Madam

by Phoebe Wynne

‘Oh, yes, good old Frank Thorpe.’ Anthony passed a hand through a thatch of sandy-coloured hair. His other hand held a clutch of files across his chest. ‘He’s a great friend of mine, we trained together. We needed someone to step in and he spoke well of you. Your credentials are excellent, exactly what we’re looking for here at Hope.’

  At that, Rose was silent.

  ‘Are you going this way?’ Anthony gestured.

  Rose nodded before speaking up. ‘Actually, do you mind if I ask – where does “Hope” come from?’

  ‘It’s an affectionate nickname. After our Founder, William Hope. It’s his school, his system.’

  ‘I see,’ Rose said after a pause. ‘So many things to learn.’

  ‘Well now,’ Anthony nodded, ‘you’ve almost done a full week. That’s cause for celebration, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so, Anthony. Although—’

  ‘Oh.’ He paused briefly. ‘Do please call me “Sir” in the corridors, in front of the girls.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Rose rolled her eyes as she trailed after him. ‘I keep forgetting, all these new rules. I apologise.’

  ‘And you’re “Madam”, of course.’

  ‘Actually,’ Rose said hotly, ‘I hate that. Why can’t they use our surnames? I’d rather be Miss Christie than “Madam”.’

  Anthony gave an amiable smile. ‘Much grander this way. We love our traditions here – you’ll get used to it in time.’

  Rose pressed her lips together. ‘I suppose so. You’re not free now by any chance, are you?’

  ‘Sadly not. I’m very late for a cover lesson,’ said Anthony regretfully, stopping at an unknown door and gesturing with his armful. ‘But let’s do it another time. This is me.’ He smiled at her again as he heaved the door open. The wave of raucous classroom noise hit Rose as she smiled back. ‘Let’s meet properly in the next few days and I’ll answer all those questions of yours.’

  Many cries of ‘Sir!’ embraced Anthony before the door closed and Rose was once again alone in the corridor.

  That afternoon in the Classics office, Emma was frowning over Rose’s final timetabled activity after Rose had asked for directions. It was labelled D/Conversation on her schedule and Emma held on to the folded piece of paper, even when Rose tried to tug it away.

  ‘I’m just not sure,’ Emma’s forehead wrinkled, ‘that you should have that activity … in the Rec classrooms …’

  ‘Well, it’s on my timetable.’ Rose almost tore it out of Emma’s hands. ‘I’ve got to go, haven’t I?’

  ‘You could ask the secretaries,’ Emma hoisted her arm up to check her watch, ‘… but there’s not really time.’

  ‘I’ll just go.’ Rose hesitated. ‘What’s “Conversation”, anyway?’

  Emma’s frown wore through her oval face. ‘Oh, it’s skills, you know, like debating. Didn’t you say you’d led the debating team to victory at your last school? Perhaps … they’re thinking of that.’

  Rose didn’t have time to worry about it. She followed Emma’s directions down a floor and along two corridors, towards what seemed like a separate part of the fortress-like building, with its low ceiling and stony walls. She eventually found a wonky doorway, open and leading to a narrow passageway at the same height as her own classroom.

  Rose put her keys away gratefully, biting her lip at her lateness. Pushing on towards ‘Rec 5’, she hurried past an empty classroom, with red-slicked walls and satin cushions piled up in one corner. The next open classroom door produced a cacophony of girlish laughter, where a group of Junior girls were enjoying balancing books on their heads, alongside an elderly smiling Madam.

  Her designated classroom was thankfully two more along.

  ‘Ah, Madam.’ A slim woman with enormous spectacles blinked at Rose. ‘Well, I suppose you’ll do. The girls are just getting on with an exercise.’

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’ Rose spoke in a rush as she looked around her. ‘It’s my first week.’

  It was another classroom quite unlike Rose’s own, smaller and completely wood-lined. There was a smattering of old-fashioned desks, with raised lids at a slant and a hole for the ink pot – much older than the flat double desks Rose had in her own bright classroom. At the teacher’s desk, a nobbled cane was notched to the side; beyond that, a list of school rules had been painted into the long panel beside the blackboard:

  Your hands will be clean. Your nails will be clean. All writing will be done with your right hand. Any offence against common sense or good morals is an offence against school rules.

