A Royal Match (27 page)

‘Almost. She can beg for her little rat pellets now.’

‘Ooooh, bless,’ Portia said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Just one sec,’ Star said as she rushed off to her dorm room, returning with a can of Febreze concealed inside her blazer so she’d be able to have a fag at the pet shed and spray the smell away.

We all traipsed downstairs and outside across the school grounds. As we passed our old dorm, Cleathorpes, I remembered our last term there, when Star and I had first become friends with Georgina. Soon I was straggling behind, musing about what sharing with Portia and Honey was going to be like this term. My parents told me they had big hopes for me this year as they waved me off at LAX.

This year we’d be sitting our GCSEs, a national exam, which meant the work would be piled on us; but far more important to me were the National Fencing Trials in December. As one of the top sabreurs in the Under Sixteens, Portia was probably focusing on the trials as well, which could bond us on one hand and make us competitors on another. I had to rate in the trials if my big dream to fence in the Nationals was going to come to
anything. Freddie’s message couldn’t have been further from my mind when my txt alert sounded again.

So going to slay you on the piste next week!
Billy xxx

Three kisses from Billy, one from Freddie …

It was a very quiet dorm that first night. Hardly a word was spoken as we each took our turn in the pristine luxury of the marble en suite bathroom: showering, brushing our teeth and changing into our winter pyjamas.

Portia appeared gorgeously cool in a pair of black tight jersey shorts with a pink lace frill and a matching long-sleeved, tight-fitting top that showed her athletic figure to greatest advantage.

Honey sashayed out later as if trotting down a catwalk in a flesh-coloured, slinky, lace La Perla nightie that was very grown-up, sexy and see-through. I came out of the bathroom last so that they could witness together my madly un-posh, un-sexy Hello Kitty flannelette pyjamas.

‘Oh, bless,’ said Honey sarcastically.

I had thought them adorable when I bought them with Star and Georgina at the Beverly Center over the summer, but now realised how tragically babyish they were. My parents might be proud as punch that I was almost a full year younger than everyone else in my year, but they
weren’t the ones who had to endure the feelings of immaturity that went with it.

I dived into bed and pulled my lovely new goose down double duvet up against my chin, trying to ignore the look Honey was giving me. A nasty look, pregnant with derision and loathing. I thought she was about to say something else, but she merely pulled her mauve silk eye mask over her eyes. I suppose she decided I wasn’t worth it.

Portia was reading another magazine,
The Fencer
, this time. I was exhausted from the flight, and I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier as I read Edith Sitwell’s
English Eccentrics
. Eventually I turned my light out and began to float off, thinking how different the atmosphere of this dorm room was compared to last term, when most nights held the excitement of a pyjama party. Eventually Portia said ‘Goodnight,’ to which I responded, ‘Sweet dreams.’ Honey just ignored us even though I suspect she was still awake.

Lying in the quiet, I almost welcomed the
tap, tap, tap
sound of Miss Bibsmore’s stick as she made her way down the corridor in an odd series of little steps and shuffles. I could hear her giving warnings about chatting after lights out to other rooms. And I listened to her dragging bins across bedroom floors to wedge the doors open so that she would hear any late-night chatting that wicked girls might try to engage in.

At ten-thirty, her odd little shape was silhouetted in our doorway. We already had our lights out, which must have
been a first at Saint Augustine’s because
everyone
always waits for the lights-out rule to be enforced by the House Spinster. And let’s be honest, what room of girls would voluntarily turn their own lights out at fifteen years of age? Apart from when it was exam time, maybe.

‘Lights out now, girls,’ announced Miss Bibsmore in her shrieky voice as she perversely turned our evil fluorescent strip lights back on.

I peeked out from under my duvet and watched as she cast a suspicious eye over our room.

‘Wot’s that then on the floor by your bed, Miss Kelly?’ she demanded.

I leant over and scanned the floor, but there was nothing on it. For once, my area was spotless. ‘I don’t know,’ I told her honestly.

‘Don’t know!’ she screeched, using her stick to lift one of my Hello Kitty slippers into the air with a circus performer’s agility, then dangling the offending slipper in my face. It was definitely time to get over my Hello Kitty stage. In three months I would be fifteen, and looking at my little pink slipper as Miss Bibsmore wobbled it on her stick made me feel like it was high time I grew up and got some cool nightwear like Portia.

‘It’s by
your
bed, madam, so I suggest you acquaint yourself with the item and identify it quick smart!’

‘It’s a, well, it’s a, a slipper. Isn’t it, Miss Bibsmore?’ I asked uncertainly. I could hear Portia struggling under her duvet to suppress laughter.

‘No, it’s not a “slipper,” Miss Kelly, and well you know it.’

At which point Portia pretended to have a coughing fit to disguise her giggles. Honey was silent, no doubt waiting for a chance to stick the knife in.

I was genuinely stumped. Maybe there
was
another term for slipper that I was yet to learn. As an American, I was always discovering new words for everyday objects. It had taken me all the first term of year seven to work out what vests were, and jumpers had stumped me for a further year. So I asked cautiously, ‘Sorry, Miss Bibsmore, we call it a slipper in America.’

‘Well
I
call it your classic death trap. I can smell the stench of a dead girl just looking at it. Wot if there was a fire innit? Wot if you had to evacuate at a moment’s notice? You’d dive out of bed, blind as a bat, and trip over this so-called “slipper,” and knock your ‘ead on a bed or the floor. You’d be out cold while the flames licked about your body. A slipper indeed! I’ve never heard such nonsense.’

