‘Have you made your bed?’ Nellie said when Catherine found her in the kitchen.
‘Of course,’ Catherine said. ‘Is Louisa gone?’
‘Yes, and you’re lucky. She’s fit to fry a cat this morning.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Furious would be my summary. Now, go back up and make your bed and then we’ll have some breakfast. And a talk.’
‘Is there any mail for me today?’ Catherine said.
‘Hasn’t been yet.’ Nellie was such a sweet person really, Catherine often thought, but she seemed to think she had to be in charge. She was tiny and solidly built with rosy cheeks and black curly hair that bounced around as she spoke—it was hard to take offence at anything someone so sweet-looking said. But, all the same, she was awfully bossy, Catherine thought.
Catherine considered refusing about the bed. What could Nellie do? And how did she know Catherine hadn’t made her bed? She was pondering this on the way up the stairs when she stopped suddenly.
She remembered.
Yesterday she’d swum. For the first time since she’d left Australia, she’d swum. And she’d managed that swim, the swim the girls at school said Catherine couldn’t possibly do. She’d shown them, she thought. She’d made it across, landing exactly where she’d intended. Miss Anderson, the principal, had seen her. The girls had seen her. Louisa had seen her.
Catherine had tried her hardest to fit in at Henley, the school where, Louisa said, she would be challenged. It was going to be different from the little island school, her aunt said, and Catherine would have to use her brains. Nellie had taken her to buy the uniform: a grey wool pleated skirt, a white linen blouse, a tie, blazer, gloves and hat. They were like restraints, Catherine thought, the skirt so tight around her legs it was difficult to move, the hard shoes that hurt her feet and clacked against the sidewalk. But the worst thing was the stockings. Catherine could not for the life of her see how Nellie gathered them into a little foot that you could poke your own foot into. When she tried to pull them on, she tore them. ‘Never mind, I can darn them,’ Nellie said, smiling kindly.
It was Nellie who took Catherine on her first day, walking the mile from Wellclose Square to the high gates that fronted Henley. Louisa had been planning to take her but she was called to the hospital. Even Nellie looked unsure, Catherine thought. There were little clumps of girls on the footpath outside the gates. Even though Catherine looked the same in her skirt and blouse, she also knew she was totally different from these girls with their fair skin and English accents. She was one of the tallest too, and many of them stared at her, perhaps because she was new. It made her self-conscious. How strange to come from the island, where she was one of few whites—many of the European children were off at boarding schools on the mainland, so that most of the students at the local school were natives—to a place where everyone was white and yet feel she was the one who was different.
Catherine went first to Miss Anderson’s office. She was put in with the juniors for her lessons, since—as the teacher said to her on the first day—she’d have learned nothing much among the savages. The littler girls were kind but Catherine felt like Gulliver in Lilliput among them. At lunch, she sat with the older girls. Ivy Somerville was nice to her from the start, offering her a place at their table, and Darcy, almost as tall as Catherine, gave a little speech of welcome.
After a week, Catherine moved up to the class with the bigger girls. They were reading Jane Eyre, which Catherine had already read, and doing French verbs Catherine already knew. She didn’t find the work difficult, although her new teacher, Miss Mason, said her handwriting was atrocious. She had trouble with needlework, and the ball games they played weren’t familiar. But school in London wasn’t harder than it had been on the island, Catherine quickly realised. It was just different.
It might have been Ida who’d first mentioned swimming, but it was Darcy who’d urged Catherine on. Ida and Darcy couldn’t swim at all, Catherine knew. But of all the girls, Darcy had some understanding of what was involved in the Thames swim because Darcy’s father was a swimmer. When Catherine had said she was sure she could swim the Thames, Darcy had urged her on.
Darcy had befriended Catherine at the beginning. But then there was a day when Darcy was sitting in the dining room with the older girls and Catherine came in and they all went quiet. Catherine had a sense they’d been talking about her. Darcy looked at Catherine and said, ‘You look like a boy.’ A few of the other girls giggled. Catherine didn’t know what to say. Darcy said it again. ‘Are you a boy? Are you secretly a boy?’ More giggles. Catherine shook her head.
