Hamish whirled on James. "I've never liked you, Tyler, you with all your ... smugness." He turned toward me. "And I like you less."
Before James could respond, Hamish made for his wardrobe and threw wide the doors. He began tearing clothes out and tossing them at the other boys, throwing the things that displeased him right out the window.
"The sleeves on that shirt may be too long for you," he said, addressing Mercy, "but you can't argue with the fabric."
"Are you stealing my clothes?" James was incredulous.
Hamish shrugged. "Borrowing," he said. "Why should you have all the best things? I would think you'd be generous enough to spread it around a bit."
"I wonder what Mr. Winter would think of all this?" I said in as threatening a voice as I could muster.
Hamish snorted. "Not bloody much, I shouldn't think."
I stood straighter. "Perhaps I shall go get him and find out, then."
Hamish snorted again. "Fat lot of good that'll do you."
My eyes narrowed. "How do you mean?"
"Mercy brought him a little present," Hamish said with a sneering smile. "Told him that all those bottles of beer were a gift from his parents for his having put up with us all these months. Made a similar delivery to Mrs. Smithers. Come to think of it, the last time we saw them, they were enjoying an end-of-term snort together."
"I doubt we'll be seeing them before morning," Mercy added, giving a half bow in modest acknowledgment of his own contribution to the evening.
Having exhausted James's wardrobe, Hamish turned to mine. As Hamish reached for the handle, I threw myself at his back. I suppose I should have thought of fighting them earlier, but there were so many of them and only two of us. Now, however, I was desperate.
Mercy and Stephens seized my shoulders and peeled me off Hamish. They needn't have bothered, I realized. Hamish could have tossed me off with a single shrug.
"Hey, what's this?" Hamish said, finding the wardrobe locked. He jiggled the handle harder, grew frustrated. He ran his hand along the top of the wardrobe, producing only dust that Mrs. Smithers had been too short to reach, and grew more frustrated. "No one keeps their wardrobe locked here. First your door was locked, now this. What are you two hiding?"
"Shall I go and fetch an ax?" Stephens offered.
"The key." Little piped up for the first time. "Will always keeps a key in his pocket. I-I-I saw it drop out of there the day we went fishing." Little must have felt my horrified glare boring into the side of his head, for he turned to look at me with a sad, apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry, Will. But you know there's never any point in running or hiding. They always catch you in the end."
I struggled, but there was little I could do as the two boys held me firmly while Hamish rifled through my trouser pockets. At this point, James also tried throwing himself at Hamish's back, to no avail.
"Aha!" Hamish exulted, key in hand.
But his exultation turned to dismay as he flicked through my things, removed a shirt here, a pair of trousers there.
"Huh," he said. "I don't see what the big secret is. These are just clothes, and not even as fine as Tyler's. Oh, well." He shrugged, tossed a shirt to Stephens. "Maybe one of the younger boys would like this."
I breathed a sigh of relief as Hamish moved to close the doors, but that relief proved premature as Hamish caught sight of the trunk in the bottom of the wardrobe. "What's this?"
All I could do now was stand helplessly by as, with what seemed like excruciating slowness, Hamish dragged out the trunk and opened the lid.
"What's this?" he said again, now clearly puzzled as he pulled out my dress, my wig. Confusion quickly turned to anger, however, as Hamish put two and two together and came up with ... what?
"There was never any sister at all, was there?" he accused darkly. "That's why you begged off sick the night of the dance. It was really you!" And then anger turned to horror. "And I asked you to dance with me? You danced with Tyler and Little, while masquerading as a girl?" He paused for the briefest of moments, dress and wig still in hand. "What kind of an abomination are you?"
His horror was my opportunity.
I ran.
