by Jess Webster
Goodness gracious, he thought, Blythe Pritchard is one suspicious female. Due to the fact that such an evidently well-rehearsed test was still in implementation, Domenic very astutely deduced that very few (if any) had ever passed it. Which meant that Blythe was probably behind that glass, wondering exactly how she could explain away the current situation.
Domenic smiled a sly little smile to himself, and decided to play along. Just for a little while. At least it would give them something to talk about, later.
After a rather uneventful (though slightly bumpy) landing at Gables’ private airport, Esther unceremoniously snatched the enchanted pen and notepad from Gables’ shirt pocket. Gables frowned and gave her an accusing look.
“Well it certainly wouldn’t do to have you harassing me at work,” Esther said to him. “James and I will be very busy. I won’t have the time to be constantly evading you.”
“Poor Mr Gables,” James said somewhat mournfully, shaking his head.
“I can’t feel so sympathetic,” Esther muttered. “Here, James, you wait at my car while I sort out the bill with Mr Gables.” She did not want James to know how much this flight had cost her in case he felt bad about it – this was something Esther strove to avoid at all times.
“You know, I can think of something you can give me instead of that double payment you promised,” Gables suggested.
Esther pulled a face at him. “I think I’d rather pay, but thanks all the same.”
Gables looked very disappointed. Esther threw the notepad and pen into the front passenger seat of the Mini and left James alone, accompanying Gables into his cheery office space.
As they entered, however, all the cheer in Esther’s world seemed to vanish.
Yvette and Walter Winchester were seated comfortably upon the customer armchairs, engaged in idle chit-chat. “Ah, well, it’s about time you got back!” Walter Winchester scowled at Gables, adding with heavy sarcasm, “Thank you ever so much for the two day delay of our holiday.”
Esther saw that Gables was trying his best not to scowl right back at Walter Winchester. She disliked him slightly less for that fraction of a moment. But only for that fraction. And only slightly.
“Let’s get this sorted out then, shall we?” Esther said to Gables and pulled out her credit card.
“Goodness, Walter, isn’t it just so shocking that little James is missing,” Esther heard Yvette Winchester say rather vapidly, as if she were discussing the latest plot twist in her favourite soap opera, rather than the life of her own son. Esther wondered with some vehemence whether they knew how tall or small their ‘little James’ was in the first place, seeing as they had unceremoniously dumped him at Westcott in kindergarten and had made no effort to see him since. They probably thought he was still five years old and three foot tall.
Oh no! Esther cried inwardly, suddenly filled with chagrin. She’d meant to disenchant the pen after retrieving it from that incorrigible pilot, but had been too busy dashing all his hopes (and enjoying it) to remember! Stupid, stupid woman! Fervently she hoped that James was not looking at it; maybe he’d be observing clouds again, and all would be fine.
But all was not fine. James Winchester floated into the office, through the side wall and the nibblies that had evidently been left to go stale by the incompetent Abby. His face was lit with a look of such bright hopefulness that Esther locked up; transfixed by the horrified anticipation of the hurt that James must soon feel.
But even before they said another word, he began to frown.
“Oh yes, Yvie, very shocking,” Walter Winchester replied vaguely.
“I wonder – should we do something about it?” speculated Yvette.
“Like what, offer a reward for information on his whereabouts?”
“Oh no, nothing of that sort. I didn’t mean that. I suppose he’ll turn up eventually.” Yvette waved the idea off with an uncaring hand, as if James Winchester were a misplaced watch. James’ frown remained in place and he seemed, to Esther, almost to expect the awful things his parents were saying. “But in the meantime, perhaps we should call the school and tell them that we want a refund for this term’s tuition. It would be an awful waste of our money, since he’s not even there.”
“Yes, rather. Wonderful idea, Yvette,” Walter agreed, and retrieved his mobile from his pocket, presumably to dial Westcott.
