. I will not tolerate anything else.”
I rolled my eyes, clasping my hands on my lap. Why was I brought here without notice? Just clearly said I would be informed. Well, he is a murderer – I don’t know why I expected him to keep his word.
“Lady Matilda has informed me you are receiving bridal training, but she has brought it to my attention that you are foolish and ignorant.” She grabbed a piece of chalk and began to scribble in chicken scratch across the board.
“First,” she pointed at one of the three words she wrote. “Silence is a virtue that all women must embody.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing as she slapped the board and continued to prattle. The word itself looked to be mildly cursed. Had she not pointed out that it was silence, I’d have never been able to tell. To my eyes, the atrocious letters were spelled sizensn.
What dusty hole did Matilda pull her out of? I wondered, half listening. She didn’t seem to expect any response from me and rambled about using fans to communicate where words should not be used.
At one point, she grabbed a fan that looked to be as old as her, raised it before her face, peeking over the top.
“Do you see the way I hold my hands?” She explained, fanning herself. “And the way I am standing?”
“Yes, Madam.” I said, trying not to laugh. “I see it quite well.”
“Good! Now to signal you wish to speak to another lady, you must…”
I tuned her out, watching her prance around like a mare. I may not have taken etiquette lessons myself – but even I knew she was wrong about everything. The gestures she used were so outdated, that if I used them in a social setting, I would be laughed out of the room.
Seriously, where did she find this woman? I wondered as Gretson began to instruct me on how to pick up a fallen handkerchief. She bent over, popped her butt in the hair, turned slightly to the left, and angled her body downward into an almost 90 degree angle.
“Always…remain…poised.” She huffed, struggling to grab the fabric. “A lady…must…always…be…a…proper,” she wheezed, finally snatching it up. “Distinguished figure in society.”
“I see.” I coughed, covering my mouth – hiding the laugh that threatened to bubble up. “Does a Lady need to bend over in such a way each time?”
“Indeed.” Madam Gretson said, fanning her sweaty face. “Crinolines and corsets, as you well know, are difficult to navigate in. You must bend in such a way to reveal nothing.”
“Alright.” I shook my head, glancing down.
I wanted to point out that those went out of fashion over ten years ago, due to an incident with the royal family. I only knew about it because Paulita had been informed during an art exhibition that took place at one of the Viscounts manors.
She had shown up in full attire, apparently due to Kyla’s scheming, and embarrassed herself. The scene was childish and ridiculous, but it was a plot point that made her seem sympathetic. It also was by that point, Tyrine became more interested in her – shared sympathies by being made a fool of by Kyla.
The more I remember about the novel, the more ridiculous it seems. Even when I was reading it, I wondered why Kyla would do such pathetic petty things. It’s strange, really, given everything I’ve seen so far.
“We will meet thrice a week.” Greston said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, baring that nothing is arranged during lesson times that requires immediate attention. They will be from two pm until four-thirty pm.”
“Am I dismissed then?” I asked, looking up at her.
She stared at me without speaking, tapping her foot as if waiting for something.
Oh, I blinked a few times, realizing what she was waiting for. How annoying.
“Am I dismissed, Madam?”
She snorted and set the fan down. “You are, but do remember to always be punctual.” She pointed to the second word on the board. “Always arrive before our lessons. If you are a second late, you will receive a punishment.”
“I understand.” I stood up quickly, walking across the room. Finally. If I had to sit in there a moment longer I’d have lost the last of my brain cells.
I closed the door behind me and left, feeling socially drained. When I reached my room, I entered, walking to the bed.
Can I just sleep for the rest of the day? I yawned, closing my eyes. After both Matilda and Madam Crypt keeper, I don’t want to deal with anyone else.
I just started to fall asleep when a knock sounded on my door.
“Lady Kyla, you have a guest.” Martin’s muffled voice called.
Of course I do. I slowly sat up, rubbing my eyes.
“Who?” I asked, yawning.
“She is from the Vance household.” Martin sneezed. “I believe she said her name is Lady Paulita.”
What? I froze, mid-rub, taken aback.
Why the hell is she here?