My eyes looked gently around the Bay Ridge Lodging House. There wasn’t anyone around, so I took my violin case out from under my bed. The shining mahogany wood was still beautiful even if the strings had begun to wear, and the bow was starting to look a little shabby. I knew I had money enough to buy new ones, but I just wouldn’t let myself. I tuned the string and began to play from memory. It seemed to take me back to a different time and place.

“Cynthia Bennett!” a harsh voice screamed just outside my door. I opened it coming face to face with my nurse. Who, by the way, I was too old for. She was tough with piercing eyes. She always told me a little lady should be seen and not heard, which was a philosophy that ruined me for life.

“What is it?” I asked trying to make my babyish blue eyes bore into hers, quite unsuccessfully I might add.

“Your father has requested that you actually attend dinner tonight.”

“Of course I’ll attend dinner,” I said nodding.

“An important guest is going to be here visiting.” She always tried to get me to fight back, to ask questions, but there really wasn’t that much fight in me. I knew that if I stayed quiet she’d go away disappointed. That she did.

I knew that when an important guest came to visit it usually meant fancy clothes and waltzing. I didn’t like to dance at all. I imagine that I would if I could dance by myself like that ballerina I saw when my father took us to the ballet. When the other dancers came out she just pirouetted off the stage.

I selected a simple light blue dress. It had an empire waist in white and was trimmed with white lace. I brushed out my light brown hair and let if fall halfway down my back. I put on white gloves and then decided it was enough. Time to go down to dinner.

My father was waiting in the dinning room; he was dressed in his best tuxedo. My father was a handsome man, with brown hair about my color and dark blue eyes, but his eyes were always sad. At least they had been for as long as I can remember. “Good evening Cynthia, my morning sunshine,” He said smiling.

“Good evening father,” I said kissing him on the cheek.

“Lord Carlson should be here very soon.”

“Oh”

“He’s bringing his son, you know Anthony don’t you?”

“Not well,” I muttered quietly. Inside I was worried sick. How could I tell Anthony from all the others? Those whose names seemed to blend together into one overbearing demon.

“Well good, then you won’t have any preconceived notions.” My mind whirled at that statement. What was he implying by preconceived notions? I already had those. Boys, men, whatever they were to be called made me exceedingly nervous. I almost passed out when the last one was here.

“Father must he come?”

“Yes dear. It was his request and I agreed.” I wanted to plead more, but our butler came in.

“Sir Bennett, Lord Carlson and his young son have arrived.”

“Good send him in,” my father said with a slight smile, so slight it was barely notice-able, but it was there.

They came in then. Lord Carlson was a large balding man who seeming to enjoy wearing fur and lots of it for that matter. Anthony looked dwarfed next to his father.

“Good evening,” my father said, well composed.

“Good evening.” Lord Carlson’s voice was loud and commanding. “Who is this?” he gestured at me as if I was a servant girl who dared to stand in his presence.

“My daughter, Cynthia.”

“Ah yes.” He nodded and took a seat at the table. Everyone else followed his lead. We had an exquisite meal, but it wasn’t anything different than want we usually had. As we ate one of our servants played the violin. I stayed silent throughout dinner, saying nothing for fear of punishment or retaliation, but when I finished Anthony stood up. He looked terrified, but his father nudged him forward.

“Cynthia, would you care to dance?” he asked. I looked to my father for an excuse, but he offered none. In fact he looked glad of this revelation. I sighed and took his hand, and the violinist began to play a waltz. I cannot explain the extreme annoyance that I harbored over this. He made several attempts to begin a conversation, but I simply nodded or said nothing. He looked really annoyed with me as well. When we finished I was dismissed to my chambers, but I lingered in the hall to hear what they had to say.

“What is she, a mute?” Lord Carlson demanded of my father.

“Hardly, she’s just shy,” my father told him.

“I’ll admit she’s quite pretty, but that’s horrid.” Great, now I’m horrid. I didn’t want to hear anymore so I ran to my chambers. Stupid boys. I never wanted anything to do with them ever again. It didn’t make any difference; they didn’t want anything to do with me. But that was before charm school.

I started charm school a few months after the Anthony fiasco. My father felt that I might learn some confidence and grace. This, of course, was ridiculous.

“Back straight Miss Bennett!” the teacher screamed. She was a tall lanky woman with her brownish hair in a severe bun. Everyday I knew her she wore black. That should have been an omen of sorts. I tried to straighten out m back. She glared at me for a short time and then turned away, shouting that a Miss Lloyd leave the teacakes alone.

“She’s awful,” a girl behind me spat out. I turned suddenly red thinking she was talking about me.

“That’s horrid slang,” said another girl. The first one ignored her.

“Hey you! Miss Bennett!” The first girl called.

I turned to her, “Yes?”

“I’m Rachael Wellington. You?”

“Cynthia Bennett.”

“Pleasure, you want to hang with us today?” I was shocked. This girl’s use of slang was rather disgusting and yet endearing at the same times. I was also in desperate need of a friend.

“Er…of course.” Later in the day I met the girl Rachael had been talking to; a petite and proper little blonde named Ophelia. She was Rachael’s cousin.

“So, Cynthia,” Rachael asked as we waited between waltzes, “You ever visit the village?” I didn’t respond. “Or do you just stay up in Castlé du Bennett all your life?”

“Never mind Rachael,” Ophelia told me quietly, “She hasn’t been brought up as we have.”

Rachael glared and then looked at us evilly, “Do you silly ninnies want to go to town tonight or what?”

“Oh my father would never…”

“Sneak out, it won’t be hard.”

“Not tonight, maybe some other time.”

“Suit yourself.”

That evening I walked into my bedchambers to see a violin sitting in an open case. An attached note simply said, “If you wish to fly, you play have wings. I shall teach you to play if you wish.” I was overjoyed.

For the next month or so I was actually happy. Charm school wasn’t all that great but I had violin afterwards. Sometimes Ophelia came over and we talked away hours my father seemed to approve of her. I also snuck out on several occasions to meet Rachael in town. Ophelia never came, but once Rachael brought Anthony Carlson and he seemed surprised by the change in me. Then, I got caught.

We had stayed out especially late that evening and it had begun to rain. When I came home my nurse was waiting for there for me, a stern look on her face. No one said a word to me. I was guided to my chambers and just as my nurse was closing the door she said, “You’ll be dealt with in the morning.”

A few weeks later I found myself on a boat to America. My father and nurse were to accompany me to my well-to-do aunt’s house in New York City. I sat in our cabin writing a letter when I heard someone scream. “Fire!” I jumped to my feet and ran out with only my violin and a few things in a suitcase. I don’t remember how I got off the wretched ship. It’s all a blur of people running and screaming. All I know is that I managed it. I somehow found my way to the shore.

“Miss Bennett?” one of the officers asked me at the harbor. I nodded, they explained that my father and nurse had both been lost. I cried, it was silly but I did. I didn’t cry as much for them as I did for myself. I would never hear anyone call me Morning again. Or so I thought. Not wanting to go to my aunt’s, I joined up with the Bay Ridge Newsgirls. I don’t think a single one of them knows how much money I have to my name or that I could be, if I so desired, a lady of the British Court. Not that it matters. I don’t believe I was made for high society anyway.