This whole situation, Esther had to admit inwardly, was pretty disastrous, as far as bad situations went. And it was all her fault. Again. Her bad advice in the infirmary, leaving the notepad where James could see it… She felt horrible. She looked over at James. Most children’s faces, when they hear something upsetting, resemble a thundercloud, with a stormy deluge ready to burst forth. But James Winchester was not the sort for tantrums – he was, outwardly, too quiet, too subdued, for such displays. So now his face resembled not a storm cloud but a diaphanous wing of white that moved alone; a solitary and fragile sliver interrupting a blue sky. It could not cry, because it was too insubstantial for tears. It just wanted to shrink away into the azure oblivion. His face bore a look of pure hurt and hopelessness, which made Esther Mason-Smith’s eyes immediately well up. She hid her face – the only direction she could look was towards Gables, behind the receptionist’s desk.
The pilot had stopped calculating the bill and was wearing an expression of violent disgust. Seeing Esther’s watery eyes, his face blanched. “Your little friend just heard all that, didn’t he?” he whispered.
Esther nodded and buried her face momentarily in her hands. “Just get them out of here, please,” she said quietly. “Just get them away.”
Gables’ transformation was immediate. His tone was businesslike, even friendly, as he said, “Are you ready, Mr and Mrs Winchester?” For the first time Esther saw something of herself behind this cheery mask Gables had donned; righteous indignation burned in his eyes. He probably wanted to punch Walter as much as Esther did. It almost cancelled out the awful jingles of the previous day. Almost.
“We have been ready for the past two days,” Yvette said under her breath. Her words did not escape James’ ears. His parents followed Gables out of the office, and Esther and James were left alone in the glaring silence.
James said simply, “Let’s go back to Westcott.”
Esther hesitated. “Are you alright, James?”
“Yes. I want you to teach me how to make bad people behave. I’ll practise first on the kids at school.” He paused momentarily, then added, without anger of any kind evident in his small face, “And then I’ll move on to adults.”
Esther guessed that his parents were implicit in that statement. Though she was too tactful to attempt to satisfy her curiosity on the subject, she wondered what secrets James had seen in them. Whatever they were, it seemed that James wanted to punish them for it. And he wanted to do it properly.
But first, to Westcott they would go.
Lesson Eleven: One should NEVER tempt the proverbial lightning bolt from heaven…
God is God, after all, so let’s presume he has good aim. Especially since he created both lightning bolts and good aim.
“You’ve given James’ place to a new student already? But – but this is outrageous!” Esther Mason-Smith spluttered angrily at the Headmistress (Emile[66] Gerson-Clay) the following morning. “He’s only been missing for a couple of days!”
“Miss Mason-Smith,” Miss Gerson-Clay replied calmly, though evidently surprised by Esther’s vehemence, “I know you were attached to the little hypochondriac, and I am sorry for the stress that you must be feeling right now. James might come back very soon, and his place will be waiting for him if he does. But as it is, his parents have cancelled his tuition in case he isn’t found. And don’t worry – we can throw the new girl back into that middle-class jungle of a school any time we please. Although,” she glanced upwards with an intense look of concentration, “the orphanage is paying for her education, so I’m not quite sure how I’ll manage that. But I will, rest assured. If James eve
r returns.”
Esther Mason-Smith was taken aback. Headmistress Gerson-Clay could be so very flippant about her students that sometimes Esther had to suppress an urge to slap the woman. To give a poor, academically brilliant little girl a taste of upper-class education, and then ‘throw’ her back into a classroom full of swearing, violent and neglected deviants was simply cruel[67] .
“Alright then,” Esther replied, pretending to be mollified. “What is the name of this new student, in case she pays me a visit anytime soon?” As she may, from being surrounded by such sickening condescension and the false superiority of the upper-class, Esther thought.
“Lilith Palmer,” Miss Gerson-Clay replied.
For lack of a better plan, James Winchester IV had decided to observe his classmates for the day, in the hopes of finding naughty children to practise his newfound art upon. If they were mean, James planned to use their deepest secrets against them, to force them into good behaviour. It was a delightfully simple plan – except for the small matter of one gigantic unforeseen distraction.
Lilith Palmer.
