by Nunn, Kayte
How they had been some of the best years of his life.
Her father had described the twice-weekly market that snaked its way down the centre of the wide high street – ‘Third widest in England,’ he had impressed upon them. ‘Built so that a carriage and six could turn a circle.’ He had talked of foods foreign to her and Pip when they were young: savoury pork pies, scotch eggs the size of a baby’s head, lardy cakes studded with currants and orange peel.
Occupied by these memories, she left the house and crossed into the middle of the road, where, after walking only a few metres, she spotted a baker’s stall piled high with quiches and tarts, empanadas and, yes, scotch eggs and pork pies. Her lips curved in a smile, and if she hadn’t just demolished an extra piece of toast, she might have been tempted.
A few minutes later, as she walked through the archway that led to the school grounds, she noticed a number of other women and men of varying ages and sizes hurrying towards the Master’s House. She caught the eye of a woman wearing a flowing skirt cinched by a wide belt and a brilliant tangerine and scarlet blouse, moving with a long, confident stride and a sheaf of papers tucked under her arm. ‘I hadn’t realised we were all to be at the meeting,’ Thea said, recognising one of the art faculty, Claire McGovern, who had shown her around the school before her interview.
‘Oh, hello there,’ said Claire, her face lighting up with pleasure. ‘Yes, we all get the summons on the first day of term. Well actually, tomorrow is the official first day, but you know what I mean. Anyway, welcome, and I don’t mind telling you how glad I am that you got the job – you should have seen the other applicants,’ she said quietly, wrinkling her nose as if she’d smelled something particularly unpleasant. Thea couldn’t help but laugh. Perhaps the school wouldn’t be as daunting as it first seemed.
‘I’m still not sure I’m ready for this,’ she confided in a whisper.
‘Don’t worry – it’s not all beating, bullying and buggery these days, though there is a story that any master found to be raising their arm above shoulder height when applying the cane is to be fined a case of French. I’m sure it’s a myth, though.’ Claire winked at her, speaking almost as quickly as she walked. ‘Come on,’ she said, slowing her pace a fraction, allowing Thea to catch up. ‘The headmaster hates it if we’re late.’
It was a good thing the headmaster’s rooms were large, for Thea and Claire were among the last of the dozens of teachers to squeeze in. There was a loud hum of conversation from those present as they caught up with each other after the long summer break, but it soon hushed as Dr Fox made his entrance. She had to crane her neck to see him over the heads of those in front of her. He was young to be head of such a school, mid-forties, and he had a smile that seemed to warm the room. Her apprehension eased a little more.
Six months ago Thea hadn’t been looking for a new job, let alone considering leaving Melbourne, or Australia for that matter. She’d been teaching at a progressive, multicultural state school in the city’s outer suburbs and, despite the woeful lack of funding, stretched resources and the constant staff-room politics, she had loved her job. But the opportunity to come and work in this area had drawn her like a magnet. Quite apart from her father’s connection, it would mean she would be in the ideal place to further her doctoral studies. Before she had time to think twice, she had sent off her application for the post advertised on the school’s website. A month or so later, she had been surprised to be contacted for an interview, and booked a trip to England with hardly a backwards glance.
‘Good morning, staff,’ Dr Fox called out, breaking into her thoughts. ‘I am very pleased to be standing before you on such an auspicious day: the sesquicentennial year of Oxleigh College, and I look forward to sharing our plans to celebrate this milestone in the weeks to come.’
Thea had only a vague idea what sesquicentennial meant, but almost everyone else in the room was nodding as if it were obvious.
‘However, first, an especially warm welcome to the newcomers. Perhaps you might raise your hands so that everyone can know who you are?’
As Thea put a tentative arm in the air she cast about her, relieved to see that three others had done the same and she wasn’t the only newbie. As the hands were lowered, she noticed a stocky man a few metres away from her, his bright copper hair a beacon among the sea of browns and greys. He had the solid build of a sportsman, wide shoulders and narrow hips – rugby, if she’d had to guess. He caught her staring at him and she registered disarmingly bright blue eyes before looking away quickly and refocusing on the headmaster.
‘Right, then,’ said Dr Fox. ‘As you are all well aware, this is a momentous day. For the first time in the school’s hundred-and-fifty–year history we are welcoming girls to our student body.’
There was a murmur of voices.
‘There will, no doubt, be a period of adjustment, but I expect each and every one of you to go out of your way to make the fourteen new pupils in the Lower Sixth feel at home.’
Another murmur, louder this time. Thea noticed the expression of one of the older masters; he didn’t seem exactly pleased, and she heard the words, ‘females … upset the apple cart …’ and ‘… beggars belief’. Another grumbled, ‘Where will it end? There’ll be a headmistress next instead of a headmaster,’ followed by a titter of anonymous laughter.
Thea blinked, but worked to keep her expression neutral. What era did they think they were living in? She should have been surprised, but she wasn’t. These crusty old men would naturally be resistant to change, and the influx of women and girls would be nothing short of a seismic shock to them. The teacher with the arresting baby blues looked in her direction again, raising his eyebrows and rolling his eyes at the other masters.
