Celandine (24 page)

Nina put up no resistance, but neither did she beg for mercy. She submitted passively to each assault and waited until her attackers had had enough before picking herself up, red-faced and dishevelled, from the washroom floor or the muddy playing field, or wherever they had cornered her. She was entirely vulnerable, an easy target to hit, yet not an easy one to break. Nina was no fighter, but neither was she a coward – and even though she was often reduced to tears, the bullies could never quite make her give in.

Celandine was furiously aware of what was happening to her friend, but as the attacks only ever occurred when she was elsewhere, there was never any direct evidence for her to act upon. Even so, she would instantly have reported matters to the Head Girl if Nina hadn’t repeatedly begged her not to.

‘I’m all right,’ Nina said. ‘They’ll get tired of bothering in the end.’

Celandine was not so sure. She was concerned that things might easily get worse rather than better, and as she peered around the door to the washroom one late afternoon she was more apprehensive than ever.

She couldn’t find Nina. She had already looked in the common room, the third-form classroom, and the library – the three most likely places.

‘Nina?’ One of the cubicles was occupied, but there was no reply.

Celandine hurried back down the corridor and glanced briefly into the dormitory – out of bounds at
this
time of day, but she was running out of alternatives. Not there. Where else could she be?

The playing fields and the gym weren’t even worth considering. Nina would never be doing anything physical unless it was compulsory. Celandine wandered out into the quad. It was gone half-past four and very nearly dark, the late October mist descending all around, so that the lights from the dining-hall windows were blurred and softened. Soon it would be teatime. Celandine was so worried, and yet she really didn’t know why. Something was wrong, though. She could feel it.

Footsteps – she heard them coming across the quadrangle – and the urgent whispering of voices, out of breath.

‘
Nothing
– do you hear me? You must say
nothing
. You don’t know anything.’

‘
But
Maaary—’

‘Shut up.’

Celandine moved into the shadow of one of the great stone buttresses that projected from the walls of the main building, and watched. A knot of girls hurried by on the opposite side of the quad, four or five of them perhaps. They too were deep in shadow, but not so far away as to be unrecognizable. Mary Swann, the Pigtail twins, Alicia . . .

The group disappeared through the entrance to Big School. They shouldn’t be going that way – it was forbidden to third-formers. Why would they risk that?

Celandine stepped out from behind the buttress and considered what she had seen. Where had they
been
coming from?
Could
it have been the playing field? But what would they have been doing up there at this time of day? It was too dark to have been throwing a ball around, and they hadn’t been dressed for gym. She walked uncertainly past the brightly-lit dining hall, where the rattle and clink of cutlery spoke of preparations for the evening meal, and turned the corner next to the fives court. From here the long flight of steps to the playing fields rose up and disappeared into the misty darkness above her.

Something had happened. Something terrible had happened, she was certain of it. Celandine began to climb the greasy wooden steps – old railway sleepers they were, worn and splintered by generations of hockey boots.

At the top of the steps she paused, listening in the darkness. Had she heard something, or was it just her nervousness? It was cold, and the hazy orange lights of the school buildings below seemed welcoming now, comforting, as they had never done before. Perhaps she should go back down. The quick scrunch of footsteps on the cinder path behind her made her spin round.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Who’s that?’ Another uncertain voice echoed her own, and her heart jumped in fright. A pale face appeared out of the mist, disembodied for a few moments, floating like a balloon, until the dark school tunic became suddenly visible beneath it. It was Molly Fletcher.

Molly looked surprised, then frightened, her eyes
wide
with panic. She tried to dodge past, but Celandine reached out and grabbed at the thin woollen sleeve of her cardigan.

‘What are you doing up here?’ she said. ‘What’s been going on?’

Molly jerked her arm back and the neck of the cardigan slipped down over her shoulder, but Celandine managed to get a grip on the girl’s wrist with her free hand. There was another moment or two of struggling and then Molly gave up.

‘Where is she?’ said Celandine. This was all to do with Nina, she knew it – something had happened to Nina. Molly’s face was white. She was shivering, and plainly terrified. Celandine tightened her grip.

‘Where
is
she?’

