by Clara Benson
‘I understand,’ said Irina. ‘Yes, it would distract attention from their own problems pretty neatly, wouldn’t it?’ A thought struck her. ‘Who told you about it?’
‘Paul, just now,’ said the Grand Duke.
‘Oh, Paul. Then it must be true. Had it been anyone else I should have suspected it was just a ploy to make you afraid.’
‘What do you mean?’ he said, taken aback. ‘A ploy by whom?’
‘Why, your exiled cousins, of course. You told me yourself that they have half the ministers in Vorgorod in their pay. You know how they all lick their lips at the thought of marrying me and getting their hands on the throne once you’re gone.’
‘I did tell you that, it is true,’ said the Grand Duke, thinking to himself that perhaps he ought to be more careful about what he told his daughter in future, since she seemed to absorb such information with great efficiency. He had idly mentioned his suspicions about his ministers when the two of them were alone, but had not supposed that she was listening with great attention. ‘But I don’t see how it would benefit them to tell me they want me dead.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Irina. ‘It just occurred to me that that sort of silly intrigue would be just like them.’
‘At any rate, that is beside the point,’ said the Grand Duke. ‘I have told you all this because you are an intelligent girl and old enough to take some responsibility for protecting yourself. You will be going to school next week, and I am glad of it, for it will put you out of reach of those who wish you harm. Few people know about it, and you must keep it quiet yourself now that we know of this plot.’
‘I will,’ said Irina. ‘I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone.’
‘Good,’ said her father. ‘I confess it will be a relief to me to get you safely out of the way, and I think that if we take one or two extra precautions, then we shall do very well. I am glad that your mother and I made the decision to shield you from the public gaze until you were old enough to assume royal duties, for that means you are not recognizable to most people, which is very helpful to us in the present instance.’
‘That’s true enough,’ said Irina. ‘Nobody knows who I am, so with any luck I ought to be perfectly safe.’
‘Let us hope so,’ said the Grand Duke.
‘I can’t wait to go to school,’ said Irina happily. ‘It’s going to be such fun.’
TWO
‘So I am afraid, Mrs. Marchmont, that we will no longer be able to keep her,’ said Miss Bell. ‘Barbara is a decent girl at heart, but there is a streak of disobedience and waywardness in her that we have been unable to overcome. Perhaps at another school she will do better.’
Angela Marchmont sat in Miss Bell’s study, in one of the comfortable chairs reserved for parents and visitors, and gazed out of the handsome arched window and across the lawns down to the lake, where a number of girls were taking advantage of an unusually warm spell of weather to sit on the grass reading quietly or talking. One or two of them were tossing a ball about idly. The scene was very wholesome.
Miss Bell was still speaking.
‘As you know, Barbara was given several warnings last year about her behaviour, and I had hoped that the long summer break would have given her time to mature a little, and reflect on her shortcomings. However, I regret to say that the passage of time appears to have made no difference. Her guardians, the Ellises, are abroad at present, of course, which is why I called you. I understand they will not be back until early in the new year.’
‘No,’ said Angela, rousing herself. ‘They won’t—’ Here she bit back an ‘unfortunately,’ since she did not wish to sound uncaring.
She looked at Miss Bell. The headmistress of Wakeley Court school was an imposing woman, with an impressive bosom and an arrangement of hair which seemed to have been created by the sculptor’s art rather than a brush and comb. Her manner was firm, but not unsympathetic. Angela recognized the type, having met with similar during her own school years: unimaginative and conventional, but a natural leader who saw everything, stood no nonsense and was admired for it. No doubt Miss Bell was loved and respected by all her girls, but that was of little comfort in the present situation. Mrs. Marchmont was very fond of her god-daughter, but was thrown into a panic at the idea of having to find another school which would accept Barbara at such short notice, after her expulsion from this one in disgrace. Angela had several imminent engagements which it would be difficult to put off, including a half-promised trip to Paris with some friends, and the thought of having to bring along an unruly fourteen-year-old while the search for a new school went on did not appeal. One could hardly enjoy oneself freely in such circumstances, since one would be continually aware of the need to set a good example. Not that one deliberately set out to misbehave, naturally, but one’s liberty of action would be severely curtailed. No: another school would have to be found, and quickly.
