The Serpent in the Glass (The Tale of Thomas Farrell)

by D. M. Andrews

  Miss Havelock took out a pen. ‘Melantha Avebury?’

  ‘Yes, Miss!’ said the blonde girl next to the twins and to Jessica’s left. She sat down.

  ‘Merideah Darwood?’

  ‘Yes, Miss!’ Merideah responded. She took her seat to patiently await the end of the roll call.

  Miss Havelock rattled through the rest of the register with perfect efficiency. Thomas couldn’t remember all the names, nor did he try. When Miss Havelock called out ‘Treice Montague’ Thomas expected a girl to respond, but the tall boy with the curly, blond hair answered. The twins were named Jasmin and Bronwen Thistlethwaite, though which was which he couldn’t remember. The girl with the mousy hair sitting next to him was named Demelza Luard. Most of these names seemed very peculiar to Thomas. Perhaps a lot of people outside of Holten Layme had strange names. He wondered where names came from and how people got them. But he couldn’t even understand the origins of his surname let alone anyone else’s. He valued it though, and was glad his father had insisted it couldn’t be changed.

  ‘Well, now you all know each others’ names,’ — Miss Havelock put the registration book down on the desk — ‘welcome to the form. I expect you all to set an example for the school as exemplary first-year pupils. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Havelock,’ the class intoned somewhat more urgently than before.

  ‘Good,’ Miss Havelock continued. ‘Now, we have registration promptly at half past eight in this room every weekday morning and every weekday afternoon at a quarter past one. Today I’d like each of you to stand up and tell us a little about yourself. Half a minute each should suffice.’

  Most of the children looked quite shocked on hearing the announcement. Thomas noted that Jessica wasn’t one of them. She looked quite taken by the idea.

  Miss Havelock glanced down at the register on the desk. ‘Melantha Avebury first.’

  Melantha stood up quite hesitantly, and only after Miss Havelock motioned for her to do so.

  ‘Come to the front of the class, child. Face your fellow classmates.’ Miss Havelock moved to the side of the classroom and surrendered the floor to Miss Avebury.

  However, it was Miss Avebury who looked like she was doing the surrendering. She moved slowly to the front of the class and turned around. She said absolutely nothing.

  Miss Havelock walked to the blackboard. ‘Here, maybe this will help each of you.’ She took out a stick of chalk and scribbled a list of words on the board: name, home, family, interests. ‘Speak about these — your name, where you come from, a little about your family and your interests.’ Miss Havelock moved back to the side of the classroom and left Melantha alone again.

  Melantha tentatively turned to look at the board before turning back to face the class. ‘Well,’ she began with a little more composure than Thomas thought she would, ‘my name’s Melantha Avebury.’

  She went on to explain that she haled from Oxfordshire, had an older brother who also attended Darkledun Manor, and that she liked keeping both frogs and a diary.

  Merideah reached the front of the class even before Melantha reached her own seat. ‘My name is Merideah Constance Darwood. I was born near Cambridge. My father is an explorer. I have no brothers or sisters. My mother died some years ago.’

  Thomas thought about his own mother. He hadn’t known her at all, but he wondered if it was worse to know your mother and then have her taken away from you. At least there would be a memory, he thought. And memories could bring comfort, and quell fears. He focused on Merideah’s words so that he didn’t have to dwell upon his own growing fear of having to stand up in front of everybody.

  ‘I like research and exploring. One of my hobbies is archery,’ Merideah concluded before sitting down.

  Archery? Merideah didn’t seem like she would be into something like that. He tried to imagine her shooting arrows at a target, but his thoughts were interrupted by the realization that he was up next. Pity, he’d hoped Merideah would take longer so that they’d run out of time for him. Thomas hated standing up in front of everyone. He had somehow managed to more or less avoid it at his former school.

  Thomas stood up and took his position at the front. He could feel his face reddening. He swallowed hard and hoped no one noticed his shaking legs. ‘My name is Thomas Farrell.’

  He could feel his heart pounding. Run, run! a voice inside his head shouted. It always did. He ignored it as best he could. ‘I was brought up in Holten Layme in Hertfordshire by the Westhrop family. I never met my real parents. Jessica,’ — he looked over at her, and the rest of the class did likewise — ‘is my sister, well as good as.’ Jessica smiled and lapped up the attention. Thomas was all too glad to share it. Indeed, it was partly for that reason he’d mentioned her. ‘And I like playing marbles,’ Thomas finished and sat down quickly, though not quite at a run.

