by Phoebe Wynne
‘Not at all, Rose,’ the chairman answered genially. ‘Our model works. We are a step ahead – other affiliate schools are now considering our model, not just in the UK. You won’t find finer or more accomplished girls across the country … surely you’ve realised that they hail from some of the most affluent and influential families in Britain?’
The other governors nodded, busying themselves with drawing their cutlery together, refolding their napkins.
‘Now, I gather things have settled in the Classics department,’ the chairman’s voice grew kinder, ‘and your work in the boarding house is appreciated. Now that the situation is stabilising, the Headmaster and his management will need you to contribute to the Discipline and Value threads—’
‘Wait,’ Rose interrupted, dread seeping through her chest. ‘The girls, are they all entirely aware of this … practice?’
‘Of course. The girls are the prize.’ He gestured across the other governors. ‘Their parents are, after all, the client, and we the service.’
‘And the service provides,’ Rose tried to imitate his language, ‘a refined and elegant young woman?’
‘Yes.’
The fragments of Rose’s logic were staggering together. ‘But not an intelligent one, with her own mind?’
‘Rose,’ the chairman glanced to his colleagues who shared his frown, ‘girls this young don’t need to have their own thoughts. They are in their physical prime, and we guide them to their full potential.’
‘I disagree.’
The chairman sat back as his eyes lit up. ‘That smells not of independence, my dear, but waywardness.’
Rose leaned forward. ‘These girls haven’t had a chance to piece themselves together. They do need to have their own thoughts. You’re obsessed with their refinement, their physical potential, but what about their humanity?’ Her voice grew fervent as she felt Vivien stiffen by her side. ‘My Intermediates, even my Sixths – they don’t know who they are or what they want.’
‘I believe you’re doing the girls a disservice by saying so.’ The chairman’s face was impenetrable. ‘But it is interesting to hear your perspective, I assure you.’
‘I have earned my independence. I have a career. These girls never will.’
‘Rose, don’t be so naive.’ The chairman let out a laugh to ease the mood. ‘Marriage is by far the best career these girls can have; motherhood too. They find their independence within these great unions. These traditions have been in place for generations, and it is not for you to question … Please allow us to re-educate you.’
‘How is it possible,’ Rose’s hands were beginning to shake, ‘that William Hope’s aims can still be relevant today?’
‘Lord Hope wanted to ensure that the aristocratic families were connected more fluidly in a changing society,’ the chairman mused. ‘He was a Whig rebel, and rather against Queen Victoria in her early reign. A woman on the throne, his party losing power.’ The chairman weighed up his words with his hands. ‘At the time, Hope wanted to ensure that women still understood their place. Freedom in moderation, you know. These principles still stand today.’
‘And so,’ Rose summed up, her voice brittle, ‘Caldonbrae Hall is actually a refinement factory for model women – wives – disguised as an academic establishment.’
‘I’ll stop you there, Rose, you go too far.’ The chairman turned his head with irritation.
‘I haven’t gone too far at all. The whole country thinks this place provides the finest education a young woman can receive.’
‘Which it does.’
Incredulous, Rose gazed around the table at those knowing faces, all waiting for her to submit. With a small burst of desperation she asked, ‘Why me?’
The governor opposite Vivien spoke up. ‘You came highly recommended, and you are young enough to be malleable. You had a strong record, good roots. Your father was a professor. I myself discovered an Irish landowner in your past. Is that not the case?’ Rose stared at the man introduced to her as the Right Honourable Graham, a retired judge with stooping shoulders and a dash of white hair. ‘We brought you on to add to the common “breeding, brains and beauty” line at Caldonbrae,’ the judge continued. ‘With your academic record we can improve the “brains”, perhaps for any higher education requirements our suitors might have. We saw potential in you. As Lord Carstairs says, this search and research method is one we may have to adopt.’