In a million years, I would never have imagined that I could outrun a group of boys, but the events that had transpired, coupled with my abrupt bolting from the room, worked to my advantage. Still, I felt no better than a wily fox briefly outsmarting the hounds as I raced down the stairs of Proctor Hall, raced across the grounds of the Betterman Academy, the dogs nipping at my heels. When it felt as though I could run no farther, my legs screaming in agony, my heart pounding as though it would slam right through my chest, I took refuge in the one place I thought I might find it: the chapel.
It seems such an irrational thing to me now. Did I think I was a character in a Victor Hugo novel, crying "Sanctuary!" at attackers? Had I forgotten that the right of asylum, guaranteeing a fugitive protection from arrest in the safe haven of a church, had been abolished in England some two hundred years before? Whatever the case, it was where I chose to make my stand. And curiously, once inside, I felt calm permeate my entire being as I took in the great painted window soaring over the altar, the pulpit itself fashioned in oak, the high gallery and organ behind. Even when the others burst through the doors and Hamish backed me up against the altar, that sense of calm did not leave me.
Could I still get out of this? I wondered. Perhaps I could say it had all been an elaborate practical joke? Hamish would surely beat me for it, since he would see the joke as having been on him. Still, it would be worth the severe beating, if only I could—
"What kind of an abomination are you?" Hamish roared at me again. "You made a fool out of us!" His voice turned deadly. "You made a fool out of me."
Slowly, he drew his arm back and clenched his fist.
Not wanting to watch the blow as it smashed into my face, I glanced over Hamish's shoulder and saw James straining to get to me, Mercy and Stephens holding his arms tight.
"Don't hurt her!" James's desperate voice rang out, echoing through the cavernous chapel. "Leave her alone!"
Hamish's fist stopped inches from my face as confusion set in. "Her?" Then, as though obeying some animal impulse, he grabbed at the collar of my shirt and, with a great downward pull, tore through white tie and white shirt, his eyes nearly popping at the sight of the winding cloth that bound my breasts.
"What...?" he said dumbly, his face purpling in embarrassment. "Why...?"
Not caring at that moment for my own tattered modesty, I faced them all.
"You take it for granted!" I roared, for once using my own voice, that of a girl. "All of this." I waved my arms at the chapel, at the very earth of the Betterman Academy that surrounded us; really, I was thinking of the whole world—a world that belonged to boys like them, never to the likes of me. "Don't you see? I wanted what you have." I spat out the last words: "What you hold so cheaply."
The energy had left me, the fight was gone. It was all over now, I realized, all my fantastical dreams. Whatever I had once hoped to accomplish—finished.
James, free from Mercy and Stephens, made his way to me. Gently holding together the remains of my shirt in one of his hands so that the winding cloth was covered again, he put his other arm around my shoulders and walked me out.
Chapter twelve
It was a long way home.
And over the course of that long road home, during the carriage ride, no longer entranced by the novelty of cows—I had seen cows before—I thought back over what had transpired after James and I had left the chapel.
***
Seconds after we had closed the door to our room and I had done up the buttons on my white shirt, there was a loud knock at that same door. Without even waiting for an answer, Dr. Hunter entered the room. He looked as though he'd been roused from sleep; his black robe had been hastily thrown on, and he hadn't even taken the time to don his usual cap over his now wild hair.
"Gardener," he said, addressing me accusingly, "
if that is even your real last name, you are to come with me."
Apparently the others, Hamish and the rest, had wasted no time in going to the headmaster with their tale. Funny, I thought distantly, feeling removed from the situation, Dr. Hunter hadn't wanted to listen to tales of others' mischief when I had been the person telling them.
He stood with his back against the open door, hand on the knob, imperiously, waiting for me to walk past him, and when I did, he pulled the door shut behind us, closing it on James.
We walked down the long corridor and staircase. Both were lined with boys who no doubt would have jeered me were it not for the sternness of Dr. Hunter's stride. I did catch one glimpse of Little. He mouthed the word sorry.
Outside, as we strode across the commons to his house, Dr. Hunter spoke not a word to me; the only sound was that of the wind beating his black robe, as though he were a great bird soaring through the night.
