by Betty Neels
Mrs Bennett sounded worried. ‘It sounds a long way away,’ she observed. ‘Is it hard to find, darling?’
Eloise told her and then extolled the scenery, the size of the school and the comfort of her room, and finally her mother observed: ‘Well, dear, it sounds quite nice. Are you going back to St Goth’s?’
‘No—I don’t know. I—I thought I’d make up my mind while I’m here.’ And with that her mother had to be content.
The days passed quickly enough. There was plenty to do but none of the work was arduous, and after a little while Eloise began to get to know the boys, the little ones especially. Privately she considered that an eight-year-old was too young to send away from home and judging from the number she discovered were homesick, she thought that quite likely she was right. There was a certain amount of bullying, of course, and at least once a day, a fight about something or other, but as various masters hastened to assure her, boys would be boys and they had to expend their energy on something or someone, and they were taught to fight fair. She quickly learned to deal with a black eye or bruised knuckles without asking too many questions, although it seemed to her that one or two of the boys came off worst every time. One especially, an undersized, spectacled boy of eight or nine years, Smith Secundus by name, for he had a much older brother in the school. Eloise came across him on several occasions getting roughed up with what she considered to be quite unnecessary violence, so much so that on one particular morning she had waded in to rescue him and taken the names of the three much older boys who were plaguing him—Tomkins, Mallory and Preedy, they had told her rather defiantly, and had refused to tell her why they so frequently set about Smith Secundus.
‘Well, I shall find out,’ she told them sternly, ‘and if it doesn’t stop I shall see your housemasters about it. Smith Secundus, come to the treatment room and have that nose-bleed dealt with.’ She had marched him away and done her best to worm out of him why he was so unpopular.
He told her finally, his voice muffled against the cold compress she was holding to his small nose. ‘They don’t like me because I’m small and I like lessons.’ He added proudly: ‘I’m very good at maths, Matron.’
Eloise gave him a comfortable pat. ‘Good for you, and you’ll grow, my dear, and in a little while when they understand maths too, you’ll all be friends and laugh about it.’
He hadn’t believed her. ‘I shall do something desperate,’ he had told her rather importantly as she had tidied him up and sent him back to his class.
CHAPTER NINE
ELOISE KEPT an eye on Smith Secundus for the next day or two, but he seemed to have settled down; at least she saw no signs of bullying, and any fighting there was was the cheerful give and take of boys enjoying a rough-house together. She had become quite fond of them all, although she wasn’t sure if she could manage the older boys, who tended to regard her as someone of their own age. All the same, she had settled down during the two weeks in which she had been there, and if she wasn’t happy, at least she was learning to live with the prospects of never seeing Timon again. She resolutely stopped herself from thinking about him and that made her feel empty and sad, but that, she felt sure, would pass in time, and in the meantime she must make up her mind what she wanted to do once the school no longer needed her.
Miss Maggs had returned that very morning, and Eloise realised anxiously that she had really made no plans at all. Her mother wanted her to go home for a holiday and she was tempted to do that, although it wouldn’t solve her problem. Perhaps she should go back to St Goth’s after all, and supposing she did? What if Timon should turn up one day? After all, Sir Arthur Newman was a friend of his—it would be like turning a knife in a wound if she had to see him again. She thought about it until her head ached, and came to no conclusion at all.
She finished her work earlier than usual that afternoon and Miss Maggs was closeted with the headmaster. It was a fine, cold day, with a decided nip in the air; she got her coat and started off for a walk; exercise was what she needed. She went a long way and the afternoon was failing as she took the little path which ran alongside the drive. The school looked rather spectacular from where she was, the fading light warming its stone walls. She stopped to admire it—and then suddenly began to run towards it. There was someone on the balustrade which ran right round the attic floor of the house, standing out on the narrow ledge between the sewing room and the attic where the luggage was stored. She knew who it was, too—small and black-haired and rigid. Smith Secundus.
She ran well and she made light of the stairs to the top of the house. The sewing room door was open and she made herself slow down and go in quietly, taking off her coat as she went. At the open window she leaned out. ‘Hullo,’ she said cheerfully, ‘what are you doing out there?’
