First term at fernside, p.9
First Term at Fernside, page 9
‘Good,’ Babs said in disgust. ‘What age do you think we are, Nancy?’
‘We’ll be like mice,’ Sadie assured her.
‘Mice are quite noisy,’ Linnet said, cheering up a little at the idea of quiet. ‘Squeaking and fustling about.’
‘We’ll be like dumb mice,’ Sadie said, ‘wearing socks.’
Linnet bent over her arithmetic. Lessons were the easiest part of school. She still got into trouble for her handwriting, and she didn’t always finish because she wasn’t used to working quickly. With Miss Devlin, if they’d been enjoying reading a play, or learning about volcanoes or Australia, they just kept going. There had been no bells to dictate otherwise. But she liked arithmetic, and even taking care to form the figures neatly, she finished in plenty of time, and was deep into her geography reading – about the mountain ranges of Ireland – when the bell jerked her back to reality.
In the usual rush of supper and bedtime ablutions, lower fourth forgot about the new teacher, but in the Lilac dorm before lights out, Fran started saying once again how unfair it was, and the conversation started over, the words swirling grumpily round the room. It was muggy for mid-September, and Linnet was glad when Robin pushed the window open further, and the night air crept in, bringing with it the far-off yowls of fighting cats and the howl of a vixen.
‘D’you think that’s the black cat?’ Linnet asked, to change the subject, but Fran said, ‘I shouldn’t think so; she’ll be much too busy trying to feed her kittens,’ and went back to her grumbling.
Linnet went to the open window and looked out across the shadowed garden to Rowanbank. She could just make out the roof of the house: it was smaller than Fernside, though its grounds were extensive. The sun had set, its last rays gilding the tops of the trees. Linnet tried to imagine herself out of the dormitory and in among those trees, but the other girls’ bickering kept forcing itself into her brain, and in the end she had to turn her back on Rowanbank and, reluctantly, but no longer shyly, start to undress.
Fran was still talking about the science teacher.
‘I don’t know why you’re so bothered, anyway,’ Sadie was saying.
‘I want to be a vet,’ Fran said, ‘like my father.’ It was the first thing she had ever said about her home, apart from the fact that she had a pony called Nutmeg.
‘Girls can’t be vets,’ Evangeline said.
‘Of course they can.’ Fran looked scornful as she buttoned up her pyjama top. ‘Have you never heard of Aleen Cust? By the time I’m old enough, there’ll be lots of us. Only not if I don’t get the chance to learn science.’
‘It’s not very ladylike,’ Evangeline said. ‘Surely you’d have to do unpleasant things?’
Fran shrugged. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘What does your mother say?’
Fran bit her lip. ‘Nothing.’ And it was as if all the words and indignation and ambition suddenly abandoned her. She got into bed and, without saying goodnight to anyone, huddled down into her blankets until all they could see was the top of her red head.
Evangeline broke the awkward silence. ‘Anyway, time for us all to be quiet.’ She knelt by her bed, with her hands together.
‘Look at Saint Evangeline,’ Babs said. ‘Isn’t she exactly like one of those Victorian illustrations of the Child at Prayer?’
But nobody laughed.
Chapter 15
An Invitation
About a month into every term, Robin would start to feel glum. The shiny newness had worn off, but the holidays were still months away. Even half term shimmered on a distant horizon. In her letters home she chose her words carefully to reassure Mother that she was enjoying herself and working hard, that the money spent on her education was worthwhile. All the days started to take on a porridgey sameness, especially with no hockey to punctuate the dullness. Nobody had anything new to say, and all her friends’ foibles, which she could normally laugh off, made her teeth buzz with irritation: the way Linnet’s tongue stuck out when she was concentrating; Babs’s insistence on the last word in every argument; the way Mabel’s hand shot up in class for every question; Evangeline’s adenoidal snores.
Sometimes, when the bell went for the end of school, Robin couldn’t help feeling envious of the daygirls, setting off up Fernside Road, hats at jaunty angles, released into the freedom of their own home lives until the next morning. Gillian Moffatt came by bicycle: imagine the freedom of that! She was always first to leave, pedalling up the drive with her basket full of books, her school hat rammed down over her straight brown bob.
