by Phoebe Wynne
‘You, my dear, are made for this, if you would only stop fussing. I demand that you expend your energy towards us rather than against us. And I understand that you would like to champion one of the girls?’ The Headmaster stepped forward. ‘One of our Fourths that’s struggling? With your acquiescence, you would gain a voice within the system.’
‘A voice?’ Rose looked up.
‘Yes, Rose,’ nodded the Headmaster, his voice low – almost kind. ‘I rather thought that’s what all this was about? I saw how defensive you were of young Hanako.’
‘Yes,’ Rose heard herself saying, thinking of Nessa. ‘I’d like to help the lower-performing girls … help them to succeed – and in a wider context, perhaps look at reprieves … and move away from current punishment methods.’
‘And you can, Rose, you can from within. But what can you do from the outside? Look at Jane,’ said the Headmaster sorrowfully. ‘Where was she when Bethany needed her?’
Rose bit down hard on her lip; she could taste the wax of her faded lipstick mixed with a thin slip of blood.
‘And the girls destined for university … I would like to be involved with those.’
‘Indeed.’ The Headmaster tilted his head slightly. ‘This is why we need someone like you here, Rose, to keep us on our toes for the new millennium. Work with us, Rose, we could accomplish such great things together. For the girls.’
Rose hesitated, but the Headmaster carried on.
‘My first request, which you will answer now, is that you agree to stand as front of house for the Ball next Friday.’
She looked at him through that darkness, his brown hair tinged with light. Rose felt as though she were in a trance. ‘Yes, I’ll do the Ball.’
‘The girls will be so happy, Rose,’ he smiled. ‘You won’t be sorry. My second request is that you decide where your loyalty lies by the morning after the Summer Ball. Beyond that, we shall have to make the decision for you, before it is too late.’
Rose turned her face away, glancing again at that far end door.
‘I understand.’
‘I believe that Vivien has already selected a dress for you to wear. I can assure you that if the Ball passes seamlessly, and you decide to fully acquiesce, we will enter a new phase of your career here.’ Rose sucked in her breath sharply as the Headmaster stepped towards her, drawing her into a handshake. ‘You shall have your voice, and your dossier will be safe, as will your girls. Your mother, too. And your father’s reputation.’
Rose tried to echo his demeanour, a pained smile flickering onto her face as his fingers tensed around hers with a tight squeeze.
23.
That evening, Rose gently rocked herself back and forth on her sofa. Was it even safe in her flat when somebody else had a key? Should she determine now what she could fit in her battered suitcase – or would she dare to leave at all?
There was a banging on the door and a voice outside. ‘Are you all right? Rose?’
Rose was so glad to see her she couldn’t speak. She threw herself into Frances’s open arms, sobbing like a child, for all the days and weeks they hadn’t spoken. Frances touched Rose’s dark hair with the edge of her fingers.
Rose sniffed into her friend’s shoulder, wet and ugly with her black tears. The smears seemed to stain Frances’s flowery scent. Suddenly Rose drew back.
Frances surveyed her friend carefully, her face lined with pity and gladness. Rose sniffed again. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘Oh my God, it’s you.’
‘It’s me, what?’
Rose pulled herself out of the embrace. ‘Do you have a typewriter?’
‘Yes,’ Frances answered kindly, still touching Rose’s hair, ‘but what does that have to do with anything?’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Yes, but a few of the keys are broken. What for?’
Rose stared at her friend. ‘Was it you?’
‘Was what me?’
‘Did you write those horrible letters?’
A glimmer rippled across Frances’s face and Rose saw the answer. She turned her eyes away, her voice breaking. ‘Oh my God. Why?’
‘I didn’t want you to leave. I couldn’t let you. I thought I could—’
‘What?’
Frances’s face shifted. ‘Frighten you into staying.’
‘Oh my God.’ Rose drew back into the next room.
Frances followed her, her voice growing slightly manic. ‘Rose, you don’t understand.’
‘I do. All you’ve ever done here is lie to me.’
