Chapter 31 – A Harsh Winter to the Schoolmistress
It was December. Winter had arrived.
Jade had believed she was well-prepared for it. After all, she had spent an entire year in Australia and had experienced winter there. Nothing could possibly go wrong, right?
Wrong. So very wrong.
“Josh, I’ll leave the stall to you this winter,” Jade said, staying close to the classroom fireplace. “You already know how to manage the account book – the daily expenses, the earnings, how much stock needs to be prepared, and so on. Now apply that to the stall, alright?”
The earlier chatter about her debate with the doctor had faded. In its place spread a fresh scandal – rumours of a Baron’s daughter eloping with a young servant – and it traveled fast before Jade’s plan could even take hold.
Regardless, with her own scandal behind her, Jade had intended to take shifts at the stall once a week instead of remaining indoors for the entire winter – her plans kept changing to adapt to situations in real time – but the winter had become her greatest obstacle to leaving the domus. Not because of the lung-burning smog, but because the weather itself unsettled her.
“Yes, Sensei, I can manage,” Josh replied. Though nervous at being entrusted with such responsibility, he knew he had to step up; he was deeply worried for his master, “Sensei… would you like me to buy you a cloak?”
“I’m fine. I’m not cold.” Jade raised her hands to demonstrate. “See? I’m not even shivering. I’m simply not used to the weather.”
Technically, the body she now inhabited belonged to a local soul, so it should have adapted naturally to the season. But mentally, Jade – who had never lived in such a climate in her previous life – found the reality contradicting her mind, leaving her in a strange state of confusion. She felt uncomfortable, yet her body shows no sign of illness apart from a mild loss of appetite.
Winter here felt contradictory. The air was damp, unlike the dry winters she had known in Australia. This cold seeped into the bones. Jade had no idea how to drive out such chill except by remaining close to a heat source – the fireplace. Yet lingering there too long dried her throat and mouth, forcing her to drink water constantly to counter the discomfort… and venturing to the toilet through the freezing air was not a good experience from any perspective.
She had a feeling that if she stays near the fireplace any longer, she’ll have a sore throat again. Guess I need to save some dried pears for boiling throat medicine next year. Jade mused wryly, recalling the Chinese folk remedy her aunt used to make for her and her cousins.
She wished she could remain wrapped in blankets in her room, hugging a barley warming bag, and stay comfortably warm all day. But she had work to do. She could not hide for the entire winter.
Her condition worried Josh and Sister Miriam, who knew her well enough to notice the subtle changes. They offered help, willing to provide items or comfort food, but she understood that this was something she had to overcome on her own.
“Maybe I should do something to distract myself,” Jade muttered. To her, the best distraction was to bake or decorate a cake. However, the bakehouse was unavailable for several days just when she needed it the most.
The iron oven had been completed; now came the installation. Workers had to maneuver the massive structure into the prepared space. With no machine to lift such weight, it would require sheer manpower. After that would come plastering, test runs, and thorough cleaning before the room could finally be put to use.
For the time being, the potato cutting had been moved to the domus kitchen. The students who usually assisted in baking biscuits were gathered in the classroom instead, tasked with needlework. They had little to do at home, and their houses were likely cold and unheated. Jade needed a way to keep them inside the domus during the winter.
Fortunately, there was no shortage of sewing to be done. Curtains, bedsheets, Clergy garments – every piece of fabric with holes was brought out for repair. Larger tears were patched with scrap fabric. Smaller ones were covered with simple embroidery patterns Jade vaguely remembered from short videos she had watched in her previous life. She deliberately made the task seem more intricate than necessary, giving everyone a reasonable excuse to pay the students for their work.
To her surprise, three of the biscuit helpers proved remarkably skilled.
“Mary, Suzy, Jenny – stay a moment,” She called after dismissing the others at the end of the day.
The three girls hurried over and settled before her, their eyes bright with anticipation.