This time I heard Honey suppress a laugh – only I think she was laughing at the tantalising thought of me burning to death rather than the absurdity of Miss Bibsmore’s rant.

‘Sorry, Miss Bibsmore,’ I replied.

‘Now in the future, I want all so-called “slippers” under the bed. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Crystal, Miss Bibsmore,’ I agreed obediently.

Miss Bibsmore patted me on the head. ‘Right you are, then, sweetie. Off to the land of Nod with you now, little
love. Say your prayers.’ I stuck my head deeper into my duvet, secretly delighted by her comforting words. ‘And sweet dreams to you too, Briggsie,’ she added gently.

Using an affectionate abbreviation of Portia’s surname and calling me ‘sweetie’ was a privilege I suspected Honey wasn’t going to enjoy.

‘Thank you, Miss Bibsmore,’ Portia replied.

She patted Portia’s head again. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mum too. Sister Constance told me what happened an’ all. It can’t have been easy for you. I understand she was a proper angel with an ‘eart of gold and it’s a curse on those like me wot didn’t get to meet her.’

‘Thank you, Miss Bibsmore,’ Portia answered quietly.

‘I won’t mention her again, mind, but I felt I should say something. It’s only proper. I might be stern but I’m not made of stone, Briggsie. As for you, Miss O’Hare,’ she added, her voice changing tone as she shuffled back toward the door, ‘don’t think I’m not on to you, pretending to be asleep indeed. As if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. I’ve ‘ad a good look at your record, madam, not to mention your sister Poppy ‘oo I had up ‘ere two years past, so may the Good Lord Jesus Christ and the saints in ‘eaven protect you if I ever catch you up to anything.’

‘Whatever,’ Honey muttered.

‘Hail Mary, full of grace …,’ Miss Bibsmore began, and Portia, Honey and I joined her in a decade of the rosary.

By the time our lights actually did get turned out, it was eleven o’clock and the jet lag was seriously kicking in.

After Miss Bibsmore left, Portia expressed what I’d been thinking. ‘She’s
really
gunning for you, Honey.’

Honey turned on her torch and tore off her eye mask. ‘Oh, don’t worry, darling. I’ve already called Daddy on one of my other mobiles and his solicitor is writing a letter as we speak. Her days are numbered, and Daddy said he’ll make sure she’ll never get a reference.’

Suddenly the fluorescent strip lights flickered on again and framed in the doorway was the ghostly figure of Miss Bibsmore. ‘I warned you, Miss O’Hare. I might not be bright but I’m blessed with a nose for trouble, I am, and I’ll not have your kind having one over on me. Do you understand?’

With that the fluorescent lights flickered off again.

‘Would you kindly allow us to sleep, you mad old witch! It’s against the Geneva Convention to wander in and wake us up, you know …,’ Honey spat, but the
tap, tap, tap
of Miss Bibsmore’s stick was already fading away down the corridor.

‘Did you get much fencing practise in during the break?’ Portia whispered to me once we heard Miss Bibsmore descending the stone staircase. I could see that the stone staircase was going to be a great advantage if our dorm
did
ever become fun. We’d hear Miss Bibsmore coming easily.

‘Yaah, a fair bit but it’s hard finding decent opponents over there. The standard just isn’t as high. Fewer people do sabre in LA so the competition isn’t great. I worked on my lunges and footwork though. What about you?’

‘Daddy hired me my own fencing master. We’ve got a piste in the gym at home so I was planning to be practising all the time, but then, after Mummy …’

‘We’ll be back on the piste tomorrow,’ I reassured her, not wanting to torture her further over the loss of her mother. She’d made it quite clear she didn’t want to talk about it, and I was going to respect her wishes.

‘We’ll both need to push ourselves with the BNFTs coming up in December. It’s such a ghastly time for Professor Sullivan to take a sabbatical,’ she sighed.

‘Has he left?’

‘For a term at least.’

This was an enormous blow to me. Professor Sullivan
had been my fencing master since I first came to Saint Augustine’s. I hadn’t counted on this turn of events at all. ‘You mean we have a new fencing master?’

‘Mr Wellend. I doubt he’s a Mr Sullivan, but he sounds the business. Olympic silver, quite old but madly accomplished, apparently,’ she explained.

‘Oh, I’m just surprised Professor Sullivan didn’t mention anything.’

‘He probably thought we’d make a fuss of him. Besides, he’s not gone forever. This Wellend chap used to coach the Eades team ages ago, apparently. I’ll go down tomorrow in the break to speak to him and see if he’s willing to give us extra lunchtime tuition.’

‘Do you think he’s unlikely to?’

‘If you don’t mind, some of us are trying to get to sleep,’ Honey hissed.

Portia ignored her. ‘Hardly. He’s not obliged, but now’s the time to ask. Plus it is in his interest for us to distinguish ourselves.’

‘Our success being his success, you mean.’

Honey groaned and moved about noisily in her bed.

I ignored her. ‘Well, if you don’t mind going alone, I’d really like to check on how Dorothy’s doing back at the pet shed during break. I really missed her over the summer,’ I explained.

Honey switched her lamp on, pulled off her eye mask – which was embroidered with the word HEIRESS – and scowled. Portia smiled conspiratorially at me, blew me a
teasing kiss and said, ‘Not at all darling. You check on Dorothy and I’ll report back.’

‘Deal,’ I replied, almost delirious with hope that Portia and I were going to be friends or at least get along despite Honey’s poisonous presence.