‘Don’t mind her,’ Ivy said later. ‘She’s just jealous. You got a higher score than her on the spelling.’ It was true Catherine had done better than Darcy in the spelling. But Darcy was the most popular girl in the class, a prefect. Why would Catherine’s doing well in spelling bother her?
The Islanders were not like this. Catherine really was different from them, in skin colour if nothing else, but Catherine was accepted as one of them. Catherine’s teachers on the island were kind. Her teacher at the new school, Miss Mason, was not. ‘Did they not teach you this?’ she’d say, even when Catherine knew an answer. Catherine quickly stopped speaking up in class, and became wary around Darcy, who was sometimes friendly and sometimes not.
Miss Mason taught them French. Catherine had taught French to the younger students on the island. But instead of this helping, it only seemed to make matters worse. One day when Ivy was worried because she’d forgotten her French copybook, Catherine had offered to swap. Catherine gave Ivy her own copybook, which she’d already filled in, thinking she could manage getting into trouble better than Ivy since she’d never forgotten her own book before. ‘Miss Mason won’t know,’ Catherine said as she scratched out her name. But Miss Mason did know, and blamed Catherine. ‘You think you’re very clever, young lady,’ Miss Mason said. ‘But we’ll see who feels clever soon.’
No one had ever hit Catherine before. The nuns on the island were gentle, and Catherine’s father would never have dreamed of striking her. When Miss Mason brought the cane down on her open palm, the pain was excruciating. But worse than the pain was the look of satisfaction on Miss Mason’s face. Why would the teacher enjoy hitting her? Catherine wondered.
As well as the caning, Catherine had to visit the principal’s office to tell Miss Anderson what she had done.
‘We don’t like liars here, Catherine,’ the principal had said. ‘Did you lie?’
Catherine only nodded, still smarting from the cane on her fingers, unable to trust her voice.
‘Would you like me to speak to your aunt about this?’ Miss Anderson said. Catherine didn’t answer. ‘I didn’t think so. Well, I’m willing to let this incident go, but you must never be a liar again. Do you understand?’
Catherine only stared at her. She was still upset after being hit but underneath her upset, she was angry. How dare they? she thought. How dare they hit someone for helping a friend? What kind of place was this?
‘Very good,’ the principal said finally. ‘Dismissed.’ Catherine stood there for a moment, staring at the principal, and then turned and walked out.
Catherine thought of telling her aunt what was happening at the school. But when Louisa asked how school was going, she found herself saying it was going well. She wanted to please Louisa, who’d made so much of how carefully she’d selected Henley. If Catherine wasn’t fitting in, it must be Catherine’s fault.
Catherine had thought by swimming across the river she would show them all—those girls, her teachers, even Louisa and Nellie—that she could do something. She hadn’t thought through what might happen next, but at least something would be different, she thought. It would say to them, ‘This is who I am. This is what I can do.’ But it hadn’t been like that at all. Louisa had been angry. Miss Anderson had been angry. And as for Darcy, she hadn’t even turned up to watch. It was the worst possible thing to have done, Catherin
e thought now. Darcy had known exactly what would happen. How could a person do that to another person?
Catherine looked in her closet. It wasn’t all bad. At least she wouldn’t be putting on her white blouse and tie today, or that awful wool skirt that stopped her from running. Not the blazer, nor the gloves, nor those horrid shoes.
She made the bed, after a fashion, pulling the eiderdown over the disorderly sheets, and went back downstairs. ‘Nellie, I don’t have to go to school.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Nellie said as she put a plate of buttered toast and a glass of milk on the table. ‘What a little idiot you are.’
Not Nellie too, Catherine thought then.
‘It’s a stain on your character. Have you seen this?’ It was the morning paper. There was Catherine on the riverbank.
‘That’s me!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m in the news!’
‘For goodness’ sake, don’t let your aunt hear you talking like that. Look at you—you look like a harlot.’
Catherine had no idea what a harlot was, only that it was something you shouldn’t be. It was something to do with Nellie being an East End girl, Catherine was sure, because she’d heard the word once before. It was what one of the nurses at the clinic called Nellie. She and Catherine had gone to Princes Square. Nellie was in seeing Louisa about something. She was an East End girl before she met Doctor Louisa, one nurse said to another. A harlot, the other nurse whispered. I never knew.
