Madam

by Phoebe Wynne

The chapel carried the same spray of wild flowers as the Great Stairs, its altar and front pews had been cleared away for the performance before the Ball. The Juniors and Intermediates patiently tuned their violins and clarinets, or stretched out their long bodies to warm up, their soft figures touching the coloured light coursing through the stained glass.

  Many of the Lower Sixth were on the other side of the school, laughing easily as they prepared to light the thick strands of candelabras in Founder’s Hall, practising the correct course of light conversation, the polite banter for each parent, the secret smile for any unattached man.

  The eldest girls remained in their boarding houses, pressing their hair into place or touching at their faces until they were just right. The rooms were filled with flurries of powder and tulle, fragile lingerie over slim thighs, lashings of satin tight around corseted waists; bright fussy eyes and pink cheeks burning with worry, with happiness; matrons and housemistresses joyfully fussing over these princesses of the night.

  At the correct time, a young woman took her place at the main doors. Her face was pale and washed clean. She wore no lipstick. Her long threads of black hair were bolted back into a thick plait, which brushed against her long-sleeved red dress and its matching wrap. She couldn’t quite stand straight, but stand she did, her full skirt covering a small handbag at her feet. She had a broad smile that didn’t match her eyes.

  Long black cars would start to arrive, doors open and close for pairs of parents; the women short and tall with tight hair and pastel gowns, the fathers greying and smug-jawed beside. Then, another train of black cars would trundle forward, bearing dozens of red-cheeked, dinner-jacketed men smiling into the evening sun. They laughed as they shook each other’s hands or clapped one another on the back, one with a toothy grin, another with an ebony walking stick.

  The young woman could taste this mesmerising influence the all-girls boarding school had over its people; she could breathe in its seduction alongside the clear air passing over the lawns from the sea.

  As the cars rolled away the gentlemen would greet the young woman in red with a nod, hop up the steps of the entrance hall, and make their way forward.

  Forward to the chapel, for a performance. The girls would give a tremendous display of dance and music, throughout which the young woman would stare at the expert bodily movements, so well-rehearsed and well-measured. Soon after, violins or flutes or pianos would entwine with each other, every melody bright and bittersweet. She was close enough to catch the sharp stink of sweat as each girl slipped down the aisle at the end of her piece.

  Then forward.

  Forward, where the transformed Founder’s Hall stood, open and lined with an array of beautiful teenage girls. Holding its breath and waiting for the Headmaster, as if he were a world-class conductor raising his baton at the beginning of a highly anticipated masterpiece.

  Rose floated up the Great Stairs once it became clear that there were no more stragglers in the chapel, and no late guests arriving.

  She left the main doors to the school open, having little strength to haul them together. The salty air was achingly refreshing, and by now the June sky had sunk to a dull blue.

  Her next role was to stand beside the double doors of Founder’s Hall. She did so quietly, keeping her eyes away from the merriment behind her: the streams of girls, a crowd of governors, the smatterings of parents; the heave of staff, the swirling glasses of wine – and the suitors, laughing uproariously. There was an interval of prize-givings; the clatter of food being served; the scrape of chairs as bodies moved to the floor; the slow music as they all came together and swayed as one, lit only by the candelabras’ flicker. The air seemed to emanate hot waves of pleasure that nudged Rose’s shoulder; she turned away with contempt.

  Rose stood in the red dress, her handbag under her elbow, her breathing jagged. Wondering if this was her moment to run, or how far she could get before the school’s broken fingers would reach out and choke her.

  She’d seen Clarissa, the glittering belle of the Ball, embraced and cheered with praise-fuelled speeches. Blaring diamonds were encrusted along the straight neck of her dress, along the plunge of her back seam. Rose didn’t look for any agonised glances between Clarissa and Anthony, or any flushes under the attentive glare of her husband-to-be.

  She remembered Anthony’s devastated face approaching her that morning, his hazel eyes briefly meeting hers.

  ‘I hope you don’t think of me as badly as I think of myself, Rose.’

  ‘I think you’re a victim of this system, Anthony,’ Rose had answered mechanically, ‘almost as much as the girls are. You told me that everybody finds their own way of coping, but you’ve taken it too far.’ She took a careful breath. ‘Whatever happens to me, I hope I never lose myself like you’ve done. I hope I’ll never be that wicked.’

