The Glass Bird Girl (4 page)

‘Lucky you, having a full tuck box,' said Sally. ‘It's only a week since half-term but we've finished ours already.'

‘It's a pity you've arrived so late,' Alice said sympathetically. ‘You've missed the choir auditions,
and
the trials for the first-year lacrosse team – but they might still let you try out.'

Edie tried to look interested, though she suspected her mission would leave no time for such things.

Sally meanwhile was staring hungrily at her tuck box. ‘Oh, do show us what you've got! I'd love to see!'

Edie felt herself reddening again – she was too embarrassed to admit she had nothing to offer them. And she didn't want anyone to see her phone.

‘It
is
the custom for new girls to share their tuck,' Phoebe said. ‘But I suppose we can't force you.'

‘Oh, don't start up again, Phoebe,' Alice said. ‘It's all right, you know – you don't have to share with us if you don't want to. And you can lock it if you like,' she said, pointing to the padlock on Edie's tuck box. ‘But you'll have to hand over the key when they do an inspection.'

Edie looked horrified.

‘They search them,' Sally said darkly. ‘And if you've got any sweets they'll be confiscated and you won't get them back until the end of term!'

‘If Matron greedy pig Mend doesn't eat them first,' Alice giggled.

‘I don't have any sweets,' Edie mumbled. ‘I don't have any cake either . . . I . . .'

Anastasia turned and looked at Edie thoughtfully. ‘Don't worry about Phoebe,' she said, speaking with quiet authority. ‘It's up to you to decide what you want to show us.'

Phoebe looked furious and Edie was relieved when Matron reappeared. It was time to meet the headmistress.

Miss Fotheringay's study was on the other side of the school, down another series of corridors, and Edie tried to compose herself on the way. She had been nervous about meeting her head teacher, but now she was more concerned about the scene she had just fled.

‘
Whatever you do, don't draw attention to yourself
,' Cousin Charles had warned her. But she had been caught snooping before she had even unpacked. And after the business over her tuck box they'd all think she was mean.

What's it matter whether or not they like me?
she thought, as Matron knocked on the headmistress's door.
As soon as my job's done I'll be gone from this stupid place for ever!

In Loco Parentis

‘
I
n you go,' Matron said, nudging her through the door.

It took Edie's eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. When they did she found herself in a large fire-lit study filled with books. The walls followed the gentle curve of the tower, and a tall arched window showed the sun sinking in a brilliant blaze across the park.

In the corner of the room a figure was seated behind a wide leather desk, her head bowed over a pile of papers. A black cat crouched beside the brass desk lamp, tracking the progress of the woman's fountain pen as she turned over a document and signed her name with a flourish.

‘Done,' she said, returning the pen to its lid and looking up with the flicker of a smile.

Edie looked back, unnerved. Cousin Charles had been dismissive of Miss Fotheringay – ‘
she hasn't been there long . . . a bit at sea, I'm told
. . .
Stolly said she was a dragon, keep your head down, though, and she shouldn't take much notice of you . . .
' – but the woman sitting behind the desk was not what she had been expecting. Her face was beautiful, long and narrow with features that looked as though they had been carved out of stone; but more than anything Edie was struck by the eyes, blue and unblinking beneath hooded lids. She felt herself being scrutinised in a way that was quite unfamiliar to her, as if everything inside her were being turned out and searched.

‘Close the door, Edith, and come and sit down,' Miss Fotheringay said at last. Edie followed her towards the fire, noting the whispers of grey in the headmistress's pale brown hair, and the gold thread in her dress.

‘Here,' Miss Fotheringay said, patting the sofa.

Edie perched uneasily. A delicate tea was laid out on a low table in front of her, flowered china and cakes on a glass stand.

Miss Fotheringay sat beside her and reached for the teapot. ‘No, Black Puss, you keep off the food,' she said, batting away the cat that had approached the table with its tail erect. ‘Although I agree that Miss Wilson here has the air of a bird ready for flight,' she added in an amused voice. ‘I hope we can hold on to you long enough, Edith, to stop you wanting to leave.'

