by Phoebe Wynne
‘Aye.’ The groundsman rubbed his rough chin with his fingers.
‘When? What happened?’
He didn’t reply; the noise of the wind seemed to roll between them. Rose pulled at her cuffs as her thoughts ran wild. ‘I’ve heard nothing – when was this?’
‘Last year, it was,’ he replied uneasily, ‘You didn’t know?’
‘No. What happened?’
‘You’re new. I don’t—’
‘What happened?’ she forced.
‘Something to do with …’ He paused, not looking at her, choosing his words with care. ‘She was ill. There was a doctor at the last minute. Of course, they told us lot nothing about it.’
Rose’s thoughts tripped over themselves with shock. ‘My God. Why didn’t she go to hospital?’ The groundsman said nothing; Rose’s eyes didn’t leave his face. ‘And she died? Why wasn’t it in the newspapers?’
‘I woulda thought that you could tell me that. You’re the one on the inside.’ He motioned towards at the school building, his face twisted in resentment.
Rose didn’t answer. Her ears were starting to ring again. With the cold or with alarm, she wasn’t sure. She said goodbye to the groundsman, who nodded back in his shambling manner.
She didn’t once look at the sea on her brisk return, those words turning around in her mind.
A girl died here.
Surely the man had misunderstood, an exaggerated rumour perhaps? Rose shook her head, forcing herself to stow that away for now. She had too many other things on her mind. She could already see her weekend spent with piles of work spilling over her blanketed legs, pages stamped with the stain of her drained teacups. But she would ask for the cab company’s phone number, and – if she dared – the way to the tunnel to the beach.
Rose was late, and she was never late. She climbed the stairs with her anxiety weighing her down; she just had to get to her classroom and teach the Upper Sixth. They would command her attention, forcing her mind away from the student who claimed she’d manhandled her; from the police statement she’d been called on to write; from the death of a girl and its subsequent cover-up; from her predecessor who seemed to hover over everything like a ghost.
‘I’m sorry I’m late, girls.’
As Rose walked into her classroom she sensed something wrong, something odd about the girls sitting there so stiff and obedient. The glow of the morning light gave Rose no relief after the stone darkness of the school’s lower floors; the room felt strange, as if hers and not hers. And then it hit her: a new Sixth had been added to the row of five.
‘Bethany,’ Rose managed. For a moment she’d stopped breathing.
‘Yes, I’m here, I’ve returned.’ The girl’s eyes were fixed on the desk. ‘I quit Classical Civilisation last year, but I’m back now.’
The other Sixths’ faces were twisted with discomfort and disgust as Bethany stretched her long fingers over a pile of books on her desk. Rose looked at those fingers too, before glancing across at her bureau, at the books in disarray – realising which ones Bethany had taken. She glanced up at her piece of volcanic rock, her skin prickling with fury.
Rose kept her voice steady. ‘Bethany, this is very unexpected.’
‘I didn’t think it would be a problem.’ Bethany’s voice came out thin and strained. ‘I’ve missed this class.’
‘Does anybody know you are here?’ Rose asked, thinking immediately of Vivien and her censure. Please do not speak to the girl or approach her; it will stand against you; and then worse – teenage girls have their peculiarities.
‘I’ve told my housemistress, that’s the done thing. She thought it was a very good idea,’ Bethany answered fluidly, without looking up. ‘Might boost my scholastic options, she said.’
Rose narrowed her eyes. ‘This is not a good idea, Bethany, given what you have said about me.’
‘That’s entirely separate.’ Bethany’s voice stayed low. ‘I don’t want to be in C Pathway anymore, and this might change that.’
Dulcie cut in: ‘That’s nonsense, Bethany, and you know it. It’s already been decided for you!’
‘I can change their minds,’ Bethany shot back.
‘Your father’s mind, perhaps, but not the Headmaster’s!’
Rose looked from Dulcie to Bethany, suddenly feeling an inexplicable sting of pity for the girl. She surprised herself by saying, ‘If you wish to learn, Bethany, then you would be welcome here. But I will have to check with the Headmaster.’ Bethany looked up, her face flooded with a relief that made Rose wince.
