Connie begins to adapt to her new life...

It rained. For five days in late October, it rained every day. Not hard and not steady, but it dripped or drizzled, misted or mizzled more frequently than not. England, on the whole, is a soggy place, and despite the fact that the eastern edge of the island gets less rainfall than the west, it did rain in Suffolk that week.

In Norfolk, Suffolk and Essex, the wind comes off the North Sea in the fall, sometimes roaring down the Manche (the Sleeve, as the French call the English Channel, not wanting to give up ownership without a word for it). Such storms upset shipping and drive all good folk indoors to warm fires and hot tea, if they can afford it.

But this was not such a storm. Though the wind had a tinge of winter in it, this was just rain. Cold rain that tasted of Norwegian pines and icy fjords, and tried to find a way through your clothing to your skin where it could make you shiver and raise goosebumps along your spine. Rain that made you feel alive because being dead would not be so bloody cold, now would it?

Constance loved it. “God is rinsing the dust off the world to make it shine for winter,” she told her sister as they stood just inside the open French doors in their rooms on the west side of the manor. The wind came from the northeast, and so the wet did not penetrate, but the cold certainly did.

Alexandra tried again to close the windows, but Connie continued to thwart her. “I’m cold,” Alex whined.

Connie just scoffed. “Put on some more layers. You’ve got a room full of clothing—wear it all and you’ll be warm enough.”

“That’s stupid,” Alex protested, trying to go around her sister to get at the sashes.

“We played football in the snow at Harrow,” said Connie. “And we never complained about the cold, not even when our fingers turned blue.” She hip-checked the bigger girl, protecting the window.

“That’s when you were a boy,” Alex pointed out. “Boys are stupid that way. They think being uncomfortable is manly.”

Connie shrugged. It was a fair hit. She grabbed her sister around the waist and pushed her backward, up and onto the bed. “Get under the covers then, if you’re going to be a baby about it.”

But before she could withdraw, Alex retaliated with stiff fingers under Connie’s ribs. Both girls were ridiculously ticklish, but the one who used this form of attack first always had the advantage.

Connie squealed, embarrassing herself terribly; it sounded entirely too girlish. Alex took her opportunity, rolled off the bed, and made it to the window to pull it closed. Connie counter-attacked to the ribs. The battle was on, and the sisters collapsed onto the floor, giggling like mad things.

* * *

Afterward, they lay side by side on the bed. Connie propped herself up on her elbow, holding a hand to the side of her face. “It’s kind of fun to have a sister,” she said.

Alex grinned, showing both her dimples. “I wouldn’t know,” she teased airily.

Connie wrinkled her nose. “Be like that,” she said. “But it is different.”

“Mmm,” said Alex. “I missed you. We had such fun when we were little.”

Connie shrugged. “I don’t remember much. Just that you were terribly bossy.”

“You were always getting in trouble,” Alex observed. “You wanted to climb into the pigsty, and I had to stop you.”

“Why?” Connie frowned.

“Why did I stop you? You could have got hurt!”

“No, why would I want to climb in with the pigs?”

Alex shrugged. “You always liked playing in the mud—and it looked like the piggies were having fun, I guess.”

Connie laughed, making an effort to be sure it didn’t come out as a giggle. “I still like mud, and rain and snow and, I guess, just weather and being outside.” She looked at the windows and sighed. “I would love to be out riding Gallant in the rain.”

“Silly,” said Alex. “They’re not going to let you do that. You’re supposed to be delicate and ladylike.”

Connie snorted. “Being delicate about things like weather at Harrow would get you thumped.”

“Better you than me, I guess. Imagine if Father had sent me to be a boy instead of you. What a disaster that would have been!” They did both giggle at the idea.

* * *

In bed next to his sister that night, Constantine wore his nightgown. The soft fabric felt comfortable, but the unfamiliar way it fit made him want to fidget. He stared toward the ceiling, invisible in the darkness, and tried to process everything that had happened during the day. It all jumbled together in his mind, like the way he had felt trying to pick himself off the football field after being the victim of a particularly nasty tackle.

It would be very satisfying to have someone to punch in the nose, he thought wryly. But really, everyone was trying to be nice to him. It wouldn’t be right to punch any of them. It’s just that their idea of being nice to Constance annoyed the hell out of Constantine, most of the time.

