Secret Letters at Trebizon

by Anne Digby

  'It's despicable,' said Tish.

  'Hateful!' said Sue.

  Someone had been going through Rebecca's locker. They'd been going through all her private things, including her letters! Why? What a nerve.

  It was a startling discovery.

  SIX

  REBECCA REMEMBERS

  'Looks like Action Committee's weirdest one yet,' said Tish, at breakfast; because that's what they always called themselves at times like this.

  The six now had the table to themselves and had gone into a huddle.

  'Peculiar!' agreed Sue.

  'Creepy, if you ask me,' said Mara.

  'Are you sure nothing's gone, Rebecca?' said Margot.

  'How about the little tennis brooch from Robbie?' asked Mara. 'And the silver locket your parents gave you? The one they gave you for your fourteenth birthday?'

  'And your nice bangles? What about them?' added Elf. 'And your green necklace?'

  'No, they're OK,' replied Rebecca abstractedly.

  She was deeply preoccupied.

  Tish's logical mind was working overtime.

  'It can't be Lindy,' she said, shaking her head. 'But - '

  'No, never!' protested Mara, looking nervous. 'Lindy is so sweet.'

  They all loved Lindy, the youngest assistant matron who sometimes came up and hoovered and tidied up. Apart from Mrs Barry herself, she was the only person who had a free run of the top floor of Court House. It was so tucked away and private.

  'But she might've been off sick or something,' finished Tish. 'Maybe a temp's been in.'

  'No, not a chance,' said Rebecca.

  'Lindy's been around all the time, I've seen her,' agreed Elf. 'She's never off sick.'

  'It must be a professional burglar!' said Mara, getting panicky. 'A thief is creeping in, in the night. Perhaps we should tell Mrs Barry!'

  'Don't be silly, Mara,' said Sue. 'Nothing's been taken.'

  'Yet!' retorted Mara.

  'You coming, Tish?' called Laura Wilkins, from across the hall. 'It's nine o'clock.'

  She was due at First Eleven hockey practice; there were big matches coming up before the end of the term.

  'In a minute!'

  'What now then?' asked Elf, as Tish pushed her chair back.

  'Now? All we can do is keep our eyes and ears open,' replied Tish. 'And the rest of us had better check things, as well! In our lockers, I mean.'

  'My Jimmy Somerville tape!' exclaimed Margot.

  'I wonder if we ought to tell the rest of the floor?' muttered Sue.

  'Definitely not,' said Tish quickly, as she saw Rebecca flinch. 'Don't let's make a drama out of it. Not before we've all checked our lockers. Can you check mine, Sue? There should be a tenner inside my Ruth Rendell. I was using it as a book mark.'

  'Lucky you, then,' commented Sue, as Tish ran off.

  Back at Court House, she found the ten pound note was still there. Without exception, the other five lockers were all in perfect order. Nobody else's things had been touched.

  It looked to Rebecca as though she alone had been singled out.

  She sat on her bed, still preoccupied. Her mind, as it had been from the beginning, was running over and over all the private things she kept in the locker. In dismay. Thinking of unknown eyes upon them. There was her diary, in which she sometimes put secret thoughts. There was Robbie's long letter to her when he'd been rejected by Oxford . . . and others he'd written. There was that very special letter from her parents, showing her what Miss Welbeck had said about her . . .

  And her letters from Emmanuelle, with so many shared confidences.

  She couldn't bear to think of anyone reading those.

  'Rebecca!' whispered Mara, creeping into the cubicle. 'Are you all right?'

  'Fine,' said Rebecca quickly. She could see that Mara was getting into a state. She recognised all the signs!

  'Supposing he comes again?' asked Mara.

  'Who?'

  'The burglar. Supposing he comes again tonight? What should we do? Should we lock the door?'

  'Oh, Mara, don't be silly,' said Rebecca, firmly. 'There isn't a burglar. It's just somebody snooping.'

  She got up off the bed and started to pull her curtain across.

  'Shoo!' she said. She managed to raise a smile. 'I've got a letter to write. And I want to concentrate!'

  Mara was so impressed by Rebecca's coolness in adversity that she at once felt ashamed of herself.

