The Haunting of Drearcliff Grange School

by Kim Newman

  The girl pushed away from the wall. Light fell on her face. She smiled, with only one side of her mouth.

  Scarlet lipstick. White powder.

  A blatant cosmetics rebel! No wonder she’d been Removed.

  ‘Thanks for the warning, ah’ – she glanced down at a maroon-bound register – ‘Speke, but I’m not afraid of Black Notches. I am Miss.’

  That took a moment to sink in.

  The young teacher walked to her chair, with a shimmy Amy suspected she couldn’t help. Something was awry where her hip bone connected to her leg bone. She didn’t limp like Bok or lope like Gould, but her gait was irregular. A crimson band held back her curly hair – as black as De’Ath wished hers was – giving her a Shakespearean expanse of brow. One side of her face was unmoving, but her half-smile put a crinkle in her left cheek.

  No one would ever call her pretty, but she was striking.

  Amy now recognised her. As did others.

  ‘Moria Kratides,’ blurted Gould. ‘Good gravy…’

  ‘Is that an infraction, Miss?’ sniped Harper.

  Girls were not permitted to use teachers’ first names. To do so was to invite anarchy.

  ‘Gould, Goneril, Sixth,’ smirked Harper, prompting.

  Miss Kratides’ half-smile widened, showing a flash of teeth.

  ‘No snitching in the Remove, Shrimp,’ said the teacher.

  A beak using a girl’s handle – particularly a nickname meant unkindly – was so unheard of Amy wasn’t even sure it was an infraction. Rules were for girls, not staff. Yet beaks, on the whole, abided by conventions as rigid as the Code of Break – the Charter of Chalk and Gown.

  Frecks cheerfully introduced herself as such, though this last few months she’d let slip that her brother and a few other non-school intimates knew her as Seraph. Light Fingers was happy with her handle, and even proud of its larcenous implications. But Harper wasn’t tagged Shrimp with affection. She hated the name. Whenever it was spat at her, she inked a black skull beside the spitter’s name. At some point, the tally would be consulted and she’d exact her terrible vengeance.

  Now Shrimp sat back, terrified.

  Amy had often seen Harper cringing, sly or sulking – but not afraid.

  She started remembering things about their new teacher.

  Kratides had been a Tamora Sixth when Amy came to Drearcliff. Unusually, she wasn’t a whip. Infractions held over from her earlier career disqualified her. She wasn’t one of those soul-twisted creatures who delight in tormenting younger girls. That sort weren’t barred from becoming whips. Indeed, predisposition to cruelty was often qualification for the tassel. Kratides earned her numberless Black Notches through acts of rebellion. She disregarded School Rules, damaged School property, disrupted School routine, departed School premises, and defied School staff. She famously picked a fight with the towering Stheno Stonecastle and kept getting up after being knocked down. At the end of Break, Miss Dryden had to dash water into Kratides’ bloodied face to rouse her for a caning she can hardly have felt.

  What was Dr Swan thinking – assigning the Remove to a teacher barely out of her teens? This Miss needed to pile her chair with cushions to see over her own desk. This class would test the patience of several saints and Moria Kratides was scarcely staff material. If Headmistress had to bring in an Old Girl to replace the Sausage, why not buy Lucretia Lamarcroft out of the Regiment of the Damned? The Remove would sit up and pay attention to the Amazonian Lungs. Tossing an outlaw pygmy into the classroom was an admission that they were beyond redemption.

  Miss Kratides put her register on her desk and stretched like a cat.

  Her chair wasn’t a wood plank bolted to a desk, but on castors. As she stretched, it rolled back a little.

  Why had Miss Kratides returned to a place she must have hated? She hadn’t been away long enough to start lying to herself about jolly old girlhood days. She was, after all, still limping.

  Prefects at Drearcliff Grange were called whips by tradition – their use of actual whips having been abandoned before the Boer War. For Moria Kratides, the lash was revived. After the Stonecastle fight, Sidonie Gryce – last year’s most despised Sixth – took an antique riding crop from the Tamora trophy case and used it on the arch-Infractor. Half-smiling as she was flogged, Kratides drove Gryce into a frenzy. Her coven had to drag the witch away and calm her with lemonade. Was that how Miss Kratides’ hip got injured? Afterwards, Gryce – whom Amy couldn’t think of without tasting sick – left the insolent girl alone. Beaten, not broken.

