Celandine (25 page)

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let us begin.’ Miss Belvedere folded the leather strap in two and tapped the loose ends against the meaty palm of one hand. ‘What were
you
and Jessop doing up by the new swimming pool in the first place? I’m sure you must know that it is strictly out of bounds.’

‘We weren’t up there, Miss Belvedere. At least—’

‘What do you mean, you “weren’t up there”? You very obviously
were
up there!’

‘I mean that we weren’t up there together. I . . . found Nina, I mean Jessop . . .’

‘You
found
her?’

‘Yes. I was looking for her . . . I didn’t know where she was . . .’

‘And you just happened to think of looking in the swimming pool – a place that is entirely forbidden to you? It doesn’t sound very likely, does it?’

Celandine could think of nothing to say.

‘Well?’

The whole building had become eerily silent – no sound but the tap-tapping of the leather strap against the heavy palm.

‘I do not consider this to be a reasonable explanation, Howard. I feel certain that you are attempting to conceal the facts from me – a very foolish thing to do, under such serious circumstances, and tantamount to lying. No doubt we shall learn more in due course. Be that as it may, you deliberately defied my order to return to your seat – and you once again flouted the rules by entering an area that is out of bounds. There can be
no
excuse for this, nor can any exceptions be made. Have you anything further to say?’

Celandine tried to steady her breathing. The
roaring
in her ears – the sound of her own blood pounding through her – had drowned out the tapping of the leather strap.

‘Very well. Hold out your left hand.’ The words seemed to echo from a long way away. Celandine watched her hand as she hesitantly held it out, concentrated upon keeping it steady, tried to stop it jumping around.

‘Palm flat.’

Celandine somehow managed to straighten her fingers. A blur of movement at the outside edges of her vision . . .

Shwack!

The pain cut through everything – her fear, the roaring in her ears, all her troubles – all blown away by the unbelievable explosion of pain. It was almost a relief. She snatched her hand backwards and instinctively pressed it to her ribs.

‘Again.’

Again? For a moment the word seemed to have no meaning – it was just a jangle of sound. Again? Celandine dragged her hand away from her body, forced it away from her, and held it out – again – but now her fingers wouldn’t straighten properly. She couldn’t seem to . . .

Shwack!

This time it was worse – much worse – and she doubled forward, gasping at the shock of it, pressing her stinging palm hard against her ribs once more.

‘Right hand . . .’

* * *

It was over. Celandine looked at her white-faced reflection in the mottled surface of the washroom mirror, and told herself that it was over. It was done. It was as bad as it could be, but it was done. She let her hands float gently in the basin, motionless in the aching cold of the water, and stared into the mirror at her dark resentful eyes. Soon she would go. Once she was able to stand without support, once she could bear to lift her beaten palms from the swirling comfort of the basin . . .

Another reflection appeared in the mirror – another white face to match her own: Molly Fletcher.

‘Are you . . . all right?’

‘Go away.’ Celandine found that she could speak. Her voice was shaky, but she could speak. She continued to look at the mirror, watching as Molly cautiously drew a little closer.

‘I’m sorry, truly I am. We all are.’

‘Are you? You will be. And don’t you
dare
come near me!’

‘How’s Ninky – did she . . . did she say anything?’ Molly shrank back again, wringing her hands, uncertain.

Celandine turned her head, and looked at Molly directly.

‘No, she didn’t say anything,
Fletcher
. She’s unconscious – she
couldn’t
say anything. She might be dying, for all you know. She might even be dead. What did you do to her? What did you do?’

‘Oh . . . oh God . . .’ Molly began to cry. ‘We didn’t mean to . . . we didn’t think she’d . . . oh God. She
jumped
.
We . . . we made her walk the plank – they did. I said no. They were making her walk the plank. On the diving board. It was just a joke. But she
jumped
.’

Celandine snatched her hands from the basin, sending gouts of water splattering heavily to the floor. Molly turned and ran from the echoing washroom.

The dormitory was silent as Celandine entered. She stood at the threshold for a moment and looked around. Most of the girls were in their nightgowns, just sitting on their beds. Molly Fletcher, closest to the door, was already in bed – hunched forward, face hidden against her drawn-up knees.