Later, Catherine had asked Nellie what they meant.
‘East End girl is a working girl,’ Nellie said. ‘Did they not have them in Australia?’
Catherine shook her head.
‘I had to do bad things, Catherine, very bad things.’ Nellie’s voice, normally loud and clear, sounded small and afraid. She didn’t sound like bossy Nellie at all.
‘Oh, Nellie, you’re a dear,’ Catherine had said. ‘There might be badness in the world. But not one bit of it was done by you.’
Catherine looked at Nellie now. ‘I don’t much care what they think of me,’ she said, although she did care what Louisa thought. ‘If it means I never have to go back to that awful place, I don’t much care.’
‘Yes, you do, Catherine. I know you do. Now, sit down and tell me why you did it and we’ll work out what we can do from here to fix it.’
11
THE HEADLINE, THE SPEEDY QUICK, WAS DESIGNED TO grab attention, Louisa thought, but they hardly needed it with those legs. Louisa was thankful right then that her own mother was no longer alive. Millicent abhorred attention-seeking stunts, herself having been the focus of so much unwanted newspaper attention. That she managed to break through into medical practice with such quiet determination and decorum underscored her achievement, Louisa knew. It was what Millicent hated about the women who marched for the vote—they became shrill, which Millicent could never abide.
Louisa looked more closely at the photograph of Catherine in her bathing suit. The blanket was still wrapped around her shoulders, but those legs were totally exposed. Catherine was surrounded by men, the builders, all grinning. Her name was in the headline, Louisa’s name. The story that followed was more muted than the photograph but no less damning.
At just fifteen years of age, Australian-born Catherine Quick successfully crossed the tidal Thames yesterday.
Miss Quick is the niece of London doctor Louisa Quick, who has been outspoken in these pages about support for women’s health in London’s East End, where she operates a hospital and clinic for families. Perhaps her niece is showing her aunt’s fiery nature, making her plunge in the narrows from the Globe Wharf to Ratcliffe.
According to Stan Grant, a ferryman who watched the swim, most who try have no idea of the pull of the tides. ‘That river’s a snake, she rises 20 feet every day, a sly mistress. But this were a canny lass, swam at the turn and made it in good time.’
Amateur Swim Club President Colonel Reg Maudsley said it was a reckless swim for a girl. ‘Make no mistake. She’s just a girl, with none of the strength of lads who’ve got into trouble. I say she was lucky and she should be charged with recklessness. Imagine if other girls followed her example. Then where would we be?’
Asked if Miss Quick should try out for the Olympic team, Col. Maudsley said, ‘Certainly not. We want swimmers, not posers, and if had my way, those girls would stay covered up in the house where they belong.’
But ferryman Grant, who’s been on the Thames since his boyhood, said he’d never seen the likes of Miss Quick. ‘She swam a way I’d never seen before,’ he said. ‘Using her two arms like windmills and her feet like paddles. She was fast.’
Louisa left for work soon after, telling Nellie to let Catherine sleep. ‘But when she wakes up, get her to write a letter to the principal apologising for what she’s done.’
‘A letter,’ Nellie said, looking at Louisa.
‘Yes, a letter,’ Louisa said.
‘You don’t think, Louisa, that you should stop for a minute and consider whether it’s the right school?’
Louisa was standing at the front door. She turned back to look at Nellie. ‘The school. The school is fine, Nellie. It wasn’t the school that swam in the river yesterday.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Nellie said. ‘But …’
‘But what?’
‘She’s a good girl, Louisa.’
‘No doubt,’ Louisa said, looking at her pocket watch. ‘I must run.’ At the gate, she saw the postman coming down the street, so she waited. ‘Mornin’, Dr Louisa,’ he said congenially.
‘Good morning, Eric,’ Louisa said. ‘I’ll take the mail.’
‘Most people don’t like me to give ’em their letters because it’s bad news. But this one’s come a long way, and it smells good.’
It was postmarked from Cairns in Australia. It was addressed to Catherine. It must be from Florence.
