20 Million Leagues Over the Sea Read Online Free PDF Page B

funds.
Strangely enough, her findings had seemed quite welcome back at the
College. Trying to hide her smile at the memory, she only nodded
like the demure young lady she was supposed to be.
    "You will make your own bed, every morning,
and you will make it tight," the matron continued. "No one will be
waiting on you hand and foot on this ship, Fraulein. I may be the
Head of Housekeeping, and you may be a scientist, but this does not
make me your maid. I run a tight ship! I make sure that things get
done! And I will be inspecting your room from time to time."
    Gemma merely dropped her eyes and nodded
assent. After Mrs. Landry's strict housekeeping back at the school,
Frau Knopf would not be a problem. She suspected that dirt would
run screaming from the mere mention of this lady's name.
    "Here we are," the lady said as they stopped
in front of a door marked 615 . She pointed to the latch that
grew out of the door in the place normally occupied by a knob.
"Secure the door, coming and going, always the doors," she ordered.
"Also, there is a map of the rest of the ship as well as a schedule
on your dressing table. Tea will not be served today, but I will
bring you a small tray for your supper. Tea will be served at four
o'clock tomorrow in my parlour on this deck. Please see the
schedule for acceptable dress. Also, the ship's ladies meet for a
knitting circle on Saturdays in my parlour after tea. Remember,
promptness is a virtue."
    Frau Knopf shut and latched the door before
Gemma could reply. Gemma was alone at last for the first time in
days. She looked about the room and saw that her steamer trunk, one
she had aptly named "Old Dependable", had arrived ahead of her and
in better shape than she had.
    She ran her fingers lovingly over its antique
lock, and then she retrieved her necklace from beneath the shelter
of her blouse. She snapped the locket open and gazed at the image
of the imposing matron that had sent her on this journey. In the
photograph's sepia tones, it was difficult to discern the colour of
the hair in that severe chignon, with not a strand out of place.
Her roommate at Brightman's, Philippa, had whispered to her that it
had once been as blond as Gemma's, but now grey ruled those
formerly flaxen fields. Mrs. Brightman's disciplined and
no-nonsense manner was captured perfectly in the tiny metal frame
of the locket, packaged to follow her students no matter their
posting. Commanding eyes that observed all and revealed nothing
peered down an age-sharpened nose at the unknown photographer. One
hand pressed into the arm of the straight-backed chair that held
her. The other hand gripped a walking stick, and its ivory head of
Medusa was barely visible beneath her fingers. Gemma could fill
that bit in for herself; she had memorized its slithering locks
over many years of being nudged back into line with it. She drew
strength from her teacher's determined expression before she closed
the charm.
    Slipping the toggle at the end of the
necklace's chain into the trunk's lock, she heard a satisfying
click as the tumblers turned. She inhaled the smell of aged leather
with a smile. In a life where her living space was as changeable as
the weather, this trunk encompassed her only feeling of continuity,
of home. As she opened it, she also allowed the compartment of her
mind that contained her true self to open, as she only allowed when
she was alone with the ancient trunk. The mask of the wide-eyed
young scientist fell away, and her face relaxed into something more
authentic. She took a deep breath as her own true thoughts unfolded
like a fan that had been held closed for too long.
    She examined her quarters as she unpacked.
The chamber was small, but serviceable. A low bookshelf doubled as
a headboard and nightstand for the bed. Everything had its twin,
mirrored on either side of the room, down to the pink and gold
roses on the porcelain washbasins at the foot of each bed. A pair
of sturdy wardrobes occupied the space where one