鸽群中的猫07

Six

EARLY DAYS

IIn the Mistresses’ Common Room news was being exchanged. Foreign travel, plays seen, ArtExhibitions visited. Snapshots were handed round. The menace of coloured transparencies was inthe offing. All the enthusiasts¹ wanted to show their own pictures, but to get out of being forced tosee other people’s.

Presently conversation became less personal. The new Sports Pavilion was both criticized andadmired. It was admitted to be a fine building, but naturally everybody would have liked toimprove its design in one way or another.

The new girls were then briefly² passed in review, and, on the whole, the verdict was favourable³.

A little pleasant conversation was made to the two new members of the staff. Had MademoiselleBlanche been in England before? What part of France did she come from?

Mademoiselle Blanche replied politely but with reserve.

Miss Springer was more forthcoming.

She spoke⁴ with emphasis and decision. It might almost have been said that she was giving alecture. Subject: The excellence⁵ of Miss Springer. How much she had been appreciated as acolleague. How headmistresses had accepted her advice with gratitude⁶ and had reorganized theirschedules accordingly.

Miss Springer was not sensitive. A restlessness in her audience was not noticed by her. Itremained for Miss Johnson to ask in her mild tones:

“All the same, I expect your ideas haven’t always been accepted in the way they—er—shouldhave been.”

“One must be prepared for ingratitude,” said Miss Springer. Her voice, already loud, becamelouder. “The trouble is, people are so cowardly—won’t face facts. They often prefer not to seewhat’s under their noses all the time. I’m not like that. I go straight to the point. More than onceI’ve unearthed⁷ a nasty scandal—brought it into the open. I’ve a good nose—once I’m on the trail,I don’t leave it—not till I’ve pinned down my quarry⁸.” She gave a loud jolly laugh. “In myopinion, no one should teach in a school whose life isn’t an open book. If anyone’s got anything tohide, one can soon tell. Oh! you’d be surprised if I told you some of the things I’ve found outabout people. Things that nobody else had dreamed of.”

“You enjoyed that experience, yes?” said Mademoiselle Blanche.

“Of course not. Just doing my duty. But I wasn’t backed up. Shameful⁹ laxness. So I resigned—as a protest.”

She looked round and gave her jolly sporting laugh again.

“Hope nobody here has anything to hide,” she said gaily¹⁰.

Nobody was amused. But Miss Springer was not the kind of woman to notice that.

II

“Can I speak to you, Miss Bulstrode?”

Miss Bulstrode laid her pen aside and looked up into the flushed face of the matron, MissJohnson.

“Yes, Miss Johnson.”

“It’s that girl Shaista—the Egyptian girl or whatever she is.”

“Yes?”

“It’s her—er—underclothing.”

Miss Bulstrode’s eyebrows¹¹ rose in patient surprise.

“Her—well—her bust¹² bodice.”

“What is wrong with her brassière?”

“Well—it isn’t an ordinary kind—I mean it doesn’t hold her in, exactly. It—er—well it pushesher up—really quite unnecessarily.”

Miss Bulstrode bit her lip to keep back a smile, as so often when in colloquy¹³ with Miss Johnson.

“Perhaps I’d better come and look at it,” she said gravely.

A kind of inquest was then held with the offending contraption held up to display by MissJohnson, whilst Shaista looked on with lively interest.

“It’s this sort of wire and—er—boning arrangement,” said Miss Johnson with disapprobation.

Shaista burst into animated¹⁴ explanation.

“But you see my breasts they are not very big—not nearly big enough. I do not look enough likea woman. And it is very important for a girl—to show she is a woman and not a boy.”

“Plenty of time for that. You’re only fifteen,” said Miss Johnson.

“Fifteen—that is a woman! And I look like a woman, do I not?”

She appealed to Miss Bulstrode who nodded gravely.

“Only my breasts, they are poor. So I want to make them look not so poor. You understand?”

“I understand perfectly,” said Miss Bulstrode. “And I quite see your point of view. But in thisschool, you see, you are amongst girls who are, for the most part, English, and English girls arenot very often women at the age of fifteen. I like my girls to use makeup¹⁵ discreetly¹⁶ and to wearclothes suitable to their stage of growth. I suggest that you wear your brassière when you aredressed for a party or for going to London, but not every day here. We do a good deal of sportsand games here and for that your body needs to be free to move easily.”

“It is too much—all this running and jumping,” said Shaista sulkily, “and the P.T. I do not likeMiss Springer—she always says, ‘Faster, faster, do not slack.’ I get tired.”

