The Fleethaven Trilogy (58 page)

Her mother’s arms came tightly around her. She rested her cheek against Kate’s hair. ‘Oh, Kate,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll be all right, really you will. Write to us . . .’ For an instant there was a slight tremor in Esther’s voice, as if suddenly she had doubts herself.

‘Mrs Godfrey,’ Miss Denham’s manly voice cut in, ‘you are not helping the child.’

Kate lifted her head and looked up into her mother’s eyes; eyes that were troubled now. ‘Mam, please don’t leave me here . . .’

‘Katharine!’ Miss Denham barked, so that Kate jumped physically. ‘Control yourself. We do not condone such emotional behaviour here. Now,’ the voice quietened a little, ‘I repeat, say goodbye to your mother, and pray conduct yourself with a little more decorum.’

Kate was so shocked that before she really realized what was happening she was being kissed on the cheek by her mother and then ushered out of the door by Mary, who shut the study door with a heavy thud of finality.

‘This way, Miss.’

There was nothing Kate could do but follow obediently.

*

The three pairs of inquisitive eyes were staring at her again, this time much closer.

Kate was sitting on a high bed and the three girls were ringed around the end just staring at her.

The long room, with a high ceiling, had five beds down each side. Beside each bed were a small chest of drawers and a narrow wardrobe. There were windows at the end of the room but set so high up in the wall it was impossible to see out of them. They were barred and the little of the glass that could be seen was opaque with grime on the outside so that not even the sky was visible. The floor was bare of any carpet or rugs and was so highly polished that it squeaked under Kate’s boots when she walked on it.

‘What’s your name?’ one of the watchers asked at last.

Kate looked at each of the three girls in turn. They were all dressed in similar uniform to her own, yet there was a subtle difference about theirs somehow. They all had short hair, cropped to a length just below their ears.

‘Kate. Kate Hilton. What’s yours?’

Another spoke but ignored Kate’s question. ‘Is that your
proper
name? The one you were christened?’

‘N-no. I – was christened Katharine, but I’m called Kate.’ And Danny calls me Katie, she almost added, but bit her lip to hold back the confidence.

‘Huh,’ the second girl said scathingly. ‘You’ll be called Katharine here.’

‘And you’ll have to have that hair cut.’ The third girl spoke for the first time, touching her own neatly cropped hair. ‘We all have to have it cut the same way.’

‘Or plait it, Isobel. She could have it plaited,’ the first one volunteered.

‘Not unless she can do it neatly.’

Kate gasped in horror. ‘They aren’t cuttin’ mine!’ she said vehemently, but the girls only laughed.

The door opened and a woman entered. She was dressed in what appeared to Kate to be a nurse’s uniform. She wore a long navy blue serge dress and a pristine white apron with a bib. Her hair was completely hidden by a starched square of white cloth folded around her head and falling into a triangle at the back.

‘Matron – this is the new girl, Katharine Hilton.’

‘But she likes to be called Kate.’

The woman’s eyebrows almost reached the edge of her cap. ‘Really?’

Now four pairs of eyes regarded her.

‘Come with me—’ the Matron paused and then added with emphasis, ‘Katharine.’

The three girls stifled their giggles swiftly as Kate slid slowly off her bed and walked between them towards the Matron.

‘Look at her blouse – it’s home-made,’ came a whisper.

‘So’s her gym-slip – just look at her boots!’

‘Have you unpacked and put your clothes away?’ the matron was asking.

‘No, me trunk ain’t got here yet.’

Another whisper. ‘Listen to how she speaks! How common!’

Kate spent the next half-hour in the Matron’s room listening to a list of school rules which she knew she would never remember. Then the Matron took her downstairs to the first floor and into a classroom to meet her teacher. When they entered, there were seven other girls in the room, all sitting in a semi-circle around the teacher, sewing. But at once they all stood up and chanted, ‘Good afternoon, Matron,’ and only sat down again when the Matron had acknowledged their greeting and added, ‘You may sit down, girls.’

‘Miss Ogden – this is Katharine Hilton. She will be in your class from tomorrow morning.’