But how exactly did one go about selecting a school? Such decisions had always been left to Nina and Gerald in the past. Barbara had already moved once, having been unhappy at her previous place near London. This one, Wakeley Court, was supposed to be one of the best girls’ schools in the country, turning out well-educated, well-balanced, confident young ladies, and for a while it had seemed the perfect choice for Barbara, who was an intelligent child but easily bored. Here, she would be given interesting lessons, kept busy and, it was hoped, learn to suppress her natural inclination to get up to mischief. For the first term, indeed, it had looked as though the move had been a success. No reports had been received of any misbehaviour, and to judge from her occasional scrawled letters, Barbara had settled in nicely and was enjoying herself. Soon enough, however, she had fallen back into her old ways, and had begun to get into trouble. She was not a wicked child, but she was afflicted with an insatiable curiosity and an unfortunate inability to think through the consequences of her actions. She was also unable to resist a dare—a fact of which her school-mates were well aware and took full advantage for their own entertainment. Again and again she promised faithfully to turn over a new leaf, but she found it so dreadfully hard to do what she ought, and sooner or later she inevitably got into some scrape or other.
‘What exactly did Barbara do?’ said Angela. ‘Your letter hinted at something rather terrible but gave no details. I confess it frightened me a little.’
‘Several things,’ said Miss Bell. ‘I have it all here in the black mark book.’
She picked up the book in question and opened it. Angela craned her neck, trying to read upside down. The page had a long list of entries, and Angela thought she could read the name Barbara in several of them.
‘Just to take an example at random,’ the headmistress continued, ‘shortly after term began she embarrassed one of the trustees by pretending to mistake him for a well-known film-actor and requesting his autograph in front of a group of visiting parents.’
‘Perhaps that was a genuine mistake,’ said Angela, although she was certain it was not, as it sounded just the sort of thing Barbara would do.
‘That is possible,’ conceded Miss Bell, ‘although the gentleman in question is not exactly—how shall I put it?—possessed of the type of appearance which one would normally associate with film-actors. In addition, there was an unusually large number of girls present at the time, which leads me to suspect that the thing was arranged in advance. A week after that, Barbara was caught on the roof—which is strictly out of bounds—dropping eggs into the Quad. She claimed to be reproducing Galileo’s experiments with falling objects, but of course that is nonsense. Even if it were true, a more suitable way of doing it could have been found. I fear Mr. Penkridge’s coat was quite ruined—although to give her credit, Barbara was genuinely contrite and offered to pay for a new one.’
‘I see,’ said Angela.
‘I shall not give you the whole list of black marks as we have not the time, and it must be said that most of them are too minor to mention, but they all add up to a pattern of most unladylik
e and rebellious behaviour—not at all what we expect of girls at Wakeley Court. Some of them are too serious to overlook, however, and are the reason for which I have been forced to reconsider Barbara’s continuing as a pupil here.’ Miss Bell paused impressively. ‘I regret to have to tell you, Mrs. Marchmont, that last week we discovered that Barbara had been—I believe the term is “running a book.”’
‘Running a book?’ said Angela. ‘Do you mean taking bets? On the horses, and suchlike?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Miss Bell. ‘It appears the girls have invented a game in which they attempt to induce the teachers to say a particular word by the end of the lesson, by leading the conversation in an artful manner. They began with Miss Devlin, who has an unfortunate speech impediment which prevents her from saying the letter R correctly. It seems that some of the girls find it funny to trick her into saying words which contain that very letter. Take a look at this.’
She picked up a notebook from her desk and handed it to Angela, who raised her eyebrows and took it. On the front cover the words, ‘Barbara Wells—private,’ were printed in large capital letters. Inside, each page was divided neatly into lines and columns, all filled with what looked like code—dates, numbers and scribbled letters in different coloured inks, with the occasional recognizable name or word.
