Kitty stared at the teacher, indignation making her cheeks grow hot. Did the nun think she ought to sit there with her feet in a puddle? And anyway, it was very rude to make personal remarks; Maeve had often told her so. She could have said the girl with the clean white blouse, because no one else was wearing any sort of blouse, let alone a clean white one. But the teacher was staring at her, the small eyes in the round, white currant bun of a face glittering malevolently. Kitty remembered what Grainne had said – something about speaking loudly and clearly – so she sat up straighter in her small chair and did both. ‘Please, sister, there’s a puddle of pee on the floor and me shoes is new; Maeve said not to get ’em mucky and getting ’em covered in pee would be . . .’
She was still speaking when the teacher surged out from behind her desk, crossed the floor in a couple of enormous strides and lifted Kitty bodily out of her chair. ‘How dare you use a word like that in my classroom?’ she hissed. ‘You will remain standing until I tell you that you may sit. What’s your name? I need to . . . oh, oh, oh!’
Kitty followed the teacher’s eyes and saw, with real pleasure, that Sister Enda’s long black skirt had soaked up a good deal of . . . whatever it was on the floor. Maeve called it pee, and so did Caitlin, so it could not have been that word to which the nun had objected, but for the life of her Kitty could not think of another word which could have been considered rude. She began to ask, rather more timidly, what word she had used to annoy the sister, but she was roughly shoved aside and the small girl from whom the enormous puddle had escaped was seized in her stead.
‘You are a disgusting little toad,’ the nun said, shaking her wet and weeping victim. ‘You can’t stay in my classroom in that state; one of you – the one with the plaits – must take you along to Miss Brogan’s office. She’s the school secretary and keeps a supply of knickers and skirts which she will lend you to wear for the rest of the day. But you must bring them back tomorrow, do you understand?’
Shaken by huge sobs, the small girl nodded and was told, brusquely, that she should say ‘Yes, sister’, when addressing her teacher. ‘And another . . .’ Sister Enda looked round wildly. ‘Ah, I was forgetting. You’re mostly new.’ Her eyes raked the room, then settled upon the waiflike child with big green eyes sitting next to Kitty. ‘This is your second year, Bridget, so you’ll know where the broom cupboard is. Fetch a mop and bucket, and be quick about it.’
Then the three children were ushered out of the door, Kitty wondering how on earth she was to find Miss Brogan’s office without calling down more trouble upon her defenceless head. But in fact this proved to be the least of her worries, since Bridget pointed to a door at the end of the corridor as soon as the classroom was behind them. ‘That’s the room you want,’ she said bluntly. ‘The broom cupboard is on the first landing.’
She disappeared upstairs, leaving the two small girls to make their way to Miss Brogan’s office. However, they had scarcely gone a couple of yards along the corridor when the small girl pulled Kitty to a halt. ‘My sister Fanny is one of the big girls in the top class and I’ll tell her what you done, and she’ll get you,’ she said. ‘’Cos youse is a nasty, horrible tale clat, you, with your plaits and your bleedin’ new shoes.’
To say that was Kitty was taken aback would be putting it mildly. The other child was so small and weak, in appearance at any rate, but she had turned on Kitty with the speed and venom of a striking snake. Kitty scowled down at her. She was tempted to give her a good shake but realised that this would only make her little companion crosser. Instead, she spoke as reasonably as she could. ‘I didn’t tell anyone anything,’ she pointed out. ‘All I did was move me perishin’ feet because of the puddle you’d made. And I never said you’d made it, either – well, how could I? I didn’t know who the devil you were; still don’t, for that matter. And as for your big sister Fanny, I’ve got two big sisters, Clodagh and Grainne, so anyone what starts anything wi’ me will have them to fight an’ all.’
Brave words, particularly as she had no idea whether, in fact, Clodagh and Grainne would wade in if they saw the girl they had always treated as a little sister being bullied. And of course they were not at St Joseph’s either. However, she did not need to tell her tiny antagonist that.
The girl stared at her defiantly for a moment, then her gaze dropped to the floor and Kitty realised that the wet knickers had left a trail all along the corridor. Better get the kid to Miss Brogan as fast as she could; they could continue their quarrel once the other girl was clad in dry underwear once more. She tugged at the child’s arm but was resisted. ‘Cor, will you look at that,’ the small girl whispered, indicating the wet linoleum. ‘Me mam ’ud crucify me if she knew I’d piddled on the floor.’ To Kitty’s horror, she turned round and began to trot briskly up the corridor. ‘I’m goin’ home,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’d rather be crucified by me mam than by that wicked old nun.’