‘So, in the meantime, can I stay?’
Rose checked the discomfort across the other girls’ faces and injected some authority into her voice. ‘I’m not sure, Bethany. You will have to retract your allegation against me – and halt the investigation if you wish to be in my presence.’
‘I can’t.’ Bethany shook her head and her long hair shivered around her shoulders. ‘It’s too late for that.’
‘Then you must leave.’
‘No.’ Bethany’s translucent eyes flashed at Rose. ‘Please, I beg you.’
Rose hesitated, more from panic than anything else – she didn’t know how to address this properly, so that Vivien would see her side. She rearranged her features to project a control she did not feel.
‘For today, then. But you must remember that this is my classroom. It abides by my rules.’ Rose could hardly believe her own words. ‘You may borrow those books, but do not touch anything on my bureau again.’
‘Thank you.’
Dulcie tutted loudly, pressing her hands around her bodice, brushing her hair away from her shoulders as if to be rid of something. Her searing blue dress outshone the others in their pastel silks – but Bethany, in her usual grey, seemed to draw the energy of the room.
‘This isn’t your book, anyway. It’s Jane’s. So I can use it.’ An ugly smile played about Bethany’s lips. ‘We did Oedipus with Jane. It’s an excellent play, I’ve missed it.’
Bethany’s words seemed to crash into Rose’s ears, but she couldn’t recover fast enough. Instead, Dulcie wheeled around to Bethany and said what Rose could not:
‘How dare you, Bethany? How could you?’
‘How dare I what?’
‘Use her first name like that?’ Dulcie’s mouth puckered. ‘Her name was “Madam”.’
‘She always said I could.’ Bethany pressed Jane’s book against her chest. ‘She was kind like that …’
Rose shook her head senselessly, remembering that wretched handkerchief in the drawer downstairs marked ‘BdV’, and Vivien’s words about Bethany’s inappropriate attachment to a previous member of staff.
‘You’re a disgrace, for heaven’s sake,’ Dulcie spat at Bethany. ‘What are you really doing here?’
Astonished by the confirmation of her fears, Rose didn’t know how to interrupt.
‘She said I was welcome!’ said Bethany, pointing at Rose.
‘Does Clarissa know you’ve come back in here?’ Dulcie’s hands were clenched into dainty fists. Tash and Lex shrank back between the two girls. ‘If she finds out—’
‘I’m not frightened of you, Dulcie,’ Bethany sneered, ‘or your darling Clarissa – even if she is head girl.’
‘Ladies.’ Rose stood in front of Dulcie’s desk, urging herself forward. ‘Please, let’s get on.’
‘Madam,’ Dulcie snarled up at Rose, ‘are you going to let her speak so casually about the previous Latin Madam?’
‘No, Dulcie.’ Rose watched Bethany out of the corner of her eye, adding carefully, ‘But I think it’s best left alone at this moment.’
Dulcie looked around wildly for the other girls’ acknowledgement, but their eyes were pointing away in avoidance, pairs of arms folded together.
‘Girls. You can’t speak to each other like this, and I believe,’ R
ose’s nerves caught in her voice as she once again remembered Vivien’s instructions, ‘you are discussing a matter that doesn’t belong in this classroom.’
‘Oh please, Madam,’ Dulcie muttered crossly, ‘spare us.’
‘Understand that I am not taking sides here. At all. We need to get on.’ Rose strengthened her voice to counteract her shaking hands. ‘Let’s do a written exercise. I wanted to talk about this essay question – why the play is called Antigone and not Creon. I’ll put some pointers on the board …’
‘What will I do?’
Rose hesitated at the blackboard. ‘Bethany, why don’t you start reading Antigone quietly?’
‘Yes, and perhaps if there are things I don’t understand,’ the girl suggested carefully, ‘you and I can have extra sessions?’
‘No, Bethany, no!’ Rose exclaimed, her hand tearing the chalk across the board. ‘I’m certainly not available for that.’
‘But how else will I catch up?’ Bethany protested.
‘I’ll have to refer that to the head of Languages,’ Rose spoke at the board, ‘and the Headmaster.’
