Every morning, at 7am sharp, Miss Potts would be woken by a respectful knocking on her bedroom door, indicating that one of the school maids had left a tray of tea outside her room. She would get up, pull on her dressing gown, collect the tray, and pour herself a cup of tea, which she would drink serenely, gazing out through her bedroom window at the school grounds and the Cornish coast beyond. Then she would wash efficiently in the basin, and get dressed, before heading off to the dormitory to check there were no problems with the girls and subsequently joining them for breakfast.
Every morning, at 8am, Mam'zelle's alarm clock would ring loudly (except when she had forgotten to set it, which happened about once a week). She would curse mildly in French under her breath and attempt to switch it off without getting up, usually managing to knock several things off her bedside table in the process. Around half an hour later, she would drag herself out of bed, and despite being half asleep, arrange her hair and clothing immaculately in a manner befitting a Frenchwoman. Then she would ring for some boiling water and make herself some black coffee (the English in Mam'zelle's opinion were incapable of making decent coffee) and then she was ready to face the day.
Every evening, at 10pm, when the girls were in bed and the marking had been done, Miss Potts would brew two mugs of cocoa; one for herself, and one for Mam'zelle and they would sit together in their shared study as the fire burned low, talking about the girls, about literature, about everything. Despite all the years they'd known each other, and despite (or perhaps because of) their differences in temperament they never seemed to run out of things to say. On Saturday nights, Miss Potts would sometimes add a splash of brandy to the cocoa and the conversation would become a little more girlish: giggly and intimate. They never spoke of their affection for one another; Miss Potts was far too English and Mam'zelle was not confident, even after fifteen years in the country, that she knew the right English words to express her emotions on the matter. But every evening, as they said goodnight, each read a reflection of her own feelings in the other's smile; and was content.