by Radha Vatsal
“I read your note. You seem to know a lot about this school.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Was Elspeth Bright popular?”
“I wouldn’t go so far. She’s one of the few girls who seemed decent though. She didn’t treat me like I was a pest.”
“And Prudence Marquand?”
“She’s a pill.”
“Did she and Elspeth get on?”
No reply. Then, “What do you think?”
“I’d like to speak to Prudence. Do you know where I can find her?”
“Why should I tell you anything, Miss Weeks?”
“I don’t know. Why did you give me that book and the note? I think you know things that I don’t, and you want to help.”
Virginia sighed the sigh of someone who was much older. She finished with the batch of envelopes in her hand and reached in the canvas sack for more. “You know what’s funny about this punishment? So many letters, and sometimes, the envelopes aren’t properly sealed. That’s how I discovered that Georgina Howell was Miss Howe-Jones’s niece. Her mother, Miss Howe-Jones’s sister, ran away to the city and had a child.”
That explained why the headmistress refused to let Georgina go—she was attached to the girl and didn’t want to see her sister’s mistake repeated. But Kitty hadn’t come to Westfield to probe into Georgina’s past.
“Please, Virginia, you must know where I can speak to Prudence in private.”
“Privacy is for the birds.” Virginia shrugged. “But since you seem so keen on it, you could try the yearbook office. She’ll go there as soon as classes are done.”
“Thank you, Virginia.” Kitty checked to make sure the coast was clear.
“You won’t tell me what this is about?”
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
Kitty took a right past the restrooms, the janitor’s cabinet, and the photography darkroom. She opened the adjacent door and peeked in. It was empty. She slipped into the room, closed the door behind her, and turned on the light. The room was just as she recalled it when she had toured it with Georgina. Wooden desk, two chairs, massive typewriter. A corkboard overflowing with notices and reminders. A bookshelf lined with rows of former yearbooks. The current yearbook, the one in progress, lay on the top shelf.
To an outsider, life in boarding school could seem carefree. Schools provided everything: friendship, education, recreation, a chance to develop one’s character. But inside, every small slight, every trivial incident, was magnified. A sharp word or look from a teacher or schoolmate carried the same weight as one from the president of the United States, or from an editor to her employee. When in school, school became one’s entire world.
And this—Kitty picked up the yearbook—was its newspaper. A newspaper that had the added benefit of summarizing all the key players’ feelings for one another.
She began to read:
Mary Albert: Mary meddles here and there,
Geometry is all her care;
She’s taken most a peck of pills;
And comes to tell of all her ills.
Peggy Ashton: To basketball Peg loves to go,
Where she can shout and cry, oh!, oh! oh!
Elspeth Bright’s entry was now surrounded with a black border, and her original epigram, Judge thou me by what I am, so thou shalt find me fairest, had been crossed out and replaced in pencil with the words Bright like a spark, extinguished with a breath. This was followed by her date of birth and the day she had been found dead, December 25, 1915. Georgina Howell received similar treatment, except that “Let thine occupations be few,” said the sage hadn’t yet been altered.
Beside Prudence Marquand’s name were the words: “Baby” we call her not unkindly, Merely because she seems in manner set, And hates the little epithet. Baby. Baby-faced Prudence.
The end of the book listed all the contributors. Georgina Howell, editor. Elspeth Bright and Lenore Hodgkins, deputy editors. Cancellations and arrows on the page showed that Miss Hodgkins had been promoted to editor. Another girl had taken Elspeth’s spot. Prudence, formerly on the editorial committee, had been demoted to photography assistant.
The school bell rang, marking the change of periods. Footsteps resounded down the hall. The door to the office opened halfway.
“Do you need my help, Baby?” Two girls spoke in the doorway.
“No thanks, Sophie. And please don’t call me that. You know I hate it.” Prudence took a step inside and stopped in her tracks. “Miss Weeks?”
“Can I have a minute of your time, Miss Marquand?”
