The Girls of Cropton Hall

by Stanlegh Meresith

  Breakfast was a very subdued affair, with Miss Bainbridge announcing there would be no talking of any kind and all the mistresses looking very sour and grim. Plates of toast and butter-dishes had to be requested by means of nudges and pointing and the only sounds were of cutlery on china, pots and cups on wooden table tops and spoons stirring.

  Suddenly, Miss Beecham's voice rang out from the end of one of the fourth-formers' tables. "Burgess! You were talking! Stand up!"

  "Miss, I was only asking for the bu-"

  "SILENCE!" bellowed the mistress, rising. She walked round to the unfortunate girl, grabbed her by the ear as she struggled to rise and marched her out of the door.

  She returned to have a quick word with the Deputy Head then left the dining-hall. Everybody waited with bated breath. After a minute they heard a loud WHACK from the corridor outside. The entire school froze for a second - mouths ceased chewing, cups of tea hovered in mid air, knives paused with jam half spread. Three further loud whacks followed, punctuated by a small yelp after the last, and then a very red-faced Burgess appeared, wincing and teary-eyed, and walked quickly over to her place on the bench and sat down. A minute or two later, Miss Beecham reappeared and resumed her seat as well. The gloomy, edgy atmosphere in the dining-hall deepened even further.

  As girls began to get up and leave (breakfast, unlike lunch, being a meal with no fixed end time) the sound of muted talking was heard once more from outside in the corridor, and clearly audible to those still finishing their food, girls and mistresses alike, was the unmistakable sound of that single word - unidentified as yet as an acronym - that had shaken Cropton Hall to its roots:

  "SWACK."

  ---oOo---

  Sir Wilfred and Verily emerged from their breakfast in the small dining-room of the Magpie Hotel in York to find an excited gathering of three or four of the hotel staff.

  "All over the lawn - since last night apparently..."

  "Extraordinary. Mr Coates says he's been here twenty-three years and he's never seen anything like it."

  "It is rather an odd coincidence, isn't it? Given our name, I mean."

  Sir Wilfred approached one of them, a middle-aged woman leaning against the reception counter.

  "Good morning," he said, politely. "May I enquire what this odd coincidence is?"

  She turned. "Oh! Good morning, sir. It's magpies, sir, out on the lawn - there must be at least fifty of them."

  "Mrs G said she counted exactly fifty-four," piped up the young man who'd carried their bags to their rooms the day before. "Though how she could be so sure, the way they hop around, I don't know."

  Verily started down the corridor which led to the lounge at the back of the hotel that looked out over the pleasant, manicured lawn. Sir Wilfred followed. They stood at the large bay window, looking out. Sure enough - there, almost covering the entire lawn, was a multitude of magpies, hopping neatly, lifting and lowering their heads, one or two occasionally flying up to a nearby branch.

  "Heavens!" said Sir Wilfred. "It's a veritable convention of the things!"

  "Indeed," said Verily, pensively. "I wonder what it means."

  "Does everything have to have a meaning?" said a quiet voice from somewhere behind her. She turned to see a tall man in a charcoal grey suit, white shirt and black tie leaning against the mantelpiece, smoking a cigarette. His brown hair was greying at the temples, his features slightly chiselled. It was the clear, greenish-brown eyes, however, that were most immediately arresting. A faint smile accompanied the steady, penetrating gaze with which he was observing her. Sir Wilfred had turned too and looked at the stranger with a frown.

  "Forgive me," said the man, coming forward, hand outstretched. "Meeth, Stanlegh Meeth."

  Verily hesitated a moment before proffering her own hand. "Ah!" she said. "The mysterious admirer of Cropton Hall!"

  "Indeed," said the man. They shook hands, gazing into each other's eyes, fathoming and finding not only depth but also a kind of instinctive mutual understanding. Meeth held onto her hand just a few moments longer than mere initial acquaintanceship warranted before he released it and turned to the Chair of Governors.

  "Sir Wilfred!" he said very warmly, taking the older man's reluctantly offered hand in both of his and shaking it gently but firmly. "Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me. I must apologise for the mystery and uncertainty. It is not my intention to cause you any distress. You have my word - not that you have any reason yet to credit that with any value whatsoever - but you have my word that Cropton Hall means the world to me," he said, adding very quietly, "and I it." Sir Wilfred looked pleased, whilst Verily frowned slightly, pondering those last, puzzling words.

