Madam

by Phoebe Wynne

  Regarding our female monsters, then, we would do well to exercise compassion and remember the truth behind their stories.

  21.

  ‘Valē, magistra.’

  ‘Valētē,’ Rose said forcefully, but only because Anthony was sitting in the corner observing her. It was the first time she’d seen him since his exposed secret last week. The girls had looked to their head of History for his regular brightness, a smile as he scratched his beard, or perhaps a joke or two. But the bitter air between Anthony’s shame and Rose’s disgust snuffed out any hope of that.

  ‘Madam,’ Anthony attempted as the crowd of girls shuffled out, ‘may I speak to you?’

  ‘No, Sir.’ Only once had Rose checked his anguished, lined face during the lesson, and she didn’t look at him now. ‘I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.’

  Anthony left the room without a backward glance.

  At least the outside brightness had returned. Rose had been surprised to see the clear blue of the sea through the window that morning: the haar had gone. Moved on, moved away, drawn its soft blanket back up into the heavens. And taken my owl with it, Rose thought mournfully. Her classroom offered up still more surprises – that morning she’d found Bethany’s name scrawled across the blackboard in chalk, exactly how Rose had written it on her bathroom mirror. She’d rubbed it out quickly, before the girls arrived, but she could still see the imprint in the chalk dust.

  Rose breathed out in an attempt to rid the room of Anthony before descending the stairs. Emma was already waiting for Rose in the office, her glasses having slipped down to the end of her nose.

  ‘Ready for lunch?’

  ‘It’s a bit early.’

  ‘It’ll be quieter,’ insisted Emma. ‘And Frances is joining us.’

  Emma waited until they reached the bottom of the Great Stairs before she spoke again.

  ‘I saw Anthony observing your lesson just now – does that make it easier?’

  ‘Make what easier?’

  ‘To be observed by a friend, a colleague you trust, rather than someone who might be—’

  ‘He’s probably the last person I’d want to observe my lessons,’ Rose said coolly, ‘or even have anywhere near me.’

  Emma pulled a face. ‘I thought the two of you were … ?’

  ‘I have no feeling for Anthony,’ Rose grumbled, ‘other than disgust.’

  ‘Rose!’ Emma gasped. ‘That can’t be true? I think of him very highly, we all do.’

  Rose glanced at the main corridor noticeboards, seeing the satirical Suffragette cartoon, which she now realised wasn’t an historical reference at all but a true mockery of those women. ‘I’m sure you do, Emma. I suppose Hope likes to hide its ugliness.’

  ‘My goodness, Rose. You are so melodramatic. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  A row of Sixth overtook them, among them a dark-haired Intermediate, whom Rose realised was Josie. She checked for the rat about her neck, in her hair, but it wasn’t there.

  ‘I don’t understand, Emma,’ Rose went on. ‘I thought we were preparing prize winners, trophy women who had to remain “intact” for their husbands?’

  A cloud of reddish curls stalked past and Rose was caught by a fresh sting of shame. She hadn’t yet seen her Fourths since her unkindness last week. Freddie didn’t return her glance, and Rose’s regret gleamed anew.

  ‘Don’t talk so crassly in the corridor, Rose.’ Emma touched her arm. ‘And wasn’t that Frederica List?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rose said carefully.

  ‘Apparently she’s been asking her parents all sorts of questions. Something about the requirements, and whether she could choose her suitor. Can you imagine?’ Emma scoffed, then hesitated. ‘Not anything to do with you, Rose?’

  Rose’s chest was tight. She resisted the urge to turn around and check Freddie’s disappearing red-gold head. ‘No.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ Emma continued darkly, ‘you might have your wrist slapped about that one, but hopefully it’ll pass us by.’ She sighed. ‘I shall be glad of the Ball when it comes, and the half-term break. Things are always easier afterwards with the Upper Sixth gone.’

  Deirdre joined them at the dining hall doors, her voice an excited whisper. ‘Did you hear about Clarissa’s father?’

  ‘No?’

  Rose ducked her head to listen, in spite of herself.

  ‘He’s sent through the legal documents – he’s suing the school.’

  ‘Suing?’ Emma exclaimed.

  ‘Keep your voice down, Em.’

