Confession (7 page)

‘We have had no other complaints. Quite the contrary in fact, our teachers at home were always very complimentary and Monsieur Heger has said nothing at all unfavourable – ’

At the mention of Monsieur Heger’s name I thought I saw a flicker of kindness pass across Mademoiselle Blanche’s face but the moment was brief.

She said, ‘You will have to improve if you do not want people commenting on your failings.’

Again I mentioned the fact that Monsieur had not seen fit to criticize our penmanship. ‘Monsieur Heger is far too busy to concern himself with such trivialities,’ replied Mademoiselle Blanche although whether she was referring to our handwriting or to us was not clear.

Later, after the class was finished, Emily tore up the piece of paper she had been writing on and threw the scraps to the floor.

I bent down to retrieve them.

‘Don’t,’ she said.

‘You are wrong to be angry – ’

‘First we are told to adopt other writers’ styles; then we are told that even our penmanship is inadequate. They reduce us to nothing, soon there will be nothing left of us for them to teach – ’

‘You are out of sorts,’ I replied ‘and little wonder, but you must not upset yourself over such – ’

‘Trivialities?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Do you warm to her?’

‘To Mademoiselle Blanche?’

‘To any of them – ’

‘They are different,’ I conceded. ‘But then we are different too – ’

‘Always so conciliatory,’ Emily said sharply before bending down to retrieve the scraps of paper herself before stuffing them into her pockets. ‘Madame Heger wasn’t much to your liking when she found us in the garden – I saw the way that you looked at her – ’

‘I was out of sorts.’

Emily raised an eyebrow then opening her desk started to talk about how our directrice did seem pleasant enough, quite natural & unaffected although it still concerned her how silently she had crept up on us in the garden as if her footsteps turned everything beneath them to snow.

*

The first gift appeared on the morning of Madame Heger’s half-holiday. I had entered the schoolroom immediately after breakfast to retrieve a book from my desk because I wanted to take it upstairs to study that night. All the other girls, including Emily, had retreated to the dormitory to put on their costumes and the day pupils had yet to arrive so the room was empty.

I crossed over to my desk, lifted the lid whereupon I noticed a small leather-bound volume which had not been there the previous evening. A strong smell of cigar smoke accompanied my discovery.

I coughed slightly then lifted the book – a copy of Schiller’s
Ballads
- from its resting place and opening it to the title page found a scrap of paper slipped inside with the following inscription. ‘To my pupil to encourage her in her studies.’

Underneath Monsieur Heger had signed his name.

What joy! What delight! Imagine – if you will – a dark forest and then imagine a shaft of sunlight scumbling through the trees, a brilliant, dazzling spiral of light. That light was my pleasure and for a few moments afterwards I stood stockstill looking down at the gift before I closed its pages and returned it to my desk.

I walked towards the door, but no, I could not help but turn around and walk back to my desk
and very slowly lift up the lid again as if a wild animal were crouching inside. Just to smell the cigar smoke made my breath quicken then down came the lid again. Tonight I would read the book after Emily had gone to sleep for she always drifted off well before I did. Then a second thought occurred to me, not one I am proud of, but glancing over my shoulder I carefully lifted the lid of Emily’s desk and peeped inside.

Nothing was there. Nothing that caused alarm anyway; only sheaves of writing paper and a well-thumbed dictionary Emily had brought with her from home.

*

Pandemonium, the high Capital of Satan and his Peers
²
– best describes the dormitory on my return upstairs. The commotion when I entered the room was unbearable for it seemed that the air was ‘thick swarm’d’ with lace and ribbons, flounces of silk and skeins of laughter. It was merriment on a scale un-encountered, with Vertue Basompierre at its centre.

Emily, dear, sombre Emily sat on her bed with her hands over her ears in an attempt to ignore the commotion, not aided by the fact that Madame had sent up platefuls of cake and little sweet treats for the girls to share amongst themselves. I asked Emily if she was going to change her dress for the performance but she replied that the one she was wearing, that is to say the same brown dress she wore every day except Sundays, would suffice. For myself, I had created a pale blue sash out of an odd scrap of silk I kept in my sewing box which I now attached to my grey woollen dress. The adornment was enough to show willing but not too much to make me uncomfortable.

