by Nunn, Kayte
The boys scattered, and Thea allowed herself a smile. They could easily hold their own. She looked further ahead and caught sight of the playing fields: fourteen hockey pitches, several all-weather and the rest grass, spread out next to the same number for rugby, two football pitches, as well as countless netball and tennis courts and she exhaled. Thought about how good it would be to play again, to feel the sweet thwack of her stick against the ball. It had been months. Then she remembered that her father had played on these same fields and gulped down a sudden piercing sadness.
Gareth Pope was already on the fields, setting up a series of cones and balls. He glanced pointedly at his watch when she arrived. ‘Understand you’re helping out with the new mixed team,’ he said, not sounding entirely pleased about it.
‘I’ve played a bit,’ she admitted.
‘The school has hardly lost a match in ten years, but we’re not about to rest on our laurels. We’ll take the best of the boys for the First Eleven but we should be able to summon a mixed senior team as well – that’s if the girls are up to it.’
‘I’m sure they will be,’ she said, her tone as dry as the pitch she stood on.
‘Come on then, boys and girls,’ he called out, as the players straggled out from the changing rooms. ‘Give me three laps of the playing fields as a warm-up.’
There was a muffled groan, and Thea noticed Fenella, Sabrina, Joy and Aradia among the boys who began a slow clockwise run. Standing across from her, Gareth picked up a stick and began bouncing a ball on its flat surface.
Showing off.
Thea ignored him and ran after the students with an easy, fluid gait. She caught up with them after half a lap and then slowed as she drew alongside them.
‘Hi Miss,’ said Fenella between breaths.
‘How was your first day?’ Thea asked.
Fenella was about to reply when a couple of the boys picked up the pace and the rest of them were hard pressed to keep up. The final lap was almost a sprint to the finish and Thea could tell they had something to prove. She worked a little harder, staying with the fastest pair and was pleased to see that they didn’t gain much ground on the girls either.
When they had finished their warm-up, Gareth divided them into groups and set them to a number of drills, all the while bouncing the ball on his stick. It was beginning to get on Thea’s nerves, so she went to supervise the group furthest away from him.
After half an hour or so of drills, he called them over and formed the players into two teams. Thea watched without comment as he put all of the girls on one team, together with a handful of the weaker boys.
So, that’s how it’s going to be.
He threw a bib at her and she caught it deftly in one hand.
‘Let’s have a knock around to finish. You can join the girls; we won’t bother with goalies.’
‘Sure.’ Thea swiftly directed her players into position, putting Fenella at centre forward, and taking left back for herself, where she could keep an eye on things and give encouragement if needed.
Gareth had taken up an attacking position on the opposite side.
He blew the whistle to start the game. His team gained possession of the ball and came thundering down the pitch towards Joy, who put her head down and tackled the player, easily relieving him of the ball and flicking it across to Sabrina. The boy whipped his head around, astonished to see one of the girls flying to the other end of the pitch with the ball.
Sabrina dribbled the ball up the pitch, dodging two more players before being tackled.
The boy who had now taken the ball passed it out to his wing, who collected it and passed it on to the centre forward, who dodged Aradia in defence and whacked the ball into the back of the net.
‘One–nil,’ called Gareth, not hiding his smirk.
Thea ignored it. They were only just getting started.
The game continued, with the boys scoring again, and then Gareth had the ball and was coming right for her. As he was about to flick the ball beyond her, Thea hooked her stick around it and ducked to avoid colliding with him, before passing the ball with an almighty thwack halfway up the pitch to where Fenella was waiting, just on side. From there it was an easy job for her to send the ball to the waiting wing and for him to cross it into the goal.
The game continued for another twenty minutes, with the girls on Thea’s team scoring twice more.
Red in the face, Gareth blew the final whistle and they jogged back to the practice equipment. He gave her the faintest of nods as she reached him.
He hadn’t called out the final score, but that didn’t matter. He had not only miscalculated her ability, but the girls’ too and although she knew it was probably childish, she allowed herself a private moment of smugness at the victory.
‘That’s all we’ve got time for today,’ Gareth said when everyone had gathered around. ‘I can see there’s plenty we need to work on before our first interschool match, and we’ll need to improve all of your fitness as well. Off you go now, back to your houses and I’ll see you at practice on Thursday.’
Thea began to gather up the equipment, picking up an armful of cones. ‘Give me a sec,’ she called to the girls as they were leaving, ‘and I’ll come back to the house with you.’
‘Good play, girls,’ Gareth said as they left. Thea knew it had cost him to say that, heard the barely concealed grudging tone.
‘Don’t worry, Miss,’ said Fenella once they were out of earshot. ‘They hate it when we’re better than them.’
Thea laughed. ‘They’re going to have to get used to it, aren’t they?’
‘It’ll make them better players too,’ said Fenella. ‘Though some of them might not see that to start with.’
‘Nothing like a little healthy competition from where you least expect it, hey?’ she replied with a smile. ‘By the way, Sabrina, I overheard what some of the junior boys were saying to you before practice. You let me know if any of them bother you again and I’ll report it.’