  'Then I shall leave you in peace. I'm sorry. I am just being stupid.'

  Inwardly, Rebecca felt anything but cool. And when she found Emmanuelle's letter and sat down with the French dictionary to make her confession, she now found the task difficult.

  To write such an embarrassing letter required courage. First thing this morning, she'd been feeling strong and had steeled herself to do it, but not any more. Not after this.

  'I'll tell her next time,' she decided at last, though she knew she was being cowardly. 'I'll write a stopgap letter for now and write a proper one next time.'

  So she merely apologised for not writing sooner, telling Emmanuelle how busy she'd been with the mocks; and about mislaying her Time Chart . . . and Cliff . . . and Robbie . . . and how sad she'd broken it off with Jean-Pierre and was never going to see him again. But if he was the possessive type it was just as well. And all about her own big tennis decision.

  I am a coward Rebecca told herself as she sealed the letter up in a white envelope and pressed on an airmail sticker. For, of course, she'd made no reference at all to the house in London, the small end terraced one in Clapham.

  Then she wrote to Cliff.

  It was a sad fact, when she'd always so much enjoyed composing letters to Emmanuelle, that writing to Cliff was infinitely more pleasurable.

  She gave him all her exam results and nagged him to write back with his. And even confided to him:

  Tish called you a knight on a white charger and you were. You were!

  Before sealing the letter, she wondered for a long time whether or not to add a postscript. On a piece of scrap paper, she experimented with it -

  P. S. Please thank your friend for helping that night. Have you known her long?

  No, that sounded silly. How about -

  P.S. Did you say your friend's name is Jelly? I presume that's a nickname?

  She didn't like that, either. She had a final go:

  P. S. I liked that sports car. What useful friends you have. Tell me more!

  But her courage failed her and in the end, on the actual letter, she wrote -

  P. S. I really DO want to know how your mocks went, so write me a letter, or else! R.

  She sealed it up, picked up Emmanuelle's and then placed both envelopes carefully under her paperweight, on the corner of the work table. That would remind her to get some stamps later and post them.

  But the rest of the day was so busy that the letters were still there at bedtime. She'd got so immersed in work, knowing how much she still had to do if she wanted her place in the Sixth, that the others insisted on dragging her across to the sports centre for a swim in the school pool that afternoon. Some makeshift water-polo developed with a group from Norris House and that was good fun.

  It felt odd, Rebecca decided, not to have any tennis tournaments in view; not to have county tennis training at Exonford this weekend. She was going to miss it all. But she felt sure that she'd made the right decision.

  To her delight there was a good French film on that evening and the others all came along, too, except for Sue. She wanted to practice the violin for her music heats in the Easter holidays.

  'I'll do it upstairs and then I can keep an eye on your cubie, Becky,' she said. 'We want to try and catch whoever it is. We can't have people being nosey, can we? Maybe it's one of the Third Years downstairs.'

  But at cocoa time she reported that no-one had been near or by.

  'You must have driven them all off, Sue!' teased Margot.

  Later, in bed, Rebecca glanced at her two le
tters, still weighted down on the corner of her work table. She'd buy some stamps from Moffatt's in the morning, then cycle into town to catch the Sunday collection! She could see the blue airmail sticker on the top one. Remembering Emmanuelle, she felt a twinge of guilt again.

  But as she put the light out, it was the other disturbing thoughts that returned. Somebody had been going through her locker! Who? Why? She tossed and turned for several minutes.

  So did Mara, for even longer.

  Rebecca was dozing off when a crack of light appeared above their partition wall. She heard Mara get out of bed and go padding round to the fire exit. 'Mara's checking to see if the fire exit's bolted!' she realised, drowsily.

  Mara returned and passed Rebecca's cubicle but instead of going back into hers, she carried on to the opposite end of the floor, not stopping until she reached the main door at the far end. Then came the sound of a distant click. Sleepily, Rebecca guessed that Mara was locking the main door, too. Trust Mara. She dozed off again as she heard her come creeping back.

  But as the floorboard in front of the next door cubicle gave a ghastly creak, Rebecca jerked awake with a start of recognition. The floor only did that very rarely, when you trod on a certain spot. And suddenly it triggered off a memory.

