The sewing sampler had arrived at Madame Dalhousie’s apartment in Paris last week. A masterpiece of advanced embroidery, it had been composed of delicate colored threads stitched into a rectangle of coarse cloth, depicting a stone house and gardens, a jumbled alphabet, and a flock of birds circling above. Four ravens, to be precise, one of which had a white-tipped wing. The latter was the unofficial symbol of the Academy, and a necessary component of any secret message. Taken altogether, it had been a simple enough code. Effie had used it to spell out the unmistakable command: FLY HOME.

“Ridiculous, more like.” Effie’s tone held no malice. Among all the residents of the Academy, Nell was the only one whom Effie counted as a friend. They had corresponded semi-regularly during Effie’s exile.

Together, they returned up the pebbled path to the house. Nell’s leg hitched with every step. Effie felt the motion as much as saw it. The guilt she nurtured over her part in the childhood accident that caused Nell’s injury sprang anew. It never really left her, that guilt, despite the fact that Nell had long professed to hold no resentment over the past.

“You might simply have written a letter to me,” Effie said, “rather than making a riddle of it.”

“How dull that would have been.” Nell linked her arm through Effie’s. “It was far more amusing to practice my stitchery.”

Their full skirts pushed against each other as they walked. It was impossible for them not to, given the respective size of their wire crinolines. Miss Corvus wasn’t a lady to entertain the whims of fashion, but she had made an exception for the controversial, and seemingly impractical, cage-like undergarment. All of her teachers donned them, and most of the older orphans, too. Both Effie and Nell wore theirs like armor.

No one could easily get close to a girl wearing a wire crinoline, not without thoroughly disarranging her. Its sheer circumference provided a modicum of protection. But its daunting size had another purpose. A crinoline made even the smallest female an intimidating creature. She took up space for herself—demanded space—in a world where ladies were too often diminished and ignored.

“People never trouble to examine samplers too closely, I find,” Nell continued. “And when they do, they’re only searching for the flaws, never the meaning. It makes them an ideal vehicle for sending secret messages.”

“You’re a modern-day Madame Defarge,” Effie remarked.

Nell’s eyes twinkled. “Except my messages are all for the good.”

Effie gave Nell a speaking glance as they ascended the front steps to the house. “That remains to be seen.”