‘It was nothing,’ said Sabrina. ‘They’ll get over themselves. Besides, I really don’t want the reputation of running to Daddy every time something like that happens.’
‘Fair enough,’ agreed Thea.
‘The other boys, the ones in our year,’ said Fenella, ‘they’ve been really nice.’
‘Ooh,’ said Aradia and Sabrina in unison as she blushed tomato-red. ‘Someone’s keen.’
‘Not like that,’ she protested.
‘May I have a word, Miss Rust?’
Thea suppressed a sigh as the Dame appeared behind her. After supervising the girls’ supper and sending them up to their rooms to begin their homework, she had stayed behind to make herself a cup of tea and was about to go up to her study to work on her lessons for the rest of the week.
‘Shall we go into the small sitting room?’
Thea picked up her mug and followed her across the hallway into the room at the front of the house. There were a couple of large sofas, several beanbags and an upright piano in one corner, and a bow-fronted window that overlooked the street. It was to be used as a space for the girls to relax in, though Thea had begun to wonder when they might ever be allowed free time. Their lives were heavily scheduled, with barely ten minutes between activities. Perhaps the weekends would be quieter, though for those playing sport there were Saturday matches and for those not, extra homework and music practice.
‘How was your first day?’
Thea was taken aback that the Dame would bother to ask, given her previous dour demeanour, but she hid her surprise. ‘Fine, thank you. Nothing that I can’t handle. The girls all seem remarkably well adjusted.’
‘Well, they have all been specially selected,’ she said.
Thea raised her eyebrows. The Dame made it sound almost ominous. ‘They do come with the highest reports,’ she agreed. ‘But they are still teenage girls. They will doubtless face challenges, no matter how privileged their background.’
‘And how about the other staff?�
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‘Just fine.’ Thea was hardly going to report that Mr Battle had been openly dismissive on their first encounter nor that Gareth Pope had tried to show up her and the girls. She could more than cope with both of them.
‘I wanted to warn you.’
‘Warn me?’
‘Things in this house might not always be exactly what they seem.’
Thea watched the Dame, waiting for her to continue, to elaborate, for she hadn’t the faintest idea what the woman was on about.
‘You might … hear things. At night.’
‘Actually, I did hear something, last night,’ she replied. ‘But it turned out to be Fenella, getting some water from the kitchen.’
‘It’s an old house, dates back to the mid-eighteenth century. Sometimes it creaks and groans as if it has a life of its own.’
‘Like an old lady,’ said Thea with a quick smile.
‘Yes, a very old lady. There’s bound to be a book or two about its history in the local library, possibly even in the school library if you’re interested.’
Thea glanced around the room, noting the high, coffered ceiling, the age of the worn timbers, blackened by smoke, soot and time. Just how many lives had these walls contained? ‘Yes, I would be, actually,’ she said, deciding in that moment that she definitely wanted to find out if there was any foundation for the eerie feeling the house gave her, especially at night.
‘I’ll get you something for that.’ The Dame stood up and glided out of the room, leaving Thea blinking at how fast she had disappeared. She felt a twinge in her thumb and regarded the plaster covering the paper cut. How had the Dame known that it was sore?
She reappeared and placed a small glass pot on the table in front of Thea. ‘Balsam. My mother’s recipe, passed down from her grandmother. Take off the plaster.’
Thea did as she was told, noticing that the cut had taken on a green tinge. ‘Ugh, how did that happen?’
The Dame said nothing, but indicated that Thea should smear some of the ointment on her thumb. As she unscrewed the lid a flowery aroma wafted into the room, reminding Thea of the smell in her bedroom the night before. Nevertheless, Thea looked unenthusiastically at the thick green paste.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
Thea gingerly dabbed a little of the paste on her cut finger.
‘That should do it,’ said the Dame, getting up to leave the room. ‘I can’t have my girls injured.’
Thea was left wondering as she sat alone in the room staring at the pot of salve. What had the Dame wanted to talk to her about, anyway? Was it only to warn her about strange noises in the night? She wiggled her thumb. It had stopped throbbing quite so much; indeed it felt a little better already.
FIFTEEN
January 1769, Oxleigh
Thanks in part to Prudence and Tommy, word had spread of Rowan’s talent among the servants of the town and several had come calling. A soft knock on the back door late at night often heralded requests for tinctures and salves, draughts and poultices. A sprained ankle, several coughs that had settled on the chest, a young child with quinsy, an aching tooth and a cut to the head all required Rowan’s medicines. She had taken to mixing up the most oft called-for ointments and salves and keeping them – as well as numerous bunches of herbs – in the scullery in advance of when they were needed. She refused, however, to see anyone with the flux or a pox, for she knew the limits of her skills, and heeded Alice’s tale of the Widow Spanswick. While Prudence sang her praises and happily accepted payments in kind, perhaps a clutch of eggs or a small cheese, Alice looked on with barely disguised ill humour.