When James had floated through the walls and into his classroom, she was the first thing he saw. Sitting in his chair. Anger was his immediate reaction, but after observing her for a portion of the morning this feeling soon gave way to others.
She was like water, always spilling and tumbling over herself. She could fall from the heights of the happy heavens to the depths of despairing shadow in a matter of moments, and never be the worse for wear. She was exquisitely beautiful, even in her transience, having an expression to reflect any moment – at one instant she could be as a pink, light-filled sunset, and in the very next a slate grey steel or a lake beneath a storm.
James, wondering desperately what her name was, thought her the most incredible creature he had ever laid eyes on[68]. She was the kind of child, he was sure, at which all adults felt the need to glance a second time, and then a third, and then a fourth. If James was not so sure that he must die at age 11, he would have liked to marry her. It was so horribly cruel that she could not see him, and that her admittance to the school had first required his own absence.
These were James’ first impressions of the little, golden Lilith Palmer. Lilith, seeing an entirely different world to James that morning, experienced things somewhat differently.
Lilith Palmer felt that she walked through life as if it were a dream, full of wonders that few others could perceive – a world of ‘bottomless vales and boundless floods, and chasms, and caves, and Titan woods’[69]. There certainly was something to be said for the gift that Lilith possessed of seeing, hearing and feeling things that most ordinary people could not. She perceived more beauty in the world than almost any other person. Yet in this world there must always be a shadowy side too, and thus Lilith also saw many things to horrify. It created in her a certain unpredictability of mood, which some people found fascinating, and some (in fact most) found trying. Whatever she felt, she felt intensely; all her loves and hates were about as moderate as a tropical cyclone.
Currently Lilith Palmer felt awfully nervous. She did not care if she made any friends on her first day at a new school: she’d done without any so far in her nine years of life! She only hoped that she would not embarrass herself. She had an alarming habit of tripping over things, for although she was small and thin and did not look like one who would suffer from a distinct lack of coordination, her mind was often so completely occupied that she seemed to lose track of the location of her extremities. This, at least, was her reasoning for the fact that she was always stubbing her toes, whacking her hands on random pieces of furniture, falling into wall corners as she attempted to round them and even, occasionally, falling flat on her face.
You might expect an extremely intelligent, uncoordinated girl to be tall, ungainly, buck-toothed, bushy-haired and ugly. This description, however, did not at all apply to Lilith Palmer. Small and delicate she was, with sweet eyes and lips, porcelain-like skin and pale, soft curls. She almost always looked as if she were thinking very hard (and, most likely, she was).
Now she found herself seated next to a large boy whose name she did not know, and it did not take her long to realise that she disliked him immensely. No longer caring enough to make the attempt to discover his name, she decided that he would henceforth be known to her as Ew-Boy.
The students were told to open their mathematics books at page 112 and carry out the exercises on the next five pages. Lilith brightened. She had a special liking for maths. It was one of the few things that made sense in her world; it followed rules, not like people. Lilith lifted up the desk-top and – “AAAIIEEEEEE!” she let out a piercing scream as a lizard sprang onto her lap and scrambled madly up her blouse. Ew-Boy, beside her, roared with laughter whilst the other students looked on, mystified.
Lilith could feel the skin on her ears and cheeks burning, and a sudden rage flared up within her. How dare he, on her very first day, pull such a nasty trick on her? And how did he know that she had a secret fear of reptiles? Hateful boy! And he was still laughing! That did it! With all her strength, Lilith Palmer gave Ew-Boy a whopping thump to the side of the head. He toppled sideways, his laughter suspended either by pain or surprise – Lilith did not care which, as long as he stopped that obnoxious laughter.
“Lilith Palmer!” the teacher roared.
“He put lizards in my desk,” Lilith quickly said, hoping to head off any punishment by justifying her actions. Unfortunately for Lilith, she did not understand how discipline worked at Westcott School for Boys and Girls.
“Andrew Harrison, is this true?” the teacher asked.
Lilith was only vaguely aware of what her name was. She had been introduced to so many teachers before class today that she felt positively lost. The only member of staff she had not yet met was the Nurse, whose name Lilith had also forgotten. Apparently she was away on stress-leave or something.