Edie didn't know how to respond. Had she been found out already? But Miss Fotheringay was calmly
busying herself with the tea things, and gave no sign of having meant more than she said.

‘Eat,' she ordered, choosing her two little cakes.

Edie balanced her plate on her lap, crumbling her food with her fingers.

Miss Fotheringay sipped her tea. ‘Tell me, Edith,' she said, ‘what brings you to Knight's Haddon in the middle of term?'

Edie felt a tightening in her throat. The question was unexpected, and she needed time to think. She looked up into the headmistress's face but as quickly looked away again. There was something in her eyes that made Edie flinch.

‘I did not press your guardian for too much information,' Miss Fotheringay went on. ‘Sometimes parents are afraid to tell me things because they think I'll refuse to accept children who have been in trouble. It is, for the most part, an unnecessary caution – I'm reluctant to turn away any child I have room for. But if something went wrong at your last school then I should like to hear about it.'

Edie remained silent. Her orders were to blend in. Should she make up a story to fit Miss Fotheringay's assumption that she was some sort of delinquent?

‘Tell me, child. Were you unhappy there?'

‘No – no,' Edie said, surprised into telling the truth. ‘I liked it.'

‘You just happen not to have attended for the last two years,' Miss Fotheringay observed.

Edie, failing to think of a story, decided to stick to the
facts. To some of them, anyway: ‘Babka – that's my grandmother – took me out of school. She . . . she needed me at home, so she taught me herself.'

‘I see . . .'

‘But then Babka had to go into a home, and my guardian wanted . . . decided to send me here.' Edie finished clumsily.

Miss Fotheringay nodded. ‘Mr Rodriguez mentioned how keen you were to come here. He was afraid you might have a romantic idea of boarding school from all the old-fashioned storybooks you've read.'

Edie felt ambushed. Cousin Charles had warned her that she would have to lie – ‘
you can lie all you like, Edith, so long as you stick to the same one
' – yet she found herself shocked to discover that he had lied about her.

‘Perhaps he was the one who was keen, Edith, not you,' Miss Fotheringay continued. ‘You don't strike me as the sort of girl who comes to a school like this with fixed ideas about how much fun it is going to be.'

Edie said nothing. There was something about this dramatic-looking woman with searchlight eyes and a quiet, probing voice that made Edie want her approval, but an instinct told her to hold back. ‘
There are some people
,' Babka had warned her, ‘
who always want to know more than it is safe to tell
.'

‘When did you stop living with your grandmother?' was Miss Fotheringay's next question. ‘I had understood that you lived with your uncle and aunt.'

‘I left Babka a month ago,' Edie replied, ‘when she went into a home.'

‘Ah,' Miss Fotheringay said. ‘So your grandmother has been the important one.'

Edie had a vision of Babka sitting alone with her chessmen, and fought a sudden sting of tears. ‘Yes . . . yes, I suppose . . .' she began, wishing Miss Fotheringay would take charge of the conversation again. But her headmistress was watching her in silence.
She is waiting for me to cry
, Edie thought; and she did, her tears dripping onto her crumbled cakes. Miss Fotheringay gave her a handkerchief, and through glazed eyes Edie saw the initials C.F. embroidered in crimson thread, and wondered what the C stood for. But Edie was not crying because of Babka. She was crying because someone was being kind to her.

Miss Fotheringay did not seem at all awkward or embarrassed. Black Puss jumped up into the space between them on the sofa, and began to purr. ‘I hope you're not afraid of cats,' Miss Fotheringay said, stroking him lovingly. ‘This one was a stray. He used to be afraid of me, but I think I've won him round.'