She felt Claire by her side. ‘About time the college joined the twenty-first century,’ she whispered in Thea’s ear.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked in a low voice, her gaze flicking to the blue-eyed man.
Claire took a moment to follow her gaze. ‘Gareth Pope. PE.’
‘Right.’ Thea recognised the name; she would be working with him to help coach the senior hockey teams.
Dr Fox spoke again, outlining the achievements of the previous year and his expectations for the coming one. The school focused strongly on academics – the entrance exam was reputed to be one of the most exacting in England – but even Thea was astonished to hear of the number of A-starred results. When he spoke about the music, art and drama achievements as well she began to wonder how the pupils coped with such pressure to achieve, and what happened to the ones who faltered. She thought briefly of all the boys who had passed through the school, whose character had been shaped, for better or worse, by it – for there were cabinet ministers, scientists and explorers among the legion of Oxleigh old boys, as well as those who led simpler but no less valuable lives, but there also had to be those who buckled under the weight of all that expectation, the constant comparison to others who flew higher, achieved more. A school such as Oxleigh left its stamp on you for life, of that she was well aware, her father having often repeated this fact. There wasn’t much time to dwell on the matter, however, as Dr Fox wrapped up his speech and someone opened the doors to let them all out.
Thea turned to follow the other teachers, but felt a hand at her elbow. ‘One moment, if you wouldn’t mind, Miss Rust.’
SEVEN
Now
Dr Fox. She hadn’t seen him approach, had been too caught up in the throng of other teachers, but there he was at her side. ‘I wonder if I might have a word.’
Thea nodded. ‘Of course.’
She hung back and waited until the room had cleared. Claire was one of the last to leave, giving Thea a questioning glance as she departed. She waved at her and mouthed, ‘See you later,’ before turning to the headmaster.
‘How are you settling in?’ Dr Fox asked when everyone else had left. Not waiting for her to reply, he continued. ‘Now, to Mrs Jackson’s unfortunate accident. It is inconvenient
to say the least.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Thea.
‘I have my concerns regarding your lack of pastoral experience, but we are in somewhat of a bind because we have been unable to secure a replacement at such short notice. I imagine you will only be required to hold the fort for half a term at most.’
Thea nodded, doing her best to give the impression that she was up to the job. It was only to be for a few weeks; she could surely cope with that. Anyway, she’d hardly been given much of a choice in the matter.
‘Oxleigh College prides itself on its exceptional sports results, no less than it does its academic achievements. We believe in the triple-A advantage: academics, arts and athletics,’ said Dr Fox. ‘I’m sure it is no surprise that what helped to secure the position here is your own considerable expertise in the sporting arena.’ He smiled encouragingly at her.
Thea had known when she was offered the job that it wasn’t only her qualifications as a history teacher that the school sought. Her years playing hockey for Australia as a junior, though now a decade or more past, and more recently as a coach of the state under-nineteen team, not to mention her father having been an Old Boy, had swung things in her favour.
Likewise, the newly enrolled girls who would make their way to the school later that day were not average students. All sixth-formers – sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds – they had been selected for their academic and sporting prowess, as well as their close links to the school; most had brothers at the college, or fathers as ‘OOs’ – Old Oxleighans. Though Thea had been initially conflicted at the notion of teaching such privileged students, feeling that she should be using her skills to help those who had greater need, taking up the position had served another, rather more selfish, purpose.
‘Obviously, you will have a reduced academic workload, to compensate for your new responsibilities,’ he said. ‘Your timetable has been updated to reflect this.’ The headmaster spoke in a far more formal manner than Thea was used to, but he fixed her with a warm smile. ‘I cannot stress enough how important it is that these girls settle in well. The future of Oxleigh College depends on it. Your role will be instrumental in achieving that. You will be aware that my daughter, Sabrina, is one of the new intake.’
Of course, Sabrina Fox. Until that moment Thea hadn’t made the connection. ‘Understood, Headmaster.’
‘If you have any issues, any issues at all, please see that you come directly to me.’
As he continued to speak, Thea’s eyes roamed the room, noticing, now that it was empty of the other teachers, the inscribed lists of boys’ names and dates lining the oak-panelled walls. The earliest ones dated back a hundred and fifty years, a time when her country was still being settled by deported thieves and miscreants.
There were the names of Oxbridge entrants, scholars and exhibitioners, and then a roll of previous head boys. Her eyes travelled down the gold-leaf lettering until they stopped on one. 1970 Rust, Henry.
Thea still couldn’t believe she was really here. Standing on the same ground that her father once had, quite literally walking in his footsteps some fifty years later. Perhaps she might even teach in the same classroom where he had once sat, eat at the same long dinner tables that she had spied in the college refectory on her earlier visit. She doubted that much would have changed.
‘Any questions, Miss Rust?’ asked Dr Fox.
‘No, none, thank you. I’m sure it will all be fine,’ she assured him.
