She was dressed neatly and quite unappealingly in a gray cloak and bonnet—probably a sensible choice on a day that was cloudy and dreary despite the fact that it was almost summer. Behind her, the porter was lugging one sizable piece of baggage—no doubt hers—across the pavement and would have attempted to hoist it to the roof if John had not firmly intervened. “Good morning, Miss Martin,” Joseph said, doffing his tall hat and inclining his head to her. “I see I have not arrived too early for you.” “We are a school,” she reminded him, “and do not sleep until noon. Are you going to ride all the way to London?” “Perhaps not all the way, ma’am,” he said. “But for much of the journey you and your pupils may enjoy having the carriage to yourselves.” It was impossible to know for sure from the severity of her countenance if she was relieved, but he would wager a fortune she was. She turned her head. “Edna?” she said. “Flora? We must not keep his lordship waiting. Climb into the carriage, please. The coachman is waiting to hand you in.” She looked on without comment as the wailing started up again from the orderly lines of girls and the two travelers moved along them to hug each girl individually. She gazed with pursed lips as, before each scrambled up the steps into the carriage, the teacher who had brought order out of chaos hugged them too and even kissed each girl on the cheek. “Eleanor,” Miss Martin said then as she approached the carriage herself with firm strides, “you will not forget—” But the other teacher cut her off. “I will not forget a single thing,” she said, her eyes still twinkling. “How could I when you had me write out a whole list last evening? There is not a thing for you to worry about, Claudia. Go and enjoy yourself.” Claudia. An eminently suitable name—strong, uncompromising, suggestive of a woman who could look after herself. Miss Claudia Martin turned to the lines of girls. “I will expect to hear good things of my senior girls when Miss Thompson writes to me,” she said.