No Talking after Lights Page 21

  ‘I’m in the bath.’

  ‘Well hurry up, will you? Nobody said you could have a bath. The doctor will be here in about ten minutes. He’s going to want to examine you.’ There was a silence.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Still silence. Ten minutes later the doctor was standing beside her bed.

  ‘My dear young lady,’ he said. ‘I hear you’ve had a very nasty experience, and I’m afraid the next few minutes may not be very pleasant either. But it has to be done. Will you try and relax, don’t resist, and please believe that I have to do this? It’ll be over very quickly, I promise, but I need to have a dekko.’

  His cold hands drew back the sheet and he pulled up her nightie, exposing her body to his gaze and that of Miss Girdlestone. She tried to relax, but was very aware of him manipulating her legs apart and probing gently. She shut her eyes.

  ‘She’s OK,’ she heard him say. ‘No permanent harm done. Keep an eye on those scratches. It could be nasty if they turned septic. The main thing she needs is lots of rest. Give her a dose of this now, and another sleeping-pill last thing at night. Young girls are very resilient. In a week or two shell hardly remember what happened.’

  ‘Poor child,’ Mrs Birmingham’s voice said from beside the door. ‘Poor Hermione. She may not forget quite that easily.’

  Hermione’s scratches had been painted with iodine again, the doctor had gone, and she lay in bed flicking idly through one of the sick-room’s collection of old magazines. The door opened and the Head came in, sat on a chair beside the bed and folded her hands in her lap.

  ‘Feeling a bit better now?’ she asked. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Good. I expect you will be relieved to know that William Truett has gone. He has been dismissed. He will never come near the school again. You, of course, will not be punished. Now, dear, do you want to tell me about what happened yesterday evening, up on the heath?’

  Hermione blushed. She couldn’t tell the Headmistress - nor anyone, for that matter - about that. She shrank from the thought of his hot pushing hands, his breath whistling in her ear, the weight of his sweaty body as he tried to straddle her and hold her down. And after that Miss Parry, her rage, the force with which she’d slapped her, the struggle as Miss Monk had tried to hold her back.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  ‘Listen to me, Hermione. I’m afraid young men can sometimes be carried away by their feelings towards girls, especially if they happen to be rather lovely. It’s why we - your parents, and I - have to try so hard to protect you. But you’re all right apart from a few nasty scratches. You are still a virgin, Hermione. It’s important for you to know that. You may be quite, quite sure.

  You have nothing to hide from your future husband. Don’t be embarrassed, my dear. It is right that you should know, and that I should tell you. Finally, I am dreadfully sorry that this horrible thing should have happened to you. But it will not ruin your life, however distressed you may be feeling now. And it certainly hasn’t spoiled your pretty face.’

  Hermione blushed, more to be caught out in vanity than because of the Head’s calm words. She didn’t care in the least what her future husband would think. She doubted if there would be a future husband, after this.

  ‘I’m dreadfully sleepy,’ she said.

  The Head rose heavily to her feet.

  ‘Of course you are. Sleep’s the very thing you need. Now, I shall go and telephone your parents - oh yes, my dear, I am afraid they have to be told - and we’ll see what they want to do next. I’ll come and see you again later. And I shall remember you in my prayers.’

  There have been no new cases for a week, Mrs Mailing-Smith. We believe the outbreak is now contained … The polio is not, however, my main reason for telephoning you. I tried to make contact with you yesterday evening … The theatre. Yes, I see. Well now, I am afraid something rather unpleasant occurred yesterday. Yes, it involved your daughter.’ In measured tones, she described the attack. ‘Yes, of course you may remove Hermione before term ends. The choice must be yours … May I finish explaining? Then you will be in a better position to decide. She has, of course, been seen by the school doctor. On health grounds, as I have said, I do not think it necessary to send her home. Hermione is, of course, rather shocked, but she is in good hands, and at the moment she is sleeping peacefully … I understand. For the time being. Of course you must talk to your husband. Very well.’

  The study door opened, and Peggy Roberts came in. Henrietta raised her eyebrows to indicate exasperation, and ended her conversation with slightly more emphasis.