The interior of the headmaster's residence was as I remembered it, that odd juxtaposition of severity and comfort. As though to echo that, Mrs. Hunter was waiting in the room her husband led me to. She too looked as though she'd dressed hastily, throwing a luxurious dressing gown over her nightdress. But whereas her husband looked as though he were still laboring under a great shock, she did not look surprised at all, only sad, as though she had been half expecting this moment all along.
"I have made tea," she said with a gentle smile, waving her hand at the tray that sat on a low table.
Dr. Hunter accepted a cup.
"Leave us, my dear," he said to his wife.
She straightened her spine. "I prefer to stay."
He considered this for a moment. "Very well," he at last allowed. Then he turned to me. "Sit."
"I prefer to stand, sir," I said, not even bothering to sound like a boy, "if that is all the same to you."
He considered this too. "Very well," he allowed again.
And so all three of us remained standing.
"Now, I should like you to tell me how this all came about..." He paused. "I don't even know what to call you, miss. Is there even a Will Gardener?"
"Oh, yes," I said. "There is a Will Gardener and he is very much alive. Or at least, I hope that is still the case."
"Still the case? Did you ... do something to him?"
I pictured what must be going through his mind: an image of me, a mere girl, somehow overpowering or even killing a boy so that I might assume his place.
"Oh no," I hastened to say, "nothing like that, sir."
"Then what?"
So I told him. With no other choices left to me, I told him everything.
"I have n-never," he stammered, "in all my years..."
"Is it not wonderful, my dear?" Mrs. Hunter asked him, a light shining in her eyes.
"Wonderful?"
"To think," she said, "of a girl wanting an education so badly she would go to such extraordinary lengths."
"How absurd!" Then he paused, reflected. "Huh." Dr. Hunter regarded me as though with new eyes. "I had not thought of it like that."
"But now that you are thinking of it like that," Mrs. Hunter pressed, "is there not something that can be done?"
His eyes narrowed now. "Done?"
I watched the match between them, unwilling or unable to interrupt the flow. It had been years since I'd had a mother to stand up for me, so long ago I barely remembered her, and yet I felt in a strange way as though I had one now.
"Yes, done! Year after year, so many boys pass through that front gate, not caring if they are here or not, regarding this place merely as a steppingstone to something greater or, worse, as an ordeal simply to be borne. But now you have someone that actually wants to be here. Someone who represents everything we desire our students to be."
I saw him bristle at her use of our. Still: "Yes," he said slowly, "I suppose one could look at it like that."
"Then how can you even think about casting Bet out?"
"Bet?" He looked at me, at her. "How do you know her name? She has not told us."
Mrs. Hunter waved a dismissive hand. Apparently she intended to explain all such trivialities later. "That does not matter now."
"Very well. Just what are you proposing?"
"You yourself have said that the person known as Will Gardener is the first in his—in her class." Mrs. Hunter shrugged her pretty shoulders. "Why can't she simply stay?"
Yes! I thought. Why can't I?
Then I saw the look on Dr. Hunter's face. He had never struck me as the sort of man who'd hit his own wife—indeed, despite what Mr. Winter had said to me once, I'd never heard any reports of Dr. Hunter even hitting the boys—but as a dark cloud rolled across his face now, he certainly looked sorely tempted.
"Because she can't." With great deliberation, he set down his teacup on the table. "Don't you both realize the impropriety of it all, the awkward position we have already been placed in? Why, she has been living in a room with that boy for—" He turned to me. "How long has Tyler known the truth about you?"
"He only just learned tonight," I said evenly, "along with the others." Whatever happened this evening, I would not let James hang with me, even if it meant telling a lie. James was my friend. He was my love.
Dr. Hunter nodded curtly, as though at least this small thing pleased him. "That is good," he said. He turned to his wife. "Surely you must see that she can't go back there and live with a boy."
