Madam

by Phoebe Wynne

  ‘They made a fuss here so it was quite nice. My nurse, Inga, bought me a wonderful copy of Mary Wollstonecraft. Of course, it’s not a first edition.’

  Rose’s eyes were still closed. ‘The days and weeks fall into one here. I barely know what month it is. Forgive me, please.’

  Her mother was silent with reproof.

  Rose tried again. ‘Good to hear you’re still reading that stuff.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Your feminist texts.’ Rose opened her eyes. ‘Oh Mum, it’s really good to speak to you. I’ve been nervous to phone you – I think they might be … monitored.’

  ‘Who is monitored?’

  ‘The calls.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rose. And anyway, the doctor is pleased. He says I’m improving.’

  Rose lifted her head and shifted her gaze beyond the window of the House Prudence phone booth. ‘Improving? But I thought you’d taken a turn for the worse, Mum. I’ve been worried.’

  ‘Hardly worried if you forgot my birthday, darling. But I’m right as rain. They said it’s a touch of pneumonia but I told them it wasn’t. My hands are better than they were. Inga thinks I’m doing very well.’

  ‘I need you to be well, Mum.’ Rose gripped at the handset, remembering why she’d called. ‘Yesterday, did they do anything different? Was there anyone new there at the clinic?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Any … visitors?’

  ‘There are always visitors, Rose, I’m one patient of many.’

  ‘But,’ Rose felt a throb of urgency, ‘have you told anyone about Dad?’

  Her mother coughed. ‘What?’

  ‘About how he,’ Rose blinked, ‘died. Did you tell your nurse?’

  Her mother was suddenly abrupt. ‘Your father has nothing to do with my life here, nor yours at Caldonbrae Hall. He is behind us.’

  ‘He’s not behind me, Mum,’ Rose answered desperately. ‘They know all about it here – the accusation, then his … death. How can they? It was all—’

  ‘Well, I’m sure they’ll be professional and keep it to themselves.’ Her mother’s voice was growing weaker. ‘They have to. What’s this about?’

  ‘I’m so unhappy, Mum …’ Rose faltered. ‘Things aren’t going well here. There’s weird stuff going on, things I know you would disapprove of.’

  ‘Sometimes I think you don’t realise how lucky you are. You’re just not used to enjoying the privilege of a place like Caldonbrae. I am very grateful to them. Now, you’re giving me a headache.’

  ‘Mum, you’re not listening to me.’ Rose’s voice grew resentful. ‘You wouldn’t believe the way this school works! It’s against everything you’ve ever believed in! All the things you taught me.’

  ‘You,’ her mother said, coughing again, ‘never listened to anything I tried to teach you.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry.’ Rose tried to quell her anger. ‘At least it’s the holidays in a couple of weeks. You and I can really talk—’

  Rose stopped. She’d heard it, an unmistakeable click. She glanced at the plastic handset, drawing it away from her, before putting it back to her ear again. Her mother was still talking.

  ‘Must you come down? They are funny about the guest room.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rose stuttered. ‘I haven’t seen you since January!’

  ‘Do come and visit, but not for the whole holiday.’

  Rose couldn’t ignore the rising panic in her chest. ‘But, Mum, I don’t have anywhere else to go.’

  ‘Your home is there, now, Rose. At Caldonbrae. And I’m very happy to know you’re safe there.’ Her mother took a heroic breath. ‘Make friends, for God’s sake, spend your holidays with them. Meet a nice man, another teacher. I’d like to visit one day, you know. Maybe once I’m fully better, and out of the chair.’

  Locked in, the Headmaster had said. Locked in to her flat, the boarding house and God knew what activities. Forever locked in this relationship with Latin or Greek words, combatting unwilling students. Rose looked at her lesson plan and wondered whether it was even important for the Intermediates to learn all these participles – would it matter, later, when their fates had already been decided for them?

  When she’d entered her classroom the following Monday morning, her ceramic owl had been turned around to face the window, its height not reaching beyond the metal of the window frame. She didn’t know how long it had been positioned like that, or why. It had been moved before, but not in this small, unkind way. Which of her students would do such a strange thing? The same girl that had written the letters, perhaps – some nemesis determined to beat her down?