  ‘Of course, Mrs Mailing-Smith. Yes, I’ll tell her. Not at all. And once again, please accept my profound apologies for what has happened. Goodbye.’

  She looked at her Deputy and her shoulders slumped. ‘Hysterical mothers are the final straw. Hermione Mailing-Smith has quite enough on her plate without having to listen to a melodramatic outburst from her distracted mother. However, I can hardly prevent them from speaking on the telephone. Unfortunately it seems far more likely that she will get into her car the moment she puts the receiver down and remove the child forthwith. But enough of that. How was the hospital today?’

  ‘Very distressing, I am afraid.’

  ‘Shall we go into the drawing-room? Will you ring for some tea?’

  Mrs Birmingham walked heavily through the connecting door into the next room, sank heavily into her armchair and sighed. Be with me, O Lord, in this tribulation. Make me strong. Give to these Thy sick children comfort and hope. Lay Thy blessing upon Hermione and, O Lord, give it also to me!

  All my life, she reflected, it has fallen to me to be strong. When I first knew that I was expecting James, I told Lionel and he said, ‘Hetty, my dear, I don’t know if I’m cut out for fatherhood. It’s all right for you, but …’ and I had to reassure him. I tried to suggest he might earn some money, since Papa’s allowance would no longer be sufficient. That’s when he said he wasn’t born to be a bank clerk. The humiliation of trailing round my family, my pregnancy increasingly obvious, asking them to find him work that wouldn’t offend his pride. ‘He’d like to be in charge,’ I used to say; and I could read their thoughts. They had never suspected him of possessing qualities of leadership, or much intelligence, for that matter. He didn’t even go to the right tailor. And then James was born, their first grandson, their only grandson, and somehow a position was found for Lionel, a nanny for James, and for a few years we were content - until the war came. And I had to be strong yet again …

  ‘Henrietta? Your tea.’

  ‘Peggy … tell me about the hospital. How are they all? Is there any improvement?’

  ‘It’s not easy to tell with those children. They lie there, very still, not daring to move. They look so pale and frightened. It is hard to be cheerful and encouraging.’

  ‘What chance of …?’ asked Henrietta. ‘Too early to say. Little Katherine Wilson seems most at risk. One daren’t think about it.’

  ‘And Charmian?’

  ‘She didn’t say a word. The nurse tells me that she keeps asking when her mother is coming. Her father’s been, I’m glad to say, but her mother … I don’t know, Henrietta. I don’t pretend to understand these women.’

  A sudden knock startled them both.

  ‘Come in!’ called Mrs Birmingham.

  Miss Parry’s wiry head looked round the door.

  ‘Please come in. Sit down. I was going to ask you to see me. I understand that you and Miss Monk were able to intervene yesterday evening? It was most fortunate for Hermione Mailing-Smith that you happened to be there.’

  In the pause they all heard Mrs Birmingham’s wireless; although it was turned right down, a Chopin Étude was faintly audible. The clear, plangent notes fell like grains of sand into the silence.

  ‘I came to tell you,’ said Miss Parry steadily, as though she had rehearsed in advance what to say, ‘that Miss Monk and I were walking on the heath when we came upon Hermione Mailing-Smith just in time to prevent her from
being assaulted. We heard her cries for help. Who knows what might have happened otherwise? The boy is strong, and seemed determined to … Well, fortunately we were in time. When he saw us he ran away. Hermione, I am sure, was not to blame.’

  ‘Hermione had presumably made some sort of assignation with the under-gardener, for she had no business being on the heath, alone with him, at that hour. To that extent she was to blame. However,’ said the Head, ‘she has in my view been punished quite enough, and I do not propose to discipline her further.’

  ‘What will happen to her?’ asked Miss Parry. The question was her only reason for coming to see the Head. ‘Will her parents take her away?’

  ‘For the time being she is resting in the sick-room. It is up to her parents what they decide. I spoke to her mother earlier. They may wish to remove her immediately, since it is almost the end of term. I have not yet discussed with them the question of whether she will return.’

  Sylvia Parry fixed her intent gaze upon Mrs Birmingham for what seemed like minutes. Chopin sweetened the tension. Eventually she drew a deep breath.

  ‘I have a great many papers to mark.’