The teacher rose and came to greet Kate, stretching out her hands to take Kate’s. For the first time since she had arrived at this place, Kate found herself looking into a face that was smiling and welcoming. Miss Ogden was a pretty, dark-haired young woman with a kind smile and merry, dancing eyes. ‘Welcome to Class Two, Katharine. We’ll introduce you to everyone tomorrow.’

Kate glanced briefly at the other pupils and her heart sank when she saw that the three girls whom she had met half an hour earlier were sitting there, their heads bent demurely over their sewing.

‘We’ll see you at dinner this evening,’ Miss Ogden said as the matron ushered Kate out of the classroom door and continued to show her around the school.

The ground floor consisted of the Principal’s study and private sitting room, the dining room and, at the rear of the house, the kitchens where the cook reigned over her kitchen maid and the parlourmaid who had answered the door. On the first floor were three classrooms, an art room and a domestic science room. Upstairs were three large dormitories with ten beds in each, Miss Denham’s bedroom and those of her two assistant teachers and the Matron. There was also a small room set aside as the sickroom, whilst up in the attic were the domestic servants’ bedrooms.

‘There, now you have seen everything, Katharine, I expect you not to get lost. Miss Denham cannot abide unpunctuality either for lessons or meals, or indeed for anything. Dinner is at half-past six. You may go and unpack your trunk which I believe has now arrived from the station.’

With the briefest of nods, she dismissed Kate.

‘We speak French at meal-times.’ In the dining room, Miss Denham was towering above her. ‘I presume you know a little French?’

‘No, Miss, I dun’t.’

‘She can’t speak English properly,’ came a voice from somewhere behind her, but Miss Denham chose to ignore the remark.

‘You’d better sit next to me this evening, but from tomorrow you will sit at Miss Ogden’s table.’

With an outward meekness she did not feel inside, Kate followed the Principal, thinking that she would rather sit near Miss Ogden, French or no French.

Miss Denham’s deep voice boomed out above their bowed heads, saying the Grace in French. Then there was a scraping of chairs on the bare wooden floor and everyone sat down.

Two girls from each table went to the serving hatch at the end of the dining room and returned carrying plates with a portion of meat on each. The procedure was repeated until everyone was served. Then, starting with the teacher at the head of each table, the vegetables were passed round and everyone helped themselves. Only when everyone was served was the signal given that they might start eating.

Conversation was not allowed, the rattle of knives and forks being the only sound in the room.

Kate felt the knot in her stomach, just below her ribs, tightening. She took a mouthful of meat and began to chew. The meat was tough and tasteless. Her mouth was dry; she could not swallow it.

‘Please may I have a glass of water?’

The Principal spoke but the words were completely unintelligible to Kate. ‘
En français, s’il te plait.’

Kate stared blankly at her. Even sitting down the woman looked tall and imposing, with lips so pursed there was hardly any mouth at all. Further down the table came a stifled giggle which prompted a stony glare from Miss Denham.

There was no way Kate could understand what was being said to her and even less chance of her replying. She bent her head and ate some of the vegetables instead. They had been over-cooked to a mushy pulp. She felt the bile rise into her throat with revulsion. Setting her knife and fork neatly together at the edge of the plate, Kate folded her hands in her lap.

She would eat no more.

‘
Mange!’
In the silence of the room, Miss Denham’s voice boomed, audible to all.

Kate fixed her gaze upon a picture on the wall opposite to where she was sitting, yet she could feel every eye in the room was turned in her direction. She was aware that only one face was perhaps turned upon her with any expression of sympathy and that was Miss Ogden’s, who was seated just below the picture.

‘Katharine Hilton,
mange – maintenant!’

The nervous knot in Kate’s stomach hardened into anger. Her green eyes swivelled from the picture and sparked fire.

‘I dun’t know what you are saying to me. I dun’t understand French.’

A shocked gasp reverberated around the room.

Kate stood up, her chair scraping on the wooden floor.

‘
Assieds-toi, immédiatement!’

Kate realized she was probably being ordered to sit down, but she had said she could not understand and now she had to carry it through. She left her place and marched down the length of the room, pulled open the heavy door and went through it. It swung to behind her with an echoing thud. The hall was dark and dismal, with only low wall lights burning. Kate shuddered, lifted her skirt above her knees and scampered up the two flights of stairs to the dormitory.