‘No, Rose. I adore you.’
Rose moved her hands over her face. ‘I don’t know who you are.’
‘No, you do.’ Frances stepped towards her. ‘You know exactly, Rose.’
‘Get away from me!’ Rose went to push at her friend, but she backed away. ‘You’re worse than all of them. Have you been collecting evidence against me?’
‘I … well,’ Frances hesitated, her frazzled hair a mess after Rose’s tearful interference. ‘They already know everything, they amass all the information in our dossiers—’
‘My mother’s illness – my father, dying for his reputation.’ Rose let out another sob as she faced her sitting room. ‘If I don’t comply, the Headmaster’s going to destroy all of it. I might as well die here.’
‘No, you’re staying here, with me. Things will get better.’
‘I can’t even look at you. You’re complicit, you’re a disgrace!’
‘I know I am!’ Frances cried out. ‘I’ve always been a disgrace.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with your sexuality.’ Rose wheeled round, furious. ‘You’re a liar. Every minute, you’ve lied.’
‘Please don’t say that,’ Frances pleaded, stepping towards Rose again. ‘I think you’re one of the most spirited, wonderful people I’ve ever met. I wish you were mine.’ She looked away with embarrassment, her blue eyes heavy. ‘I know you don’t feel that way about me, and I hate myself for being so forward with you now. But … you remind me of someone I loved very much. She’s the reason I lost my way here.’
‘What?’ Rose spluttered, shocked at Frances’s outpouring of emotion. ‘Who?’
‘She was …’ Frances was shaking her head, her voice painfully soft. ‘She’s married now, of course. She’s gone. It’s just that sometimes I look at you and I think I’ve found her again.’
Rose seized at Frances’s words. ‘So, do something for me. Let’s come up with a plan to help the girls.’ Rose took a stuttered breath. ‘Together, we could break the system from the inside.’
‘Not this again.’ Frances closed her eyes for a brief, frustrated moment.
‘But you could work with me. I’m supposed to be helping girls reach university. I’ve already started to wake up some of the younger girls—’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Frances exclaimed, her irritation getting the better of her. ‘The university preparation was just a ruse to keep you here. How could you be so stupid? There’s hardly any of those girls! One or two in the last five years, and Anthony deals with them all!’
Rose was struck. ‘But it was—’
‘Another way to string you along. How could you not realise?’ Frances cried out bitterly. ‘Of course, you could always pretend that’s what you’re doing. We all have to find a way to make this place bearable. Look at Anthony, how he deals with things. I drink, and I … you have no idea how much I have to hold back when I’m around you.’
Rose stared at Frances, completely at a loss for what to say.
‘Look. I’m sorry I wrote those letters, I didn’t want to lose you. I am unnatural. No,’ Frances’s face darkened, ‘I’m worse than that. I’m an abomination.’
Rose shook her head, remembering herself. ‘No, I am not having that. You are not an abomination, Frances. You’re gay, that’s just part o
f who you are.’
Frances glared at Rose, her face twisted. ‘Don’t say that word … it’s disgusting. You think you can just say all of this, try to change my mind, turn me against this place?’ She punched at her words. ‘Hope is all I’ve known. Hope is who I am. Any other peculiarities of mine … are vices.’
Rose stood in front of her friend. ‘You don’t believe that – you’re just frightened.’
But Frances wasn’t listening. ‘Even the government recognises the abomination of homosexuality – don’t you read the papers?’ Her voice grew angrier. ‘“Section 28”. We’re not even supposed to talk about it.’
‘“Section 28”?’
‘Four years ago now. Homosexuality is censored, it’s officially a disgrace, not to be discussed or promoted publicly.’
‘Look, Frances.’ Rose stepped forward to press her hand against Frances’s chest. ‘Who you are, matters. Nothing else but this,’ she tapped the side of Frances’s head, ‘and this. No one else’s ideas, or their agenda. Underneath everything you’ve been taught and all you’ve suffered is a beautiful, thinking human being, who deserves to be loved.’