  By virtue of her perfect bad record, Kratides showed steel enough to be picked by Lamarcroft for the Great Game. Because she could fit easily through a manhole, she was packed off to the sewers to hunt mythical pigs. Everyone knew that ended badly. Kratides was not destined to be one of those Girls’ Paper delinquents – ‘Tessa the Terrible’ or ‘Contrary Jane’ – who show true mettle after a teacher or an older girl has dished out a sound talking-to on the subject of School Spirit. Those prodigal heroines inevitably mend their ways in time to save the school goat from drowning in Wrackfall Weir or score a match-winning century after the Captain sprains her wrist. Given a chance to change her spots, Kratides turned out to be as almighty a dud as teachers said she was.

  So she passed unhappily through Drearcliff Grange.

  She might have been a more fitting prospect for Lobelia Draycott’s House of Reform, though Lord knew the fate of persistent Infractors at Draycott’s. Thumbscrews, at least. She wasn’t an Unusual either.

  The new beak kept her register open on the desk, but didn’t call it.

  If Miss Kratides knew Harper’s nickname, she certainly knew who everyone was. She was prepared. Or thought she was.

  A low hum started. Amy didn’t know for certain, but Gould and Marsh, the eldest and most arrogant of the Remove, usually began this lark. The hum spread like fire in dry bracken, taken up by De’Ath and Light, then Thorn and Frost. Kali, Light Fingers and Frecks hummed. Amy joined in.

  It was a ritual. Laid down in the Code of Break.

  If a teacher can be broken, she should be. It was the duty of the class to give her the Treatment. Some – Miss Downs and Miss Borrodale – were too wily and iron-willed to fluster. Others – Miss Gossage – were too well-liked to merit more than token ragging. Ninnies who flew into tizzies were more entertaining. Making Miss Dryden go red and say ‘oh really really really really’ or shrill her whistle was practically on the curriculum. The drolly sinister Wilding triplets once swapped her whistle for one without a pea so her puff was wasted on futile silent tooting. The blonde trio didn’t own up, and the whole year was infracted for the prank. Some didn’t reckon the jape worth the hour of extra pull-ups, and the Wilding Girls were ostracised at Break for months.

  The hum continued. Amy felt it in her cheeks and nostrils.

  This could go too far. Last year, Dr Swan hired Mrs Flora McMichaels to teach mathematics. She’d survived as a message-runner in the trenches, but a clique of Tamora Fifths, led by the callous Crowninshield II, made a blubbing wreck of her. Whenever she turned her back, Crowninshield’s cronies banged their desk lids. When she turned around, they left off and were attentive, smiling angels. Mrs McMike didn’t last a term. Lessons reminded her too much of Hun bombardments. For her, the Treatment was a Test to Destruction. Amy hadn’t been in the rowdy lessons but felt sickly shame about the woman’s fate. Only a few Fifths were actively guilty, but Amy thought the remainder of the class – who’d sat silent while a decent beak got a barracking she didn’t deserve – were almost as currish.

  As a girl, Miss Kratides had been a hummer, a desk-banger and worse.

  As a beak, she was on the other side of the Treatment.

  This ought to be interesting.

  A tipping point with the mass hum was reached. Girls who didn’t join in immediately – because they were out of sorts with the rest of the Remove, predisposed to good conduct, or fearful of getting stuck with Black Notches – had to make a
snap choice. Be a sheik or be a sneak. Everyone except Palgraive – too weird to count – took the side of the Mess against the Miss. Who wouldn’t want to be a sheik? Even Shrimp Harper, who hated everybody, contributed a nasal, vicious vibration. When good-natured Little added her comb-and-paper honk, the Kratides cause was wholly lost.

  This form of the Treatment could be dished out by girls who appeared to be sitting obediently. At least the mass hum was done to a teacher’s face. Ragging a junior beak only when her back was turned was cowardly.

  An epic hum, sustained properly, could rattle windows as well as nerves.

  Amy felt the thrill in her sinuses.

  Miss Kratides half-smiled at the class.

  She had dark eyes. Greek eyes.

  Assassin’s eyes, Amy thought.

