“What he was really trying to measure was love. And what he found was that love is at least as important to early primate development as food.
“These experiments were, as you might expect, controversial. More controversial still were his efforts to investigate what happened if you deprived the baby monkeys of even these surrogate mothers. For this third experiment he took infant monkeys — a few hours old — and put them in total isolation. The monkeys were fed and sheltered, but left entirely alone in a metal box for three, six, and even twelve months. Those that were isolated for three months could eventually be reintegrated into the society of other monkeys. But those isolated for longer than that were permanently damaged and never fully recovered.”
“Isn’t that just cruel?” Henry asks.
“Many people do think so,” Miss Alderman responds. “Some even go so far as to say that his experiments started the movement to protect animals from this kind of treatment. Although his findings might seem obvious to us today, however, in the 1950s many parents were being told not to coddle their children, that too much physical contact was bad for them, and so on. Harlow’s work helped show how damaging the lack of contact could be in monkeys — and that there was strong evidence that the same applied to humans.”
Miss Alderman erases the double-headed arrow and replaces it with two question marks: “Nature?? Nurture”. “There is still a lot that we don’t know,” she says. “Clearly genes have a significant impact on our lives. Clearly our environment plays a role also. But human life is so varied, so unpredictable, that we will probably never be able to devise an experiment that could accurately measure all the ways in which these various factors interact to make us the complex individuals we eventually become.”
Unless you could control the environment completely. And then observe everything that happens. Record it. While maintaining scientific objectivity.
At the front of the room, Miss Alderman erases the words on the board completely. “That’s all for today, boys and girls. Read the rest of the chapter on evolution and I’ll see you on Friday.”
She is about to leave when Miss Alderman calls her over. “Arcadia, may I have a word with you?”
“Of course.” She approaches the desk at the front.
“It’s nice to meet you at last.”
The teacher puts out her hand. An odd gesture when meeting a student, but Arcadia shakes it. Their eyes meet for a moment longer than custom would dictate. Curious.
“Mr. Ormiston mentioned that you are interested in biology,” Miss Alderman says. “I studied biology at Oxford — it’s a fascinating subject. The building blocks of life and so on.”
Arcadia nods, buying a moment. Clears her throat. Only then raises her eyes again. “So why did you drop out?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why did you drop out of graduate study at university? You are clearly passionate about the subject and inclined to research — yet you never completed a doctorate in the subject. I’m guessing it was not a lack of ability, so you dropped out. Why?” There is surprise in the teacher’s eyes. Perhaps she has touched a nerve. “I apologise if I’m intruding.”
Miss Alderman laughs. “No that’s all right. Mr. Ormiston warned me about this. You’re perfectly entitled to ask and you are correct that I started but did not finish a doctorate. Let’s say that I made a choice that wasn’t compatible with doing so.”
“I see,” she replies. “Well I’m pleased that the time you spent acting at Oxford was more profitable.”
The teacher’s lips part as a frown forms on her brow. Another laugh, though a false one. “Young lady, you aren’t possibly old enough to have seen any of the shows that I was in.”
“Alas no,” she concedes. “At least not on the stage.”
Miss Alderman looks at her curiously. “All right then, off you go.”
“Goodbye, Miss Alderman.”
“Goodbye, Arcadia.”
She leans against the wall of the classroom block, nose in a book but attention focused on the door. When Miss Alderman emerges, she does not stir, allowing her to cross the quadrangle towards the administration block before she follows.
That Miss Alderman has been having an affair with Mr. Ormiston is obvious. His behaviour last week, her familiarity today. Less obvious is the connection between the affair and her suddenly arriving at the Priory School to teach. Cause and effect? Or plan.
The older woman enters the staff wing of the administration building, which is off-limits to students, and the door closes behind her. The door is solid wood, but while it was open she could see the corridor ahead and measures the steps in her head. Putting the book back in her bag, she takes out a sheet of paper about the concert tomorrow — a working alibi in case she is stopped. Then she puts Magnus’s key in the door of the administration building, opens the door, and enters.
The corridor is empty. The biggest mistake an intruder makes is looking suspicious, so she walks purposefully down the hall to the wide wooden stairs, up which Miss Alderman’s light footsteps are now heading. She pauses, pretending to read the concert notice long enough for the teacher to reach the top of the stairs, then ascends herself. The stairs continue up to the top floor of the building, but Miss Alderman is now halfway down another corridor, putting her own key in a lock. Her office, presumably. Five doors down on the right hand side.
It was optimistic to have expected her to go straight back to Mr. Ormiston and have a candid conversation about their affair and how she comes to be at the school. Now that she is in her office there is not much to discover and Arcadia is exposed in the open. It is time to beat a retreat.
Heavy footsteps coming down from the upper floor. Headmaster. In addition to the general office side of the building, there must be an entrance to his office from the staff wing. She could probably make it down to the ground floor, but another possibility presents itself. Hastening down the corridor, she looks quickly at the names on the doors. Miss Alderman is using a vacant office. The ones either side are for Mr. Ormiston and Pipe-Major Scott. Bagpiping is an after-school activity so it is unlikely the latter will be returning soon. She quickly opens the door with the master key, slips inside, and shuts it quietly behind her.
