by Nicola Upson
She dressed and went downstairs to make a late breakfast. A hearty meal was hardly appropriate, but she was determined to go through the motions, if only for appearance’s sake, when Miss Ingham arrived to collect her students. As predicted, the mealtime was a tense and thankless affair. Peter’s concern for her fought with his natural anger to make every word he uttered brittle and volatile; Simon Cassidy treated her with a mixture of pity and distaste, as if any regard he might previously have shown her was now an embarrassment to him; and Josephine and Jeannie made such a show of appearing separately and inquiring after each other’s sleep that she longed to bang their heads together. Unable to face any more insults, Harriet sent Jeannie upstairs with breakfast for Betty and Charity, neither of whom had put in an appearance, but the food was returned untouched. The morning milk delivery had failed to arrive as usual from the farm, something which had never happened before, and its timing was too much of a coincidence for Harriet to believe in her heart that it was a genuine mistake.
The car from Moira House arrived promptly at ten, just as she was finishing the dishes. It pulled up in the yard, and Harriet was grudgingly impressed to see that Gertrude Ingham at least had the courage and decency to do her own dirty work, when she could so easily have sent someone else to recall her students. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and went out to greet her, missing George at her side but at the same time hoping that she would have the sense to stay away; another row at this stage would only make things worse. The driver got out and opened the car door, and she and the principal faced each other just as they had a week ago in Miss Ingham’s rooms at Moira House. The awkward memory of that scene hung palpably in the air between them, with shame on one side and embarrassment on the other, and she heard again her own feeble protestations at the accusation, felt George’s anger as she sat with her fists closed tightly in her lap. She had been surprised to hear that the charge came from Dorothy, who had always worked so hard and flourished under George’s teaching, but that only made it more difficult to dismiss: an “unnatural influence” on the girls in their care. How strange, she remembered thinking, that a phrase could be so vague and ambiguous, and yet at the same time impossible to misconstrue.
Miss Ingham seemed no more anxious than she was to make a repeat encounter last longer than necessary. “Is Miss Hartford-Wroe here?” she asked, dispensing with the usual formalities, which would have seemed absurd under the circumstances. “I need to speak to you both in light of last night’s tragic events.”
“She’s working in the gardens,” Harriet said. “Both of us are devastated by what happened to Dorothy, but it’s vital that we keep things running normally wherever possible.” Her words sounded more callous than she felt, but they were the simple truth, and she’d had enough dealings with Gertrude Ingham to know that—wherever possible—the truth was what she should stick to. “Whatever you have to say, you can say to me, and I’ll be sure to discuss it with Georgina.”
“Very well. You know why I’m here, and I don’t intend to make this any more difficult by raising issues that we have discussed in the past, when Miss Norwood’s accident alone would be sufficient to determine my course of action. I can no longer allow Moira House to continue its association with the College, no matter how worthwhile I have found our partnership until now. You know, I hope, how much I respect your achievements here, and the students who have come to you in past terms have returned to school with a sense of industry and purpose that does you both great credit.” She paused, and Harriet braced herself for the blow to which the praise had been building. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jeannie and Josephine at the head of the path by the pond, listening intently, and she wondered if they—as the school’s appointed chaperones—would be forced to take any of the blame; if necessary, she would do what she could to protect them. “However,” Miss Ingham continued, “where safety is concerned, good intentions are not enough, and there is no room for second chances. Miss Norwood and Miss Lomax will come back to the school with me now, and we will make arrangements with our teachers here to have the other students collected later this afternoon.”
Harriet could see how well earned the principal’s reputation for fairness was; the speech would have left no reasonable room for objections, even if she’d had the heart to raise them. She nodded, and Gertrude Ingham seemed relieved that the occasion was at least going to remain dignified on both sides; the regret in her face seemed genuine, and Harriet sensed a sympathy for their situation, if not an understanding. She turned to Jeannie and Josephine. “Miss Sellwood, Miss Tey—perhaps you would be kind enough to bring the girls down. We can send their things on if they haven’t had a chance to pack.”
They headed for the house, and Harriet felt obliged to invite her guest to follow. “Would you like to come inside and wait?”
“No, thank you. I’m sure they won’t be long, and it’s a lovely day.”
Not the weather, Harriet thought to herself; please God, anything but that. “Are Dorothy and Betty’s parents here yet?” she asked as the lapse in conversation became more strained.
“We expect them on the eleven o’clock train.”
“Please give them our sincerest condolences if you feel it’s appropriate.”
“Yes, of course.”