‘We had a cat, when I lived with Babka,' Edie said, trying to keep her voice even. ‘Then when Babka went blind I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle and their three sons but they . . . they lived in the country and they didn't really want . . . then . . . then Cousin Charles asked me to live with him in London and then . . .' Edie faltered, suffocated by secrets. ‘I miss my grandmother,' she said finally, for this at least was true. Then it occurred to her that it was better than true – that missing Babka could be her alibi for all the other feelings she
could not confess.

Edie talked a little more, about Babka and her failing sight. Miss Fotheringay asked the occasional question such as ‘Who did the cooking?' and ‘What happened to the cat?' and Edie explained about the eating out of tins and the cat being sent to an animal shelter. But mostly Miss Fotheringay just listened, and when Edie had stopped talking she had the look of someone who was still listening, or at least thinking very hard about what she had heard.

At length she said, ‘I have a hunch about you, Edith. I think you will have something extra to offer. It is often the way with children who have suffered more than is quite fair. I hope that Knight's Haddon will be the beginning of a more settled period in your life. The first few weeks at a new school are always difficult, and you may find you are behind in certain subjects. But you'll catch up soon enough, and in the meantime you must try not to get anxious about your work. The teachers are here to help you. Of course, this is true of staff in other schools, but at boarding school all the teachers are
in loco parentis
. Do you know what that means?'

Edie shook her head.

‘It's Latin. Can you try to work it out?'

‘I don't know any Latin.'

Miss Fotheringay smiled. ‘You will.
Locus
is Latin for place – it's where the word “location” comes from.
In loco parentis
means in the place of parents. You are used to being the only child without parents, but here at Knight's Haddon all the pupils are, in a sense, parentless.
My staff and I try to make that up to you.'

Edie bit her lip, trying to take this in.

‘But a boarding school can only thrive so long as its members are truthful and trusting. There is no place, at Knight's Haddon, for secrets or lies. Your success – now and in the future – will depend on your ability to be open and honest – it is the open, honest girls, Edith, of whom I am truly proud.'

Edie's heart gave a confused lurch. This was very different from the talk Cousin Charles had given her in the car. She stared at the cat, not daring to meet her headmistress's eye. She would not be here long, she reminded herself – it hardly mattered if she failed to please Miss Fotheringay. And yet this short speech made her very uncomfortable.

‘Have you met the girls in your dormitory?'

Edie nodded.

‘Now let me see, you're with Sally Lanyon, aren't you, and Alice and . . . Phoebe, is it?'

‘Yes,' said Edie nervously.

‘There must be one more,' said Miss Fotheringay, frowning as she replaced her teacup on the tray. ‘Who's your fifth?'

Edie had a sudden fear that Miss Fotheringay suspected something of her connection to Anastasia. Why else was she watching her so intently, waiting for her to say her name?

‘I c-can't remember,' she faltered, and felt the red rising.

Miss Fotheringay looked thoughtful. ‘Isn't it
Anastasia Stolonov?' she said. ‘Perhaps you haven't met her yet?'

‘Yes . . . no . . . I think I have . . . I – I'm not sure.'

Miss Fotheringay looked at her carefully, before seeming to shake an idea from her head.

‘Of course, you'll take time to settle in,' she went on. ‘But not too long, I hope. You've missed half a term of Latin so I shall tutor you myself in that. Meanwhile it's probably a good idea to involve yourself in as many things as possible. Have you ever played lacrosse?'

Edie shook her head.

‘What about music? Perhaps you could audition for the orchestra.'

‘I don't play anything.'

‘Or the choir?'

‘I can't sing.'

‘Mmm. There is a school of thought which says that everyone can sing, but not being able to myself I don't belong to it. Drama!' she said suddenly. ‘There are auditions tomorrow for the first-year play. It's to be
The Merchant of Venice
, directed by one of the prefects. Perhaps you would like to try for that.'

‘Yes, I – I'd like to – but . . . but I can't act,' Edie said uncertainly.

‘I don't believe you, Edith?' Miss Fotheringay said, smiling. ‘I suspect you might be rather good at it.'