  "Well ... all right then," said Sir Wilfred. "But what's..."

  "Shall we sit down over here?" said Meeth. "It's usually quiet in the mornings. I've ordered coffee."

  They moved to occupy three comfortable armchairs around a low table in the corner by the window. Sir Wilfred gestured towards the lawn.

  "Extraordinary sight, isn't it?"

  "Quite," said Meeth, with no interest and barely a glance. "Now, I'm afraid I'm going to incur even more of your wrath and mistrust, because as it turns out, I cannot reveal all that I need to here today."

  "Eh?" said Sir Wilfred, just catching the end of Meeth's pronouncement as he pulled his gaze back from the hypnotic effect of the milling magpies. "What was that?"

  "Sir Wilfred..." Meeth seemed to struggle for a moment. He sighed rather frustratedly. "Look, I'm very sorry, but my plans haven't quite settled fully yet, so - I really do apologise - but today's trip was probably unnecessary, except to say this: I will arrive at Cropton Hall on Saturday morning and I will address the school at a special assembly at eleven. I'd be grateful if you and Lady Althorp would be in attendance."

  "You'll what? I ... I ..." Sir Wilfred spluttered. "I say, you can't just waltz in like that you know. I mean, good heavens, man ... really ... and anyway ... who ARE YOU?"

  Verily had remained quiet, observing Meeth carefully during these exchanges. She studied him intently now.

  Meeth looked down at his hands for a few moments and sighed again.

  "This is very difficult, but you deserve some answers at least, I do recognise that, you and ..."

  At that moment a waitress appeared with a tray of coffee and busied herself setting out the cups and pot, sugar and milk. They waited awkwardly in silence. Meeth tried to catch Verily's eye but she looked demurely down.

  Eventually the waitress departed and they each had their cup. Meeth took a sip and began.

  "I'm a writer, based in London. Although you don't know it, in fact no one does, not here anyway, I have already invested considerably in Cropton Hall. Whether I can continue to, however, is open to question, and that is why it is crucial that we gather on Saturday." He looked up, almost pleadingly, at Verily and Sir Wilfred. Verily sensed a sadness in the man that surprised her. Meeth went on:

  "I'm sorry I can't explain more - you see, I am not alone in my interest and involvement in the school. I ... represent quite a few other parties who ... have expectations and I must be careful not to betray their faith in me. This is hard to explain, but ... it's as if you, the school and everyone there were ... oh dear ... I'm sorry. I can't. I mustn't. It was a mistake to come here at all. I'm sorry."

  Sir Wilfred looked at Verily, utterly bewildered. "Oh for heaven's sake, man! This is ridiculous!" He put his cup down and stood up. "I'm not listening to any more of this ... this TOSH! Verily, I suggest we leave at once."

  Both men looked at Verily. She gazed at Meeth for a few moments thoughtfully, then looked up at Sir Wilfred. "If you would just give me five minutes, Sir Wilfred, then I will join you. I think perhaps I know what the problem is." She gave him her most disarming smile. "Shall I meet you in the foyer?"

  Sir Wilfred grunted. "Very well," he said, giving Meeth an angry stare.

  "Before you go, Sir Wilfred, please take this." Meeth handed him a small card. Sir Wilfred h
esitated but then reached out and took it. It said simply, Sir Stanlegh Meeth, writer. Chelsea 1234. "You may telephone me should you wish."

  Sir Wilfred grunted, put it in his pocket and stalked off. They watched him go. Meeth turned to Verily.

  "Thank you," he said. "It's ironic just how much of a mess I've managed to make of this meeting. But thank you for your understanding."

  "I suspect I have little choice," said Verily, archly and he gave her a sharp look. He sat back and sighed.

  "Verily, you know about Buddhism, don't you? Well, of course you do. Don't they say that we each create our own reality, every second - with every blink we create the world anew?"

  "Hm, possibly," said Verily. "But they do say that the world is an illusion ... maya, they call it."

  "Exactly," said Meeth. "That's it - maya - none of this is real!" He raised his arms, indicating the room. "We're making it up as we speak!"

  "That may be," said Verily, "but it certainly feels real, doesn't it? Well, it does to me, and I suspect to you too, and all those ... people you represent?"