Betty and Charity had obviously been ready and waiting, because they emerged quickly from the house and walked to the car with all the enthusiasm of two captives released from jail. Gertrude Ingham gestured to the back seat and turned to take her leave, but Harriet stopped her. “Just a moment,” she said, putting her hand on the driver’s arm. “There’s something I wish to say, and I’d like them to hear it before they leave.” She looked directly first at Charity and then at Betty, and Charity took a theatrical step forward to protect her friend. “I’m terribly sorry for what happened to Dorothy last night. I wish more than you can ever know that I had done something to prevent it—please believe me when I tell you that. She died on these premises while she was carrying out the duties of the college, and that is something both Miss Hartford-Wroe and I must live with, and—to a certain extent—take responsibility for. There will be an inquest in due course that will determine who, if anybody, was at fault, and we will abide by its decision. However, I would like to put it on record here and now that, until last night, no young woman has ever come to harm whilst in our care. We have always striven to put out students’ physical and moral welfare first, whether they come from Moira House or anywhere else. To my knowledge, not a single girl has had cause to complain about the treatment she received from us. In fact, should we need to, we can produce plenty of testimonials to the contrary.” She caught Charity’s gaze and held it, defying any dissent. “There will no doubt be a glut of speculation and rumor about last night’s events before the inquest makes its official judgment, and I hope I can rely on all of you to ask yourselves what is just and fair before contributing to it.”
Betty nodded and glanced nervously at Charity, and her expression wasn’t lost on Gertrude Ingham. “Thank you for your honesty, Miss Barker,” the principal said. “Please believe in mine when I say how truly sorry I am that things have had to end this way. Now,” she added, turning to Josephine and Jeannie, “make sure that the other girls are ready by three o’clock. The school vehicle will collect you all then and bring you back to Moira House.”
“May I speak to you first?” Jeannie asked.
“Can’t it wait until later, Miss Sellwood?”
“I’d rather do it now, before you take the girls away—just in case it makes a difference.”
“I doubt that, but go on.”
Jeannie hesitated, and Harriet guessed that any intervention she was about to make hadn’t been planned. “I just wanted to say that most of us will be very sorry to leave Charleston,” she began, looking to Josephine for solidarity. “We came here expecting to study horticulture, whether we wanted to or not, but we’re actually learning things that are much more important, things that w
ill last us a lifetime, like trust and friendship and a sense of responsibility. I’ve watched our students flourish here because they’re respected as young women. They’ve come of age and stepped up to everything that’s been asked of them—working hard and taking decisions and making a tangible contribution to the war. They’re a credit to Moira House and to the College, and you would be so proud if you could have seen them at work here every day like I have.
“Most of them have proved themselves worthy of the freedom they’ve been given, and Dorothy more than most—but sometimes freedom means you make mistakes, and what happened last night was Dorothy’s mistake, no matter how tragic it is. All of us work with dangerous situations while we’re here, but not once have I ever known a girl to be asked to do something that she hadn’t been fully prepared for by Miss H and supervised until it was safe to leave her. Dorothy knew the procedures for glass house work, but she didn’t follow them; she panicked and forgot what she’d been taught—but that isn’t Miss H’s fault. As Miss Barker said, there’s going to be an inquest and everything will be out in the open. At least let us stay until there’s an official verdict, and if you don’t like what you hear, you can remove us then. You know we’ll all be more careful than ever after what’s happened, but think about what message it might send out to haul us back now in disgrace. You’ll just prove the critics right—women aren’t up to the job.”
Harriet was so touched that she could have wept. She knew that part of Jeannie’s motivation was selfish; whatever was going on between her and Josephine would be impossible to continue at Moira House, and there was even a chance that Josephine might be sent back to Birmingham immediately, but it was still obvious that the words were sincere, and she wished that George had been present to hear them.
“That was a very eloquent speech, Miss Sellwood, and I admire your courage, but my mind is made up. I’m sorry. I simply can’t take the risk where lives are at stake, no matter how persuasively you argue that I’m wrong.”
Charity got into the back of the car, as if to demonstrate that the debate—for her, at least—was over, but Jeannie hadn’t quite finished. “Then at least ask the girls what they want to do, and how safe they feel,” she said, pushing her luck. “You’ve always encouraged us to think for ourselves, Miss Ingham. Surely you’re not going to refuse them the chance of doing what you’ve taught them to do?”
To Harriet’s surprise, the principal allowed herself the slightest flicker of a smile—of pride or sheer incredulity, it was hard to say. “Very well,” she agreed. “Take me to speak to them.”
Josephine led the way to the walled garden, where the girls were peacefully at work in small groups, methodically restoring order after the storm. Harriet looked round, trying to picture the scene through the eyes of someone who had only been there once or twice before, and she knew that any first impressions must be favorable. The lethargy that she had witnessed earlier was entirely gone, replaced by an air of companionship and quiet purpose; without exception, the girls seemed to be taking refuge from their sadness in their work and in one another, unconsciously supporting everything that Jeannie had said. Josephine rounded them up, saying very little to them in case Miss Ingham suspected a conspiracy, and the principal addressed them with a simple statement.
“You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, and you have my deepest condolences for the loss of your colleague and friend. After what happened last night, my instinct is to take you all back to Moira House, where I know you will be safe. Miss Sellwood thinks I’m wrong, and believes that it’s in your best interests to stay and continue your work. The one thing we agree on is that you should be allowed to decide for yourselves. I will now ask each of you to tell me your verdict, and you will abide as a group by the wishes of the majority.”
