Once everything was done, the three drifted back towards their own corner of the room and said no more to her. Celandine was left wondering why they had paid her so much attention, but then there was a scuffling sound in the corridor and a kick at the door, and in came another girl, very red in the face and weighed down with bags and boxes under each arm. It was the fair-haired girl who had been sitting in the carriage that had blocked the driveway. Her temper seemed to have improved very little since then.
‘Ye gods,’ she cried, ‘Is there anything more pointless than a coachman who can’t drive a stupid coach?’ She dropped her luggage in a heap and staggered theatrically over to the corner where Mary Swann and the pigtailed twins were sitting. She flopped face-down across a bed, where she lay drooping over the side and complaining loudly to the linoleum. ‘Do you know, I’ve had to walk? I’ve had to walk! All up that hill, with all of my luggage – and up all those stairs. Not a porter to be seen. Not one. Well, they shan’t blame me if I’m laid up for a week over this. Oh! I’ve such a headache, I could scream!’ She rolled over and sat up. ‘Mary, darling, come and soothe me, do. I need unctions, balms …’
‘Oh, poor Alicia.’
‘Yes, poor Alicia,’ cooed the twins.
Celandine wasn’t quite sure what to make of this drama. She watched for a while as ‘poor Alicia’ was patted and comforted by her friends, and then became aware that Nina Jessop was trying to catch her eye. Nina was still kneeling beside her locker, sorting out her belongings, but she kept glancing over the top of her bed towards where Celandine was sitting.
‘They’ve apple-pied your bed,’ she whispered.
‘What?’ said Celandine.
There was no time for any further explanation however, because the fair-haired girl, Alicia, was suddenly on her feet, miraculously recovered, and walking back down the room towards her jumbled heap of luggage. She stopped and looked at Celandine.
‘Hallo – who’s this wond’rous creature?’ she said.
‘Oh, that’s the common-or-garden Um,’ said Mary Swann. ‘Otherwise known as Miss Celandine Howard. She’s Ninky’s new chum.’
‘How extraordinary,’ murmured Alicia. ‘And does it speak, I wonder? Can it dance the quadrille? Cut a little caper for us, my dear. Distract us, do. No? Oh well …’ She turned away and began to gather up her scattered pieces of luggage.
Celandine sat on her bed with her hands in her lap. She didn’t know what else to do. Occasionally she glanced at the large clock that was mounted on the wall at the far end of the dormitory. Nina made no further attempt to speak to her.
A patch of late afternoon sun streamed in through a corner of one of the high windows, throwing long slanting shadows over the unfamiliar room. Celandine saw her own shadow for a few moments, a mocking distortion of herself stretched out upon the floor, motionless, then an invisible cloud stole softly across the sun and the light was slowly extinguished, the room descending into a final depressing gloom.
Other girls arrived in ones and twos, some laughing, some complaining, and all looked at her curiously as they deposited their bags and boxes, before joining the group at the end of the dim room. None of them made any move to be friendly towards her – possibly on the instruction of Mary Swann. Eventually there was quite a crowd down there, and their chattering grew louder, their antics more boisterous. Only Nina Jessop remained apart, lying upon her bed and reading a book, acknowledging no one, ignoring the occasional taunts that drifted her way. Celandine stared through the window at the darkening landscape, her face burning with selfconsciousness.
At five-twenty, Celandine cleared her throat and said, ‘Nina – I mean, Jessop – would you show me where the headmistress’s study is? Only I’ve to be there at half-past five.’
‘Yes, all right.’ Nina Jessop closed her book and put it under her pillow. She stood up and smoothed out her tunic. Celandine noticed that her hands shook slightly. ‘It’s downstairs.’
The hubbub at the end of the room subsided to a low murmur as Celandine followed Nina to the door.
Walking down the corridor towards the main stairway Celandine felt a little burst of pity for the timid girl beside her. Despite her own worries and troubles, she nevertheless considered herself the more fortunate of the two. Nina looked as though a puff of wind might blow her away. Her legs were so thin that it was a wonder they carried her at all, though there was precious little of her to be carried, at that.