“That will do, Shaista,” said Miss Bulstrode, her voice becoming authoritative¹⁷. “Your familyhas sent you here to learn English ways. All this exercise will be very good for your complexion,and for developing your bust.”

Dismissing Shaista, she smiled at the agitated¹⁸ Miss Johnson.

“It’s quite true,” she said. “The girl is fully¹⁹ mature. She might easily be over twenty by the lookof her. And that is what she feels like. You can’t expect her to feel the same age as Julia Upjohn,for instance. Intellectually Julia is far ahead of Shaista. Physically²⁰, she could quite well wear aliberty bodice still.”

“I wish they were all like Julia Upjohn,” said Miss Johnson.

“I don’t,” said Miss Bulstrode briskly. “A schoolful of girls all alike would be very dull.”

Dull, she thought, as she went back to her marking of Scripture²¹ essays. That word had beenrepeating itself in her brain for some time now. Dull….

If there was one thing her school was not, it was dull. During her career as its headmistress, sheherself had never felt dull. There had been difficulties to combat, unforeseen crises, irritations²² withparents, with children: domestic upheavals²³. She had met and dealt with incipient²⁴ disasters andturned them into triumphs. It had all been stimulating²⁵, exciting, supremely²⁷ worthwhile. And evennow, though she had made up her mind to it, she did not want to go.

She was physically in excellent health, almost as tough as when she and Chaddy (faithfulChaddy!) had started the great enterprise with a mere²⁸ handful of children and backing from abanker of unusual foresight²⁹. Chaddy’s academic distinctions had been better than hers, but it wasshe who had had the vision to plan and make of the school a place of such distinction that it wasknown all over Europe. She had never been afraid to experiment, whereas Chaddy had beencontent to teach soundly but unexcitingly what she knew. Chaddy’s supreme²⁶ achievement hadalways been to be there, at hand, the faithful buffer³⁰, quick to render assistance when assistancewas needed. As on the opening day of term with Lady Veronica. It was on her solidity, MissBulstrode reflected, that an exciting edifice³¹ had been built.

Well, from the material point of view, both women had done very well out of it. If they retirednow, they would both have a good assured income for the rest of their lives. Miss Bulstrodewondered if Chaddy would want to retire when she herself did? Probably not. Probably, to her, theschool was home. She would continue, faithful and reliable, to buttress³² up Miss Bulstrode’ssuccessor.

Because Miss Bulstrode had made up her mind—a successor there must be. Firstly associatedwith herself in joint³³ rule and then to rule alone. To know when to go—that was one of the greatnecessities of life. To go before one’s powers began to fail, one’s sure grip to loosen, before onefelt the faint staleness, the unwillingness³⁴ to envisage³⁵ continuing effort.

Miss Bulstrode finished marking the essays and noted³⁶ that the Upjohn child had an originalmind. Jennifer Sutcliffe had a complete lack of imagination, but showed an unusually sound graspof facts. Mary Vyse, of course, was scholarship class—a wonderful retentive³⁷ memory. But what adull girl! Dull—that word again. Miss Bulstrode dismissed it from her mind and rang for hersecretary.

She began to dictate³⁸ letters.

Dear Lady Valence. Jane has had some trouble with her ears. I enclose the doctor’s report—etc.

Dear Baron³⁹ Von Eisenger. We can certainly arrange for Hedwig to go to the Opera on theoccasion of Hellstern’s taking the role of Isolda—An hour passed swiftly. Miss Bulstrode seldom paused for a word. Ann Shapland’s pencil racedover the pad.

A very good secretary, Miss Bulstrode thought to herself. Better than Vera Lorrimer. Tiresomegirl, Vera. Throwing up her post so suddenly. A nervous breakdown⁴⁰, she had said. Something todo with a man, Miss Bulstrode thought resignedly. It was usually a man.

“That’s the lot,” said Miss Bulstrode, as she dictated⁴¹ the last word. She heaved a sigh of relief.

“So many dull things to be done,” she remarked. “Writing letters to parents is like feeding dogs.

Pop some soothing⁴² platitude⁴³ into every waiting mouth.”

Ann laughed. Miss Bulstrode looked at her appraisingly⁴⁴.

“What made you take up secretarial work?”

“I don’t quite know. I had no special bent⁴⁵ for anything in particular, and it’s the sort of thingalmost everybody drifts into.”

“You don’t find it monotonous⁴⁶?”