  There'd been another night. Through layers of sleep, just like tonight, she'd been startled by that noise, like the crack of a distant pistol. When?

  Of course. It was the awful night before the beginning of mocks. She'd gone to bed that night exhausted. Then, bleary eyed, she'd tried to read some maths revision papers in bed. The first exam was maths!

  And in the middle of the night she'd heard that loud creak and woken up and vaguely realised that the light was still on and she was still clutching the maths! And someone was coming, so she'd quickly thrust it out of sight . . .

  No, no. That wasn't quite right.

  It hadn't been the maths papers, Rebecca now realised. She'd put those aside in despair and lain awake thinking about the school reports her parents had sent her. In particular, the Fourth Year's with the principal's comment-

  Rebecca has inevitably failed to reach her true potential in some of her academic subjects . . . Nevertheless . . . she is clearly a candidate for a top university and in time will have difficult choices to make which cannot be imposed on her but must be hers alone.

  Madelene Welbeck

  She'd been thinking about that and starting to fret and fret. Because now, halfway through the Fifth Year, she had made that difficult choice. She wanted to stay at Trebizon and go to one of those top universities. She wanted to study history properly one day, in the way that Maggy had described to her. That was her secret dream. But she'd never catch up now!

  Rebecca remembered quite clearly. At last.

  How in a total blur, almost like a sleepwalker, she'd got up, taken something from her history file and returned to bed. She'd lain in bed staring at it. Had she been hoping to try and learn it or something? In her mind's eye she could see once again those coloured columns, all dancing haphazardly and merging merrily together, just before she fell asleep.

  Hours later, the distant crack of a pistol shot had stirred her slumber. A whispered voice through the curtains - Mrs Barry will kill you if she finds out! Holding some paper, feeling guilty. Scrabbling it all together, still half asleep and sliding it into the very bottom shelf of her bedside locker; just before Mara came in and turned off the light.

  She'd put the missing Time Chart in her bedside locker. That was what Rebecca remembered.

  SEVEN

  DISBELIEF

  'So they did take something, after all?' said Tish.

  'Must have done,' replied Rebecca.

  'How stupid!' said Sue, indignantly.

  The other three were still getting up and trying to digest the news that Sue had whispered to them. Rebecca had been looking at her Time Chart in bed one night. She'd put it away in her locker. Definitely! She'd remembered at last and she was positive about it.

  It was Sunday morning, before breakfast.

  Unbolting the fire exit, the six then went into a huddle on the balcony, still in their pyjamas. Inside, the rest of the floor was getting up and queueing for the bathrooms.

  Action Committee questioned Rebecca intently. Had she, asked Margot, thoroughly searched her bedside locker again? Yes, of course she had, even though she knew full well the Time Chart wasn't there.

  'You knew it should be there!' realised Tish. 'Remember when we were going through your files and Sue came in and questioned you? Well, that was the first place you looked. Your bedside locker! Your subconscious mind took over for a few minutes. Isn't that interesting!'

  'No,' replied Sue. 'Spare us the amateur psychology, Tish.'

  'Anyway, it wasn't there then and it isn't there now,' said Rebecca. 'So somebody's taken it.'

  'I think it's the meanest thing I've ever heard!' said Elf. She exhaled air from puffed cheeks. 'They only had to ask! You wouldn't have minded lending it to them, would you, Rebecca? They didn't need to pinch it.'

  'Oh, Elf!' She had to smile. 'I don't think it was taken for academic reasons! I don't think they took it because they needed it. I almost wish they had. At least there'd have been some point in that.'

  'You all think it's the same person, then?' said Elf. 'The nosey parker?'

  'Yes,' replied Tish tersely.

  'But it's a different sort of thing to do, different from reading diaries and stuff . . .' complained Elf, slightly puzzled.

  'Of course it's the same person!' butted in Margot. And Sue agreed.

  'It's got to be. It's too much of a coincidence.'

  'But it's just . . . well, senseless, is it not?' said Mara, anxiously. 'Being spiteful for no good reason.'

