The Butterfly Room

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘To Posy!’ everyone chorused as they lifted their glasses of fizz. I did too, unsure whether I was actually meant to toast myself, but wanting to take a sip anyway. It was awfully hot today.

  After that, lots of the villagers came up to me to give me their own personal congratulations, and then we ate the fine spread Daisy had put on before the sandwiches went stale in the heat.

  Later that night, when everyone had left, I opened the presents that had piled up on the table. Most of them were homemade and I now had enough initialled handkerchiefs to keep me going throughout my three years at Cambridge and probably into retirement. Yet I knew that each one had been sewn with love and my heart swelled at the kindness this village had shown me. It went some way to filling the empty void caused by the disappointment that Maman had not made an appearance at my party. Even though it had always been highly unlikely she would, the part of me that was still a little girl had thought that perhaps Granny had been keeping her arrival a secret, even though she had gently told me a month ago Maman could not attend.

  ‘They are on an extended honeymoon, darling girl. She said she was dreadfully disappointed not to be here, but she sent you this.’

  The envelope was still sitting on the present table, along with Granny’s card, which was attached to a gift wrapped in shiny silver paper. Its size and shape resembled a slim volume and I’d already guessed it was a book.

  ‘Will you open your mother’s card now?’ Granny reached for it and handed it to me.

  Part of me wanted to tear it up, or set fire to it to save me the pain of reading what I knew were simply hollow words, platitudes to a daughter she no longer even knew.

  But I did open the envelope, gritting my teeth and wondering why, after all the talking-tos I’d given myself about how I had to accept her as she was, I felt on the verge of tears.

  The card said ‘Happy 18th Birthday!’ and had a picture of a champagne bottle and two glasses on the front. It was the kind that I’d had from many of the villagers.

  Goodness Posy! What were you expecting? A hand-painted watercolour?! I chided myself as I opened it. There was another envelope inside, which I placed on my lap while I read the inscription inside the card.

  Darling Posy,

  On the occasion of your 18th birthday,

  All our love,

  Maman and Alessandro

  xx

  I bit my lip at the sight of his name, struggling not to let more wasted tears fall. I set the card on the table with the others and opened the envelope still on my lap. I pulled out a photograph and studied it. It was of Maman and a man who was smaller and fatter than she was. Maman was wearing a beautiful wedding dress with a long train and a sparkling tiara, and looking down adoringly into her new husband’s eyes. The two of them were standing on some steps with an enormous castle in the background. This, I presumed, was the palazzo, my mother’s new home.

  ‘Here,’ I passed the photograph to Granny while I pulled out the other item in the envelope, which was a cheque with a note folded round it.

  Darling Posy, as we weren’t sure what to get you, Alessandro thought that this might help with your university expenses. Do come and visit us soon – Alessandro can’t wait to meet you. Much love, M and A x

  I suppressed a shudder, then looked at the amount on the cheque and gave a little gasp. It was made out for five hundred pounds!

  ‘What is it, Posy?’

  I showed Granny the cheque and she nodded sagely. ‘That will come in handy in the next few years, won’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but Granny, it’s a fortune! And we both know that Maman doesn’t have that kind of money, which means it’s actually from her husband, who doesn’t know me and has never met me and . . .’

  ‘Stop it, Posy! It’s perfectly obvious from what your mother has said that she has married a very wealthy man. You – whether you like it or not – are technically his new stepdaughter, and if he wishes to give you such a gift, then simply accept it with grace.’

  ‘But surely it means that I’m somehow . . .’ I searched for the word, ‘beholden to him?’

  ‘It means you are family, Posy, and he is recognising that fact. Goodness, you’ve had nothing at all for years from your mother, and however you feel about the situation, or where the money has really come from, do not look a gift horse in the mouth.’

  ‘I shan’t touch it,’ I said stubbornly. ‘It feels like I’m being bought. Besides, I won a scholarship, Granny, so I don’t even need it!’