  Rose stared at the list in small astonishment.

  ‘We were expecting the Languages Madam.’ The teacher’s silver hair was combed back and shining, the same colour as the girls’ ribbons. ‘It’s a shame she’s not here to showcase her talents. Are you sure you’re supposed to be here?’

  Rose searched the woman’s face, not recognising her at all from the common room. She must have been a member of house staff. ‘Well,’ Rose attempted, ‘it’s on my timetable. Perhaps there’s been a mix-up, if you say that Frances—’

  ‘No first names, Madam,’ the woman almost sang at Rose. ‘Madams only.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ Rose checked the blackboard with slight exasperation. Above it was a young portrait of the Queen, a small tiara perched on her head.

  ‘Now, girls,’ the woman addressed the class, ignoring Rose. ‘We are on our second point – finding a connection. This leads to a deeper understanding of your subject. You have already led with a compliment.’

  Rose hovered near the desk, immobile as the girls copied down some lines from the board. She turned to the woman with a quiet voice. ‘Well, since I’m here, could you tell me what exactly … ?’

  ‘If you insist.’ The woman cleared her throat. ‘This is one of the Discipline lessons with the Seconds …’ She touched Rose’s forearm with her slim, veined hand. ‘Are you sure you are quite ready for this, dear?’

  Rose couldn’t answer. Instead she said, ‘So it’s nothing to do with debating?’

  ‘Debating, dear? No.’

  ‘I’d rather just teach debating as an activity,’ Rose added stupidly. ‘Or perhaps Greek club?’

  ‘Ah, well.’ The woman’s thin eyebrows were rising higher than the top of her spectacles. ‘Perhaps you should leave us to it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rose felt strangely relieved by the woman’s finality. ‘Yes, perhaps there’s been some mistake. I’ll just …’

  The girls didn’t stir as Rose left the room. But beyond the door, she slammed into a tall figure. Rose recoiled, looking up into Bethany’s face.

  ‘Yes,’ Bethany’s voice was rasping and thin, it was the first time Rose had heard it, ‘there has been some mistake. You don’t belong here.’

  Rose didn’t speak, her body tight with shock. The vision of the girl was too alarming, too surreal, there in that dark passageway, in that part of the school. She pushed past her and hurried down the corridor, away from the strange crack of Bethany’s dry, harsh voice.

  Rose’s shock and worry finally drove her into the secretaries’ office. Every stamp down the stairs, every tick of the clock fell in time with the beat of her heart and the echo of Bethany’s words. You don’t belong here. So far, her first week was proving it. Rose’s sense of failure was such that she didn’t dare report Bethany for what had to be inappropriate behaviour towards a teacher – in case it made Rose sound like the lunatic.

  Even the secretaries’ office unnerved her: the rows of docile, smiling women bent over their work, the uniformed strictness to their shoulders that matched the buzz of their computers. The secretary at the foremost desk had a tight, suspicious mouth, which slackened into a smile as Rose approached.

  ‘Good afternoon, Madam.’ She stopped typing and faced Rose entirely. ‘Thank you for coming down to see us. We can’t apologise enough for the oversight on your t
imetable.’

  Rose couldn’t gather herself for a moment. ‘But how … I’ve only just come from there.’

  The secretary’s face didn’t change. ‘We’re on top of everything here at Hope.’

  ‘Just not my timetable?’

  The secretary’s smile flickered and Rose immediately regretted her remark. The woman glanced at her computer screen. ‘Please give us a moment to print you out an updated timetable with your Friday afternoon amended.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’ Rose waited a moment before continuing. ‘But that’s actually not why I’m here.’

  ‘Oh?’ The secretary looked up, her mouth tightening again.

