Victoria dashed across a bedroom, snatched Molly’s arm, and dragged her into a hallway. “How many girls did you tell?”
Molly bowed her head. “They were worried about you.”
“And you couldn’t make something up?”
“Well, I couldn’t lie.”
Victoria slapped her own forehead. “But telling them could mean our goal could be compromised. Imagine if Joslin found out?”
“I’m sorry, Victoria, and going forward, I’ll do my best to fib. I promise.”
Victoria sighed. “No, don’t fib.” She glanced inside the bedroom. “How about this: next time, do what our storyteller does: tell them a parable—a story that contains the truth—and then let them figure it out.”
“Figure what out?”
Victoria spun around, and Joselin stepped into the hallway, watching Victoria gesture at her hair.
“Figure out how you’d managed permanent curls,” Victoria said. “If it were me, every other day, I’d have to borrow an curling iron.”
Joslin swept a loch over her shoulder. “Everyone knows my curls are natural.” She folded her arms. “You both are hiding something.”
Molly shook her head. “What? No! I don’t have anything to hide.”
Joselin peered at Molly. “Maybe you don’t…” She looked at Victoria and huffed. “But you might…and you better tell me what it is before I go to Madam Aldridge.”
“Tell her what?” Victoria said.
“That you’re up to something. And given your how much she dislikes you, she may just put you out for that alone.”
Victoria stared at her.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Joslin said.
Victoria lowered her eyes. “You’re right, I’ve no choice—I’ll have to explain everything.”
Molly gasped. “Victoria—”
Victoria lifted a hand. “No, it’s okay. She’s a year older.”
“And one-hundred years smarter,” Joslin said. “Now, explain.”
“Well,” Victoria said. “I…”