No Talking after Lights (28 page)

Having finished her task, Constance took Flopsy out of his cage and sat cuddling him on a bale of straw in a dark corner of the shed. Oh, how I wish I were grown-up! she thought. Grown-ups can do whatever they like. They don't have to ask permission, nobody criticizes them or orders them about. They're free. I feel like poor old Flopsy, stuck in a cage; and I want to get out. But
they
make it impossible.

She heard the bell ringing for supper, and bent to kiss Flopsy's twitching nose before putting him back in his cage. It's disgraceful that nobody's feeding the pets,

she said to herself as she ran down the drive towards the Covered Way. The gardener's boy ought to be doing it, or Waterman himself. As she was passing the cottages she encountered Miss Parry.

‘Excuse me,' she began politely, ‘but do you by any chance know where I would find the gardener's boy? He hasn't

A deep red washed across Miss Parry's set face and she rounded on Constance.

‘The gardener's boy?' she said. ‘And what, may I ask, would
you
be wanting with the gardener's boy? Another loathsome little assignation, I suppose. Nasty, dirty, over-sexed little girl. Well let me tell you the gardener's boy has been dismissed. Pronto. Out. That'll be a
big
disappointment for you, I suppose.' She thrust her face close to Constance's and sneered at her, breathing hard.

Constance looked wildly around for escape, but all the girls were lining up in the Covered Way. Miss Parry yanked her by the shoulder, shaking with rage.

‘
Will
you pay attention when a member of staff is speaking to you? Take an order mark for rudeness. And let me tell you, you little slut, that the gardener's boy is down at the police station, which, if you're not very careful, is where you'll find yourself too. Now skedaddle! Out of my sight! GO!'

In another moment she might have hit Constance, who turned and ran down the path and into the Covered Way. She didn't join the queue for her table, but made for the lavatories. She slammed and locked a door behind her, then sat down to let her panting subside.

Indignant despite her terror, she thought, Right, that's it! That settles it! I'm
definitely
going, after that! How dare she call me a slut and a nasty, dirty, oversexed little girl? Oh, it's all so unfair and I'm so
unhappy
.

As she began to calm down her mind was churning with plans. Saturday morning: that would be the best time to go. They got up half an hour later at weekends, at twenty-past-seven instead of ten-to. If I slipped away at six, I might even catch the first train in the morning, certainly the second. I'd be in London by ten, surely; then all I'd have to do is find out which platform the Norfolk train goes from. To think, by lunchtime on Saturday I could be there! Aunt Marjie may be cross at first, but when I explain how miserable I've been, and how Mummy and Daddy just wouldn't take any notice, and specially if I tell her what Batey Parry said just now, she's bound to sympathize. Then she can phone them and say I'm safe with her, and
she'll
persuade them I was right to run away … Constance felt light-hearted by the time she joined the supper queue.

Rachel was standing in front of her. She turned round and beckoned Constance closer.

‘Have you heard?' she whispered excitedly.

‘No. Heard what?'

‘About Hermy-One. She's got polio!'

‘She hasn't. How do you know?'

“Cos Jennifer found out that Mick saw the doctor being taken up to the sick-room by Miss Girdlestone in Break. So then Mick crept up to the aunt next door and hid, ‘cos you know she's got this terrific pash on Hermy-One. Well, anyway, after he'd gone, she didn't dare go in, though she wanted to, but she could hear Hermione. Apparently she was all crying and awful.
Poor
Hermy-One!'

I almost wish I could get it, thought Constance. Then I'd be out of all this. Before she could answer, the final gong went, and they trooped into the dining-room.

That evening in the dormitory the girls were subdued. Miss Peachey had refused to give any gory details at bedtime, merely assuring them that

Hermione was all right and had not developed polio.

“Course she's got polio!' said Mick. ‘She was crying her eyes out. I
heard
her. Peach might have told us whether she's going to hospital or what.'

Tat chance,' said Rachel. ‘She's been sworn to secrecy, you bet. Mean pigs. It might be me next. Any of us.'

‘But it isn't you. It's Hermy-One,' said Mick, close to tears. ‘Come on, everybody,' said Deborah. ‘What shall we do to cheer ourselves up?'