Mary Swann was in the far corner of the room, casually perched on the bar of her iron bedstead – one bare foot on the floor, the other resting on the cross-rail.

Nina’s bed stood empty, of course. It looked so neatly made and sad somehow, the tartan dressing gown carefully folded at the foot of the bed, that the sight of it made Celandine’s fury rise again. What cowards they were. What stupid, ugly . . . brainless . . . pig-faced . . .

The loud clack of her nailed heels echoed the rhythm of all the bad words she could think of as she strode down the length of linoleum between the rows of beds. Her swollen palms burned with outrage.

Mary Swann pushed herself upright from her bedstead. She folded her arms, defensively, as Celandine came storming towards her.

‘Don’t you touch
me
, you little savage . . .’ she muttered – then louder, beginning to panic; ‘I’m
warning
you, Howard! You’d better not touch
me
 . . .’

Celandine marched straight up to her, holding Mary’s eyes with her own, not allowing them to be diverted for a moment. She knew exactly what she was going to do. Without losing a single beat of the rhythm that pounded through her, she raised her right foot high at the final stride and
stamped
her booted heel down as hard as she could onto Mary’s bare toes. A quick step back, in order to brace herself, and she hurled herself forward again, straight-armed, and shoved the big girl in the chest with all the force that raged within her. Mary Swann shot backwards, tumbled straight over the bedstead and bounced sideways – hitting her head against the distempered wall with a dull thump.

Mary howled in agony and rolled over, clutching frantically at her foot as Celandine swung herself around the bedstead and grabbed a fistful of hair. She began shaking Mary’s head from side to side, as a terrier might shake a rat.

‘’Ware Bulldog! Bulldog!’ Celandine caught a glimpse, even through her red fury, of Molly Fletcher wildly signalling from her position by the door. ‘Bulldog!’

Miss Belvedere was coming. Celandine’s own sore hands were a reminder to her of what that meant, and it brought her back to her senses. She did not want another interview with the house-mistress. With a last twisting wrench of Mary’s hair, she finally let go. Her footsteps, as she walked back up through the room, were quite inaudible now for the shrieking behind her.

She reached her own bed just as Miss Belvedere sailed through the door.

‘What is the meaning of this
appalling
noise?’ The house-mistress put her hands on her hips and stared in disbelief towards the writhing figure of Mary Swann.

‘You girl! You down there! Cease that infernal screeching immediately!’ Miss Belvedere quickly walked down through the room and stood by Mary’s bed.

‘Are you
deaf
, child? Stop this thrashing about!’

Celandine tried to calm her breathing. She wiped her damp hands on her tunic. A wisp of dark hair and a few grey flakes of distemper floated to the ground. It occurred to her that she ought to get herself undressed whilst Miss Belvedere’s attention was elsewhere. She quickly opened her locker drawer and took out her nightgown – all the time keeping a watchful eye on what was happening at the end of the room.

Mary was still holding her foot and rocking backwards and forwards in pain, but she was merely sobbing now, no longer screaming.

‘Now then.’ Miss Belvedere’s voice dropped to a tone of weary patience. ‘Perhaps you can tell me what the trouble is. Quietly if possible.
Reasonably
, if you are capable of reason.’

‘She . . . she . . .’ Mary was still struggling to control her sobs. Her intake of breath came in short painful gulps. She shook her head, unable to continue.

‘She – she . . .?’ Miss Belvedere’s prompting was unsympathetic. ‘But who – who? And what – what?’

Celandine straightened her nightgown, and tied the drawstring ribbon in a bow at her neck. Should she bother taking her boots off? It was apparent that Mary was going to tell all as soon as she was capable of speech, and that would mean another walk down to the staffroom. Well, she didn’t care. It was worth it – and Mary would be in far more trouble than she, once the truth was out.

‘Now let us try again,’ said Miss Belvedere. ‘What has been going on here?’

‘She . . .’ Mary looked towards Celandine, then hesitated. She glanced around at her friends, then looked at Celandine again. Finally, she dropped her head. ‘I . . . I . . .’

