"Come in!" she heard, and, with a last check that her tie was straight and socks pulled up, she grasped the door handle, turned and pushed.
"Yes, Thomas, what is it?" Miss Markham was seated at her desk and she was frowning, which always made Rachel feel queasy.
"Sorry to disturb you, Miss, but ... " She stood awkwardly just inside the door.
"Yes, well, come in then, come along," said the Headmistress impatiently, putting her pen down and tidying some papers. Rachel closed the door and took quick, small steps to reach that familiar spot in the firing line of Miss Markham's gaze. "Now then, what is it you want to say, Thomas?" Her tone had softened somewhat, apparently having resigned herself to this interruption.
"Two things, Miss." Rachel took a deep breath to try and control her pumping heart and the shaking in her legs.
"Yes?"
"Firstly, Miss ... please don't expel Ali- ... Jennings and Middleton, Miss. It wasn't their fault, Miss, it was..."
"ExCUSE me?!" The Headmistress' eyebrows shot up. "Thomas, how DARE you come in here and start telling me how to do my job!"
"But Miss..."
"SILENCE GIRL! You will NOT interrupt me." She glared at Rachel. Again, though, her voice almost immediately became calmer. "Jennings and Middleton have admitted what they did, and I am satisfied that, unlike French..." (she gave Rachel a penetrating look) "...they were telling the truth. So if you've come here to try and pretend it was you, Thomas, then I should warn you that I have heard quite enough confessions for one day and I will take VERY unkindly to any more! Unless, that is, they are one hundred percent truthful and unembroidered. Otherwise, young lady, I will whack you VERY hard, and I suspect you've already seen what happened to French." She let Rachel absorb this warning for some moments. "So ... do you still have anything to say to me, or might it not be wiser to go back to your prep?"
Rachel gulped and took another deep breath. She looked at the curtains behind Miss Markham and blurted out,
"Miss, they did it because they were trying to impress me, Miss, because I started SWACK. So it is kind of my fault, Miss, because I don't think they would have done it if I hadn't ... put the idea into their minds, Miss."
At the mention of SWACK the Headmistress leaned forward and placed her elbows on the desk. "You told them to do it?"
"No, Miss, not exactly, just ... well..."
"I see," she said. "And what exactly is ... SWACK, Thomas?"
Rachel kept gazing straight ahead.
"It's a society, Miss. I thought it would be fun to have our own society, Miss, one that wasn't ... wasn't organised by the mistresses. I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't mean to..."
"No, Thomas," said Miss Markham, leaning back, "That's quite all right. I'm all for girls taking the initiative, as long as it doesn't involve breaking school rules." She gazed evenly at the sixth-former, remarking once again how like her mother she was - and thinking how much she was looking forward to seeing Patricia again this Friday. "Look at me, Thomas."
Rachel brought her gaze down rather fearfully to meet that of the Headmistress.
"Have you broken any school rules?"
Rachel gulped again. She felt so helpless before this woman, so naked, mentally.
"Um ... maybe, Miss. Just one or two."
"Such as?"
Rachel looked down."Well, we had a meeting in ... in the store room in the attic, Miss, which ... I suppose ... strictly speaking, Miss, is ... sort of ... out of bounds?" Her voice rose to something close to a squeak at the last.
"Strictly or any other way of speaking, Thomas, the attic most definitely is out of bounds. But I believe you were punished by Miss Bainbridge for being up there on Saturday yourself ... alone?"
Rachel quailed. God! What a minefield it was having an interview with Miss Markham! One false move and BOOM! But she plumped for the lie this time. "Yes, Miss, alone. I got the strap, Miss."
Miss Markham was pretty sure French had been up there too but she decided to let it pass. "And tell me, what does SWACK stand for? I assume it's an acronym?"
Rachel looked up. "A what, Miss?"
"An acronym, Thomas. I'm surprised you haven't yet learnt what an acronym is - each of the letters stands for a word?"
"Oh! ... Yes, Miss."
"And what do they stand for in this case?"
"It stands for Society of Whacked And Caned ... Knightesses, Miss."
'Knightesses' seemed childish and ridiculous now that she was standing here before this adult. She'd noticed a faint smile twitching at the corner of the Headmistress' mouth the moment she'd said it. She looked down, feeling very foolish.