‘I know,' said Fiona. ‘Let's play Spotlight on Beauty‘'

‘Don't be daft - there's not enough of us. With Sheila gone and Charmie gone, there's no point.'

‘Why don't we get Swallows to join us, then?'

‘We're not allowed,' said Rachel.

‘Don't be so wet. It's nearly end of term: who cares? Come on, who's going to ask them?'

‘I will,' said Constance.

The others sat up excitedly. ‘Good for you, Gogs! But go
quietly
. On tiptoe. Don't let Peach catch you.'

Constance got out of bed, stuck her feet into her slippers, and tiptoed along the top corridor. She knocked on Swallows' door and slipped inside. There were only four of them, and three were sitting on Flick's bed, comforting her as she wept dramatically.

Constance remembered that Hermione had been Flick's ‘pash', too.

‘Come on, cheer up,' she said. ‘We're going to play Spotlight on Beauty only there's not enough of us left so you've got to join in. Peach isn't around so it'll be OK so long as you don't make a row.'

Ungainly with caution they went along the corridor stifling their giggles. The girls in Starlings were already brushing their hair and pinching their cheeks. The four from Swallows arranged themselves on the two empty beds and borrowed brushes and mirrors. Everyone

concentrated on their faces, frowning as they nipped the heads off spots, then licking fingertips and smoothing their eyebrows into perfect arcs.

‘Don't anyone take off marks for my nightie being torn.'

‘That's your hard cheese!'

‘Well, then, I'll put on a clean one.'

‘Swizz. If you do everyone can.'

‘Meanie.'

‘Shut up, Rachel,' said Mick. ‘This is to cheer me and Flick up and you're spoiling it. Ready everyone? Who's going to go first?'

‘You do, and then we'll go round in order.'

Fiona reached into her bedside cupboard for a torch. She crossed over to Mick's bed and crouching beside it, angled the beam of light on to her face. Mick assumed a theatrical pose, thrusting her shoulders back to exaggerate her little breasts, her chin jutting up to lengthen her neck, her gaze fixed upon the far corner of the ceiling. She held this position motionless for a minute, while the others studied her critically.

‘Everyone ready?' said Fiona, and switched the torch beam off.

Mick's shoulders collapsed and she smirked.

‘How was I?'

‘You looked just like Mummy,' said Flick. ‘Honestly, you were wizard. Well done.'

‘Shall we do the marks now, or afterwards?'

‘Afterwards is more fair. Has everyone got pencils?'

Two people had pencils in their diaries, so it was agreed that they should both keep the scores and tot them up at the end.

One by one the Lower Fourth struck poses from
Picturegoer
, held their breath for as long as possible, then expelled it and slumped their shoulders, suddenly foolish.

‘Can I do it with my glasses off?' asked Constance. They discussed this and agreed that it was allowed. Constance folded them carefully and placed them on her bedside table. She knew she wasn't pretty enough for a film-star pose. Instead she crossed her legs, arranged the folds of her nightdress gracefully over her knees, and sat with bowed head and splayed palms as though she were holding a book. Fiona shone the light on to her face.

‘Take your Kirbigrip out, Gogsy, let your hair loose!' she said.

Constance removed the grip and her hair fell in a shining fringe across her forehead.

‘Now we can't see your face!'

‘Who cares?' said Constance. ‘This is how I want to be.'

They studied her intently, then crossed the room to whisper their marks. I know I won't win, thought Constance. I know I'll never be pretty. But I'm cleverer than any of them. And I'm going to run away.

‘Jolly good, Conce,' said Rachel. ‘Honestly, you look terrifically nice without your specs.'

They had almost gone right round the room when they caught the squeak of Miss Peachey's shoes approaching.

‘Quick! Hide!' said Mick, and the four Swallows squashed themselves under the empty beds, the long sides of the counterpanes making them invisible.

‘I heard a lot of rustling and talking,' said Miss Peachey. ‘Come along now: what's going on?'

‘Nothing, Peach, honestly,' said Mick, looking wide-eyed and startled. The others lay unnaturally still in their beds.

