Dearest reader,
It has come to my attention that an educator here at Hoover High School is one who shuns slumber. As the rest of the town rests their weary heads, it seems as though there is an instructor of young minds that, quite literally, does not sleep.
Her reputation precedes her, as does her sleeplessness. I speak, naturally, of Lady Leckie-Ewing, a most distinguished governess of the literary arts, entrusted with molding young minds in the finer points of language and verse, a fearless navigator through the tempestuous seas of adolescent essays and advanced poetic analysis.
One could hardly stop there, of course.
It is not every day that one finds a member of society so intimately acquainted with both poetry as well as prose. While others seek titles, Lady Leckie-Ewing has built success— one plate at a time. As whispers swirl like steam from the kitchen and rumors flutter through the school halls, it has become apparent that Lady Leckie Ewing does not drift into slumber’s sweet embrace nor find solace in the soft stillness of night.
Following a most enlightening exchange with Lady Leckie-Ewing, I was made aware of the true nature of her nightly regimen — one that other civilians call sleep.
“I do not rest my head down not once during the entirety of the day,” the Lady said. “I am always engaged in a most pressing series of obligations between my two occupations. I do not even take a brief retreat into the gentle arms of slumber.”
It is often assumed that one who does not catch a dream during the week must, of course, seek it during the weekend.
Or so I foolishly thought.
“I do not even rest my head throughout the entirety of the weekend,” she said. “I keep myself busy accomplishing activities that will help my week move more efficiently. Some of these items include, but are not limited to, hoovering my house, sudsing the dishes, as well as the laundry.”
Surely, one who is so tragically deprived of rest must possess some most curious methods of keeping themselves alert… mustn’t they?
“My typical choice of caffeine includes fresh, rich tea,” Lady Leckie-Ewing said. “As though that were not efficient, I also have some delicate sips of an Alani during the day, so that I may enjoy a variation — however subtle — from the ordinary.”
Hoover High School scholar Brook Priddis currently takes AP Literature with Lady Leckie-Ewing, has noticed what the Lady’s typical choice of beverage is during the hours that the great doors of the esteemed school are open.
“I am certain the number is nothing less than three cups of tea and one energizer as a little snack on the side,” she said.
Though Lady Leckie-Ewing is seldom seen without a vessel of some caffeinated concoction in hand, it appears such elixirs do little to grant her the one thing she so clearly lacks: sleep.
The result? A countenance not so much fatigued as…spectrally preserved.
“While she doesn’t doze off as one would expect any person getting so little sleep to do, her eyes have a haunted look that yearns for the comfort of a pillow but is forced to remain alert by the tea bag in her morning drink,” Miss Priddis said.
It stands to reason that one who so willfully rejects the comfort of sleep must also be impervious to tardiness, arriving promptly, if not unnervingly early, to every engagement, no matter how bleak the hour or how bleary-eyed the rest of us may be.
“I do tend to arrive before the sun has even considered rising; through truly, when one does not sleep, one discovers that the hours between midnight and dawn are the most exquisitely uninterrupted,” Lady Leckie-Ewing said. “While the rest of the world slumbers, I find a rare and glorious stillness in which papers are graded, lessons are plotted, and an extra cup of tea becomes less of a luxury and more of a lifeline.
It is not that I am early, you see — it is simply that time has lost all meaning.”
Miss Priddis, too, has observed with no small amount of curiosity how early the teacher arrives at the schoolhouse, as though she were the very first to greet the morning’s first light.
“It’s quite the oddity really, I have never been present at the building before her,” she said. “To be frank, I have a suspicion that she simply does not leave.”
Moreover, Miss Priddis has observed, with no small measure of admiration, that Lady Leckie-Ewing conducts her duties with such admirable efficiency that students’ assignments are returned, fully graded, within the span of a single day.
“She has mentioned taking up to three hours at a time to grade essays of students and the grades are always published within 24 hours,” she said. “Here the logistics cannot be logically explained unless she is up into the late hours of the night.”
The evening drifts into twilight, the gentle hum of the classroom fades, but Lady Leckie-Ewing remains unfazed. While others seek respite, she continues her tireless work, managing both her students’ minds and her bustling brewery with equal diligence.
“Rest is a luxury I can ill afford, not when I must attend to both the minds of my students and the ales in my tavern,” Lady Leckie Ewing said. “Knowledge and craftsmanship both demand vigilance, and I shall answer the call at all hours.”
And so it seems, dear readers, she sleeps not — by sunrise she commands her classroom, by moonrise her kitchen — each lesson and each dish executed with unerring precision.
Yours truly,
Lady Featherwick
