Charlotte and the Starlet (7 page)

'Chicken broth ... pot roast ... apple crumble ...
Where's "eye of newt"?' Rebecca dismissively flipped
the menu away. She, Emma and Lucinda were seated at
one of the long wooden dining tables where they would
eat their meals over the course of the next few weeks.
Crafted from hardwoods that had travelled from the
south-west of Australia by bullock and dray, oaks that
had been shipped from England in steamers, and maple
that had wound its way from Canada, the dining room
of Thornton Downs was solid, cavernous and dark.

Just the way Miss Strudworth liked it. Old Tobias
had employed wood carvers to work horses' heads
into the picture rails all around the room. A giant oil
painting of the old man himself – with his mutton
chop whiskers, ruddy nose and suspicious eyes that
looked as if he'd just caught a greengrocer weighing
his potatoes with trick scales – dominated the front of
the room.

From her platform beneath that flinty gaze,
bouncing on the toes of her pristine riding boots, Miss
Strudworth looked over the students and felt her
pride swell. This was her vocation: to take these girls
and give them not just a better seat, but a better path
to life as young ladies. Oh yes, Miss Strudworth knew
that was an old-fashioned concept in these days of
wireless phones and ordering vegetables over the
internet. She
was
old-fashioned. Frankly, she was
proud to be. Just because much of the modern world
had gone to pot didn't mean Thornton Downs had to
follow the example.

'Old Dudworth is looking more like a horse than
ever,' observed Lucinda, doodling on the back of a
form she'd found on the table. The caricature featured
a horse in jodhpurs with an unmistakable facial
resemblance to Miss Strudworth.

'Did you guys know that Todd Greycroft is our
neighbour?' Emma dropped the bomb casually in
their midst. As one, Lucinda and Rebecca fell upon it.

'Todd Greycroft's at Milthorp?'

They spoke in unison with exactly the same
reverent tone. Milthorp was the boys' riding academy,
the equivalent of Thornton Downs.

'He's a god!' Lucinda's jaw was almost on the
table.

'His family is so rich their servants have servants,'
said Rebecca in awe.

Lucinda announced, 'Well, when we mingle with
the Milthorp boys, I'm setting my sights on little
ol' Todd.'

Emma rolled her eyes. 'Please. The only way Todd
Greycroft would spend time with you was if he was
selling zit cream.'

Lucinda smiled back brightly. 'You're right. You've
got a much better chance. He does a lot of charity
work with the handicapped.'

Rebecca's attention was on the table of girls at the
front of the room beneath Strudworth. 'Those girls are
talking about us.'

Lucinda shrugged. 'Oscar Wilde said it's much
better to be talked about than to be caught wearing
last season. Or something like that.'

Rebecca snatched Emma's phone off the table.
'I want to hear what they're saying.'

She inserted the earpiece and cranked up the
volume on the 'eavesdropper' to full. It was rather
unfortunate timing. Just as she pointed the phone at
the table of girls, Strudworth cracked her riding crop
loudly against her boot. Rebecca's eyes crossed then
rolled back into her skull. She managed to pull out the
earpiece just as the crop once again snapped against
leather. Miss Strudworth spoke as she had been taught
in many elocution lessons. Clearly and loud.

'Welcome to Thornton Downs. As you know, this is
an opportunity for you to showcase your skills and
win a place in the JOES. But matters equestrian are
not all that is important. While you are here I will
expect good manners, camaraderie and ...' As she
spoke Miss Strudworth noted the large door at the
back of the dining room creak open and a latecomer
make her way in. She stopped cold and glared. '...
punctuality.'

Charlotte tried to move as silently as possible but
each step she took on the wooden floor sounded like a
gunshot, with the gun pointed right at her heart. Her
shower had lasted two minutes, leaving just enough
time to get ready, but then she had spent a good two
minutes staring at
that frock
, wishing that it would
magically change. It was so ugly compared to the
clothes the other girls had but she had nothing else to
wear besides jeans, and the note had specifically said
jeans were not permitted at dinner. Besides, her father
and the people of Snake Hills had meant well.

She still might have made the dining room in time
but she had never been in such a big building and she
took several wrong turns before finding her way. Now
with each step she could see Miss Strudworth's frown
more clearly. She could feel the looks of the other girls
turning on her. Then she became aware of giggles and
suppressed laughter. Her skin started to feel prickly
and hot.

The colour drained from Rebecca's face.

'Oh, no. She's been sick on her clothes.'

'No, that's the dress,' hissed Lucinda.

Emma said it would help with her diet as it had put
her off her food.

When Miss Strudworth resumed speaking it was
with a bark.

'You, young lady, are ...'

Charlotte imagined herself in front of a firing squad
with Miss Strudworth having just yelled 'fire'.

'Charlotte Richards,' she said.

'That may be your name but what you
are
is late.
Take your seat.'

Charlotte slunk in beside Rebecca, feeling the size
of a half-chewed peanut.

'As I was saying,' continued Miss Strudworth,
glaring at Charlotte, 'I place particular store in
manners. You may be the best horseperson in a saddle
but I'm afraid if you fail at matters of character you
will not make the JOES. At Thornton Downs our
motto is ...'

Those who had previously been through the
academy chanted like ancient druids, 'The family that
rides together has pride together.'

Strudworth smiled, pleased. 'Exactly. Enjoy your
dinner.'

