by Dilly Court
‘That is why you are going to school, Cassy. Learn to read and write and you’ll be able to send me letters telling me how you are getting on.’ Belinda turned away, apparently overcome by some emotion that Cassy did not understand.
‘Will you come and see me on me birthday, Ma?’ Cassy asked, turning to Mahdu. ‘Like you done when I was with Biddy?’
‘I will come as usual, larla. I promise.’
Cassy’s new position in the household did little to improve her lot. She was more comfortable in the small bedroom at the back of the house, but the servants made it plain they resented her new status in small but upsetting ways. Her fire was left unlit on the coldest days and her laundry unwashed. She ate in solitary state in the morning parlour but the food was often cold and the meals scanty. Sometimes she was forgotten completely and went hungry. She did not dare complain to Mrs Middleton and she hardly ever saw Mrs Fulford-Browne, who had acquired a new gentleman friend and was rarely at home. Ignored, lonely and utterly miserable Cassy was left to her own devices. She would have worked willingly but Mrs Middleton had made it plain that she was a clumsy nuisance and not to be trusted with even the simplest of tasks.
The winter days were long and Cassy roamed the house like a pale spirit, spending much of her time in her room staring out of the window at the small town gardens, but the trees were bare of leaves and those that were evergreen were coated with soot. When the tweeny forgot to bring coal for the fire or neglected to clean out the grate, the temperature in the room was low enough for Cassy’s breath to turn to frost on the windowpanes, and the only way to keep warm was to climb back into bed and pull the coverlet up to her chin. She lay there shivering until sleep released her, albeit temporarily, from her miserable existence to dream of a life quite different from her own. Bailey was always there and Freddie too. The sun was always shining and they were free to roam the fields and woods of a pastoral idyll far away from the city filth. Awakening to reality was the hardest part, and the only comfort Cassy had was to take Lady Davenport’s calling card from its hiding place beneath her mattress and clasp it in her hand. If she closed her eyes she could hear the lady’s gentle voice and smell the delicate floral perfume that wafted about her person. Although the thought of attending boarding school terrified Cassy, she was determined to take advantage of an education. She would be able to read the address on the card and then she could go in search of Ma and the golden-haired lady with the blue eyes. It was the hope she clung to and the last thing she thought of each night before she fell asleep.
Three seemingly interminable weeks dragged by without any word as to when Cassy might expect to start school. A wet February had given way to blustery March with winds that whipped dead leaves and bits of straw into whirling eddies in the street and tore at the bonnets of ladies out for an afternoon walk. Like a mischievous child it tipped the hats off their gentlemen companions’ heads, sending them bowling over the cobblestones and bouncing into the gutter. Cassy had begun to think that Mrs Fulford-Browne had changed her mind about her school, until one morning soon after breakfast she was standing at the window in the morning room, idly watching the raindrops trickling down the glass panes, when Mrs Middleton sailed into the room announcing that she was to accompany her to an emporium in Oxford Street to be fitted out with her school uniform. It was not the happiest of excursion as Mrs Middleton made it plain that she considered that such a task was an imposition on her good nature, and she left Cassy to be measured, prodded and squeezed into the garments on a lengthy list.
Two days later Cassy sat on the box containing all her worldly possessions as she waited for the carriage to be brought round to the main entrance of the house in Duke Street. The navy-blue serge skirt was scratchy and the starched collar of the white blouse threatened to decapitate her if she turned her head too quickly, but the merino cape was thick and warmly lined with scarlet flannel which was a comfort. Harris stepped forward to open the front door and a blast of cold damp air blew in from the street. Cassy leapt to her feet as Mrs Fulford-Browne entered on the arm of a mustachioed gentleman resplendent in a silk top hat and a cashmere overcoat with a fur collar.
Flora was laughing and flirting outrageously but she stopped short when she saw Cassy and a frown creased her brow. ‘Good heavens, it’s you, child. I hardly recognised you.’
‘Who is this, cara mia?’ the gentleman asked in a musical voice with a strong foreign accent as rich and silky in tone as one of the street singers Cassy had heard busking in Oxford Street. ‘This is your little daughter, yes?’
