Miss Grimm sniffed the air. The faint waft of Irish stew caused her stomach to groan.
“Was that your tummy rumbling? You’ll love this—it’s Mrs. Oliver’s famous family recipe. No one in the world makes a better Irish stew. Even when I went to Ireland last year with Mummy and Daddy and we went to this ever so posh restaurant with Earl O’Connor, the Irish stew wasn’t as good as our Dolly’s. Of course, I didn’t tell them so because that wouldn’t have been polite.” Alice-Miranda smiled. “Anyway, Millie and I will just bring the tray through for you. Where would you like it?” Alice-Miranda thought she could hear a very loud clock but realized when she turned around that it was actually Millie’s knees knocking together.
“How dare you enter my study without my permission, Alice-Matilda!” Miss Grimm drew her lips together tightly. She stood with her hands on her suited hips. Her eyebrows furrowed fiercely above eyes the color of coal.
“Please, Miss Grimm, I’m Alice-Miranda, not Matilda. I know it must be terribly hard to remember all of the girls’ names. I met so many girls today I knew that if I didn’t make up some rhymes I would never remember them. Perhaps it could help you too. So there’s Madeline Bloom in the very next room and Susannah Dare with curly hair, Ivory Hicks who does magic tricks and Ashima Divall who is beautifully tall. Maybe you could remember me with something like Alice-Miranda out on the veranda. Miranda’s a hard name to put rhymes with and if you tried to do it for Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones you might not remember it at all.” Alice-Miranda skipped back to fetch the tea tray.
“Who’s on the veranda?” Miss Grimm snarled.
“Well, I’m not really on the veranda but it’s just a way to remember my name,” Alice-Miranda laughed. “We’ll just get your dinner, Miss Grimm,” she called as she and Millie steadily lifted the tray and walked toward the huge mahogany desk.
“Over there!” Miss Grimm commanded, her eyes wide and mouth gaping as she pointed at the low table in front of the chesterfields.
“That’s a lovely spot to have your dinner,” said Alice-Miranda. “This is such a grand room. Although it would look even better with some flowers. Just look at how that orchid brightens the whole place.” Alice-Miranda nodded at the tea tray with the single orchid stem. “And some photographs. That’s what you need. Some pictures of your family and perhaps some of your adventures on holiday. My daddy’s study is quite like this, but I couldn’t think what the difference was and then it just came to me. Daddy has tons of photos of me and Mummy and some of the places we’ve visited and all of our special friends. That’s what’s missing.… ”
“OUT!” Miss Grimm roared, pointing a long red talon toward the door. “Where is that woman? Probably run off to get married, I should think … useless good-for-nothing,” she murmured under her breath.
“Oh, that’s silly, Miss Grimm. Miss Higgins wouldn’t go off and get married without inviting you. She’s attending to some sort of unexpected emergency,” explained Alice-Miranda.
Miss Grimm couldn’t believe this child. What a ridiculous notion—that she might be invited to a wedding. Let alone that she might actually go.
“That will be all, Alice-Mat—Miranda.” She gritted her teeth.
Millie had already escaped to Miss Higgins’s office. Alice-Miranda turned and smiled at Miss Grimm.
“Enjoy your dinner, Miss Grimm. I will see you tomorrow—I’m so excited about the start of school I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep very much at all. I hope you can sleep.” Alice-Miranda straightened a cushion and began to retreat to the main doors.
“Of course I can sleep. Why wouldn’t I?” Miss Grimm said, thinking aloud. She hadn’t really meant to ask a question at all.
“Well, it must be terribly exciting to see all of the girls after they’ve been away on such a long holiday. All those lovely adventures to hear about and so many exciting things to look forward to. And the teachers are no doubt thrilled to be back with the girls and teaching their favorite subjects. Oh, that reminds me. I saw Miss Reedy and Mr. Plumpton earlier and they were both very upset. Apparently they have been directed to teach subjects they are not at all used to, and, well, it does seem a little silly to have Mr. Plumpton, a science teacher with such enthusiasm for science, teaching drama. He says he knows nothing about that at all. And Miss Reedy said that she’s going to be taking junior mathematics and I understand she usually teaches senior English. Is it possible that someone made a mistake with that?” Alice-Miranda looked Miss Grimm right in the eye as she spoke.