  ‘You know already that, as your trustee, I used some of your inheritance from your father to pay for your school fees and we’ve agreed to do the same to cover your living expenses at Cambridge, but it’s not a fortune by any means. Why don’t you let me put it away and you can call it your rainy-day money? You never need touch it if you don’t need it, but it’s there if you do.’

  ‘Okay, but I just don’t feel right about it. And it means I will have to write a “thank you” note,’ I said sulkily.

  ‘Now then, we’re sounding churlish. Enough of this on your birthday. Why don’t you open my gift? Although I have to say, it’s hardly impressive after that,’ Granny smiled.

  I reached for the slim package and tore off the paper. At first I thought it was a leather-bound book as I’d suspected, but as I lifted it from its wrapping, I saw it was a box. I opened the clasp and saw a string of creamy pearls laid on the indigo-blue satin lining.

  ‘Oh Granny! They are beautiful! Thank you.’

  ‘They were actually my mother’s, so they really are quite old, but they are real pearls, Posy, not these cheap cultured ones that are all the rage these days. Here.’ she stood up. ‘Let me put them on for you.’

  I sat still as she fastened the dainty clasp around my neck. Then she walked round to look at me. ‘Lovely,’ she said with a smile. ‘Every young woman should have a string of pearls.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘Now you are ready to go out into the world.’

  I arrived in Cambridge with my two suitcases and my folder of botanical drawings at the beginning of October. It took Bill and me some time to negotiate the warren of cobbled streets at the epicentre of the city. We must have passed Trinity and King’s College three times in our search for Silver Street. As we pulled up in front of the Hermitage, where the residents of New Hall were housed, I felt a twinge of disappointment run through me. The Hermitage was a fine, large house, but it certainly wasn’t one of the gorgeous four-hundred-year-old boys’ colleges with their ubiquitous dreaming spires.

  I was greeted warmly at the door by Miss Murray, the tutor-in-charge at New Hall, whom Miss Sumpter, my old headmistress, had known from her own boarding school days.

  ‘Miss Anderson, you have made it, all the way from Cornwall! Heavens, you must be exhausted. Now I shall show you up to your room – admittedly, it’s small and right at the top of the house – the first tranche of girls last year bagged all the best rooms – but it has the most delightful view over the town.’

  Miss Murray had been correct – the room was indeed small. I surmised it had once belonged to a servant, being in the attic, but it had a dear little fireplace and sloping ceilings, plus a window which did indeed have a wonderful view over the rooftops and spires. The lavatory and bathroom were on the floor below, but Miss Murray assured me she had plans to convert the broom cupboard next door to me into a more accessible facility.

  ‘Obviously, doubling our numbers because of this year’s new intake has been a challenge and many of the girls are sharing the larger rooms downstairs. I had an inkling you would prefer your own space, however small. Now, I will leave you to unpack and settle in, and then do come down at six to the dining room, where you can meet the rest of the girls.’

  The door closed behind me, and I stood where I was for a moment, breathing in the smell of dust and, maybe I was imagining it, old books. I wandered over to the window and stood looking at Cambridge laid out beneath me.

  ‘I did it, Daddy,’ I murmured to myself. ‘I’m
here!’

  As I walked downstairs an hour later, my heart beat faster at the thought of meeting the other girls. I was exhausted, not only from the long drive but from the sleepless nights that had preceded it. I’d tortured myself with thoughts of how clever and worldly-wise and almost certainly prettier the other girls would be, and how I’d probably only got in because of Miss Sumpter’s friendship with Miss Murray.

  Taking a deep breath, I walked into the dining room and found it already packed with females.

  ‘Hello there, which newbie are you?’ asked a tall young woman who was wearing what looked like a man’s suit. She was proffering a tray of sherry.

  ‘Posy Anderson,’ I said, taking one of the small glasses. I needed it for Dutch courage.

  ‘Ah right. You’re studying Botany, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Andrea Granville. I do English myself. There are only a handful of us women on the entire course and I’m sure there’ll be even fewer in your department. You need to get used to dealing with a herd of silly little boys making fatuous jokes at your expense as fast as you can.’