  The teacher stood and walked around her desk. She drew in breath and began to hum herself – louder and at a higher pitch than the combined chorus of the Remove. She placed her hands on the desk in the middle of the front row and looked over Paquignet’s centre parting, directly into the guilty Susannah Thorn’s face… and hummed all the more. Her face seemed to expand.

  Little sputtered into a giggle, gulped the wrong way and stopped humming.

  Amy’s hum died in her mouth. As one, the Moth Club shut up.

  The tipping point came again, and tipped the other way.

  Uncommitted hummers quit and pretended they’d not been part of it. Most of the second row, where Miss Kratides directed her attention, kept it up on principle. Gould and Marsh pulled out of what they’d begun. Harper, stung by teacher calling her Shrimp, kept going, louder and whinier than ever, gripping her desktop. Her range of draining expanded. Bok turned to swat the nuisance with a rolled-up exercise book. Harper’s leech-tipped mentacles must have brushed her hackles. That took them both out of the hum.

  A stubborn square persisted – Thorn and Frost, De’Ath and Light.

  And Miss Kratides.

  Who could breathe and hum at the same time.

  That took practise.

  De’Ath and Light shut up.

  Miss Kratides gave her full Counter Treatment to Thorn and Frost.

  The Unusuals weren’t just humming. Smoke curled from Miss Kratides’ shoulders and ice formed on her brooch. She was warmed and cooled at the same time. Thorn and Frost could break glass with their combined party pieces.

  Still Miss Kratides hummed.

  She let go of Paquignet’s desk and twirled – lithe enough to make Amy wonder whether she was shamming her semi-limp – to face the class again, raising her hands as if she held conductor’s batons.

  She nodded – and her eyes opened wide, showing whites all around the pupils. Huge, dark, magnificent eyes! Theda Bara eyes! Medusa eyes!

  Now she was insisting on the hum.

  Black Notches for those who didn’t join in!

  Speke and Little, seeing it as a game, gave full throat. Devlin, reconfiguring her tonsils, positively hooted. Amy and the Moth Club harmonised. That prompted Gould and Marsh to start up.

  Miss Kratides stopped humming now she was in control. She walked up and down in front of the class, spotting those who weren’t contributing and pointing lightly, bringing them in like reserves. She even prevailed upon Palgraive to emit a keening whine almost too high for the human ear. Somewhere near, dogs would be driven mad.

  Miss Kratides could breathe freely.

  And the whole class had to keep humming.

  Amy felt strain in her diaphragm. She had the beginnings of headache. She glanced at Frecks, whose eyes were shut as tears coursed over her cheeks. The class grimly hummed on, through clenched teeth, out of nostrils and ears.

  Thorn and Frost weren’t using their Talents any more. It was all they could do to keep up the hum. Miss Kratides flicked flecks of rime off her brooch.

  The teacher posed, waving like a bandleader.

  Her eyes were warm. To her, this was hilarious.

  It struck Amy that Miss Kratides might have invented the Humming Treatment. It was certainly in use in her day. Trying to use it against her was as stupid as challenging Robin Hood to an archery contest or entering a Viola Firsts’ Tug-o’-War side against long-armed Lord Piltdown.

  Amy thought her eardrums might burst.

  De’Ath pressed her cheek onto her desk and gripped tufts of her own hair. She was purple in the face. Not the complexion she aspired to.

  ‘You,’ said Miss Kratides, pointing to Dyall – taking in Larry, Bok and Harper behind her – ‘“Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken”!’

  The row began humming the hymn. It was returning to services after being out of favour for sharing a tune with the German National Anthem. The higher notes were a challenge.

  ‘You,’ said Miss Kratides, pointing to Speke – and Devlin, Frecks and Kali – ‘“On Yonder Hill There Stands a Maiden”!’

  That side of the class took up the old song.

  ‘You, you and you,’ she said to Little, Paquignet and Palgraive, ‘“The British Grenadiers”… “I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate”… “D’Ye Ken John Peel”!’

  Everyone followed orders.

  Amy tried her best, humming along with ‘Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules…’ in her head.

  Cacophony ensued.

  If anyone flagged, Miss Kratides pointed at them and they had to make a greater effort.