Ever since they had been given the chance to attend this ragged school, their lives had steadily improved. They received proper meals, and, occasionally, were treated to Miss Jade’s recipe experiments. While the knowledge they acquired did not immediately increase their income, their households had become much healthier. None of their family members had fallen ill – not even when most of the people in their neighbourhood were sick. It was only then that they realised Miss Jade’s repeated reminders about hygiene and food preparation made sense after all.
And the baking skills they learned in the bakehouse? Miss Jade had once told them those skills could serve as credentials if they ever sought work in a respectable household – perhaps as a kitchen maid or a restaurant helper.
“Girls,” Jade began, laying out several of the mended sheets and curtains before them. She did not dwell on why they were looking at her with such beaming faces. “You may have more talent for needlework than you realise, you know?”
The three exchanged uncertain glances.
Jade pointed at the embroidered leaves and small floral patterns. “ There are yours, aren’t they? They are more refined than the samples I demonstrated.”
“If I can get more patterns for you to study,” Jade continued, “you could improve even further. And if you can excel at embroidery, your work could be sold for a good price.”
“Truly?” Mary gasped. “Our sewing could earn coins?”
“It’s quite possible. But I need to ask around and see first,” Jade replied, brushing a fingertip over a stitched flower that concealed what had once been a hole. “If the market is there, then we must improve your technique properly.”
She looked at them. “So I must ask you: between baking and needlework, which do you prefer?”
Suzy hesitated. “Can we not learn both?”
“Yes you can,” Jade said evenly. “But mastery requires time. You’ve seen how Josh pipes flowers with biscuit dough every single day, right? He practices constantly to perfect each shape. Skills demand repetition. If you divide your time, your progress will be slower. See, if you spend your time baking, you can’t allocate more time for embroidery. That’s why I suggest you choose one.”
Jade’s gaze fell on Jenny specifically as she spoke the last sentence, and Jenny noticed it. The girls exchanged glances, fell silent.
They could not practice either skills at home. The lighting in their house was poor – Miss Jade had warned them often enough about ruining their eyesight and wasting money on spectacles later in life. Nor could their families afford the tools required for baking or proper embroidery. Their only opportunity to learn and practice was during the hours they spent in the domus.
Free time was limited. They had to choose.
Before any of them could answer, however, Jade waved a hand and shook her head. “No, I shouldn’t press you now. I haven’t even confirmed whether we can sell the embroidery yet. Gimme a few days to research it. If this proves doable, I’ll let you know what I can provide and what it would require of you. How’s that sound?”
“Whatever you think best, Miss Jade,” Mary and Suzy replied at once.
Jenny, however, tilted her head. “Miss Jade, you were particularly concerned about me, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Jade nodded and sighed.
Her gaze moved from Mary and Suzy – both about ten – to Jenny, who was already thirteen. Next year, when Jenny turned fourteen, it would surprise no one if she entered service as a maid in a middle-class household. For a girl of limited resources and status, it was considered a respectable path. A young maid would gain experience in a modest home; with good references, she might later be recommended to a wealthier household – perhaps even to a noble family. The pay and conditions would be better than most forms of labour available to working-class women.
Jade herself could maneuver differently only because she carried knowledge from another life. Without that advantage, she was well aware she would have faced the same narrow prospects as Jenny and the others; she was, after all, an ordinary woman with nothing society deemed valuable.
The romantic tales of poor girls marrying into noble houses were fantasies. In reality, such unions endangered reputations, alliances, and political standing. No prudent nobleman would gamble his family’s future on sentiment. However, Jade noticed some young girls still believed in such a “path to success”. She had heard her students talk about some girls in the neighbourhood who were ambitious enough to try becoming famous courtesans… And Jade was relieved to learn that none of her students possessed that kind of dreamy mind and “courageous” ambition.
Jade quickly brushed aside her scattered thoughts, stopped herself from imagining Jenny falling into a miserable life because she – their one and only schoolmistress – had failed to provide good guidance. She turned back to Jenny with total honesty.