Andrew Harrison VI lay on the ground in a sort of half-daze. “Yep,” he said, starting to grin. The new girl had punched him. And hard. No one had ever punched him before. She was beauty! She was fire! She was fantastic!
“Humph.” The teacher frowned. “Well, you’re both on detention today.”
Lilith Palmer, however, felt that it had been entirely within her rights to punch a boy who had assaulted her with reptiles, so protested with, “But that’s not fair. He started it, Miss Bartlett-Cooke.”
The whole class seemed to wince.
“Miss?” the teacher hissed. Then, remarkably lion-like, she abruptly pounced forward and roared, “MISS!?” Amy Ainsworth-Young (being the smallest student in the class, and sitting somewhere to the left of Lilith) promptly fell backwards in her chair with a mouse-like squeal. It was an easy mistake to make. No one who looked at Mrs Bartlett-Cooke would have supposed that there was a man in the world who was mad enough to commit the rest of his life to her. As it was, Mrs Bartlett-Cooke had been married (three times, in fact), but was now a widow[70] . Mrs Bartlett-Cooke’s face now looked so livid that Lilith thought of an expanding red balloon, inching closer and closer to that level of expansion that preceded a gigantic POP! In the end Mrs Bartlett-Cooke let some air out of her head by roaring at both Lilith and Andrew, “ONE WEEK OF DETENTION – BOTH OF YOU!”
She stalked away from them, but after only a moment abruptly rounded on Andrew Harrison (who was still lying on his back on the floor, seeing stars and imagining his life with Lilith Palmer as his wife[71] ), saying, “On second thoughts, you’ve been trouble all week, Mr Harrison. You can go to the Headmistress’ office right now.”
“Okay, Mrs Bartlett-Cooke.” Andrew spoke with a half-dazed chuckle, and to the teacher’s very great surprise showed no opposition whatsoever. Up he got and off he went, neither yelling, kicking, nor screaming in the process. Bemused, though not about to waste a blessing simply because she did not understand its origins, Mrs Bartlett-Cooke watched the troublemaker exit the classroom and continued with the morning’s lessons.
Lilith Palmer, meanwhile, still seething, tried to control herself enough to concentrate on the maths problems on the page before her. How she hated that boy! What a way to start her first day! The boys across the table were whispering to each other, no doubt about her. How Lilith hated whispers. She always feared that they were about her. The girls were whispering too. Probably about her. Oh dear, she thought, suddenly plunging from anger to despair, this is a horrible start.
Being essentially a transparent child, any emotion was displayed in her eyes the instant she felt it. When upset, she knew she could not prevent it from showing, and so she usually retreated into solitude. But in the classroom there was no such hope. Well, she thought, with a truly heroic effort not to cry, even if the other girls don’t like me, I can do without them. And so she could – she could have the flowers for friends, and the trees, for they whispered happy things to her, welcoming her in her loneliness.
When the recess bell rang she retreated quickly to the lonesome comfort of a soft, shady spot in the corner of the playground, a nice distance away from the surging crowds of children at play. She breathed in a lungful of warm air, and with it the sweet, mingled scents of springtime blooms. She lay back on the grass, gazed at the sky for some time and finally closed her eyes, vaguely aware that someone was nearby, and that that someone was lonely too.
Blythe Pritchard did not believe in God. It seemed absurd to her that a benevolent white-haired old man[72] sat up in the clouds looking down upon his children, saying fretfully, “Please, Richard, don’t murder your sister Jane, that’s not very ni– oh, hello Jane. Welcome to heaven!” yet did nothing to prevent anything. After all, Blythe thought to herself, she’d been bad, selfish and uncaring all her life, and had not yet felt the sting of that proverbial lightning bolt from heaven. It was precisely because of this lack of lightning that Blythe continued on her merry way, senseless of everything but herself and her own happiness. But she was not so unchangeable or unreasonable that she, if struck, would remain on the same path – the wide and easy road, so to speak.
