‘Y-yes, Miss Garnet,’ said Stella.
Miss Garnet nodded. ‘If you misbehave again, I will be obliged to summon your Aunts. I do not suppose you would welcome that.’
Stella swallowed. ‘No, Miss Garnet.’
‘You have been sent to school to correct the faults in your character. Wakestone Hall has many rules, and you must learn to obey them all.’
‘Yes, Miss Garnet.’
‘And when your faults have been corrected, you will find your time here at Wakestone Hall to be so very much more agreeable.’
Stella gazed down at the pictures of Ottilie and Agapanthus. In the flickering light, it was easy to believe they were somehow trapped in the tiny, shadowy images. Stella imagined she saw a wisp of Ottilie’s hair move. And Agapanthus seemed to lift her chin and open her mouth as if she were about to speak.
‘Now. Sit there.’ Miss Garnet gestured towards an alcove. The grim-faced maid came forward from where she had been standing in the shadows and drew aside a curtain to reveal a wooden chair with an oddly shaped, high, straight back, beside a desk on which was a gleaming instrument, rather like a microscope.
Unwillingly, Stella went across to the chair, avoiding two little tables and a what-not stand crowded with ornaments, and sat down gingerly on the edge of the seat.
Miss Garnet lifted a finger, and the maid pushed Stella firmly against the back of the chair. There was a winding sound, and Stella felt something sliding upwards. A cold metal shape curved around her head. Something clicked. She reached up and touched a clamp that was gripping the back of her head. The maid passed a leather strap around her neck, pulled it tight and buckled it.
‘Now, you must sit perfectly still,’ said Miss Garnet.
Stella tried to nod, but could not. She could not move her head at all. So she said, ‘Y-yes, Miss Garnet.’ She was shaking. Her mouth was dry. She gripped the arms of the chair with her fingers.
‘Perfectly still,’ repeated Miss Garnet. She put the photograph album aside, stood up with a rustle of silk and moved to stand in front of Stella. She gave her a little smile. ‘Do not agitate yourself. It will hardly hurt. And after it is done, you will find that you do not remember it at all.’
Ten
Miss Garnet gestured again, and the maid pulled several brass attachments from the sides of the chair. They extended forward and clicked into place. On one side of Stella’s head she positioned a small lantern. On the other side, a transparent silk screen. Stella could only turn her eyes, so it was difficult to see exactly what was happening. She watched as the maid struck a match, lit the lantern and opened a shutter. A beam of bright light shone onto the side of Stella’s face. Her shadow fell onto the screen. She blinked, and on the screen her shadow blinked as well.
Stella took a breath and tried to stop trembling.
The maid adjusted the position of the screen and the lantern, then stepped back, out of Stella’s sight. Miss Garnet sat down at the desk and perched a pair of silver spectacles on the bridge of her nose. She said to Stella, ‘This is the physiognograph. A rather ingenious invention. It was made for me many years ago.’
Stella looked at the instrument out of the corner of her eye. It had lenses and mirrors like a microscope, and a number of tiny wheels, like the insides of a clock. It was made of gleaming dark wood, brass and ivory.
Miss Garnet swivelled a mirror, moving it the smallest fraction of an inch, reflecting the image from the screen onto a lens. Stella saw her shadow appear upside down on a tiny mirror, and then again, right way up, on a second mirror.
Miss Garnet picked up a piece of paper. It was a list of the school rules, the same list that was pasted on the walls of all the schoolrooms and the dormitories. She mounted it carefully into a bracket at the bottom of the instrument and swivelled it into place.
‘The physiognograph captures images, of course,’ she said, as she peered into an eye piece and slowly turned a brass knob. ‘It makes a precise copy of your shadow. And it does a little more than that. As you will see. Be sure to remain perfectly still.’ She adjusted a tiny wheel.
Stella saw her shadow appear on the list of rules. It was only two inches high and very clear. She swallowed. Her tiny shadow swallowed as well.