Flora slapped him gently on the wrist. ‘You know that I have no children, Leonardo. The child is one of my charity cases. I am sending her off to boarding school to be educated.’
‘You are a saint, cara,’ Leonardo said smoothly. ‘Santa Flora.’
‘And you are anything but a saint, you wicked man.’ Flora’s smile faded as she turned her attention to Cassy. ‘Well, child. This is where we part company. Be good, work hard, and I expect to have nothing but good reports from Miss North.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Cassy bobbed a curtsey. She had watched the servants perform this punctilious act and she had been practising in her room. She managed it without tripping over her feet and she felt a faint flush of pride. She would prove that she was not as stupid and clumsy as they said. She would learn her lessons. She would show them all.
Miss North’s Academy for Young Ladies was situated on Highbury Hill. A detached Georgian house with an imposing façade and wide steps leading up to a portico, it was a daunting prospect for a girl brought up in Three Herring Court. Set in its own tree-lined grounds, it seemed even grander to Cassy than the house in Duke Street. The door was opened by a prim maidservant wearing a severe black dress with a starched white pinafore and cuffs, and an expression that was equally stiff and unwelcoming. The large entrance hall was sparsely furnished with a hat stand on which navy-blue bonnets were ranged in serried ranks with their owners’ capes hanging on the pegs beneath. Cassy’s footsteps echoed off the encaustic-tiled floor as she followed the dour maid along a wide corridor to the principal’s office.
Having been announced and shown into the room by the maid, Cassy stood in front of the kneehole desk and was forced to wait while Miss North finished writing in a leather-bound ledger. The oppressive silence was broken only by the tick-tock of the long-case clock in one corner of the room, and the tinkle of the metal on glass as Miss North dipped her pen into the inkwell. Cassy had plenty of time to observe the bookshelves that lined the walls, and she wondered what it would be like to open one and be able to read its contents. The only book she had ever possessed had been the one that Bailey had bought for her in Petticoat Lane, and that had pretty pictures on every page. She doubted whether there were many such illustrations in the tomes on Miss North’s shelves. Cassy sidled closer to the hearth where a few lumps of coal made a feeble attempt at being a fire, but it gave only a modicum of warmth and she shivered both from cold and from nerves. She wished that the lady would look up and speak to her and she cleared her throat, but the sound was lost in the sonorous chimes of the grandfather clock.
Miss North raised her head and stared at Cassy as though she had no right to be there. ‘Who are you, child?’
‘Cassy, ma’am. Mrs Fulford-Browne sent me to you.’
Miss North flipped through the ledger and ran her finger down the page. She looked up, unsmiling. ‘Cassandra Lawson.’
Cassy shook her head. ‘That’s not me, miss. I’m Cassy, commonly known as Cassy.’
‘That’s not what I have written here. Mrs Fulford-Browne enclosed a note from your anonymous patron stating that your name is Cassandra Lawson. That is how you will be addressed from now on. Do you understand?’
‘Yes’m.’
‘Yes, Miss North.’
Cassy obliged her by repeating her words, parrot fashion.
‘You have an execrable cockney accent, my girl. We will soon put a stop to that.’ Miss North reached behi
nd her to tug at a bell pull. ‘Moss will show you to your dormitory.’ Taking a sheet of paper from a neat pile on her desk she handed it to Cassy. ‘These are the rules. You will read and inwardly digest them.’
‘You mean I got to eat them?’ Cassy cried in horror.
‘No, you stupid girl. Don’t you understand the Queen’s English?’
‘I think I do, but I didn’t know it belonged to her majesty,’ Cassy murmured anxiously. ‘Will she mind me using her words?’
Miss North’s green eyes narrowed like a cat’s and her jaw tightened as she leaned forward to glare at Cassy. ‘You may think you’re very clever, Cassandra, but you will soon learn that I don’t take kindly to little girls who think they are smarter than me. Hold out your hands.’