Prudence turned red. “I’ll see you later,” she said to the other girl and waited until the door closed. “What’s this about?”
“I think you can guess.” Kitty came straight to the point. “I’d like to know why you told Mr. Emerson that Elspeth wanted to meet him at midnight but allowed her to assume that they were keeping their original appointment. And then, when I came to speak to you, you sent me on a wild-goose chase to do with Elspeth’s studies on batteries.”
Prudence Marquand looked about uncertainly for a moment, then stuck out her jaw. “You must be mistaken. You’re going to have to leave, or I will send for the headmistress. You should know that after Georgina’s accident, she instructed us not to speak to strangers, especially reporters.”
Kitty hadn’t anticipated a flat-out denial. She had thought that Prudence, a mere schoolgirl, would fold like a pack of cards. She had forgotten how tough some schoolgirls were.
“On your way, Miss Weeks.” Prudence moved toward the door.
Kitty cast her thoughts back to her days at the Danceys’, tried to put herself in Prudence’s shoes, tried to imagine what might have caused the girl to act as she had.
“Elspeth was so pretty, so clever.” She had to remind herself that Prudence wasn’t yet eighteen. She would soon be an adult, but at the moment, she was still a child. An angry, scared, sullen child. “It must have been hard to have Elspeth as both a schoolmate and a neighbor. I wouldn’t have liked that… I went to boarding school myself. At times, it could be trying”—Kitty fished around for an experience that would resonate with Prudence—“to always be surrounded by other girls who were supposed to be one’s friends.”
Prudence didn’t budge, but she didn’t open the door either.
“One of the older girls, Mellicent, teased me mercilessly about having grown up in the East.”
No response.
“She used to make silly jokes about it, and when she was bored, she would call me names.”
“That’s nothing,” Prudence said. “The girls are much worse here. They do things to one.”
“What kind of things?”
Before Prudence could reply, the door flew open and her friend Sophie pointed an unwavering finger at Kitty. “There she is, Miss Howe-Jones. She was right here when Prudence and I came in after class.”
“Thank you, Sophia.” The headmistress picked up her skirts and stepped into the room. A set of keys around her waist jangled. “Please leave us now.”
Sophie darted a nervous look at the scene, then scurried away.
Miss Howe-Jones turned to Kitty. “I am stunned, Miss Weeks. How dare you enter the school unannounced? Enough is enough. I will telephone your employer at once.”
“Cruel things,” Prudence went on. “When I first arrived, the girls played pranks on me. They said it was all in good fun.”
Miss Howe-Jones burst out, “Haven’t I told you never to speak to strangers, Prudence? Go back to your room and leave Miss Weeks to me.”
But once she had started, Prudence couldn’t stop. “There were pie beds—you know about those?—and salt in my tea,” she said to Kitty. “Elspeth and her friends made me jump into the pond in my petticoat once. I nearly froze to death. I thought one day it would be my turn, but somehow, my turn never came.”<
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“Oh, you stupid, stupid girl.” Miss Howe-Jones vibrated with fury.
“What did you do, Miss Marquand?” Kitty prompted.
“I said go back to your room, Prudence.”
“All I wanted was to disturb a lover’s tête-à-tête,” Prudence continued, her voice shaky. She continued speaking to Kitty. “Elspeth and her gentleman friend ignored me for the entire evening. They spent it chatting and whispering between themselves.”
“How did you manage it?” Kitty asked.
“I put a sprinkle of Mrs. Bright’s sleeping powder into Elspeth’s wine. Just a sprinkle.” She emphasized the word as though the quantity shielded her from blame. “I thought she would grow tired waiting for him and go home. Or perhaps she’d feel so sleepy that she would decide not to meet him at all… It’s not my fault that she didn’t. That she just stood there in the cold.”
“Do you realize what you’ve said, Prudence?” The headmistress had gone pale with horror.
Prudence trembled and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. “Yes, I do. Elspeth died because of me—but I didn’t mean it.”
