Evil Friendship

by Packer, Vin

  The hymn swelled the assembly room:

  “Come labor on,

  The enemy is watching night and day.

  To sow the tares, to snatch the seed away …”

  In the row in front of her, a note was being passed hand-to-hand to a girl named Evelyn Rush. Even in two short weeks time, Mary Drew had learned of Rush’s and Beth Dragmore’s “crush.” They were everywhere together, mooning and swooning over each other. Mary Drew looked away and back toward the platform. Miss Nieky stood legs spread, arms folded behind her back, belting out the hymn’s words, which after ten years she knew by heart:

  “Come labor on,

  Away with gloomy doubts and faithless fear!

  No arm so weak but may do service here …”

  Afterwards, there were announcements, and a reading from the scripture. Then shiny heads bowed obediently in prayer.

  “O God, the Creator and Preserver of all mankind, we humbly beseech thee …”

  Mary Drew felt something hit her shoulder.

  “… for all sorts and conditions of men.”

  She opened one eye and saw the wadded-up piece of paper on the floor. She leaned forward and saw the pencil printing: ”PASS TO RUSH.”

  “… that thou wouldst be pleased to make thy ways known …”

  Impulsively, she put her shoe down on the paper, pressing it captive. Then, closing her eyes, she continued to hear the prayer.

  She could feel the whispering around her. She knew what had happened. Beth Dragmore had thrown the note, intending it to land in the same row in front of Mary Drew, close to the Rush girl. But she had misaimed, and it had landed back a row.

  “Amen!” the school director intoned.

  “Amen!” was the chorus.

  Everyone settled back. Mary Drew dragged the piece of paper under her shoe, as she sat up straight again. While the small organ in the rear of the assembly room launched into the Recessional, heads turned from the front row, craning to see the aisle behind them. Mary Drew sat poker-faced with her shoe hiding the love note. On the platform the faculty stood, one by one, preparing to descend the steps and march single file past the rows of students.

  It was just at the point when the first faculty member started down the steps that Mary Drew Edlin kicked the piece of wadded-up paper into center aisle.

  “Onward, then, ye people!

  Join our happy throng!” the organ boomed. And Miss Theresa Pierce-Morgan, the director at Chillam, came to a dead halt in the middle of the aisle. Laboriously, her pince-nez swinging forward from her huge, ham-hung bosom, she bent, puffing, and picked up Beth Dragmore’s note to Rush.

  • • •

  Not until eleven o’clock that morning was anything said to Mary Drew about what she had done. Her classes until that hour were all with newer girls, but girls from every grade in the school attended the gym period together.

  On “those days of the month,” girls were allowed to sit and watch the class. Mary Drew was in the queue formed for girls who were planning to observe. They had to give their names to Miss Nicky and then take a seat on the bench on one side of the sports field.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” a voice said behind her.

  Mary Drew turned quickly and saw Rush standing there. She was a dark girl, athletic and handsome. She was wearing a red and white striped jersey which meant she was going to play on one of the teams. Evelyn fixed her eyes straight on Mary Drew’s.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary Drew said.

  She was very afraid. Her heart was pounding wildly under her starched white blouse. There was no explanation for what she had done. None. And to do it to someone like Rush, who was one of the most popular seniors at Chillam — that was truly unfathomable. She stood with her eyes on the ground, waiting for Rush to say more.

  “I’m sure it was you, Mary Drew. Your place is right behind mine in assembly. I swear I saw your foot move at the Recessional.”

  “That’s not true,” Mary Drew countered. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  The queue was moving rapidly. Rush moved with it, following Mary Drew. They were practically at Miss Nicky.

  “Beth’s in the director’s office now,” Rush said. “If anything does come out of it, you’ll know what I’m referring to. You can count on it!”

  Momentarily, she looked menacingly at Mary Drew.

  Miss Nicky’s voice intruded: “Next, now.”

  Mary Drew moved forward and stood before Miss Nicky, who looked above her head, back at Rush, and gave her a nod. Its meaning, if it had any, was mysterious to Mary Drew. But it seemed to her as though Miss Nicky were saying, “Go to it, Rush. I’m on your side.”

