No Ivory Tower. Stephen Davenport

Eudora’s kingdom, it smelled of turpentine, paint, wet clay—and silence. A dozen girls, one of whom was Claire, each at an easel, were sketching a classmate who stood on a raised dais before them. She was tall, thin, gawky, only a little self-conscious, leaning glibly on a cane, trying to look debonair in a man’s tuxedo. Eudora, in a flowing yellow smock and big golden earrings, glided among her artists looking at their work, whispering, patting shoulders, sometimes nodding her head. There was nothing casual in this scene. It was dignified and formal. Learning how to see. That’s a serious business. No one noticed Rachel enter. She stood in the back until the bell rang and the girls reluctantly put their easels away.

      In Eudora’s office, Rachel delivered the news and explained her reasons why it was imperative to send Claire and Amy away. She told Eudora that Amy’s mom was going to talk to Amy about going to St. Agnes School in England on an exchange with a St. Agnes student, and that she, Rachel, would call the head of St. Agnes right away to make the arrangements.