The news had rolled through the school and was the cause for an “intervention.” This meant that an outside consultant was to be called in to give workshops to teachers, parents, and students on strategies for everything from sportsmanship to combating bullying. Essays had to be written by students as well as teachers. “Implementation programs” for building a safe environment, for encouraging respect and positive behavior, were to be explored and discussed. The Mean Queens were not singled out as criminals, much to Rose’s disappointment, but as having “aberrant behavior.”

“A synonym for being a jerk,” Myles said.

“They aren’t going to change,” Anand said, shaking his head.

“Put them in the Tower,” Rose muttered. The boys looked at her.

“Huh? What tower?” Myles asked.

Rose paused. “Um, I’m not sure why I said that.” It was as if a fragment of a dream had blown across her mind. “Forget it.”

But Rose didn’t forget. All day she felt as if she had been haunted by a dream. Even during her riding lesson after school, where she did in fact jump sidesaddle on Ivy. “Beautiful!” Peter called out as she floated over the jump. I’m yielding, she thought. Yielding to the air.

She had her usual dinner with Gran in the greenhouse. They planted some seedling bachelor’s buttons and transplanted some pansies that would eventually be put along their front walk in April. Rose asked if Gran had any plans for snapdragons.

“Never!” Gran growled.

“I guess you put them in the poinsettia category.”

“Worse. Snarly little things. Ugly as sin in my mind. Freakishly gaudy.” Hmmm, thought Rose. Sort of like Lisa.

“I get the picture, Gran. You don’t like them.”

“‘Abhor’ is a better word.”

Rose went to bed before Gran for the first time. She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep when she woke up, suddenly, not from a dream but from the memory of one that had haunted her all day. There had been fog. Chill, damp air, and she was standing in a rose garden that was not yet in bloom, a grand house in the distance. She had just delivered a message to Princess Elizabeth when she spied the figure of a man. She had turned around. Or was it that the man had turned around? It didn’t matter. In an instant she knew that it was her father. She had to get back. She just had to.

Climbing out of bed, she pulled on a pair of leggings, woolly socks, and her down vest. It never seemed to matter what she wore, since by the time she was back serving Elizabeth, she was always dressed in her proper servant’s dress and French hood.