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this part.”
    “You pay visits to other young ladies of your social circle, and they do the same. It’s an important way of forming acquaintances and learning of important events.”
    Important events. Yeah, I’d definitely want to go and see if I can pick up something useful. Pity they don’t use Facebook or Twitter.
    “So it’s just hanging out with your friends,” I say, and realize I used another modernism. “Um, is there anything I should observe when paying calls?”
    Elle hesitates. “I have never been instructed in the etiquette of calling, but I’m sure you won’t have to worry when Miss Bianca’s there with you. Just follow whatever she does.”
    Urgh, I doubt that will be simple. I’ve never been good at socializing. But I have to go.
    When Elle is done, I am wearing a chocolate-brown dress that reaches my ankles, thick-soled boots, a woolen mantle, brown gloves, and a velvet bonnet. My eyes bulge when I see my reflection—it looks like I’ve just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel.
    “Can’t I go without this?” I tug on my bonnet strings.
    Elle looks puzzled. “But Miss Katriona, you spent half your pocket money for that bonnet, and you’ve only worn it twice.”
    Oops. I guess I’ll let it go this time. Better try to act more like the old Katriona.
    Bianca is already waiting for me by the carriage with her arms crossed. She’s frowning and she keeps tapping her fingers on her upper arms. “Hurry, the roads can be crowded when everyone’s out,” she says. Then she addresses a young man who’s holding a horse whip by the carriage. “Van, make sure you drive round the puddles. Mother would be furious if the new carriage were splashed with mud.”
    “Yes, Miss Bianca,” the man nods eagerly, his cheeks going pink. “I’ll be sure to pay attention.”
    “See that you do.” Bianca ignores his proffered hand and enters the carriage without difficulty. I try to do the same, but my gloves make it hard to grip for support. I slip once, bang my elbow on the door, then barrel into the carriage. Bianca rolls her eyes and mutters, “Clumsy oaf.”
    As the carriage rolls along, I can’t help noticing the city—this new city I just arrived in. It feels like I’ve stepped through the wardrobe into Narnia. Or like being Harry Potter, entering Diagon Alley for the first time.
    The road is paved with cobblestones, not cement, which makes the ride a hard, bumpy one. Thank God our carriage is lined with cushions. Bianca bears every jerk and jostle with a perfectly normal face, while I squeak and groan, wishing I could stand instead. Despite multiple layers of clothing, I believe my bum could still get bruised. But it’s not just the ride itself that’s unpleasant. After a while, the tall, stately townhouses gradually disappear, the streets start getting narrower and more crowded, the air reeks of horse manure and smoke and ew, sewage waste. Flower-sellers, broadsheet boys, and street collectors holler and shout as they mingle with the traffic; it’s amazing how they navigate through the horses and carriages and carts. There’s even a live band with bagpipes and violins and drums. I put my hands to my ears until we pass; the cacophony of noises from the band and street sellers is deafening.
    Everyone is dressed in dark cloaks and suits and gowns, like me, and no wonder. As we round a corner, I hear a woman gasp out loud. Someone riding a horse thunders past her, sending a wave of dirt and mud into the air, showering her bonnet and face.
    Thank God we’re in a vehicle with a roof and door.
    “Who are we visiting today?” I say.
    “Claire, Mabel, and Gloria, of course. Lorna may not be home yet—her maid informs us she is still traveling. I’m not sure about Harriet, she didn’t return my call last time.” Bianca folds her arms; her lip curls. “Thinks she’s a cut above the rest of us, ever since she returned from a year spent abroad. However, even if she has acquired an exotic