‘You've been having a talcum powder fight, haven't you? The dormitory reeks of it!'

‘Honestly and truly we haven't,' they said.

I‘ve got enough trouble on my hands without you lot playing me up. Now go to sleep. If I have to come in again, it'll be order marks all round.'

After she had gone they abandoned the game. The two sets of marks proved to be entirely different and no winner was declared. Swallows withdrew to their own dormitory. The wood-pigeons cooed and a distant dog barked monotonously, over and over again, and then started to howl: a hopeless, despairing howl that expected no answer, for it knew, finally, that the good, kind master would never come.

‘We shall leave here at the end of the first week in August,' James's letter concluded, ‘so we will arrive after the school has broken up, which will make things easier for you. And me!' he added. ‘Juniper is very excited about coming to England. It's her first visit -she's always lived in HK, though her brother is at Harrow. I plan to take her up to Scotland and also show her something of London, but all that can be arranged once I've seen you and Father.'

Lionel lay back in bed, asleep or dozing, his breakfast tray untouched on the table beside him. In the light that poured through the bedroom window Henrietta saw him for a moment as if with James's eyes, and realized how shockingly he had changed. He looked worse than old; lying there with his veined hands crossed on the linen sheet, he looked dead.

‘Lionel!' she cried in alarm. ‘Are you all right?'.

As he opened his eyes and looked at her she said, ‘You haven't touched your breakfast.'

He struggled to sit, and she had to prop him up on pillows like a sick child. Only he didn't feel like a child, for all his frailty. His body was slack, his limbs so wasted she felt the bones might snap in her grasp.

‘Oh, Lionel, I'm so worried about James. He's bringing this girl with him, Juniper, whoever she is. He says she's never been to England before. He's going to take her up to Scotland and show her Raeburn; that sounds
very significant. Whoever can she be? He never mentions her surname anywhere. Look. You read his letter. But first drink your tea, dear.'

As she drove the Humber Hawk down the drive, Henrietta realized that her husband might not even live long enough to see his son again. He scarcely ate anything and seldom moved from his bed. He was immobilized by the magnet of death. She could smell it in the air of his bedroom, however often she threw open the windows: the bluish, metallic odour of decay. I shall have to wear black, she thought, and then I shall be like my mother, forever in mourning, for Alistair and Hugo, for Jamie, and then for Papa. She must have been younger than I am now when Alistair died. Let me think: in 1916 she would have been in her early forties. Yet I never saw her wear anything but black for the next thirty years. She mourned like a true Victorian, with crêpe and jet and black gloves, even though she was still a comparatively young woman. Was it real grief, I wonder, or merely observance? How unjust I am! Of course it was grief.

Stopping the car on the circle of gravel outside the school's front entrance she closed her eyes and prayed.
May the souls of my parents rest in peace; also keep in Thy remembrance my three brothers, James, Alistair and Hugo, who are no more, with none but me left on earth to remember them. And of Thy infinite mercy, O Lord, let my son see his father once more before he dies. For the sake of Thy beloved Son. Amen
.

I must talk to the doctor, she thought. Lionel's right: I've been so preoccupied with the sick children that I have neglected him. I ought to see the gardener as well, find out if he can manage on his own until the end of term. Well, I dare say Peggy can talk to him. And then there's Sylvia Parry. Ought I to give her notice? I must talk to Peggy. And I have to telephone Mrs Malling-Smith
and let her know how Hermione's getting on. I must try and persuade Mrs Reynolds to go and see Charmian in hospital. For that matter, I must go and visit the children myself. I have so much to do, and all the while my husband lies sick unto death and I cannot attend to him.

In morning Prayers, after they had sung ‘Praise my soul the King of Heaven' and their soft young voices had followed her through the staccato phrases of the Lord's Prayer, the Head told the girls to sit. They subsided on to crossed legs like a wave, billowing and flickering as they arranged their skirts modestly over their knees and pushed the hair off their foreheads. When everyone was silent and still and she had their full attention, she began to speak.

‘First of all, I know you are anxious for news of the girls in St Patrick's. Miss Roberts visited them yesterday, and she will tell you about them herself.'