by Connie Monk
Beth nodded. ‘He said we weren’t to go there again. He said it was, what was it he called it, Jess?’
‘Out of bounds. What’s out of bounds, Mum? I told him it led to the common and he said I was pudent, no, impudent. Then he said we were to get back to the village where we belonged and not to dare to hang about in the lane again. But Mum, even if he is at the Hall, he can’t boss us and say we can’t go in the lane. I told him we lived here and he said I was telling lies and if we knew what was good for us we’d clear off.’
Beth added, ‘Then he glared at us as cross as anything and stomped off up the track through the wood to give Oliver a thrashing. Do you think he’ll make him go without any dinner?’
The ways of boarding school were unknown to all three. One thing Kathie did know was that he was a bullying newcomer and she meant to put him in his place. After lunch, leaving the girls with strict instructions that they were either to play on the grass or in the lane not too far from the house, she went to get ready for her intended outing. She ran a few inches of water in the bath, she even threw in a handful of lilac scented crystals, she scrubbed her hands in an attempt to get rid of all sign of her outdoor labours while her mind moved on to what she could wear that would make her more than a match for the man she was to confront. She indulged in imagining herself standing tall and proud in front of him, coldly bringing him down not just ‘a peg or two’ but so that he saw himself for the worm that he was.
With the towel wrapped around her she went to the bedroom prepared for the next stage in her transformation. Yet, once stripped of the towel, she looked in the mirror on the front of the wardrobe and felt her confidence slipping away. Gazing at her naked body she hated what she saw. At the time she and Dennis had married she had been proud of her slim straight figure, even her small, pert breasts. But slimness had become scrawniness. Her breasts were worse than small, they hung like empty envelopes! Had she not been so underdeveloped, even if they’d sagged, at least she would have looked feminine. For a moment she closed her eyes, cupping the offending appendages and caressing the low-slung nipples trying to imagine it was Dennis who was awakening this aching need.
What in the world was she doing, wasting time when there was no time to waste? The last few moments had been a sheer indulgence, something her working life didn’t permit. Night after night she had climbed into bed wanting nothing but oblivion, every muscle aching and her mind going no further than the tasks that would be waiting for her in the morning. But this afternoon was different. Her reason for a midday bath certainly hadn’t been to sit here daydreaming; she meant to look her best – something for which she had little hope or expectation. She would tell Mr Horrid exactly what she thought of him. It appalled her to think that parents had entrusted small boys to the care of a brute who would cane an unhappy seven-year-old.
Taking clean underwear from her drawer she started to dress. When she had the chance to get to town she would buy a better bra, but the one she put on had been bought from Miss Messer’s drapery store in the village and instead of lifting the droop, it destroyed all hint of shape. She looked as straight as a lad. Fifteen years ago that shape might have been fashionable, but Hollywood with its glamorous women carrying all before them in twin peaks had changed all that. Her thoughts were tempting her where she mustn’t follow; she forced herself to pull them back into line. What can I wear to face the lion in his den? It’s not really high day or holiday, but I’ll put my ‘outfit’ on anyway. Her ‘outfit’ was quite the most expensive thing she had ever possessed and as she took it from the wardrobe where it hung draped in an old sheet her mind carried her back to the trip she and Den (with two-year-old Jess in her pushchair) had had to Exeter. They had seen the outfit on a model in the window of a very exclusive establishment and Den had said it was absolutely made for her. Feeling wildly extravagant, they had gone in so that she could try it on without even asking the price. It was a fully lined suit of the softest tweed with a floppy-crowned cap of the same material, its exquisite autumnal shades flattering her colouring. For some three and a half years it had hung in her wardrobe, too good for ordinary wear and with special occasions few and far between. Today she would wear it to show she was a force to be reckoned with.
‘I shan’t be long,’ she called to the girls who were occupied on the grass trying to walk on their hands – without success but with peals of laughter. ‘Either stay in the garden or if you go into the lane, don’t go further than just along here by the house.’
‘You look ever so posh, Aunt Kathie.’
