The Glass Bird Girl (10 page)

‘Look!' Edie whispered, nudging Anastasia as Miss Winifred and the man got into a shiny red sports car. ‘Do you think that's her boyfriend?'

Anastasia watched the car drive off with a shrug, too tormented by her own problems to care. ‘I just don't understand, Edie. I never lose things at home. But now everything seems to disappear. Sometimes I think I'm going mad.'

‘You're not going mad,' Edie said firmly. ‘Someone's stealing from you, or playing tricks. And I'm going to help you find out who it is.'

‘Will you?' Anastasia asked, a look of helpless gratitude in her eyes.

Edie smiled, thinking suddenly of Babka – Babka asking her to do the shopping when she started going blind, asking her to read the bills, and sometimes even to forge her signature on the cheques. Edie liked to be needed; it made her feel she had a place in the world.

‘Yes,' she said, in a determined voice. ‘Of course I'll help you. And we may not have to look very far.' Anastasia looked at her blankly. ‘Oh, come on, Anastasia,' Edie said impatiently. ‘Phoebe was sitting right next to the coat stand. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to have reached into your pocket and taken money from your purse.'

Anastasia looked shocked. ‘But . . .'

‘I think you should tell Matron,' Edie said. ‘If you tell her that you think Phoebe's taken your money she'll search her drawers – and then we'll know.'

Edie dreaded following Charles's instructions and
having to search Phoebe's belongings herself. If anyone saw her, they would think
she
was the thief; and she would certainly feel like one. And if Phoebe was harbouring the money, Edie was sure she would have found somewhere clever to hide it. Much better if she could recruit Matron to do the job for her.

But Anastasia seemed horrified by the idea. ‘I can't accuse Phoebe – I might as well accuse one of the fourth-years, or Miss Winifred – they were all in the tea room too! And what if the money turns up again, like everything else? I've been made to look a fool enough times already. And if I tell Matron I had a fifty-pound note she'd tell Miss Fotheringay and I'd probably be gated for the whole year. You know how strict they are about money. No, I can't tell anyone, Edie, I just can't!'

Edie kept a very close eye on Phoebe. But Tuesday came and she still hadn't found anything concrete to report to Cousin Charles. That afternoon, when the post was laid out on the hall table, she found an envelope addressed to her in his handwriting, the contents of which gave her a jolt:

If we don't get some results by the end of term we might decide you're in the wrong job. I trust you've already pulled out of the play – the best servants remain invisible, and you weren't sent to Knight's Haddon to lark around onstage. I shall be telephoning your headmistress this week to keep myself informed.

It was written on a blank card, and signed in an impatient scrawl. He did not put ‘love', as he usually did. Edie's hand shook as she read it. Then she saw Anastasia coming and hastily shoved the card into her book.

‘Hurry up,' Anastasia said. ‘The rehearsal's about to start and we can't be late – we're going through our new scene. And Helen's beginning to fuss. I heard her complaining to one of the other prefects at lunch that we've only got three weeks left and half the cast can't remember their lines. Don't
you
worry, though,' she added. ‘You were perfect when I tested you this morning.'

‘It's not that,' Edie said miserably, for it was true they had been testing each other all weekend. ‘But I'm afraid . . .'

‘Edith the Brave, afraid? Never!' said Anastasia, laughing as she pulled her friend down the corridor.

Moments later Edie found herself back in the lower-school common room. The other first-years were chatting by the tuck boxes, but Edie stood apart. She wondered if Cousin Charles would telephone Miss Fotheringay that evening. She could have kicked herself for telling him about her part in the play. He had clearly fixed on it as the reason she was failing in her job, and some instinct told her that this time, if she did not obey him, he really would take her away from the school.

The rehearsal began. Edie was not needed for the first scene, and stood in a world of her own.

‘All right then,' Helen said finally. ‘Let's run through Act Four, scene two.' The others hurried forward but Edie did not move. ‘Edie, wake up!' Helen said amiably.

‘Sorry,' Edie mumbled, taking her place. The scene got under way but Edie was hardly aware of what was being said.

‘Edie!'

‘. . .
Edie!
'

Edie gave a start. Helen was looking at her with a puzzled expression, and she realised she had missed her cue. She had no idea what the last person had said. She floundered wretchedly, stammering a hotchpotch of half-remembered lines.

