I freeze and my stomach does a fast somersault. It didn’t occur to me last night, but when Dad came to my room to break the news about going to this school, he picked up one of my old stuffed animals and said, “Do you remember that game you used to play with your mom? I could never get you two to take a break from it.” Then he smiled at the memory, the way he often does when my mother comes up in conversations. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now…

I open my bedroom door, caught up in my thoughts, and nearly jump out of the socks I just put on. On the other side, with a hand raised to knock, is a young woman who looks to be in her twenties, carrying freshly pressed clothes. She’s wearing a maroon wool dress and a crisp white…I guess it’s a bonnet? Her cheeks have a natural pink flush that reminds me of a rose.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss November,” she says. “I was just coming to tell you that I’ve brought morning tea with bread and jam at Miss Layla’s request.” She takes a look at me like she’s trying to log every detail, but not in the threatening way the kids and teachers in this school do. Her look is warm and curious.

I put my hand over my heart, like somehow this will slow down my pulse. “No, no. It’s not you. Sorry. I just didn’t expect anyone to be there when I opened the door.”

She does a quick curtsy and gives me a huge smile. “I’m Pippa, your and Miss Layla’s chambermaid. If you need anything, please let me know,” she says, and I detect an Italian accent. She moves past me into my room and lays the clothes she’s carrying over the trunk at the end of my bed.

Pippa, I think. Could be a nickname for Filippa, the Italian feminine form of Philip, meaning…“friend of horses”? Which I suppose suits her. Her upbeat demeanor reminds me of being outdoors in the sunshine.

“Thank you,” I say as she begins to straighten my blankets. “But I mean you don’t have to…I’d rather just…Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” she says, and makes her way back into the common room with me at her heels.

Layla is already sitting at the table near the arched window, and the sight of the freshly baked bread makes me want to hug everyone.

“Oh my god, Pippa, you just made my whole morning,” I say with wide eyes.

I slide into my seat and put my napkin on my lap with enthusiasm.

“I got you the very freshest loaf,” Pippa says with pride. “Grabbed it just as Cook was taking it out of the oven.”

I break off a piece of the bread and steam escapes into the cool morning air. “You might be my new favorite person.”

“Thank you,” Layla says crisply before Pippa can respond and in a way that tells me it’s an invitation for Pippa to leave.