Celandine (17 page)

Celandine had never made a bed in her life and hardly knew where to start. But she reasoned that the mattress would have to be at the bottom. That much, at least, was obvious. So she put the pile of sheets and blankets on top of her locker and struggled to unroll
the
mattress – a heavy and awkward object that nevertheless managed to look inadequate as a means of support. Finally she got the thing so that it was lying flat upon the base. The base had no springs and the lattice of metal slats didn’t hold out the promise of much comfort. What next? A sheet?

She was conscious of being watched, and of the whispering that was going on in the far corner of the room. By the time she had managed to spread a sheet over the mattress and had tucked it in as best she could, it was no great surprise to find that her observers had moved in closer.

‘Oh dear, I’m afraid that this will never do,’ said Mary Swann, who now stood at the foot of the bed, hands on hips. ‘If the Bulldog saw this, she’d have fits. Absolute fits, my dear.’ Daphne and Chloe giggled – their unvarying response to all of Mary’s remarks, it would seem. How stupid they looked, with their long pigtails and their identical protruding teeth. Like dim rabbits they were, a pair of silly rabbits . . . then Celandine realized that the girls were twins. It was so obvious. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

‘Would you like us to help?’ said Mary Swann. ‘Only, the Bulldog’s fearfully hot on bed drill.’

Celandine was inclined to be wary of this offer, but didn’t see how she could refuse. ‘Yes, all right then. Thanks.’

‘It’s the corners, you see,’ said Mary, beginning to undo Celandine’s handiwork. ‘They have to be done the Mount
Pleasant
way. Everything has to be done the Mount
Pleasant
way. See – we hold this bit out like this.
Then
we fold that bit under, and tuck it in like this, and so we end up with . . . this. Got it? I’ll show you again. Watch.’

Mary Swann moved on to the next corner and demonstrated the Mount Pleasant bed-making method once again. Celandine glanced away at one point and caught Nina Jessop staring at the proceedings – the expression on her face telling her that such acts of kindness at the hands of Mary Swann might not be the norm.

‘Now you try,’ said Mary. And so Celandine pulled out one of the remaining corners and made a fair attempt at copying what she had seen, expecting all the while that some blow was about to fall on her or that some trick would be played. But when she had finished, Mary said, ‘There. That was very good, Howard. We’ll make a proper Mount Pleasant girl of you yet, dear. Now have you unpacked your bag? No? Well, Chloe can show you where everything goes, can’t you, Chlo? Not a bit of good relying on Ninky – you’ll get no sense out of her. Come on, Daph, we might as well finish off this bed, now that we’ve started.’

Celandine was more suspicious than ever, but she allowed the sniggering Chloe to show her how the locker was to be arranged – stockings and undergarments in the bottom drawer along with her sponge-bag, clean blouses and spare tunic in the top, toothbrush in this drawer, hairbrush in that. It didn’t seem to be a very logical system. She tried at the same time to keep an eye on Mary and Daphne, sure that they would put something horrible in her bed – a
dead
bird, or a thistle, or some such idiotic thing. But she noticed nothing unusual, and by the time she had finished her unpacking, the bed looked neat and crisply made up.

‘Have you brought any food with you, or money?’ said Mary. ‘Only you have to keep all that in your locker as well.’

Celandine had an orange, some barley twist, and half a bar of chocolate in her bag – exotic treats supplied by her mother at the last minute – and she put these in the top drawer of her locker on Mary’s advice, along with the half-crown that her father had given her.

Once everything was done, the three drifted back towards their own corner of the room and said no more to her. Celandine was left wondering why they had paid her so much attention, but then there was a scuffling sound in the corridor and a kick at the door, and in came another girl, very red in the face and weighed down with bags and boxes under each arm. It was the fair-haired girl who had been sitting in the carriage that had blocked the driveway. Her temper seemed to have improved very little since then.