  He controlled his breathing and calmed himself down. His hand went to the bulge in the blazer pocket where he’d stuffed the pouch containing his marbles and the Glass. He forced his fingers through the opening in the pouch and touched the Glass. It seemed to reassure him in some way he couldn’t explain, maybe because it was his father’s. Perhaps that’s why he liked to keep it near.

  The rest of the children had their turn, but Thomas felt too flustered to listen until Demelza spoke. She’d been brought up by her grandmother on a farm in Cornwall, and, like Thomas, she’d no living parents. He wondered if she felt like him, but at least she had a grandmother. Penders, when it got to his turn, said no more than Thomas already knew. The slow-speaking Guth Roach came from Yorkshire and said he liked to go hunting with his dad. The introductions finished with a boy named Drew Wishard, who said very little other than that he expected to do well here and be as successful as his father, who was some kind of businessman.

  ‘I’m glad that’s over!’ Thomas admitted as he walked out the room with Penders after registration.

  Penders nodded wearily. ‘Yeah, me too. It was so boring.’

  ‘You should show more interest,’ Merideah said, as she and Jessica caught up with them.

  Penders smiled awkwardly. ‘Oh, not your presentation of course, I mean the general erm — the general Miss Havelock experience.’

  Jessica gave Penders one of her are-you-going-to-change-your-tune-or-will-I-have-to-do-it-for-you looks. She was good at those and, as Thomas well knew, she had a plentiful supply of them. In front of them Treice Montague had Melantha Avebury and the Thistlethwaite twins vying for his attention. The girls were doing a lot of smiling for some reason.

  ‘Well, maybe I should give her another chance.’ Penders laughed nervously as the two girls glared at him.

  Jessica nodded. ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘Yes,’ Merideah agreed, ‘and this afternoon we’ve got Miss Havelock for Cultural Studies, so you’ll get that other chance quite soon.’

  Penders frowned and pulled out his timetable. Thomas did the same. The girls were right.

  Using the map on the back of their timetables they found their way easily to room 5B, the venue for Mr Guber’s mathematics class. Other than learning that the girls were far better than the boys at mental arithmetic — Mr Guber had wasted no time in informing everyone that calculators were banned from his lessons — the class passed without incident until the bell rang. At that point Thomas’s pen decided to leak all over his hand. Perhaps, like Thomas, the biro had finally had enough of long division.

  Telling Penders he’d catch up, Thomas all but ran to the washroom to clean his hands — he didn’t want to miss break. Inside the washroom he turned on the hot-water tap, squirted out some pink-coloured soap, and tried to remove the ink from his hand. The stain had formed itself into a shape on his palm that Thomas thought resembled the shape of the African continent.

  Just as he tried to rub off what would have been Egypt, the door opened and Treice Montague backed in. He closed the door and pressed his forehead against it for a moment before he heard the tap running and rea
lized someone else was in the room. He turned around quickly and seemed surprised to see Thomas.

  Treice’s casual, cool look had gone and had been replaced with what Thomas could only describe as fear. Even his golden curls seemed subdued.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Girls!’ he said.

  Thomas turned off the tap. ‘Girls?’

  ‘Yes, everywhere! Smiling, whispering, giggling girls! I was even asked if I could help with their maths homework.’ Treice put his hand to his brow as if he had the troubles of the world weighing upon his mind. Thomas noticed that Treice’s crisp white shirt sleeves were fastened by silver-coloured cufflinks.

  ‘I guess popularity has its drawbacks,’ Thomas offered. It was pretty weak. Thomas knew it, but he really had very little experience with Treice’s problem. Though he did understand why he’d want to avoid girls; after all, they might try to take you shopping.

  Treice shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be popular. I wish they’d leave me alone!’

  Thomas looked at his palm. He’d given up trying to remove the stain. The soap had had little effect except to make his hand smell like perfume. ‘Well, you can always come and talk to Penders or me I guess, if you need an excuse to get away that is.’

  Treice took his hand away from his head. ‘Really? That’d be a big help! I don’t know anyone here yet.’

  Thomas wondered if Treice played marbles. ‘No problem.’