"Well! That is a very ... imaginative name, Thomas. And you have rather led the way in that department, haven't you? Getting whacked and caned? In fact I wrote to your mother on the subject not long ago."
"Really, Miss?" Rachel looked rather worried.
"Yes, really. And I understand we shall be seeing her this Friday. Will your father be coming as well?"
"Um ... I'm not sure, Miss. He's often busy, Miss."
"Yes, I quite understand." She tapped the edge of the desk. "So, Thomas, what exactly is the purpose of SWACK? What do you get up to, apart from meeting in rooms you shouldn't?"
The toes of Rachel's shoes turned in on each other. "Er ... well, we've only met once. We have a membership card and ... and ... cold cream, Miss." She wanted to die of embarrassment.
"Ah yes. As supplied by Mr Pill ... on a Wednesday afternoon." The Headmistress eyed Rachel meaningfully. "I should really have confiscated that, shouldn't I? But I will allow... there is rather a pressing need for it these days among certain parties, isn't there, young lady? Especially after six strokes with Molly."
"Yes, Miss." Rachel lowered her face to hide a smile.
"But, let us get back to SWACK. What is its purpose, Thomas?"
"Well, as I said, Miss, we haven't really had a chance to do mu-"
"Oh, I think you've done plenty, Thomas," the Headmistress cut in. "And I'm very disturbed as to what you thought your purpose was? Hm? Vandalism? What were you planning next? Set fire to the changing-room? Bomb the staffroom?"
Rachel's eyes opened wide in innocent protest. "Oh no, Miss! Honest! We were ... just ... pretending, Miss. We have a motto..."
"Oh yes? And what is that?"
"It goes ... Flectata in corpora sed non in spirita."
Miss Markham took a moment to register this and again the briefest ghost of a smile crossed her face. "A noble enough sentiment, Thomas, but I fail to see how any of this justifies or leads to vandalism."
"But that's the point, Miss, that's what I came to tell you." A note of desperation entered Rachel's voice. "It's my fault, Miss, because ... because I made them think we could ... defy you ... I told them, 'Girls under the cane arise', Miss, and though I didn't mean it like ... in a bad way, Miss, I think they thought that ... they ... that this meant..."
Rachel ran out of explanation and stood, pleading with her eyes, red-faced, awkward.
"So you're saying you incited them?"
"Yes, Miss, that's it. I did, Miss, and I'm very sorry."
Miss Markham steepled her fingers and tapped the two indexes together, thinking.
"Very well, Thomas. I have heard your explanation, and I respect your honesty in coming here to tell me this. Jennings and Middleton, of course, are quite old enough to make their own decisions and to know that vandalism is completely beyond the pale. But I am prepared to accept that their admiration for you, and their desire perhaps to impress you, led to their committing this utterly foolish and destructive act."
Rachel held her breath.
"I shall not therefore expel Jennings and Middleton but..."
"Oh THANK you, Miss!" exclaimed Rachel, exhaling in relief.
"BUT," said the Headmistress, "all three of you will receive an exemplary punishment whi-..."
"Of course, Miss, it's only fair..."
"WILL YOU STOP interrupting me, girl! You're in enough tr
ouble as it is!"
"Sorry, Miss." Rachel looked down, mainly to hide the elation she felt.
Miss Markham continued to glare at the sixth-former for several seconds before continuing. "Right ... you may inform Jennings and Middleton - AFTER prep - that their expulsion has been rescinded, but ... you will also inform them that they will be caned - as will you - and it will most definitely be Molly."
Rachel gulped.
"The three of you will report to the changing-room at seven forty-five on Friday morning. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Miss." The changing-room? Why there?
"Inform the others. Now off you go." She turned back to the pile of papers. At the door, Rachel turned.
"Thank you, Miss."
Without looking up, the Headmistress opined, "You won't be thanking me on Friday morning, Thomas, I can assure you of that."
Rachel felt a twinge of fear beginning to spoil her triumph.
"Yes, Miss ... I mean, no, Miss. Thank you, Miss."
She retired in confusion and with much to ponder, but mainly she looked forward to the looks on her friends' faces when she brought them the good news - well, the mostly good news.
