The Glass Bird Girl (14 page)

‘There is one thing I should tell you,' Miss Fotheringay began.

Edie waited, breathless, but just then she felt the confiscations box slipping towards her. She tried to push it back, but it was too heavy and next moment she found herself watching with a stifled cry as it tumbled over her head and crashed to the floor.

‘
Edith Wilson!
' Miss Mannering exclaimed, bursting in at the door.

Miss Fotheringay followed, looking in silence at the confiscated sweets and books and torches lying strewn about the floor. Edie remained standing on her chair, her eyes darting from one woman to the other.

‘Get down!' Miss Mannering shouted, addressing her like a disobedient dog. ‘What on earth is this about?'

‘I – I came to get my torch.'

Miss Mannering looked incredulous. ‘You came and entered the staff cloakroom at ten o'clock at night and took my box from the shelf in order to
get your torch
?'

‘Yes,' Edie whispered. Miss Mannering's eyes were protruding ominously. But when Edie dared look at Miss Fotheringay she saw to her surprise that there was no anger in her face, rather an impish glint.

Miss Mannering took a deep breath. ‘Well, Edith Wilson, this time you have gone too far. What do you think, Headmistress? I suggest—'

‘Let's gate her,' Miss Fotheringay said, her lips pursed into a teasing smile. ‘Instead of going out with her guardian this weekend she can stay here, with me. That will make her think twice about stealing into the staff cloakroom at night.'

Curiosity Not A Crime

‘
B
ye, Edie – I hope you don't have too awful a time,' Sally said. ‘Daddy, this is Edie, the girl who joined late, remember? I wrote to you about her. She's been gated, poor thing!'

Edie smiled politely for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The school was crawling with other girls' parents and not even the dormitory was safe to hide in. Too late she'd learnt that this was the traditional time for parents to inspect their daughters' sleeping quarters.

‘I'm sorry to hear you've been gated.' Sally's father was short and jovial-looking, with thick spectacles and thinning hair. ‘Did you do something very bad?'

‘She's so funny, Daddy, she's, like, addicted to reading,' Sally chimed. ‘She can't stop at lights out so then she reads by torchlight and then her book gets confiscated
and then she goes marching off looking for it in the confiscations box in the middle of the night! I said she should use sleepwalking as a defence – they can't punish her for what she can't help, can they?'

‘
Do
you sleepwalk?' Sally's father asked Edie, with a concerned look.

‘I – no . . . I don't think so,' Edie answered stupidly.
You've only had all morning to get your story straight
, she told herself crossly.
Why haven't you thought of something?

When Sally and her father had gone Edie hunched herself up on the windowsill, hoping she would be left alone. Looking down, she saw Miss Winifred standing in the middle of the courtyard, ticking names off a clipboard as each child came up to say goodbye before being driven away. She spotted Alice, walking arm in arm with her father to his car, and Phoebe, weaving through the crowd with an unfamiliar spring in her step. Anastasia had already gone; Edie had not met her friend's mother – she had come early and had whisked her daughter away ahead of the rush.

Before long only a shiny red sports car remained. Edie saw Miss Winifred bend over to speak to the person in the driving seat, then the door of the car opened and a man got out. Edie peered down curiously, her knees hugged to her chin. She could not see the man's face, but noted the shock of jet-black hair and the tall, angular frame that unravelled from the car like a coil. She chewed her cheeks in quiet pleasure – he was the same man as the one she had seen with Miss Winifred in the village. He
must
be her boyfriend! That would be
something to talk about to the others, when they came back to school bubbling over with tales of home treats.

The man loaded a suitcase into the back seat, then he and Miss Winifred got into the car and drove off at a slight skid. No one else appeared, and Edie felt strange thinking of herself left behind in the empty school, though she did not actually care about being gated – anything was better than going back to Folly Farm.

As far as she knew all the staff except Miss Fotheringay had gone, and she wondered shyly if the two of them would eat supper together in the huge school dining room, and if it would be Miss Fotheringay who appeared at eight o'clock to turn out the dormitory light. Edie supposed that for the most part she would be left to amuse herself, and she determined to make the most of her time. Perhaps she would have a chance to search Miss Mannering's study?

