Page 27 of The Maid's Secret

Today I broke the bad news to you—that my cancer is terminal. I didn’t say it quite like that, but I did tell you that I’m not long for this world. You immediately dove deep into denial, convinced there must be a medicine to cure me, if only I saw the right doctor, if only I went to a different hospital, if only we had the funds to access better care.

Oh, Molly, how often I had similar thoughts about you when you were young, though for different reasons. What if I’d had access to specialized schooling for you? What if you’d received early education tailored to your needs? Try as I might, I couldn’t afford to pay out of pocket for private classes, and I failed whenever I tried to navigate the system to get you specialized care. My dream of appropriate schooling for you eluded me then, just as better healthcare for myself eludes me now.

Molly, I don’t have much time left, so while I have the strength, I’ll carry on with my story. Let’s continue from the moment my father’schauffeur dropped me in front of the esteemed private college and I galloped apace to my very first prep class in the school’s hallowed halls. It was a joy to leave Gray Manor that morning, because with each passing day, tensions were growing at home. Something was wrong with the family firm, but what it was I didn’t quite know. I caught snippets here and there—my father going on about looming threats and the interlopers who wanted to ruin us, but when pressed for details Papa would either rage or disappear into his office.

He began taking meals at his desk instead of at the giant banquet table with me and Mama. He became vitriolic and even more unpredictable than usual. Every day, he would yell at someone for something—the cook for burning the beef; the chauffeur for scratching the bumper; the maid for the mess in his office. Even unflappable Uncle Willy was on tenterhooks as my father wandered the manor, spewing venom wherever he went.

But on a bright sunny day, dressed in my pleated gray skirt and a clean white shirt emblazoned with my prep school’s insignia, I walked through its corridors and never felt prouder. It’s interesting, Molly, how a uniform provides a sense of belonging, and yet, as I was soon to learn, its protection did not extend to me.

After some searching through the hallways, I found the correct classroom on the second floor of the austere Gothic building. Most of my classmates—all of them boys—were already inside, roughhousing and paying no attention to the girl in their midst or to the headmaster writing notes on the board. The bell rang, and everyone rushed to find seats. I took the desk no one else wanted—front row, center, closest to the blackboard.

The headmaster welcomed us to the class, explaining that the weeks to come would be devoted entirely to preparations for sitting our exams on the classics of literature. As I looked around, I recognized some of the boys, though I’d never been in classes with them before. These were the heirs apparent of all my father’s friends—the anointed aristocrats, the prodigal sons and captains of industry whowould one day inherit the earth. It was immediately clear the boys had been classmates for years, whereas I was an intruder and the only girl in sight.

“Let me introduce some newcomers to our group,” said the headmaster as he addressed me with a nod. “Come to the front of the class, tell us your name and one interesting fact about yourself.”

I walked to the front of the classroom, knees knocking. “Hello,” I said as I looked out at the rows of young male faces. “My name is Flora, and one interesting fact about me is that my name means flower in Latin.” I stepped one foot behind the other to perform a clipped curtsy. No sooner was my curtsy complete than the room erupted into guffaws.

“Hothouse flower!” a redheaded boy called out.

“Bloom off the rose yet? Can I help?” another boy yelled.

“That’senough!” the headmaster boomed as he eagle-eyed the class into submission.

Paralyzed in my place, I stared at the wooden planks at my feet.

“Flora is to be treated with the same respect you accord each other. He who disobeys will live to regret it. Understood?” the headmaster warned.

I looked out at the boys, only to be greeted by a sea of smirks and curled lips. But one boy in the back stood out from the rest, his brown eyes wide with fear, his broad shoulders rounded as though he was trying to take up as little space as possible though he was bigger and stronger than any other boy in the room. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“We have another new student joining us. He’s been away at boarding school, but he’s a local lad. He’ll be sitting university entrance exams as well. Come, introduce yourself and share a fact,” said the headmaster.

The brawny young man at the back got up, nearly toppling his chair. He walked my way, then stood awkwardly beside me as he faced the class.

“Hello,” he said, his voice unapologetic and deep. “I’m John.”

The penny dropped. I swiveled my head for another look at him. Broad-shouldered, that same brooding expression and confidence, the brown, tousled hair—this was the audacious usurper who’d once taken my spot at Mrs.Mead’s kitchen table. This was Uncle Willy’s son.

“One fact about me,” he announced, “is that I’m the recipient of this year’s Gray Scholarship.”

“This year’s pity case!” the redheaded boy quipped loudly.

“Round of applause for Poor John!” said another boy as he clapped limply while the others roared with laughter.

John turned to me. “It’syourfamily name on that scholarship. Aren’t you going to say something?”

All the blood in my body rushed to my cheeks. I looked up at the hulking young man beside me. “I wouldn’t think a burly lad like you would need a girl to defend him.” I said it so loudly and caustically, it’s a wonder my own tongue didn’t burn right off.

In return, I got what I’d hoped for—the boys now jeered at John instead of me.

“Good one, Flora!” one of them called out.

“Zinger!” said another.

The headmaster put an end to the antics with the smack of a ruler against his desk. “Silence! If I hear so much as an eye roll out of anyone, you’re going to wish you never showed up today, understood?”

Just like that, order was restored. I hurried to my seat as Uncle Willy’s irksome son followed me to claim his own.

The rest of the class passed without disturbance, and as the headmaster lectured on the classics and what we might expect from our exams, I took copious notes. Before I knew it, three hours had gone by. And when the headmaster announced, “Class dismissed,” I raced out of the room.

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