‘But we’re jealous of you,’ Enid said, one damp Thursday, when lower fourth were getting their books together at the end of afternoon school. ‘All the fun you have in the dorm.’
‘We honestly don’t,’ Robin said, trying to stuff her history book into her locker.
‘It’s not like the stories,’ Sadie said. ‘Don’t believe everything you read.’
‘Sadie, I don’t think anyone but you ever imagined school was all midnight feasts and secret passages and breaking bounds to discover the long-lost treasure,’ Babs said. ‘You’re not still reading The School Friend, are you?’
Sadie ignored her, but Linnet, collecting her books from the locker beside Robin’s, blushed – or so Robin thought, but she could have been imagining it: nobody was less likely to break bounds, or indeed to read The School Friend, than Linnet.
‘We need fun,’ Babs said.
‘There’s dancing tomorrow evening,’ Evangeline said.
‘I said fun.’
Enid, her books neatly strapped, looked thoughtful. ‘It’s my birthday on Saturday,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you all come to tea? I asked Phoebe and Rose but they have a Guide hike.’
‘Otherwise we’d have loved to,’ Phoebe said. ‘Come on, Rose – we need to run for the tram. You’re lucky, Enid – only having to walk to the top of the road.’
‘Did you ask Gillian?’ Babs asked.
Enid shook her head. ‘She calls me Bessie Bunter, so funnily enough I didn’t.’
Robin said, ‘It would be wonderful, but Miss Rea’s very strict about exeats and it’s not Special Saturday.’
‘What on earth’s that?’ Enid asked.
‘Every form has one a term – when you’re allowed to go out to tea or have your family to visit. Ours isn’t until November. By which time we could all be dead,’ Robin said.
‘It is a Special Saturday,’ Enid said. ‘It’s my birthday – that’s special! And I only live at the top of Fernside Road. Surely Miss Rea would let you go that far? Shall I go and ask her?’
The others looked at each other uncertainly. It didn’t seem likely Miss Rea would say yes – and she might think Enid very cheeky for asking, but Linnet said, surprising them all, ‘Miss Rea is very decent. I think you should ask.’
Enid straightened her girdle and made sure her hair was tidy. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll go now. Anyone care to come too?’
‘I’ll hold your books outside the door,’ Sadie said, ‘but I’m not going in.’
‘Let’s all go,’ Giulia said, ‘and then we’ll know the instant she says yes.’
‘Or no,’ Robin reminded her.
‘I think Matron would have something to say,’ Evangeline said, ‘if we all crowd into the hall when we’re supposed to be either in the common room or the garden.’
‘It pains me to admit it,’ Babs said, ‘but Evangeline’s right. Let’s wait in the form garden.’
They wandered down to their own small patch, neglected by generations of lower fourths.
‘We ought to do something about this garden,’ Evangeline said, which was what someone always said, but nobody ever bothered, unless they had a timetabled gardening class. Robin, vaguely thinking that virtue might be rewarded, pulled idly at some weeds until Linnet said they were ferns.
‘I predict that this will be another year when we don’t win the gardening prize,’ Babs said.
‘Oh, let the upper fifth have it,’ said Mabel, gardening being one of the few things she was neither keen on nor gifted at. ‘They’re always down here in raptures about their dandelions or whatever. And it doesn’t count for the Form Shield.’
‘I wouldn’t mind gardening if we grew vegetables,’ Giulia said, ‘but such effort for a few scrubby bushes and drooping flowers is not worth it.’
‘It could be lovely,’ Linnet suggested, ‘but it would take work. You’d have to—’
Before she could outline exactly what might need to be done, Robin said, ‘Here’s Sadie and Enid!’
‘Enid’s giving a thumbs-up!’ Evangeline said. ‘Praise the Lord!’
‘Praise Miss Rea for saying yes,’ Mabel said.
‘She wasn’t keen at first,’ Enid admitted. ‘She said she had to be very strict about infection and the boarders’ parents wouldn’t like them going willy-nilly into people’s houses—’
‘What nonsense,’ Babs said.
