The Housemistress (8 page)

Confused, Rylie ends up at the back of the line and watches as Carriveau swings open the front door and proceeds to inspect the uniforms and appearances of all the girls before letting them leave the house, one at a time.

Upon passing inspection, she gives each a kiss on the forehead and sends them on their way. When she gets to Rylie, the last card in the deck, she’s pleased to find that all earlier wardrobe malfunctions have been corrected. Ready to bid her goodbye, she leans in for the standard kiss … but Rylie preempts her.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

“What? Since you molested me in the kitchen?” Carriveau chuckles. “I’ll survive.” She extends her hands in the motion of cupping Rylie’s cheeks, but holds only the air. “Now, you pass muster, so do you want a kiss from me, or not? I do so only with your permission. You have every right to refuse.”

Rylie dips her head, presenting her forehead for Carriveau’s lips.

Like last night, the kiss is innocent and fleeting. Carriveau is about to pull away, but Rylie leans forward and draws her into a hug—or tries to. Carriveau seizes Rylie’s arms before they manage to wrap all the way around her neck, and she brings the attempted closeness to an abrupt and premature end.

“Let’s not get carried away.” She keeps hold of Rylie’s hands, kissing her fingers. “Think of me like a rainbow,” she suggests. “Nice to look at, but always out of reach.
Tu comprends
?”

Suitably rebuffed, Rylie nods.

“
Merci, ma chère
.” Carriveau kisses her forehead again. “Off you go now. Don’t be late for your first registration!”

She hurries Rylie out of the house, sending her to join Gabby, who’s been waiting for her at the end of the small front garden. She waves the pair off, staying there by the door until Miss Ansell appears at her shoulder.

“Be careful with that one,” she warns.

“She just needs to find her way here, that’s all.” Carriveau turns away, her smile dissolving, Miss Ansell’s unwelcome advice stripping her good mood again. “She’ll manage.” The downcast Housemistress heads for her study. “As will I.”

CHAPTER SIX

The school bell screeches three times in quick succession, heralding morning break. That’s fifteen minutes between classes, in which time you can organize your notes for the next lesson, quickly grab a book from the library, or sneak a cigarette behind the indoor swimming pool at the south end of the campus.

“I owe you.” Rylie crouches against the red brick wall, sucking on the first cigarette she’s had in weeks. “I’ll pay you back as soon as my parents send me my allowance.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Gabby taps ash onto the ground. “My brother sneaks me in two packs a week, and he’s never asked for a penny. I reckon he’s nicking ‘em from somewhere.”

“What else can he get?”

“What else do you want?”

Rylie shrugs. “How do you get booze around here?”

When Gabby laughs, she snorts smoke through her nostrils. “I like your thinking.” She crushes the butt of her cigarette into the dirt. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got the mid-morning munchies.”

Rylie takes one more puff, flicks the end of her cigarette into a bush, grabs her backpack off the ground, and follows Gabby back to the main school building. On the way, they cut through a small courtyard between the swimming pool and the covered tennis courts, passing a modern art sculpture at its center.

The imposing metal artwork is over eight feet high and comprised of two sets of three metal spirals. They start from narrow points at the top, gradually widening as they twirl toward the ground, and there are three distinct ribbons entwined in each set: gold, blue, and purple. A pair of white frilly knickers is dangling on the upper tip of one gold spiral.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Gabby squints up at the undies. “Very respectful.”

Rylie studies the base of the sculpture, finding a dedication to Kaitlyn Simmons.

“Who’s this Kaitlyn chick? And what makes her so special?” She brushes a fallen leaf off the plaque. “I’ve seen her picture in the house.”

“She was a student here last year.”

“A gymnast?” Rylie guesses, pinging one of the metal swirls. “Ribbon twirling?”

Gabby nods. “And lacrosse. All sports really.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone, and you’d best not speak of her. Especially not to Miss Carriveau.” Gabby grabs Rylie’s hand, clasping her tightly. “Now foooooood!” She drags her new friend into the main school via a side door, their rubber-soled shoes slapping against the tiled floor.

Rounding a corner much too fast, they almost run headlong into Carriveau.

“Whoa!” Gabby skids to a halt, Rylie slamming into the back of her.

“
Ralentissez
!” Carriveau, laden with textbooks, orders them to slow down, one book slipping from her grasp. “
Faites attention, s’il vous plaît
.” She bends to retrieve the dropped text. “You girls are always in such a hurry.”

Crouched before them, she glances up to flash the pair a stern glare, but her attention is snagged instead by their interlocked fingers, a bracelet peeking out from under the cuff of Rylie’s cardigan. It’s an elasticated band of wooden, rainbow-colored beads.

“Sorry, Miss!” Gabby starts backing away. “Sugar emergency!”

“Wait.” Carriveau sets her books on a table of school pamphlets and calls them back.

She places a hand around each of their necks and tugs them forward, downward, and together, bringing their faces almost to her bosom as she leans over them, smelling their hair.

Busted.

She releases them, holding her hand out to Gabby, palm up. “Don’t make me ask.”

Gabby doesn’t. She reaches into her backpack and hands over the cigarettes.