‘Good. I have no doubt that you will rise to the occasion,’ he paused, regarding her with a grave expression. ‘I was very sorry to hear about your father. I never had the pleasure of meeting him but he was, by all accounts, a great man. A credit to Oxleigh.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, colouring at his words. ‘I only hope I might live up to him.’
She pushed down the memory of her father’s funeral; the confusion of feelings, of which grief had been only one.
The headmaster cleared his throat. ‘Well, you’d best hurry along. The new girls are due to arrive with the other pupils later this afternoon and I am sure you have much to occupy yourself with before then.’
‘I thought we said eleven, Miss Rust?’
The Dame stood in the shadows beyond the doorway, as if she had been keeping a lookout.
Thea, who had walked from the school as fast as she could, glanced at her watch. Five past. ‘The headmaster kept me,’ she explained, refusing to apologise for something that was beyond her control.
‘Come along, then, we’ve a great deal to do before the girls arrive.’
As they reached the dining room and sat down Isis padded in, curling herself about the Dame’s ankles, purring like a V8 engine. ‘The bell sounds to wake the girls at seven – you will have noticed the smart connection in each room that we use for all communications – then breakfast is at seven-thirty …’ The Dame continued, talking about study times and sport afternoons and weekend activities and Thea began to wonder if she was expected to remember everything. She wished she had thought to take notes.
‘Any questions?’
Thea shook her head. She was sure she’d figure out the rest of it herself.
‘I hope you will consider me someone you can turn to if need be,’ the Dame’s voice softened slightly and a faint smile lifted her thin lips. ‘But you will take care of communications with the parents, liaise with the girls’ teachers and keep an eye on their academic work. You will also be the first point of contact for the girls if they have any concerns, either academically or personally.’
‘Dr Fox explained some of that, and it all makes sense,’ said Thea, trying not to feel too daunted.
The Dame nodded. ‘Now, do you have any questions about the girls themselves?’
Thea had briefly studied the profiles left for her. Each had been affixed with a photograph, together with details of the girl’s recent examination results, co-curricular achievements and reports from her previous school. They were all, without exception, high achievers. Bright, sporty girls with peachy complexions that spoke of youth and good nutrition, she thought ruefully, aware of her own sun-scalded, freckled arms. Three in particular had stood out: Morgan, who with her twin brother was to be the sixth generation of Addington-Clays educated at the school; Aradia Bianchi, a dark-haired Italian girl who, in addition to her near-perfect examination results, spoke three languages fluently; and Sabrina Fox, an only child whose father just happened to be the headmaster, Thea now knew. Morgan, Aradia and Sabrina had been at the same girls’ school together for the past five years before transferring to Oxleigh. The three of them, along with one other girl – Fenella Wildash – had all chosen to study history, and she was pleased to see that she had been assigned as their tutor.
‘I’ve read the reports,’ said Thea. ‘Is there more than that?’
‘Not really. I believe you are also continuing with your studies while you are here,’ said the Dame.
‘That’s right,’ said Thea. And how exactly did you know that? she did not add aloud. Perhaps the Dame had been given a file on Thea, similar to those of the girls. ‘Out of term time, mostly. I’m interested in persecution ideologies – specifically witchcraft in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century England.’ Her university thesis had also been on that subject, and she was well aware that Wiltshire had seen more than its share of women – mainly old and poor – accused, hanged or drowned because of the suspicion that was cast upon them. Generally, Thea knew, they were scapegoats – blamed when crops failed or sickness spread – and she looked forward to finding out more about some of the lesser-known incidents, for she had yet to determine a specific focus for her study.
‘So, you believe in magic?’
What a strange question. ‘Not in the slightest. Such women might have had special skills and knowledge, but supernatural powers? Those were the allegations of people who were afraid of what they didn’t understand or couldn’t explain.’
‘Indeed.’ The Dame paused and looked as if she was about to co
nfide in Thea, but then said blandly, ‘Well, I’m sure you will discover plenty to interest you in that regard hereabouts. Now, as long as you’re up to speed, we can leave it there.’ She stood up to leave and Isis followed her out of the room, tail raised in the air like a question mark.
Had she had bitten off more than she could chew? Thea had no doubt of her teaching ability, but being a housemistress – even a temporary one – to fourteen teenage girls was an entirely different undertaking. That said, she had never been known to back down from a challenge, uninvited or not. Her father had seen to that.
EIGHT
September 1768, Oxleigh
Almost before Rowan knew it, Prudence was shaking her awake. She breathed in the comforting aroma of cinnamon and mace, overlaid with a stale reek of spirits and remembered where she was.
‘Now, girl, I’ll not stand for slatterns in this house. Splash your face and then dress as quick as you can. You’ll need to clean out the fireplaces in the dining room, the drawing room and the parlour and relight them. I’ll show you where to find wood and the kindling. You do know how to light a fire, don’t you?’
Better than some in this house.
Rowan rubbed her eyes and blinked in the dim light of Prudence’s taper. There was no sign of Alice; indeed, the other side of the bed appeared as if it had not been slept in, the sheets pulled tight and the thin pillow smooth, but Rowan thought she had felt someone next to her when she rolled over in the night. ‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, more awake now.