Helen sighed. ‘Let's try it again.'

But this time was even worse. Edie was so over-wrought she recited lines from a different scene entirely.

‘We're rehearsing Act Four, Edie, not Act Three,' Helen said wearily. ‘If you didn't have time to learn it you should have said so.'

‘But I
did
learn it, I was practising all weekend!' Edie cried. But what was the point in telling Helen how hard she had tried? She would have to pull out of the play anyway.

She heard Helen's voice, as if from a distance. ‘Come on, Edie, read from the script if you have to. You can't hold up the whole rehearsal just because you haven't done your prep.'

But all Edie could think of was Cousin Charles, telling her to pull out of the play so she could search the dormitory during rehearsals. In a terrified vision, she thought she saw him watching her from the corner. She struggled to stay calm but there was something burning inside her, a nettle being dragged in her throat. And
when she spoke it was not her own voice she heard:

‘Find someone else to play Nerissa if you want to! I don't care! I
hate
this stupid play anyway!' she cried, and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

The Head Strikes Back

E
die sat alone in the lower-school library, staring at the unopened book on her desk. She knew Anastasia would come looking for her, but it seemed a long time before she appeared.

‘At least Helen will be pleased,' Edie said self-pityingly, as her friend sat down beside her. ‘She only wanted me in the play to keep you happy. Now she can give my part to someone else.'

‘That's rubbish, Edie,' Anastasia said, colouring at the imputation that she was Helen's favourite. ‘She chose you because you're good. If you go and talk to her this evening and explain why you were so distracted then I'm sure she'll give you another chance.'

Edie glared at her. ‘And why was I so distracted?'

‘I don't know,' Anastasia said gravely. ‘Tell me.'

Because I am working for you
, Edie thought bitterly.
I'm your servant
. But she couldn't say it. She knew it wasn't Anastasia's fault; but she did not think she could bear to be told off by her all the same.

‘You don't have to tell me the reason,' Anastasia said, ‘but promise me, Edie, that you will go and talk to Helen.'

‘I can't.'

‘But you can't just walk out of the play in a fury—'

‘I'm not in a fury!' Edie said furiously.

Anastasia smiled. ‘Come on, Edie. You were the one who got cross, not Helen. Think how upset she'll be if you don't come back.'

Edie remembered how patient Helen had been in previous rehearsals, quietly explaining things when she didn't understand. ‘I would talk to her, but – I . . . I just can't. Oh, Anastasia, please try and understand!'

But Anastasia couldn't. She sat there for a long time, trying to make Edie change her mind, and seemed baffled by her stubbornness. ‘I think you're being an idiot,' she said finally.

Edie could see how selfish her behaviour must appear, and it came as no surprise that all the first-years took the same view.

‘I don't understand what you're upset about,' Alice said in the dormitory that evening. ‘Helen didn't say anything unkind.'

Edie was sitting on her bed writing a letter to Cousin Charles, reporting that his latest order had been carried
out, and she felt a sense of helpless frustration welling: ‘Oh, shut up!' she choked. ‘Why does
everyone
keep going on about it?'

But it seemed the first-years could talk about nothing else, and whenever they saw Edie coming their conversations came to a muffled stop. Even Anastasia appeared to have lost faith in her.

‘You are silly, Edie. If you don't come back, Helen will probably give your part to Belinda – she stood in for you after you stormed off and she was completely wooden. It will spoil things for everyone.'

‘You can hardly expect me to care about that,' Edie snapped.

‘Really, anyone would think you were being forced to give up your part,' Anastasia returned. ‘But it was your decision.'

Edie took this in silence. And as if Anastasia's disapproval weren't bad enough, she still had to face Miss Fotheringay. Edie was sure the headmistress would have been informed about her outburst, and she dreaded another summons.

She found it difficult to concentrate on her job, but she knew she must use the rehearsal time next evening to her advantage. Anastasia's fifty-pound note was still missing, and she was more convinced than ever that Phoebe was responsible for this, and for all the other things that had happened to Anastasia. She knew that while Anastasia, Alice and Sally were all due to attend the next rehearsal, Phoebe would not be needed. Edie wondered if she might seize the chance for more
thieving, and decided to keep watch on the dormitory in the hope of catching her red-handed.

