Mlle. Bellerose had saved her.

Bellerose. Belle rose. Beautiful rose.

And, so secretly she would never admit it to anyone, Lydia.

Ruby knew she hadn’t really been saved. She hadn’t been in any danger at all. She had never once gone down a flight of stairs or out a window while sleepwalking, and she couldn’t imagine she would now. Habits didn’t readily change, and she didn’t think she was much in the habit of wanting to end her own life.

She hoped not, anyway.

Effie had told her everything, of course. They had long since passed the days when they needed to be Miss Sanders and Miss Cambridge, and had even passed the days of being Euphemia and Ruby. They were Effie and Rue now, and if Ruby ever thought about the fact that her nickname meant regret, she tried to find a way to laugh about it. It couldn’t really be helped. It wasn’t as though there were many nicknames for Ruby, and rue was a pretty flower in its own way. She had always liked yellow flowers.

Effie nudged her foot, and Ruby blushed, trying to pull herself back to reality. They were learning French just now, and she had to try to focus. She didn’t want Mlle. Bellerose to think poorly of her.

Mlle. Bellerose.

Lydia.

Ruby pinched her wrist under her desk, trying to focus. Effie caught sight of the gesture and shot her a concerned look, but Ruby only shook her head. “I’m all right,” she whispered. “I just need to wake up.”

Mlle. Bellerose had been in the middle of saying something to Louisa, another of the older students, but her ears were too sharp to miss anything at all and her composure too sharp to interrupt anything she might be saying. She finished her words to Louisa, then turned to Ruby, a calm smile on her face. “Parlez français s'il vous plaît dans cette salle, Mlle. Cambridge.”

Ruby’s face was aflame as she bowed her head. She should have known Mlle. Bellerose would notice, but she hadn’t thought before speaking. “Je suis désolé. Je suis fatigué ce matin.”

Mlle. Bellerose’s face softened for a moment before she nodded briskly and went on with the lesson. Not another word of English passed Ruby’s lips for the rest of the French lesson. Not another word passed her lips at all, and when Mlle. Bellerose asked her to stay behind a moment after class had finished, she could only nod, hoping she didn’t look as though she was about to cry. She wouldn’t, not in front of the other girls, but she didn’t like looking so helpless and small. Isabella would be sure to take notice, and her tongue was sharper than any blade.

Besides, she oughtn’t cry now. Being asked by Mlle. Bellerose to stay behind was ordinarily a thrill. The two of them would be alone, with eyes only for each other, if only because there was no one else to look at. Of course, ordinarily Ruby hadn’t given Mlle. Bellerose a reason to feel ashamed of her. She was quite good at French, and she never slipped up and spoke English in the classroom the way Molly did.

Not until today.

“Je suis désolé,” she said again, as soon as they were alone, but Mlle. Bellerose set a hand on Ruby’s.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You needn’t worry so much over French or English now. It’s just us, after all.”

It was just them. That was what was so delicious and so unsettling about this. When there were other girls around, Ruby knew precisely how to comport herself. She knew what was expected of her. For a girl who had grown up being watched, it was always much easier to exist in the presence of many others.

But to have only one pair of eyes on her was both dizzying and delightful. She felt it a little with Effie sometimes, but never as strongly as right now, with Mlle. Bellerose’s soft brown eyes.

Mlle. Bellerose pressed a little tighter on Ruby’s hand. “Are you quite well?”

She was better than well. She was ecstatic, bursting with starlight, and she did not dare say a single word about it. “I am,” was all she could say. “I slept poorly last night.” Which Mlle. Bellerose surely knew, if she had caught Ruby sleepwalking as Effie had said. Ruby almost wished it were no more than a story, but there was no cause for Effie to lie.

Mlle. Bellerose nodded. “Many of us have had sleepless nights of late. My mother always told me it was the changing of the seasons. As autumn draws closer to winter, something in our bodies rebels. We long for summer and sunlight to return, and when it does not, we weep, deep down, and rail against the dying sun.” She laughed gently. “My mother was too much a poet sometimes, but there is truth in her words, don’t you think?”

It would be easy to dismiss her sleepwalking and insomnia as nothing more than the changing seasons, but it wouldn’t be true. Winter was difficult for her, but not in this way.

She had taken too long to agree. Mlle. Bellerose spoke on.

“Of course, it could always be something else. You’ve heard the stories about Pendleton, I suppose?”

Every girl had, the first year they arrived. There was always at least one student who would not rest until they had shared at least one tale of the Pendleton ghost. Though Mrs. Pendleton tried to quash the stories, somehow they persisted, and they seemed to grow in the telling.

At least, they had grown in Molly’s telling. Ruby knew quite well the ghost had never been so viscious when Judith Maxwell had told her about it when she had first arrived.

“Perhaps it’s the ghost lurking, waiting to frighten us all out of our wits,” Mlle. Bellerose said with a smile. “It reaches into our souls and troubles our dreams.” Her smile faded quickly. “I’m sorry, Miss Cambridge. I shouldn’t be laughing if you’re ill, or if there is something troubling you. I do hope you might trust me enough to tell me what it is, if there is indeed anything.”

A question without a question. Ruby did trust Mlle. Bellerose, or wanted to, but she didn’t know how to speak of this. She hadn’t even told Effie, who was her dearest friend. The most anyone knew was that she had received a letter from home. What little more Effie knew was that the letter had been burned. The only one who knew who sent it was Elaine, who had brought the letter to her, and Elaine would think nothing of a letter from her brother.

She trusted Mlle. Bellerose, but there were some things she simply couldn’t speak of. She could say that she wanted to say nothing, or make up something, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie. She would have to tell the truth, but a different sort.

“Je vous aime,” she said. “Je vous adore. Je vous aime comme j'aime l'air, comme j'aime mon coeur, comme j'aime ma vie. Je vous aime, Mlle. Bellerose.”

Before Mlle. Bellerose could respond, Ruby turned and hurried from the room, her cheeks burning. She didn’t know how she could ever show her face before her favorite teacher again.