He met my eyes. “It is true we sent out messages inviting magicians to Whitehall. It is also true that we have had no female candidates, until now. Many of us are unsure about accepting young women as students, even after … perhaps because of … well, that’s something else we’ll talk about later. If you joined us, you would be the first female student and you would be very much isolated from the rest of the student body. It would take time for them to accept you as a peer. My wife is old enough to be your mother, more or less, and she was the daughter of Lord Whitehall himself. You are much younger and much less prepared, in many ways, to be a student. On the other hand, you do have rare potential and you are obviously willing to work hard to succeed.”
His words hung on the air. “If you want to stay, after everything I have said, you will be welcome. If not, I will understand. Not every student has chosen to remain after discovering how difficult it can be or the absence of certain shortcuts” - his lips twisted as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to smile or grimace - “although you do have that advantage of having less to unlearn. There are other options for young women in the nearby town.”
I doubted those options would be very pleasant. The villagers had often claimed that the larger towns were hot springs of debauchery, laden with pitfalls for young men - and women – who visited without taking care not to fall in. I was a farm girl … I supposed I knew enough to be a farmhand, but it was unlikely anyone would take me on unless they were desperately short of manpower. I had worked hard, like my sisters and stepsisters, yet my brothers and stepbrothers had done far more than us. It was galling, but it was true.
“I want to stay,” I said. I pulled out the pouch and held out the coins. “I can pay …”
Bernard shook his head, a faint hint of pity crossing his face. It struck me, too late, that the Lord and Master of Whitehall had to be rolling in cash. He could have students from the very richest families, the sons of kings and princes and wealthy merchants, all of whom would pay through the nose to have their children taught to use their magic safely. I had no idea how much my coins were actually worth, but there was no way I was wealthy as a single merchant. Even showing him the coins might have been a mistake. He might think I had more.
“You will have to do some work to help maintain the school, like all the other students,” he said. “It’s an important part of your education.”
I nodded, relieved. I wasn’t afraid of hard work. I knew girls who complained about housework, about spending most of their days cooking and cleaning, but they had an easy time of it compared to a farmhand. Whatever they wanted me to do, I’d do it gladly.
He met my eyes. “You also have to take a modified apprenticeship oath,” he added. “If you are caught breaking the oath, afterwards, you will be expelled.”
I felt a hot flash of irritation. Everyone knew that when you gave your word you kept it, even if you discovered, too late, that you’d agreed to do something you shouldn’t. Or was just bigger than you had realised, before you gave your word. If you broke your word, no one would ever trust you again.
“I know,” I said. I’d heard terrible tales about magical oaths - and what they did to oathbreakers. “What is the oath?”
Bernard talked me through it, line by line. It wasn’t – precisely, although I didn’t understand the difference at the time – a magically-binding oath, but I suspected it wouldn’t matter. I stumbled through the words, feeling unsure of myself. It wasn’t an oath of blind obedience to my new teachers, not precisely, but it did oblige me to leave if I felt unable or unwilling to follow their instruction. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I graduated and then left Whitehall, yet I would always have an obligation to protect the school. I wondered, absently, if all the students took the same oath.
“Welcome to Whitehall,” Bernard said, when I had finished stumbling through the oath. It felt as if my life had just changed beyond all recognition. My father and the village were just distant memories, while I was hovering between my old life and the new. “Julianne - my wife - will show you to your room.”
The door opened, on cue. I looked up into the eyes of a powerful woman, wearing a dress that looked very much like a feminine version of Bernard’s outfit. She looked brisk and competent and … there was something in her eyes that told me not to take her lightly. I couldn’t help being reminded of David’s mother, and the cool assessing gaze she had given me before he had asked me to walk out with him. It made me wonder when he had told his mother he intended to ask me, and what she had said in response. And what she had felt after …
“Welcome to Whitehall,” Julianne said. “I hope you’ll enjoy your time here.”
“Good luck,” Bernard said.
I stood and followed Julianne out of the room and through a maze of corridors. She walked briskly, giving me no time to look around. I thought there was a logic to how the building was laid out, but it was impossible to figure it out. I thought I saw things lurking at the corner of my eye, things that vanished when I tried to look at them properly. It made me feel uneasy, as if I was somewhere I didn’t belong. But I did. I told myself, very firmly, that I belonged.
“It would be improper to put you in the student dorms,” Julianne said, flatly. “If we had more female students, we could put you together, but we don’t. I’m going to give you a room near mine, close enough for you to come to me if you have trouble. Is that acceptable?”
I hesitated. Something was bothering her. But what?
“Yes, thank you,” I said. I wasn’t sure quite what to say. “When do I start lessons?”
“Try not to run before you can walk,” Julianne advised. “You will be assessed tomorrow and then sorted into a proper class, depending on how much you know and how much you have to unlearn.”
I nodded, torn between excitement and trepidation. “I can’t wait!”
Julianne smiled, but there was a hard edge to it.
Chapter Three
“So,” Master Rupertson said, the following morning. “A little girl thinks she can learn magic?”
I did my best to contain my anger. Master Rupertson’s tone dripped condescension. I had not slept well, despite finally being in a place I could learn magic, and breakfast had been awkward. The students had stared at me with varying levels of interest, while the tutors had largely ignored me. I wasn’t sure if they had doubted my right to be there or if they had simply decided not to show any interest until they knew for sure I was staying. I feared the latter. It was never easy for women to force their way into a purely male sphere.
“Well?” Master Rupertson studied me thoughtfully. “Do you think you can learn magic?”
I stared back at him, as evenly as I could. Master Rupertson was old enough to be my father, with short dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He reminded me far too much of a wealthy farmer I knew, wealthy at least by the standards of my community, who insisted young girls could not be expected to work on the farm, an absurd concept in places where every hand needed to work to keep the farm going. He refused to hire women for manual labour, let alone anything else. Master Rupertson had the excuse, at least, of never meeting any female magicians. I have no idea why the other guy thought what he did. But then, he was wealthy enough to survive a bad harvest or worse winter.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “I can learn.”