Dulcie leaned across the desks with a jagged elbow. ‘Look, Bethany, don’t think we can’t see what you’re doing. Especially after you’ve accused Madam of hurting you. We don’t mind this Madam, so if you’re going to give her a hard time, you can just shove off.’ Her chest heaved with exasperation; she pointed a manicured finger. ‘And if you make this like before, I’ll push you down the stairs this time.’
Bethany’s face fell. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘Girls!’ Rose turned around, her face heavy with trepidation. ‘Fresh sheet of paper. Compare the two characters, Antigone and Creon. We will work through your ideas afterwards. Now, get on. Bethany, start reading.’
Rose tried not to notice Bethany smiling behind the pages of her book. She didn’t want to consider why the girl was there – did she really want to make amends, or was this another tactic to derail Rose? At least this time there were witnesses.
Bethany’s deranged smile lasted throughout the lesson, punctured by Tash’s nervous glances across her peers, and Dulcie’s agitated frown as she scratched out her efforts across the page. Rose stayed at her bureau, planning a well-articulated note to the Headmaster.
At lunch Rose thought she’d timed her entrance to the dining hall impeccably, but she found herself queuing behind the girls at the dessert section of the canteen, resenting the pointed gazes in her direction.
Rose had crossed the dining hall from a side door. She still wasn’t used to the enormity of the space, from the hellish racket of the girls’ chatter against the clang of cutlery on porcelain, to the high wooden ceiling hanging perilously over them all. There was the uniform grace of the Sixth dining tables: delicate fingers on napkins unfolded across laps, forks laid aside, knives poised over plates. Then the others: the rabble of the Intermediate tables, the excited shout of the Juniors reaching across their slopping meals, and the Asian girls scattered across their odd and isolated pair of tables. Rose didn’t like to see their segregation, and chided herself for not yet daring to question it, or find out why none of them had crossed the threshold of her classroom.
Rose’s thoughts ticked over quietly, ever preoccupied with Bethany; she wondered whether the girl would call a halt to the investigation, or come up with a new claim. At least she’d dropped her note for the Headmaster with the secretaries.
He was there, in the dining hall. She’d seen him seated with some of the Upper Sixth, his smile broad and holding the whole table. Anthony was sitting opposite him, one leg astride the bench, his thick sandy hair stippled in the light, smiling along with them. The girls were tight in their bodices, hands propping up their chins, eyes bright and listening. In the middle was Clarissa, with her shimmering auburn hair and her chestnut-brown velvet headband. These girls, then, were worth the Headmaster’s time, and Rose wasn’t? Was it the investigation that kept him so distant?
In the canteen Rose distracted herself by staring at the card stand next to the pudding trays, detailing the nutritional value, calories and ‘Allowance Number’ of this option. She frowned at the card, never having really paid attention before. The same information stood next to every meal choice around the canteen. Rose squinted at each of them.
There was a clang of a heavy spoon scraping a dish; a Sixth in front of Rose was scooping out the sweeter pieces of fruit, leaving clean the splodges of meringue and cream.
‘Sorry, but can you leave some of that for others?’
‘Pardon, Madam?’ The girl turned around. ‘What others?’
‘Me, others?’ Rose’s cheeks flushed. ‘Look, don’t take all the fruit for yourself. It’s a complete pudding, not just bits.’
‘I’m not quite finished, Madam.’
‘Alice,’ a thick male voice intruded, ‘that’s no way to treat a member of staff.’
‘Oh.’ The girl moved aside, opening herself up to the other teacher. ‘Good afternoon, Sir, would you like some pudding?’
Anthony nodded towards Rose. ‘Where are your manners, Alice? Have you forgotten them since Juniors?’
‘But,’ Alice continued, ‘manners don’t apply to the Madams, Sir? Isn’t it only for the men and the Sirs?’
‘Nonsense, Alice,’ Anthony answered hastily. ‘Men and women deserve equal respect.’ He placed a firm hand on the girl’s arm. ‘Madam and all the other female staff are your superiors.’
‘If you say so, Sir.’ The Sixth dropped her bowl on the tray with a crack and shook her hair out.
‘Apologise to Madam, Alice.’
Rose clutched her tray with dismay. ‘Oh, no, that’s not … entirely necessary.’