His voice came to her in a whisper. ‘They called me a dwarf—they said I wouldn’t grow—Mallory and Preedy and Tomkins…I’ll make them sorry…’ Eloise could hear the rising hysteria in the treble voice and stretched herself a little further out of the window. ‘I’ll jump,’ said Smith Secundus.
‘Well, yes, dear,’ she spoke soothingly, ‘but that wouldn’t be of much use, would it? I mean, the boys would get a nasty shock if you did, but what would be the point of that if you weren’t there to see?’ She swung a shapely leg over the sill and tried not to look down to the ground far below. ‘It would be a frightful waste.’
She saw that the good sense of this remark had struck him and added in a voice which shook only very slightly with fright: ‘I’ll come out on to the ledge with you and stretch out my hand—I think you’ll be able to reach it and catch hold, then you can edge back…’
He turned a face stiff with terror towards her. ‘I can’t—Matron, I can’t. I’m going to fall.’
‘Of course you can, Smith Secundus.’ Eloise spoke with brisk authority, but her heart sank as she saw that the rest of him was stiff with terror too. He looked as though he were carved in stone and just as hard to budge.
‘I’m going to fall,’ he repeated.
‘Pooh, don’t be silly!’ She was still brisk, quite sure that she would fall herself before very long; heights had never been her strong suit, but it was not time to be worrying about that. She swung the other leg over the sill as she spoke, murmuring vague prayers as she did so, and stood upright on the ledge, a hand clutching at the parapet behind her. Gingerly she turned until her back was pressed hard against it, one hand still clinging to it as though she would have soldered it there, the other stretched out to the boy. There was still a gap between them and she moved sideways, refusing to allow her mind to dwell on the fact that the ledge was barely a foot wide.
‘Catch hold,’ she told Smith Secundus, ‘and come towards me, my lamb—sideways like a crab, and don’t look down. We’ll go back together.’
It sounded easy and she was proud of her steady voice even though she was silently screaming her head off for help. And that was futile, she knew; the boys would be back from their paperchase by now and in the dressing rooms behind the gym changing their clothes and making more than enough noise to drown a dozen screams. There was no help.
There was. Her terrified eyes, much against her will, had looked down; coming up the drive with smooth soundlessness was a silver-grey Rolls-Royce. It stopped precisely outside the entrance a little to her left and Timon van Zeilst got out. Even from that distance and angle he looked reassuringly large; the epitome of security. Eloise whispered his name and then, in a remarkably squeaky voice, shouted it. He was already strolling towards the porch, but he stopped and looked up, saw them at once and then before she could get another sound out of her dry mouth, disappeared inside.
The minute that passed seemed like a year; Smith Secundus was crying now and his hand felt cold and clammy in hers. She had pulled her gaze away from the ground once more and was concentrating on clinging to the parapet with all her strength—they only had to hang on a little longer…
Without turning her head, for she dared n
ot, she knew that Timon was at the window, one leg, indeed, already over its sill. His voice, reassuringly matter-of-fact, sounded quite placid. ‘Boy—you’ll do exactly as I say. Step sideways towards Eloise, and when I tell you, step past her—there’s room enough if you press close to her. You’ll be perfectly safe; she’s holding you and I’m holding her.’
Eloise felt his large firm grasp round her hand and its reassuring squeeze and heard, incredibly, his laugh, and Smith Secundus said in a wobbly voice: ‘Yes, sir—but it’s Matron, sir.’
‘Is that what they call you, Pineapple Girl? Anyone less matronly…’ His voice became brisk and commanding once more. ‘Now boy, come along.’ And Smith Secundus came, with a heart-stopping stumble or two, pressing his bony little body against Eloise so that her bones ached with the effort to keep steady while he wormed his way past her. After what seemed an age she heard the doctor say: ‘Good man—very nicely done. Over the sill with you and into a chair, and stay in it. You can leave go of my hand now.’
Eloise felt his hand tighten on hers. ‘And now, my pretty, you’ll do the same—it will be easier this time; you’re nearer and I’m right here beside you. All you have to do is move sideways—don’t look down and don’t hurry.’
‘I’m so much bigger,’ she pointed out shakily.