Another governor spoke up: the cabinet minister, who fixed Rose with a sudden bright eye. ‘You know, my dear, you needn’t feel that your background should hold you back. The Headmaster himself is a Thatcherite self-made man, and we have been very pleased with our choice there.’
The judge nodded vigorously in response. ‘We’ve had great success with him. In fact, not one of our Compassion girls in the past eleven years has had to stay on at the school. They were all placed with older gentlemen quite successfully.’
The chairman dragged a finger across his lips as the others spoke. Rose closed her eyes for a short moment, disgusted. He was a descendant of William Hope. Were his daughters among the girls once? Rose thought of Clarissa and her maroon dress. She thought of Nessa and her freckles, Freddie’s firm, ivory jaw. Rose knew the girls better than any of these gentlemen did.
‘So I’m an experiment?’
She saw the chairman nod. ‘You are the first teacher without any prior knowledge of the school’s inner system, yes. The others – married women like your colleague Emma, or the bachelor gentlemen – sought us out through a private connection. Your old colleague, Frank Thorpe, is an associate of ours.’
Rose’s head jerked with alarm. ‘Frank? He knows about this … system?’
‘Of course. He did all the relevant checks for us regarding your appointment.’ The chairman pressed his lips together firmly, before adding, ‘Now, may we remind you of the need for discretion?’
‘Discretion?’
‘You have signed your contract and within it, a non-disclosure form. You cannot discuss anything about Hope outside the school grounds. Furthermore, we strongly disapprove of reviewing the school’s methods with colleagues. It goes without saying that no criticisms should be heard by our students themselves.’ The chairman pushed his plate to the side as his face grew serious. ‘As you understand, we cannot now let you out of our community, Rose. There are many alternatives for wayward or disobedient staff, but your best option is to remain here and acquiesce. Your mother’s welfare depends on it. Your welfare depends on it.’ Something electric moved through Rose as the chairman added, ‘You do not want to compromise yourself or anyone that depends on you.’
‘Please,’ Rose’s voice was small, ‘don’t include my mother in this.’
‘We shall, Rose,’ the chairman said with a frown. ‘She is in our care, through your work with us.’
‘You wouldn’t … hurt her, deliberately?’
The chairman spread out his hands. ‘I don’t wish to be unpleasant, Rose, but we have to educate you on your limits. And you will find that whatever you give here will be returned to you fully.’
Rose’s face throbbed along with her heart. Five pairs of governors’ eyes watched her.
‘Do you understand all that I have said?’
‘Yes, Chairman,’ Rose finally managed. ‘I understand.’
‘Now, if you have any further questions, we have arranged for your colleagues Frances Manders and Anthony Rees to go through the finer details with you.’ The chairman stood up with finality. ‘I am so glad you are on board. Let me assure you that the benefits outweigh any misgivings you might have. Our fees are steady, and the endowment that Hope receives annually is very generous.’
The judge stood up too, and his dash of white hair quivered. ‘You will always be looked after here, Rose. It’s very easy to scoff at tradition, but tradition is a tremendous strength. It holds up the values of
Hope, and it holds up the values of Great Britain.’
‘Hear, hear,’ echoed the chairman, now leaning towards Rose. ‘Thank you in advance for your loyalty, Rose. Now,’ he announced before heaving a satisfied sigh, ‘let’s have some of that glorious pudding!’
Rose pushed herself up from her chair. ‘Th-thank you, Lord Carstairs.’ She didn’t dare raise her hand to have it shaken; her whole body was vibrating with dread. But they were no longer looking at her.
‘I fancy a brandy with pudding, Henry, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Gun Room?’
Rose waited as Vivien escorted the governors out.
Frances came through the door moments later, her eyes wide and apprehensive, Anthony swinging behind her with a serious face. He looked at the bedraggled remnants of food, before turning to Rose anxiously.
‘Are you all right?’
Rose found her voice, and it burned her throat. ‘I can’t stay here.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Frances answered quickly.
‘They’re threatening me, and my mother.’