The girl rounded on Rose with a poisonous look. ‘I apologise, Madam. I hope you’ll excuse me.’
‘Well done, Alice.’ Anthony let go of the girl’s forearm and took a step towards Rose, scratching the stubble lining his chin. Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, because he added, ‘That was terrible, I know. She’s just confused. It’s your being new, Rose – and of course the special nature of your probationary period.’
‘She’s probably heard about this allegation against me,’ Rose garbled, ‘And you don’t need to rescue me, you know.’
‘No,’ Anthony’s face fell a little, ‘I do know that. Here.’
Anthony passed Rose an empty bowl, touching her hand with his fingers. Rose took it, glancing away from him. ‘Thanks all the same. You’d better get back to the Headmaster. You both seemed quite busy.’
‘Busy?’ Anthony frowned.
‘It’s fine.’ Rose replaced the bowl and moved out of the canteen, her tray bumping against a girl’s back as she did so. With a drop of dread, Rose recognised those black straggles of hair. She sucked in her breath as Bethany whipped around.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ Bethany said with no trace of surprise, her pale eyes entirely opaque. ‘Barging into me again. Careful, there’s people about.’
‘Bethany,’ Rose heard a growl in her own voice. ‘I was kind to you today. Do not speak to me outside the classroom, please.’
‘Is that what you’re eating?’ Bethany leaned over Rose’s lunch, her hair dangling into the gravy. ‘Better be careful or Matron will count this against your allowance.’
Rose pulled her tray back as Bethany straightened up, tugging her hair behind her ears. A drip of gravy smeared across the grey silk chest of Bethany’s dress. Rose glanced at it as she stepped away.
Clarissa streamed past her as she went. She was aiming for Bethany, already pointing at the stain across her dress. Rose couldn’t hear their words, but Bethany’s head hung low as Clarissa’s voice rose with an energetic reprimand.
Rose sat herself on the furthest section of the staff tables, alone, and staring down at the meal now stained by her tormentor. Would Rose ever be rid of her – or at the very le
ast, understand her actions? Bethany seemed to be living some parallel life to the other Sixths, a destructive shadow in harsh relief against her peers’ daily glory. On some different ‘Pathway’ – whatever that meant.
Rose could feel Anthony’s stare from the other side of the hall, the crease in his forehead growing deeper. She didn’t look up.
Above the main double-door entrance to the dining hall stood another portrait of the Founder – the severe-looking William Hope dressed in scholar’s robes, with one hand flat against his heart. Rose’s eye caught a small link of Juniors wandering towards the doorway to leave. As they passed underneath the painting, they drew out the skirts of their white dresses, gazing up at the Founder and curtseying low.
‘All right, ladies.’ Rose took a moment to fortify herself against the Fourths. ‘Quiet, please. Let’s move on to the next task; look at the translation in front of you. Here Queen Dido is getting ready to go hunting with Aeneas. She’s clothed in splendour. In Book One, remember, she was compared to the goddess Diana when she showed Aeneas around her kingdom of … ?’
The girls remained silent. Rose watched many fingers tear agitatedly at the paper edges in front of them. Four weeks in, and they’d given up pushing her around with their taunts – which meant that only she did the talking now. Rose looked at her ceramic owl on the windowsill for encouragement.
‘Dido’s kingdom. Anyone?’
At the edge of the classroom, Daisy swung her dark curtain of hair forward. ‘Somewhere in North Africa, wasn’t it, Madam?’
‘Yes.’ Rose’s eyes flicked to the girl. ‘Carthage. Well done, Daisy. Write that down, girls. I’ll put it on the board.’
The silence resumed as Rose scratched out the name with her chalk. At the front, pale little Nessa hadn’t yet bothered to write anything, and was staring into the space in front of her. Rose moved forward to stand in that space, her voice stronger this time.
‘So, Dido is compared to Diana—’
‘Diana. What’s she the goddess of, again?’ Daisy asked, tugging at the badges on her lapel.
‘Hunting,’ Rose said carefully. ‘Thank you again, Daisy. Hand up next time. Let’s at least try to stick to the rules, even if we’re not reaching our aims.’