Macdonald was the first to step forward, and her testimony was brief and to the point. “As you can see, Miss Ingham—there’s a lot to do here, and we can’t just abandon it. That wouldn’t be right. I vote we stay and finish the job.”
Lanton backed her up. “Mags is right, Miss—and I don’t think Dorothy would have wanted us to throw in the towel either. She loved what we do here, and she was better at it than the rest of us put together.” Joyce hesitated, giving Harriet time to consider what she had just said; the complaint that Dorothy had leveled against them made even less sense if she was really as happy at the college as Joyce claimed.
“She once told me that she’d found something she wanted to do for the rest of her life,” Lanton added sadly, “so I think we should stay and make a success of it for her.”
Rogers spoke next, then Mitchell, Williams, Gale, and Jackson, all in support of staying. One by one, the students stepped forward to endorse the college, paying tribute to how well they had been treated and their enjoyment of the work, and—in one or two cases—using Dorothy’s memory as the rationale for their argument. Harriet heard George’s influence in some of the more strident declarations about women and the war, and the young voices speaking up with such passion took her back twenty-odd years to the time when she and George had first met, and any battle seemed theirs to win. When the girls had all said their piece, there was not one dissenting voice.
Gertrude Ingham turned to Harriet and smiled. “I can’t remember ever being quite so pleased to be put in an impossible position,” she said. “Clearly, Miss Sellwood is right, so I will allow my students to stay with you until the inquest—under certain conditions.”
“Of course. What are they?”
“No girl should ever be sent to do a task on her own, and either Miss Sellwood or Miss Tey must be on the premises at all times, day and night. I will expect a daily written report from one of them, and they will notify me immediately of anything—anything at all—that concerns them. And it goes without saying that, should the verdict at the inquest throw the slightest doubt on your professionalism or standards of safety, the girls will be brought back to Moira House immediately, with no further discussion.” Harriet nodded her agreement, and the principal addressed her students. “The decision I have made will no doubt be unpopular in some quarters, but I’m relying on you all not to let me or yourselves down. Now you may get back to your work.”
They did as she asked, chattering among themselves about the unexpected turn of events, and Harriet saw Josephine give Jeannie a hug. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said as she walked Miss Ingham back to her car. “I know what a risk you’re taking by putting your reputation on the same line as ours, and you have my word that we won’t let you down. Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“The other complaint about us …”
“As I said when you came to see me, I can’t pretend to understand your relationship with Miss Hartford-Wroe, but I’m willing to concede that it’s a private matter—as long as you keep it away from the children.”
“Yes, but that’s not what I meant,” Harriet said quickly, her hackles beginning to rise at the very memory of the conversation. “I just wondered how Dorothy made her accusation. You never told us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did she come to see you?”
“No,” the principal admitted. “She telephoned me from the post office in Lewes on her afternoon off.”
“Out of the blue?”
“Not exactly. That was the first I knew of it, but the matter had obviously been playing on her mind for some time. She was very upset.”
“And that was enough for you to call us in to see you? One telephone conversation?”
“On its own, perhaps not, but we had already had a complaint about bullying from Miss Lomax’s parents.”
“Lomax thinks that being asked to get out of bed is bullying.”
“What are you driving at, Miss Barker?”
“All I want to know is if you’re absolutely sure that it was Dorothy who made that call.” Gertrude Ingham stopped by the garden gate and stared at her in bewilderment. “If she was as happy here as the
other girls say she was,” Harriet argued, “why would she cause trouble for us?”
“I admit it’s curious, but why would anyone else pretend? Surely that’s even more unlikely?”
“Perhaps.” Harriet looked over at the two uncertain faces in the back of the car, and a chill went through her when she considered the implications of what she was suggesting. Whatever happened, George must never know. “I’m sure you’re right, and we’ve taken enough of your time,” she said, suddenly keen to get the car away from the house so that she could be on her own to think. “Thank you again for what you’ve done today. We’re deeply in your debt.”
“I’ve done what was fair, Miss Barker. Nothing more.”
She watched as the car drove away down the track, and George joined her from the office. “What are they going to do?” she asked.
“The girls can stay until the inquest. After that, we’re dependent on the coroner and his verdict. You should have heard them speaking up for us, though, George—every single one of them, and Jeannie too. They were magnificent.”
“And so were you.” Harriet looked at her in surprise. “I heard everything you said from the office. I’m sorry for the way I behaved last night, but I just couldn’t believe that—”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything else. We need never talk about it again if you don’t want to.” She saw the relief on her lover’s face and had to look away. “In fact, it’s probably best if we don’t.”
CHAPTER 3
When Thursday came round again, Harriet decided to go to the market herself. As tempting as it was to hide away at Charleston, with only taunts from the farm laborers and the odd anonymous letter to contend with, she knew she would have to face the outside world eventually, and experience told her that the longer she left it, the harder it would get. Far better to show her face now and get the measure of people’s hostility than wait until the inquest, when she and George really would be the center of attention. The van was loaded with enough produce to meet the high demand of the last few weeks, and she took Josephine and Mags Macdonald with her, leaving Jeannie at the farmhouse to comply with Miss Ingham’s conditions.