If I could pick a sister, I would choose Justine. I had chosen Justine. But Justine had had other sisters, once. I wished this horrible woman had not dragged their ghosts into this dismal entryway along with the rest of our luggage. I reached down and took one handle of the trunk, gesturing for Justine to take the other.

She regarded our landlady with wide eyes and a stricken expression. I looked at the landlady again more closely. Though she bore no immediate resemblance to Justine’s mother, that sharp and cutting tone of voice and the dismissive way she had answered my innocent inquiry were enough to upset poor Justine’s nerves. I would have to do my best to keep Justine from interacting with her. Hopefully this would be the only night we required anything from this wax-faced harpy.

“I am so glad we found you!” I said again, beaming, as she harrumphed past us to a narrow flight of stairs. Then I turned and winked at Justine over my shoulder. She gave me a wan smile, her pretty face pinched with the effort of pretending.

“You can call me Frau Gottschalk. The house rules are as follows: No gentlemen past the front door, ever. Breakfast is at seven sharp and will not be served to anyone seated after that. You are to always be presentable when in the shared spaces of the house.”

“Are there many other guests?” I maneuvered our large trunk past a poorly wallpapered corner.

“No, none. If I may continue, shared spaces are for quiet activities during the evening, such as needlework.”

“Or reading?” Justine said hopefully, her tongue tripping over the German. She knew how much I loved to read. Of course she would think of me first.

“Reading? No. There is no library in the house.” Frau Gottschalk glared as though we were the silliest creatures in existence for assuming a house for ladies would include books. “If you want books, you will have to visit one of the university libraries or booksellers. I would not know where they are. Washroom is here. I only empty bedroom chamber pots once a day, so have a care not to fill them too high. Here is your room.” She pushed open a door, clumsily carved with an approximation of flowers that were as lovely as Frau Gottschalk’s face was kind. The door creaked and cracked as though protesting its use.

“Dinner is your responsibility. You may not use the kitchens for any reason. And supper is served promptly at six, which is also when the door is locked for the night. Do not think my kindness tonight will happen again! Once that door is locked, no one can open it.” She held out her heavy iron key. “You cannot open it, either. So no sneaking each other inside. Keep curfew.”