‘Pool . . .’ It was more of a gasping sound than a word.

‘What?’

‘The swimming pool . . . we . . . I didn’t want to . . . I said no . . .’ Molly’s nose was streaming now.

‘Come on.’ Celandine waited to hear no more. She hurried Molly along the cinder track, yanking at the reluctant wrist, quite prepared to drag the little wretch by the hair if need be.

The area beyond the gymnasium, where the new pool was being built, was unfamiliar to her, it being out of bounds, and it was now made the more difficult to negotiate because of the darkness. Celandine had to let go of Molly and stumble alone among the piles of earth, heavy tarpaulins, concrete blocks and builders’ planks – picking her way through the
obstacles
until she found herself at the edge of the vast pit that had been dug.

‘Nina?’ It was so dark down there. She couldn’t see a thing. ‘Nina? Can you hear me? Are you all right?’ Her voice sounded loud and strange, echoing back at her from the void.

No reply. Celandine gingerly moved around the perimeter, peering down into the gloom. There was a rectangle of solid concrete at one end of the pool, and she could see what looked like a board extending out above the pit. Yes, a long springboard, mounted on metal stanchions in the concrete.

‘Nina?’ There
was
something down there. She could see just it – a vaguely crumpled shape in the darkness below her.

‘Nina! Is that you?’

Still no answer. Celandine tried to stay calm. What did she need? A ladder . . . a ladder and . . . some planks? No. It was too dark, and it was too dangerous – she could not do this by herself. What she needed was some help.

‘Fletcher – where are you? Are you still there?’ But again her voice bounced back at her, a brief mocking echo, then disappeared into the empty darkness. Molly Fletcher had gone.

Celandine burst into the crowded dining hall and ran straight to the top table – where the teachers looked up at her in astonishment as she blurted out her news.

‘There’s a girl in the swimming pool – Nina Jessop. I think she’s hurt!’

The low murmur of conversation at the rest of the tables quickly dwindled to silence. Somebody dropped a piece of cutlery at the far end of the room.

Miss Belvedere folded her napkin and scraped back her chair. ‘In the
swimming pool
? Right.
I’ll
deal with this –
with
your permission, Miss Craven. Aberdeen! Run to the caretaker’s flat and fetch Mr Blight – tell him to bring lanterns. Matron, perhaps you’d better accompany me. And as for you, Howard, you may go and sit at your table – where you should have been these last fifteen minutes. I’m sure that there will be plenty of questions for you to answer in due course.’

‘No! I mean . . . I want to be there . . . to help . . .’

‘Howard!
Do
as you’re told this instant, and let us have less of your insolence! Go and sit down!’

Celandine walked slowly past the rows of refectory tables, aware that every face was staring at her, and as she passed she heard the murmurs and whispers of conversation that sprang up behind her. She approached the third-form table and looked at Mary Swann and her cronies. Of all the girls in the room, theirs were the only eyes that were not fixed upon her – Mary Swann, the Pigtail twins, Alicia Tremlett . . . and Molly Fletcher; none of them would look at her. Instead they appeared to concentrate on their food, staring at their plates, tight-lipped and white-faced, saying nothing.

No. She would not do this. She would
not
sit meekly and wait for news. She had to know what was happening to Nina.

At the last minute she bolted – fled from the dining hall and out into the chilly night air once more.

‘
Howard!
’ Celandine heard the house-mistress’s voice bawling at her, but she ignored it. Instead she ran past the fives court and again clambered up the long flight of steps to the playing field. She might not be allowed to help, but at least she would watch – and she would worry about the consequences later.

They came with swinging lanterns and urgent voices, hurrying along the cinder track: Miss Belvedere, of course, and Aberdeen, and Matron. The caretaker, Mr Blight, she could also see, and another man – one of the porters? Yes, old William.

Celandine crouched between a pile of cement bags and a stack of wooden doors, ducking her head lower still as the lantern beams threatened to expose her.

‘William – some light over here, please!’ Miss Belvedere’s bulky shadow moved along the side of the pit. ‘Yes, just here. Hurry up, man – give me that lantern. Aha! Matron – Mr Blight! I think we’ve . . . yes, there she is. Just down there – do you see her?
Stupid
girl. What on earth did she think she was doing . . .’