  To Mary Drew, Miss Nicky said, “Are you not playing?”

  “No, mam.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, mam.”

  “But you skipped class only last week. Let’s see — ” consulting the papers on her clipboard — “last Monday and Tuesday.”

  “Yes, mam.”

  “And you intend not to play again?” “Yes, mam.”

  “You must be anemic by now.”

  Mary Drew was slow to catch the sarcasm. By the time she did, she had made her way across the field to the bench, blushing crimson.

  It was a bleary, cloudy day, and Mary Drew was chilled. She hugged her blazer around her, opened her novel, and began to read. She shared the bench with another day girl, a quite beautiful one, with long pitch-black hair and very white, ivory-looking skin. Mary Drew had seen her at the outer gate mornings, getting out of a light blue car and waving a goodbye, supposedly to her father. She did not know her name, and she had no intention of trying to find it out. At that point she did not care if she never knew another girl’s name at Chillam. Mary Drew looked down at the novel and tried to read it, forcing from her consciousness the thought that every single day at Chillam was going to be hellish.

  About midway in the hour, Rush came leaping across the field to the water spigot near the bench, drinking some and splashing some across her hot face. As she looked up, she noticed the girl at the end of the bench, the one beside Mary Drew, and she walked up and stood before her, pretending to watch the doings in the field. Then she half-turned to the girl and said, “Like hockey?”

  “Some.”

  “I love it!” Rush said, giving her best smile to the girl. “I’ve noticed you. You’re new.”

  “Yes, I’ve just begun.”

  “You’ll like Chillam,” Rush said enthusiastically. “Dear old Chillam. And we have a good bunch.” Another wide smile, mopping her brow with her bare arm. “Well,” she paused, leaving the thought unfinished, then with a wave ran back to the game.

  Mary Drew was about to look across at the girl when Miss Nicky’s voice spoke behind her.

  “Mary Drew!”

  “Mam?”

  “What is your free period this afternoon?” “Just before final bell.”

  “Fine. You can report to me during that period.”

  “For what, mam?”

  “You’ve missed gym class three days out of ten, more than most do in three months. For that you can help me make up class charts for next week.”

  “Yes, mam.”

  “You’re not much of a sport, are you, Mary Drew?” Miss Nicky said flatly, and she turned and strode away, not waiting for any answer.

  • • •

  The noon meal was baked beans and milk pudding, and under the steady buzz of normal-sounding palaver were the whispers, “Pass it on: Beth Dragmore has lost city privileges for a month. She’s been warned about her friendship with Rush.”

  Perhaps only Rush suspected that Mary Drew was the cause of it. No one else seemed to accuse her, much less notice her. But across the dining room, before the pudding was served, Rush’s eyes met hers in one fleeting, threatening look. The pudding set heavily in Mary Drew’s stomach. From the corner of her eye, at the end of the meal, she could see Rush gathering her friends to her side
… except for Beth Dragmore, who left dutifully by the door at the opposite end of the room, her face weepy and tense.

  As she left the library that afternoon after sixth bell, on her way to the gymnasium, Mary Drew heard two girls talking in front of her on the steps. “What was in the note?”

  “Dribble, if you ask me. More of Beth’s lovesick dribble.”

  At the gymnasium, there was only Miss Nicky. She had put a senior in charge of the field, and she was alone in her walled-in cubicle, which smelled of steam and chlorine from the swimming pool down the corridor. She nodded at Mary Drew and passed her some sheets of lined paper reading names off to her which Mary Drew was instructed to write in between the lines. For awhile there was simply the sound of Miss Nicky saying the name, and Mary Drew repeating it. Then, after three sheets were filled, and one filled a quarter of the way, Miss Nicky read the name: “Rush, Evelyn.”

  “R-Rush,” Mary Drew repeated, feeling Miss Nicky’s eyes needling her mercilessly, “Evelyn.”

  “What’s the difficulty, Mary Drew?” Miss Nicky said. “Does that name upset you?”

  “No, mam.”

  “No? Very well then. Here — Dragmore, Beth.” “Dragmore,” Mary Drew managed, “B-Beth.” “You seem to be stammering over the last two names.” “Mam?”