Cassy had no idea what she had said that could have caused so much irritation to her teacher. Obediently, she held out her hands expecting to be given the sheet of paper, but to her astonishment Miss North snatched a wooden ruler from a drawer and brought it down hard across her palms. She cried out in pain and would have snatched her hands away but Miss North was too quick for her and she grabbed the tips of Cassy’s fingers, bringing the ruler down several times more. Each blow hurt more than the last and Cassy swayed on her feet, overcome by pain and fear. Then, as if by divine intervention, the door opened and the maid entered the room.
‘You rang, Miss North?’
‘Take this impudent girl to the dormitory and leave her to consider her misdemeanours. Cassandra will not be joining the girls for luncheon and unless she learns the house rules by five o’clock this evening she will go without supper too. Get her out of my sight, Moss.’
Cassy’s hands burned and stung painfully as she stumbled from the room and when the maid thrust the heavy portmanteau at her she shook her head. ‘I c-can’t carry it,’ she murmured, trying not to cry. ‘Me hands hurt something chronic.’
‘Me hands hurt,’ Moss mocked. ‘Take the bag, you ignorant little brat. I don’t care if your hands drop off. I ain’t waiting on the likes of a little guttersnipe like you.’ She marched off towards a wide staircase and Cassy tried to ignore the agonising pain shooting from her bruised hands up her thin arms as she carried her case up two steep flights of stairs. On the second landing, Moss opened a door giving Cassy a spiteful shove so that she stumbled into a large room lined on either side with iron bedsteads. The sheets and blankets were neatly rolled on each bed and stacked at the head on top of a single pillow. The only other furniture was a chest of drawers at the far end of the room with a solitary candle set in a cheap enamel candle-holder. The bare floorboards were scrubbed white as bleached bone, and black fustian curtains made it look as though the windows were in mourning for the loss of light. In stark contrast the walls were whitewashed and this added to the chilly atmosphere in the dormitory. There was a small cast-iron fireplace but the grate was empty and Cassy shivered as the cold seeped into her bones. For the first time since she parted with Bailey she felt completely overwhelmed and frightened.
Moss pointed to a bed in the corner. ‘That’s yours. A dark corner for a little half-caste. Very fitting, I’d say. Sit down and stay there until she says you can move. I don’t fancy your chances if you disobey Miss North.’ With a derisive snort, Moss left the room.
Cassy huddled on the bed, shivering uncontrollably. The maid’s cruel words echoed in her head, although she did not fully understand their meaning. She wanted her ma and she was certain that the beautiful lady would be horrified if she knew the truth about Miss North’s Academy for Young Ladies. The house was eerily silent, which she thought was strange considering that it was a school, and each of the beds in the room must belong to a girl like herself. Her stomach rumbled and she remembered Miss North’s harsh words. There would be no dinner and no supper. It was worse than living in Three Herring Court. At least Biddy gave them bread and scrape and the occasional heel of cheese. Cassy curled up in a ball and closed her eyes. Bailey had promised to set up a home for them both when he was able, but where was he now? He could be anywhere in the world where the British army were sent to fight. And if he did come home, he would have no idea how to find her. She stuffed her fist in her mouth to muffle a sob. She would not let them see her cry. Her fingers closed around Lady Davenport’s card, which she had secreted in her pocket, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
It was almost dark when she was awakened by small fingers tugging at her clothes. With a cry of alarm, Cassy snapped into a sitting position.
‘It’s all right. I’m sorry I scared you.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Charlotte Solomon; my bed is next to yours. My friends call me Lottie.’
‘I thought you was a ghost.’ Cassy slid her legs over the side of the bed. Now that her eyes had become accustomed to the half-light she could see that Lottie was indeed a flesh and blood child.
‘I’m real enough, but I’m not supposed to be here. I’ll get what for if she catches me talking to you.’ Lottie put her hand in her pocket and took out a bread roll. ‘I expect you’re hungry. I’m sorry it’s not more, but it was all I could smuggle from the tea table. They watch every mouthful we eat.’ She pressed the bread into Cassy’s hand. ‘What’s your name?’
Cassy bit into the roll. ‘Cassy,’ she mumbled through a mouthful of bread. ‘She called me Cassandra, but that ain’t me name, and I ain’t a half-caste. I don’t even know what it means.’
Lottie perched on the end of the bed. ‘That sounds like Moss. She’s a spiteful bitch and ignorant too. You’d be surprised how many people judge a person by the colour of their skin or their religion.’