‘—and I said as we were in class together five days a week, that couldn’t make any difference. Then she said the other forms would get wind of it and it would be a dangerous pre-something.’
‘Precedent?’ Mabel suggested.
‘Yes, so then I said’ – Enid was clearly enjoying herself – ‘that I had been thinking over what she said in Prayers the other morning, about wanting the daygirls and boarders to mix more, and she took the bait perfectly. I’ll get Mother to ring her up this evening with the proper invitation, but it’s a YES!’
‘Hooray!’ everyone cheered. Linnet jumped up and down childishly, and Sadie lifted her hands from her crutches to clap.
‘But there are eight of us!’ Robin said. ‘Isn’t that too many?’
‘You might not all want to come.’ It was clear from Enid’s voice that she hoped they would.
‘To a birthday tea? With cake? At least,’ Babs said, ‘I don’t want to be presumptuous but I assume there’s cake? Who wouldn’t want to come?’
Chapter 16
Rudy
And so it proved. On Saturday afternoon, dressed in their best frocks, the eight lower-fourth boarders lined up in the front hall. Some of the babies crowded round to gawp at their style. Robin hoped her frock, cut down from one of Mother’s, didn’t look as shabby as she feared.
‘Could you bring us back some sweets or cake?’ asked the little white-haired girl.
‘Alice!’ her friend said. ‘Don’t be so cheeky.’
‘We’ll see what we can do,’ Evangeline promised.
A prefect would escort them to Enid’s house, but they were trusted to return unsupervised, as long as they stayed together and were back by five.
‘It’s daft,’ Babs complained to the prefect, a tall, fair-haired girl called Catherine. ‘Daygirls go where they like. Some of them come to school by tram or bicycle. Yet we’re chaperoned like babies.’
‘Oh, stop whingeing,’ Catherine said. ‘We never got to go to parties in the lower fourth.’ And she set off, marching a few steps ahead as if they were too ghastly to be seen with.
‘Matron said she would dose us all with castor oil tonight because we’re bound to overindulge in rich food,’ Sadie said. ‘And I know that’s the kind of thing that school-story matrons do, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Tonight’s hours away,’ Robin said. ‘She might forget.’ She breathed in the autumn air, feeling a new coolness on her cheeks. She noticed that there were no roses left in the hedgerows along the road, and that the leaves were starting to turn yellow and red. ‘Let’s just enjoy our escape.’
There had been heated discussion about what to take Enid, since there hadn’t been any chance to buy anything. Linnet had gone into the garden after breakfast and come back with a great bunch of autumn leaves and berries, which she insisted would look lovely arranged in a jug. Sadie had painted a card for them all to sign while the rest of the lower fourths were country dancing the evening before, and Evangeline produced some toffees from her tuck box. Everyone else had scoffed their tuck weeks ago, but she was very strict about taking only one toffee a day. You couldn’t hand someone half a box of toffees, but Mabel found a striped paper bag, and this, tied with a ribbon Giulia produced, looked quite festive.
The house was one of the new villas opposite Larkin’s, and Enid, pretty in a mauve silk frock with her hair tied back with a velvet bow, was waiting for them at the gate. She shrieked when she saw them and said their presents were wonderful.
‘I can’t wait to show you my puppy,’ she said. ‘He’s called Rudy after Rudolf Valentino.’
‘Excellent choice,’ Babs said.
‘After tea,’ said Mrs Daly. ‘A lively puppy and a tea table are not a good combination.’
‘I can hear him whining,’ Fran said. ‘What breed is he?’
‘A border collie.’
Fran frowned. ‘They’re not the best choice for towns,’ she said in a grown-up voice. ‘They need to be kept busy because they’re bred for herding sheep. I hope you’ll make sure he gets enough exercise and plenty to do.’
Enid said, hotly, ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, Fran.’
‘None of your business,’ parroted Enid’s little sister, Ellie, a round-faced girl of about eight.
Robin couldn’t help smiling. Fran had so little to say as a rule, but anything involving animals and she was full of opinions. Of course, she wanted to be a vet. It must be nice to have a definite ambition.