When she knew the rehearsal had begun, she hid herself behind a cupboard at the far end of the corridor, peering out furtively at the dormitory door. Cousin Charles would have been proud of her, she thought grimly, but it was a lonely feeling, crouching there on her own, spying on an empty corridor.

After twenty minutes she was bored and stiff. But then she heard footsteps, and the Man came into view. Edie watched with a volt of excitement as she walked as far as her own dormitory, and turned inside. Was the Man carrying out one of her famous drawer searches? Perhaps she would find Anastasia's fifty pounds and save Edie the trouble? She tiptoed out of her hiding place, meaning to spy on her through the door. But Edie had not reckoned on the eyes in the back of the Man's head.

‘Ah, Edith,' she said sharply, spinning round. ‘I was just coming to find you. Miss Fotheringay would like to see you. Immediately.'

Edie's heart sank. So much for being a spy – she seemed to be the one who was always being caught out. She guessed Helen must have reported her outburst during the rehearsal, and when she knocked on the headmistress's door she feared the worst.

Miss Fotheringay was sitting at her desk. This time she did not get up when Edie came in. ‘Come here, Edith,' she said.

It was only six paces, but Edie felt as though she were wading through mud. There was a chair pulled up to the
desk, but Miss Fotheringay did not invite her to sit on it, so Edie stood awkwardly in front of her.

Miss Fotheringay's face was calm, almost mask-like. ‘I hear you have walked out of the play, Edith.'

‘Yes,' Edie murmured.

‘Why?'

No answer.

‘I understand from Helen that she would be willing to let you carry on, if you would like to. It is not too late, Edith. In fact,' Miss Fotheringay added meaningfully, ‘I understand that Helen is very reluctant to lose you.'

‘I – I can't be in the play any more. I – I'm sorry . . .' Edie stammered.

‘You can say sorry to me, so why not to Helen?' Miss Fotheringay asked.

‘I don't know.'

‘I can only suppose Helen must have upset you very much for you to take this stance. Perhaps you would like to tell me what it was all about – in confidence, of course.'

Edie stared at the floor. She thought of the Latin lesson, when she and Miss Fotheringay had sat on the sofa and talked about her mother and Cousin Charles, and had an impulse to tell her everything, but when she met her headmistress's eye something stopped her. Miss Fotheringay looked as though her mind was already made up. The silence became oppressive, and Edie felt self-conscious standing there being looked at, like an animal in a pen.

‘You do realise how selfish you're being?' Miss
Fotheringay said finally. ‘Helen has put a lot of time into directing the play, and now they will have to start rehearsing your scenes all over again. I would like you to think about this carefully, Edith. You have the chance to put things right.'

‘But – I can't.'

When she summoned the courage to look up again she saw deep displeasure in Miss Fotheringay's face. But her headmistress's voice was expressionless. ‘Very well, Edith, that will be all. I regret I shall not be able to take you for Latin on Friday. Something else has come up.'

Edie took a step back from the desk.

‘I am not the Queen, Edith. You needn't walk out backwards,' Miss Fotheringay said coolly, picking up her pen and returning to the pile of papers in front of her.

‘Don't run!' shouted a prefect in vain as Edie fled down the corridor. When she reached the dormitory she flung herself face down on her bed and gave in to a fit of passionate sobbing.

She felt broken. No one had ever shown such an interest in her as Miss Fotheringay had; and now Edie had lost everything. There had been something in the harshness of Miss Fotheringay's dismissal that made Edie certain she would be given no second chance. The only person she could imagine talking to now was Anastasia, but even she had turned against her. That at least would change, if Edie found out who was targeting her. All that remained was to solve the mystery of what was happening to Anastasia – and then Cousin Charles would take her away.

The thought steeled her, and she sat up on the bed and looked around with eyes washed clear by tears. It
had
to be Phoebe; there was no one else.

She stood up and walked slowly across the dormitory. If anyone came in and saw her she would be sent back to Miss Fotheringay in disgrace; but what did it matter now? A breeze from the window touched her arm and made her shiver as she crouched on the floor and opened the drawer of Phoebe's bedside table.