Cassy sensed the bitterness behind this remark. She swallowed a lump of half-chewed bread, staring at Lottie’s serene face in astonishment. ‘My ma is from India and I don’t know who my father was, but that can’t be the same for you. You’re beautiful and your skin is white.’
Lottie pulled a face. ‘I’m Jewish. My pa is a tailor and we live in Whitechapel. There are some girls who never let me forget it, and they say things behind my back, calling me names and sniggering.’
‘They won’t do that when I’m around,’ Cassy said, balling her small hands into fists. ‘I come from Cripplegate which ain’t so far from Whitechapel. You got to be tough to survive in Three Herring Court.’
Lottie’s musical laughter echoed round the dormitory. ‘We’re sisters in adversity, Cassy.’
‘I dunno what that means, but I ain’t never had a sister. If I did, I’d like her to be just like you.’
Flinging her arms around Cassy, Lottie gave her a hug but she pulled away with a gasp of horror as the door opened and they were caught up in a beam of light from a lamp held in Miss North’s hand. Her face contorted with rage and her lips disappeared as she bared her teeth in a feral snarl. ‘Charlotte Solomon, I might have guessed it was you breaking the rules yet again.’
Lottie leapt to her feet and stood with her hands behind her back and her dark head bowed. Cassy froze, unable to move. Behind Miss North she could see Moss and a couple of girls in school uniform. Even in the shadows, Cassy could tell they were enjoying the spectacle as Miss North moved forward to seize Lottie by the ear. ‘Wilful, obstinate and disobedient child. It’s the coal hole for you.’ She thrust Lottie at Moss. ‘Take her downstairs and lock her in the cellar. She will stay there until she has learned her lesson. And as for you . . .’ Miss North advanced purposefully on Cassy. ‘Stand up and recite the school rules.’
Cassy opened her mouth to protest as Moss and one of the older girls dragged Lottie from the room, but before she could utter a sound she was yanked off the bed and sent sprawling onto the splintery floorboards. ‘Get up and recite the rules.’
‘I c-can’t,’ Cassy stammered.
‘Can’t or won’t?’ Miss North thrust her face close to Cassy’s. ‘Speak up, girl.’
‘I c-can’t read, miss.’
‘We don’t tolerate stupid girls here.’ Miss North grabbed Cassy by the scruff
of her neck and propelled her out of the room. ‘You will be taught your first lesson. Norah, fetch the dunce’s cap.’
Stifling a giggle, the remaining girl raced off into the darkness.
Minutes later, Cassy found herself standing on a stool in the common room with a pointed paper hat stuck firmly on her head. She tried hard to avoid the amused glances from the girls who were employing the period of free time before bed by writing letters home, darning their stockings, or reading books that were approved by Miss North. Cassy stared straight ahead, clenching her jaw so that no one would see her lips tremble. She was determined not to cry, and she tried not to think of Lottie locked in the coal cellar. Her first day at school had been a nightmare and she prayed silently that she would wake up and find herself anywhere but here.
How long she stood on the small three-legged stool, Cassy had no idea, but the sudden ringing of a bell almost made her lose her balance, much to the amusement of the set of girls nearest to her. But their giggles were stilled by the entrance of a young teacher wearing a grey gown, the severe cut of which only served to enhance her youth and prettiness. She clapped her hands together. ‘Bedtime, young ladies.’ Her glance fell upon Cassy and her expression softened. ‘Not you, I’m afraid, Cassandra. Miss North will tell you when you may get down.’ She snuffed out the candles, leaving just one on the mantelshelf, and ushered the chattering girls from the room. As the sound of their footsteps faded away Cassy realised with a shiver of apprehension that she was all alone with just a guttering candle and the dying embers of the fire to keep the night terrors at bay.
Chapter Eight
The candle had gone out and there was only the faintest glow from the dying embers of the fire. The common room was cold and filled with strange shapes and shadows. There was a lingering smell of boiled mutton and cabbage from the girls’ supper earlier that evening which did not quite overcome the overpowering smell of dust, chalk and carbolic that permeated the whole building.