‘Very good,’ said Miss Garnet. She moved a lever, and a silver knife, as sharp as a needle, descended. The point of the knife touched the paper.
Despite the warmth of the room, Stella felt an icy shiver trickle down her spine.
Miss Garnet slowly turned a brass handle, and the knife began to cut a line around the edge of the shadow.
Stella felt as if she had been pierced, near her heart, with a fine, cold needle. She cried out in pain.
‘Silence, if you please,’ said Miss Garnet.
Stella bit her lip and tried not to make any sound, gripping the wooden armrests of the chair so tightly that her fingers ached.
The knife cut around her shadow. Up the back of her neck, around her wispy hair, strand by strand, then over the top of her head and down her face, forehead, nose, mouth and chin.
‘Very good,’ Miss Garnet said at last.
Stella took a shaky breath. Miss Garnet held up the tiny paper shape. Stella gazed at it. It looked exactly like her. She shuddered, and between Miss Garnet’s white fingers the fragile image shuddered as well.
Miss Garnet dipped a fine brush into a bottle of ink and carefully painted over Stella’s image, covering the lines of writing. She laid it aside to dry. She looked at Stella and said, ‘Once you are in my album, you will find it easier to obey all the rules, I do assure you.’
The maid carried the photograph album from the fireside and laid it open on the desk. Miss Garnet brushed glue onto the back of the paper shape. She turned it over and stuck it carefully into the empty frame, beside the pictures of Ottilie and Agapanthus, pressing it into place very delicately with the tips of her fingers. She picked up a silver pencil. ‘Stella Montgomery,’ she said as she wrote. ‘Wilful Disobedience. There. It is done.’ She ran her fingers over the tiny black silhouette and closed the album.
The maid unbuckled the strap around Stella’s neck. The metal clasp let go of the back of her head and retracted into the chair.
‘Now, you may stand up,’ said Miss Garnet.
Stella stumbled to her feet, dizzy and shaking. The bell rang. Miss Garnet looked at the clock and said, ‘You have missed several lessons. French Conversation, I believe. And Household Management. You will have to work hard to ensure you do not fall behind. But now you may go and join your form for Preparation.’
Stella curtsied and walked out of the parlour. She closed the door carefully behind her and climbed the stairs to the First Form classroom. She knocked on the door, entered, curtsied to Miss Mangan, walked to her seat and sat down.
During Lessons, Girls will give their full Attention to their Work and Avoid Distractions of any Description.
Stella did not look at anyone. She opened her notebook.
She felt rather dazed, as if she had just woken up from a deep sleep. But it was time for Preparation, and so she must give her full attention to her work. She must learn the long, sad poem. Stella committed the first verse to memory, and then started to learn the second verse. The sad lady sat beside the willow tree and cried into the river.
At the end of the second verse, Stella glanced up from her book for a moment and saw that Miss Mangan was watching her with a satisfied little smile. Stella looked down again and began to learn the third verse of the poem. The lady continued to cry. The leaves continued to fall off the willow tree. They landed in the river and floated away.
Agapanthus was also studying silently. She did not look up from her book. The room was quiet. The only sounds were the clock ticking and the rain pattering against the window.
Supper was bread and water.
Girls shall Sit Correctly at the Table, and eat with Decorum and Poise.
Stella kept her elbows in and sat up as straight as she could as she ate her sup
per. It was important to sit correctly. Agapanthus’s face had no expression at all as she decorously chewed and swallowed a piece of dry bread. She picked up her cup of water and took a sip.
After supper, they sat side by side and darned their stockings and listened to the next chapter of ‘Florence in Fairyland’, which Miss Mangan read to them from The Young Ladies’ Magazine and Moral Instructor.
Stella concentrated on her sewing and did not lift her eyes from her work.
Girls shall mend all their own Clothes, and Endeavour to do so Neatly.
It was important to sew neatly. Stella worked carefully to make a neat darn. She could not think how she had come to have such a large hole in her stocking. She could not recall anything that might have caused it. Trying to remember made her feel dizzy.