Celandine had intended to ask Nina about the ‘apple-pie’, and what that meant, but instead she said, ‘They’re not very nice to you, are they, those others?’
‘Oh. Well … it doesn’t matter.’ Nina sounded surprised that another person should consider her feelings. She glanced up at Celandine, the paleness of her face making her eyes seem redder than ever, but then she looked downwards again and said no more. They reached the top of the stairway, and began to descend towards the entrance hall, their footsteps echoing on the smooth stone.
Celandine tried again. ‘Why do they call you Ninky?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Nina. But then she hesitated and said, ‘Well, it’s short for “nincompoop”, you see.’
‘Oh.’ It wasn’t a word that Celandine had ever heard before. Nincompoop. It was plainly not a compliment. ‘Do you mind if I call you Nina, then? Only I don’t think I shall get used to calling people by their surnames.’
‘If you like. But they’ll scrag you for it, you know, if you do. They scrag anyone who speaks to me.’
‘I shan’t care,’ said Celandine, jumping the last two steps.
Nina seemed doubtful. ‘You don’t know what they’re like,’ she muttered. They walked on a little further and then stopped outside a dark varnished door, just off the main hallway. ‘This is Miss Craven’s office. You have to knock, and wait.’ Nina Jessop’s voice had lowered to a whisper and she backed away slightly, as though nervous of the very shadows beneath the portal.
Celandine knocked at the door. There was no reply. She looked at Nina, and raised her hand to knock again, but Nina opened her eyes wide and shook her head.
‘Enter.’ The distant voice sounded deep enough to be that of a man. Celandine struggled a little with the heavy brass doorknob, too big for her hands, but eventually managed to turn the thing. She pushed against the door, needing to use her shoulder slightly in order to move it. A final parting glance at Nina and she entered the room.
‘Close the door behind you.’ Again, the deep voice sounded almost masculine, and the appearance of the figure seated at her desk only added to that impression. Miss Craven’s grey hair was cut severely short and the heavy pleated black gown that she wore had the effect of making her shoulders appear square and broad. Her face was long and thin, deeply lined about the mouth. ‘Come and stand over here.’
Celandine crossed the worn green carpet and stood before Miss Craven’s heavy oak desk. The room smelled faintly of tobacco and it reminded Celandine of her father’s study at home.
‘Hands by your sides, please.’ Miss Craven sat very upright in her chair, her own hands neatly folded upon the green leather desktop in front of her. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses lay on the desktop, beside an envelope. Celandine recognized the handwriting.
‘Now then, Howard. I shall make it clear from the outset, that if it were not for your father’s local standing in the county, there would be no place for you here.’ Miss Craven raised her dark eyebrows slightly and waited for a few moments. It occurred to Celandine that perhaps she was expected to respond to this, but she could find nothing to say.
‘Furthermore, I can tell you that the kind of behaviour that you have apparently displayed up until now will under no circumstances be tolerated at Mount Pleasant. Mr Howard has been very frank in his account of you, and I have to say that I am appalled. Absolutely appalled. To wilfully attack a person of authority in such a vicious manner is quite inexcusable – and I do not excuse it. Yours was a criminal act, and I should judge that a child from a less privileg
ed home might have found themselves suffering the most serious of consequences, had charges been brought. As it is, you may feel that you’ve got away with it – but I give you fair warning now that any such occurrence in this establishment would be treated with the utmost severity. There would be no question of any lenience. What have you to say for yourself?’
Celandine still made no reply. There was a long set of bookshelves behind Miss Craven, and on top of the shelves was a glass case that contained several stuffed animals: an otter, a pine-marten, a stoat and a weasel. The otter had a fish in its mouth – and there was something not quite right about it.