‘Well, have you solved it?' asked a quiet voice, and Edie looked up in fright to see Miss Fotheringay standing over her.

‘S-solved what?' she asked, wondering how long her headmistress had been there.

‘I don't know. You just had the look of someone thinking something through.' Edie blushed, feeling caught out. ‘I shall have plenty of time to unravel your secrets, Edith,' Miss Fotheringay continued, handing her a small canvas bag. ‘Pack up what you need for the night. You're coming to stay with me.'

‘With you?'

‘I'm afraid you've got no choice,' Miss Fotheringay
said, looking at her with an amused expression. ‘There are usually one or two girls left behind during
exeats
, but it so happens that on this occasion all those with families abroad have found friends to take pity on them. We're the only ones left. And you surely didn't imagine I'd leave you in an abandoned dormitory for the weekend? I've had a bed made up for you in my spare room – you can hide in there all weekend if you want to.'

Edie gathered her things in a daze. Miss Fotheringay lived above her study, in the West Tower, but Edie had only ever heard of prefects being invited there.

‘Toothbrush?' Miss Fotheringay prompted, as Edie was zipping up the bag. ‘Slippers?'

Edie felt shy as she walked beside her headmistress through the silent school. When they reached the hall Miss Fotheringay reached down and took her hand, as if guessing how strange she must feel. ‘I'm glad you've disgraced yourself,' she said, putting this small awkwardness behind them. ‘I sometimes find it lonely here when everyone's gone.'

They went out into the courtyard, and entered the West Tower through a pointed wooden door that Edie had never noticed before.
So much for my being a spy
, she thought guiltily.

Miss Fotheringay took the narrow stairs two at a time and led Edie into a large, curved drawing room with vaulted ceilings and windows on both sides. In one corner there was a tall gold birdcage with its door swinging open (‘I had budgerigars once, but Black Puss
ate them,' Miss Fotheringay explained, sheepishly); and beside the fire was a wooden jukebox with an old brass amplifier on top.

Edie thought it was one of the loveliest rooms she had ever seen – there was an atmosphere of friendly untidiness, with overflowing bookshelves, and rugs draped carelessly over the chairs. On one side stood a long oak table, where the day's newspapers lay unfolded next to a coffee pot and an unwashed cup and saucer.

‘Now, Edith, you must make yourself at home,' Miss Fotheringay said, tossing her scarf over a chair.

Edie wondered how to go about this. She saw Black Puss curled on the sofa and went to sit by him, but he jumped to the floor, arching his back in disdain. When the phone rang, she watched self-consciously as Miss Fotheringay walked to the desk by the window and frowned into the receiver.

‘No, Mummy, I'm not a machine. I
am
here . . . No. I'm staying at school for the night. I've got a pupil with me . . . You want to come
here
? With Dad? I suppose that would be all right.' Miss Fotheringay looked up, and gave Edie a doubtful glance. ‘What sort of time? . . . Lovely. See you both later then.' She put the phone down. ‘Well,' she said to Edie, ‘I had been hoping we might have a quiet supper and watch a film together, but I'm afraid my parents have just invited themselves to stay.'

Edie's disappointment in not having Miss Fotheringay to herself was outweighed by curiosity. She had sometimes wondered, secretly, what it would be like to have Miss Fotheringay as a mother – but she had never considered
that Miss Fotheringay might have parents of her own.

‘Do they live nearby?' she asked.

‘In Oxford,' Miss Fotheringay replied. ‘They still live in the house where I grew up.'

Edie tried to imagine Miss Fotheringay growing up, but couldn't. ‘Are they very old?' she ventured.

‘Pretty old,' Miss Fotheringay said. ‘Old and deaf in my father's case, and old and cross in my mother's.'

‘Why is she cross?'

‘Because she wanted one sort of daughter and got another.'

‘But – but what doesn't she like about you?' Edie asked, shocked.

‘There's plenty not to like about me, Edith.' Miss Fotheringay smiled. She picked up the cat from the floor and placed it in Edie's lap. This time it did not protest, but settled and purred. ‘You will never know what it is to disappoint a parent,' Miss Fotheringay said, perching on the arm of the sofa. ‘Perhaps that is one small thing you have to be grateful for. But what about your grandmother? She must have high hopes for you. Do you ever disappoint her?'

