Miss Mabel's School for Girls Read Online Free

Celia’s cooking.”
    Leda didn’t move. In fact, she still didn’t surface from her book, even after the scrumptious fare arrived. Following Camille’s example, I surveyed the options. Fruit salad with a shiny glaze. Slivered green beans with flecks of almond and butter. A pork chop with apple gravy landed on my plate last. No wonder Miss Celia had been stressed. The food on all six tables would be enough to feed a small contingent of Guardians. I had no doubt, after glancing around, that this small horde of girls would take care of it.
    “So, Bianca,” Camille said through a bite of strawberry tart. “Where do you come from?”
    A gleaming wheat roll tumbled off her loaded plate, hitting a glass of light green winterberry lemonade. The sugared, minty smell drifted towards me.
    “Bickers Mill.”
    Her forehead wrinkled as she swallowed. “Where’s that?”
    “Not far from here. Just outside the border of Letum Wood on the west. What about you?”
    “Leda and I come from Hansham. It’s on the border near the Eastern Network. It’s a part of Letum Wood as well. I think it’s the most beautiful place in all of Antebellum, but I haven’t even been outside of the Central Network.” A sheepish blush covered her face, and she licked a little strawberry glaze off the end of one finger with a murmur of enjoyment. “Mmm. Delicious. Anyway, this is the farthest I’ve been from my aunts’ home.”
    I noticed the way she said aunts’ home and wondered about her parents.
    Letum Wood encompassed nearly all of the Central Network. Because of Letum Wood, most of our Network consisted of trees and gentle hills, a continuous emerald wave of farmland and woods. We were the largest of the five Networks, nestled in the middle, away from the harsh deserts of the West and the breezy coastline of the East. Below us, the Southern Network hibernated most of the year in snow. A rugged, domineering mountain chain separated the Northern Network from the rest of us. It had been years since the other Networks’ last contact with them.
    Camille helped herself to a bite of pork chop slathered with baked apple wedges and motioned to the girl across the table.
    “This is Leda, by the way. I mentioned her earlier.”
    I didn’t tell her that I’d surmised it myself. Leda acted as if she hadn’t heard and kept her face in the book in front of her. Camille dished food onto Leda’s plate, most of which consisted of vegetables and fruit. No meat. The scrumptious fare went unnoticed.
    “Nice to meet you too, I’m sure,” I muttered and bit into a crusty piece of brown bread smeared with tart raspberry preserves, my jumpy nerves almost forgotten under the tantalizing fragrance of the feast. The yeasty, warm smell of Miss Celia’s fresh bread proved her talent at once. Camille hadn’t been exaggerating. 
    “We’ve been waiting for you to come for a while now,” Camille said.
    I almost choked.
    “What?”
    She smiled her apology. “I just meant that we didn’t have a full first-year class, so we knew that one more girl would arrive soon. Miss Bernadette said Isadora has been looking.”
    Camille turned to fight another girl for the butter plate before I could respond. Leda shifted, snatched a strawberry off her plate without moving her eyes from the text and popped it into her mouth. I studied the spine of her book. High Priests of the Southern Network. As if she felt my gaze, Leda slowly pulled the book down and peered over it, one eyebrow quirked high.
    “How is it?” I asked, pointing towards the book as if I hadn’t just been caught and didn’t feel stupid. Perhaps we had a mutual love of history.
    “Bianca, do–” Camille whirled around, her hair whipping my cheek. “Oh, you’re talking to Leda, sorry. I didn’t mean to hit your face. My hair has a mind of its own. Do you want a fruit tart? They are simply my favorite. I love the sugary crust.”
    Leda disappeared behind her book yet again. 
    “No, thank you,” I