Lydia sat in her room, cozy and warm. If it were raining (or, God forbid, snowing) she would feel quite like a little puffed-up bird in a nest, or a mouse tucked away within layers of stolen fluff. The thought often brought a smile to her face. Consider: Lydia Marie Bellerose, with her dark brown hair and figure already showing signs of plumpness, her sharp nose and round cheeks. Consider: a mouse. Consider: both.

Where is the difference?

Ordinarily the thought would have made her laugh, but tonight her mind was filled with ghosts and worry.

Tonight her mind was filled with Ruby Cambridge.

The two should not have intersected. Ghosts had no business with Ruby, unless they should be nothing more than ghost stories Ruby was telling. Lydia would not mind scolding Ruby for frightening younger girls, for that would mean Ruby had some spirit to her. She would certainly not mind listening to a ghost story told by Ruby.

But to have Ruby possibly haunted by ghosts? That was something Lydia had no wish to bear.

Not that Lydia believed in ghosts. Her mother had been a poet and her father had been a soldier, but Lydia had been brought up as rationally as it was possible for a young woman to be. She did what she could to keep abreast of scientific discoveries and had taught herself both German and Latin. Had she been born a boy, she could have easily been a doctor. Being a girl, it was easier to teach.

She should have been a mother. Then there would have been no need to worry over anguished declarations of love.

At least it had been in French. She had to commend Ruby for that.

That thought, of all things, made Lydia laugh, but the sound stopped quickly. It echoed slightly in her room, which frightened her, for her room had never echoed before. More than that, she oughtn’t laugh at Ruby. The poor girl was too serious to ever laugh at without mockery, and Lydia had no wish to mock her, now more than ever.

Someone knocked at her door. Lydia jumped.

Then she did laugh, properly this time. Her worries were beginning to reach her. There was nothing to fear from a knock at the door. It would most likely be Etta, asking why she hadn’t joined them after supper. After her arrival at Pendleton, Etta had been like a mother to her, even to the extent of offering her music lessons after the girls had finished their own. Lydia had never taken her up on those, though she had always been tempted. It would have been more tempting had she been able to afford a violin.

It wasn’t Etta. It was Ruby, clutching a handful of yellow flowers.

Ruby’s mouth opened, but she seemed incapable of speech. She only worked her lips soundlessly for a moment until Lydia took her hands and drew her into the room.

“Come, sit down,” she said, easing her into the chair she had just left. “Are you quite all right, Ruby? Are you ill?”

Ruby shook her head.

“Are you awake?”

Ruby nodded slowly. “I believe so. I don’t think I’m dreaming.” She turned to Lydia, eyes wide and wild. “I’m not, am I?”

“No. No, dear, you’re not.” Lydia knelt by the chair, clutching Ruby’s hands. “Do you think you are?”

“I don’t know.” For a moment, Ruby looked as though she was about to cry, but then she blinked rapidly and looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.” She began to rise, but Lydia held tight to her hands and pushed her back into the chair.

“You did exactly right in coming to me,” she said. “I want to help you.”

“Even though --”

“I want to help you.”

Ruby relaxed a little bit. Her body was still tense, but she didn’t look as though she was about to flee. As long as she would stay, Lydia could be at ease, even if Ruby would prefer to look down at the flowers than up at her.

They were very odd flowers. Lydia hadn’t the faintest idea where Ruby could have gotten them, especially this late in the year. November was not at all the season for it. “Did someone leave those for you?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice gentle, for fear of startling Ruby again.

Ruby didn’t answer at first. Lydia held her breath for a moment, waiting. When Ruby shook her head, Lydia sighed in relief.

The relief was short-lived. She soon realized just what Ruby’s answer meant.

“Did you find them yourself, then?”

Ruby nodded, then hesitated. “Not quite. They were outside my door, but I don’t know who might have left them. The hall was empty when I looked.”

The hall had seemed empty when Lydia woke to a knock she couldn’t remember hearing. (If indeed Ruby had knocked. If so, she must have moved quickly to have gotten so far from the door by the time Lydia reached it.) “What sort of flowers are they? Do you know?”

“Rue.”

The flower of regret. If this was a sign of any sort, it was a very bad one. “Do you know who might have left them for you, if anyone did?”

Ruby shook her head again. “Effie calls me Rue sometimes, but she wouldn’t have left the flowers and run off. She would have come in and given them to me.”

And she would have been unlikely to find rue even so. Lydia rubbed her arms, though the room was as warm as ever. “Is there anyone else who might wish to leave you flowers, even rue?” Even rue that had bloomed impossibly late?

“I don’t know. Maybe… but no, I don’t think she would. She only leaves me flowers in spring.”

Lydia could have pressed her. She was tempted to press her. If someone was leaving strange flowers about and alarming students -- alarming Ruby, who was the last person she would ever want alarmed -- she ought to get to the bottom of this, or at least alert Mrs. Pendleton of her findings. With Ruby’s eyes so wide and staring at nothing, Lydia was as loath to leave her and run for the headmistress as she was to ask any further questions. Ruby looked as though she stood on a precipice, and any sudden shock would send her over the edge.

Lydia took Ruby’s hands again and guided the girl to her feet. “You look as though you could use some rest,” she said. “Will you lie down a while?”

Even that question was enough to startle Ruby. “What, here?”

“No,” Lydia said quickly. “In your own room. I’ll walk you there, and then fetch Miss Sanders. I can’t imagine you would want to be alone just now.”

“I would be glad of the company,” Ruby said, speaking each word carefully. She leaned against Lydia as they walked from the room. “Mlle. Bellerose, about what I said before…”

“Think nothing of it,” Lydia said. “What’s past is past.”

But what was in the future, she knew she could never imagine.