Beth’s spontaneous remark was just what Kathie needed as she started on her way.
Once out of the lane she turned up the hill, anger spurring her on. Then opening the heavy wrought iron gate she walked past the lodge and on up the long straight drive. On her left was what used to be a croquet lawn but was now a rugby pitch, a background to the cheers and jeers from the boys who watched the Saturday afternoon game. The heavy front door was wide open, something she hadn’t expected. Immediately opposite the entrance, across the enormous hall, was a door bearing the sign ‘Headmaster’. What did visitors do? Ought she to cross the hall and knock on the door? Or would that wrong-foot her at the onset of the interview? Taking hold of the bell pull she tugged it with all her might, the clang seeming to echo through the building.
A moment later an elderly servant appeared, making no attempt to hide her displeasure.
‘Wretched man,’ she was muttering, talking to herself, ‘Never about when you want him. Not my job to answer the door.’ Then, saying nothing to the caller, she waited.
‘Good afternoon,’ Kathie greeted her, her manner unnaturally formal. It suited her mood well that the servant was unfriendly; it added fuel to the fire of her anger. She couldn’t have resisted responding to a friendly welcome. ‘I’ve called to speak to the headmaster if you will be so kind as to announce me. I am Mrs Hawthorne, a neighbour.’
‘Step inside. I’ll find out if he’s free.’
And a minute later Kathie was ushered into the presence of Mr Horrid. Her immediate reaction was surprise. The man who stood up from his seat behind the large oak desk didn’t look like a child beater.
‘Mrs Hawthorne, I don’t believe we’ve met.’ He held out his hand. Kathie pretended not to notice it, and then felt ashamed that she could behave so childishly.
‘No, we haven’t. But you met my little girls this morning. That’s why I’m here. Well, in part, that’s why I’m here.’
‘Little girls?’ He frowned, obviously puzzled. But she wasn’t to be put off so easily. ‘Won’t you sit down.’ He indicated an armchair then, once she was seated, again sat in his swivel chair turning it to face her. ‘That’s better. Now then, what’s this about your little girls?’
Jess had described him as huge and with a red, angry face. Certainly this man was tallish, but there was nothing burly either in his build or manner. He was quietly spoken; yet there was firmness in his tone that carried authority. Despite herself she felt her anger receding as she looked at him. Of course, she reminded herself, appearances can be deceptive. Jess had been quite upset – and she didn’t upset easily.
‘I don’t understand how a grown man, a man who has the power to make or mar the lives of the pupils here, could be such a . . . such a . . .’ Her anger was rising again as she imagined Jessie and Beth being at the mercy of this sly devil – as nice as pie talking to her and then terrifying the children in his charge. ‘Such a bully. Loving parents entrust their children to your care so that they will be away from war in the safety of the countryside and what do you do? To cane a seven-year-old who is homesick and unhappy, feeling as if he’s in prison here! It makes my blood run cold to think of it.’
‘I’m afraid you have lost me. I don’t know what you have been told. But, these children of yours, does it not occur to you that they may have been misinterpreting something they heard?’
‘That’s a wicked thing to say! My children don’t tell lies.’
‘You misunderstand what I am suggesting. Believe me, I’ve had enough experience of the young to know that in the quest for excitement, adventure, they are capable of finding drama where there is none.’ His voice was in unison with his unruffled manner, yet he made no attempt to smile. ‘But, whatever is behind this, I do assure you that except for half an hour or so at the lodge I have been here at the Hall all the morning. Where were your daughters when they believe they heard whatever it was they believe they heard?’
Making sure her cool demeanour matched his, she replied, ‘I allowed them to go by themselves along the lane to play on the common. When they reached the gate from the wood belonging to the Hall they stopped to talk to a boy called Oliver. Do you realize – or even care – what an unhappy child he is? Anyway, Jessie, my five-year-old, is a born organizer. The poor lad wouldn’t have stood a chance against her and the upshot was that they helped him over the locked gate and they had a lovely morning on the common. Is that such a crime?’