“A mistake! A mistake! How dare you suggest such a thing? I don’t make mistakes, Alice-Miranda. They will do as they are told and I will hear no more of it.” Miss Grimm’s mouth was agape, showing a gleaming set of teeth to rival an Amazonian piranha.
“Well, perhaps they could come and talk to you about it. It does seem awfully silly and they are both so … passionate. I’ll tell them to make a time with Miss Higgins tomorrow. Well … I’m sorry to prattle on, Miss Grimm. Your dinner will be getting cold and it really is much better nice and warm. See you tomorrow.” And with that Alice-Miranda turned on her heel and skipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her.
Miss Grimm strode forward and snapped the lock. Her mind was racing. This child, this tiny little girl with chocolate curls and eyes as round as saucers, was turning her life on its head. Putting all sorts of nonsensical ideas into her mind. Photographs—what need did she have of photographs? A sharp memory invaded her thoughts. She pushed it away as quickly as it had come. People she loved, friends and holidays. Being excited about school. Good grief—there was nothing more dull than being at school.
That night Ophelia Grimm tossed and turned in her bed. The canopy heaved as she fought round after round with her feather pillows. Her sleep was alive with dreams. Dreams of children, of girls playing and laughing. The clanging of the school bell and a hundred pairs of feet running to their classrooms.
She awoke suddenly as though falling from a hole in the sky. Her brow was peppered with perspiration; her heart ready to leap from her chest. The first shards of daylight entered the room but it took several minutes for her to realize that she was still in her very own bed where she had slept for the past fifteen years.
Her mind was racing. What did it all mean? She hadn’t dreamt for years, certainly not about children. It was that child. It was Alice-Miranda or whatever her ridiculous name was. It was her fault and she had to be dealt with. Why Ophelia had agreed to allow the girl into the school in the first place was a mystery. She was obviously far too young and quite the most precocious brat Ophelia had ever come across. Once they were here, though, they were awfully hard to get rid of.
Ophelia grimaced as a painful memory invaded her thoughts. Another child, so like this one, a child to love, so adorable but … It was too hard to think about. Her feelings had almost destroyed her. She couldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t allow it. This child had to go, no matter the cost.
She suddenly remembered the new hardware she’d had installed during the break. Higgins was becoming more and more unreliable. Sappy love-struck girl—one day she would learn that there was more to life than love. Ophelia got out of bed and marched to her walk-in closet. She reached up and pressed the top button of her favorite vermilion Chanel suit. The rear wall slid apart to reveal a room, not large by any standards, but heaving under the weight of twenty-four video screens. Why she hadn’t thought to do this sooner she really couldn’t understand.
When at last Alice-Miranda had drifted off to sleep she too had dreamt. About girls playing and laughing. The clanging of the school bell and a hundred pairs of feet running to their classrooms. It was a wonderful sleep, and when she awoke her stomach was aflurry with tiny butterflies. Alice-Miranda couldn’t remember being this excited before.
“Good morning, Millie.” She sat up in bed, clutching Brummel Bear to her chest.
“Oh, hello, Alice-Miranda.” Millie opened her eyes sleepily, yawned and stretched her arms above her head. �
�Thanks for waking me. I hate that awful bell.”
Just at that moment there was a loud clanging noise accompanied by a shrill “Rise and shine, ladies, time to get up, time to sparkle, chop-chop, choppy-chop.”
“Who is that?” Alice-Miranda asked.
“That’s just Howie. You’ll get used to it. She uses the same wake-up call every morning,” Millie giggled.
“Howie?”
“Well, she’s really Mrs. Howard but she’s so used to Howie I don’t think anyone has used her proper name in years.” Millie swung her feet to the floor and scooped her slippers from beside the bed. “You’d better hurry up. If you don’t get to the showers early you’ll miss out on the hot water.”
Alice-Miranda hopped up and pulled the sheets toward the bedhead.
