Madam

by Phoebe Wynne

  Her eyes pricked with tears. Blinking desperately, she saw the Headmaster come through the door behind Anthony, his expression heavy as he conversed with some official-looking men, pulling at the fingertips of his gloves.

  Rose blinked again and thought of a lead-lined room.

  Above the Headmaster’s small group, Rose’s gaze found the tall painting of the Founder and his grim complacency.

  ‘Madam?’

  It was Nessa and Freddie, one of whom dropped an envelope into Rose’s hands and said, ‘We wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Have a good holiday, Madam,’ added the other softly.

  Rose only nodded as she stared at the envelope, unspeakably white and innocent. The hard corners pinched at her fingers.

  LENT TERM

  Caldonbrae Hall’s Mission Statement:

  To support and guide our girls in becoming

  enlightened, fulfilled and resilient women,

  ready to serve and enrich the society to which

  they belong;

  and

  To honour our pioneering heritage through

  rigour and innovation,

  in the everlasting pursuit of excellence.

  Caldonbrae Hall prospectus, 150th anniversary edition

  10.

  Rose scoured the papers during the holiday – every headline spread across the lobby tables of her mother’s clinic. She checked the deaths and births announcements in The Times. She tried The Telegraph, the FT. She even trawled through the frayed magazines emblazoned with the latest scandals, articles on the Manchester bombing and pieces analysing the declared separation of Prince Charles and Diana. But Bethany’s name was exempt.

  Rose felt strangely cut off from Caldonbrae Hall. She thought constantly of Bethany’s family, her father. Could Rose have done more? Could any of them? Rose caught herself glancing at her new 1993 calendar more than once, staring hard at those early January days, considering how life at Hope might look during that first week back.

  She’d tried to focus on her mother, encouraging her to spend more time with the other patients and their Christmas cheer. Meanwhile, Rose had a favourite seat by the library bookshelves to nurse her own thoughts, jolting at the interruption of Bethany’s ghostly face every time she closed her eyes.

  Rose had been asked to sign a few papers, now that her mother’s care was past its initial phase. She was surprised to see Caldonbrae’s name on the documents listed under ‘power of attorney’, and approached her mother in the conservatory on a bright January morning.

  ‘I’m not sure what it’s saying, Mum. Shouldn’t the power of attorney go to me?’

  ‘Yes, darling, of course,’ her mother muttered. ‘But they’re the ones sorting it out legally.’

  ‘Can’t I sort it myself?’ Rose added quietly. ‘We don’t need them.’

  ‘Rose, just sign the papers. I can’t tell you the hassle they’re saving us.’ She shifted around in her chair. ‘Don’t you have any idea how much this place costs per month?’

  Rose mumbled resentfully, ‘I assure you I am earning every penny.’

  ‘You mustn’t make a fuss over this – I can’t even hold the pen properly now with my hands.’

  Rose looked at her mother, a pale imitation of the woman she once was, her nervous system undoing itself from the inside out. If Rose told her how things were really going at Caldonbrae, what would she advise? Had her principles evaporated along with her physical strength? Perhaps not, but Rose knew her mother would find a way to cast some blame back on her daughter; any problems were always inevitably her fault.

  She spent the rest of the holidays readying herself for the return to school. She carefully repacked the pile of Fourths’ exercise books, which she’d thrown in at the last minute before leaving Caldonbrae. It had made her suitcase doubly heavy, but she’d wanted to take something of theirs with her. After poring over the mass of messy pages, neglected and unmarked by Jane, Rose realised they were too far gone. She decided that next term she would give the class entirely new exercise books, with any decent grammar pages from the old books cut out and kept. Rose took comfort in her plan, all the time trying not to think of Jane, wherever she was, and whether she’d heard of Bethany’s death.

  Rose couldn’t bear to look at the Upper Sixth as they filtered along the desks for the first lesson back. She wondered whether they saw the same empty space that she did.