  “You’re all innocence, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Nicky.” Mary Drew stared at the lines on the sheet of paper before her, feeling the blush on her ears and her cheeks.

  Miss Nicky tossed her pencil to her desk top. She studied Mary Drew a slow moment, then straightened in her swivel chair, swinging it about a little, and facing Mary Drew directly.

  “I’m supposed to teach sports at Chillam. That’s my purpose here. There’s more to sports than just playing games or climbing ropes. If I thought that were all my duty consisted of, I wouldn’t find it altogether challenging. Hardly interesting or agreeable. But that isn’t all. Mary Drew, even if you were able to perform well in the gymnasium, or out on the field, which you are not, but if you were, you would be a very poor sport.”

  Miss Nicky paused and Mary Drew wiggled in her chair and said nothing.

  “I saw you kick the note into the aisle at assembly. You have nothing to say to that fact, do you?”

  Mary Drew sat stiffly, then shook her head.

  “I don’t feel nearly as angry with you, Mary Drew,” Miss Nicky said, “as I do feel filled with pity for you. You’re empty, Mary Drew Edlin. I know it, and you know it.”

  Miss Nicky’s chair squeaked as she swung back to face the desk. She picked up her pencil. “It’s your choice, Mary Drew, whether to stay as you are, or to change. At Chillam, you’ll find suitable opportunities to do either … Craig, Diana.”

  “Craig,” Mary Drew repeated, “Diana.”

  A hundred years later, final bell rang.

  • • •

  Outside the gymnasium, the weather had turned black and sodden. The prospect of going into the other building to gather up her books was too depressing. Her face was still smarting from Miss Nicky’s words. Miss Nicky knew and Rush knew; by now how many others? What a bloody mess to have bolted into. Why? And tomorrow, to face another hellish day at Chillam, with everyone turned against her. Mary Drew envied Belinda’s soft-in-the-head safety. Emptyheaded, Miss Nicky had said … No, full! Pull! Too full! Suddenly her path was blocked.

  “Admit it,” Rush said. She stood there with a trench coat over her shoulders, a lock of her short-cropped black hair hanging over her forehead, looking brave and heroic; a young James Mason bent on amused revenge.

  “Admit what?” Mary Drew’s voice summoned up strength. Her heart hammered at her chest.

  “You know what. All you have to do is admit it.”

  But then, unexpectedly, Mary Drew heard the words Rush wanted her to say. “I admit it.”

  Only she hadn’t said it.

  “What?” Rush spun about.

  “I admit it,” the girl with the pitch-black hair and the very white skin repeated. “I did it. There you are.”

  Rush stared at her — this girl on whom she had bestowed her most dashing smiles that morning at the sports field. “You?”

  “In assembly,” the girl said. “I sit directly behind Mary Drew. You mistook the culprit. I did it.”

  For a moment, Rush just stared at her, standing arms akimbo, the trench coat flapping in the wind, her bright eyes fixed on the girl’s beautiful face. “You did it,” she said slowly. Then flatly. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl answered.

  Rush continued to stare at the girl’s face, but gradually, her left eyebrow raised slightly, and a tip came to her lips. “I see,” she said. “I see.”

  Mary Drew was watching the scene with utter disbelief. Before she could think of anything to add to the moment, Rush turned around in a violent movement, and marched off down the walk, her head high, like a tall, strong Napoleon, oddly enough giving the impression of having been victorious.

  The girl looked after her with an amused smile. “Silly person,” she said.

  “Do you sit behind me?” Mary Drew asked.

  “Sure. Have for two weeks.”

  “And this morning? This morning — ” Mary Drew was not sure if the girl knew she had kicked the note in the aisle then, or if the girl were simply playing a joke on Rush.

  “I did do it, you know,” the girl said. “Exactly what you did — in my mind. Before you did it.” She gave a husky chuckle. “Oh, I saw it hit your shoulder and saw you clamp down on it. When the Recessional started, I moved my own foot, before you did, just as though it were mine holding the note. I had the maddest notion that I could kick it into the aisle. I wanted to. And as soon as I thought that, well — you did it. Isn’t it uncanny?”