‘With permission it would be no crime at all.’
Kathie felt she was losing the battle.
‘The rest you must know.’
‘I assure you I know nothing except what you have just told me. As for caning a child of Marley’s age, it’s out of the question. In the senior school corporal punishment is accepted – when it is merited. And, on those rare occasions, it falls to me to handle all corporal punishment. No other member of the staff here is authorized to cane a boy. For the under-thirteens there are other ways of dealing with their misdemeanours: forfeiting Saturday morning free-time, the writing of lines, learning a poem by heart.’ With a smile that seemed to start in his light blue eyes and change his solemn countenance, the headmaster continued, ‘A suitable punishment to fit the crime.’ For a moment neither of them spoke, each uncertain of the way forward. Then he said, ‘I am glad you called to see me. I knew Oliver Marley was finding it hard to adjust to boarding; and I admit it has worried me. There are usually tears near the surface when the very young are away from home for the first time. But you think with him it goes deeper? He probably talked more openly to children from outside. He’s never boarded until we moved here, but it’s strange that he of all the pupils should find it hard to settle here at Sedgewood Hall.’
‘You mean he is one of the Marley family who own it? He didn’t tell the girls that. He said that his father had gone off to America and left his mother and him.’
‘Yes, his parents are divorced. The call of fame, no doubt. It was Mrs Marley, Oliver’s mother, who told me about the Hall being empty. At that time the boy was a day pupil and, as he was in the junior school, I saw very little of him. I dare say life had been soft for him, his parents feeling guilty as their marriage fell apart.’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’ Kathie pulled herself back on course; she hadn’t come here for friendly chatter. ‘But I do know that you, or if I’m to believe what you say, then one of your staff, not only sent the child to his study with instructions to get the cane out ready and then wait, but also told my girls that they were not allowed in the lane. His expression was that the lane was “out of bounds” – hardly words five-year-olds would have imagined or invented.’ She was like a lioness defending her young. ‘That lane is public and, if you are so unfamiliar with anything outside the boundary of the Hall, I suggest you take a walk and find out for yourself. I come from Westways, the market garden fronting the lane. Beyond that point there is never any traffic, the lane peters into no more than a track leading to the common. And I shall thank you (and your staff) not to talk to my girls as if they are your prisoners just as the boys are.’
At that the headmaster’s smile was overtaken by his laugh.
‘Believe me, the boys are not prisoners. I have responsibility for their safety, just as I have responsibility to ensure they are confident to walk out without supervision on Saturdays. Provided that they sign the log giving details of the time of their leaving and where they are going, the seniors are allowed out in their free time. But, to go back to what you tell me of your daughters: I’ve already told you, whoever they encountered – if indeed what they heard wasn’t just something amongst the boys themselves – it most certainly was not me. But I shall look into it.’
‘Please, promise that you will. Imagine being seven years old and your life pulled up by the roots. You said just now, Mr . . . Mr . . .’
‘Meredith. Bruce Meredith. Forgive me, I had assumed you knew my name.’
‘Why should I? You are hardly part of the local community shut away here at the Hall.’
‘Indeed.’ He seemed not a jot put out by her aggressive manner; in fact she felt he was amused.
‘Well, anyway,’ she went on, ‘you said just now that with permission Oliver would have been allowed to play on the common with the girls. Would you give your permission for him to come to Westways? Even if he’s not used to being out on his own, if he came over the gate in the wood it’s not far round the bend to our front gate.’
Bruce Meredith was sizing up her suggestion.
‘If you care to name a day and time, then I will see he is there. But, you know, there is plenty of companionship for him amongst his peers here, if only he chose to join in.’
‘We’re not all joiners, Mr Meredith. Please let him come. Jess said that he had such fun with them this morning.’ He was watching her closely as she talked. ‘We run a market garden at Westways. Perhaps you think that letting a pupil visit what you would see as a working home isn’t what the parents pay you for.’
‘I have said that if you tell me when you want him to visit, I shall see he’s there.’