  Rose’s ears hummed through the canteen, following Deirdre’s movements all the way to the chosen dining table. Once they had sat down she resumed her delicious report. ‘Yes, although the matter is entirely confidential, Mr Bray wants to pursue it legally. He’s furious.’

  ‘Well, the Headmaster will fix it, I’m sure,’ Emma nodded sagely.

  ‘At least,’ Deirdre raised an eyebrow, ‘they’ve fired the culprit.’

  ‘Have they? I thought it was a cousin?’

  ‘No!’ Deirdre carried on, ‘it was a groundsman. Clarissa didn’t know his name, just his face. She must have suffered terribly, poor thing. But he’ll go down for it.’

  ‘But,’ Rose interjected, ‘it wasn’t a groundsman at all. It was Anthony.’

  Emma turned to Rose in disbelief. ‘Anthony?’

  ‘I say, Rose.’ Deirdre’s face folded with disapproval. ‘Have a care, throwing accusations about.’

  ‘It’s not an accusation,’ Rose insisted, ‘I saw them together.’

  ‘You must have been mistaken,’ snapped Deirdre.

  ‘No, I wasn’t mistaken, Deirdre.’ Rose almost slammed her fist on the table. ‘It was Anthony Rees. They’ve been having an affair. Anthony …’ Rose hesitated. ‘Anthony must have been the father of that child.’

  ‘Not a child, dear,’ Deirdre grimaced. ‘A mistake!’

  Rose wasn’t giving in. ‘I saw them with my own eyes.’

  ‘You’re absolutely raving, girl. Get a hold of yourself.’

  ‘Watch what you’re saying, both of you.’ Emma looked around her hastily.

  Frances appeared with her tray, her eyes puffy and her hair more flyaway than usual. She nodded at the table of three women. Behind her, Ayumi streamed past, her skin clean of any geisha make-up, her face pointed with concentration as she made her way to the segregated tables. Rose followed Ayumi with her eyes, before turning back to her colleagues.

  ‘The system here at Hope isn’t working,’ she stated fiercely. ‘No matter what you try. Divorce, adultery is everywhere – even in the beloved royal family! This system – your precious society – is corrupt.’

  Frances sat next to Rose and faced the threesome. ‘What on earth are you so angry about, Rose?’

  Rose stared straight back at her. She wanted to push Frances, force her to speak out, to rage along with her, to be her true self, whatever or whoever that was.

  ‘Nothing of significance, I’m sure,’ Rose answered instead. ‘Excuse me, ladies, I’m not up to this.’ She stood up, tearing her tray away from Emma’s dismay and Deirdre’s condemnation. ‘Count me out for the rest of the day.’

  ‘Madam, valē,’ said Daisy loudly. ‘You forgot the greeting both times.’

  ‘Yes, valē magistra,’ a few girls repeated.

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ Rose answered without looking up.

  The designated observer moved out of the classroom before the girls had even scrabbled their things together. To Rose’s relief, he seemed to take the cold, strange atmosphere with him. It had been another horrible lesson of silent work; she hadn’t been able to look any of the Fourths in the eye, her awful outburst towards those three girls wrapping around her conscience still.

  Rose pretended to busy herself with exercise books as the class stra
yed through the door. She checked the arched window, avoiding the blank spot where her owl used to be. It was a bright day, and the warmth seemed to flash against the white of the vaulted ceiling. A good omen, she hoped.

  Three of the girls were hesitating by the door. Feeling a dash of gladness, Rose addressed them quickly, just in case they weren’t really lingering at all.

  ‘Girls. Daisy, Nessa, Freddie. I need to apologise for last week.’

  Daisy was the first to turn back; her dark almond-shaped eyes were misty. Seeing that Nessa had her arms crossed, Rose’s eyes darted nervously to Freddie. Her expression was set, and it was one of deep hurt.

  Rose waited for the door to close on the last few departing students.

  ‘I should never have said those things,’ she chose her words carefully, ‘and more importantly, I didn’t mean them. They were spoken out of anger, and confusion, and,’ Rose sucked in her breath, ‘sheer panic.’

  ‘We could sort of tell. You were so furious, I’ve never seen you like that,’ nodded Nessa. ‘It reminded me of the way my father gets sometimes.’