  ‘Madam?’ The classroom door was wide open and framed Daisy’s tall figure, but she wasn’t the one speaking.

  ‘Hi, girls,’ Rose looked up. ‘What are you doing here? It’s not Thursday.’

  ‘No, I know, Madam.’ Freddie pushed past Daisy, her eyes wide. ‘But I wanted to ask if you’d be available to give Nessa some extra sessions. She’s struggling to keep up with Study.’

  Rose tilted her head. ‘I’d like to. Actually, I suggested it to Ms Johns.’

  ‘Great!’ Freddie’s face seemed to burst with relief; she was already at Rose’s bureau.

  ‘But she said that it would happen in house?’ Rose raised her hands and stood up. ‘I can’t … I mean, I could ask again …’ Moving her head, she noticed Nessa looking desperate, still hovering at the door.

  ‘The situation is desperate, Madam. Daisy’s been helping her a bit, and I’ve tried, but there’s only so much we can do.’

  ‘What about … you could ask the head of History, too. He might have the right, if I don’t,’ nodded Rose. ‘Mr Rees, you like him, don’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Freddie stiffened. ‘Actually, I’ve seen you sitting with him in the dining hall, Madam.’

  ‘Yes, so have I. But not recently,’ Daisy added. ‘You were always smiling when you were around him, though, Madam.’

  ‘Please, Madam. We don’t need to tell anyone.’ Nessa finally spoke up from the doorway. ‘Could we at least cover three subjects? I’m really failing.’

  Rose saw the shared look between Freddie and Daisy and stepped forward.

  ‘Well,’ she cracked a smile, ‘that must be why we all live together in a boarding school, isn’t it? I can spare an hour or two a week, Nessa, for you.’

  Nessa blinked with gratitude. ‘Could we start before the holidays, Madam? I’m terribly worried. Now I’m in Clemency I have to prove I’m worthy to move back up again.’

  Rose felt Freddie shift with agitation beside her.

  ‘Of course, Nessa,’ Rose answered. ‘Yes, I’ll do it.’

  Nessa relaxed and the three girls shared a brighter look.

  ‘When, Madam?’

  ‘What about Friday afternoon? When suits you?’

  ‘I have games, Madam, but perhaps afterwards?’

  ‘Okay, so perhaps an hour before dinner?’ Rose nodded. ‘We should be able to get away with that. Then we’ll find another time.’

  ‘Thank you, Madam.’ Nessa’s freckled nose wrinkled with relief.

  ‘No problem. I think we’ll manage at least two sessions before the break.’

  Rose looked at her owl again; she hadn’t swivelled it back. Daisy spoke into the silence. ‘Since we’re here, can we meet another ancient woman, Madam?’

  ‘Oh.’ Rose hesitated. ‘Don’t you have lessons?’

  ‘No, Madam, it’s breaktime.’

  ‘Is it?’ She looked up at the clock over her bookcase. The piece of Vesuvius rock looked back at her.

  ‘Madam, I’ve always wondered about this one.’ Daisy moved past Rose towards the board, to touch one of the postcards on the wall. Rose watched Daisy pull one away from its blu tack.

  ‘Always wondered,’
Nessa said sarcastically. ‘Madam’s only been here two terms. Honestly, Daisy, you’re so—’

  ‘Nessa,’ Freddie said warningly.

  ‘One more, Madam? It’s difficult in lessons, we might not get another chance all together before the holidays.’

  ‘I hate the holidays, Madam,’ said Nessa as she edged forward. ‘I’m staying here. But I’m intending to improve my Horsemanship so that my Value goes up. Might change my prospects. We’ve only got another year and a bit – it gets so serious in Sixth.’

  ‘That’s useful,’ Rose said haltingly, moving around to sit on a desk.

  ‘Freddie’s going skiing.’

  ‘Yes, but I hope it’s not too sunny,’ Freddie said with a shrug. ‘I have to be careful with my complexion.’

  ‘I’m going to see my grandparents in London,’ said Daisy. ‘It’ll be boring,’

  ‘Surely not. London!’ Rose attempted. ‘Must be nice to get away to the city? Do you … go to the cinema and things like that?’