  Treice offered his hand. ‘Treice Montague, at your service.’

  ‘Oh Thomas Farrell, at yours.’ Thomas shook the other’s hand and then apologised as he saw the look of surprise on Treice’s face. He hadn’t dried his hands. ‘Excuse me for asking, but isn’t Trace —’

  ‘A girl’s name?’ Treice interrupted.

  ‘Well, I was going to say it was a little unusual,’ Thomas explained.

  Treice smiled. ‘Sorry, most ask if it’s a girl’s name. It’s spelt T-R-E-I-C-E. I’ve no idea why my parents called me that. I’m from Derbyshire. You said you were from Herefordshire, right?’

  Thomas pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser and dried his hands. ‘Hertfordshire.’

  ‘Right. Listen, do you think we could sort of keep what I’ve told you a secret? You know, about the girls?’

  Thomas dropped the paper towel in the bin. ‘Of course. Now let’s see if we can find Penders. He doesn’t like being called Marvin.’

  Treice nodded as Thomas opened the door. ‘Is the coast clear?’

  Thomas stuck his head out and looked both ways. ‘Yes! Let’s go.’

  Break consisted of all the students, apart from the Sixth Form, being ousted out into the small area of playground next to the field behind the Manor. It was here, backing onto the patio area, that the tuck shop opened its windowed shutter to the hungry students. It was manned by three overworked children who looked only a year or two older than Thomas. Penders appeared from the crowd around the tuck shop. He had a half-eaten bar of chocolate in one hand and two bags of crisps in the other.

  ‘Oh, hi Thomas!’ Penders looked from Thomas to Treice.

  Thomas smiled. ‘Penders, this is Treice.’

  ‘Hi,’ Penders said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but isn’t Trace a girl’s name?’

  After he’d eaten, there was little time for Thomas to visit the Headmaster’s office and ask him about his father. So, reluctantly, Thomas had traipsed back to his next lesson, history, and spent an hour learning about the Pictish peoples of ancient Scotland. At lunch he made his way to the Headmaster’s Office, but the room was empty.

  It wasn’t until after dinner, on his third attempt, that Thomas found the Headmaster’s office occupied, though not by the Headmaster but by Miss McGritch.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked, seeing Thomas in the open doorway.

  Thomas cringed under her austere gaze. ‘Erm — I wanted to speak to the Headmaster.’

  ‘He’s very busy. Perhaps I can help?’

  ‘No, I really need to see him.’ Thomas screwed his hand up. Sweat covered the inside of his palm.

  Miss McGritch’s voice grew more stern. ‘Mr Trevelyan doesn’t have time to see pupils whenever they please. You’ll need to make an appointment and —’

  ‘It’s all right, Miss McGritch,’ the Headmaster interrupted. Thomas turned to see the Headmaster standing in the corridor holding a tray upon which sat a steaming bowl of chocolate pudding. ‘I’m sure I can spare a few minutes over dessert.’

  The Housekeeper nodded as Mr Trevelyan showed Thomas into the office. ‘Yes, Headmaster, of course.’

  Miss McGritch left, glancing back disapprovingly at Thomas before she closed the door.

  ‘You must excuse Miss McGritch.’ Mr Trevelyan sat down at his desk and had Thomas pull up a chair. ‘She’s very good at what she does, but a tad over-protective at times.’

  Thomas nodded.

  ‘I do like chocolate pudding with custard, don’t you?’ Mr Trevelyan eyed the pudding excitedly. ‘I was lucky to get some. There seems to be rather less puddings left over since the new school year started.’

  Thomas had only just had some himself. Penders had had two helpings.

  ‘Now,’ Mr Trevelyan began, ‘you’ve come to ask more about your father?’

  Thomas’s eyes widened. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Well, it’s only natural you’d want to know as much as possible, Thomas. Alas, there isn’t much more I can tell you, but sometimes questions must be asked even when we don’t have the answers.’

  Thomas nodded. ‘You said my father died in battle soon after he put me up for adoption? Do you know where he died? What war it was?’

  The Headmaster sighed. ‘Thomas, the representative of your father’s estate has sealed all information about your father.’

  Thomas didn’t understand. ‘But why? He’s my father.’

  The Headmaster spread his hands out on the desk. ‘I think the representative feels it would be wise to wait until you’re a little older.’