  ‘It wasn’t about you three, it was about me. Or …’ Rose screwed up her face, feeling more vulnerable than ever, ‘I don’t know anymore.’

  Freddie heaved her chest but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I understand, Madam,’ Daisy said, gesturing to the observer’s usual seat. ‘You’re having a difficult term, I think.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Nessa still had her arms crossed. ‘I’m still failing, just as much as you.’

  ‘Nessa, we’re going to devise some sort of plan to help you,’ Rose nodded firmly. ‘I just wanted to apologise this morning, and say that I have really enjoyed getting to know you three this year.’

  Freddie started forward and Nessa undid her arms as she asked, ‘What do you mean? Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘Well, no, I—’

  ‘Move!’ called a voice from somewhere below. After a few stomps up the stairs, an auburn head appeared at the door.

  Rose tried to continue. ‘In fact, you three girls—’

  ‘Madam! I need to talk to you.’

  The door swung open to behold Clarissa. Rose’s cheeks burned at seeing her, and the tremulous confidence she’d felt moments before seemed to abate. Turning her face away, she could see only those white knees in that red room, that sweating triumph on Clarissa’s face.

  ‘Ladies,’ the head girl addressed Rose’s three Fourths as she glided past them, ‘may I have the room.’

  Nessa and Daisy obeyed wordlessly, tugging their bags over their shoulders, but Rose saw Freddie glower at the back of Clarissa’s head.

  ‘Girls, stop.’ Rose faced the head girl. ‘I don’t know what kind of power you have around the school, Clarissa, but in my classroom, I’m in charge.’

  The girls remained. ‘I need to talk to you, Madam,’ Clarissa repeated, with a tilt of her head. ‘You know why.’

  ‘It can wait.’

  Clarissa placed her hands on either side of her bodice. ‘Madam, the accepted response is that you will hear what I have to say.’

  Nessa looked between Rose and the head girl, and said softly, ‘It’s all right, Madam.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ answered Rose. ‘Clarissa, please go. If you’d like to discuss something, come to my office at lunchtime.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake.’ The girl’s face contorted. ‘Why did you ever come here?’

  Rose shook with bitter laughter. ‘You know, Clarissa, I often ask myself the same question.’

  ‘Do you think you’re better than us?’ Clarissa pushed her hair over her shoulder as the three girls shared a glance behind her.

  ‘No,’ Rose replied calmly, ‘I really don’t.’

  Clarissa gave Rose a glare as she stormed to the door, but not before barking at Nessa, ‘And you! Sadie’s little runt of a sister. Stuck in Clemency, gearing towards Compassion, leaning on Madam to help you.’ She gestured at Rose. ‘Can you sink any lower?’

  ‘Leave my classroom now, Clarissa!’

  The head girl pulled at the door sharply; the force of it pushed at Rose’s arched window. As soon as Clarissa’s head disappeared down the stairs, Rose turned back to her three girls. Nessa’s face was hot with humiliation; Daisy’s eyes were downcast, Freddie’s full of resentment.

  ‘Nessa,’ Rose said, clearing her throat, ‘I can’t apologise enough for Clarissa being so cruel to you in my classroom. She’s upset, and you mustn’t listen to her.’ Rose’s voice almost cracked. ‘Please don’t go, though, you three. I just …’

  ‘It’s okay, Madam,’ Daisy said gently.

  ‘I just …’ Rose shook her head furiously. ‘I have a final woman to show you.’

  ‘Why final, Madam?’ demanded Freddie. It was the first time she’d spoken that morning, and Rose was glad to hear her voice.

  ‘Well, what with the observations, I didn’t know if we’d have the chance again, and there’s only one more lesson before half-term.’ Rose took some photocopied images from her bureau and spread them across the desks. She checked Freddie’s indignant stance and suddenly smiled, genuinely, at her. Freddie smiled back, too, and her arms broke apart.

  ‘Is this her, Madam?’ asked Daisy.

  Nessa wrinkled her nose, her voice small. ‘Why did Clarissa say those horrible things?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ Rose answered Nessa anxiously. ‘But tell me what I can do about it. How is it in Clemency?’

  ‘Does she know, does everyone know? Am I going to lose my place? I can’t go to the san! I won’t be bareheaded, I just can’t!’

