It was a good thing that Catherine had a project to occupy her. Her mother, driven to despair by grey skies, cold winds and a lack of interesting society, had gone to stay with family in Brussels and had taken Catherine’s older sister, Diana, with her. Catherine herself was deemed too frail to travel, much to her chagrin. She was not particularly close to her siblings, but with all of them away in Brussels or at school or university, and with only the servants and occasionally her father for company, Saltwick View felt lonelier than ever, even after a only few days. They would not be back until Christmas.
 
She took the trouble of dressing for dinner even when her father was out, just so that Sarah would have to keep her company for longer. And then she would fuss more excessively than usual.

“Really, Miss Catherine. There’s nobody there to judge you.”

“There’s the servants.”

“Why don’t I bring you a tray in your room? You should not trouble yourself too much, remember? Anyway, you’ll be far more comfortable here than down in that dining room by yourself.”

Ignoring the suggestion and studying her own reflection critically: “I don’t think you parted my hair evenly, see?” Her index finger drawing a line from her nose, over her forehead and stopping a millimetre to the left from where her hair was parted.

And, exasperated, Sarah would start her work over. It wasn’t only Catherine who breathed a sigh of relief when Thursday night came.   
 
A disgruntled Jared had picked Ellie up from Whitby. He had given her a cynical glance that might have been missed in the under the flickering light of the street lanterns, but other than that, he kept his misgivings to himself, along with any other conversation. Ellie was once again brought around the house, but once inside she was led into one of the main corridors and shown to the parlour.
 
Catherine was already there, talking to a dark haired, middle aged woman in a fashionable lilac dress. She looked up when Ellie entered.

“There you are, Ellie. I hope the rain wasn’t too bad? Miss Bellini, may I present Miss Eleanor Russell? Ellie, Miss Bellini is my sister’s singing teacher.”

Thursday could not come fast enough for Ellie, the anticipation of an evening at the grand manor on the hill was never too far from her mind as she scrubbed pots, stacked books, or served meals. Miss Christine had been her usual non-committal self over the whole affair; but she had approved of Ellie’s choice of her emerald-green velvet dress and boots for an evening.

Meeting the hack on the pavement outside the now darkened shop, Ellie climbed aboard with little fanfare.
 
“Hallo, sir. Thank ye for the ride. I’m Ellie, ye may remember me…” No answer other than the regimented clatter of hooves and the slapping of reins.

“Have ye had a good day? Been busy in the shop I have.. been lookin’ forward to visitin’ Miss Ennington, everso much.  Singin’ lessons if ye believe it...”

The driver was apparently not in a talking mood. Ellie’s expression relaxed from a smile into that neutral silence, before she piped up again.

“We can ride quiet like.. Miss Ennington says I need to stop being so much; so I can practice that."

Soon enough, the house loomed large out of the darkness, tiny pools of light from candles grew larger as they approached.  Ellie disembarked with the same fanfare as last time and was quickly shepherded into the house.  Rather than the private quarters of the previous visit, the maid was steered to the main rooms, with much higher ceilings and opulent décor. Ellie knew a parlour when she entered one, right in the middle of conversation between Miss Catherine and a middle-aged lady who was quickly introduced. Ellie considered the older woman for a moment; enough of a likeness for her mind to wonder if that was what she would look like when she was old.

“Miss Bell lean-y” Ellie repeated, wrapping her stubby English tongue around a name clearly not English. She curtsied and nodded at the older woman. Everyone was her superior. “Nice to meet ye, I’m Ellie, Eleanor, like she said. Good evening, Miss Ennington, nice to see ye again.” It was actually lovely to see her, but nice was a better, more refined word.

Catherine replied with a smile, which seemed the most she could do to hide her displeasure. In the few lonely days since Sunday, Catherine's mind had embellished her young pupil's qualities and refined her manners, until in her memory, Ellie was not too far removed from polite society. But as soon as the maid opened her mouth, Catherine was reminded that the girl was indeed only a maid and she had come from humbler origins still. She was steeped in the vulgarities of her own sort of people. They'd have to work on introductions.