‘Oh, Rose.’ Frances had stiffened under Rose’s touch. ‘You’re so young; you’re so naive – how can you possibly understand?’
‘You’re the one that doesn’t understand, Frances. You know nothing about the outside world!’ Rose hesitated. ‘You know, we could go on holiday together – I could show you things. You could meet someone! This place, Hope, is not how the world works.’
‘It is how my world works, and how the girls’ world works.’ Frances pushed Rose’s hands away. ‘You can stop being so bloody patronising. I do know how things are. You’re coming from whatever liberal hole you grew up in, which I have absolutely no wish to be part of, thank you!’
Suddenly Rose was furious. ‘You’re a coward. I don’t understand you at all. I thought I did, but you’ve been indoctrinated, all of you! And what’s worse is I’m guilty too.’ She pushed past Frances, across the room and into the hallway.
‘Rose, I –’ Frances stumbled towards her friend. ‘Wait, please!’
‘I don’t want to hear another word. I need to save the girls from this, and you’ll never see my point.’ Rose pulled open the door to her flat, almost pushing Frances through it. She hissed unkindly, ‘Leave me be. Didn’t you say that to me once? Get out, since you can’t help me, or won’t. Don’t you realise that you are exactly what Bethany refused to become?’
Rose pushed the door closed before she could see her cruel words reflected on Frances’s face.
On the Thursday before the half-term break, Rose was nervous about seeing her Fourths. She’d cried every night that week, her soul unspooling at the hopelessness of her situation, but the thought of seeing her girls that morning urged her on. They were her target, and she the blazing arrow drawing towards them. Those girls were the only ones she hadn’t yet lost, the only thing that hadn’t split apart in this strange, distorted world she’d fallen into.
So Rose set the desks out properly, cracked the arched window ajar for some fresh air, and readied her worksheets. A smile was etched on her face, half-forced, but half-true.
The girls filed in quietly, more so than usual; Rose watched them line the desks, pulling out the chairs in unhappy unison. Rose frowned at their downcast faces, the regretful looks a few gave each other. The designated lesson observer hadn’t arrived yet, so an interloper wasn’t the reason.
And then Rose saw Nessa. She came in behind Freddie, who seemed to be radiating a terrible fury.
Rose hadn’t recognised the girl at first. Nessa’s fine blonde hair had been completely shorn, unkindly, all around her head. It was badly done so that clumps puffed out behind her ear, along the hairline at the back. Her eyes were baggy, tear-soaked and red. She looked smaller and frailer than ever, her shoulders sloping, her ears sticking out in seeming mockery of her bare head.
Nessa touched her head before bowing to sit, settling in her seat and placing her things around her carefully. Her miserable eyes turned to the floor as a horrible agony sliced into Rose’s chest.
The rest of the class were clenched in hurt solidarity, not looking at Nessa’s pale face, her little round head, her whole being violated like a beaten animal.
A terrible urgency seemed to press at Rose’s throat as her fingers curled tightly together. She’d spoken to the Headmaster about reprieves, but she hadn’t yet promised him her loyalty. Was this what it meant to withhold? Had her hesitancy to acquiesce led directly to Nessa’s punishment?
‘Ladies, what do you want to do today? Please,’ Rose implored as her eyes touched on Freddie’s impassioned face, ‘how can I make this better – tell me what to do?’
In the back row, Josie stretched her arms behind her in a triumphant movement. ‘Nothing, Madam, please let’s just get on with another one of your darling Latin lessons.’
The room seemed to shift behind Nessa’s miserable figure. A few of the girls pulled out their books resolutely, and Rose waited, before turning uselessly to her bureau.
At the end of the lesson, Rose caught Freddie by the wrist, then let go quickly. The girl’s hand was stiff with fury, but she turned around, her ivory face hard as she stared straight back at her teacher.
‘Freddie, tell me. What can I do?’
Freddie’s tawny eyes darted away from Rose. ‘I don’t know, Madam. I think it’s too late.’