Patrick had once again departed for London, and Caroline was about to visit cousins in Salisbury. Before the mistress left, Rowan was called on to help Alice prepare the travelling trunks, but her initial delight at handling the luxurious silks, finely woven wool and plush velvets turned to frustration – she thought she might snap from the effort of holding it in – as Caroline chose first one gown and then another before discarding them all and calling for more to be brought for her consideration. The process of packing took several days, leaving Rowan behind with her other tasks. She tried not to sigh at their mistress’s indecision, nor to feel ill will towards her, but her good heart was sorely tested. Rowan could not understand how a person could be so spoiled as to not be satisfied with even one of the beautiful gowns that Caroline possessed, let alone the dozens she owned.
She caught Alice’s eye as they brought forth gown after gown, and they shared a look of understanding at their shared plight. It was the first time Alice had done anything other than ignore or sneer at her, and it heartened Rowan immensely.
As they packed the rejected gowns away, Rowan could not help running her fingers along the silk, wondering what it might feel like to wear such a gown, to feel its softness against her skin, the weight of the skirts as they fell from her waist, the whisper of it as she walked.
‘Beauties, aren’t they,’ sighed Alice. ‘I’d choose the pearly grey one. No one would be able to take their eyes off me in such finery.’
‘It would indeed set off your colouring,’ Rowan agreed. ‘But a girl as pretty as you does not need a fine gown to be noticed.’
She was rewarded for her kind words with a rare, and fleeting, smile.
Before she departed, Caroline summoned Rowan to the drawing room. ‘Is it ready yet?’ she asked.
‘Soon, mistress,’ Rowan promised, knowing exactly what it was that she referred to. ‘I need a few more weeks.’
‘It will be ready on my return.’ Caroline’s words were a command, not a question.
Rowan nodded. ‘But a few more plants to come into flower. I wait only for the first signs of spring.’
As she left the room, she saw Alice retreating along the corridor and got the distinct feeling that she had been eavesdropping. It did not surprise her in the slightest.
The morning after Caroline’s departure, Rowan put down the brush she was using to scour the pewter and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm. Her muscles quivered from the effort of cleaning. Not for the first time, she cursed the slovenliness of the maid before her, for the pewter Prudence had directed her to clean that day had been discovered at the back of a cupboard and had been as tarnished as if it had been smeared with the soot from a fireplace. She held the jug in front of her, turned it this way and that, and reckoned it shone as brightly as it was ever going to. She inclined her head, listening as the church bell sounded twice. If she was quick, she would have enough time to search for the herbs she needed before darkness fell.
Although spring yet waited in the wings and dandelion root grew in profusion along the muddy paths in the outer reaches of the town, fresh leaves of raspberry, red clover and peppermint had so far proved impossible to find. On leaving the house, she walked the length of the high street before following the path that led to the mill, remembering the coltsfoot she had seen there, and hopeful of perhaps also finding a clump of iris, as well as searching for the herbs she more urgently needed.
As she walked, her cloak brushing the verge, there was a movement ahead of her, a shadow in the gloomy light. Was it her imagination, or was someone or some creature there? She didn’t particularly want to come across the fox again. As she rounded the bend hesitantly she saw that it was Tommy. He turned, waiting for her with a lopsided grin on his face.
‘Rowan,’ he called out as she drew near.
‘Did you imagine that I might be here?’ she asked.
His answering blush told her all she needed to know. ‘Finished all the orders early,’ he said with a smile that dimpled his cheeks. ‘And this is my favourite place to come,’ he added, nodding to the fishing rod he carried, a hazel stick affixed with a line of braided horsehair and a small bent hook at the end of it. ‘The trout are good along here, near the pond. They start biting as the sun goes down.’
‘Isn’t that poaching?’ she asked warily.
‘If it i
s, you didn’t see me,’ he replied, giving her a sideways glance. ‘You’re heading that way too?’
‘Aye.’
‘Shall we walk together, then?’
They fell into an easy pace, climbing the small rise before the mill appeared. The paddlewheel was still, the millrace closed, for the grinding of wheat into flour was finished for the day. The air held February’s bitter chill, but overhead tiny wrens and chaffinches came in to roost, wheeling and chirruping, and in the west the sun was a pale orb of light. Rowan felt the calm of the landscape descend upon them, enjoyed the feeling of walking comfortably in step with someone, no need to converse.
When they reached the mill, Tommy sat at the foot of the riverbank, retrieved a wriggling knot of worms from his pocket, hooked one and then cast his line.
Rowan wandered further, towards the pond, and before long became absorbed in her task, finding common groundsel, wild garlic, even a patch of elder. Finally, in the lee of a tall oak she came across it: fresh red clover, in flower far earlier than she had expected. As she gathered the herbs, the distant sound of the church clock chiming the half-hour rang across the meadow. She returned to where Tommy was fishing, the light now grown dimmer.
‘What have you got there?’ he asked as she sat beside him.
‘Just a few leaves and whatnot,’ she said dismissing her haul. ‘Any fish?’
He nodded, indicating three glistening brown trout on the grass beside him. ‘Care for one for your supper?’ he asked.
‘But what would Prudence say?’
He laughed. ‘She’d surely know who caught ’em.’
‘All right then, Tommy Dean. But we should go soon,’ she said, seeing the darkening sky.
‘Aye. A few more minutes.’
They sat in silence for a moment, both watching the line as it dropped into the water, as a ripple grew from where it entered, ruffling the glassy surface.