Downstairs and once more in the schoolroom we began arranging chairs into a semi-circle in front of the teacher’s dais which was to act as the stage. We hung long chains of paper flowers, which the younger girls had been making in the evenings in place of their studies,
from the ceiling and around the windows. Everywhere was a mass of colour and indulgence – a reflection of the Romanism of this country and its frivolous nature.

I was still irked by the fact that Emily had not seen fit to tell me what it was she was to perform, indeed I was half expecting her to announce she had a headache or some such other complaint, but to my astonishment she seemed quite content to remain and get things in order.

Finally the scene was set and Madame Heger appeared and took her seat at the front of the room next to Mademoiselle Blanche who looked at the girls seated around her as if to say, ‘Look! See whom your Directrice has chosen to take a seat next to! Not that ridiculous woman Mademoiselle Haussé or that hideous German creature Madame Muhl,’ so proud and conceited was her demeanour.

‘Your sister is frowning!’ Vertue Bassompiere exclaimed as she seated herself next to me. Emily was on my far side, I knew she had heard the comment but she did not react. ‘Why is she frowning?’

‘I do not believe that she is,’ I said.

‘I think she studies too much. It is not good to read so many books. When you frown it affects the skin – you get lines on the forehead which are unsightly. I try not to frown – do you see?’ she said pointing to her own un-furrowed brow. ‘You would be happier I think.’

‘I am quite happy as I am.’

‘But
who
are you? None of the students here thinks you are anyone special – ’

For a moment Vertue’s impertinence shocked me –
who was I
indeed! The question threw me into a quiet distemper until I realized that Vertue had meant something quite other.

‘You have not even dressed up!’ she said. ‘How can anyone tell what you are supposed to be
if you have not even bothered to put on a pretty costume or dress?’

I pointed to the sash around my waist.

‘Is that all?’

‘It suffices.’

‘There are plenty of costumes upstairs you could choose from. Beautiful costumes. If you hurry you could – ’

I shook my head. I tried not to sound ungrateful. ‘It is very kind of you but we are happy as we are. Besides you are dressed up enough for all of us. Look at your pretty ribbons and bows.’

‘They are pretty aren’t they?’ Vertue said tossing her head so that her beribboned ringlets fluttered like butterfiles. ‘Shall I tell you a secret? What do you imagine Lizabeth said to me this morning?’

Fearing the worst I shook my head.

‘She said she wanted to be me! Imagine! Isn’t it the queerest thing you have ever heard?Would you like to be me? I suppose a lot of people would,’ she added before I could answer and then continuing – ‘So I asked Lizabeth if she could be anyone in the world past or present, would she
still
want to be me and do you know what she said? She said, “Yes”!!! Out of everyone living
or
dead.’

‘Extraordinary,’ I said in the flattest, most
un-
impressed voice I could muster. ‘But in answer to your question, no I would not. I would not care to be you one jot.’

The girl on the stage finished her recital and everyone began to clap before the next student took her place.

‘Why not?’ Vertue Basompierre whispered. ‘You are nothing but a plain English girl. You
barely smile, you prefer damp, muddy gardens to the company of your fellow students – you do not think that I see you walking outside at all hours, but I do. You and your sister are nothing but lonely spinsters, witches if you will, unnatural & miserable. You have few prospects, no gentlemen friends, you – ’

I put up my hand to stop her mid flow. ‘Why don’t I want to be you?’ I said in a voice, my own and yet not my own. ‘To begin with, you do not study, you do not apply yourself to anything serious and in my world that makes you dull. You lay enormous emphasis on telling everyone the first thing that comes into your head. For you silence is an abomination, being private a sin. Why inflict on others what they do not need to hear? You are the froth that rides upon the waves, totally inconsequential.’ I said touching the edge of her snowy lace dress. ‘It is what lies beneath that counts, the contemplative reaches of the soul. For you life is nothing unless you are shopping for the latest fashion accessory, purchasing the latest style in hats.
Hats
!’ I repeated for greater effect for by this time I had warmed to my theme. ‘When you dream, you no doubt dream of ermine and Valenciennes lace though I doubt you can spell such a word. You put no emphasis on education, indeed you actively despise anyone who professes an interest in learning. And finally,’ I said, concluding my outburst just as the girl on stage – Marie Lescelles– finished her piano recital, ‘and finally you are just like everyone else, yes you are pretty but so are thousands of other girls, there is nothing that sets you apart.’