  ‘I am grateful to you for giving me your own account of what took place,’ said Mrs Birmingham coolly. ‘Unless you have anything further to add, you may go, Miss Parry.’

  When the afternoon exam was over, Constance knew she had done well. It was English, her best subject, and

  she’d answered the questions with ease, writing until the last moment. She didn’t join the others clustering round to commiserate with one another, but headed up towards the pets’ shed. Flopsy would be thirsty after another hot day.

  She found that once again, none of the animals had been fed or watered. As she trudged to the rain-water barrel and back, filling their bowls first with water and then with oats from the sack in the corner of the shed, she tried to sort out her plans for running away. It all seemed terribly difficult. First she would have to make her way to the station in the village - a good twenty minutes’ drive in the school coach, so that meant, what? Ten miles? How long would it take her to walk ten miles? Perhaps she could borrow someone’s bicycle. But she daren’t confide her plans, so that meant taking it without the owner’s permission, which was dishonest. She couldn’t do that. Well then, she’d have to get up very early one morning, slip out of school unseen, and walk. Maybe she’d meet someone who could give her a lift. But how would she pay for her train ticket? They were only allowed ten shillings pocket money a term, and that was kept in a locked petty-cash box in the staff-room. It was all much too complicated. She’d never manage it.

  Having finished her task, Constance took Flopsy out of his cage and sat cuddling him on a bale of straw in a dark corner of the shed. Oh, how I wish I were grown-up! she thought. Grown-ups can do whatever they like. They don’t have to ask permission, nobody criticizes them or orders them about. They’re free. I feel like poor old Flopsy, stuck in a cage; and I want to get out. But they make it impossible.

  She heard the bell ringing for supper, and bent to kiss Flopsy’s twitching nose before putting him back in his cage. It’s disgraceful that nobody’s feeding the pets,

  she said to herself as she ran down the drive towards the Covered Way. The gardener’s boy ought to be doing it, or Waterman himself. As she was passing the cottages she encountered Miss Parry.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she began politely, ‘but do you by any chance know where I would find the gardener’s boy? He hasn’t

  A deep red washed across Miss Parry’s set face and she rounded on Constance.

  ‘The gardener’s boy?’ she said. ‘And what, may I ask, would you be wanting with the gardener’s boy? Another loathsome little assignation, I suppose. Nasty, dirty, over-sexed little girl. Well let me tell you the gardener’s boy has been dismissed. Pronto. Out. That’ll be a big disappointment for you, I suppose.’ She thrust her face close to Constance’s and sneered at her, breathing hard.

  Constance looked wildly around for escape, but all the girls were lining up in the Covered Way. Miss Parry yanked her by the shoulder, shaking with rage.

  ‘Will you pay attention when a member of staff is speaking to you? Take an order mark for rudeness. And let me tell you, you little slut, that the gardener’s boy is down at the police station, which, if you’re not very careful, is where you’ll find yourself too. Now skedaddle! Out of my sight! GO!’

  In another moment she might have hit Constance, who turned and ran down the path and into the Covered Way. She didn’t join the queue for her table, but made for the lavatories. She slammed and locked a door behind her, then sat down to let her panting subside.

  Indignant despite her terror, she thought, Right, that’s it! That settles it! I’m definitely going, after that! How dare she call me a slut and a nasty, dirty, oversexed little girl? Oh, it’s all so unfair and I’m so unhappy.

  As she began to calm down her mind was churning with plans. Saturday morning: that would be the best time to go. They got up half an hour later at weekends, at twenty-past-seven instead of ten-to. If I slipped away at six, I might even catch the first train in the morning, certainly the second. I’d be in London by ten, surely; then all I’d have to do is find out which platform the Norfolk train goes from. To think, by lunchtime on Saturday I could be there! Aunt Marjie may be cross at first, but when I explain how miserable I’ve been, and how Mummy and Daddy just wouldn’t take any notice, and specially if I tell her what Batey Parry said just now, she’s bound to sympathize. Then she can phone them and say I’m safe with her, and she’ll persuade them I was right to run away … Constance felt light-hearted by the time she joined the supper queue.

  Rachel was standing in front of her. She turned round and beckoned Constance closer.

  ‘Have you heard?’ she whispered excitedly.

