Karen Harbaugh Read Free Page A

electrified manner into the air and suspended there. This was my cue. As his twitching fingers took riveting command of every eye, I coughed, and under my handkerchief I quickly sipped the vial. I glanced around surreptitiously and caught Schoolmistress Lauderdale’s glare. My hand shook as I stoppered the vial under my handkerchief, wondering if she had seen me drink from it. She only looked at me for a moment, however, before turning, a besotted mist settling over her face as she gazed at the curate. I felt relieved; the rumor must be true that Miss Lauderdale had a tendre for him. No doubt my cough had distracted her from her reverie. I sneaked a glance at the younger Miss Standish and noted that she, too, looked dreamy. So that was true, too! I saved the information for later: I would have something to tell Emily for a change.
    The potion took longer to work than I thought; I had planned to look ill while all of us from Miss Angstead’s walked down the church steps. We had already made our curtsies to the vicar when I felt my stomach turn. I prepared myself to look interestingly pale.
    I was not prepared to become violently sick. I only had time to moan to Miss Standish in front of me before I retched all over the hem of her dress. I heard a revulsed shriek as I doubled over and gave up jellied eel again. A thought flashed through my mind that if I had to heave, I was glad it was on Miss Standish instead of Miss Lauderdale. I liked Miss Lauderdale. Miss Standish was snobbish.
    The next hour flashed by quickly. I saw the worried faces of Miss Angstead, Miss Lauderdale, and the curate hover over me. I felt myself being carried and deposited in someone’s carriage, but any gratitude I fostered at being able to lie down was quickly quashed as we bumped down the road to Miss Angstead’s.
    I could do nothing but moan, cough, and choke as I was undressed and put to bed. I tossed and turned therein, acting for all the world as if I were in a high fever. I felt sure Death was going to catch up with me, and I wished he would hurry up about it. It was not until my stomach was done mauling the rest of me that I lay still, sipped something that someone put to my lips, and fell asleep, aching.
    I still felt ill in the morning, but better the next day under Miss Lauderdale’s ministrations. I protested weakly that I did not need so much fussing, and Miss Angstead retorted that I should be grateful that Miss Lauderdale was helping. Miss Lauderdale actually smiled broadly at this, which surprised me, for she was a solemn young woman and her shy smiles were sweet but rare. I admired her when I first came to Miss Angstead’s and used to imagine tragic and romantic stories about her to justify her single state. So I felt embarrassed that she should use her valuable time taking care of me in my induced illness.
    I mumbled my thanks to her, feeling ashamed, but she smiled and shook her head. “You may not know it, but I owe you something as well. It was the least I could do to repay you.” I wondered at this, but not for long, as I yawned and fell into sleep again.
    As the days passed, I grew stronger but was still interestingly pale and wan. I tried to sustain this as long as I could (without ipecac), but my pink cheeks soon betrayed me. When Miss Lauderdale reported to the Headmistress that I was well enough, I was called to her room.
    I twisted my hands in front of me nervously, not knowing what this interview was about. Miss Lauderdale had been evasive when I asked her. Miss Angstead was writing something as I sat and did not look up at me until she finished with a flourish.
    She sat back in her chair, steepled her fingers, and looked at me for a long moment. Her dark, sharp eyes assessed me, and she seemed to come to a decision. She pulled open a drawer and tossed something onto her desk. It was the vial I had carried with me to church. I flushed hotly.
    “You know what this is,” Miss Angstead said softly. It was a statement.
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