“I suppose I’ve been lucky. I’ve had a lot of different jobs. I was with Sir Mervyn Todhunter,the archaeologist, for a year, then I was with Sir Andrew Peters in Shell. I was secretary to MonicaLord, the actress, for a while—that really was hectic⁴⁷!” She smiled in remembrance.

“There’s a lot of that nowadays amongst you girls,” said Miss Bulstrode. “All this chopping andchanging.” She sounded disapproving⁴⁸.

“Actually, I can’t do anything for very long. I’ve got an invalid⁴⁹ mother. She’s rather—well—difficult from time to time. And then I have to go back home and take charge.”

“I see.”

“But all the same, I’m afraid I should chop and change anyway. I haven’t got the gift forcontinuity. I find chopping and changing far less dull.”

“Dull … ” murmured Miss Bulstrode, struck again by the fatal word.

Ann looked at her in surprise.

“Don’t mind me,” said Miss Bulstrode. “It’s just that sometimes one particular word seems tocrop up all the time. How would you have liked to be a schoolmistress?” she asked, with somecuriosity.

“I’m afraid I should hate it,” said Ann frankly⁵⁰.

“Why?”

“I’d find it terribly dull—Oh, I am sorry.”

She stopped in dismay.

“Teaching isn’t in the least dull,” said Miss Bulstrode with spirit. “It can be the most excitingthing in the world. I shall miss it terribly when I retire.”

“But surely—” Ann stared at her. “Are you thinking of retiring?”

“It’s decided—yes. Oh, I shan’t go for another year—or even two years.”

“But—why?”

“Because I’ve given my best to the school—and had the best from it. I don’t want second best.”

“The school will carry on?”

“Oh yes. I have a good successor.”

“Miss Vansittart, I suppose?”

“So you fix on her automatically?” Miss Bulstrode looked at her sharply, “That’s interesting—”

“I’m afraid I hadn’t really thought about it. I’ve just overheard the staff talking. I should thinkshe’ll carry on very well—exactly in your tradition. And she’s very striking-looking, handsomeand with quite a presence. I imagine that’s important, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. Yes, I’m sure Eleanor Vansittart is the right person.”

“She’ll carry on where you leave off,” said Ann gathering⁵¹ up her things.

But do I want that? thought Miss Bulstrode to herself as Ann went out. Carry on where I leaveoff? That’s just what Eleanor will do! No new experiments, nothing revolutionary. That wasn’t theway I made Meadowbank what it is. I took chances. I upset lots of people. I bullied⁵² and cajoled,and refused to follow the pattern of other schools. Isn’t that what I want to follow on here now?

Someone to pour new life into the school. Some dynamic personality … like—yes—Eileen Rich.

But Eileen wasn’t old enough, hadn’t enough experience. She was stimulating, though, shecould teach. She had ideas. She would never be dull—Nonsense, she must get that word out of hermind. Eleanor Vansittart was not dull….

She looked up as Miss Chadwick came in.

“Oh, Chaddy,” she said. “I am pleased to see you!”

Miss Chadwick looked a little surprised.

“Why? Is anything the matter?”

“I’m the matter. I don’t know my own mind.”

“That’s very unlike you, Honoria.”

“Yes, isn’t it? How’s the term going, Chaddy?”

“Quite all right, I think.” Miss Chadwick sounded a little unsure.

Miss Bulstrode pounced⁵³.

“Now then. Don’t hedge. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Really, Honoria, nothing at all. It’s just—” Miss Chadwick wrinkled up her foreheadand looked rather like a perplexed⁵⁴ Boxer⁵⁵ dog—“Oh, a feeling. But really it’s nothing that I can puta finger on. The new girls seem a pleasant lot. I don’t care for Mademoiselle Blanche very much.

But then I didn’t like Geneviève Depuy, either. Sly.”

Miss Bulstrode did not pay very much attention to this criticism. Chaddy always accused theFrench mistresses of being sly.

“She’s not a good teacher,” said Miss Bulstrode. “Surprising really. Her testimonials were sogood.”

“The French never can teach. No discipline,” said Miss Chadwick. “And really Miss Springer isa little too much of a good thing! Leaps about so. Springer by nature as well as by name….”

“She’s good at her job.”

“Oh yes, first class.”

“New staff is always upsetting,” said Miss Bulstrode.

“Yes,” agreed Miss Chadwick eagerly. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than that. By the way, thatnew gardener is quite young. So unusual nowadays. No gardeners seem to be young. A pity he’sso good-looking. We shall have to keep a sharp eye open.”

The two ladies nodded their heads in agreement. They knew, none better, the havoc⁵⁶ caused by agood-looking young man to the hearts of adolescent girls.

 

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