  ‘Oh, no. My grandparents are very old-fashioned, and what with the school restrictions …’

  ‘Or … what about boys?’ Rose was talking in a near-whisper. ‘Do you girls ever meet up with other young people in the holidays? Any next-door neighbours you fancy?’

  There was a brief pause while the girls looked at each other.

  ‘We’re not interested in that, Madam,’ Daisy said firmly. ‘We’re better than that at Hope.’

  ‘I’ve got cousins and things,’ Freddie added, ‘but the aim is men. Not the games staff, or the teachers. But the suitors.’

  Daisy spoke up. ‘We’re going to learn all about that – how to entice men, what to say—’

  ‘The power of our virginity,’ interrupted Nessa, counting on her fingers, ‘and what games to play. That’s in Sixth.’

  Rose stared at the three girls madly. ‘No, no. That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Madam, you’re so …’ Nessa rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t keep up with you sometimes.’

  ‘We all have to be patient with each other, Nessa. I’m still finding out how things are.’ Rose straightened up. ‘You have a sister, don’t you, Nessa? Wasn’t she head girl last year?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nessa raised her head proudly. ‘Sadie. She was married in the summer. My parents were very pleased with the match. I can’t wait.’ Nessa drew a hand through her thin hair. ‘Being married and getting away from here, travelling maybe, seeing things. I hope I can manage. This place is all I know.’

  ‘Nessa, you can manage all of that,’ Rose said before she could stop herself, ‘even without being married.’

  Nessa scoffed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Madam, how would I do that?’

  ‘With education. Sometimes as women, we have to rescue ourselves, instead of expecting someone else to.’ Rose sat forward. She realised she felt bolder with the storm still in her skin. ‘That’s the best thing a woman can do – learn how to rescue herself, without the need of a man; without the need of anyone.’

  But she was met with baffled silence.

  Rose’s eyes fell on the postcard in Daisy’s hand: a black-haired woman stirring potions and clutching at a string of red beads around her neck. She changed her voice. ‘So, gather round, let’s take a look at Medea. This is a painting by Sandys. I think there’s a better version in one of my books, hang on.’ Rose moved over to her tall bookcase.

  ‘Medea,’ Daisy repeated, laying the postcard on the desk. ‘Why is she so upset, and what is she doing?’

  ‘She’s a granddaughter of the sun, and she’s brewing some herbs for a potion, because she’s a witch.’ Rose opened a thick book on the desk in front of them. ‘Not your traditional hook-nosed witch on a broomstick, but a sorceress.’

  ‘A sorceress.’ Nessa imitated Rose excitedly.

  ‘Yes, and born outside Greece. Therefore an outcast in Greek times.’

  ‘Ah.’ Freddie touched the postcard sympathetically.

  The three girls crowded around, their hair falling softly past their shoulders and over the book. Daisy’s straight black locks, Freddie’s reddish curls and Nessa’s blonde wisps of hair touched Rose’s hands as she pointed at the oranges and blacks in the painting. What a beautiful mess, Rose thought.

  ‘Medea isn’t a very popular heroine,’ she began, ‘maybe not even a heroine at all. She’s usually associated with Jason and the Argonauts. But I’ve always liked her. There’s a Euripides play all about her – the Upper Sixth are studying it.’

  ‘Are they?’ Daisy asked. ‘Lucky.’

  ‘Well, so can you in a few years, if you want.’

  The portrait stared back at them in confrontation. Rose smiled; Medea had probably never had so many young-eyed admirers before.

  ‘Anyway, the story within the play,’ Rose continued, ‘is that Medea married Jason, after she helped him retrieve the Golden Fleece.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Daisy nodded with recognition.

  ‘Years later and with two boys, they landed in Greece again. Jason had been offered a position – but he didn’t tell Medea how he would obtain it. He was going to marry the princess of Corinth.’

  ‘But … what about Medea?’ Freddie protested. ‘Wasn’t he already married?’

  ‘Yes, he was.’ Rose smiled again. ‘But Medea was a barbarian, so to some, it wasn’t a legitimate marriage at all.’

  ‘That’s a bit rude!’ Nessa’s eyes blew wide open.