‘That’s just leverage, Rose, they—’
‘I don’t understand any of it. I’ve never heard of such a system. This is a nightmare.’ Rose’s voice grew louder as she faced the two of them. ‘How can you stand it? Why did you come here – either of you?’
Anthony pulled out one of the chairs to sit next to Rose. ‘Listen. It’s a school with ideals, and it works. The girls are happy – you’ve seen that for yourself. A school like this one saved me when I was a boy. And if I can contribute to the happiness and success of others, then I will.’
‘What do you mean, a school like this one saved you?’
Anthony shook his head. ‘Well, not exactly like Hope. I mean to say that I was set up in a boarding school as a boy, as an orphan, in the Midlands. I was taken on as a scholarship student, and it saw me through. I’ll always be grateful to these systems; I’d have had no opportunities otherwise.’
The lines in his forehead deepened and Rose saw again that rough anxiety behind his face; it caught her off-guard. ‘I’m so sorry about your parents, Anthony.’
‘Oh,’ Anthony responded, surprised by the comment, ‘it was a long time ago.’
Frances coughed, but Rose carried on: ‘You get on well with the Headmaster, don’t you, Anthony? You are sort of … buddies?’
Anthony drew his eyebrows together. ‘We do get on well, yes.’
‘He’s brainwashed you. The governors too,’ Rose said forcefully. ‘They’re trying to do the same to me. Threatening me with my mother’s health and God knows what else.’
‘They need you to comply,’ Anthony urged as Rose gave him an incredulous look.
‘Rose,’ Frances interjected, taking over, ‘there’s nothing we can do for you there, it’s higher than Anthony or me. But let’s get this part over with. I know that you want to understand everything.’
Rose turned to face her friend, separated by this great chasm they would now attempt to bridge. How could Frances have kept this from her, all this time?
‘There are three threads at the school, Rose: Study, Discipline and Value,’ Frances continued. ‘The Junior years commence with Study and Discipline – that is to say, academic subjects, skills and general good behaviour. A basic minimum of accomplishments is expected of all girls – music, dance, games, home-keeping, the creative arts. This continues into Intermediates. Value begins there too, when the girls start to focus their energies in specific areas; working towards their portfolio, and what they can offer.’ Frances paused. ‘It gets serious in the Sixth, where the girls are introduced at court.’
‘At court?’
‘To the royal family, as debutantes. An old tradition that’s still very much alive, if you know the right people. That’s what the Upper Sixth were doing in London back in September.’
Rose raised her eyebrows as Frances continued.
‘At the end of Fifth the girls are allocated Pathways. They follow these through the Sixth. The top one is E for Elite, which feeds into the top layer, aristocrats and so on; below that is P for Professional, where the suitors are usually barristers, surgeons, that sort of thing. New money, too.’
Rose thought of that engagement diamond cutting into Dulcie’s ring finger with a small red mark.
‘Then the third is—’
‘C Pathway,’ Rose answered breathlessly. ‘Compassion. The one Bethany was in.’
Anthony took up the explanation as Frances seemed to hesitate. ‘Yes, Compassion, where the girls either marry a senior gentleman – an eligible widower – or they stay on here and teach.’
Rose nodded, her face full of resentment. ‘The girls left behind. And Bethany, forever left behind. Is this why she … killed herself?’
It was Anthony’s turn to hesitate, and a solemn Frances was no help. ‘She was a special case,’ Anthony began. ‘I think she also missed Jane. Jane had been a Compassion herself, and convinced her that it was no way to live.’ He paused. ‘I’m not aware of the finer details …’
‘Why didn’t anyone help Bethany?’ Rose demanded. ‘The management – the governors, too – especially if her father was their client?’
‘Well, because of Jane,’ Anthony said simply.
‘What, so, if there’s a disobedient teacher, they punish any girl she’s close to?’
‘As I say,’ Anthony shook his head, disconcerted, ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of that case.’