  ‘Right-ho, I’ll try my best,’ I replied, knocking back the sherry.

  ‘The sad thing is, Posy, half of them are only here because their forefathers were,’ Andrea barked (she had a very loud voice). ‘Lord Hoighty-Toity’s sons and grandsons aplenty, I’m afraid. Most of them will leave here with a third or a 2:2 at best, then go back to living off their trust funds and ordering their servants round the family pile.’

  ‘Oh Andrea, that’s not true of all of them, you know. Don’t let her scare you,’ said a girl with glorious black curly hair and enormous violet eyes. ‘I’m Celia Munro, by the way. I’m reading English too.’

  ‘Posy Anderson.’ I smiled back, liking her immediately.

  ‘Well, Posy, I’m off to share the sherry around, but just watch out for toads in your desk and whoopee cushions on your chair. Oh, and you should know that we are all lesbians, according to the boys,’ Andrea added as her parting comment.

  ‘Honestly,’ Celia shook her head. ‘We’re meant to be helping you feel comfortable here, not scaring you witless. Take no notice, Andrea’s a good sort, just awfully pro-women’s rights. You’ll find a lot of that here amongst the female contingent. I totally agree, of course, but I prefer to concentrate my energies on my degree and enjoying my time here.’

  ‘That’s what I intend to do too. So you’re in your second year?’

  ‘Yes, and for all that Andrea says about the boys ribbing us, I thoroughly enjoyed my first year. It probably helped that I’m the only girl in a family of three brothers, mind you.’

  ‘I must admit I haven’t thought much about the boys, just about my degree and coming to Cambridge.’ I looked round at the crowd. ‘I still can’t quite believe I’m here.’

  ‘Well, it certainly is a surreal place, quite its own little universe, but I’m sure you’ll get into the swing of things. Now, why don’t we take a wander and see who else we can introduce ourselves to from your year?’

  So we did, and as I shook hands with a clutch of young women, I realised that the majority of them were just as nervous as I was. Overall, they seemed like a nice crowd and as I finished my second glass of sherry, a calming warmth spread through me.

  ‘Girls! May I ask you to gather round?’

  I saw Miss Murray standing at the front of the dining room and moved forwards with the rest of the crowd.

  ‘Firstly, I would like to welcome our new intake to New Hall. As I’m sure the original intake will agree, you can count yourselves lucky to be coming in a year on from the opening of the college.’

  ‘She means we’ve finally managed to get rid of the bed bugs from the mattresses,’ quipped Andrea and there was a chuckle from her friends.

  ‘Quite,’ said Miss Murray. ‘Those and a number of irritating details that we had to sort out when we moved into our new home. However, sorted they are, and I really feel that, after a year of teething troubles, we as a college can really start to establish ourselves as a force to be reckoned with, academically of course, but also, by the kind of women you are and intend to be in the future. As I explained to each of you in your interviews, being a female student at Cambridge, in a minority ratio of one girl to every ten boys, is daunting, even to the most confident woman. It would be very easy to be strident when faced with the continual banter that your male counterparts seem to find so amusing. And of course, each of you must deal with it in your own way. But let me say this: as females, we have our own unique strengths. And as an academic for the past twenty years, working in the world of men, I have often been tempted to give as good as I got, but I entreat you all to uphold your femininity, to use your own unique skill-set to your advantage. Remember, the only reason many of them react as they do is simply because they are frightened. Slowly, their all-male bastions are being infiltrated and let me tell you, this is only the start of our march towards equality.’

  ‘Golly, are the boys really that bad?’ murmured one of the new girls nervously.

  ‘No, but forewarned is forearmed,’ said Miss Murray, ‘and I do not wish to hear of any of our girls being involved in a fist fight, as happened at Girton last term. Now then, on a jollier note, I have decided that, whilst the weather is still warm enough to use the garden, we shall open our doors to the new undergraduates of St John’s College – who own this property and have been kind enough to rent it to us – next Friday night, for drinks. Which will give you girls a chance to meet a selection of your male counterparts in a relaxed, social setting.’