  Little stopped humming and made hunting noises. ‘T’was the sound of his horn, that would waken the dead…’

  Palgraive’s worm can’t have paid attention to human songs, and screeched as the row behind her did their best.

  Girls coughed, croaked, screamed and fell silent, too exhausted to rejoin the choir.

  In the mass hum, Amy heard a jumble…

  Saviour, if of Zion’s City I through grace a member am… Ranter and Royal and Bellman and True… of Hector and Lysander and such great names as these… she wobbles like a jelly on a plate… I will court her for her beauty… fading is the worldling’s pleasure… who know no doubts and fears… all the boys are going wild… from the drag to the chase… she must answer yes or no… from the chase to the view… oh no John… from a view to the death… no John no… in the mo-o-o-o-rn-ing!

  One by one, or in whole rows, girls gave out.

  Amy wasn’t the last in the game.

  Devlin, with her pliable throat, and Bok, with grim determination, hummed longest.

  Then even they could hum no more.

  Amy looked about the Remove. Girls were bedraggled, smear-faced, wild-haired… tie knots pulled loose or drawn tight, shirt tails out of skirts. All infractions. Frost was blue in the face. Thorn was steaming. Frecks’ beauty mark had come unglued.

  Only one hum resonated. Amy turned.

  Light Fingers sat comfortably, at her ease, still holding the tune.

  She was used to the vibration – if she could breathe while moving quickly, she could keep up her hum while all about her fell.

  Having outlasted the rest of the class, she reached the end of the song… ‘May they and their commanders live happy all their years, with a tow, row, row, row, row, row for the British Grenadiers!’… and stopped.

  Miss Kratides applauded politely.

  ‘Remove, we have had our first lesson together,’ she said. ‘You have learned something about me… and about yourselves.’

  She gave them a moment to tuck in shirts, adjust ties and smooth hair.

  ‘If you will open your desks, we come to the second lesson…’

  Amy gingerly lifted the lid, half thinking Miss Kratides might have hidden a snake-in-the-box toy inside.

  Written in red, red ink on the underside of the lid was…

  Thomsett, Amanda.

  Gasps and other expressions of amazement from all around.

  The Remove were sat in a different configuration in Windward Cottage than in the Conservatory. Larry’s migration across the room had thrown the pattern out. Girls took places as they pleased. No one told th
em where to go.

  But Miss Kratides had known where they would sit.

  Almost perfectly.

  She had Thorn and Frost in each other’s places. Both were too sheepish after the humming ordeal to crow over the understandable error. She didn’t force the issue by having them change desks.

  ‘There are envelopes for each of you,’ said Miss Kratides. ‘In your desks.’

  Amy found hers. Thorn and Frost exchanged theirs.

  ‘Inside your envelopes are two secrets. One is yours, one belongs to another girl in the class. I expect you to find out who holds your second secret. To this end, you are free to use any means at your disposal. Espionage, deduction, intuition, intimidation. We will discuss your progress next week, when each of you will report to me for an individual tutorial. Please, and taking care not to let your neighbours peek, open the envelopes… now!’

  Amy opened the ungummed envelope and slid out a card.

  It had been written on in red ink, too. The copperplate suggested the most infracted girl in the history of school at least deserved high marks for penwomanship.

  You are right to be afraid of the Broken Doll.

  She will blame you for not telling what you know about Laurence.

  Exclamations rose from around the classroom. Several girls looked as if they’d been slapped. Knowles said ‘that’s not true’ in exactly the tone of someone admitting that it was. De’Ath squeaked – a suppressed sob only the girls either side of her could hear – and then glared ferociously at Light, clutching her card to her chest. Little tried to show Speke her card, perhaps because she needed help understanding – or even reading – what was written on it. Speke warded her off with a wave of crab-leg fingers. No one else wanted to share… and no wonder.

  Of course every girl in the Remove had a secret. More than one, probably. Everyone had secrets. The girl who went around telling everyone what they should know about herself was Prima Haldane, and she had fled. Shared confidences were precious tokens of friendship, but keeping mum about some things was good sense and, furthermore, good manners. Amy realised Miss Kratides had infected the class with a deadly suspicion, at least for the next few days. Miss Gossage never set prep like this. Even innocent secrets could do a lot of damage if they came out.