The meal passed without event. Charlotte enjoyed
the roast. Lucinda, Rebecca and Emma talked
among themselves and, to be honest, Charlotte
didn't understand half of what they said. It seemed
to be in some foreign language. Rebecca tried to
include her, asking her what her favourite TV show
was. When Charlotte said they didn't have TV in
Snake Hills, Emma assumed she meant cable,
whatever that was. Charlotte said no, they didn't
have TV at all.

'So what? You just hang around the mall?' asked
Lucinda, as she played with a grape.

'Mall? You mean shops?' asked Charlotte, who had
never seen one but had heard girls at school talk about
them. The other girls nodded eagerly: finally she
understood!

'Yes, shops. You know, Smart Girls, Backchat,
Vixens, Rave, Argument, Trolly Dolly, Mucus.'

Charlotte didn't know any of these shops. She
explained that in Snake Hills there was just the
hardware shop, which doubled as the stock and
station agent, the newsagent that doubled as a post
office, and the general store that doubled as an
electrical shop.

The others were stunned.

'So they do have electricity?' asked Emma.

'Most of the time,' said Charlotte.

'But what about clothes shops?' Lucinda couldn't
quite believe this third world stuff she was hearing.

'People make their own clothes.'

'Oh.'

Emma couldn't think of anything more tragic.
Having nothing to add, she swung back to Lucinda
and Rebecca and reignited their conversation about
cute tops, skirts and accessories. Not wanting to just
sit there like a dork, Charlotte picked up her plates
and took them to the kitchen. Emma shook her head
disapprovingly as Charlotte disappeared.

'Now she's cleaning up!'

Rebecca sighed. 'That's sooo cheap.'

When Miss Strudworth noted the Richards girl
helping stack dishes and taking them to the kitchen,
she felt a twinge of remorse for scolding her. In all the
years she'd run the academy, Miss Strudworth could
not once recall one of the students helping the kitchen
staff like that. She herself had done it – old Tobias had
expected children to help. Miss Strudworth realised
now this was the girl from the cattle station in the
outback. Perhaps the girl had simply got lost en route
to dinner? Miss Strudworth prided herself on her
fairness. She would not put a black mark against her
name just yet.

Returning from the kitchen, Charlotte heard Miss
Strudworth slap her boots with her crop again and
silence quickly descended.

'On your table you will find a form that absolves
Thornton of any blame should you be killed, maimed
or put on weight during your time here. Sign it and
hand it to the right.'

Determined not to be last this time, Charlotte
snatched a form and began filling it out. Strudworth
continued as the forms were passed forward.

'Most of you will not make the JOES. Sadly, as those
four crazy mop-tops from Liverpool once sang: we
can't all get what we want. If you do make it, well
done. If not, don't wallow in self-pity. Move on and do
something at which you might be better. We can't all
be champion equestrians any more than we can all be
happy brides sharing toast and marmalade with a
handsome Master of the Hunt.'

'What's she on about?' hissed Rebecca.

'Being an old maid,' Emma hissed back.

Lucinda was about to join in when a cold fist of fear
seized her heart. The cartoon she'd done was on the
back of a form in Strudworth's hand, which she was
waving around as she spoke. Lucinda had been
entirely ignorant of the fact that her drawing paper
had been a form that would be handed up. Strudworth
would kill her. Unless – she felt the tiniest glimmer of
hope – because it was on the back of the form, maybe
she wouldn't notice?

That slim hope was dashed when the girls at the
front table began pointing and laughing. Strudworth
stopped, followed the trajectory of their eyes and
found the cartoon. Her mouth tightened. Lucinda's
stomach knotted.

'Girls, get changed for bed. We have a big day
tomorrow.' Strudworth shook the form with her fist.
'Charlotte Richards, I wish to speak to you.'

Lucinda was stunned. Obviously Charlotte had
accidentally picked up the form she'd doodled on. She
wondered for a second if she should say something.
Emma read her mind and gripped her wrist.

'Don't be stupid. Charlotte's not going to make the
JOES anyway.'

Lucinda guessed she was right and she quickly left
with the others.

Charlotte assumed she had made some mistake in
filling out the form but she had no idea what that
might have been. She shuffled forward to the front of
the room.

'Yes, Miss Strudworth?'

Strudworth flashed the drawing in her face.

'Where you come from, Richards, being cruel may
be considered humorous, but at Thornton Downs
there is no place for this cruelty. I hope your horse-womanship
is better than your art. Dismissed.'

Charlotte tried to speak in her defence.

'But, Miss ...'

'I said dismissed, Richards. Six a.m. sharp, parade
ground, dressed and ready to mount.'

Charlotte turned on her heel, angry. The others had
set her up. She'd tried to be friends with them but if
they wanted war, she would oblige.

Catching them at the top of the stairs, Charlotte
ran past them, blocking their way. 'Which one of you
did that cartoon?'

Lucinda shrugged. 'I didn't mean Strudworth to
see it.'

'You do that again, you'll pay.'

Emma joined in. 'Get over it. That poor-kid,
Eminem-chip-on-the-shoulder-thing doesn't cut it
here, Charlotte.'

Lucinda piped up. 'We're privileged and proud.'

The three off them pushed off again.

'I'm not finished yet,' Charlotte called angrily, but
when she went to go after them she tripped on the
enormous satin monster she was wearing and went
sprawling onto the hard wooden floor. While she'd
had many worse tumbles from horses, the embarrassment
was dreadful. The Evil Three, as she now
thought of Lucinda, Emma and Rebecca, turned back
to her and laughed their heads off. Charlotte picked
herself up, slowly. This time she gave them plenty of
time to get away from her. She was already missing
her dad, Stormy and Rusty. Thirty days of this would
be hell.