  In a letter topped with the school’s emblem Rose had been informed that the formal investigation had now been entirely dropped and her dossier updated. However, her probationary period would be extended until the end of this new term, to ensure that everything could be carried out in the proper way. The letter was signed by the Headmaster, but as Rose stared at the scrawl of his signature, she was certain that Vivien had crafted every word. Rose knew that she should feel relieved by the letter; that it was a key part of her professional progression. But she didn’t like what it confirmed. False as it had been, the allegation had bound her and Bethany together, and that link had been severed with her death.

  Rose’s voice sounded dull to her ears, falling flat as it met the faces of the Upper Sixth, drawn either in sorrow or boredom. Hippolytus wasn’t much help either. They were stuttering towards the end of the play – Hippolytus’s body had been fatally trampled by horses and his redemption-seeking father summoned. Rose was reading all the parts, trying not to remember her former students and their eagerness in volunteering to read, half the world away now. She reached the end of a line and put the book down.

  ‘Girls, I wanted to say—’

  ‘I know, Madam, it’s terrible,’ Tash interrupted, her eyes wide and manic.

  Rose breathed out. ‘Yes, I’m—’

  ‘I’m devastated.’

  Dulcie elbowed Tash. ‘Will you shut up about bloody Charles and Diana? You wouldn’t stop prattling last night, and at breakfast this morning.’

  ‘I won’t! It can’t be divorce. Not in the royal family!’

  ‘Girls,’ Rose’s voice was strangled, ‘that’s not at all what I—’

  ‘You should ask Frederica List in Fourths,’ Lex began, smirking. ‘She’ll know the truth of it. Isn’t she Princess Anne’s goddaughter?’

  Tash turned her head. ‘Freddie?’

  ‘Her name,’ Dulcie glowered at Tash, ‘is Frederica.’

  Rose finally interjected. ‘No, Dulcie. She prefers Freddie.’

  Lex leaned back with another smirk. ‘Everybody knows the royal family are naff.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong,’ Tash said crisply. ‘My aunt says they set the ultimate example for the rest of us.’

  Lex laughed. ‘Don’t they give each other silly Christmas presents, like tweezers and things?’

  ‘Some of the middle royal ladies are old Hope girls,’ Tash narrowed her eyes, ‘so don’t be too hasty with your judgement, Lex.’

  ‘Well, Tash,’ Dulcie elbowed her neighbour, ‘maybe you can have Diana, now she’s been cast aside.’

  ‘Madam,’ Lex was still smirking, ‘what do you think?’

  ‘Well,’ Rose said apprehensively, ‘if you really want to know, I respect Diana for taking charge of her own life.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Dulcie scowled. ‘Rather like Bethany did, Madam?’

  Rose had to steel herself; this wasn’t a moment to lose her temper. ‘Girls, this is serious.’ She sat down on her chair and gave the row of five a sweeping look. ‘How are you dealing with this shock? Is there anything—’

  ‘Good riddance, I think. She never belonged here.’

  ‘Dulcie,’ Rose said calmly, ‘how can you be so—’

  ‘What, Madam?’ Dulcie sat forward, nearly slamming her hand on her desk. ‘Practical?’

  Rose swallowed the sickly burn in her throat. ‘Did you girls go to the funeral?’

&n
bsp; ‘No, Madam.’ Tash shook her head. ‘Of course not. It was a private family thing in Sussex.’

  ‘Oh, how sad.’

  ‘Hardly,’ Dulcie snorted.

  ‘Dulcie, I wonder,’ Rose said wildly, ‘what is it that makes you say such harsh things? One of your peers has died.’

  ‘By choice, Madam.’

  The four other girls looked askance at Dulcie. Rose didn’t drop her gaze. ‘So when they teach you all these disciplinary skills for the future, they don’t teach you compassion?’

  ‘Madam,’ Tash added in a soft voice, ‘none of us wants to talk about it. It’s done. Besides, compassion means something else here.’

  Rose tried to breathe away her emotion. She reached for the upturned Hippolytus on her bureau; but Dulcie wasn’t finished. ‘I forget that you don’t actually know anything, Madam. It’ll be so much easier when you finally catch up.’

  Rose sat forward, suddenly furious. ‘Why don’t you just tell me everything, then, Dulcie?’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Why not?’ Rose’s book slid off her lap.