“And now the whole world will know about your misdeed.” Miss Howe-Jones glared at Kitty. “Think, Prudence. Think before you speak.”
With all the emotions swirling around, Kitty tried to do just that. Miss Howe-Jones was angry but not shocked or stunned as she ought to be. What seemed to bother the headmistress most was not what Prudence had done, but that her student had revealed the truth to a reporter. “Aren’t you disturbed by Prudence’s confession, madam? I know I am.”
The headmistress didn’t respond at once. Instead, she straightened herself and stood tall.
Kitty studied the proud, weathered face. The realization sank in slowly, and she staggered backward. “Have you known about this all along?”
Neither Prudence nor Miss Howe-Jones uttered a word. Both their faces became masks. Kitty couldn’t grasp how the headmistress could conceal such a serious matter. “I know you don’t want to see Miss Marquand behind bars—”
“You are right about that, Miss Weeks.”
“Miss Howe-Jones told me not to tell anyone.” Prudence finally found her voice. “She said I would shame my parents, ruin my future, and all for what—it wouldn’t bring Elspeth back.”
“You took my advice in the wrong spirit,” Miss Howe-Jones said stiffly.
“Not at all. You were scared that my behavior would reflect poorly on Westfield.”
The headmistress exhaled with a long sigh. “Are you happy now, Miss Weeks?”
“I’m sorry. What do you mean?” Kitty was caught off guard by the sudden accusation.
“I told you to stop meddling, but you couldn’t leave well enough alone. What is your aim? To shut down this school and deny generations of girls a first-class education? To have me pilloried for believing that every young person is capable of change and deserves a second chance?”
“So, this is my fault now?” Kitty couldn’t believe the headmistress’s audacity.
“In any case, you have no proof,” Miss Howe-Jones continued. “What will you do? Write it up in your paper? Take it to the police? No one will thank you. You see, Miss Weeks, you won’t be able to mention any of this without bringing shame on everyone involved. You will destroy Prudence’s future and ruin Elspeth’s reputation in the bargain. And Miss Marquand and I have no intention of helping you do that—isn’t that right, Prudence?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Prudence crumpled, her brief rebellion crushed.
“This isn’t right—” Kitty began.
“I know it may be difficult for you to accept, Miss Weeks.” Miss Howe-Jones resumed her unflappable, schoolmarmish manner. “After all, you must have been taught all about distinguishing right from wrong, good from bad, and crimes deserving punishment. But in this case, I believe it will be best if we all forget that Elspeth died because of Prudence’s foolishness. Prudence will remain in school and continue to make amends while carrying the burden of her sins for the rest of her days. Westfield Hall will remain in business, and you, Miss Weeks, will go back to writing cheerful, uplifting stories for the Ladies’ Page. Are we in agreement?”
She held out her hand, but Kitty allowed it to hover in the air.
“Come now, Miss Weeks, it’s time you get off your high horse. What are you going to do, ruin the Marquands’ lives, the Brights’ lives, my life’s work, all these girls’ education, simply to satisfy your sense of justice?”
“What about your sense of justice, Miss Howe-Jones? What about Elspeth?”
“Elspeth is dead. Nothing we do or say will help her now.”
“And what about you, Miss Marquand?” Kitty turned to Prudence in a last ditch attempt to find an ally.
“Please, Miss Weeks.” Prudence’s voice dropped low. “I can’t undo what I did, but Miss Howe-Jones is correct. I will spend the rest of my life paying for it. You must believe that I never intended to harm Elspeth—not in any lasting way. Please, Miss Weeks. I don’t want to hang because of one mistake.”
The principal took a step toward Kitty. “What is your verdict now?”
“Why is this on my shoulders?”
“You chose to look into it.” Miss Howe-Jones smiled.
The walls of Westfield Hall began to crack and crumble. Dust flew. The floor opened up at Kitty’s feet. But somehow the headmistress in her rustling black silk dress and the student in her blue cardigan and gray skirt stood on solid ground, staring at her, waiting for her to speak.
