It took Afton very little time to move her things from the nursery to the lavender guest room. Knowing as she did that Miss Holland would be some time in receiving her, and being in no wise the sort of girl incapable of amusing herself, she set to work straightaway, determined to create a scaled map of her room. 

She began by taking the room’s orientation with her compass, then by making a preliminary sketch of its important features with graphite—the windows and door, the placement of the bed, wardrobe and fireplace. Then, satisfied with this simple guide, she pulled out another tool from her leather case: a homemade measuring cord, with knots at even one-foot intervals. With this, she could take down the exact measurements of the room, then reduce them to scale and reproduce the room accurately on paper.

Working methodically, she inched her way along the room’s perimeter with her cord, counting the knots as she went. Anyone observing her might incorrectly assume she was a student of architecture, but this was not the case. For Afton, it was not reproducing a floor plan that mattered, but practicing the drawing of an accurate map. A map which she might study, and reference, and use to navigate this big unknown house, the way explorers did unknown lands. In this modern era of 1808, there was very little of the world left to chart, and yet she dreamed of being a cartographer one day, of traveling the world, drawing the coastlines to scale, making accurate maps for an atlas of her own, all published under her own name: Afton Green. 

As she worked, she imagined how it would be to one day sail on a ship and chart the East Indies, the islands of the Maldives, of Java and Sumatra, or the Philippines. Or perhaps she might sail even further east, and chart the islands of the South Seas, where so many tiny land masses were scattered, it was entirely possible there were islands yet still to be discovered, much less mapped. 

Afton imagined the heat of the tropical sun on her face as she scaled down her measurements to 1:24, where every two feet, or 24 inches, equaled one inch on her map. She recalled the salty scent of the sea near Littlewood, and the great gray-blue expanse she had looked upon so many times, imagining instead the brilliant waters of some distant tropical shore, as she used compass and ruler to accurately draw the room to scale.

Working thus, it took three quarters of an hour for Afton to complete this first map, and she felt very satisfied with the result. But this map of her room was only the beginning. Next, in a grand undertaking, she meant to map the entirety of the house itself on a smaller scale. Now that she was warmed up, she couldn’t wait to carry on with her work and moved with a fresh sheet of paper and her measuring cord out the door, and, making sure there was no one around she might be disturbing with her work, got straight to business counting out the feet in the long hallway. 

She made her way methodically along the floor, counting the knots under her breath, intensely focused on her task. Indeed, so focused that she failed to hear the sound of Mr. Ezra Holland’s door opening, or the uneven sound of his footfall as he made his way bleary-eyed into the hall. 

At first, the young man thought he was dreaming still to see her crawling along, another of those vibrant, lifelike, opium fueled visions like the ones that had flooded his night, but when the young girl with the knotted cord backed on all fours directly into his slipper, the sound of his own curse coupled with the girl’s frightened squeak fairly convinced him he was awake.

“Bloody hell?!”

“Oh, my!”

The girl rose abruptly, and in doing so, nearly knocked the unbalanced young man off of his feet. Seeing this, she reached out automatically to steady him, but Ezra caught himself on the door frame, and in his impatience and irritability, slapped the girl’s hand away.

Afton yelped pitifully and gripped her hand close to her throat, falling several steps back.

Realizing what he’d done, Ezra felt at once ashamed of himself, but, being too proud or perhaps just too ill-tempered to apologize, he chose to dismiss his own offense and turn his frustration back on the girl.

“That’s the second time I’ve almost tripped over you, damn! What the devil do you think you’re doing, messing about on the floor?”

“M-making a map of the house,” Afton managed to answer after several seconds spent trying to form the words.

Ezra looked in disbelief from the Green girl to her papers, to her odd tools gathered on the floor, and could only assume that she was, however ridiculous the explanation sounded, telling the truth. He scoffed.

“Well, map the upstairs. You’re in the way, here.”

“I’m tho thorry—” Afton stopped herself, mortified.

It slipped out! She’d been so frightened, so upset at realizing she’d angered Mr. Holland, she’d forgotten to be careful, and betrayed her humiliating weakness to him for the second time.

For his part, Mr. Holland only continued to glare at her. She felt sure he could not have missed her faux pas, but he did not comment on it. Instead, he simply cursed under his breath and shifted his weight, leaning heavily on his cane.

“It’s just as well you are here. I rang for service but no one answered. Have Mrs. Agate send tea up, and tell Benedict to get someone to run into town and fetch my tobacco.”

Then he shut the door in Afton’s face without waiting for so much as a sound of acknowledgment from her. 