  ‘The enemy safely in captivity, you mean?’ Andrea chuckled.

  Miss Murray ignored her comment and I had the feeling that if anybody was going to be involved in a fist-fight with the boys, it was Andrea.

  ‘Now, I’m going to pass you over to our other resident tutor, Dr Hammond, who will talk to you about the nuts and bolts of the academic side of things, but before I do, I’d like to propose a toast to New Hall and its new residents.’

  ‘To New Hall,’ we all chorused, and the same warmth that had suffused me earlier filled me again, because I knew I was part of something very special.

  And indeed, as I began to get to know my fellow students in the weeks that followed, I started to feel more and more that I was no longer a fish out of water, that for the first time in my life I actually belonged. Every girl I met was frighteningly bright and – more to the point – they were all here simply because they were passionate about their subjects. As the nights drew in, conversations around the fire in the comfortable common room ranged from pure mathematics to the poetry of Yeats and Brooke. We lived and dreamed our chosen subjects, and, perhaps because of the fact we all knew how lucky we were to be here, there were few complaints when it came to the heavy workload we were given. I thrived on it, and still had to pinch myself every time I walked through the door of the Botany School.

  The building was very unprepossessing, being a square, many-windowed building on Downing Street, but at least it was only a short bicycle ride across the river from New Hall. I got used to seeing the same faces on my morning commute over the rickety cobblestones, the old bicycle I had bought second-hand squealing in protest with every turn of the pedals.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the sheer excitement of entering the laboratory for the first time: the long benches, the modern equipment my fingers were itching to touch, and the collections of seeds and dried plants at my disposal in the herbarium (with a permission slip, of course).

  As Andrea had warned me, I was one of only three women on the course. Enid and Romy – the other two females – sat determinedly apart from each other during lectures, each seeking out their own territory amongst the men. We would often meet at lunch break at our favourite bench in the Botanical Garden, sharing notes on lectures and raising a communal weary eyebrow at the boys’ antics. The three of us had passionate debates about the future of botany whenever we took a table at The Eagle. T
he pub was always busy, partly because every scientist at the university seemed to be hoping to catch a glimpse of Watson and Crick, who had discovered the structure of DNA only two years earlier. The night that I spotted the back of Francis Crick’s head at the bar, I had sat frozen in my seat, so in awe at being close to genius. Enid, who was far more confident than me, had gone straight up to him and talked his ear off until he had beaten a swift but gracious retreat.

  ‘Of course it was Rosalind Franklin who did most of the work,’ Enid had said fiercely when she had come back to our table. ‘But she’s a woman, so she’ll never get credit for it.’

  I hadn’t had the time or the inclination to join any societies, wanting to concentrate all my energies on my studies. Both Celia and Andrea, who had become my firm friends at New Hall, flitted about each weekend from one event to the next, Celia with the chess club and Andrea with the Footlights, the renowned drama troupe. I spent every spare moment in the gardens and in the greenhouses and Dr Walters, one of my professors, had taken me under his wing in the Tropical House, a beautiful glass structure where the air was thick with humidity. There were nights when I didn’t arrive back until curfew, making my way up to my chilly bedroom and sliding between the sheets, exhausted but content.

  ‘Golly, you’re a dull sort,’ Andrea said to me one morning over breakfast. ‘You hardly venture out if it hasn’t to do with seeds and mud. Well, tonight, there’s a Footlights bash and if I drag you there with my own bare hands, you’re coming with me.’

  Knowing Andrea was right, and besides, that she wouldn’t take no for an answer, I let her add one of her bright scarves to the red dress I’d worn for my eighteenth birthday. I knew within a few seconds that it was going to be as grim as I thought it would be. The cacophony of loud voices and music as we entered the rooms of the head of the Footlights warned me that I would be a fish out of water. Nevertheless, I grabbed a drink from the table to help my nerves and entered the fray. Andrea pushed through the crowd to find the host of the proceedings.