  He had glared at her, his mouth working to answer. But Rose’s emotions were thinly patched together, and she moved away before her words could lose their impact, or she her composure.

  From where she was standing now Rose could imagine the Headmaster’s penetrating eyes raising a toast at each table, Vivien with her taut vivacity talking round every group. Emma seated next to her husband, pouring out the wine. There was no doubt that Founder’s Hall was alive, and the whole school building was animated by its beating heart.

  Frances, pink with drink, had given up her anguished avoidance of Rose and stepped through the doors mid-meal. She seemed to linger, so Rose tried to encourage her friend, no longer caring what had passed between them.

  ‘Are you sure you want to go back in there, Frances?’ Rose almost whispered. ‘You can talk to me out here. Keep me company.’

  Frances’s face was straight. ‘No, the Headmaster demands it.’

  ‘We could run off later,’ Rose pushed, ‘to the common room bar, or even the Kennenhaven pub? We could slip out with the others.’ Rose touched her small handbag, tempted.

  ‘No.’ Frances’s voice was bitter as she avoided Rose’s eye. ‘There’s no running off, no slipping out. I belong here, Rose. So do you.’

  Rose felt crushed with disappointment as Frances turned away. She looked down at the ring of keys spread across her hands, pressing her index finger against one of the sharper ones; her fingertip white, her fingernail red-painted for the event. She checked the double doors, the heavy brass lock. She probably had the right key there, one of these on that mass of metal. She could lock them in. Right now, she thought. Lock them all in, and run.

  But she didn’t.

  Long after vast trays of pudding had passed her, a Sixth flew out of the hall with her hand entwined in a man’s. Rose fell to the side and saw the rushing back of the girl’s silvery dress, a flash of pale skin against the slow turn of the man’s grey hair and leathered neck. The couple pursued each other down the side passageway as Rose’s heart beat in her mouth.

  ‘Madam!’

  She swivelled her head around – was it for her? So many Madams – which one was she?

  ‘Madam?’

  Rose’s blurry eyes focused on Nessa and the two girls behind her. Freddie and Daisy were wearing their best: the white uniformed dresses pressed in tightly at the waist, laced-up boots at their feet. Their white collars were buttoned up to the neck, and their hair was bound into thick plaits that seemed unnatural to Rose. And then there was Nessa. Her small shaven head was a rough surprise above the doll-like shape of her loose nightdress. Seeing her, Rose felt again that keen slice of agony in her chest. The three girls cast a heavy shadow on the wall as they approached their teacher.

  ‘Madam, are you all right?’ Daisy tried.

  Seeing the three girls there was wrong, incongruous – they would be in trouble for it, Rose knew, and she too.

  ‘Madam,’ Nessa whispered, ‘you look different.’

  ‘She’s not wearing her lipstick.’ Freddie’s voice was hard.
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  ‘You look so young.’

  Rose couldn’t speak. The three of them moved closer.

  ‘You could be one of the Sixth – except, not so pretty.’

  ‘Nessa,’ Freddie said, ‘don’t be rude.’

  Nessa touched her head, abashed.

  ‘Girls.’ Rose’s voice came out splintered. ‘Girls, you’re not supposed to be here; it’s late, way beyond your bedtimes.’

  ‘We need to show you something, Madam.’ Freddie held out her hand; there was a stain on her sleeve, a brownish mark that carried an acrid smell.

  Rose turned away, feeling wretched in her tight red dress. ‘Please! Go back to your houses before they see you!’

  ‘Come with us, Madam. We’ve come to get you.’

  ‘I have to do my duty, Freddie.’ Rose felt a crawling shame move into her chest, having them here, seeing her like this.

  But Nessa shrieked, ‘You can’t leave, Madam!’

  ‘What?’ Rose hesitated. ‘I’m not leaving.’

  ‘Yes, you are, Madam.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Josie, Madam,’ Daisy said quickly, ‘she told us you’ve packed your bags and you’ve written us three letters. She wouldn’t say what was in them.’

  ‘Josie was in my flat?’ Rose burst out.