She saw Miss Mangan watching her again, with the same satisfied little smile as before. Stella looked down and listened to Florence’s adventures in Fairyland as she sewed carefully, making the stitches as small and neat as she could manage.
Suddenly, she had the odd feeling that someone was trying to get her attention. The voice was very faint, as if it was coming from a long way away. She looked around, blinking, but everybody was sewing silently, heads down.
‘Eyes down.’ Miss Mangan was frowning at her.
Stella looked down and went on sewing. It was important to sew neatly. She sewed the neatest stitches she could manage.
When the bedtime bell rang, Stella stood up and sang the school song with everyone else.
Wakestone Girls don’t flinch or fail,
Marching on, we will prevail.
Duty is the hardest fight,
Always Righteous, Always Right.
Later, as she was undressing for bed in the dormitory, folding her clothes carefully and putting them away in her drawers, she had the strange feeling again. As if someone was calling her name.
Stella.
The voice seemed to appear in her mind like a flickering candle flame.
Stella looked around, but everyone was getting undressed in silence. Agapanthus was unbuttoning her dress. Stella did the same. She shook out her dress carefully and went to hang it up in the wardrobe.
She must have imagined the voice, because it was against the rules to speak to another girl in the dormitory, and it was very important to obey the rules.
If she heard the voice again, she would certainly ignore it.
She picked up her hairbrush.
Girls Shall brush their Hair twice every day, Morning and Night, counting two hundred strokes.
Stella ignored the voice in her head as she brushed her hair and carefully counted to two hundred.
Eleven
That night, Stella had another dream. A voice whispered into her ear. A tiny voice, faint but clear.
Get up.
In her dream, Stella sat up in bed. It was cold. Somewhere far away, a clock was striking. Stella counted the chimes. Ten o’clock.
She listened for a moment. There was nothing to hear but the rain on the roof and music playing, somewhere far away. A tinkling, melancholy tune.
Get up.
Without meaning to do it, Stella climbed out of the bed. She tiptoed along the room to the doorway at the end and looked out into the passageway. It was dark.
Fade, said the voice, and Stella felt herself disappear, vanishing into the shadows as easily as blinking.
Go on.
She crept along the passageway, as silent as a mouse, as invisible as a breath of wind. She hesitated at the top of a staircase, but the voice was insistent, and so she tiptoed down. Under her breath, she sang along to the distant, tinkling music. On the floor below that, there were lights under some of the doors, and she could hear voices murmuring within the rooms. Stella crept silently past and went on, down the next flight of stairs.
She came to another passageway and followed it until she reached a door. It was closed. She hesitated.
Listen.
Stella crept closer and put her ear against the door. There was nothing to hear. She touched the door handle with her invisible fingers. She did not know what was inside the room. She did not want to open the door.
Go on.
She turned the handle as silently as she could, pushed the door open and slipped inside. She closed the door softly behind her.
She was in Miss Garnet’s parlour. It was lit with candles. A fire flickered in the grate. Her eye fell on a glass frog, a silver giraffe, a little jug with a picture of a waterfall on it, a beaded goldfish with scales made of sequins. Everywhere she looked, trinkets and ornaments glinted in the candlelight.
Her gaze fell on the album, on a chair beside the fireplace.
That’s it, said the voice. Open it.
Stella picked up the book, sat down and began to turn the pages, looking at the rows of tiny faces. Some of them were still, but some seemed to flicker and twitch in the candlelight. She turned page after page, until she reached the last pictures in the book. There were three faces in a row. After those three pictures, the frames were empty.
Burn it.
Stella carefully tore the page from the book, took it to the fireplace and threw it on the flames.
She picked up the poker and pushed the page into the heart of the fire.
Stella woke up with a terrifying jolt. She should have been lying in bed, but instead she was standing with a poker in her hand, watching a shower of silvery flames shooting up the chimney. She dropped the poker and nearly toppled into the fireplace.