‘I’ll fight for her, Freddie. I will. The Headmaster’s waiting for me to –’ Rose broke off, shaking her head. ‘I’ll fight for her. I’ll tell him.’
Freddie’s eyes were now fixed on the space in front of her, her anguish flaming across her cheeks. ‘It’s beyond that, Madam.’
‘It can’t be,’ Rose said desperately. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because if you’ve already spoken up for her … and if it had mattered,’ Freddie said slowly, ‘then they wouldn’t have shaved her head. No. No one can save her now.’
‘You’re wrong, Freddie,’ Rose insisted. ‘This isn’t the final stage. I can help. I will.’
Freddie’s eyes lifted to Rose with a queer, dead look. ‘You’ve done so much already, Madam. I can’t tell you.’ She added, ‘But I worry that you’re as powerless as the rest of us.’
Rose opened her mouth to speak, but her response caught in her throat. One of the Fourths had hopped back up the stairs again and was pulling the door open. ‘Fred, Nessa’s waiting for you. You’re her designated guardian, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Freddie turned to the door, ‘I am.’
She left with a short glance at Rose, who would remember the dread in her eyes long after the girl had gone.
As she dressed for the Summer Ball the following afternoon, Rose packed her half-term suitcase.
The Headmaster’s main request played on her mind. But what choice did she have, really? There was no other decision to make. Before we make it for you, the Headmaster had said. And even worse was Freddie’s unexpected rebuke: You’re as powerless as the rest of us.
Rose was being accompanied over half-term; she was leaving in the morning. But what if she made a break for it on the journey back? What if she simply … didn’t return? Her salary had gone into her account monthly for the last two terms, so she had something to fall back on if she withdrew it fast. Even the banker-governors wouldn’t be expecting that. She’d managed to squeeze her favourite things into her mother’s battered suitcase: her father’s old books, her stereo and a few other clothes, her tweed jacket – wasn’t that all she needed? She could even try tonight, before the masses left in the morning – the groundsmen would be busy, just as they’d been at the Christmas dinner. Rose wondered whether she could pass herself off as one of the Sixth if it came to it.
Or could she risk the tunnel, however precarious it might be? She’d seen that door – To Postern, and i
ts narrow keyhole. That way might bring a woeful end – as it had with Bethany – perhaps even that would be better than the alternative. Rose knew that if she left Hope for good, she would effectively be signing a death warrant to her former way of life. Everything felt final to her, any kind of freedom difficult to imagine.
Just in case, Rose had written three letters in neat envelopes, marked Daisy, Nessa, Freddie, and propped them up on her kitchen counter. If she was going to go, the porters might find them and hand them over to the girls.
Rose stopped, touching one of the envelopes with her finger. Could she really just leave her Fourths behind like that, left to fend for themselves in their final and most significant years at Hope? No, Rose knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t ignore that spark of resilience that burned in her chest: one last fight, for them. She still had some instinct for survival. Could she continue pacifying Vivien and the Headmaster, while fighting back in her own way – and still keep her mother safe? Her father’s reputation?
The agonising indecision held Rose captive. Her suitcase stood in her flat while her small handbag remained with her for the evening: her bank card, her passport. Just in case.
24.
The early summer winds fell still for the Ball, as if the Headmaster had marshalled Zeus himself into compliance. The sea was a gracious sapphire blue; the bay was ruddy green in praise of the school building, whose outer walls and buttresses were decorated by the timid sun and hanging birds.
Inside it seemed as though every door and window were open; the soft sunlight passed over every Sixth’s shoulder, caressing her hair in admiration and excitement.
The main part of the school was cordoned off again, with rope looped along the pathway from the chapel to Founder’s Hall. The Great Stairs weren’t as lavishly decorated as they had been at Christmas, but more freshly done with wild gorse and meadow flowers, drooping with the touch of any passing girl’s dress. The Roman clock ticked on, counting down to the final hours of the Upper Sixth’s time at Caldonbrae Hall.