“
Merci
.” Carriveau picks up her books, sets the cigarettes on top of the pile, and holds the bundle to her chest, concealing the contraband. “That’s the third time in as many weeks, Laurenson. You’re getting sloppy.”

“But I’m sixteen now,” the teen grumps.

“But the school still forbids it. Now freshen up before class,
oui
?” She steps aside to let them pass. “You have me in”—she checks her watch—“four minutes.”

“Yes, Miss.” Gabby drags Rylie away.

“Walk, don’t run,” Carriveau scolds them again. “And do be careful.” She fixes on their held hands. “You know how Missus Bursnell can be.”

Rylie tries to apologize to Carriveau, but Gabby yanks her around another corner and Carriveau isn’t looking anyway. They stop at a vending machine full of junk, and Gabby shoves enough money in to get a king-sized chocolate bar.

“Nom, nom, nom.” She tears the wrapper open. “Elevenses!”

Rylie casts her eyes over the machine’s offerings, nothing really sparking her interest until she spots a row of Skittles.

Taste the rainbow.

The candy’s slogan leaps into the forefront of her mind and stays there, so she plugs in some coins, makes her choice, and a bag drops down into the tray. Delving in her backpack for more money, she inserts all the coins that she has and selects another bag.

And another.

And another.

And another, until she’s drained the vending machine of Skittles.

“Jeepers! You’ve got a sweet tooth today, or what?” Gabby watches Rylie scoop them all out of the tray, struggling to hold them all.

“Yeah. Where can I get a bowl?”

Without any hesitation, Gabby strides over to the table of pamphlets, dumps out a bowlful of cheap, complimentary Larkhill fridge magnets, and passes the empty dish to Rylie.

“Whatchu up to? Who’s this for?” She watches, bemused, as Rylie dumps the Skittles out of their packets and fills the bowl.

“
Mademoiselle Carriveau
.” Rylie digs in her backpack for a notepad and pen.

“Sucking up already?” Gabby snorts. “Why Skittles? Bit odd, ain’t it? I believe tradition states that it’s s’posed to be an apple, yeah?”

Rylie scribbles out a note. “It’s sort of a private joke.”

“How do you have a private joke with our house mum?” Gabby pulls a face. “You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours.”

The bell rings for next class.

Rylie snatches up the bowl and lets Gabby lead the way to their English Language room, where she sets the offering down on Carriveau’s desk, propping the note up in the middle of it.

“You’re gonna get ribbed something chronic when other people find out about this.” Gabby grabs her arm and leads her to a desk in the middle of the room. “They’re gonna think you’re kissing her arse.”

“I’m not trying to win favor, I’m apologizing.”

“What for this time?” Gabby shoves Rylie into the seat next to her. “Don’t worry about the ciggies. She don’t give a monkey’s about that. She never reports anyone.”

“It’s not the smokes.”

“What, then? Your mouth been running off with you again?”

“Something like that.” Rylie organizes her books. “How can I tell if she likes me?”

“Did she tell you off?”

“No.”

“Then she likes you.” Gabby giggles, glancing over her shoulder at someone else in the class before lowering her voice. “Just watch you don’t get Adel all ruffled up.”

“What? Why?” Rylie cranks her neck to peer at Adel in the corner. “What’s it to her?”

“She’s Miss Carriveau’s little pet.”

With the clatter of pencil cases and the crinkle of notepaper dying down, Carriveau breezes into the room, making a beeline for her desk. Upon her entrance, the children stand respectfully, waiting to receive the command to sit.

That command is somewhat late in coming, however, as Carriveau reaches her desk and catches sight of the colorful bowl of candy. She sits, plucking the note from within it.

On one side, there’s a simple apology:
Je suis désolée, mais
…

She flips it over.

As much as she tries, she can’t fight the smile completely. Nor can she hide the blush on her cheeks, which only intensifies when she looks up and finds Rylie beaming at her.

Incapable of ignoring her hunger for sex, her cunt pulsing beneath her desk, it takes several seconds for her to compose herself enough to clear her throat and bark out the word “Sit.”

While the children settle themselves into their chairs, she crosses her legs, clenching her thighs together, trying not to think about how wet she is. Still flushed, she grabs a wad of papers off her desk and fans herself, making a token complaint about the temperature of the room.

Enthralled by this display, Gabby angles herself toward Rylie and whispers in her ear. “What the shit did you write in that note?!”

Of course, Rylie doesn’t tender an answer. Her own anatomy begins to throb as Carriveau’s eyes meet hers again, and her heart swells to bursting when Carriveau puts the note to one side. She doesn’t throw it in the trash, or hide it away in a drawer, she leans it against a stack of textbooks directly in front of her.

Further appreciation comes unexpectedly when, during a silent period of independent study, Carriveau gets up from her desk and weaves her way through the rows of students, peering over their shoulders to check on the progress of their work.

At Rylie’s desk, without adjusting her pace, she trails her hand over Rylie’s shoulders, from right to left. It begins much the same as their light contact had at breakfast, with her hand making its way up to Rylie’s right shoulder, but this time, she doesn’t stop. She gives a gentle squeeze, then tickles her fingertips over Rylie’s neck, beginning just below one ear and finishing below the other. From there, she slides her hand down Rylie’s left arm, then drifts away, moving on to another desk, clasping both hands behind her back.