  "Yes, I suppose it does. I never really understood Buddhism anyway."

  They looked at each other steadily. Gradually a smile appeared on each face, answering one the other, growing, until they both burst out laughing. After the preceding tension, it felt wonderfully liberating. Each glance at each other's eyes brought the mirth on stronger. Meeth had tears in his eyes when the happy release finally subsided.

  "We mustn't say more," he said. "I know you'll handle Sir Wilfred for me. It's important Lady Althorp is there on Saturday as well." Verily got up. "Oh, and two final things..."

  "Yes?"

  "There's a book. You'll find it in your study. I suspect you already know who I am, but if you do still have any doubts, that will dispel them."

  Verily nodded. She stood, looking expectantly at him. After a moment, she said, "And the other final thing?"

  "Oh yes! Sorry." He rubbed his forehead. "I know you wouldn't anyway, but ... don't give up on anyone. Please? All must be redeemed."

  "Yes," she said, quietly. "Of course." She started toward the door.

  "And Verily?" He looked at her with gratitude, if not something more, shining in his eyes.

  She turned back and gazed at him with that ineffable, beautiful calm she had. "Yes, I know," she said.

  ---oOo---

  As Sir Wilfred drove them out of the suburbs onto the A64 to Malton, Verily broke the silence that had settled on them since the journey had begun.

  "You know, absurd though he might have seemed to you, Sir Wilfred, and however irritating he was with his apparently ridiculous mysterious nonsense..."

  "Exactly!" exclaimed Sir Wilfred, still in a distinctly bad mood.

  "Nevertheless," she continued, "that man has a power you cannot even imagine, so I suggest, for your own peace of mind, that you forget all about him and focus on enjoying life to its fullest."

  He looked across at her, startled, and she met his gaze with a determined look that brooked no argument.

  "Right you are, Verily. Yes ... it's how I try to live my life anyway, so..."

  "Good," said Verily, turning to look out of the window. "Very good." She watched the world go past and thought how amazingly real the green fields and hedgerows did look.

  ---oOo---

  Edith had passed word in the dining-hall that she wanted the senior teachers to join her in Verily's study immediately after breakfast. As she strode angrily down the long corridor, brushing past hushed girls as they scurried out of her purposeful way, she wondered if she shouldn't try to telephone Verily in York, but she couldn't remember the name of the hotel she was staying at. Some sort of bird ... jackdaw?

  As she entered the study she noticed a sheet of paper on the carpet. It must have been pushed under the door. As she stooped to pick it up, Mrs Beecham appeared behind her, followed by the Countess, Margaret and Monica.

  "Ah, ladies," she said, in some relief. "Please ... come in." She walked to the far end of the room and sat down on a sofa. The others followed.

  "What a ghastly bit of foolishness," said Margaret, to several nods. Edith was reading what was written on the paper. Eileen Palmer appeared.

  "Jolly good show, Constance," she said. "Just what the doctor ordered at that moment I thought."

  Mrs Beecham looked uncomprehending. "Oh! You mean Burgess? Yes, well, she was talking and ... I felt an instant and exemplary response was called for. I hope I wasn't too hasty? Or harsh?"

  "No ... no ... not at all," came several voices, Monica adding, "And it was only a couple of whacks. Showed them who's boss rather effectively. You could have heard a pin drop after that first whack."

  "Ladies," said Edith sitting up excitedly, "I think you should hear this."

  "Edith?" said Margaret, as they gathered round. Edith held up the sheet of paper.

  "Someone must have slipped it under the door - it was on the floor as I came in. And by the style and handwriting, I'd say it was written by a sixth-former, though it's all in capitals. Listen ... " She read aloud:

  "WHO WAS THE GIRL WHO VANDALISED THE CREST?

  READ ON AND SEE IF FROM THESE CLUES IT'S GUESSED:

  TO PICKERING'S GIRLS SHE SHOWED HERSELF A PEST.

  TO MANY A CRIME SHE HAS BEFORE CONFESSED

  BUT NOT TO THIS - DENIAL SHE'LL MAKE WITH ZEST.

  IGNORE HER, SEARCH HER DESK - YOU'LL GUESS THE REST."

  They stood stunned for a few moments, looking at each other. Margaret was the first to speak.

  "Iambic pentameter - rather trite, but it keeps the metre well."