‘And so much braver—and not so big that I can’t hang on to you easily enough with one hand if I have to. Come on.’
She was too scared to do anything else—indeed, she was beyond thinking for herself any more. With a few cautious, terrified steps she found herself beside the doctor’s reassuring bulk and then whisked with surprising strength across him and tossed through the window. She landed untidily on the window seat and was barely on her feet when he was beside her.
‘My poor girl,’ he said in a kind voice, and caught her close. She looked up into his face and was surprised to see how white and drawn and somehow older it was. ‘Timon, oh, Timon!’ she mumbled, and heaven knew what she might have said if he hadn’t released her almost at once and said in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘You both need a cup of tea. Is there anyone…?’
Eloise did her best to sound as matter-of-fact as he did. ‘Yes, there’s Miss Maggs, she’s the School Matron—she came back today, actually I was on my way to have tea with her when I saw… Smith could come with me…’ She looked anxiously at him. ‘We don’t need to say anything, do we?’
He stared at her thoughtfully, sat her down in a chair and went to sit on the arm of the boy’s chair. ‘I came to see the headmaster about another matter—I think I could explain to him—he will have to know.’ He put out a hand and ruffled Smith Secundus’s untidy hair. ‘Don’t worry, boy, we’ll get it sorted out. And you, Eloise—er—Matron, could you explain over the tea-cups; the lad can fill in the gaps.’ He looked down at the boy. ‘Why did you do it, Smith?’
It all came pouring out once more while the doctor listened gravely and then remarked simply: ‘We all do silly things now and then. I shouldn’t think anyone need know other than the headmaster and your housemaster—and the lady Matrons, of course.’ He grinned suddenly at Eloise, who frowned.
Unimpressed by the severity of her expression, he got to his feet. ‘Shall we go, then?’
Eloise went to the mirror above the old-fashioned grate and straightened her sadly battered cap. It was heaven to see him again, but he needn’t suppose that she was going to behave like a meek doormat… She took her time and, her headgear once more arranged to her satisfaction, asked: ‘Why are you here?’
He looked wicked. ‘Interested? I seem to remember you saying that you didn’t care if you never saw me again.’
‘Well, and I don’t.’ She spoke mendaciously and much too quickly.
‘Your mother seemed to think otherwise.’
‘Mother?’ she stared at him round-eyed. ‘She’s not here?’
‘At Eddlescombe. I went there after I had been to St Goth’s—looking for you, Eloise.’
She had gone to stand by the boy, putting a comforting arm round his narrow shoulders. ‘Why?’
‘That will have to wait for the moment. Supposing we go, as I suggested, and find Miss Maggs.’
The School Matron was sitting at a small table in her neat sitting room, carefully repairing some small boy’s coat. If she was surprised to see a very large man open the door in answer to her ‘Come in’, and stand aside to allow her colleague and Smith Secundus to enter, she didn’t betray it. She smiled at Eloise, gave the boy a quick, all-seeing glance and turned her attention to her visitor.
‘Doctor van Zeilst,’ said Eloise breathlessly.
Miss Maggs’ blue eyes twinkled nicely at him. ‘Ah, yes, of course,’ she murmured in a pleased way, ‘the headmaster did mention…’ They exchanged a look and she went on smoothly: ‘Will you join us for tea?’
‘Thank you, no, Matron—I have an appointment with Dr Dean and I believe that I am already a little late.’ Timon turned round to look at Eloise. ‘And you, Matron, could perhaps discuss what is best to be done while you have your tea.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Tot ziens, dear girl.’ He shook hands with Miss Maggs, ruffled the boy’s hair once more and at the door turned to say: ‘They had rather a nasty experience, Miss Maggs, but I’m sure that I leave them in excellent hands.’
He had gone. Eloise stared at the gently shutting door, unable to believe that he could have walked off in such a casual manner; without even bothering to inquire how she—or Smith Secundus, for that matter—felt. She frowned fiercely to check the tears she would have liked to shed and said too brightly: ‘Well, that’s done and finished with—we’ll feel fine when we’ve had a cup of tea.’