‘As you can see,’ went on Miss Bell, indicating with a pencil, ‘in the first week they tried to make Miss Devlin say the word “rarity,” and it appears they were successful in their attempt.’
Angela saw the neat tick, and the note, ‘Paid, I. C.’ next to it.
‘What is I. C?’ she said.
‘I believe it refers to Isabel Chambers, a class-mate of Barbara’s,’ said Miss Bell.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Angela. ‘Then this column of initials is a record of the—er—punters.’ She examined the page with interest. ‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘I had no idea she had such a good grasp of betting odds. Why, look at the calculations in the margin here. I can’t find a single mistake.’
‘I have no complaints about Barbara’s arithmetical ability,’ said Miss Bell, throwing Angela an odd look. ‘That is not the point, however. You must admit that this prank and the planning which has gone into it indicate a certain perversity of mind, to say the very least. As you can see, as the weeks went on, they expanded the game to include the rest of the teachers, and increased the difficulty of the challenge by making the words to be drawn from them ever more outlandish.’
‘So I see,’ said Angela. ‘Look—someone called M. B. managed to get Miss Finch to say “fandango,” “canoodle” and “interfenestration” all in one lesson. That’s rather impressive. I see no one has managed “anencephalous” or “platitudinarianism” yet, though. Or “callipygian,”’ she added.
‘I should think not,’ said Miss Bell primly. She had a slight suspicion that Mrs. Marchmont was not taking the conversation as seriously as she ought, and gave a cough. ‘That is the least of it, however. If you turn to the back of the book, you will see another set of figures, under the heading “Mr. Wilde.” Mr. Wilde is the vicar who gives most of the Sunday services in our school chapel here. Unfortunately for him, he suffers from a tendency to sneeze in the presence of dust, and despite our best efforts the chapel seems to bring on frequent and severe attacks of this nature. According to the book, Barbara has also been accepting bets on the number of times Mr. Wilde will sneeze during any given sermon. Shameful though it is, it appears that this is a particularly popular game with the girls, for the list of participants is rather long. I am sure I need not say that attention to religion is something that we take with the utmost seriousness here, Mrs. Marchmont, and I cannot have any of our girls showing such flagrant disrespect for its observance during periods of worship. As the ringleader, Barbara must take much of the blame for this.’
‘Dear me, quite,’ said Angela, arranging her face into what she hoped was a suitably solemn expression. ‘It is most worrying. Still, I am relieved to hear that her transgressions appear to be a case of excessively high spirits, rather than anything truly wicked. I should hate to think that she had done anything bad-natured. At least she has not hurt anybody.’
‘Unfortunately, I am rather afraid she has,’ said Miss Bell. ‘That is the worst of it. I should never have thought her to be the type of girl to harm someone maliciously, but two days ago I regret to say she was caught in the act of shoving a fellow pupil against a wall. The same pupil had earlier complained that Barbara deliberately whacked her on the leg with a hockey stick, although Barbara claimed it was an accident. I need not say that we do not tolerate such disgraceful behaviour at Wakeley Court. We do not teach our girls to inflict violence upon one another—on the contrary, our aim is to produce fine, upstanding young ladies who are well aware of their place in society and who will, it is hoped, be a credit to their school and their country. Any girl found fighting is swiftly dealt with, and Barbara can be no exception.’
‘Oh!’ said Angela, surprised. ‘Are you quite certain? That’s not like her at all. Did you ask her why she had done it?’
‘Yes, but she refused absolutely to answer,’ said Miss Bell. ‘She was quite intransigent in the matter, and therefore I had no choice but to tell her that, given her shocking behaviour, I should be unable to keep her at the school any longer.’
Angela’s heart sank. What on earth had possessed the girl?
Miss Bell went across to the window and stood, gazing out at the fruits of her labour as they gambolled happily on the lawn.
