The Cavendish Home for Boys and Girls Read Online Free PDF Page B

sometimes shopping, if Mrs. Wright found herself in a buying frenzy, which she did quite a lot. Given all that, Tuesday was simply a placeholder.
    (Later, Victoria would have quite a different reason for hating Tuesdays, and she would think about how fitting it was that all the trouble had started on what had always been her least favorite day.)
    So, Victoria awoke the morning of Tuesday, October 11, already miffed due to the nature of the day. Then she remembered three things:
    1. her imperfect academic report;
    2. Lawrence skunking about school yesterday (and Jill teasing her about being his girlfriend , for goodness’ sake); and
    3. Mr. Alice holding out her ribbon in the wind with his bulging white hand.
    Victoria’s mood darkened even more. After allowing herself the customary extra one minute to stew about Tuesdays, she remembered the tap-tap on her window from the previous night and got out of bed to peek outside. She saw only her street and a wet, leafy autumn day. There was no rake, and the flower gardens below her window had no mouths or fingers as she had dreamt.
    “Well, of course the gardens don’t have mouths or fingers,” she muttered, fluffing her curls into place. “Don’t be stupid.” She could not afford to let such ridiculous thoughts distract her; she had to think about more important things, like what to do about that awful B.
    Obviously, she couldn’t give the report to her parents to sign, because that would mean admitting her failure to them. Obviously, she had to turn in a signed report becauseotherwise she would receive a demerit on her otherwise perfect record.
    It was a dilemma.
    Victoria pondered it at breakfast while her father stirred his mint tea and watched the morning news stream on the television. Mr. Wright nodded at the shouting newscasters and said, “Isn’t it all a shame?”
    “Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Wright, poring over a catalog of facial creams and hand creams and foot creams. She marked the good ones with circles. “It really is.”
    Beatrice set down Victoria’s breakfast, and Victoria pushed the plate away. “I’m not hungry.”
    “You should eat your breakfast,” said Beatrice. “It’s good for you. Got to stay strong, don’t we?”
    Something about the way Beatrice said that last part made Victoria look up. She met Beatrice’s eyes, which were old and tired and gray in flawless skin. Beatrice got facials every week. Mrs. Wright wouldn’t hear of having an ugly housekeeper.
    Beatrice nodded at Victoria’s breakfast as if to say, Well, eat up —but then Victoria saw a slip of paper wedged beneath her plate. She looked up in surprise, glanced at her parents, and looked back to Beatrice, who shook her head. Mr. Wright kept sighing at the state of the world. Mrs. Wrightfound a new eye cream and clicked her pen in triumph.
    Victoria pulled the hidden paper to her lap and unfolded it to see two simple words in Beatrice’s handwriting:
    BE CAREFUL.
    Victoria glared at Beatrice, who stood at the island chopping shallots. That same inexplicable coldness from the day before swept through the room. Victoria’s parents didn’t notice; they tended not to notice out-of-the-ordinary things. Beatrice, however, kept glancing over at Victoria, pointing to the note with her eyes.
    Victoria got up and slammed in her chair, wondering why everyone felt the need to be so strange lately, even Beatrice, who was normally more no-nonsense than even Mr. and Mrs. Wright. And now here she was passing strange, secret notes at the breakfast table. It infuriated Victoria.
    “Not so loudly, Victoria,” Mrs. Wright murmured distractedly, but Victoria was already out the front door.
    Be careful. Twice in two days, someone had said that.
    “And what, exactly, am I supposed to be careful of?” Victoria said to herself.
    It must have stormed overnight, because Victoria kept having to step around puddles. The street was even dirtierthan it had been yesterday, with black mud piled here