  “But now you’ll be on the spot, won’t you?” Mary Drew said.

  “I don’t think so. Rush likes me. She’s such a fool.” “Still — ”

  The girl laughed. “No. Do you know what I believe she imagines? That I’d like to get to know her better and that I’m jealous of her friendship with Beth. She’s horribly pompous, you know … and conceited.”

  “Oh, my God!” Mary Drew said. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She began to laugh. Both did. For a long time.

  Then in the aftermath, as they straightened themselves, coughing and sniffing, after the spontaneous burst of humor that had grown between them like some rare and abandoned eternity, they stood face-to-face. The light rain fell. In the distance the tower bell on Old Building chimed four times. They looked at one another in those slow seconds, and then an odd thing happened. Instinctively, as though leach one knew the other would, they reached out their hands, the one meeting the other half way, and they shook.

  “I’m Martha Kent,” the girl said.

  Mary Drew answered, “I’m Mary Drew Edlin.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  There was blood on her head, on her face, on the path …

  — Douglas Tullett, testifying at the Edlin-Kent trial

  JUNE 8, 1956

  “Naw, g’on,” Mr. Tullet waved the young man away that June afternoon. “I won’t be nagged no more!”

  But the young man with the melting ice creams in his hand broke in, “It’s horribly serious, I’m afraid. It’s murder, I’m afraid! Please hurry!”

  Mr. Tullett dropped the rake he was using to heap the rubbish. “Murder?”

  Then the two of them began to run toward the tearoom in Southwark Park.

  It was about twenty past four, and while he was running, Mr. Tullett caught sight of Stoke, down by his shack. “Come on!” he shouted. “Here!”

  He burst through the door, and then for the first time saw them — Mary Drew Edlin and Martha Kent.

  “The Kent girl — she was screaming, ‘we’ve got to get clean!’ “ Mr. Tullett told the court later, “and the other one was sitting there with blood on her face, across her nose and on her chin. And their clothes was full of it!”


  Crown Prosecutor Baird led the questioning:

  Q. What happened next, Mr. Tullett?

  A. Next? Next I found the body —

  Q. No, Mr. Tullett. What was the very next thing that happened?

  A. I told Ruby — my wife — to call for an ambulance. I told her to phone the police too. I wasn’t sure what had happened, and so I asked one of them, then. She —

  Q. Who?

  A. I can’t say who — one of them — and she said it was through the trees, down in the valley by the brook. ‘What happened?’ I said, and she said — I remember now — it was her, the Edlin girl because she said, ‘Mother was hit on the head by someone. Mother’s on the ground all bloody!’

  Q. And then Mr. Tullett?

  A. I ran out of the tearoom where Stoke — Mr. Stoke — was standing. We went down the pathway, and I found the body of a woman in the path, about a half a mile from the top. She was lying on her stomach. Her head was bashed in. There was blood on her head, on her face, on the path.

  Q. Did you touch the body?

  A. No sir, but Stoke did, sir. Her skirt was up past her knees. Stoke pulled it down.

  Q. What else do you remember seeing, Mr. Tullett?

  A. There was an egg-shaped rock on the path by the body. One of her shoes was off. That was there by the rock. And her teeth — dentures — they was there. And there was an extra stocking by her pocketbook, and her pocketbook was open, with things spilling out.

  Q. What do you mean, an extra stocking?

  A. A sock, really. A man’s red sock. Or a sock, man’s or woman’s.

  Q. She was wearing stockings?

  A. Yes, she was. This here was a sock. I didn’t mean to say stocking.

  Q. Was there anything else there you can remember?

  A. One more thing, yes. Yes, sir — a stone, sir. A little one, a blue one. Looked like it come out of a ring, it did. A blue stone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  … and there are other things about her too. She adores the movies, as I do, and would dearly love to live in America, as I would, and we both think Elvis Presley is a fool but we adore his wiggles. I feel as though I’ve known her all my life, and in al my other lives! Her name being Mary Drew, I got the idea to call her Druid after the wonderful sacrificial egg … Roddy doesn’t annoy me as much now, though he is still horrible, horrible!