  ‘You won’t!’ Daisy cried out.

  ‘Nessa, you’re not going anywhere.’ Freddie nudged her friend into a half-hug. ‘Not if we have anything to do with it.’

  Rose hesitated. She couldn’t form the words to comfort Nessa; she couldn’t lie, and she couldn’t know what the school might decide for her in the future.

  ‘I just need to work harder.’ There was a pleading tone in Nessa’s voice.

  ‘You know what, Ness?’ Freddie stated, ‘maybe you’d be the lucky one, if you get out of here.’

  ‘Easy for you to say, Fred.’ Nessa turned to her friend waspishly. ‘It’s not a problem for you, you’re in Verity.’

  ‘Look,’ Freddie’s animated face was serious, ‘I don’t care about that. We need to listen to Madam, and you know, read some magazines and newspapers. Learn more about how things really are.’

  Rose considered Freddie’s comments, and a beat of gladness urged her on. ‘Yes, girls. You’ve got brains and hearts and … perhaps you’ve got your own bank accounts. There is so much more out there for you, girls, and it could all be on your own terms.’

  ‘On our own?’ Nessa screwed up her face. ‘With no connections?’

  Rose knew she was being too outspoken; at any moment someone could overhear, burst in on them. But still, she measured the three girls, standing, listening. ‘Come up to the front, and sit down properly.’ She pointed at the images as they obeyed. ‘We’ll look at this ancient woman.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ Daisy shuffled forward.

  ‘Is it Medea again?’ said Freddie. ‘Because we were chatting all about her with the Sixth.’

  ‘Which one’s Medea?’ Nessa asked vaguely.

  ‘The one who killed all the children,’ said Freddie.

  ‘Only her own,’ Daisy corrected. ‘We were trying to tell the Sixth about Dido, you see, Madam.’

  ‘Yes,’ Freddie carried on. ‘But they didn’t care. We love Dido, everything about her. We hate Aeneas.’

  ‘This lady, Madam,’ Daisy observed, leaning forward in her chair, ‘looks really angry.’

  Medusa’s famous face in the Caravaggio painting shone out at them, her hot stare angled downwards, her mouth open in agony, her severed head
gushing out blood.

  ‘This is Medusa. She is really angry.’ As am I, thought Rose. ‘But it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘She needs some of our Beauty and Aesthetic lessons,’ Nessa said with some cheer, ‘or maybe Grace and Grooming.’

  Rose was glad of the lift in her mood. ‘She had a tough time. According to Ovid, she was raped by Poseidon.’

  ‘God of the sea,’ shot out Daisy.

  ‘Yes – well done, Daisy – in the temple of Athene.’

  ‘Goddess of war, wisdom.’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘Raped?’ asked Freddie.

  ‘Yes,’ Rose bristled. ‘I forget sometimes how casually rape is referred to in the ancient world – it is a terrible thing, not okay at all.’

  Nessa and Freddie nodded; Daisy tucked a thick piece of hair behind her ear.

  ‘Well,’ continued Rose, ‘after that, Athene was furious with Medusa.’

  ‘What,’ Nessa frowned, ‘because someone raped her?’

  ‘In her temple. I know, it’s very unfair.’

  ‘This kind of thing happens a lot in Greek mythology,’ nodded Daisy, ‘doesn’t it?’

  ‘It’s abuse,’ Freddie said darkly.

  Rose eyed Freddie cautiously, and then carried on, ‘And because of that, Athene cursed her, and made her ugly.’

  ‘I wish I could curse some of the girls in our year and make them ugly.‘ Nessa tossed her head haughtily, with a small smile. ‘And the deputy head.’

  ‘Nessa! Really!’ warned Rose with an equal smile.

  ‘Wait, I know this story!’ Daisy piped up. ‘Athene punished Medusa with snakes for hair, and didn’t she turn people to stone with her eyes?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘But someone cut her head off,’ added Nessa as she glanced at the painting again, ‘by the looks of things.’

  ‘That was Perseus. He looked at her in the reflection of his shield, so as to avoid her face, and cut off her head.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Nessa softly.

  ‘You feel sorry for her?’

  Nessa thought about it. ‘Yes. Don’t you?’