‘Nothing. Very well. Let us move on to another issue, then; these delusions of yours. Games of make-believe are one thing – persistent lies are entirely another matter. It is quite simply a lie to claim that you have seen things that do not exist. Yes, Howard, I know all about your past encounters with “little people” and so forth. As I said, your father has been commendably frank. Quite rightly, he and your mother believe that these stories of yours border on the ungodly – although they do say that it has been some time since you made these wild claims. I am perfectly clear in this; no good can ever come of meddling with such things. There has been an unfortunate rise in what might be called the cult of the psychic, of late. These so-called mediums – with their talk of seances and “spirits of the deceased” and “ectoplasm” and who knows what other nonsense – it flies in the face of all Christian belief, and there will be none of it here. Do I make myself understood?’
It was a direct question. ‘Yes, Miss Craven.’
‘I hope I do. Because there will be no second chances. I have my eye on you, Howard, and I have assured your parents that the atmosphere here at Mount Pleasant will bring about a change in your attitude and behaviour. I intend to see that it does.’
Miss Craven leaned back slightly in her chair, and pulled open a drawer. She took out a small white booklet, and placed it at the front of the desk. Mount Pleasant School for Girls. Rules and Regulations.
‘Take it. Read it. I shall expect you to have it off by heart before lessons begin on Monday. Either Miss Belvedere or I will be testing you on it at that time. For tonight you should read the section on locker drill – Miss Belvedere is very specific in these matters, and no exceptions will be made. That will be all. Your hair, by the way, is unacceptable. It must be tied back properly, or cut short. Go and see Matron about it.’
Celandine said ‘Yes, Miss Craven,’ and picked up the booklet. She glanced once again at the glass case, and at the otter with the fish in its jaws. Then she realized that it was the stuffed fish that had seemed out of place. It was a mackerel. A mackerel was a sea fish, wasn’t it? Surely that couldn’t be right.
‘Was there something you wanted to say?’ The dark eyebrows were once again raised in query.
‘No, Miss Craven.’
‘Then you may go. Dismissed.’
There had been no reason to assume that Nina would still be waiting outside the headmistress’s office, but it was nevertheless a slight disappointment to find her no longer there. Celandine walked back into the main entrance hall and hesitated for a few moments. She supposed that she ought to return to the dormitory, but then decided that she was in no great hurry after all. Perhaps she would explore instead.
She wandered the now deserted corridors of the ground floor, pausing to look at the green baize noticeboards that still carried redundant games fixtures from the previous term – lists of unfamiliar names, and activities. ‘The Dipper Club will NOT be meeting this Thursday. Please note.’ What on earth could the Dipper Club be?
Celandine peeped into those rooms where the doors were ajar, classrooms for the most part, and looked apprehensively at the rows of iron-framed desks, each with its bench seat neatly raised. She smelled the smells that the long months of summer vacation could never erase – paper-glue and chalk dust, pencil sharpenings and musty textbooks, ink-stained floorboards, and the toil of generations. One of these desks would be hers perhaps, her allotted cell, and here she would sit … or there … or there … in the weeks that spanned the unimaginable distance between now and Christmas.
The last classroom that Celandine wandered into turned out to be occupied by a couple of older girls – who quickly brought her out of her reverie.
‘Where do you think you’re going, you little squit? This is the fifth-form room! Get out!’
One of the two, a very spotty girl, shied a tennis ball at her, which missed and bounced out into the corridor. At the same moment a bell began to ring, a harsh and urgent clamour, and Celandine fled the room, dodging the grey tennis ball as it rebounded back through the doorway. The terrible clanging seemed like an alarm, warning everyone of her trespass onto forbidden territory, but as Celandine ran along the corridor she realized that of course it was only the supper bell. How silly of her. She slowed her pace to a walk and tried to appear as if she knew where she was going. But then the bell stopped ringing and, as the chaotic echoes still jangled in her head, a strange sensation came over her – a tingling to the very roots of her hair. Celandine came to a dead halt, right in the middle of the corridor. She had seen something. She had glanced through the open doorway of one of the classrooms in passing, and she had seen something – a figure standing by a far window. A girl. The girl had been on the other side of the room, half turning from the window and looking expectantly towards the door. Waiting for someone to arrive. It was the girl with the strange hair, the one that she had seen looking out of her bedroom at Mill Farm. She had been holding something in her hands – a cup? – and her mode of dress was quite extraordinary: brightly coloured trousers and a striped shirt that had no sleeves.