Harrow was gone, he realized. As hard as it had been physically and mentally, he had enjoyed the challenges. He would miss it. And he would miss his sprig brothers more. What were they doing without him? Tother, Fleece, and Edge—he’d been as close or closer to them than he was now to Alex.

“Idiot,” came his sister’s voice beside him. “You’re not under the covers, you’ll freeze.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“How can I sleep with your teeth chattering like that?”

“My teeth? I’m not cold!” Connie protested. “That’s rain on the roof you’re hearing.”

They lay silently for a time, listening. The banked fire in the fireplace still kept the room warmer than his bedroom in Harrow had been. And the rain did make pleasant music.

“I think that’s sleet,” said Alex.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” Connie agreed sleepily.

He didn’t protest when Alex sat up and pulled the covers up over him. She wrapped her arms around his bony shoulders and he snuggled back against her softer shape.

“You’re like ice,” she complained, as they drifted off to sleep together.

* * *

Breakfast in the Deschambeaux household remained an informal meal. Servants set up a buffet in the small dining room and family members ate when they showed up. Very different from the mad, noisy, joyous atmosphere at Harrow, Constantine reflected—with a much wider variety on offer, too.

Watching his sister closely, Connie selected an egg, a slice of back bacon, and a roll with butter and jam for spreading. A Harrow breakfast would have included porridge with bits of sausage in it, perhaps potatoes, mushrooms or beans, and everything would have been hotter than the side table kept the dishes.

The fried tomato slice Alex added to both of their plates seemed very odd. He’d never tried one before, but accepted the contribution. The plate still looked a bit skimpy, but then, his life had not been at all as active since he came home as it had been at school. And now, since donning dresses and trying to be a lady, he supposed he would have to get used to starving himself.

There were dishes of kippered fish, kidneys, fried mushrooms, and fat slices of various sausages (as well as plump bangers), but Alex avoided all of them. So did Connie, though he resolved that if this did not fill him up, tomorrow he would have one of those bangers that he knew would have the proper sort of casing that snapped when you bit into it.

“Very good,” said Alex approving of his plate, identical to her own. Connie sighed.

“Come sit with me, girls,” called their stepmother from her traditional place near the head of the table. Everyone else appeared to have already eaten and departed. “I’ve got a fresh pot of hot chocolate, and some sweet biscuits, too.” She motioned to them to sit across from her, instead of on the same side.

‘”Girls,”’ thought Connie. ‘That includes me now.’ He didn’t like it, but it seemed gauche to let anyone see that it displeased him, so he smiled at Genevieve and took the place one off from the head, letting Alex have the seat Thomas had occupied last night. A week ago, wearing pants, Connie would have sat there as a matter of right.

“I’ve decided to throw a party for the neighbors,” Genevieve announced. She poured hot chocolate into all three cups that had appeared without request or signal being made. “Or at least, the youngsters of the gentlefolk in the area.”

Alex clapped her hands and beamed at her stepmother, then at Connie. “Delight!” she exclaimed. Connie looked doubtful, but it was hard not to smile at Alex’s enthusiasm.

“All Saint’s Eve is on Friday this year—that’s the end of next week,” Lady Malvoir said, expanding. “We can have afternoon games, dancing on the lawns if it isn’t raining, or indoors if it is. Anyone who wishes can stay all night and attend church with us on All Saints Day. Then we’ll have a luncheon before they all go home.”

Connie knew that people from near the Scottish border, like his sprig brother Fleece, called October 31st Hallow E’en, and reckoned it as a night of jolly frights and an opportunity to play pranks on one’s friends. It had become a minor tradition for the older boys at Harrow to attempt to frighten the younger ones with howls, the banging of pots and pans, and a general hubbub and cacophony in the night.

As they ate, Genevieve and Alex began discussing whom to invite to the party while Connie, who hardly knew anyone in Suffolk County outside of family, nibbled on his breakfast in what he vaguely hoped was a ladylike manner. Instead of discussing a guest list, he considered the murky—some might say “spooky”—patch of woods east of Debenham Manor.

How many youngsters would he be able to tempt into entering what looked like a bit of wilderness, but was in fact, entirely tame, with clear paths and no real hazards? Should he enlist Alex in the scheme he was hatching? Or would it be more fun to scare the wits out of his sister, too? Thomas and Little Gus might make willing and effective accomplices.