“You’ve seen how long it takes to perfect a recipe, and how long it took us to get a proper oven. Everything requires time, planning, and careful steps. For Mary and Suzy, I still have time and room for them to make mistakes, provided our projects continue to bring in steady income – which I’m quite certain of. But that’s in the future. Right now, we cannot afford too many mistakes. And you, Jenny, especially; you told me you plan to leave school next year.”
“Yes, Miss Jade,” Jenny replied without hesitation. “I have five younger siblings. My family cannot afford for me to remain.”
Jade exhaled slowly. “That’s why I must be cautious. I don’t yet know how long it will take to turn embroidery into a reliable skill. I cannot ask you to devote yourself entirely to needlework only to leave with nothing truly mastered.”
“It’s alright, Miss Jade,” Jenny said calmly. She did not seem disappointed. “What you’ve taught us has already helped me secure a better position. A maid from a cottage has agreed to recommend me after learning that I can read and write. The mistress of that house wants someone who can read books to the young ladies.”
Jade nodded. “In that case, I’ll find ways to train you to become a better maid. Better skills mean better welfare, and perhaps better tips.”
She paused, then added thoughtfully, “I should probably give you girls a lesson on how to protect yourself when you encounter bad-tempered employers.”
The girls stared at her. “There are ways to protect ourselves?”
“I mean, if they merely scold you,” Jade said matter-of-factly, “you may answer with polite flattery, or pretend not to understand and let it pass. It’s nothing.”
Verbal abuse was common between employers and servants here. But honestly, Jade considered these incidents mild; she had seen far worse in her previous life. The internet had been a breeding ground for anonymous cruelty and verbal filth. Compared to the digital chaos she once navigated, the sharp tongues of a household felt almost… bland.
“But if someone slaps you, hits you, or attempts real harm,” she continued, her tone turning firm, “you must know how to protect yourself from being killed, right?”
Jenny pressed her lips together and nodded. She understood. A maid rarely remained in one household forever. There was no guarantee the next employer would be kind.
“Right,” Jade murmured, already turning toward the desk. “A self-defence class or something like that – I need to jot that down. And embroidery… Maybe there are second-hand pattern books available?”
After dismissing the three girls, her thoughts leapt ahead once more.
“Embroideries… pretty things… hm…” she muttered. “Calligraphy? Drawings? Nah, paints are too expensive. Can’t use the ink I made, it’ll fade someday since I dunno how to fix the colour… Oh.”
She paused mid-thought. “Colour,” she whispered. “I should totally teach them about the basics of colour! Okay, get it done next semester when I can get fresh purple cabbage…”
Even though Miss Jade of the Domus Ragged School of Wyrnfield had not appeared at the chips stall since the debate, news about her continued to circulate through the parish, the nearby villages, and the slums.
People spoke of the proper lessons she organized. Of the iron oven she had promised, and successfully installed. The winter chips project, they heard, was intended to improve the students’ meals. That promise, too, had been fulfilled. She had declared a project, and she had seen it through. That alone earned the folks’’ respect.
Many parents hoped to enroll their children in the next intake. Unfortunately the school’s principal had announced that no new students would be admitted until further notice. The current number was already the limit they could responsibly manage.
And now, rumours suggested that an embroidery project might soon follow…
“Do you think Miss Jade was right about the lung problem?” A housewife whispered to her neighbour as they walked home from the grocer. “She always keeps her words. Perhaps there is some truth to it.”
“Perhaps,” the other replied cautiously. “But she is no man of science. A doctor refuted her claim. Surely a doctor’s word carries more weight.”
“I heard some laboratories are attempting to prove it. I wonder when the result will be announced.”
“I hope soon.”
And Miss Jade, unaware of just how widely her name was spoken, continued enduring the damp, bone-chilling winter within the domus, planning her next move beside the fire.