  ‘Yes, Madam,’ Daisy answered. ‘She’s always taunting us. She’s been going in and out of your flat for ages, Madam. She gets a key through her aunt, Ms Johns. She said she’d seen things written on the mirrors, and she was the one that smashed your owl.’

  ‘Josie said,’ Freddie continued, ‘that she would take the letters to the Headmaster.’

  Rose’s breath caught in her throat. ‘And has she?’

  ‘No, Madam.’ Daisy shook her head. ‘She said she’d do it after the Ball. The Ball is too important – she said she didn’t want to distract the Headmaster with something so hideous.’

  ‘What did the letters say, Madam?’ Freddie pushed; she was looking at Rose with that blazing face of hers. ‘Are you going to leave us?’

  ‘You can’t,’ Nessa said loudly. ‘We’d never see you again!’

  ‘But Madam,’ Daisy spoke more urgently this time, ‘Josie also said the Headmaster has a dossier on you.’

  ‘Girls, I’m really sorry,’ Rose tried, checking behind her, ‘but I’m on duty and you must go back to your houses. If they—’

  ‘I’m in the san, Madam,’ Nessa said quietly. ‘They’ve put me in the san.’

  Rose’s resolve seemed to puncture. ‘Oh God, Nessa.’

  ‘We broke her out, Madam,’ Freddie carried on, her voice steady. ‘There’s a reason we’re here. We found your dossier in the Headmaster’s office, and we burned it.’

  ‘You … what?’

  ‘We burned your dossier,’ Freddie announced.

  Rose was stunned. ‘You broke in to the Headmaster’s office?’

  ‘Yes, Madam,’ shrilled Nessa, her eyes bright and wild.

  Rose felt a strain on her heart, and checked the door behind her again. ‘Girls, you mustn’t do things like that for me.’

  ‘That’s not all we did,’ Daisy carried on. ‘We built a funeral pyre, in his office, you know, like Dido did after Aeneas: infelicis Elissae conlucent flammis, like you showed us. “They burned with the unhappy flames of Dido.”’

  ‘We started with your dossier, on his desk,’ Freddie said carefully. ‘But there were lots of dossiers, and then we found some of the old brochures, of the Sixth, the ones that apparently you—’

  ‘The Headmaster’s desk?’

  ‘We thought you’d approve,’ said Daisy. ‘After everything you’ve taught us.’

  ‘Yes, Madam.’ Freddie’s tawny eyes seemed to spark. ‘We did it for you. We’re rescuing you, Madam.’

  ‘Yes, and ourselves,’ Nessa added sharply.

  ‘It’s what Dido would have done,’ Daisy nodded. ‘And Medea.’

  ‘No, no, no.’ Rose couldn’t breathe. ‘You’ve got to show me. Right now.’ Her heart was racing as she glanced at Freddie’s scorched sleeve. Rose tugged her wrap over her shoulders, and moved towards them. ‘Show me, I don’t understand.’

  She took one last long look at the doors of Founder’s Hall, one open, one closed. The three girls led the way down the passageway and along the corridor. Magnetically, Rose followed, hanging behind them, clinging to her small handbag.

  The three girls slipped down the Great Stairs with anticipation as Rose stopped with alarm. A great cloud of smoke was rising in a swirl around the double stairway, coming through the boughs of wild flowers strung up there. Rose hesitated as the dry, acrid smell reeked through her nose. She had to squint to see the bottom of the stairs.

  Rose stirred into action. Pushing the girls out of the way, she tore down the steps.

  On the main corridor Rose saw what she had dreaded: the thick smoke was growing out of an enormous body of fire from the Headmaster’s study. It turned in a great ball, tearing at the walls, reaching up to the ceiling.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Rose heard Daisy cry out.

  Rose moved towards the fire, squinting her eyes to better see the long strips of flame roaring down the northern throat of the corridor, licking the noticeboards, pulling the wood panels, tugging the long curtains at the far end. Coughing, she covered her mouth.

  Rose felt the girls move behind her. She twisted back and spread her arms across the three of them, guiding them away with her figure. Three shocked faces reflected the ugly light of the flames.

  ‘Why’s it so massive now?’ Nessa shrilled. ‘We only set fire to that pile of stuff on his desk!’

  Daisy opened her mouth: ‘Madam! We—’

  Rose pushed them back up a few steps of the Great Stairs. Daisy staggered, her soft black plait coming undone in wisps towards the burning smoke.

