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answers.

5
    The next morning, my sister is silent on the way to town. I don’t ask her why, though Alice’s silences are rare. This time
     her silence is an echo of my own. I sneak a glance at her out of the corner of my eye, noting the curve of her chin and the
     curls that bounce at the nape of her neck as she leans her head toward the window of the carriage.
    The carriage rattles to a stop, and Alice sits up straighter, smoothing her skirt and looking my way. “Must you look so unhappy,
     Lia? Won’t it be nice to escape the gloom of Birch-wood? Heaven knows the great dreary house will still be waiting for us
     at the end of the day!”
    She delivers the words with good humor, but I feel the tension in her voice, see it on the too-careful set of her face. This
     is the theatrical version of Alice, the one who has carefully rehearsed her lines.
    I smile in answer as Edmund opens the carriage door.
    “Miss.”
    “Thank you, Edmund.” I wait on the sidewalk as Alice emerges from the carriage. As usual, she does not bother speaking to
     him.
    He turns to me before leaving. “I’ll be back at the end of the day then, Miss.” He doesn’t often smile, but he does it now,
     so faintly I wonder if anyone can see it but me.
    “Yes, of course. Goodbye, Edmund.” I hurry to catch Alice as she heads for the steps in front of Wycliffe. “You might at least
     be polite, Alice.”
    Alice spins around, favoring me with a carefree smile. “And why is that? Edmund has worked for the Milthorpes for years. Do
     you think a simple ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ makes his tasks any easier?”
    “Perhaps only more pleasant.”
    It is an old argument. Alice’s treatment of Birchwood’s servants is notoriously poor. Worse, her rudeness often extends to
     family, particularly Aunt Virginia. My mother’s sister does not complain aloud, but I see the resentment pass over her face
     when my sister treats her like a glorified nanny.
    Alice sighs in exasperation, reaching for my hand and pulling me up the steps toward Wycliffe’s door. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,
     Lia! Come along, will you? You shall make us late.”
    As I stumble up the stairs after my sister, my eyes drift to the Douglases’ bookstore, tucked into the storefront under the
     school. James is three years older than I and finished with his formal schooling. I know he will be at work in the shop and
     wish I could open the door and call to him, but there isn’t a moment left before I am pulled by Alice into the vestibule at
     Wycliffe. She closes the door, rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth.
    “Heavens, it’s getting cold!” She unties her cloak, eyeing my still fingers. “Hurry, Lia, will you?”
    I cannot think of any place I want to be less than Wycliffe. But Edmund has already gone, so I force my hands to move and
     hang my cloak near the door. Mrs. Thomason hurries toward us from the back of the building, looking in equal parts annoyed
     and flustered.
    “You’re late for morning prayers, Misses! Now if you hurry, you might slip in without too much fuss.” She gives me a little
     push toward the dining room, as if I somehow need it more than Alice. “And I’m most sorry to hear of your loss. Mr. Milthorpe
     was a fine man.”
    I follow Alice to the dining room, rushing to keep up with her purposeful gait. Through the doors, the voices of the other
     girls are strung together in eerie unison as they recite morning prayer. Alice pushes one of the heavy doors and steps through
     it in one motion. She doesn’t even try to be quiet, and I have no choice but to follow meekly behind her, wondering how she
     holds her head so high and her back so straight while making a spectacle of us both.
    Miss Gray’s voice falters as Alice marches in, causing most of the girls to peek at us from behind closed lids. Alice and
     I slide into our seats at the table, mumbling the words along with the other girls. When everyone has said “Amen,” thirty
     pairs