Celandine remained in the middle of the corridor, quite unable to move, although she was now aware of quick footsteps approaching her from behind. She felt a dull thud on the back of her head, which made her jump out of her skin, and the two big fifth-form girls overtook her, one on either side. The spotty girl had given her a passing clip with the tennis ball.
‘Hurry along, squit. You’ll be late for supper.’
Celandine automatically put her hand to her head in annoyance, but ignored the two fifth-formers and turned instead to look towards the open doorway. What was it that she had seen? A curious shivery feeling stole about her shoulders, but she finally found the courage to step backwards a couple of paces and peep in to the room. Nothing. Just rows of empty desks. Twice, now, she had seen that ghostly figure, and twice it had disappeared. Well, three times, if she were to count that business when she had sat for the photograph …
What was happening to her? What could it possibly mean? Chattering voices in the main entrance hall drew her attention back to the present and she began to make her way along the corridor once more. She must go in to supper.
There was no need to ask for directions – all she had to do was join the gathering crowd and allow herself to be swept along by the confusion of it all.
The dining hall turned out to be a large single-storey wooden building, separate from the main school. Bright gas lights shone down upon rows of long tables and benches that ran down the centre of the hall, and these were already filling up with schoolgirls as Celandine arrived. At the far end of the room was a single long table, not yet occupied. Celandine didn’t know what she was supposed to do, and so she spoke to a girl who appeared to be about the same age as herself.
‘Can you tell me where I should sit? Only it’s my first day, you see …’
‘Well, what form are you in?’
‘Third form. I think.’
‘Same as me. Come on. It’s just over here.’
Celandine followed the girl past two or three of the long rows and was shown to where the third form sat. She recognized some of the girls that had been in the dormitory, Mary Swann among them, but they were at the far end of the table and they took no notice of her. She looked around for Nina Jessop, but couldn’t see her anywhere.
‘You might as
well sit next to me,’ said the girl. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Howard.’ How strange that sounded.
‘I’m Jane Reiss. What dorm are you in?’
‘Hardy.’
‘Oh. I’m in Wyndham. We’re all Wyndham down at this end. The Hardys are all at the other end. You’d be better sitting with them in future. It’s not a rule though.’
‘I’ve a brother called Wyndham. Only we call him Freddie.’
‘How funny.’
But then somebody shouted out ‘Rise!’ and there was a general scraping and shuffling as everyone clambered over the bench seats and stood up. All talking had ceased and there was an expectant silence. After a few moments a side door opened and a procession of teachers entered the room, with Miss Craven at the head. The teachers walked in single file to the top table, where they stood in a line, half a dozen of them, their long black gowns making them look like a row of jackdaws, Celandine thought.
Miss Craven surveyed the motionless ranks of assembled schoolgirls … and waited. For what, Celandine wondered? The cold gaze of the headmistress fell upon her and the dark brows lifted slightly in query. Celandine suddenly realized that all those about her had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. She quickly dropped her head and squeezed her eyelids tight shut.
A few more moments, and then the deep voice spoke.
‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.’
‘Amen.’
There was shuffling once again as all took their places, and then a low murmur of conversation, more subdued now that there were teachers present.
The Wyndham girls were a little friendlier towards her than those in her own dormitory had been. They asked her what her name was and where she was from, and what on earth had possessed her parents to consign her to a dump like Mount Pleasant. They laughed at her book of rules and regulations – The Epistles, they called it – and told her she’d be a month learning it all. Bloodcurdling warnings, they gave her, as to the kind of punishments meted out to those who strayed, and they pointed out those teachers who were the most zealous in wielding the strap, which information Celandine took with a pinch of salt. But, inevitably, the Wyndham girls had more to say to each other than they did to her, and Celandine was eventually left to eat her meal in silence.
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