Kitty promptly followed her, grabbed her skinny arm and began to tow her back towards Miss Brogan’s office. ‘You can’t just leave school when you want to,’ she said severely. ‘I dare say you might get away with not coming back tomorrow – I’ll never come into this place again – but you can’t leave in the middle of the day with wet knickers, that I do know. I ’spect Bridget will mop the corridor, or mebbe it’ll dry out, but it ain’t your fault, nor mine neither. We’re only little. Now come along to this Miss Brogan, young what’s-yer-name.’
‘I’m no younger’n you, an’ me name’s Jane,’ the child informed her. ‘I’s sorry I called you a tale clat ’cos you weren’t, but I were that frightened I had to blame someone. As for me sister Fanny, she’s likelier to give me a slap than you.’ She eyed Kitty curiously. ‘What are you called?’
‘I’m Catherine Mary O’Keefe, but me pals call me Kitty,’ Kitty said, then halted and tapped timidly on the door ahead of them. When no one spoke from behind it, she knocked louder, then walked in boldly, telling herself that she was on an errand for the teacher and no one should reprimand her for doing as she was told. The room was dwarfed by an enormous desk, but it was rather a cosy room. There was a floral rug on the floor, and pretty flower-patterned curtains hung at the window. The huge desk was covered with books and papers, and one wall of the room was shelved with books from floor to ceiling. Kitty gazed at them, enchanted. Maeve read her stories at bedtime every night and Kitty had long ago decided that when she was able to read she would go to the Free Library and borrow a new book every week until she had read every volume available. Now, she wondered whether these books might be lent one day, and glanced at the figure behind the desk. The woman was very small and very thin. She had rather dull, brown hair which frizzed in a curly fringe across her forehead; the rest of it was pulled back into a bun on the nape of her neck. She had a narrow little face, very bright brown eyes behind steel-rimmed spectacles, and paper-white skin. She also had deep lines running from her nose to the corners of her mouth, which gave her a severe look, but Kitty saw that these were caused by smiling, for when Miss Brogan looked up and saw the two children standing before her, she smiled, and the lines deepened.
‘Yes, dear? What can I do for you?’
‘Please, miss, Jane here has had a bit of an accident so Sister Enda sent us for dry knickers,’ Kitty said bluntly, when her small companion did not speak. And then she saw the reason for Jane’s silence. Beside Miss Brogan’s desk, curled up in a wicker basket, was what looked like a beautiful white lamb, and even as Kitty gasped with delight the lamb raised its head, opened dark and liquid eyes, and yawned, revealing neat little white teeth and a great deal of pink and curling tongue. Kitty loved all animals and would have given a great deal to possess a dog of her own, but neither Caitlin nor Maeve would countenance such a thing. Tommy, the cat, supremo of all rat and mice catchers, was the only animal allowed because he earned his keep and he and Kitty adored one another. But perhaps, if she suggested a lamb . . . she could sell the wool, though during a hard winter such a pet might be regarded as dish of the day by some of the poorer families in Handkerchief Alley.
But Miss Brogan had followed Kitty’s gaze and got to her feet. ‘Fluffy is very gentle; you can stroke him if you like,’ Miss Brogan said. She produced a large box full of assorted garments, chose a pair of knickers and, after a glance at Jane, a faded blue skirt, and laid them on the side of the desk nearest to her visitors. ‘These little accidents do happen, especially when you’re away from home for the first time,’ she said comfortably. ‘Pop these on, Jane. I’ll put your wet things into a strong paper bag and you can come collect them when school’s over for the day. Tell your mammy to rinse them through and dry them out so you can come to school tomorrow in your own clothes. Don’t forget to bring back the clothes I’ve lent you, will you?’
Jane assured her that she would not forget, then took off her wet clothes and scrambled into the dry ones. Then she and Kitty knelt before the basket and adored the fluffy white lamb within.
‘Only he isn’t really a lamb, he is a Bedlington terrier and the best companion a person could wish for,’ Miss Brogan told them. ‘You seem two sensible little girls; how would you like to take Fluffy for a little walk during your luncheon break sometimes? Normally, you’re not allowed out of school but have to content yourselves with the playroom in wet weather and the yard in dry. But children who exercise Fluffy for me are allowed to walk up and down the street for ten minutes or so.’