  ‘We wanted to free ourselves, Madam!’ Nessa screamed louder. ‘We wanted to be heroines, like you said!’

  Rose absorbed the twisted panic in Nessa’s pale eyes, Daisy’s gawking mouth, Freddie’s stiff shock. Her own thoughts were suspended – as unreal and confused as the thick air that billowed around them. Her eyes followed the threads of flame dragging across the entrance hall towards the front door, her designated spot only hours before. The outside air was feeding the fire’s strength. She pressed her small handbag into Freddie’s arm and dashed towards the doorway.

  Outside was cool and eerily quiet. Feeling the sudden blast of the air, Rose heaved her chest for a moment. It was so dark, she could see nothing at all.

  ‘Get outside, you three!’ Rose yelled.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Madam, be careful!’

  ‘Move!’ Rose shouted again.

  ‘No, Madam, no!’ Freddie screamed back; she drew her arms across Nessa and Daisy, just as Rose had done. ‘We’re not leaving you.’

  Rose turned to unhook the iron fastening and pushed at one side of the heavy door. She slammed one door into the door frame, and moved to the other, as her arm lashed with pain.

  ‘Madam, your wrap is on fire!’

  Rose unfurled her wrap and threw it into the flames. She looked for the heavy wooden bolt; lifting it with both hands, she slid it into place. It made a heavy, forbidding sound as it sealed the doors.

  ‘Madam, your arm!’

  Rose twisted to look at her arm; the fabric was scalding and she could see blistered skin. Ignoring the long wince of pain, she dashed back to the girls. The flames were rushing to the ceiling now.

  ‘Madam,’ Nessa screamed. ‘Now there’s no way out!’

  There is, Rose thought, as she ushered the girls away from the stairway to the south side of the main corridor. Nessa was sobbing, her eyes wild. ‘How do we alert the others?’

  Just as she spoke, the ceiling above the Headmaster’s office seemed to slide
and cave in, bringing a portion of the upper corridor with it. Nessa screamed at the smash, clamping her hands over her face.

  ‘Oh my God! That’s upstairs! The Ball!’

  ‘Nessa.’ Freddie hurried her friend into an embrace, who clawed at Freddie’s plaited curls. ‘Be brave.’

  ‘Where is the alarm?’ Rose frantically looked towards the locked porters’ door across the entrance hall. ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know, Madam!’ Daisy cried out.

  There was a cracking sound as the heat grew more intense. Rose raised her head just as the glass of the dome above shattered. Shards of mottled glass screamed down the sweep of the stairs in jagged pieces, slicing into the polished wood of the bannister, the rich carpet of the stairs. Rose tugged the shrieking girls out of the way. A tunnel of cold air hit their faces – but the flames stretched out, higher, to reach the life-giving oxygen.

  The iron hands of the great clock slid forward, constant and unwavering.

  ‘We need to go,’ Rose said urgently. ‘We need to move.’

  ‘Madam, what about the Ball?’ Nessa screeched from Freddie’s shoulder; she clutched at Daisy now, too. ‘Everyone is there!’

  Rose hesitated; she thought of Frances, up there amongst those wretched people. Anthony too, and Emma revelling in the evening’s merriment. ‘I’ll sound the alarm somehow … Or I’ll go back.’

  ‘No, don’t leave us, Madam,’ Nessa sobbed. ‘Please.’

  ‘You can’t leave us,’ Freddie said, her face stiff and staring at her teacher.

  ‘I won’t,’ Rose said wildly. ‘I’m not going anywhere without you.’ She squinted down the cool dark of the main corridor’s south side, the only way clear. Behind them, the flames cracked at the fallen glass of the dome and shot out a few shards. Rose tugged at the three girls.

  ‘What was that?’ Nessa screamed, still clutching at her two friends as they staggered forward.

  ‘Keep moving!’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Madam,’ Daisy cried out. ‘We didn’t mean for it to spread like this.’

  ‘But you must have realised –’ Rose immediately swung her gaze to Freddie, who returned her look with confident defiance. For a moment their eyes touched and Rose understood. She swallowed hard, and answered Daisy firmly. ‘No, Daisy. This is my fault.’