It wasn’t in Kathie’s nature to feel out of her depth, but that was the effect this man had on her. She regretted what she had said, her words echoing in her head as an apology for her lack of riches. He must be looking at her and realizing she had worn her best clothes for the visit; she felt humiliated and was angry with herself.
‘It will do him good. We work hard at Westways; even the children help. To my mind that’s the way they should be brought up, aware that they are part of a team.’
‘Indeed commendable.’ Then, sitting back in his chair and crossing his knees as if he was settling for a long and comfortable chat, he added, ‘And now, when shall I send him?’
‘Do they have to go to church in the morning?’ She knew nothing of the ways of boarding schools.
‘If Sedgewood Hall had a chapel the answer would be “yes”. But since it hasn’t, Reverend Gilbert, a member of the staff, takes a short service in the assembly hall at nine o’clock. Any time after ten Marley can be free.’
‘The girls will meet him by the locked gate at a quarter past ten. And if you say he can be free, he could stay with us until after tea. That would be long enough to let him get over any shyness. You see, I don’t know him. Perhaps he isn’t shy?’
‘Lacking in confidence, but not shy. In fact he has an almost unnatural air of maturity for a boy of his age.’ Kathie could tell he was undecided whether to say more, so she waited silently. ‘Have I failed the child? Is the façade he presents no more than his wall of defence?’ He might have been thinking aloud and showed no surprise that she didn’t answer. ‘Well then, Mrs Hawthorne –’ he seemed to pull himself back in line – ‘we’ll say around ten o’clock tomorrow. Don’t let your daughters hang about at the gate expecting to help him climb over. I shall see him through the gate and he can walk the last few steps by himself. To allow him to climb out of his cage would be tantamount to condoning it,’ he added with an unexpected smile.
‘The girls will be delighted. I’ll go and tell them the good news and won’t detain you any longer.’
‘Indeed I was about to go along to the lodge when you arrived. Perhaps we might walk together as far as the gate.’
She had a feeling of failure that she could find him such easy company as they walked down the long drive. Then she reminded herself that it was better to have him on side, that way he would be
likely to allow Oliver to escape to Westways more often.
At the lodge they parted company. She half walked and half ran down the hill to the turning marked by the signpost pointing to the common. If she hurried to change into her working clothes she could still get a few hours outside before she had to think about supper for the children.
It was a pity she couldn’t have been a fly on the wall when, after half an hour or so at the lodge, Bruce returned to school making his way to the quarters of the housemaster in charge of Oliver Marley. One man spoke with quiet authority, the other became more florid as he blustered.
Waiting a minute or two after Bruce’s departure, ‘Mr Horrid’ went to find Oliver in the dormitory where he had been confined for the afternoon hours.
‘You have been invited to spend the day tomorrow with those two infants you seemed to find such good company this morning. I have been speaking to the headmaster and he is prepared to allow you to accept the invitation. He has agreed to see you through the gate in the woods – so, just remember, there is to be no more climbing out. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘Now I think you have been in here long enough. Get outside and kick a ball about with your classmates.’
Oliver went downstairs and out into the sunshine. He knew that if he walked around the back of the building there was a path that would take him away from where Saturday afternoon freedom was being marked with the sort of noise he hated. Just inside the edge of the wood there was an old tree, perfect for climbing. Even at this time of year with the leaves starting to fall, there he felt safe and out of sight.
Next morning, while Jessie and Beth hurried through their jobs – drying up the breakfast things and putting them away, then feeding the chickens, Kathie got ready for her morning’s work outside. Den had never done much on Sundays, and the two lads hadn’t worked after midday Saturday, an arrangement continued by Kathie’s two helpers. But Den had been more confident with what he was doing than she was. Sometimes she felt that everything took her twice as long as it would have taken him. But she wasn’t being fair on herself; then, there had been a division of labour. Pulling on Den’s well-worn work trousers, she couldn’t fail to compare her reflection with that of yesterday afternoon when she had been resplendent in her ‘outfit’.