The heavy footsteps come down the corridor and pause. There is a single knock and then Miss Alderman’s voice: “Enter.”
In the adjacent office, she takes an empty glass from the Pipe-Major’s table and presses it against the wall so that she can hear every word.
“Why Headmaster,” Miss Alderman says. “How delightful to see you again.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Headmaster replies.
“You’re not pleased to see me?”
“It’s not that. But I should have been told first.”
“I’m afraid that you aren’t really in a position to be making any kind of demands, at this point. You completely mishandled the situation with the Stamford boy. You’re jeopardising everything.”
“I have the situation under control.”
“You appear to be the only person who believes that to be the case.” Miss Alderman’s voice increases in volume and pitch slightly. “We have years of work at stake and we’re not going to let you ruin it.”
Headmaster retorts in a hoarse whisper: “For heaven’s sake will you keep your voice down.”
“Listen, Charles,” she continues more calmly. “No one has more invested in this than I. But I’m afraid your commitment is starting to be questioned. Can we count on you?”
“Of course you can count on me. That’s a ridiculous question. I’ve been working on this since you were a schoolgirl with pigtails.”
There is contempt in the reply. “I never had pigtails, Charles. Now pull yourself together. The parents will be here tomorrow and everything has to be as normal as possible.”
“Is that going to be possible if her parents see you?”
“They’re not going to see me, Charles. Get back to work.”
Headmaste
r does not speak but the door slams and heavy footsteps go back down the corridor and up the stairs.
In the office next door, she puts down the glass thoughtfully. After five minutes Miss Alderman leaves the office also. Arcadia waits for a further five minutes before silently opening the door. She moves through the corridor, down the stairs, and out into the quadrangle.
The afternoon sun just touches the edge of the sandstone buildings; for a moment it looks like the rock is alive, burning with its own fire. But as she stands watching it the sun sinks further and the building is cast into shadow.
8
CONCERT
The next day is Wednesday, the day of the school concert. After finishing a bowl of lukewarm porridge and a sorry-looking banana, she gathers her books and walks across the quadrangle to the classrooms.
The lessons pass in a blur. Outwardly she pays attention and responds as required; inwardly she turns over the data that do not form a complete picture, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle whose size she does not yet know. She considers contacting Magnus once again, but her brother has said to wait. Though they are not exactly close, she knows that she can trust him. For the moment, then, she is on her own.
Except that her parents will be at school this evening. Curious that this fills her not with a sense of reassurance but of responsibility.
“Well hello there, Arsey!”
Her reverie is broken by Sebastian, his sidekick Joan Hardy beside him. A slight redness on the boy’s nose is all that remains of the previous day’s altercation. It is now lunchtime and she is sitting on a bench at the edge of the quadrangle, nibbling distractedly on an apple.
“Hello, Sebastian. I’m afraid I don’t really have time for your games today.”
Sebastian turns to Joan in mock amazement. “Oh dear, Joan, did you hear what she said? She said she doesn’t have time for me today. Oh well, I suppose she doesn’t want to hear what has happened to her violin. I try to be a Good Samaritan and look what happens. Serves me right for trying to do something nice.”
Joan at last catches on and shakes her head also. “It’s a shame, Sebastian. Really a shame.”
They turn as if to go and Arcadia sighs. “What about my violin, Sebastian?”
Sebastian turns back, struggling to keep the smile off his face. “Well, I thought it would be hard for you to play in the concert tonight with no violin. Apparently it’s disappeared from the music room. Like magic.”
“Like magic!” echoes Joan.
She looks more closely at the two. Bluffing is not Sebastian’s forte and so it is likely that he has indeed stolen her violin. It is half an hour into lunch and Sebastian has little capacity to delay gratification; most probably he has hidden it only recently. Fresh mud on the side of their shoes when there has been no rain suggests the sports field, from which the sound of water sprinklers can still be heard. A bulge in Sebastian’s left pocket indicates that he has borrowed the oversize keys that open the rugby shed — in any case an obvious place for him to hide the violin.
“Sebastian, I would be very grateful if you would put the violin back where it was in the music room,” she says.
A look of badly-faked horror spreads across the larger boy’s face. “What on earth are you inferring, Arsey? That I was somehow involved? I am shocked. Shocked.”
“I’m not inferring anything — I’m implying. But perhaps it will save us both time if I just tell you to go back to the rugby shed, get my violin, and return it to the music room.”
Sebastian’s expression of mock horror is slowly overtaken by a genuine look of surprise.
“How did she — ” Joan begins, but Sebastian cuts her off.
“And what makes you think I would do anything to help you?” He is trying to maintain some of his bluster.