  ‘No. Heard what?’

  ‘About Hermy-One. She’s got polio!’

  ‘She hasn’t. How do you know?’

  “Cos Jennifer found out that Mick saw the doctor being taken up to the sick-room by Miss Girdlestone in Break. So then Mick crept up to the aunt next door and hid, ‘cos you know she’s got this terrific pash on Hermy-One. Well, anyway, after he’d gone, she didn’t dare go in, though she wanted to, but she could hear Hermione. Apparently she was all crying and awful. Poor Hermy-One!’

  I almost wish I could get it, thought Constance. Then I’d be out of all this. Before she could answer, the final gong went, and they trooped into the dining-room.

  That evening in the dormitory the girls were subdued. Miss Peachey had refused to give any gory details at bedtime, merely assuring them that

  Hermione was all right and had not developed polio.

  “Course she’s got polio!’ said Mick. ‘She was crying her eyes out. I heard her. Peach might have told us whether she’s going to hospital or what.’

  Tat chance,’ said Rachel. ‘She’s been sworn to secrecy, you bet. Mean pigs. It might be me next. Any of us.’

  ‘But it isn’t you. It’s Hermy-One,’ said Mick, close to tears. ‘Come on, everybody,’ said Deborah. ‘What shall we do to cheer ourselves up?’

  ‘I know,’ said Fiona. ‘Let’s play Spotlight on Beauty‘’

  ‘Don’t be daft - there’s not enough of us. With Sheila gone and Charmie gone, there’s no point.’

  ‘Why don’t we get Swallows to join us, then?’

  ‘We’re not allowed,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Don’t be so wet. It’s nearly end of term: who cares? Come on, who’s going to ask them?’

  ‘I will,’ said Constance.

  The others sat up excitedly. ‘Good for you, Gogs! But go quietly. On tiptoe. Don’t let Peach catch you.’

  Constance got out of bed, stuck her feet into her slippers, and tiptoed along the top corridor. She knocked on Swallows’ door and slipped inside. There were only four of them, and three were sitting on Flick’s bed, comforting her as she wept dramatically.

  Constance remembered that Hermione had bee
n Flick’s ‘pash’, too.

  ‘Come on, cheer up,’ she said. ‘We’re going to play Spotlight on Beauty only there’s not enough of us left so you’ve got to join in. Peach isn’t around so it’ll be OK so long as you don’t make a row.’

  Ungainly with caution they went along the corridor stifling their giggles. The girls in Starlings were already brushing their hair and pinching their cheeks. The four from Swallows arranged themselves on the two empty beds and borrowed brushes and mirrors. Everyone

  concentrated on their faces, frowning as they nipped the heads off spots, then licking fingertips and smoothing their eyebrows into perfect arcs.

  ‘Don’t anyone take off marks for my nightie being torn.’

  ‘That’s your hard cheese!’

  ‘Well, then, I’ll put on a clean one.’

  ‘Swizz. If you do everyone can.’

  ‘Meanie.’

  ‘Shut up, Rachel,’ said Mick. ‘This is to cheer me and Flick up and you’re spoiling it. Ready everyone? Who’s going to go first?’

  ‘You do, and then we’ll go round in order.’

  Fiona reached into her bedside cupboard for a torch. She crossed over to Mick’s bed and crouching beside it, angled the beam of light on to her face. Mick assumed a theatrical pose, thrusting her shoulders back to exaggerate her little breasts, her chin jutting up to lengthen her neck, her gaze fixed upon the far corner of the ceiling. She held this position motionless for a minute, while the others studied her critically.

  ‘Everyone ready?’ said Fiona, and switched the torch beam off.

  Mick’s shoulders collapsed and she smirked.

  ‘How was I?’

  ‘You looked just like Mummy,’ said Flick. ‘Honestly, you were wizard. Well done.’

  ‘Shall we do the marks now, or afterwards?’

  ‘Afterwards is more fair. Has everyone got pencils?’

  Two people had pencils in their diaries, so it was agreed that they should both keep the scores and tot them up at the end.

  One by one the Lower Fourth struck poses from Picturegoer, held their breath for as long as possible, then expelled it and slumped their shoulders, suddenly foolish.