by Helen Slavin
Hettie’s skin prickled.
“And who assaulted Aurora Foundling? She needed stitches in her arm.”
Miss Marlowe’s face set in an expression of severe concrete, riven with ridges of sourness.
“It is not within Charlotte’s purlieu to administer discipline.” Miss Marlowe chewed at the words, each syllable emphasising the lines around her mouth. She was very thin and very powdered, Hettie thought. If you blew on her she might just vanish. “She must therefore be punished.”
Hettie’s Strength creaked a little, like a hefty ship tacking against a strong tide.
“No,” Hettie dropped the word. Miss Marlowe’s eyebrows straightened as if someone had just run a rake through them.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You may beg it, but I will not give it.” Hettie sat up straighter. The shadows in the room seemed to darken a little and push towards Miss Marlowe.
“You will not punish her. She did nothing wrong.”
Miss Marlowe’s lips chewed at a petty triumph.
“I beg to differ.”
“Beg away.” Hettie’s voice was a stone, as black deep and blue cold as the water of Pike Lake. Miss Marlowe stiffened in her chair, her fingers, still in their pointed temple, pressing against each other.
“I can see where Charlotte gets her unwonted and aggressive attitudes.” Miss Marlowe smiled, a terrible slicing movement of muscle and skin. “Absent father. Lax mother. Aged grandparent as her primary carer.” Her eyes glittered with darkness. “The child is unruly and disobedient, and no wonder.” She leaned forward in her chair, the metal squeaking in protest. Hettie watched her for a moment. Miss Marlowe’s eyes darkened a little further with fear.
“I know how to deal with bullies, Jean Marlowe.” The shadows drew in darker, Miss Marlowe’s eyes sliding sideways to see them reach for her. “You will not lay one finger on my girl. Not a hard word. Not a wrong look.”
Miss Marlowe made a tiny squeaking sound.
“She did what was right.” Hettie stood up. The shadows withdrew into the corners once more. Hettie paused in the doorway. “Now, it’s your turn.”
It did not work out, of course. Charlotte Way was not powerful and charming. She was not fake and shallow and shiny. Miss Marlowe sided with Cora’s parents in her dislike of the Ways and their different method of doing things. They were judged on no evidence. They were odd and therefore outcast. Hettie Way realised that times did not change, only the wearing of hats and the putting of watches in waistcoat pockets.
Moments like this were difficult. She realised that Anna, Charlie, and Emz’s life lessons were not confined to Havoc Wood, and she wondered, sometimes, if the most cruel and dangerous things were those that did not live in Havoc Wood.
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