“What are you doing?” Millie asked.
“Making the bed,” Alice-Miranda replied as she carefully folded the sheets down over the top of the duvet and arranged the pillows.
“You know we don’t have to. Howie always comes around and does them after we’ve gone to class.” Millie dangled her toothbrush from her mouth as she donned a floral shower cap.
“Why should she have to do it?” Alice-Miranda smoothed the duvet and carefully rested Brummel Bear in the middle of her pillow.
“We’re supposed to make them ourselves but we’re all so terrible at it that she remakes them anyway. Alethea called a house meeting last year and said that no one had to make their beds because Howie would do it for us,” Millie replied.
“That’s not very fair. I’m sure she has more important things to do than make our beds.” Alice-Miranda scrunched her feet into her slippers.
At that very moment Howie appeared at the doorway. Her frame took up almost the whole space.
“Good morning, girls. Hello, Millicent, did you have a good break, my dear?”
“Yes, Howie. And you?” Millie replied.
“Lovely. I spent a lot of time in the garden but rather more in the kitchen”—she patted her tummy—“if you know what I mean. And you must be one of our new poppets. It’s Alice-Miranda, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mrs. Howard. Pleased to meet you.” Alice-Miranda moved toward her and held out her hand. Mrs. Howard looked a little surprised but squeezed it gently.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived, my sweet. Not like me at all, but there was trouble afoot with my youngest grandchild—she had the croup and I just couldn’t leave until I knew she was going to be all right. That daughter of mine has quite the brood—seven and another on the way.” Mrs. Howard’s smile sent deep wrinkles to the corners of her eyes. She looked around the room and spied Alice-Miranda’s freshly made bed.
“Darling girl. Did you do that?” Howie looked genuinely shocked as she inspected Alice-Miranda’s handiwork.
“Yes, Mrs. Howard,” Alice-Miranda replied. “I’m sorry if it’s not quite right but my granny taught me to make my bed at home when I was six. She said that everyone should know how to make a bed and, well, seeing as though she’d once been a nurse, a long time ago in the war, she taught me how to do hospital corners. If you’d rather teach me your way, I’m very happy to learn.” Alice-Miranda stood like a statue beside the perfectly made bed.
“Oh, no, my dear, it’s wonderful. Perhaps you can teach the other girls?” She smiled widely and raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure Alethea would love some lessons.”
Millie stuck her bottom lip out as far as she could manage.
“Yes, Millicent—I’m sure that’s what Alethea would do, too. Now run along to the shower, girls. I’ll lay your uniforms out on the beds before you come back.” Howie bustled along the hallway clanging her bell.
After breakfast, which consisted of the most delicious scrambled eggs, tea and toast, Millie took Alice-Miranda to the Great Hall, where the girls were to meet for assembly. When at last the bell rang to signify the start of term, Alice-Miranda wriggled in her seat. She craned her neck to see the teachers as they marched side by side down the center aisle, dressed in spectacular gowns with a rainbow of colored hoods. The new girls, of whom she was the very youngest, sat in the back rows while the older forms sat in front. The organist, who Millie had said was called Mr. Trout, waved his arms flamboyantly as he played a very complicated piece. He taught music, of course.
Alice-Miranda was yet to meet most of the staff but she recognized Miss Reedy and Mr. Plumpton, who stood at the end of the line. Mr. Plumpton’s red nose glowed and he had to take two little running steps for every one of Miss Reedy’s, but somehow he managed to look dignified just the same.
The teachers took their places on the stage and Miss Reedy stepped forward to speak.
“Good morning, girls, and welcome back for another year at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale. I trust that you have all had a good holiday and are ready to give of your best. If not, you will find yourself spending a lot of time in detention with me. If you are new, I hope you are settling in well. You have all received a copy of the school rules—I suggest you read them closely and abide by them at all times. I have several announcements.” A soft buzz echoed around the hall at this.
“She’s going to announce the Head Prefect,” Millie whispered, turning to Alice-Miranda, who was sitting in the row behind.
Miss Reedy was holding a large scroll. She adjusted her silver-framed glasses and let the scroll unfurl to the floor.