Applause rose around us. Everyone was clapping and it was all I could do not to stand up and take a bow so triumphant did I feel. Instead I turned to see if Emily had appreciated my performance but to my astonishment Emily’s seat was empty.

My little sister had vanished.

‘I always knew you were cut from plain cloth,’ Vertue retaliated. ‘But I had no idea how coarse a creature you actually were. You are,’ and here she lowered her voice to a hiss, ‘you are just like your sister.’

‘And now Mesdemoiselles,’ the clapping died down and Mademoiselle Blanche began introducing the next student, ‘One of our girls has asked if she might give palm readings. I am told she is blessed with a gift in this area and Madame Heger has given her permission to see a number of chosen students if they so wish. The student in question will give the readings in the small classroom. She has requested the following girls attend.’

Three names were read out after which three girls immediately rushed from the room in search of my beloved sister for the palm reader to whom Mademoiselle Blanche had referred was none other than Emily, witch, wanderer and now purveyor of unknown truths.

As children our cook Tabby used to read palms although we kept this a secret from Aunt who disdained what she called Tabitha’s crafts. We would visit the kitchen when Aunt wasn’t looking and beg Tabby for a plate of walnuts or a current bun and rather as not she would set down her baking tray or gravy spoon and take our small hands in her large rough ones.

What did she see in them?

Happiness and disaster by turns.

‘You’re all in all to each other’, she’d mutter - remarking on how similar the lines of mine and Emily’s palms were. ‘You’ll ’un be buried by books,’ she’d say to me while to Emily – she had no doubt my sister would ‘see angels bearing down from above’.

Once, when she reached for my hand she said I’d pelt the world with words like the storm clouds up over Brow Moor pelted the ground with hailstones.

‘So what did you tell them?’ I asked Emily when we were sitting in the garden together later
that evening.

‘Nothing worth tuppance,’ she laughed. ‘I made everything up.’

‘The girls were talking about it.’

‘I told Cecilia that when she married she was going to have a little boy and that she would call the child Pontus,’ said Emily a half-smile playing over her lips.

‘You need to be careful, Cecilia is an unpleasant girl.’

‘I could bite her head off in a second,’ replied Emily baring her teeth.

‘And Virginie? What did you tell her?’

‘Much the same, I said she would travel and find a husband abroad. He would be a Duke or perhaps a Count – he might die young but she would live until she was an old woman. She had a very long lifeline,’ Emily added looking across the lawn to where some of the other students were flitting through the trees.

‘Read
my
palm?’ I said suddenly sticking my hand out but Emily shook her head.

‘Why not?’

‘Have you faith in it?’

‘I have faith in you.’

‘That is not the same thing. Besides I cannot make things up where you are concerned, itwouldn’t be right.’

‘Nor would I want you to –’

‘If I do it,’ she said, her voice suddenly serious, ‘you have to keep quiet while I am speaking.’

‘I can be as quiet as you.’

‘Absolute silence,’ Emily said gently taking my right hand in hers.

Above us starlings began to stir. The sun was going down and the light was supernaturally gold.

‘I see your bedroom at home,’ Emily began. ‘In the centre of the room is a glass case and inside the glass case hangs one of your dresses.’ I glanced down at my skirt uncomprehendingly. ‘There are a lot of people in the room, mainly women but they are wearing trousers, blue trousers and a few of them have short hair like men. No one is talking, they are just staring at the dress and then leaving the room quietly. They walk through the house, pausing every now and then to read little notes that have been placed on the walls. We are not there. The house is empty save for these strangers.’

Emily stopped. I dared not break the silence but nor did I know whether the reading had finished. All around us the trees shook as a gold wind blew through their branches and the starlings started to scream.