  ‘To be honest, Madam,’ Dulcie’s face was brimming with exasperation, ‘I’m surprised you’re still here. Some of us thought you wouldn’t make it back after the break.’

  ‘My goodness, Dulce, you’re so unkind!’ Tash gasped.

  ‘Okay.’ Recovering herself, Rose bent to pick up her fallen book. ‘I give up. Let’s just carry on with the play.’

  For the next few days Rose waited for Bethany’s name to bloom from any of her colleagues’ mouths, for the girl’s story to fall out of a conversation. For that strange question – suicide or accident? – to be answered. For any hint of grief, or remorse, to present itself for examination. But Rose found none; the general severity of the staff didn’t seem to reduce itself to sorrow. More than once, she was tempted to let Bethany’s name fly out of her mouth, fully formed, just to shock them all.

  There was no doubt, either, that Frances was avoiding her. Bethany’s death seemed to have stunned her into silence. Grief wasn’t unfamiliar to Rose, but she couldn’t regret her friend’s silence more; there was so much she wanted to talk to Frances about, candidly. During her lunches and passing conversations with Emma – with Anthony, too – Rose had been unable to summon the courage to speak up, but she knew it would be different with Frances.

  On her newly allocated Thursday evening duty in House Prudence, Rose was watching the Thirds finger a pile of flapjacks, the crumbed oats falling across their laps. Rose rubbed one eye with tiredness, aware that she might be blurring her make-up. The girls were chatting, many of them clean from the shower and smelling of lilac soap. Rose was only half listening to them.

  ‘The opera was Wagner, it was lovely – but I had to sit next to Granny,’ one girl was saying, raising her eyebrows regretfully, ‘and she snored all through the second act.’

  Two other girls were looking at Rose expectantly.

  ‘Sorry?’ Rose sat up, now alert.

  ‘Apparently she was obsessed with you, Madam.’

  The other girl hooked Rose with her eyes. ‘Yes, Madam, what did really happen with Bethany?’

  Stunned, Rose couldn’t reply.

  ‘Did you help them identify the body at the beginning of the holidays, Madam?’

  ‘Did you mind terribly, Madam?’

  It was all wrong. When Rose wanted to speak, the girls didn’t; when they did, she couldn’t.

  ‘It’s an ugly business, Madam, now that we’re all locked up for the foreseeable. The Sixth aren’t even allowed out at the weekend!’

  ‘But aren’t any of you sad about it?’ Rose blurted out. ‘Don’t you think it’s … really sad?’

  ‘My father said she took her fate into her own hands.’

  ‘She’s a warning to us all, Madam.’

  The chatter stopped abruptly and Rose turned to see one of the house prefects at the door with a stern face, another girl hovering behind her, equally cross.

  ‘Madam! It’s past Junior bedtimes.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rose stood up. ‘You’re absolutely right. Let’s get on with it.’

  The girls hopped off the sofa and brushed the crumbs to the floor, one of them sucking at her fingers. The prefect’s friend, another Fifth, was scrutinising the Thirds and caught Rose in the wave of her loud rebuke: ‘And watch what you’re eating, girls, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Yes,’ added the prefect, ‘remember Diet. Especially with Valentine’s Day coming up.’

  The prefect’s friend wasn’t finished. ‘Did you smuggle those flapjacks in with your tuck?’

  ‘No.’ A dash of fear crossed one girl’s face. ‘Matron gave them to us. As a treat.’

  ‘Because Hattie finally got her menses.’ Another girl volunteered, nudging her mortified friend.

  ‘Oh, how ridiculous,’ the prefect scoffed. ‘And have you lot already had Body Inspection?’

  ‘Body Inspection?’ Rose repeated idiotically from the doorway.

  ‘Yes,’ the Third hastily answered the Fifth, ‘it was straight after holidays.’

  ‘Too soon in my opinion,’ the prefect retorted.

  ‘You shouldn’t talk like that to each other,’ Rose interjected, trying to impose some order over the conversation. She nodded at the Juniors: ‘Come on, girls, bedtime.’