“Item number one. The new Head Prefect is …” Miss Reedy flinched.
“Oh no, it must be …” Millie winced, waiting for the inevitable. There was a much longer than necessary pause as Miss Reedy seemed unable to say the words. Finally she whispered, “Alethea Goldsworthy,” and smiled thinly.
Alethea squealed from the front of the hall. “It’s me, it’s me!”
“Alethea, please come up and accept your badge.” Miss Reedy looked around at Mr. Plumpton, who rolled his eyes.
Alethea ran to the side of the stage, bounded up the steps and snatched the badge from Miss Reedy’s hand. She then shoved the teacher rather energetically from the lectern. She began her acceptance speech with another squeal.
“Girls, teachers, you have made a wonderful choice in me. I will be the best Head Prefect Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale has ever seen. Of course, there really was no other option.” She smiled condescendingly along the row of girls from the Sixth Form.
Miss Reedy moved in beside Alethea and leaned into the microphone.
“Thank you, Alethea. Your graciousness and humility will no doubt be a highlight of the year.”
A snicker of laughter rose up before Alethea shot a stare that would freeze fire.
“You may return to your seat, Alethea,” Miss Reedy instructed.
“But I sit on the stage next to you now, Miss Reedy.” Alethea’s cat-with-the-cream smile was plastered all over her smug face.
“And so you do.” Miss Reedy motioned toward the empty seat beside her own.
“Now we have to spend every assembly looking at that,” Millie whispered.
Alice-Miranda leaned forward in her seat. “If she’s really so terrible why did Miss Grimm allow it?”
“Remember the library.” Millie didn’t smile. “As long as your parents can pay, you can be whatever you want at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale.”
“That’s awful,” Alice-Miranda sighed. “Surely it hasn’t always been like this? Mummy would have told me, and she has only ever said that it was a wonderful school.”
“Legend has it that about ten years ago something terrible happened. The whole place changed, and since then, well, it seems as though the family that pays the most gets the most.” Millie picked nervously at her fingernails.
Alice-Miranda caught sight of Miss Higgins standing just offstage. She looked pale and was wringing her hands together.
“Something’s missing, Millie. Miss Grimm should be here. She’s the headmistress and she should be leading the assembly.”
“Tell her that,” Millie whispered.
“Item n
umber two,” Miss Reedy’s voice boomed. “All students under the age of eight will be required to sit an academic suitability test. If they are proven unsuitable the consequences may involve removal from the school.”
A murmur shot around the room. The look of surprise on Miss Reedy’s face suggested she was reading the rule for the very first time. She turned around to face the staff, who seemed equally shocked.
“That’s a new one. I didn’t have to sit any suitability test,” Millie whispered.
“I didn’t either.… Nor me … What’s that all about?” the room buzzed.
“But there’s nobody here who’s under the age of eight,” called Madeline Bloom, who had been silently doing her maths. “You’re not supposed to come unless you’ve turned eight already.”
“Well, I’m afraid there is someone,” said Alice-Miranda, touching her left forefinger to her lips.
“Who?” asked Ivory Hicks.
“Me.” Alice-Miranda smiled.
“Silence,” Miss Reedy commanded. “Item number three. Any girls under the age of eight must complete the Form Six Wilderness Walk: camping for five days in a tent, cooking her own food and navigating her own way through the forest. Failure to do so will render her unready for life at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale.” Miss Reedy gasped as she finished reading. “That’s madness,” she murmured under her breath, then gulped loudly when she realized that the microphone had picked up every word. She quickly moved on.
“Item number four.” Miss Reedy took a deep breath, hardly daring to scan the page. She cleared her throat. “Item number four. Any student under the age of eight must challenge the school champion at a game of her choosing and win. If she fails in this endeavour she will be asked to leave the school, as she is clearly not ready to take on the challenges of life at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale.”
The whole hall erupted.
“That’s so unfair.… No one’s ever had to do that before.… ”
“That’s because we’ve never had any upstart seven-year-olds before,” Alethea said loudly.
Alice-Miranda at School Page 6