Kitty and Jane exchanged gleeful looks. What a piece of luck that they had been sent to Miss Brogan and had shown an immediate interest in her delightful pet. Why, if they were to be allowed to take the little dog for a walk, they might even meet up with friends who were not in school. It was too far to go all the way home, but it was still a sort of freedom, and one probably not granted to many pupils of St Joseph’s school. So it was with some eagerness that the children agreed to take great care of Fluffy and suggested that they might take him for his first walk that very day. The weather was warm and sunny, and even a ten-minute escape from the horrors of Sister Enda’s classroom would be bliss indeed.
Miss Brogan agreed that they should come for Fluffy as soon as they had eaten their carry-out – she called it their packed luncheon – and then Kitty and Jane retraced their steps, noting with satisfaction that Bridget must have spotted the trail of drops, since there were now vigorous mop marks on the linoleum. They entered the classroom to find Sister Enda still taking names and allocating places. It appeared she had found some more chairs from somewhere, since everyone now had a seat, and the children were grouped, ten at a time, round a number of low tables. Sister Enda was handing round slates and a girl, with her hair dragged back from her face and tied with a piece of string, was handing out slate pencils. Sister Enda glanced at them as they came back into the room, then said briskly: ‘Name?’
‘Kitty O’Keefe,’ ‘Jane Maloney,’ the girls said in chorus, and Kitty stifled a giggle when the teacher stared at them for a moment before saying briskly: ‘Jane, you sit there. Kitty, sit beside her.’
As soon as they were seated, the nun commented that they had been gone an extraordinarily long time. Kitty, emboldened by the pleasant visit to Miss Brogan, said firmly: ‘Miss Brogan wanted to talk to us. It would have been rude to walk away whilst she was speaking.’
‘It’s rude to answer me back,’ Sister Enda said smartly. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to, and use my title.’
‘I didn’t know you had a title,’ Kitty said and was once more astonished and outraged when the nun leaned across the table and hit her sharply across the knuckles with a ruler.
‘Don’t answer back. I’ve already got you down as a troublemaker, young lady,’ she said. Having glared at Kitty for a full minute, she turned away and went across to the blackboard. ‘Now that all the wanderers have returned, we shall start work by beginning to learn our letters,’ she said. ‘This is an “a”, this a “b”, this a “c”.’ She had been facing the blackboard, but suddenly she swung round, pointing an accusing finger at Kitty. ‘You spoke! After all I’ve said to you already, you actually dared to speak, when I had neither addressed you nor given you permission to do any such thing. If it weren’t the first day you would receive three strokes of the cane, but as it is, I’m warning you. One more word out of place . . .’
‘But miss . . . sister, I mean . . .’ Kitty said desperately, ‘I weren’t really speaking, I were just saying that Maeve learned me me letters weeks ago. And I can make words, little ones, and read ’em too. Maeve said to tell me teacher . . .’
But this, it seemed, was too much for Sister Enda. She crossed the room at incredible speed for so large a woman, jerked Kitty out of her chair, snatched her hand and flattened it out, holding it by the fingertips, and brought the ruler down sharply on the palm. It hurt, really badly. Kitty tried to wrench her hand away but the nun had too firm a grip on her fingers, and the ruler descended three more times, hurting abominably, before Sister Enda released her. Kitty knew her eyes were full of tears of pain and rage, but when she looked up into the nun’s face she saw that her pain was Sister Enda’s pleasure, and refused to let the drops fall. Instead, she sat down hard on the little chair and gazed stolidly ahead of her, until the sister turned back to the blackboard to continue her lesson. Only then did she flick the tears away with a forefinger, determining as she did so that she would never, never return to St Joseph’s. Maeve could teach her to read, or Clodagh, but she saw no reason to let herself be beaten by a vicious old woman who just happened to be her teacher.
For the rest of the morning, Kitty sat in her seat with her lips folded in a tight line. She had been hit on her left hand and, since she was left-handed, this made writing almost impossible, or would have done had writing been required. Since all they were expected to do, as yet, was to trace the shape of the first six letters of the alphabet on to their slates, she managed this as efficiently as the other children. Indeed, looking about her surreptitiously whenever the nun turned away, she thought her letters were probably the best she could see, despite her injured hand.