  'Yes, but there it is,' said Rebecca. Her face clouded over. 'I mind about the snooping much more. Somebody I don't know looking through my private stuff. But I must admit I didn't realise they hated me as well.'

  Mara looked at Rebecca protectively.

  'It is ridiculous, Rebecca. Nobody could hate you!'

  'But somebody must do!' said Tish cheerfully. 'Who've you upset lately, Rebeck? Anybody? Hm. Told you this was a weird one.'

  'And you still think it's a burglar, Mara?' asked Sue, cuttingly. 'Sold Rebecca's history chart to an antique dealer? Better tell the police, eh?'

  Mara shook her head, embarrassedly.

  There was a sudden rumpus inside and the fire exit door opened.

  'You lot must be mad standing out here in your pyjamas!' giggled Anne.

  'It's freezing!' said Ann.

  'What's going on?' asked Fiona.

  'You all right, Rebecca?' said Jenny.

  'Rebecca's still worried about her Time Chart,' said Mara, guardedly. Was it all right to say that? 'She's wondering what happened to it.'

  'What, the original, you mean? Didn't that ever turn up?' asked Jenny, in surprise.

  'Well, it's nothing to get upset about, Rebecca,' frowned Fiona. 'Not now you've got that good copy.'

  'It would still be nice if everybody could keep a look out for it,' explained Mara, deciding to take the initiative. She so badly wanted it to turn up. She didn't want there to be somebody who hated Rebecca. 'You see, Fiona – '

  Tish stepped forward, took Mara by the arm and propelled her inside.

  'Do stop gabbing, Mara. Nobody's interested in Rebeck's silly old chart. And, to answer your question, Anne – 'she glanced back over her shoulder at the other girl – 'the reason we're all standing around freezing is because we've been waiting for you lot to finish with the bathrooms!'

  'They've been free for ages,' laughed Anne.

  From the far end of the floor, up by the main door, came a sudden shout from Aba. She was wearing her lycra shorts, planning a quick sprint round the school track, before breakfast.

  'Who's the silly idiot who locked this door last night?' yelled the Nigerian girl. She'd been tugging at it for ages and had only just realised that the key needed tur
ning.

  Without waiting for an answer, she opened the door and shot off.

  'Did somebody lock the door?' asked Ann, in surprise. 'Mrs Barry says we're not supposed to do that.' She went off to find Elizabeth, who'd overslept.

  'I expect Mara was worried about burglars,' commented Sue, to Rebecca.

  'Correct!' said Mara, overhearing, and very much on her dignity.

  Fiona had overheard, too. 'Whatever for?' she laughed. 'How silly!'

  'Because . . . ' Mara stopped.

  'Come in here a minute, Mara,' said Tish, hauling her into the nearest bathroom. 'I want to talk to you.'

  Rebecca, who'd washed and cleaned her teeth first thing, wandered over to her cubicle and decided to get dressed. Then, when the others were ready, they could all go down to breakfast together.

  But just before it was time to go, Mara peeped into the cubicle looking rather intense. Rebecca was dressed and sitting at her work table with her history file open. She'd been checking that her replacement Time Chart, at least, was still safe and sound.

  'Rebecca,' she whispered. 'I want to talk to you. It's important.'

  'Come in, then,' smiled Rebecca, closing up the big file. 'What's wrong?'

  Mara came and sat on the edge of the bed.

  'I look the complete fool now. I wish I could explain to everybody on the floor why I locked the door. Well, that was stupid, yes. About a burglar. But if only we could tell the others what has happened to you, Rebecca, then I'm sure that they would want to help. They live on the top floor with us. If there is a snooper coming up here, they have a right to know!'

  Mara was fond of them all, particularly Fiona. There was quite a bond between them.

  'You're probably right,' sighed Rebecca.

  'Tish says no!' whispered Mara. 'She has just been telling me off. She said we agreed not to. She says it is so very embarrassing for you and you would hate people to know . . .'

  'Some people,' replied Rebecca, thinking hard about it. 'But everyone up here's okay. We've all been together for years. You are right, Mara. It'd be good to have the whole floor keeping their eyes and ears open. As long as they don't spread it round school. I couldn't bear that . . . '