‘Thank you, Eric,’ Louisa said. She held the envelope to her nose and sniffed it. She couldn’t smell anything.
‘Had you goin’ there, Doc,’ Eric said jovially. He laughed all the way to the next house.
Very droll, Louisa thought. She put the mail into her satchel and continued on to the clinic.
The reception nurses had seen the article about Catherine, as had the patients Louisa saw in her first session. They all mentioned it.
‘Surely women can do anything these days,’ Ruth Luxton said when she and Louisa met up mid-morning. ‘I say good for her.’ In Catherine’s first month in London, Louisa had brought her into the clinic over a few weekends. She and Ruth had worked together, painting an old lockup in the back garden where they now stored medical supplies. Ruth had told Louisa she thought Catherine had tremendous spirit, ‘Just like you,’ she’d said. The two of them had got on well, Louisa had noticed, feeling a twinge of something. Was it jealousy? she wondered.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Louisa said to her friend now. ‘Women can do anything, but why would they do this?’
‘This Grant fellow says he’s never seen the likes of her.’ Ruth had the paper open on the desk. ‘He sounds like he knows his river.’
‘The chaps standing on the bank with her were not celebrating Catherine’s achievement,’ Louisa said.
‘How do you know?’
‘Oh, you are being naive on purpose, Ruth. Those builders weren’t interested in her achievement. They were interested in her legs.’
Ruth smiled. ‘You are too disbelieving in goodness, Louisa.’
‘And you are far too trusting,’ Louisa said. ‘Just like bloody Catherine.’
Ruth looked at her. ‘Are you all right? You look exhausted.’
‘Oh, Ruth, this is so much harder than I thought it would be. Why has she done this?’
Ruth shrugged. ‘She’s a strong character, Louisa, which you already knew. But I do think perhaps you’re underestimating the upheaval she’s been through. Coming to live here was an enormous change, and it’s not that long since she lost her father.’
‘You sound like Ne
llie. Why can’t she just be a good girl like I was at her age?’
Ruth laughed. ‘You just rebelled a little bit later, Louisa.’ She stared at the photograph. ‘Is she happy at the school?’
‘I thought so, but now she says not.’
‘Do you talk to her?’
‘Of course I talk to her.’ Louisa thought about it. When was the last time she and Catherine had talked? Had they ever really talked?
‘I do wonder why you’re finding it so difficult with Catherine,’ Ruth said. She paused then. ‘Louisa, does it upset you?’
Louisa sighed. ‘Perhaps I’m brusque,’ she said, too sharply. ‘That swim was just unthinkably stupid. The water is jolly cold, and what if she’d been run over by a boat?’
‘That is a good point. But she wasn’t,’ Ruth Luxton said. ‘She’s just a girl, Louisa, like you were once. Maybe she doesn’t conform quite as easily. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. And maybe she doesn’t fit in at the school. That’s where I’d start. At her age, you need to spend time with her. She’ll tell you what’s going on but you have to give her time. You have to get to know her.’
Louisa looked at her friend blankly. And when am I supposed to do that? she wanted to say, between two and three in the morning?
It was four pm and Louisa was about to leave the rooms for the day. She’d seen a run of surgical patients—an excised tumour post-op, excellent prognosis, a tiny woman heavily pregnant booking for a caesarean operation to deliver her of the giant she was carrying, and an unmarried woman of breeding with a fiercely unwanted pregnancy. Louisa came out to the waiting area to let the nurse on the desk know she was planning to go home. The nurse pointed towards the office. ‘There’s a man to see you, Doctor,’ the nurse said quietly.
Louisa frowned, whispered, ‘I’ve finished my list.’ She wanted to get home early so she could talk with Catherine. Whatever the swim in the Thames meant for the future, Ruth Luxton was right. Louisa had expected too much of Catherine, and hadn’t taken the time to help her settle in at the school. Louisa herself remembered starting school. She was only a year younger than Catherine and it had been difficult. Why couldn’t Louisa have taken this into account? And now she wondered if Henley wasn’t quite the school she’d hoped it would be. Perhaps Nellie had a point. Louisa was keen to get home and work out what they could do from here.
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