Chapter 40 – New Arrangement for Students
“Miss Jade, may I stay behind to help you?” One of the boys asked after class.
Jade turned to him. Her brain summoned the list of tasks she needed help with and the roster of students already assisting in the bake house. Thus, she replied. “I don’t mind you staying, but I don’t have anything that needs extra hands at the moment…”
“Really? Not even one small thing?” the boy – Pocco – asked hesitantly.
“Um, yeah…” Noticing the disappointment flicker across his face, she wasn’t sure how to handle the situation.
“Stupid Pocco, just ask straight away!” Another boy shoved Pocco aside and faced Jade directly. “Miss Jade, he’s got nothing to do at home. It’s cold, and his mama won’t let him burn coal when she’s out working. Can he stay here until she comes back?”
“Oh!” Realisation dawned on Jade’s face. She turned back to Pocco. “Of course you can. My bad – I didn’t even think about that. I just always assumed you would all keep at least a small coal pot burning…”
The words felt naive the moment they left her mouth.
A quiet sting of regret settled in her chest. She was still adjusting to winter in this Victorian-ish era. Though she had tried her best on considering the practicalities – food supply, wages, sanitation – she had overlooked something very basic.
I should have known they would try to cut down on coal usage. Coal meant money, and winter meant no job for children… Jade contemplated for a moment, then straightened and raised her voice. “Students! How many of you have nothing to do at home and would like to stay here for warmth? Come, raise your hands; I wanna get a count. I have something that needs your help…”
Every child in her class worked in some capacity. Some were employed in the textile factory; some sold newspapers; some assisted their parents; a few had positions in her bakehouse. The farmhands, however, were nearly idle in winter – little to harvest, little to earn.
No work meant no income, No income meant less coal, less food. Not because their parents were cruel, but because winter starved everyone equally, including their parents.
Thirteen hands went up, including Pocco’s.
Jade nodded. “Alright. Those who raised their hands may stay. But first, some of you must inform your families so they won’t worry when you’re not home…”
Josh rose immediately. “Sensei, allow me. I’ll borrow the domus’s donkey.”
Jade considered briefly then nodded and scribbled a quick note. “Thanks, Josh. Take this. Be careful. The roads are slippery.”
“I will.” Josh smiled, took the letter, and left.
Jade made swift arrangements to ensure the bakehouse would be fine under Sister Miriam’s supervision. Then, she retrieved her sewing basket and returned to the classroom to stay with the thirteen children.
As she had requested, Ashborne no longer visited the domus as frequently, though letters still arrived, enthusiastically sharing news of his storytelling game venture, which was now officially titled The Quinark Journey. Jade followed the game’s take off through newspaper articles. Apparently, it had become the winter sensation of Velport. Soon, it would likely spread across the entire kingdom.
That left her with a comparatively quiet season, which she had planned to dedicate to embroidery research. She had even decided to lock herself in her room today to focus on her needles and threads. However, that was before she realised her students were freezing.
Plans changed. She had to come up with a new plan within mere minutes.
In her previous life, when she assisted her cousin at a small private tuition-slash-daycare centre, there had always been a strategy for idle hours while children waited to be picked up: her cousin would give them something simple to occupy their hands, such as colouring books.
Of course, there were no colouring books in the domus.
She had planned to teach simple colour theory in the spring, when fresh vegetables and wildflowers would be plentiful enough for extracting natural dyes. And, as a cake decorator, while she wasn’t an artist skilled in oil paints or complex art theories, she had piped countless motifs onto icing. Teaching children basic drawing was not impossible.
The real problem was justification. She had told them she had to work for them. It had to sound purposeful. Ideally, profitable.
The students gathered near her desk watched in silence as she put down her sewing basket, contemplated for a moment, and rose to leave the classroom. She finally returned carrying a stack of old newspapers, pens and pencils, and a jar filled with red liquid.
Walter – the boy who had shoved Pocco earlier – furrowed slightly at the sight.
He raised his hand. “Miss Jade… you don’t actually need to invent work for us. We are more than willing to help you render tallow, boil wood ash, and make soap.”
“Ah, a quick thinker,” Jade immediately sensed that this boy was likely cleverer than most children she had met in this era. His intelligence was obvious – while his peers were still wondering what she was about to assign, he had already figured out part of her intention.
Jade gazed at the boy and managed to recall more detail: he was a newsboy by trade, the leader of a small group on a street some distance from the school’s stall. She had seen him selling off his newspapers with ease, and if it weren’t for his leg injury, he wouldn’t be here after school hours. The injury might have stopped him from working, but it hadn’t stopped him from coming to school. He was one of the rare few who fully understood that knowledge could change his life; he paid full attention in class and scored well on exams.