Her expression was open, as though the answer were obvious. "Then why can't she stay here, with us? Why can't she continue with her education until it is completed?"
He stood frozen for a long moment then, causing me to wonder: Could he actually be considering such a thing? Oh! To remain at school, where James was, to be able to continue my education, only this time as myself.
Dr. Hunter turned to me, and I waited expectantly for what he might say. But when he spoke, his expression had turned sad, almost regretful.
"I am sorry, Bet." He waved an impatient hand. "Or whatever you are called. But you must see, surely you must appreciate—I must confess that what you have accomplished while here has been nothing short of astounding. To finish first in your class! And the time you backed MacPherson into a corner while fencing—oh yes, I did hear about that." He laughed a small appreciative laugh before something caused him to sober instantly. "The way you bravely stood your ground before me on Warren's behalf. If things were different..." He shook his head sadly. "But no. Things are not different. Perhaps there will come a time when girls can be at school with boys as equals, but that time is not this time. Certainly, it is not today. I am sorry."
With a hand over her mouth, Mrs. Hunter turned away.
"You must see," Dr. Hunter said, "that to keep you here would be chaos. And so you must go at once."
Then he turned away as well.
I was not even allowed to say goodbye to James; I left without seeing him again.
Someone was dispatched to my room to fetch my things, another someone dispatched to fetch a carriage so that I might be removed from the grounds immediately. It was as though if I were permitted to stay one moment longer than absolutely necessary, my mere feminine presence would contaminate the others.
***
And now we were pulling up in front of Grangefield Hall, and I was leaping out of the carriage. Not even waiting for the driver to take down my trunk, I set out immediately to find the old man. I was still wearing my Will Gardener disguise, and I was hoping to break the news to him gently before the letter arrived from the Betterman Academy informing him that "Will Gardener" had been sent down yet again, this time for "having misrepresented herself as a boy."
I found him seated in front of the fireplace in the drawing room.
"Who's there?" he called out, hearing my tread in the doorway.
Feeling as though I were re-creating the scene of my departure for the Betterman Academy, I went to him, knelt at his feet.
"Uncle," I said, using my Will voice.
He squinted at my
face. "My dear," he said, a smile of relief stretching his lips. "You have come back."
My dear? How strange. I had never in my life heard him address Will so. And why the relief that I had come back? After all, Will Gardener was supposed to return home on this approximate date, at the finish of Lent half.
I shook off the feeling that something was not quite right. There was a job to do here. I needed to reveal all to the old man, preferably without giving him a heart attack, before that wretched letter came.
"I have something to tell you, Uncle," I announced clearly, my voice sounding a little too loud in my own ears. I brought the volume down. "Something has happened."
"Oh no." He put his hand to his cheek. "You haven't been sent down from school again, have you?"
This was harder than I'd thought. Yes, Will Gardener had been sent down from school again, but not in the usual way. And once the old man learned the truth, that it was I who had been sent down while impersonating Will—never mind how scandalized he would be by that—that's when the real concern would set in. He would begin worrying about the boy who had gone off to war, worrying about what had happened to Will.
What had happened to Will?
Perhaps, I thought wildly, I should continue with my impersonation a little longer? Perhaps it would be a mercy, a kindness, for the old man to think that Will was still here, safe, even if once again disgraced? I could forge another letter from Bet's new employer, I thought, telling him that Bet had grown so indispensable, she would not be returning home anymore. This would make things a little easier on me—I would not need to be forever going back and forth in my disguises, back and forth between boy and girl. Surely, if given the choice, the old man would prefer to have Will forever, even if it meant giving up the girl?
"Uncle," I began again.
"I like it when you call me that," he said, a pleased smile on his face. "I have missed having you around the old place."
What was he talking about? Will always called him Uncle, save for those times he called him sir.
Before I could say anything else, the old man leaned forward, placed a gnarled hand on my shoulder, drew me close enough to look me in the eye.
The Education of Bet Page 17