---oOo---
Tuesday September 28th 1953
The morning hymn in assembly, 'Guide me O thou Great Redeemer', was one of Helen Patterson's favourites. She loved the way the last two lines were repeated and she sang with gusto, mainly to try to overcome the uncontrollable shaking in her legs: 'Bread of hea-ven, Bread of hea-ven, Feed me nowandevermore, Feed me no-ow a-and evermore."
She wondered if it would be before or after breakfast. Apparently Miss Markham had told Shirley it would be in the morning, but it would hardly happen during break, so...
She glanced across at Shirley in the row in front of her and could see she was only mouthing the words. She looked very pale. Strangely, Helen felt no animosity towards her, no urge to blame her or resent her for what had happened. Miss Markham's talk had filled her with confidence and a new strength. I can be brave, she kept repeating to herself, I can be brave.
However, as they reached the last verse of the hymn, Helen became painfully aware of how quickly time was slipping through her fingers: safe, pain-free time, relentlessly leaking away. She was terrified, and, despite the choking weight gathering at the bottom of her throat, she sang ever more fervently to try and find some solace:
When I tread the verge of Jordan,
bid my anxious fears subside;
bear me through the swelling current,
land me safe on Canaan's side;
songs of praises, songs of praises,
I will ever give to thee. I will e-e-ver give to thee.
And then they were kneeling and Miss Markham was intoning the usual final prayer. Helen clasped her hands together in sweaty supplication, her eyes tight shut. Please, dear Lord, please, please help me to bear it. Please let me be brave. And please, God, let me not be the worm any more.
As the girls settled back onto their pews, Miss Markham stepped up to the lectern again. This must be a special announcement - notices were usually given at the start of assembly.
"Girls, it is a cause of great distress to me that, for the first time in the sixty-five year history of Cropton Hall, today's assembly has had to take place without the guiding spirit of our school crest watching over us. The culprits, however, have been identified, and will, as Miss Bainbridge assured you yesterday, be caned in due course - with Molly. The crest itself is, fortunately, being restored successfully to its original state, and will take pride of place again in time for Founder's Day this Friday." She paused. "Meanwhile, there is a separate incident that I shall be dealing with immediately. All Upper Sixth girls will go straight to the Sixth form common room. Barton and Patterson will report to my study. All other girls will go to breakfast as usual."
And then she was nodding to Miss Bainbridge who stepped forward to supervise the silent exit from the Hall. The staff rose and made their way out of the door at the back which led through to the Library.
Helen flinched at the looks she was getting and glanced again at Shirley who was sitting with head bowed. She saw Julia Bennett getting up and filing out on the other side. She hadn't had a chance to talk with her yet - well, she hadn't really tried, to be honest. She was afraid of what she'd say. But then she thought of Miss Markham's words, of the vision she'd held out for her of a braver Helen, a Helen who was accepted and respected. 'Yes! I will do it', she thought. She just wasn't sure when.
Shirley caught up with her in the main corridor, even though Helen was walking as quickly as she could to escape the curious glances from the younger girls. She suddenly felt Shirley's hand on her elbow.
"Helen, I'm sorry. I got you into this," said Shirley quietly, guiding her swiftly along. They hurried past the door to the sixth form common room, catching a quick glimpse of their fellow pupils already beginning to gather there and hearing briefly the excited hubbub of talk. Talk about them, no doubt.
As they turned into the corridor to Miss Markham's study, Shirley stopped.
"Helen, I've ... treated you so badly. I joined in when Julia called you the Worm. I tricked you into helping me. And ..." She looked down. "I as good as stole that money off you. Here, this is yours." She held out the pound note. Helen took it reluctantly, thinking she'd much rather have a real friend than a pound.
"Thanks, Shirley, I ... I'm sorry too. I should've stopped you, I should've ..."
"No, it's all right, Helen. It was me. I was so jealous. I was mad. But I see that now." She managed a half smile. "Are you as scared as I am?" she asked.
Helen nodded, tears brimming. Shirley opened her arms and embraced her and they stood, swaying slightly. Helen held tight to this gesture of acceptance, the tears flowing silently down her cheeks to drip onto the shoulder of Shirley's blazer.