There was no right choice, Kitty realized. There were no winners, only losers in this game. There was no point in learning right from wrong, truth from lies, justice from injustice if it couldn’t be put into practice, except in the most extreme and clear-cut circumstances.
“Well, Miss Weeks?”
“So that’s it, Miss Howe-Jones? You will keep Prudence here, keep her parents in the dark, keep the Brights in the dark?”
“How I handle the affairs of my school is my business. Allow me to escort you out now, Miss Weeks.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, madam.”
The headmistress didn’t miss a beat. “I have forty years’ experience.”
“Good luck, Prudence,” Kitty said. But Prudence averted her gaze as Kitty followed Miss Howe-Jones to the corridor.
They went past an empty French classroom and an empty German classroom. Past a student reading poetry on her own and a group of girls poring over a mathematics problem.
Betraying neither fear nor self-doubt, the headmistress watched from the main entrance as Kitty hurried down the path as quickly as she could without breaking into a run. She passed through the break in the low stone wall where the Packard waited. And only when Rao started the motor and pulled away did Kitty feel those eyes leave her and she was able to breathe again.
Chapter Thirty-Five
At the high-ceilinged apartment in the New Century, with its parquet floors, warm electric lights, and windows sheathed in translucent muslin, Sylvia Lane was leaving. “I’m so glad you’re home, Capability.” She took her fur stole from Grace and wrapped it around her neck. “Your father was very worried that you’d been out for so long.”
“I have a long story to tell.” Kitty handed the maid her coat and gloves.
“I’m sure he will be glad to hear it.”
“My sincere apologies for yesterday.”
“You did what you had to do. I’m not upset.” Miss Lane bent forward, a whiff of sweet Bulgarian roses permeating the air, and kissed Kitty on both cheeks. “Take care of yourself, my dear.” In an instant, she was gone.
Mr. Weeks sat in his study.
Sylvia Lane was a lovely woman, Kitty thought, dropping down on the couch. She really hadn’t given her enough credit.
“I’m sorry,” Kitty said to her father, “that I disappe
ared without notifying you first.”
“You’ve been gone for hours.”
“If it’s any consolation, I now know how Elspeth Bright died.”
“No consolation for me. Didn’t Sylvia tell you? She is leaving.”
“Where to?” Kitty sank into the soft cushions. She could do with some food and a bath.
“To Kansas. She received an offer to teach at a school there some weeks ago, and now she’s decided to take it.”
Kitty sat up. “That’s sudden.”
“She told me that she’s lived half of her life with her parents and the other half under her brother’s care. Now, she wants a chance to live by herself.”
“It doesn’t have to do with you canceling plans yesterday?”
He shook his head. “She said not.”
Kitty rubbed her face with her hands. She was so very tired. “Does Miss Lane know you want to marry her?”
“Not in so many words. But she’s aware of my intentions.”
“She will come back, won’t she?”
“Her brother’s here, so I suspect she’ll visit.”
“I am terribly sorry—”
“No need to worry about me.” Her father’s tone was gruff. “Let’s hear the final verdict on Miss Bright.”
“You predicted correctly.” Kitty recalled their conversation from a few days before. “It seems to have been an accident. So many accidents.” Something inside of her tightened into a knot.
“Slow down, Capability. Take it one step at a time.”
“Miss Bright died because she planned to meet a friend outdoors at night—I’m not at liberty to tell you why. Her schoolmate, who didn’t like the idea and wanted to trick her, told the friend that Miss Bright had postponed the meeting, then she slipped Elspeth some sleeping powder, thinking that Elspeth wouldn’t go at all. The worst part is—”
“It gets worse than this?”
“The worst part is that the headmistress knew. She kept the student on at school, didn’t alert the authorities. The Brights have no idea, and the student hasn’t told her parents… I understand now why you didn’t want me involved.”