  ‘I wanted to check about my mother,’ Rose said. ‘Apparently she’s been moved to a new clinic? I was told yesterday.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Mrs Christie, is it?’ The secretary glanced towards her filing cabinet as she spoke. ‘We were advised by the board of governors to improve her situation now that you’ve been taken on.’ She nodded up at Rose. ‘I assure you all the proper research was done regarding the healthcare professionals.’

  ‘Okay, but why?’ Rose’s voice grew more courageous. ‘She was perfectly fine where she was. Where is she now?’

  The secretary shared a look with her neighbouring colleague who then lifted her face to Rose. ‘Are we to understand that you want her to be returned to her previous situation?’

  ‘No, no,’ Rose said forcefully as she looked around the room at the other secretaries. ‘I just don’t understand why …’

  ‘It was in the terms of your contract that any dependants would be cared for by the school.’

  Rose scanned her memory but couldn’t recall that line from the contract she’d signed – or had she thought that ‘dependants’ only related to children? ‘Yes,’ Rose allowed, ‘but why wasn’t I consulted?’

  The first secretary nodded vigorously this time. ‘Your mother was consulted. I spoke with her myself.’

  ‘Yourself? But …’ Rose tried again. ‘Surely I should have been asked before the decision was made? Or at least notified once it was?’

  ‘I see.’ The second secretary tilted her head over-politely. ‘And would you like to be consulted on every matter concerning your mother’s care?’

  ‘Of course!’ Rose shot back. ‘I should be the first point of contact!’

  ‘That will certainly be a first for Hope,’ continued the first secretary as her other colleagues glanced up at Rose curiously. ‘With the staff schedule so busy, we usually deal with these sorts of things.’ The two secretaries nodded significantly at each other, but Rose was too angry, too much of an outsider to try to understand their private communication. ‘Clearly we shall have to make an exception until you are properly settled in.’

  ‘So, can you tell me where she is?’

  ‘Certainly, Madam,’ the second secretary said acidly. ‘I will have all the details sent up to your office in the next hour.’

  Rose nodded, willing herself to remain calm as the first secretary finished with, ‘And are we right in thinking that you have no other dependants for us to manage?’

  ‘No, none at all.’

  ‘And is that all, Miss Christie?’ A third secretary was standing now. With the whir of the office printer she swiped out a piece of paper, passing Rose the new version of her timetable. The page wavered in the air between them as Rose looked at it.

  ‘Yes, that’s all.’ Rose took the piece of paper and kept her eyes low. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No, no, Madam, thank you.’

  But Friday wasn’t finished with Rose yet. She was immersed in last year’s results – she found easily the GCSE grades from last year’s Fifths, but was dismayed to find nothing from the Sixths’ A levels. She was trying to make sense of it when Emma suggested dinner in the dining hall together, before Movie Night later that evening. Rose stood up mid-spreadsheet; she was grateful to have the offer of company, but wanted nothing less than to talk through the disaster of her first week. She hoped she could steer Emma into lighter conversations.

  ‘You need your blazer, Rose, to go downstairs.’ Rose could hear the exasperation in Emma’s voice.

  ‘Yes.’ Rose touched the tight leather back of her chair. ‘Where is it? I had it here. It must be somewhere.’ Her eyes narrowed at the dimness of her desk; the faint evening light outside was no help.

  ‘Is it in your classroom?’

  ‘No, I haven’t been up there since lunch.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Rose.’ Emma pushed her chair under her desk briskly. ‘You can’t go downstairs without it.’

  ‘Well,’ Rose closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself, ‘I definitely had it in the first place, or I wouldn’t have come up here. Can I run back to my flat to get another?’

  ‘We’re not supposed to go back to our flats until we’ve finished for the day.’

  ‘I know we’re not supposed to.’ Rose bit her lip, shaking her head with regret and confusion. She was always careful with her things; what was wrong with her? Emma’s frustration certainly didn’t bode well for any dinner together. ‘Never mind,’ Rose said bracingly, ‘I’ll just go up then and eat at my flat. I’ve got a tinned soup. Thanks all the same.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Emma said curtly, moving towards the door. ‘But you’ll need a jacket for Movie Night later.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Thanks.’

