A Great and Terrible Beauty

"No," Ann answers.

"Did you change your hair, then?"

Ann shakes her head.

"Well, it's an improvement, whatever it is." This makes the rest of the girls titter. Cecily goes right back to her bacon.

Felicity puts her spoon down hard. "You're very rude, Cecily. Did you know that? I think it would be best if you just didn't say anything else today."

Cecily opens her mouth to reprimand Felicity, but no words come. She can barely speak above a whisper. Her hands fly to her throat.

"Cecily, what's the matter?" Elizabeth hands her some water.

"Cat's got her tongue," Felicity says, smirking.

"Fee, you have to give Cecily her voice back at some point," Pippa chides as we make our way to French.

Felicity nods. "I know. But you must admitit is an improvement."

Mademoiselle LeFarge has a particularly sadistic smile on her face when we arrive. It doesn't bode well.

" Bonjour, mes filles . Today we will have a conversation to test your French."

A conversation class. I am the absolute worst at this, and I wonder how long I can make myself unnoticeable.

Elizabeth raises a hand. "Mademoiselle, our Cecily has lost her voice." "Has she? That was very sudden, Mademoiselle Temple."

Cecily tries again to speak but it's useless. Ann gives her a small smile and Cecily looks positively terrified. She buries her nose in her book.

"Very well," Mademoiselle LeFarge says. "Mademoiselle Doyle, you shall go first."

I'm in for it now. Please, please, please let me keep up . My stomach is aflutter. This may be the day that Mademoiselle LeFarge gives me the boot down to the lower classes. She bats a question about the Seine into my court, waits for my response. When I open my mouth, we are all astonished. I'm speaking French like a Parisian, and I find I know a great deal about the Seine. And France's geography. Its monarchy. The Revolution. I'm feeling so clever that I want to go on for the whole of the period, but finally Mademoiselle LeFarge recovers from her shock, breaking her own rules in the process.

"That was remarkable, Mademoiselle Doyle! Truly remarkable," she gasps in English. "As you can see, ladies, when you are willing to apply yourselves, the results speak for themselves! Mademoiselle Doyle, today you shall receive thirty good-conduct marksa record for my class!"

Someone should probably close Martha's, Cecily's, and Elizabeth's mouths before the rains come and drown them like turkeys.

"What do we do now?" Pippa whispers as we take our seats for Grunewald's instruction.

"I think it's Ann's turn," I say.

Ann's face falls. "M-me? I d-d-don't know"

"Come on, then. Don't you want everybody to know what you can do?"

She furrows her brow. "But it won't be me, will it? It will be the magic. Like your French."

This brings a blush to my cheeks. "I did get a bit carried away. But you can truly sing, Ann. It will be you at your very best."

Ann is skeptical. She chews nervously on her lips. "I don't think I can."

We're interrupted by the arrival of the short, squat Austrian. Mr. Grunewald in usually in one of two tempersfoul and fouler. Today, he surpasses himself, sliding right into foulest.

"Cease the incessant chatter!" he barks, raking a hand through his thinning white hair. One by one, we're called to the front of the class to practice the same hymn. One by one, he criticizes us nearly to death. Our vowels are too flat. Our mouths are not open sufficiently. I crack on a high note and he lets out with a sharp "Ack!" as if he's being tortured. Finally, it's Ann's turn.

She's timid at first. Mr. Grunewald shouts and grumbles, which doesn't help. I'm practically willing Ann to let her voice fly. Sing, Ann. Come on ! And then, she does. It's like a bird leaving the nest, soaring high and free. We're all quiet and awed. Even Mr. Grunewald has stopped counting. He stares with a look of utter joy on his face. I'm so proud of her. How could my mother not want us to use this magic? How could she think we weren't ready for it?

When she finishes, Mr. Grunewald applauds. The man whose hands have never joined together to make a clapping sound is applauding Ann. Every girl joins in. They see her differently now, as somebody. And isn't that what everyone wants? To be seen?

We bask in the glory of our day until evening comes. That's when we can feel the last of the magic draining from our bodies, leaving us all a bit worn out. Mrs. Nightwing appraises Pippa during our free time.