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There, that was good. Hyacinth would be flattered by the comparison.

I liked how Fauntleroy rode that pony even though he never rode before.

Maud paused, considering the perfection of Lord Fauntleroy. The storybook hero was so perfect that the adults around him spent every spare minute comparing notes on just how perfect he was. Lord Fauntleroy had golden curls and lace collars. If he had been an orphan, he would have been adopted immediately. Maud sighed with envy.

I have a lot of time for reading since I don’t go to school. At first I read all the time but then Aunt Victoria said I should have a timetable. So now I dust the first floor every morning before anyone would come to the house and then I read and do arithmetic and help Muffet set the table. And then I have to sew, which I hate because it’s boring —

Maud stopped and crossed out the second half of the sentence, cross-hatching the lines so that it was no longer legible. Ladies, Aunt Victoria informed her, were sparing with the word hate. Victoria had also complained that Maud was too fond of the words boring, stupid, and horrid. Maud was puzzled as to how Victoria knew this, since she took care to guard her tongue in Victoria’s presence. Maud felt, in fact, that she was growing downright mealymouthed.

— which is tedious except it will be a summer dress with stripes. Of course I like the dresses you bought me better. I let Aunt Victoria cut my hair the way you wanted. Anyway, I have to sew and then read history or geography and walk in the garden. The plants are all dead.

Maud reread the last sentence, which was not complimentary. But what did Hyacinth expect? She had told Maud that the garden was large and lovely, but it wasn’t lovely at all. It was full of stickers, and the tall hemlocks cast so much shade that there was still snow on the ground. The hour that Maud spent outdoors was the dullest hour of the day. Victoria, however, insisted. Children needed fresh air and exercise.

Maud changed the period at the end of her sentence to a comma and continued on.

— but I suppose something might bloom if the weather ever gets warm. Thursday we had sleet. Aunt Victoria says it’s too cold for April.

Maud scratched her nose with the end of her pen. She wondered if Hyacinth Hawthorne had any idea how cold it was in her third-floor bedroom. There were no stoves, and Maud was not allowed a fire in the grate. During the recent cold snap, the only way to get warm was to climb into bed. Sometimes it took her a long time to stop shivering, even under the blankets.

I’ve started reading Oliver Twist. It’s so creepy, because that undertaker made the boy sleep among the coffins. Even Miss Kitteridge never made us sleep among coffins, though that might have been because she didn’t have any. That day when you said Miss Kitteridge was dreadful and took me away from the Barbary Asylum was the best day of my life, because before that —

Maud stopped short. There was no point in writing about, or even thinking about, the worst day of her life.

before that —

Maud stared at the unfinished sentence. She recalled Hyacinth saying poor little thing! in that sweet, piteous voice. Tears welled up in Maud’s eyes. She concentrated on hearing the echo of Hyacinth’s voice, reliving that moment of sympathy.

because before that, I never met you. You are like my fairy godmother.

The rest of the empty page yawned before Maud. She eyed the clock, wishing it were time for supper. She knew there would be scalloped potatoes; she had helped Muffet peel and slice them. She dipped her pen in ink, determined to finish the letter.

Aunt Victoria says I do a good job dusting and that my table manners are improving. I do not wolf my food as bad as I did. Yesterday when I was getting the silverware for dinner, I heard Muffet. She was backing up so fast she banged the table. There was a great big spider on the floor. With its legs it was as big as a tablespoon, the round part I mean, not the handle. Muffet was so frightened she was crying. I never