  Time was shorter than Rose realised, though, so she gulped down the hot soup and grabbed another blazer from her cupboard before hurrying to Movie Night, resenting the misplacement of her favourite one with the brass buttons.

  The Friday night activity was a special treat for every girl from Junior First to Lower Sixth, with the eldest year being away. Rose wasn’t on duty officially, but was expected to take part as a new member of staff.

  Founder’s Hall looked entirely different from Monday’s formal opening assembly. The imposing portraits were now shadows behind the projector’s bright electric beam, which in turn lit up an enormous white sheet strung up at the end of the hall.

  Rose watched the boarding house staff bellow at the pyjamaed girls as they handed out cushions and told them where to lie down. Several Juniors from House Verity had brought their duvets, which apparently wasn’t permitted, and were told to take them back. This task fell to one girl, who left the hall piled with layers of soft duvets high above her head. Rose watched her walk into the wide door frame of the hall as her peers laughed mirthlessly. She turned to the matron standing next to her.

  ‘Does she need a hand?’

  ‘No, Madam. Let her struggle. The girls will’ve chosen her for a reason.’

  Rose moved away at that remark, towards Frances. Despite her strange comment the afternoon before, there was an aura of competency to Frances that Rose wanted to draw near, and eventually learn from.

  The Intermediate girls started to file in and take up their spots, barging the little Juniors out of the way, before the Lower Sixth arrived and demanded that the whole layout be reordered. A task soon fell to Rose to hand out three boiled sweets per girl. A group of Juniors in the front row had undone their hair, and let it flow out so the tendrils threaded together in an array of chestnut, black and blonde. Their feet were stretched out against the front of the platform so that the row of legs looked like an oddly arranged piano keyboard. After the sticky-handed Juniors and Intermediates, Rose halted at the spread of Sixth, none of them taking their allocated sweets, preferring to ignore her entirely. One did hesitate, before raising her eyes to dismiss Rose, touching her head self-consciously. She had a short, boyish haircut, but was no less beautiful than any of the others. Rose resumed her place at the back with Frances; the girls’ heads shallow moons and their knees soft peaks in the half-light of the projector.

  ‘I thought the movie was Beauty and the Beast?’ Rose asked Frances as a black an
d white film began to whir.

  ‘Yes, the 1950s version. The Jean Cocteau.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rose had presumed it would be the new Disney release, one that perhaps a well-connected parent had procured. ‘My God, how cultured.’

  French words were scrawled across the white sheet as the film started to play out.

  ‘Can the girls translate this?’

  ‘The Sixth should,’ Frances whispered.

  Rose didn’t say much after that. Chaotic orchestral music took over, with the shrill of choral voices. After half an hour she couldn’t hold back: ‘Is this really a treat? I mean …’ Rose’s eyes widened at the theatricality of the beast. ‘There have been so many great movies out recently. Batman Returns? The girls would love Catwoman in that, I reckon. Some of them might find a role model in her.’ Rose chuckled heartily. ‘And Alien 3 just came out. The first one was really brilliant – we could get that for the projector, it came out a while ago.’

  ‘Hush, please.’ It was the matron behind them.

  ‘Your taste is so odd, Rose,’ Frances murmured sideways. ‘Aliens and comic book heroes?’

  ‘No, really.’ Rose turned her face to Frances. ‘Didn’t you see those movies? They were brilliant.’

  The film reeled out in front of Rose’s eyes; the stiff tableau of each scene and the schoolboy-Shakespeare costumes bothered her intensely. The girls might have felt the same way: they started to mutter cross words here and there, yawning and unpeeling themselves from each other with ruffled hair.

  ‘No, you can’t lie here. Go away.’

  ‘I can’t see.’

  ‘Bethany, can you stop moving your head!’

  Rose stiffened at that.

  ‘You’re blocking the light.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ barked a louder voice. ‘Why do you always do this?’

  Sure enough, the film’s perfect rectangle of light was interrupted by a round-shouldered shadow. A glowing face had turned away from the film, twisted with concentration and staring straight at Rose.

  Rose gasped and moved towards Frances. ‘Look, look at her.’