Back in my previous life, he might have built machines, competed in science fairs, or maybe even started a company before turning twenty, she thought. It’s a shame that he’s just a ragged child with limited resources.
By right, Walter should have been in Mr. Anderson’s larger classroom, but Jade had chosen not to pry.
She smiled at them. “You guys know I can make soap. And you also know my soap is of better quality than what you commonly buy. Ever wondered why I started a bakehouse instead of a soaphouse?”
They had recently completed a chemistry lesson on saponification – enough for them to understand that different solutions could mix and become something new, and that the reaction wasn’t some kind of witchcraft or curse. She had postponed biology until spring; germs weren’t as active in the cold, and she was still fine-tuning her handmade Leeuwenhoek microscope and finding a suitable sample for the students to observe. Meanwhile, she was still struggling with how to explain steam engines with her limited knowledge of physics.
Hands shot up.
“Because it’s tedious?”
“Because it takes too long?”
“Because it’s dangerous?”
Walter spoke last, a bit hesitant, but correct. “Because… the profit margin is low?”
Jade pointed at him. “Good answer, Walter. And excellent vocabulary.
He tried to suppress a pleased expression.
Jade motioned for everyone to sit down. “See, the soap factories have made the soap so cheap that if I make my own – high quality or not – the margin would be too low to sustain the school. Yes, I could produce luxury soap by adding perfume and refining the mould, but that would greatly increase my cost. And as you all know, I don’t have spare coins for that.”
She paused briefly before continuing. “So no, Walter, I do not require assistance rendering tallow for soap making.
Jade noticed a flicker of disappointment crossed his face, so she quickly lifted the newspapers and jar in her hands. “However, there is something else I need from you all.”
Walter pressed his lips together.
He was not convinced.
From what he had heard, children who worked at the bakehouse received a penny, a biscuit, and a meal before leaving. That was not wages – that was generosity disguised as employment. No ordinary bakehouse would offer such terms.
He admired Miss Jade for it.
Perhaps too much.
Sometimes he imagined her as a saint sent down from the heavens, though he would never say that aloud. And that was precisely why he disliked this situation. Every project she initiated fed the school. Even after growing close to their wealthy school patron, she still dressed plainly and lived modestly – surely the patron had rewarded her with something!
It meant she had spent everything on them.
But before Walter could voice his protest, Jade pointed at the jar of red liquid in her hand.
“This,” she announced, “is beetroot ink. I made it for stamping our biscuit packaging. Since we are not selling biscuits during winter, it will likely spoil before spring. So we might as well use it.”
She began distributing newspapers, pens, and pencils. “I assume I do not need to emphasise how important good handwriting is, right? But today, I’m telling you one more thing: good handwriting can earn you coins.”
Walter’s eyes lit instantly. “Penmanship!”
“...Yeah, sorta,” Jade said, slightly off-beat. “I was trying to say calligraphy, but penmanship is fine.”
She continued, adjusting her phrasing as she went. “As you are aware, many people cannot read or write. Others write so poorly that even they themselves cannot decipher their own letters. Yet there will be times when written words are required. In those moments, they must pay someone else to write for them.”
Walter leaned forward. “Greeting cards! Calling cards!”
Jade had originally intended to suggest a letter-writing service, where they could set up a tiny stall near the post office to assist anyone wanting to send mail. But Walter’s suggestion was better. It required less effort and a simpler vocabulary while likely earning more coins.
She pivoted immediately. “Exactly. Festive greeting cards. Simple calling cards. We cannot compete with high-end printers producing elaborate engravings. However, neatly written wishes in elegant cursive, accompanied by modest decorative borders? That’s entirely within our ability.”
She gave them the jar and turned to the blackboard. “I’ll demonstrate several cursive phrases and basic patterns. Your task today is to copy them as precisely as possible. Once I evaluate your work, we will assign roles: some of you will focus on writing, and others on drawing.”
She turned and gazed at them, “I’ll figure out a way to get plain cards and proper ink soon, so for now, just practice. Your wages will be the same as those in the bakehouse because you’ll also need to help the clergy with cleaning the domus. Alright?”
A chorus followed. “Alright, Miss Jade!”
Good. That would keep them busy. Satisfied with the sight of students quietly scribbling at their desks, Jade returned to her sewing kit.
One of the monks had provided her with a repurposed embroidery frame adjusted to the proper height; she was grateful for it, as it meant less neck strain and fewer aching shoulders. A square frame now held taut fabric marked with a simple drafted motif. What she needed to do was recall the advanced embroidery techniques she had seen in Chinese instructional videos, especially the ones that produced such realistic patterns.
I think they start by splitting the thread? Jade pondered. Uncoil it, make it fine, and blend it with different colours to achieve that transition? Stiffly, she began experimenting to see if her memory served her correctly.