  There was already a flurry of movement along the Junior corridor as girls dashed in and out of rooms towards the messy gathering in the bathroom at the far end. Showers jetted on and off as the Seconds furiously scrubbed at their teeth or rubbed soapy flannels over their red cheeks.

  Rose watched their little routine. So many of the faces were familiar to her from her own lessons – it was strange to see them now, so unmade and vulnerable. She resisted the urge to throw the blankets over each of them, tuck them in, and whisper something, anything, comforting.

  ‘What’s Body Inspection?’ she eventually said.

  A sleepy head raised itself. ‘Weights and measures for matron.’

  Rose glanced over the heads soft on their pillows, before saying gently, ‘I see.’

  ‘Goodnight, Madam,’ three voices said in unison.

  ‘Goodnight, girls.’

  ‘Madam, please switch off the light,’ replied a little voice as Rose hovered a moment too long.

  An hour later Rose was crossing the lobby on the ground floor and heard an adult voice coming from the study, addressing a group of Fifths. By instinct she held her breath and waited, seeing the prefect’s figure perched on the sofa’s armrest.

  ‘Yes, well, ladies.’ Rose recognised the adult voice as Vivien’s. ‘I hope you’re all being kind to Madam. She has much to learn.’

  There was a general mumble from the girls, before, ‘She got the bedtimes wrong, Madam.’

  ‘All the same, give her the benefit of the doubt, please, Victoria.’

  There was a short silence.

  ‘Perhaps she’s a good role model to you all. Intelligent, attractive.’

  ‘Hardly,’ scoffed one of the Fifths. ‘I heard that you wanted someone else, an old girl, but she wasn’t available. This was all you could find. It shows.’

  Rose felt as if she’d been struck.

  ‘I won’t speak to rumours, Isabella, and neither should you.’ Vivien’s voice was as sharp as her unseen face.

  ‘But, Madam, wasn’t she another one of Bethany’s?’

  Vivien seemed to hesitate. ‘Not entirely, Victoria, no.’

  ‘That’s what everyone is saying.’

  A third voice came in louder: ‘And she’s not married, Madam. She’s a townie. She’s probably got china dogs on her mantelpiece, like my uncle’s new wife.’

  Vivien made an indistinguishable noise. ‘Perhaps she serves as a cautionary tale, then. Alone and working in a school like this, serving
exceptional girls like you.’

  Rose sucked her breath through her teeth before clearing her throat loudly across the dim light of the lobby.

  ‘And here she is!’ cried Vivien, rising to greet Rose at the study door.

  Rose glared at Vivien, her cropped hair brushed back, her well-defined features suddenly haggard in the light.

  ‘The big sister of House Prudence,’ Vivien attempted.

  ‘No, Madam,’ Rose answered, her voice weaker than she expected, ‘not a big sister at all. I’m a teacher.’

  Vivien gave Rose a broad smile and guided her across the lobby. Rose stiffened at the touch.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind too much,’ Vivien began. ‘Being with the younger girls, the riff-raff. Mind you, Clemency is much worse.’

  Rose looked away from Vivien, her jaw tight. ‘I don’t mind it here.’

  A cluster of Fourths were moving towards the stairs and Rose saw Nessa glance back at her nervously, her mouth slightly open at seeing the deputy head there too.

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Vivien turned to intercept the look. ‘Why don’t you go up to your flat, Madam. I’ll take it from here.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but this is my duty.’

  Vivien nodded. ‘Well now, you must be pleased that the investigation is over? And all that grief at the end of last term!’

  ‘Is it really over?’ Rose frowned at Vivien’s casual tone. ‘I—’

  ‘Yes, and all relevant people have been notified.’

  ‘But Bethany—’

  Vivien interrupted sharply, ‘There’s the staff meeting on Monday to discuss matters.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Vivien clasped Rose’s hand and readjusted her smile. ‘Of course, there is much to talk through, but now is not the time.’

  The Monday afternoon staff meeting was taking place in the common room. The Headmaster was sitting adroitly on the armrest of an oversized chair, the rest of the seats dragged across the rugs to face him. The fire crackled behind the wide circle of staff as he spoke of Bethany.