Mrs Daly did not smile. ‘We don’t need a little girl telling us how to manage our pets,’ she said. ‘Hasn’t your mother taught you not to speak out unless your opinion is asked for?’
‘I don’t have a mother,’ said Fran. To which nobody knew what to reply, least of all Mrs Daly.
So she’s a bit like me, Robin thought, and maybe that’s why she’s so sort of buttoned-up about her home. I wonder what happened to her mother?
‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Daly said. ‘Well. I must find a jug for the – er, display.’ And she disappeared, returning with a china jug for Linnet’s leaves and setting them on the polished sideboard with as much reverence as if they had been the most exquisite hothouse flowers. Enid shared the toffees. Chewing toffees made everyone relax, and soon Mabel and Robin were discussing hockey with Enid’s cousin Angela, who played for Ellis House, in the east of the city, while Enid’s brother Fred tried to convince them that rugby was the only game worth playing.
‘We aren’t dressed for rugby,’ Sadie said, looking down at her red checked frock.
‘Oh, but you couldn’t—’ began Ellie.
‘Aren’t you all smart in your Sunday best?’ Enid said quickly. ‘Giulia, you look about fifteen!’
‘My grandmother sent this from Milan.’ Giulia gave a twirl, the skirts of her deep orange, low-waisted frock swirling round her legs. Her dark curls were tucked into a yellow satin ribbon tied round her head, and her stockings were silk.
Robin looked down at her old green frock and sighed. She had grown since last year, and would have loved a new party frock, but when Mother had worried that this one, cut down from one of her own, was too short, Robin had assured her that short hemlines were all the rage. She would have been happier in her tunic, when at least she wouldn’t have looked worse than anyone else. Most of the time she didn’t think about Mother not being as well off as other people’s families, apart from making sure she worked hard and kept out of trouble, because she knew how difficult it must be for Mother to afford the school fees – but sometimes it slapped her on the face. After the adventure in Rowanbank, the others had simply disposed of their torn stockings and written home for more, whereas she had had to darn hers, and hope Matron didn’t ask questions. Enid’s house shone with expensive newness, acres of richly patterned Persian rugs on the floor, and fat velvet sofas and armchairs piled with silk cushions. The junior common room would seem very shabby tonight.
It was worth coming just for the tea. School food was plain, and treats rare, but Enid’s mother – or more likely the cook – had provided heaped plates of sandwiches, buttered barmbrack and fat curranty scones with jam and cream, as well as coloured jellies and little fairy cakes. The girls crowded round the tea table, wide-eyed with greed.
‘Let our guests eat first, Ellie,’ Enid warned, when Ellie bounced up to the table and grabbed a fairy cake.
‘Don’t take any cream, Linnet,’ Robin said quietly, ‘just in case.’
‘Imagine having to clean that rug,’ Babs said.
‘I’m not daft,’ Linnet said, calmly helping herself to an egg sandwich. The Linnet of a month ago would have burst into tears. Robin had to admit that Fernside had done her cousin good: she was still eccentric, but Robin’s fears of being stalked by her had proved unfounded. In fact, quite often lately she had looked for her at recreation times, and Linnet was nowhere to be found. It was rather a mystery.
Of course the pièce de résistance, as Mademoiselle would have called it, was the cake: a huge white concoction, with thirteen candles surrounded by swirls of pink buttercream, tiny sugar roses and rows and rows of little silver balls. Happy Birthday Enid was written on it in swirly pink icing.
‘When will I get a cake?’ Ellie whined.
‘When it’s your birthday,’ Enid said.
‘And then I get candles?’
‘Yes – nine.’
Ellie pouted. ‘Don’t want nine candles. I want more candles than you.’
‘You’ll have more candles than Enid when you’re fourteen,’ Fred said, and Ellie beamed and clapped her hands.
‘I’m getting more candles than Enid,’ she crowed.
‘No, you’re not, because when you’re fourteen I’ll be nineteen.’
‘But that’s not fair! I want more!’ Ellie’s bottom lip wobbled.