  ‘Yes, quite.’ Rose bit back a laugh. ‘And Medea thought so too. But she had to play nice. She told Jason yes, of course, I’ll stay here, you go ahead. With her witchy powers she designed a beautiful dress and coronet as a gift for the young princess bride. But when the princess tried them on, Medea’s poison took effect, and the girl started to melt and die. Her father, the king, ran in to help, but by clinging to her dress, he absorbed the poison too.’ Rose paused. ‘It’s almost funny the way it’s described in the play.’

  ‘Yuck, Madam.’ Nessa’s freckled nose was wrinkled with disgust.

  Rose grinned back. ‘Yes, sorry.’

  ‘Jason must have been furious.’

  ‘He was, Freddie,’ Rose nodded seriously. ‘He was disappointed not to have his promised position in a wealthy Greek city-state.’

  ‘He didn’t want revenge?’

  ‘Yes. And the Corinthians wanted her blood, and any related to her.’

  Freddie sat forward. ‘So what did she do?’

  ‘So,’ Rose hesitated and stood up before answering, ‘she killed her children.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ Rose said instinctively.

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ Freddie leaned back on her arm and held up the postcard. ‘I get it. She wanted to punish Jason. She didn’t want them to live a barbarian life. What other choice did she have?’

  ‘Not to kill her children,’ Nessa said loudly. ‘Or at least kill herself along with them, too.’

  ‘Interesting to hear what you think.’ Rose looked askance at Freddie. ‘In the play Medea builds quite a logical argument before she performs the deed. She wanted to free her children from a persecuted life. If their father married a fellow Greek, they would become illegitimate. Those two boys, as men, would have been outcasts in Greece. In Medea’s eyes, their deaths are a mercy.’

  ‘But,’ Daisy attempted, ‘couldn’t anyone help?’

  ‘Aegeus, the king of Athens, said he would help Medea only, not her kids.’

  ‘Harsh.’

  ‘Yes, Daisy, many things were harsh for women then.’ Rose glanced at the books on her bureau. ‘Nowadays people tend to label Medea as the child-killer, but really, she reasons her way out of impossible situations. I admire her. During the play she manages to dupe one man after another with her language and her actions.’

  ‘What happens at the end then, Madam?’
>
  ‘She goes off to Athens,’ Rose said slowly, ‘and performs more witchy antics there … Stories for another day.’

  ‘I don’t think I like her, Madam,’ Nessa declared, turning the page.

  The three girls reacted in joyful unison as the next page settled. It showed the marble Bernini sculpture, revealed in full through a spread of photographs.

  ‘Oh Madam, this is lovely!’ Daisy gushed. ‘Don’t you have one of these as a postcard too? I’ve never been able to work out—’

  ‘Oh, the Sixth were telling us about this,’ Freddie interrupted as she read the description. ‘Daphne and Apollo. He’s seized with love for her, and wants to have her for himself, but she’s running away from him, because she wants to stay unmarried – is that right?’

  Rose frowned at the images, remembering Dulcie’s engagement ring in that Sixth lesson. She took in a breath. ‘Let’s not.’

  ‘No, let’s. It’s so pretty, this one.’ Daisy was leaning in, so was Nessa. ‘So that’s Apollo grabbing her – isn’t he a god?’

  Rose hesitated. ‘Haven’t you had enough for one day?’

  ‘No. Come on, Madam.’

  ‘Why is she running?’ Nessa joined in. ‘Is she transforming into something?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rose fixed her eyes on the cool marble figures. ‘She’s a nymph, and sworn to remain a virgin and stay near her father. But Apollo is strong and forceful … so Daphne begs her father to save her. He’s a river god, with his own powers.’

  ‘So he grants her wish, does he?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Yes, and he transforms her into—’

  ‘Is it …’ Nessa was peering into the page. ‘Is it a tree?’

  ‘Yes, Nessa, a laurel tree,’ Rose said encouragingly, ‘and so Apollo couldn’t have her. But he became obsessed with the tree all the same.’

  Nessa shook her head, bewildered. ‘So Daphne became a tree for the rest of her life?’

  ‘But,’ Daisy glanced at Rose before asking, ‘why wouldn’t Daphne want to be with Apollo? He’s a god.’

  ‘He is, but she has free will.’ Rose tilted her head. ‘She wasn’t interested in any young men, she just wanted to be a free virgin nymph.’