‘I think,' Edie said thoughtfully, ‘that sometimes she wishes I was more like her.'

‘How funny. That is exactly what my mother feels about me.' Miss Fotheringay seemed to reflect on this coincidence. ‘Would you like me to drive you over tomorrow to see your grandmother?' she asked after a pause. ‘She's in a home just outside Oxford, isn't she?'

Edie was taken aback. She had not expected to see Babka again until the end of term. ‘Yes – please . . . I mean, maybe, I—'

‘You don't know what sort of state she'll be in?' Miss Fotheringay suggested.

Edie nodded.

‘Well, it's up to you,' Miss Fotheringay said. ‘But if you would like it, just say. My parents will be gone after breakfast, so we'll have the day to ourselves.'

‘I would like it,' Edie decided, with sudden resolution.

‘That's settled then,' Miss Fotheringay said, giving an affectionate ruffle to Edie's hair.

That afternoon was the happiest Edie could remember. First she helped Miss Fotheringay make a kedgeree for supper, in her funny rickety kitchen up a little twist of stone stairs, then they toasted muffins by the fire, and when it stopped raining Miss Fotheringay took her to her private garden to see if the hens had laid any eggs.

‘This garden is a secret,' Miss Fotheringay said, pushing open a painted green door. ‘Are you good at keeping secrets, Edith?'

Edie nodded fervently.

‘Good,' Miss Fotheringay said. The door opened into a small, overgrown hideaway of shrubs and fruit trees, enclosed by a falling down red wall.

Edie found two eggs in the hen hutch, and put them in Miss Fotheringay's basket. ‘Are you really the only person who comes here?' she asked, looking about her solemnly.

‘Not quite,' Miss Fotheringay replied. ‘I'm not much of a gardener, so Miss Mannering helps.'

‘
Miss Mannering?
' Edie said, returned to her job with a jolt.

Miss Fotheringay looked intrigued. ‘Are you frightened of her, Edith?'

‘No!' Edie said emphatically. ‘No, I mean, I . . . where has Miss Mannering gone this weekend?' she asked in a sudden rush.

‘She's gone to her parents. They're even older than mine. She's very good to them.'

‘And – and is it true she . . . has friends in prison?' Edie persevered.

‘Well, I suppose that's one way of putting it. What have you heard exactly?'

‘Only that she has . . .
connections
,' Edie replied carefully.

Miss Fotheringay smiled. ‘Miss Mannering works as a volunteer teacher in an open prison not far from here. She has been doing it for years; she gives up most of her Sundays.'

Edie felt briefly deflated. This information did not suit her theory that Miss Mannering was up to no good.

‘Really, Edith, you are a very curious child,' Miss Fotheringay said. Edie looked embarrassed. ‘It's not a crime,' the headmistress went on, stooping to shut the hens back in their hutch. ‘I'm also curious. I'm particularly curious about you.'

Edie's heart quickened, wondering if she had aroused suspicion. When Miss Fotheringay stood up she looked
at her even more intently than usual.

‘You remind me of someone I knew when I was a child,' she said quietly.

‘Someone you liked?' Edie asked.

Miss Fotheringay frowned, as though weighing something up in her mind. ‘Too many questions,' she said.

Ten miles away in Oxford, Miss Winifred and her mystery companion sat deep in mystery conversation at the bar of the Old Stoke Hotel.

‘We should have done it yesterday, when we had the chance. I had her in my room, I'm telling you, May, we should have—'

‘Hush, Vlady. You know we've got to wait for the passport. They told me yesterday it would be here within three days.'

‘It had better be. This waiting is killing me. I wish I'd just snatched her when she was coming out of that teashop.'

‘You're the one who's mad, Vladimir. The police helicopters would have been out before we'd even got to the M40. I tell you, if you want this to succeed we need time. We can't go until you've won her trust – how else are we going to keep her quiet on the ferry?'

‘I have my ways. Anyway, I don't think my bedside manner's fooled her so far.'

‘I'm not so sure,' Miss Winifred said softly. ‘I think she's coming round to you. Time, Vlady, give it time.'