‘Ye
gods
,’ she cried, ‘Is there anything more
pointless
than a coachman who can’t drive a stupid coach?’ She dropped her luggage in a heap and staggered theatrically over to the corner where Mary Swann and the pigtailed twins were sitting. She flopped face-down across a bed, where she lay drooping over the side and complaining loudly to the linoleum. ‘Do you know, I’ve had to
walk?
I’ve had to
walk!
All up that hill, with
all
of my luggage –
and
up all those stairs. Not a porter to be
seen
. Not one. Well, they shan’t blame me if I’m laid up for a week over this. Oh! I’ve such a
headache
, I could
scream!
’ She rolled over and sat up. ‘Mary, darling, come and soothe me, do. I need unctions, balms . . .’

‘Oh, poor Alicia.’

‘Yes, poor Alicia,’ cooed the twins.

Celandine wasn’t quite sure what to make of this drama. She watched for a while as ‘poor Alicia’ was patted and comforted by her friends, and then became aware that Nina Jessop was trying to catch her eye. Nina was still kneeling beside her locker, sorting out her belongings, but she kept glancing over the top of her bed towards where Celandine was sitting.

‘They’ve apple-pied your bed,’ she whispered.

‘What?’ said Celandine.

There was no time for any further explanation however, because the fair-haired girl, Alicia, was suddenly on her feet, miraculously recovered, and walking back down the room towards her jumbled heap of luggage. She stopped and looked at Celandine.

‘Hallo – who’s this wond’rous creature?’ she said.

‘Oh, that’s the common-or-garden Um,’ said Mary Swann. ‘Otherwise known as Miss Celandine Howard. She’s Ninky’s new chum.’

‘How extraordinary,’ murmured Alicia. ‘And does it speak, I wonder? Can it dance the quadrille? Cut a little caper for us, my dear. Distract us, do. No? Oh well . . .’ She turned away and began to gather up her scattered pieces of luggage.

Celandine sat on her bed with her hands in her lap. She didn’t know what else to do. Occasionally she glanced at the large clock that was mounted on the wall at the far end of the dormitory. Nina made no further attempt to speak to her.

A patch of late afternoon sun streamed in through a corner of one of the high windows, throwing long slanting shadows over the unfamiliar room. Celandine saw her own shadow for a few moments, a mocking distortion of herself stretched out upon the floor, motionless, then an invisible cloud stole softly across the sun and the light was slowly extinguished, the room descending into a final depressing gloom.

Other girls arrived in ones and twos, some laughing, some complaining, and all looked at her curiously as they deposited their bags and boxes, before joining the group at the end of the dim room. None of them made any move to be friendly towards her – possibly on the instruction of Mary Swann. Eventually there was quite a crowd down there, and their chattering grew louder, their antics more boisterous. Only Nina Jessop remained apart, lying upon her bed and reading a book, acknowledging no one, ignoring the occasional taunts that drifted her way. Celandine stared through the window at the darkening landscape, her face burning with self-consciousness.

At five-twenty, Celandine cleared her throat and said, ‘Nina – I mean, Jessop – would you show me where the headmistress’s study is? Only I’ve to be there at half-past five.’

‘Yes, all right.’ Nina Jessop closed her book and put it under her pillow. She stood up and smoothed out her tunic. Celandine noticed that her hands shook slightly. ‘It’s downstairs.’

The hubbub at the end of the room subsided to a low murmur as Celandine followed Nina to the door.

Walking down the corridor towards the main stairway Celandine felt a little burst of pity for the timid girl beside her. Despite her own worries and troubles, she nevertheless considered herself the more fortunate of the two. Nina looked as though a puff of wind might blow her away. Her legs were so thin that it was a wonder they carried her at all, though there was precious little of her to
be
carried, at that.

Celandine had intended to ask Nina about the ‘apple-pie’, and what that meant, but instead she said, ‘They’re not very nice to you, are they, those others?’

‘Oh. Well . . . it doesn’t matter.’ Nina sounded surprised that another person should consider her feelings. She glanced up at Celandine, the paleness of her face making her eyes seem redder than ever, but then she looked downwards again and said no more. They reached the top of the stairway, and began to descend towards the entrance hall, their footsteps echoing on the smooth stone.