Miss Maggs was a wise woman; she looked at the boy’s white face and Eloise’s cross one and allowed them to drink two cups of tea and empty the bread and butter plate before she interrupted her gentle flow of small talk to ask: ‘An old friend of yours, my dear?’
Eloise went bright pink. ‘No—yes, that is we knew each other just for a little while in Holland.’
Miss Maggs nodded her severely coiffed head. ‘And he came all this way to see you. I have been wondering why a nice girl like you should wish to bury yourself in such a remote part. Still, he’s found you now.’
‘He wasn’t looking for me,’ said Eloise gruffly, ‘he’s going to marry a Dutch girl—she’s fair and slim…’ She glanced down at her nicely rounded person and sighed.
Miss Maggs remained unruffled by this statement. ‘There’s many a slip…’ she quoted mildly. She was a woman who liked her proverbs, and what was more, believed in them, too.
‘Timon doesn’t make slips,’ declared Eloise gloomily, and Smith Secundus, who had been allowed to get up from the table and look at Miss Maggs’ photograph album of old boys, said unexpectedly: ‘No, he didn’t, did he, Matron? He walked along the ledge just as though he was on the ground and he felt like a great big tree. Why does he speak English if he comes from Holland?’
‘He’s a very well educated man,’ supplied Eloise gloomily. ‘And now we’d better tell Miss Maggs all about it, hadn’t we—right from the beginning.’
Miss Maggs, her placid face set in comfortable attentiveness, listened, popping in a question here and there when Smith Secundus got too involved or excited and saying at the end of their joint recital: ‘Well, Smith, it was a foolish thing to do, wasn’t it? How fortunate Matron was close at hand and brave enough to come to your rescue, or you might still have been out there, catching dear knows what kind of a cold. I hope you intend to thank her properly for coming to your aid, and as for the doctor who rescued you, nothing less than a letter of thanks in your best handwriting will do.’
‘Shall I have to see Dr Dean?’ asked the boy unhappily.
‘Naturally, and so will Matron, but as to punishment I imagine that he will consider that you have had enough of that, standing out there on that nasty ledge. There’s no more to be said about it now; I’m only thankful that it didn’t turn out worse than it was. You’ll go
to bed after you have seen the headmaster and I shall come and take a look at you later, just to make sure that you’re all right…’ she was interrupted by a knock on the door and the entrance of one of the school prefects. Eloise was required in Dr Dean’s study, and Smith Secundus was to go to his housemaster’s room.
Eloise put up a hand to tuck away a stray end of hair. Her appearance wasn’t as pristine as she could have wished, but really that hardly mattered. She got to her feet, caught sight of the look of dread on the small Smith’s face and said bracingly: ‘We’ll come at once, thank you—don’t wait; I’ll take Smith Secundus along as I go.’
There was no one about in the long corridor outside Matron’s room. Eloise took her small companion’s hand and when they reached his housemaster’s room, knocked on the door and went in with him.
Mr Sewell, the housemaster, was standing before the gas fire, warming himself, and he turned a stern face to them as they entered.
‘Thank you, Matron—it is Smith Secundus I wish to see.’
‘Oh, I know that,’ agreed Eloise, who hadn’t quite learned how to be a school Matron. ‘I just popped in to warn you that this boy has had a very nasty fright. He was very good and brave though, once he saw how silly he’d been. I’d be proud of him if he were my son.’ She smiled warmly at the glowering housemaster. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t grow up to be a fine man,’ she assured him, and then to the boy: ‘You have no need to be afraid now; Mr Sewell is going to explain just how silly you were, my dear, but you don’t need to be afraid of him, and if you’re punished, mind you take it like a man. I’ll see you at supper.’
She smiled warmly at them both and Mr Sewell actually smiled back.
The headmaster looked stern too, but not frighteningly so. He offered her a chair and said without preamble: ‘Doctor van Zeilst has told me about this unfortunate incident, Matron…’ He paused and Eloise glanced quickly round the room. Timon wasn’t there and she was aware of bitter disappointment, although there was no reason why she should; he had shown a lamentable lack of interest in her. She swallowed the knot of tears which had been in her throat ever since she had climbed on to that awful ledge, and gave her attention to the learned gentleman addressing her.