It was worse there. The long room was in complete darkness with only a glimmer of light coming from the high, barred windows at the far end. Kate rushed towards them. If only she could see out, she might feel better. If she could see the garden, trees, hear the birds . . .

She stood below the windows craning her neck backwards, but all she could see was pale grey light through the grime.

‘I can’t even see the sky!’ she wailed aloud. She leaned her cheek against the wall and sobbed.

It seemed as though she was in the darkness on her own for an age, huddled on her bed, before she heard voices coming up the stairs and along the landing, nearer and nearer.

Then they were in the room. Someone lit the gas light near the door and they were crowding round the end of her bed, gaping at her. Some had expressions of something akin to admiration. ‘Fancy walking out like that. I’d never have dared!’

Others with derisory glee. ‘You’re in for it. Miss Denham wants you in her study. Now!’

And one or two with hostility: ‘You’ll get us all into trouble if you carry on like that.’

‘What can you expect from a country bumpkin? No manners and can’t even understand a word of French!’

‘Ya’d better go down, likely ya’re in fer ca-ane.’ It was a cruel impersonation of the Lincolnshire dialect so strong in Kate’s speech.

Rage flooded through her again. She dashed away her tears with the back of her hand and swung her legs off the bed. ‘I aren’t afraid of
her!’

‘Just listen to her! “I aren’t!” Wherever did she go to school?’

‘A better school than this ‘un,’ Kate uttered as a parting shot as she marched out of the room, the sound of their heartless laughter following her down the stairs.

Outside the door of Miss Denham’s study, her boldness deserted her. Again the knot of nerves was fluttering just beneath her ribs and rising into her throat. She swallowed and her empty stomach gurgled.

She knocked on the door and on hearing ‘Enter’ – thankfully spoken in English now – she went in.

Miss Denham sat behind her desk with Miss Ogden standing on one side of her and the Matron on the other. Miss Ogden looked at her sadly, whilst outrage was apparent on the other two faces.

‘Katharine Hilton, your behaviour at the dinner table this evening was disgraceful,’ Miss Denham began. Kate returned the woman’s stare steadfastly, though her insides were churning and her knees were trembling. ‘Have you anything to say for yourself?’

‘I felt sick, Miss.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Miss Ogden’s hand flutter briefly towards her, almost as if she wanted to reach out and touch her. ‘Oh, you poor child . . .’ she heard the teacher mutter, but the gesture of understanding was quelled by a look from the Principal.

Miss Denham turned her cold gaze back upon Kate. ‘Normally I would cane you for such behaviour, but because it is your first day here, this time,’ there was heavy emphasis on the two words ‘this time’, ‘we will say no more about it. However, you will go straight to your dormitory and to bed instead of participating in games hour before bedtime. You may go.’

Kate went – thankfully. She was relieved to find the dormitory empty, and having paid a visit to the bathroom she undressed and lay down in the narrow, hard bed.

The sounds of the large building were all around her: voices, footsteps, doors banging, and the chimes of the cathedral clock only a short distance away. When the other girls came to bed, Kate lay with her head buried beneath the covers and pretended to be asleep. No one spoke to her or about her. It was as if she were not even there. When the room was in darkness she lay listening to the breathing of the nine other girls in the room and knew sleep would be impossible. She felt closed in and longed for the cool marsh breezes and the sound of the sea – and Danny.

At the thought of Danny she stuffed the sheet into her mouth to stifle a sob.

Then she remembered the whelk shell; a little piece of home. Quietly, she turned back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. She was half-way between her bed and the wardrobe when light flooded into the room and Kate turned, blinking in the sudden brightness, to see the Matron standing in the doorway.

‘What are you doing out of bed, girl?’

The polished floorboards were icy beneath her bare feet. Kate shivered, not so much from cold as from knowing that every girl in the room was wide awake and listening.

‘Well?’ snapped the Matron.

‘I was just getting summat from me coat in the wardrobe.’

Blanket-muffled laughter sounded.

‘What is it you want?’

Kate hesitated, searching desperately. ‘Me – me hanky.’