  Thomas looked about the room, frustration filling his mind. ‘Can I see this ‘representative’?’

  Mr Trevelyan frowned. ‘I’m afraid that person has requested complete anonymity. I must respect that. Although I didn’t know your father, I knew of him. He was a good person from every account, Thomas. I think he would’ve supported the representative’s decision.’

  Thomas slumped in his seat. Would he ever find out more about his father? ‘Can I at least visit his grave?’

  Mr Trevelyan nodded. ‘I hope to take you to it one day, but it isn’t easy to get to.’ The Headmaster stood and Thomas did likewise. ‘Deep down inside us all is a yearning to know who we are and from whence we’ve come, Thomas. We can seek for many things in life, but without that knowledge all seems empty.’ Mr Trevelyan picked up his spoon and scooped some of the pudding into his mouth. ‘Ah, just right. You see, Thomas, some things are better when we wait for the right moment, or else we might burn our tongue, so to speak.’ He put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. ‘Truth has a way of bubbling to the surface sooner or later, Thomas. Just be patient, and you’ll find your answers.’

  — CHAPTER EIGHT —

  The Tower with No Door

  Penders stood in the playing field behind the Manor. He eyed a large grey cloud in the otherwise clear summer sky that had decided to position itself right between the sun and the hill atop which Darkledun Manor stood. ‘I hope we don’t have to do anything too hard. I’m still digesting my food.’

  Thomas stood next to him. Like Penders, he wore a long-sleeved T-shirt, a pair of shorts, and socks that came up almost to his knee. Thomas hoped the same as Penders, though thankfully he hadn’t eaten anywhere near as much as his friend during break.

  ‘It is doing hard things, Mr Penderghast, that strengthens the sinews and the will,’ a deep, harsh voice sounded behind them.

  Thomas and Penders looked around to see Mr Gallowglas standing there, his black tracksuit a complete contrast to t
heir own white P.E. kits. Thomas hadn’t heard him approach. The teacher’s hard, grey eyes cast a stony gaze over them before he moved off toward the centre of the field, ordering all the boys to follow. Thomas noticed that Mr Gallowglas walked with a slight limp.

  Penders let out a sigh of relief. ‘Now there’s a friendly man.’

  Thomas nodded. Had it been Mr Gallowglas he’d heard walking away from his room on his first night at the Manor? Perhaps the teachers checked the students before they switched the corridor lights off? His thoughts were interrupted as he saw Jessica coming across the field, talking to Merideah and two other girls. They all wore the prescribed kit for girls: white socks, white tops, white trainers and knee-length pleated skirts of the same colour. Thomas raised a hand to get Jessica’s attention just as Mr Gallowglas barked an order for silence. Next to the teacher stood a short woman looking very uncomfortable in a tight navy tracksuit. It was several moments before Thomas realized the woman was the Housekeeper, Miss McGritch. She carried a net bag full of small red balls over her shoulder.

  ‘As I’m sure you’ll have seen from your timetable,’ Mr Gallowglas began, his steady grey eyes sweeping between the boys and girls, ‘Physical Education, unlike most lessons, lasts two hours. This denotes its great importance. Remember that.’

  Penders gave Thomas a pained look.

  ‘You will all be expected,’ Mr Gallowglas continued, ‘to have a clean kit at the beginning of each lesson — no exceptions. Is that clear?’

  Everyone nodded, afraid to do otherwise.

  Mr Gallowglas folded his arms. ‘Good. Now let’s get some exercise!’

  Everyone had to complete three laps of the field as a warm-up exercise. Mr Gallowglass led the way and, despite his limp, managed to finish a half field ahead of Treice, the fastest student. After that, the children were lined up and put through various exercises, all of which Thomas thoroughly disliked and Penders utterly despised.

  ‘Sinews and will!’ Thomas said to Penders as they were half way through their squats. Penders screwed up his sweating face in disgust. Treice seemed to be having some difficulty with the exercise due to his height and the length of his legs. Thomas had another worry. He hadn’t wanted to leave the Glass in the changing rooms as there were (despite the name) no locks on the lockers, so he’d removed it from the marble bag and stuffed it into the small pocket in his shorts. Now it was rubbing against his thigh. His skin would be red raw if he continued the squats much longer. Luckily, before the pain became unbearable, the exercise ended as Mr Gallowglas bellowed the next set of instructions.