  "Honestly, Margaret!" said Monica with a smile. "Who cares what the metre is! The question is who's it pointing to?"

  "It can only be Bennett," said Edith straight away. "'Showed herself a pest' to the Pickering girls - she scored a hat-trick, didn't she, last Saturday?"

  "Well, Pearson played exceptionally well too, don't forget," said Monica.

  "Oh Monica, really," responded Edith, "you can't seriously suggest the Head Girl would paint 'SWACK' across the school crest? Anyway, it says the perpetrator has 'confessed' to 'many a crime' - well, there's hardly a girl has been in more trouble than Bennett for the past three years and, although she's an utter nuisance, she has, give her her due, always held her hands up when it comes to it."

  "Which is why it's odd that the writer says she won't this time," said the Countess.

  "It all seems very dubious to me," said Monica. "I'd rather like to know who wrote this before we go pouncing on Bennett. Since she became friends with Pearson, Bennett's been mu-"

  "Sorry, Monica, but I can't agree," interrupted Edith. "I just knew, the moment she refused to be Head Girl, that she'd get up to some sort of nonsense before long. She simply can't help herself!"

  "Well, there's one way to find out," said Constance, looking at Edith.

  "I suppose we'd better search her desk," said the Deputy Head, rising. "As her form tutor I shall do the honours. Monica, would you like to accompany me?"

  "Certainly, Edith," said Monica.

  "Thank you, everyone," said Edith as she made her way to the door. "Let's keep up the pressure. Study cards to fill! Whatever this SWACK nonsense is, we don't want it distracting from the girls' studies or infecting people with any more mischief."

  ---oOo---

  Gabrielle was at her desk, adjacent to Julia's, when Miss Bainbridge appeared at the door with Miss Gibson. There were ten minutes to go before the first lesson of the week, though Gabrielle herself had a study period.

  "Ah, Pearson," said the Deputy Head coming forward, "do you know where Bennett is?"

  "Erm ... I think she's in the sixth form common room, Miss," said the Head Girl rising politely from her seat.

  "Well would you go and fetch her, please?" said Miss Bainbridge evenly, looking around the classroom. Barton, Patterson and two or three other girls were working quietly at their desks.

  "Yes, Miss." Gabrielle glanced quickly at Shi
rley with a questioning look. Shirley shrugged and rolled her eyes. Gabrielle hurried out, wondering what was brewing. Bainbridge AND Gibbo looking for Julia? Now? She hoped to heaven it hadn't been Julia who'd done the vandalism.

  "Hey, Julia," she called from the door of the common room. "You'd better come quick. Bainbridge and Gibbo are in our form room asking for you."

  "Eh?" said Julia, rising. "What's up?"

  "I've no idea. I hope it's nothing, but they're looking a bit serious."

  "Oh god!" groaned Julia, following Gabby out and down the corridor.

  "Bennett," said the Deputy Head the moment Julia appeared, "open your desk, please."

  "My desk, Miss?" asked Julia coming forward. She found herself blushing, even though she was aware of nothing she need feel guilty or worried about. And she had nothing to hide in her desk.

  "You heard me! Yes, your desk. Now, please."

  Julia opened the lid and Miss Bainbridge motioned her out of the way so she could make an inspection. To Julia's dismay, the mistress reached in and immediately produced a packet of cigarettes.

  "Are these yours?" she asked. Julia was stunned. Yes, she smoked, but she wouldn't be so stupid as to keep a pack in her desk. She stammered,

  "Er ... no, Miss, I mean, I don't know, Miss ... I didn't put them there, Miss."

  Having already passed the packet to Miss Gibson who was glaring at Julia with hurt surprise, Miss Bainbridge simply grunted disbelievingly and turned her attention back to the contents of the desk, rummaging beneath exercise books and letters. She held up one of the letters and turned it round to look at the back.

  "Who's Jack?" she asked, peering at Julia sternly from beneath her eyebrows.

  "Um ... a ... friend, Miss." Julia hoped to God Bainbridge wasn't about to open that letter. But the mistress had already set it to one side and was rummaging again.

  "Ah-ha!" she said, as if in confirmation of what she'd expected. She pulled out the brown paper bag, opened it, reached in and produced the paint pot and brush. These she held out, showing Miss Gibson and Julia. "I think you've got some explaining to do, young lady."