Celandine tried again. ‘Why do they call you Ninky?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Nina. But then she hesitated and said, ‘Well, it’s short for “nincompoop”, you see.’

‘Oh.’ It wasn’t a word that Celandine had ever heard before. Nincompoop. It was plainly not a
compliment.
‘Do you mind if I call you Nina, then? Only I don’t think I shall get used to calling people by their surnames.’

‘If you like. But they’ll scrag you for it, you know, if you do. They scrag anyone who speaks to me.’

‘I shan’t care,’ said Celandine, jumping the last two steps.

Nina seemed doubtful. ‘You don’t know what they’re like,’ she muttered. They walked on a little further and then stopped outside a dark varnished door, just off the main hallway. ‘This is Miss Craven’s office. You have to knock, and wait.’ Nina Jessop’s voice had lowered to a whisper and she backed away slightly, as though nervous of the very shadows beneath the portal.

Celandine knocked at the door. There was no reply. She looked at Nina, and raised her hand to knock again, but Nina opened her eyes wide and shook her head.

‘Enter.’ The distant voice sounded deep enough to be that of a man. Celandine struggled a little with the heavy brass doorknob, too big for her hands, but eventually managed to turn the thing. She pushed against the door, needing to use her shoulder slightly in order to move it. A final parting glance at Nina and she entered the room.

‘Close the door behind you.’ Again, the deep voice sounded almost masculine, and the appearance of the figure seated at her desk only added to that impression. Miss Craven’s grey hair was cut severely short and the heavy pleated black gown that she wore had the
effect
of making her shoulders appear square and broad. Her face was long and thin, deeply lined about the mouth. ‘Come and stand over here.’

Celandine crossed the worn green carpet and stood before Miss Craven’s heavy oak desk. The room smelled faintly of tobacco and it reminded Celandine of her father’s study at home.

‘Hands by your sides, please.’ Miss Craven sat very upright in her chair, her own hands neatly folded upon the green leather desktop in front of her. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses lay on the desktop, beside an envelope. Celandine recognized the handwriting.

‘Now then, Howard. I shall make it clear from the outset, that if it were not for your father’s local standing in the county, there would be no place for you here.’ Miss Craven raised her dark eyebrows slightly and waited for a few moments. It occurred to Celandine that perhaps she was expected to respond to this, but she could find nothing to say.

‘Furthermore, I can tell you that the kind of behaviour that you have apparently displayed up until now will under no circumstances be tolerated at Mount Pleasant. Mr Howard has been very frank in his account of you, and I have to say that I am appalled. Absolutely appalled. To wilfully attack a person of authority in such a vicious manner is quite inexcusable – and I do
not
excuse it. Yours was a criminal act, and I should judge that a child from a less privileged home might have found themselves suffering the most serious of consequences, had charges been brought. As it is, you may feel that you’ve got
away
with it – but I give you fair warning now that any such occurrence in this establishment would be treated with the utmost severity. There would be no question of any lenience. What
have
you to say for yourself?’

Celandine still made no reply. There was a long set of bookshelves behind Miss Craven, and on top of the shelves was a glass case that contained several stuffed animals: an otter, a pine-marten, a stoat and a weasel. The otter had a fish in its mouth – and there was something not quite right about it.

‘Nothing. Very well. Let us move on to another issue, then; these delusions of yours. Games of make-believe are one thing – persistent lies are entirely another matter. It is quite simply a
lie
to claim that you have seen things that do not exist. Yes, Howard, I know all about your past encounters with “little people” and so forth. As I said, your father has been commendably frank. Quite rightly, he and your mother believe that these stories of yours border on the ungodly –
although
they do say that it has been some time since you made these wild claims. I am perfectly clear in this; no good can ever come of meddling with such things. There has been an unfortunate rise in what might be called the cult of the psychic, of late. These so-called mediums – with their talk of seances and “spirits of the deceased” and “ectoplasm” and who knows what other nonsense – it flies in the face of all Christian belief, and there will be none of it here. Do I make myself understood?’