Thus tasked, Afton, after hesitating some several moments, sped down the hall to the stairs and made for the kitchens. With just a few wrong turns she reached her destination, only to deliver the young master’s instructions to a most unobliging Mrs. Agate. After being tersely informed that Mr. Benedict was still on leave, and that Mr. Holland was going to have to see to such personal matters himself as Mrs. Agate had her hands quite full running the kitchens without any help (thank you!), a bewildered Afton was sent back upstairs with a tray of tea things for the young master.

She knocked at the one she thought to be Mr. Holland’s door, but received no reply. She tried again. Still nothing.

Not knowing what else to do, Afton left the tray on the floor in front of his door. Gathering her surveying equipment, she scribbled a short note to Mr. Holland explaining that Mr. Benedict was still out and that no one would be available to fetch his tobacco today, placed it on the tray, then retreated to the nursery upstairs, the one place she felt certain she wouldn’t bother anyone.

Having lost all enthusiasm for mapping Holland House, Afton sat quietly in the window seat of the nursery, feeling very cold and alone, looking down at the front driveway, white with mist and snow. Here after some time she saw a black carriage roll around, pulled by a team of four handsome dark bays, matched so closely in color and size that she could scarcely tell one from another.

While the footman secured trunks to the luggage rack at the rear of the carriage, a tall figure she recognized to be the elder Mr. Holland made his way inside the coach, carrying the small white Stella in his arms. Behind him followed a smaller figure, the boy she thought she’d seen before, about her own age, whose face she’d yet to glimpse. She thought it must be the younger of Mr. Holland’s sons, though she could not recall if anyone had mentioned his name.

Soon they were all situated, and the party, with its two Mr. Hollands, the coachman and the footman, started on its way. Afton watched with a feeling of melancholy as the dark carriage rattled away down the drive and disappeared into the snowy mist, leaving the big house in silence once again.

But this was a silence which was broken rather abruptly by the sound of footsteps on the stairs and in the hall behind her, and of two female voices calling to one another.

“Perhaps she is upstairs, Miss.”

“Well, find her, Kit! You must find Miss Green!”

With a gasp, Afton leaped up, flustered and completely at a loss, and opened the door to find the girl she remembered as Miss Holland’s maid standing not too far away, hair tousled and slipping out from beneath her cap, her cheeks rosy with exercise from rushing through the house.

“Here you are! If you please, Miss, my lady is most eager to meet you.”

“Oh, I—”

“Kit? Have you found her, Kit? Is that you, Miss Green?”

Before Afton could properly respond, a young woman’s head appeared in the stairway, turning this way and that. The moment she spotted Afton, her face transformed with a beaming smile, and she ran the final steps down the hall to take up the younger girl’s hands.

“Oh, Miss Green! Miss Green, how glad I am you have come!”

She embraced Afton warmly, and Afton, reeling, embraced her back.

“Y-you must be Miss Holland.”

“Yes, dear girl, yes! Oh, how I have longed for your coming. I am starved for a companion in this house. Let me look at you, dear.”

If the men in Holland House had been dark, mysterious storm clouds, Miss Holland was the sunlight, burst upon that gray dusty room in all her radiant warmth and splendor. With her fine cream muslin gown, strawberry curls and expressive, emerald-colored eyes, she was at once the most vibrant, the most handsome young woman Afton had ever set eyes upon.

“How precious you are,” Miss Holland declared after gazing intently upon Afton’s pale, somewhat swollen face. “How very sad and alone. You have been crying.” 

Afton was surprised that the traces of yesterday’s tears could still be seen upon her face, but Miss Holland seemed sure. 

“Oh, you poor dear.” Once more, she embraced the younger girl without reserve, clutching her to her breast. 

“Weep no more, sweet Miss Green. For you are among friends now. And I make it my solemn duty to cheer you and make you feel at ease in your new home. Already, I like you, and I can tell we have a lot in common. You grew up without a mother, yes?”

“Y-yes, Miss Holland.”

“As did I! See, we are already so alike, we might well be sisters. But what is your given name, sweet Miss Green? For it will not do to go on calling one another Miss Green and Miss Holland.”

“My name is Afton.”

“Afton, how quaint. After the river in Scotland. I have never seen it myself, but I have read it is beautiful. And my name is Esther—that’s Persian, it means star. Can you call me Esther?”

It was terribly informal after so short a meeting, but Miss Holland didn’t seem like the type of person to stand long on formalities. Besides this, Afton liked her already, and though she was somewhat awkward, she was pleased at the thought of having a companion so close to her own age.

“I...yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Esther.”

“There.” She beamed. “See, isn’t this nice, Afton?”

“Yes,” Afton smiled shyly. “Very nice.”