The door to the study opened and they sprang apart. Miss Markham, still in her black gown from assembly, gazed at them for a moment in silence, before standing back and holding the door open.
"In here, you two."
She stopped them just inside the study. "You both know what is about to happen and why. Is there anything you'd like to say to me before we go to the common room?"
Helen felt there was so much she wanted to say but her feelings and thoughts were very confused. She had no idea where to begin. One word rose out of her turmoil.
"Brave, Miss?"
Miss Markham gave her an encouraging look. "Brave, Patterson. You can be and you will be." She turned to Shirley with a warier look. "Barton?"
"Miss ... I know there's probably no point in asking, but ... please don't cane Patterson. I tricked her into it, Miss, I ..."
Miss Markham was shaking her head and Shirley's last minute appeal fizzled out.
"Well," she continued, "...then I just want to say I'm really sorry, Miss ... I know what I did, and ... and I know I'm about to get sorrier."
"Yes, I'm afraid so, Barton."
The Headmistress walked over behind her desk and collected something from the corner by the cupboard. As she turned, Helen saw that it was a cane - and not the cane she'd been beaten with earlier in the term. This one was slightly longer, and a darker colour. Both she and Shirley stared at it in awe as Miss Markham came back towards them gripping it by its crook-handled end. She led them out of the door which she closed behind her. She stood for a moment, running the palm of her left hand up and down the length of the cane.
"In fifteen minutes - less even - this will all be over. Patterson, you will be punished first. You will receive six strokes. Barton, you will receive nine strokes. Is that clear?" She spoke with a hint of gentleness mitigating the threatening efficiency of her words.
They both nodded, their mouths now dry with fear.
"Follow me, girls," said the Headmistress.
---oOo---
Miss Bainbridge marched into the Sixth Form common room straight from assembly, followed by Monica Gibson. As the two mistresses responsible f
or the Upper Sixth form groups, the Headmistress had asked them to be in attendance and help supervise. They immediately set about shushing the girls and arranging matters.
"Pearson, come and move this table into the centre please, and remove these chairs," called the Deputy Head. Gabrielle came over with Jean Atkinson; they took an end each while Mary Wilkinson lifted a couple of the chairs out of the way. The room's division into two was defined by the work area nearest the door, with tables and chairs, and the carpeted rest area - with small, mostly tatty armchairs and two low tables laden with magazines and newspapers - which occupied the other half under the three tall sash windows that looked out onto the gravelled forecourt at the east end of the building. About twenty-five Upper Sixth girls were milling around, talking quietly but excitedly in clusters and eyeing with curiosity the two mistresses and the re-arrangement of the furniture.
Miss Bainbridge consulted her watch. It was 8.20.
"Girls! ... GIRLS! ... Thank you." She looked around sharply for silence. One girl, over by the window looking out, was caught unawares by the sudden hush.
"Ooh, look! There are seven mag ... pies ..." Her voice faded swiftly as she turned and realised its sudden nakedness. It was Bailey and she blushed to her roots.
"LISTEN please!" called the Deputy Head, peering over at the window in irritation. "You will all stand during the punishment of Patterson and Barton, and you will arrange yourselves on that side of the room." She used both arms raised and pointing towards the windows to indicate that the girls should be forward of the solitary table that now occupied a clear space near the doorway. Some got up from the easy chairs while others shuffled back, until all were standing, facing the mistresses in silence.
Julia hovered to one side, staring at the table. She had very mixed feelings about what was about to happen. She knew, all too well, what it felt like to be stretched over a table or desk and have your bottom thrashed with a cane, and she didn't wish it on anyone. Yes, Shirley had been vicious; she'd deliberately set out to hurt her ... and she'd succeeded ... but then Miss Markham had managed to complicate everything unexpectedly: making Shirley cry like that and see that her mean, spiteful tricks were really just a kind of re-playing of her childish jealousy towards her twin sisters - it made any desire for revenge that Julia may have had seem ... unworthy somehow. Even Patterson had seemed altered since last night: Julia had caught her looking her way once or twice, and it was a different kind of look than she usually got from The Worm - less resentful and needy, more direct and quizzical.
The Girls of Cropton Hall Page 50