Celandine peered around the side of the cement sacks, desperate to know what was happening.

‘We’ll need a ladder, Mr Blight – ah, you’ve already found one. Good.’

The two men were lowering a builder’s ladder over the side of the pit. One of the lanterns disappeared
from
view as the caretaker descended into the depths. The light shone upwards, stabbing out erratically, illuminating the faces of those who remained above ground. A muffled voice; ‘No movement as I can see, Miss Belvedere. Shall I pick her up?’

‘No – don’t do that.’ Matron was leaning forward. ‘We should put her on a stretcher . . .’

‘Except that we don’t have one . . .’ Miss Belvedere again. ‘Well, we can’t just leave the wretched child down there.’

‘What about a plank?’ The caretaker’s muffled voice once more. ‘Could we lift her up on a plank?’

‘Matron? What do you think?’

‘Well, I suppose . . .’

‘
I
think we have very little choice. William! See what you can find.’

The porter, William, began casting about for something suitable, and his search brought him almost immediately to Celandine’s hiding place. There was a pile of white-painted doors just behind her, and it seemed that old William had quickly spotted them. Celandine watched him draw closer. When it became certain that he was about to trip right over her, she stood up. It was pointless trying to hide any longer.

‘Oh my Gawd . . .’ William’s arms jerked up defensively. ‘What the bleedin’ . . .’ He put his hand over his heart. ‘Gawd’s
sake
, miss! Are you tryin’ to
kill
me?’

Miss Belvedere looked round. She raised the lantern that she was holding.

‘Ah, Howard,’ she said. ‘
There
you are. And I can’t say that I’m surprised – in fact
wherever
there is trouble I should not be surprised to find you in the thick of it. Well, you are in trouble now, girl, I can assure you, and I shall be dealing with you directly. Aberdeen – keep an eye on this child, please. I should hate to lose her again. In the meantime, William, if you’ve quite recovered . . . could we have one of those changing-hut doors?’

They slowly carried Nina down the steps, the men taking an end of the narrow cubicle door apiece and walking sideways – carefully negotiating the railway sleepers, one at a time. Miss Belvedere and Matron led the way, and Cleandine followed, under the watchful eye of Aberdeen.

It was like a horrible kind of funeral march: step . . . pause . . . step . . . pause . . .

Nina lay on her side, motionless upon the makeshift stretcher, her clothes rumpled and filthy, one of her shoes missing. There was a smear of blood on her forehead, a bright glistening patch that appeared again and again in the swinging light of the lanterns. What had they done to her? What had they
done?

Celandine felt a tingling fury that ran right through her. Her hands were clenched so tight that her fingernails were digging into her palms. They would pay for this. They would suffer. She thought of the scissors – the time she had attacked Miss Bell. Would she do the same again now? Would she . . .?

They had reached the bottom of the steps.

‘Better get her straight to the san, Matron,’ said Miss Belvedere. ‘I’ll be along shortly, as soon as I’ve interviewed Howard and got to the bottom of this. Howard, you will come with me.’

It occurred to Celandine, for the first time, that there would be questions about all this, and that she would have to answer them. What was she to say? She was as sure as she could be that Mary Swann was involved, but she wasn’t so sure that she could tell Miss Belvedere that. And what about the fact that it had been Molly Fletcher who had told her where Nina was? Should she tell Miss Belvedere
that
? Above all, she didn’t want to unwittingly get Nina into any more trouble than she might already be in. Perhaps it would be better to say nothing – for the moment.

They had reached the staffroom. Celandine had been so caught up in thinking about what she would say, that the silent journey across the quad and through the main building had barely registered.

Miss Belvedere unlocked the staffroom door, and switched on the electric light. ‘Wait there,’ she said. She walked across the room, pushing back the sleeve of her right forearm in what seemed like a practised movement. She pulled open the drawer of a large bureau, took something from it, then walked back again. She was carrying a broad leather strap – a thing that looked as though it might once have belonged on a steamer trunk.