She wearies of this. “Because if you don’t, then I will arrange for the magazines that you keep in your locker to be posted to your parents. What is ‘Big & Bouncy’, anyway? I had long assumed it was some kind of soccer magazine, though the ladies in it appear to be a little underdressed for sport. And in case you decide to dispose of the magazines, it will be far harder to erase completely your account on the accompanying website bigandbouncy.com. Perhaps I could email the details to your father?”
It is fascinating to watch Sebastian’s facial expressions as surprise transforms into shock and then fear.
“So the violin goes back in the music room,” she concludes. “Do we understand each other?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sebastian grumbles.
As they leave, she hears Joan turn to him: “I still don’t understand how she knew it was in the rugby shed. Did she follow us?”
“Shut up, Joan,” Sebastian says as they head back to the sports field.
She has to strain to hear the rest of the conversation: “So what are you going to say to him?” Joan asks.
“I’ll figure something out,” replies Sebastian.
That is the last thing she can make out over the background noise of other boys and girls at their lunch break. But as she watches them depart, Sebastian looks up to the administration building and shakes his head.
Following Sebastian’s gaze, she sees a man with white hair standing at the window. The man’s eyes sweep across the quadrangle. For a moment they lock onto her own. Then Headmaster turns away from the window and is gone.
Evening comes and parents begin to trickle in for the end of year concert. For the school it is an hour and a half designed to showcase the abilities of the students and reassure parents that they are getting their money’s worth. For parents it is eighty-five minutes of tedium, broken by five minutes of furtive video-recording for bragging rights and posterity.
The students will perform mostly in groups with a few soloists. In line with tradition, parents are welcomed by the keening sound of the pipe band performing on the quadrangle outside Hall. Pipe-Major Scott is enthusiastically leading the boys, resplendent in their kilts. She suspects that this particular tradition was created to avoid having to listen to the bagpipes being played indoors.
She and the other performers watch the pipe band through the windows of the music room adjacent to Hall. Her parents arrive, but the students are to stay backstage until after the performance is finished and a buffet dinner is served. Beside her, Henry is looking out the window also, absentmindedly fingering the keys on his oboe. Her own violin is safely in its case nearby.
“They will be late, but they will be here,” she says.
“We’ll see.”
“All right boys and girls,” says Mrs. Norman-Neruda, the Deputy Director of Music. “Your parents are coming into Hall shortly and I want no disappointed faces. Can I have the woodwind ensemble ready to go, please? The rest of you know your order. If you don’t, then this is Miss Alderman who has the list and will be helping out backstage tonight.”
Henry moves over to join the woodwinds. As Mrs. Norman-Neruda does some final tuning, Miss Alderman moves through the room ensuring that the other students are prepared.
“You’re playing Mendelssohn tonight, Arcadia?” the teacher says when she reaches her. “I look forward to it.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “But won’t you be sitting in the audience? You’ll get a much better view.”
“That’s sweet of you to say. But Headmaster has asked me to stay back here and keep an eye on you lot.”
“Ah well,” she says. “At least you’ll have a chance to meet some of the parents over the buffet dinner afterwards. Mine are here tonight — I would be pleased to introduce you to them.”
Miss Alderman hesitates for a second. “Why isn’t that kind. But I fear that I have a personal commitment this evening. Another time.”
“Of course, Miss,” she says graciously. What did Headmaster fear would happen if Miss Alderman and her parents saw each other?
A monitor in the music room shows the view from the back of Hall. The pipe band has concluded its performance and most of the parents are now seated. The students crow
d around the monitor to watch.
A round of applause greets Headmaster as he goes up on stage to welcome the parents.
“Greetings, greetings!” he declaims. “Tonight is a very special night at the Priory School. Our annual concert is an opportunity to celebrate the musical accomplishments of all our students. As you know, this school believes that greatness comes in many forms. The role of the school is to help bring out the best in each and every boy — and girl. I like to think that we help provide a spark that lights a flame — but tonight is also an opportunity for us to meet the people who really deserve the credit: you, the parents, whose own talents and support are reflected in the achievements of your sons and daughters.”
He leads them in a self-congratulatory round of applause. Then he briefly frowns at something at the back of Hall. It is not visible on the monitor at first, but then two parents can be seen squeezing themselves into a pair of empty seats. The woman is in a designer dress and carrying an expensive handbag. Even without a microphone it is clear that she is scolding the man who accompanies her. Arcadia smiles. At least they didn’t miss Henry’s performance.
“And now,” Headmaster says, “on with the show!” To another round of applause he takes his seat in the front row as Mrs. Norman-Neruda can be seen shepherding the woodwind ensemble onto stage.
In the music room, she checks the time. It is now 7:07pm. Hers is the third last item. A little less than an hour, but now that Miss Alderman is on duty backstage she needs an excuse.
“Miss Alderman,” she says a little breathlessly as she approaches her.
“Yes, Arcadia?”
“I need to go and get rosin for my bow. It must have fallen out from my case, but I have a spare cake in my room. I can’t play without it.”
The teacher looks at her suspiciously. “It doesn’t seem like you to leave things lying about, Arcadia.”
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