‘It is a great pity,’ she said. ‘Barbara is a very able child in most subjects, but especially Mathematics—as you have just seen. If she would only apply herself to use her talents in a more useful direction, then I should have no doubt of her achieving great success in life. I am particularly disappointed to have to let her go, since I had been planning to put her forward for extra tuition in Maths and Geometry. You know, of course, that the school was founded with the express purpose of preparing girls to sit the Cambridge entrance examination, and I had every hope that Barbara would pass it with no difficulty at all. Mathematics was my own favourite subject at school, and I take a particular interest in girls who show an aptitude for it. Unfortunately, we have another girl with a gift for the discipline who looks almost certain to leave Wakeley Court soon, as she is from one of the less wealthy families and they are having difficulty with the fees. Of course, the school is an expensive one, but we do our utmost to offer assistance to talented girls whose families would otherwise be unable to afford to send them here. As it happens, Violet Smedley is already the possessor of two scholarships, but it appears that even they will not be sufficient to enable her to stay at Wakeley Court, and there are no other scholarships available. It pains me to lose two such pupils at once.’ Here she gave a deep sigh.
Angela had been only half-listening, for she was absorbed in thoughts of having to send off for prospectuses, write letters explaining why Barbara needed to change school halfway through the term, wait anxiously for replies and then perhaps find that no-one was prepared to accept the girl at all. And what would she do then? She looked up to find the headmistress gazing at her speculatively.
‘I beg your pardon, what did you say?’ she said. ‘Something about scholarships?’
‘I was speaking of Violet Smedley,’ said Miss Bell. ‘She is a poor girl whom I believe to be capable of great things if given the opportunity.’
She paused and coughed significantly.
Angela had the notion that something was wanted of her, but could not tell what.
‘And you say she will have to leave the school as her parents cannot afford the fees?’ she said.
‘I am afraid so,’ said Miss Bell, eyeing Angela’s expensively-tailored dress and jacket.
Suddenly Angela understood, although for a second she could hardly believe it. She looked at Miss Bell in surprise, saw the way out which was being offered her, and made an upwards adjustment in her estimation of the headmistress’s abi
lities. It would be expensive, but the case was an urgent one and Angela saw that she had no choice but to rise to the occasion. She hesitated, then cleared her throat.
‘This Violet Smedley—is she a well-behaved girl?’ she said.
‘She is an absolute credit to the school,’ said Miss Bell. ‘Her conduct in all respects is exemplary.’
‘It is a pity I’d never heard of her before,’ said Angela, feeling her way carefully. ‘Had I known about her I should have encouraged Barbara to become friends with her, in the hope that Barbara might be induced to follow her example.’
Here she glanced up and thought she saw the merest glimmer of approval in Miss Bell’s eye, but the other woman said nothing, merely waited.
‘Do you imagine Barbara to be beyond all possibility of improvement?’ Angela went on.
‘Not at all,’ said Miss Bell. ‘On the contrary, I believe her to be a very good girl at heart, but one who tends to choose the wrong company. If she were to form a friendship with a quiet, steady girl, for example, I have no doubt that she would settle down considerably.’
‘Such as Violet, you mean? Yes, I think you are most likely right. It is a great pity, then, that you have been forced to expel Barbara before she could make a friend of that sort,’ said Angela, glancing at Miss Bell sideways. ‘As you say, setting aside the naughtiness, she’s clever enough. I’m sure you would have liked to see her and this Violet pass the entrance examination with flying colours, if only for the benefit of the school and its reputation.’
‘I certainly should,’ said Miss Bell. She regarded Angela encouragingly, as she might a girl who had made it halfway through her task without mistakes.
‘I was rather keen on Mathematics myself when I was younger,’ Angela went on, more confident now of what was required, ‘and I always rather thought that I should like to endow a scholarship one day, if the opportunity presented itself. However, it never did. It’s unfortunate that my connection with the school is about to end, since it sounds as though Violet Smedley would have been a most deserving recipient of such a scholarship.’