"How do you do, Miss Russell?" the music teacher replied stoically. Her accent had a slightly foreign ring to it. "Miss Ennington told me that you have a pleasant voice and that you wish to take singing lessons. Why don't you come and sit here." She gestured at a seat near the piano, while she herself got up, and moved over to sit in front of the piano. "Can you read notes?"

Ellie meekly followed the older woman to the piano as instructed. Everything felt overwhelming to her, so simply following felt best. She cocked her head slightly to one side at the question. Reading notes? Her palms began to heat up as the young girl was put on the spot to answer. Ellie was practicing her reading, but this reading notes lark, was that same thing as reading words? Must be. The confusion paralyzed her. If she blurted out an answer, Miss Catherine would surely scold her.

“Yes, Miss. My employer leaves notes for me all the time,” she answered politely. Miss Catherine couldn't be mad at her for that.

Eighteen years of rigorous schooling could not prevent the gasp that escaped from Catherine's lips. Then she blushed. She had invited Ellie for singing classes. How embarrassing.

But luckily Miss Bellini seemed to have forgotten that Catherine was still in the room. Instead, she looked at Ellie with her face frozen in a confused expression for about five seconds. Then she found her voice so suddenly that Catherine jumped. "No, Miss, music! Music! Can you read musical notes! Probably not. Well, never mind. Let's hear you sing. On your feet. Follow me." And Miss Bellini played an ascending scale.

At the sudden barking of the teacher, Ellie flinched. Her throat caught and her eyes widened. She just answered a question, why were they shouting at her? Her eyes teetered on the edge of tears.

Don't cry, Don't cry, Don't cry... Her silent wish.

"Oh...Alright." Ellie answered softly, her pride dented like an old can. Her shoulders rounding slightly.

Alas, Miss Bellini was not a gentle teacher. "You must sing along, Miss Russell. Like this. Do re mi fa so la ti do. Again." She played the scale again.

Catherine pursed her lips.

Like a newborn foal learning how to use its legs, Ellie's voice wobbled up the scale as she was commanded to do. There was so much going on in the moment. Fear burned hot within her chest, she wanted to do it right, she wanted to be better, Miss Catherine was staring at her; she must hate her.. Miss Bell-whatshername would surely shout at her from the piano.

Oh, what had she inflicted on poor Ellie? The slight girl seemed to become even smaller under Miss Bellini's rigor and her voice did not sound anything like what Catherine had heard last time. She looked like she was ready to burst into tears! Could it be that Ellie was intimidated? Miss Bellini was certainly not gentle, but she wasn't the worst. Catherine had seen classmates reduced to tears during brutal dressing-downs. Indeed, she herself had been drilled, tried, criticized and belittled so often that Miss Bellini's impatience hardly made an impression, but for Ellie's response. Accomplishment took effort. She supposed people who had never had a reason to aspire to much weren't used to that.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Miss Bellini interrupted, lifting her fingers from the keys. She got up and stood in front of Ellie. "What's this? Stand up straight, Miss Russell. Shoulders back a little." She took a shoulder and gently guided it back in position. "Chin up." Hand under the girl's chin, directing. "This slouching won't do, Miss. Now, put your hand on your stomach, here." And placing Ellie's hand there: "Now take a deep breath."

The teacher forcibly grabbing Ellie and repositioning her might have improved her posture for singing, it did little for her mood. Ellie's eyes flashed from sadness to anger as her muscles resisted external control. She had known school mistresses this uncaring... and she hated them for it. Her vision drifted over the teacher and landed on Miss Catherine.

In Ellie's view, Miss Catherine just stood there, lumpen. She had not joined in a chorus of scolding, yet she had not suggested something different; she had certainly not offered any support to her. She was like those children in school who stood silently by as the cane was wielded, merely glad it wasn't their palm or bum being struck.

I'll show ye...

A single piano ivory clanged: “Do”

Then another: “Re”

Then another: “Mi”