What had happened? Where was she? She took a gasping breath and looked around the room, bewildered.
Her heart gave a sickening lurch.
Miss Garnet’s parlour.
She took a step backwards. Her head was spinning, and she lost her balance and knocked a big book onto the floor. It fell open, toppling a little table. Ornaments scattered across the carpet. Stella hurriedly crouched to pick them up. Her hands were shaking. She pushed the table upright and put the ornaments back on top.
She stumbled to her feet. If she were caught here, she would be in the most dreadful trouble.
And then she remembered the insistent voice. Luna’s voice. Her sister had been telling her what to do as she slept. She saw the photograph album, lying open on the floor. All at once, she remembered how Miss Garnet had made a picture of her and stuck her in the album, trapping her.
Shuddering, she picked up the album. One of the images made her catch her breath. The face had a definite, straight nose, and the hair was pulled back from a high forehead and arranged in an uncompromising, old-fashioned style.
Underneath the picture, in tiny silver letters, was written:
Deliverance Montgomery.
Wilful Disobedience.
It was the same thing that Miss Garnet had written under her own picture. As Stella watched, the young Aunt Deliverance seemed to tilt her head, almost as if she were about to say something.
More writing had been added underneath the picture.
Needlework Prize.
Etiquette Prize.
Elocution Prize.
Countess Anstruther’s Correct Conduct Medal, Three Times.
HEAD GIRL.
Miss Garnet had turned Aunt Deliverance from a disobedient child into a prize-winning Head Girl.
Stella wondered if she should tear out the page and burn it in the fire. What would happen to Aunt Deliverance if she did?
She closed the album, and then hesitated. She listened. Everything was quiet. This might be her only chance to find out about her mother.
She sat down, opened the album again and began to search through the pages as quickly as she could. She ran her finger along the names, turning page after page, passing rows and rows of faces. She found Aunt Temperance, Inattention, and a bit later, Aunt Condolence, Self-Indulgence.
She looked at the little faces. It was so strange to think about the Aunts as schoolgirls.
And then at last she saw it. Her mother’s picture.
P
atience Montgomery.
Waywardness.
A thin face, with wispy hair. Stella ran her finger over the tiny image. It did not move.
Waywardness. What did that mean, exactly?
Underneath that, in larger, more spiky writing, she read:
Wilful, Wanton, Wicked.
Run Away with an Unacceptable Person.
And underneath that, largest and spikiest of all, was written:
EXPELLED.
Stella caught her breath.
From somewhere nearby, she heard a noise. Footsteps were approaching. Stella jumped up and flung the album onto the chair. She looked around, but there was nowhere to hide. She darted into a corner beside the fireplace, took a breath, gritted her teeth and forced herself to disappear. For a moment, she thought she could not manage it, but then she felt the horrible, dizzying feeling as she faded away into the shadows.
The parlour door opened, and Miss Garnet came into the room, followed by a gentleman. He looked rather similar to her, plump and pale, with protruding eyes. He had a thick white moustache and whiskers. He carried an ebony-and-silver walking stick in one hand and held a shiny silk top hat under his arm.
Stella stood as still as a stone, hardly breathing. She could feel her heart beating in her ears.
Miss Garnet turned to him and frowned. ‘Well. I have done my part, Thaddeus. At some risk to my reputation.’
The gentleman said, ‘I promise you, Drusilla —’ He had a smooth, oily voice.
Miss Garnet frowned. ‘Promises. Fine words, brother. But you have achieved nothing.’
‘On the contrary, Drusilla. I am close to success,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘But I admit there have been unforeseen obstacles. Delays and impediments.’
‘As usual, you have complicated things unnecessarily. You were like this as a child. Devious and unreliable. And with an unfortunate attraction to disreputable company.’ She touched the gleaming physiognograph with the tip of her finger. ‘If you were one of my girls, brother, I would correct those faults.’
Wakestone Hall Page 7