‘Ah,’ said Miss Belvedere. ‘It’s “I – I” now, is it? And what did “I – I” do?’

‘I . . . stubbed my toes. On the bedstead.’

Celandine sat down, and began to pull off her boots.

Miss Belvedere stood with her hand on the electric light switch. The expression on her slab-like face, never cheerful, was particularly grim this night.

‘You will all be aware that a very serious incident has occurred in this school – as serious as any that I have had occasion to deal with during my time here. I have just returned from the sanatorium, where I have talked with both Matron and Doctor Nichols, and the news is not good. Nina Jessop is breathing, apparently, but has yet to regain consciousness. She
appears
to be most severely concussed. It is too early to say what the outcome will be.’

Miss Belvedere’s gaze fell on Nina’s empty bed, then shifted towards Celandine.

‘I am in no way convinced that I have got to the bottom of this. Such information as I have so far received has been inadequate to say the least. If there is a culprit here . . . or cul
prits
 . . . or if anybody has any knowledge of this matter at all, then they would do well to come forward now. Does anybody wish to say anything?’

Miss Belvedere looked slowly around the hushed dormitory, taking time to study every face. Eventually her eye fell upon Celandine once more, and remained there.

‘Very well. But please don’t imagine that you have heard the last of this. I strongly suspect that
somebody
in this dormitory is in a very great deal of trouble – and if so, I shall find them out. I’d like you to think about that. Goodnight, Hardy.’

‘Goodnight, Miss Belvedere.’ The faintest whisper of a reply, and the room fell dark.

Celandine lay on her back in the gloom and listened to the creaks and shuffles of those around her. She would not be the only one who would find it hard to sleep tonight, and that was some comfort. The palms of her hands burned and throbbed, and she clenched them tight as she remembered how she had dealt with Mary Swann. She wondered whether that would be the end of it, or whether there would be more trouble to come – and decided that she no longer cared.

The sound of muffled sobbing was coming from one of the beds opposite. Molly Fletcher, probably. It was Molly who had told her where Nina was. It was also Molly who had warned her of Miss Belvedere’s approach. Molly had betrayed Mary Swann – and the rest of her tribe. No wonder she was crying. What would happen to her now?

But more importantly than any of this, what was happening to Nina? How could she just lie here, doing nothing, whilst Nina lay unconscious in the san? She couldn’t. Visitors were only allowed into the san during the hour between afternoon lessons and tea. She couldn’t wait that long for news. She had to see Nina for herself, somehow, and help in any way that she could.

Go now – after lights-out? Was that what she was intending to do? Was she? Celandine began to test the idea, to rehearse the journey in her imagination. Put on her dressing gown and slippers and creep over to the door. Make sure that the Bulldog was not still lurking in the corridor outside. Tiptoe past Wyndham dormitory and down the main staircase. Go to the front door . . . no, that was too close to Miss Craven’s study. Perhaps the back door would be better. Yes, past the downstairs washrooms and up the short flight of steps to the back entrance. Unlock the door . . .

An hour later she finally sat up and forced herself to make a decision. Molly’s whimpering had ceased. Others might still be awake, but then they might be awake all night. Now would be as good a time as any – if she really dared do it.

It wasn’t until the cold and damp of the night air hit her that Celandine realized she had forgotten to put on her dressing gown – the very first stage of her plan. She gently pulled the heavy arched door towards her, closing it as quietly as she could, and shivered. It had been horribly creepy, tiptoeing alone through the panelled corridors and down the unlit stairwell. Every creak and tick of the settling building had startled her as though it had been a whip-crack, every draught of air through a loose casement had felt like a passing ghost.

Outside was little better. It was cold. The earlier mist had blown away and a damp drizzly breeze folded itself around Celandine’s hunched shoulders. Her hands still ached and now her head was beginning to ache also. She didn’t feel well. But she had come this far and she would not turn back.

The pathway to the san was bordered by high foliage on either side. Shadowy fronds of rhododendron reached lazily out towards her, like clumsy fingers, and the rustling of nameless creatures in the undergrowth made her catch her breath. This was a feeling she had not rehearsed.