Rose grew frantic. ‘Are you listening to yourself? We let that girl down. Her father, too, was let down. That cannot happen again.’
Anthony sat back, speaking carefully. ‘I admire your empathy, Rose. It will serve you well moving forward. Some of us old-timers are so used to the system we don’t think twice when it doesn’t go to plan.’
Rose looked to Frances, waiting for her verdict, but she gave none.
‘Shall I continue?’ Anthony pressed on. ‘We were talking of the Sixth Pathways. They depend on Value, Study, and of course the girls’ families. Once the parent comes to an agreement with a gentleman, the gentleman gives his requirements, called “Promises”, which come under Value. The girls need to build their Value as much as they can during Sixth.’
‘And what are the “Promises” exactly?’
‘They can be anything,’ Anthony replied, ‘from a modern language … to wine knowledge, tap dancing, archery … or even poker-playing. There are dozens of options, it’s really up to the suitor. Beyond that … it’s just a question of training.’
Rose’s face broke. ‘It’s so awful. Can’t you hear what you’re saying? You talk so casually about Bethany, then you talk about the other girls as if they’re products, to train and build up?’
Frances’s face was still closed, but Anthony said cautiously, ‘Understand, Rose, that the girls are extremely happy to be so accomplished by the end of the Sixth – in the arts, in themselves. They’ve learned how to function in society, how to get ahead, how to …’
‘Be a wife,’ Rose finished bluntly as an expansive silence spread between the three of them. She glanced at a drag of butter across the tablecloth, at the wrought-iron candlestick shedding its rust on the white. ‘Sorry. Please go on.’
Anthony’s hazel eyes were gentle and tired. ‘What else do you need to know?’
‘My timetable?’
‘Yes, your timetable needs to expand. Study is the academics, which haven’t been strong lately. Discipline is taught in the afternoons, by much of the boarding staff and the old girls—’
‘And the governor talked about … higher education?’
‘Well,’ Anthony answered quickly, ‘this is where I’ve been involved, and where your old colleague Frank came in. More recently some of the suitors – particularly the Professionals – are looking for university-educated wives, due to the nature of the
ir society. You could help advocate for that.’
‘Really?’ Rose snorted. ‘Won’t it be difficult to control the girls once they’re at university?’
‘Again,’ Anthony eyed Rose warily, ‘you don’t know the depth of our influence. We are willing to innovate, you see. Hope has been negotiating with one of the colleges at—’
Rose’s throat rumbled with rage. ‘So, there’s a new trend for a clever and educated wife? I’m so glad. What exactly does my advocating for it mean?’
‘I’m not entirely sure.’ Anthony glanced at Frances. ‘You might be required to tutor a few of the girls, prepare them for interviews.’
‘More training?’
‘Isn’t that something that would interest you?’ Anthony asked.
Rose hesitated. She had to admit that it would.
‘It’s a new innovation. The suitors’ agreements—’
‘The suitors, again!’ Disdain poured over Rose’s every word. ‘Tell me, when are these agreements made between the Sixth and her future husband?’
Anthony waited a moment before answering. ‘They start around the middle of Lower Sixth, some later than others.’
‘And when do they get married?’
‘Usually the summer after they leave. If not, they live in apartments in London. Hope has many properties all over the city, it’s—’
‘What if the girls don’t even like men?’ Rose thought of Tash. ‘What if—’
‘Rose.’ Frances’s voice was hard. ‘Come now. Don’t talk about what’s unnatural.’
Welcome back, Rose thought, coward.
‘Besides,’ Frances continued, ‘the girls know they are meant to save themselves for their husbands, and their husbands alone.’
Rose balked at that. ‘That’s … just fucking hideous. And what about the girls in House See – are they trained up, too?’
‘No,’ Frances said firmly. ‘They’re an international link to improve our teaching and learning. Things might change, but for now, no.’
‘But that’s just another layer of discrimination, Frances.’