The Kingscote Term
Feb. 3rd, 2008 06:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlyswotThis is a story I've had in mind to write for a while now. It was originally going to be quite a lot longer and include a lot more juicy staff room gossip. I was slightly stymied by a canon fact I'd forgotten (did you know that Miss Hellier leaves 3 days after the 'incident'? So I couldn't do the play and the Cricket Cup and the Prosser and all those fun things.) Sorry. Anyway, it seemed to fit with one of ankaret 's unfulfilled Yuletide requests, though I'm not sure this is quite what she had in mind when she wanted something set at Kingscote.
It'll probably be incomprehensible if you've never read Antonia Forest's marvellous 'The Cricket Term'.
ankaret 's unfulfilled Yuletide requests, though I'm not sure this is quite what she had in mind when she wanted something set at Kingscote. It'll probably be incomprehensible if you've never read Antonia Forest's marvellous 'The Cricket Term'.
i. An inauspicious start
Joanna Hellier never consciously intended to become a teacher. At school she was always considered a solid student, rather than an able one. She worked hard to gain respectable passes in her three A-levels and watched enviously as others effortlessly surpassed her. During the first term of her final year at Henchester Grammar, the formidable Head of Sixth Form, Miss Drew, summoned Joanna into her office, fixed her with a stern gaze and instructed her to submit an application to Wadebridge Teacher Training College.
Two years later, Joanna Hellier had survived, and even at times quite enjoyed, the theoretical part of her course. There had been three brief forays into actual classrooms, each time under close supervision. Joanna found these increasingly alarming. She would work long into the night, laboriously preparing worksheets and outlines, then get up early to go in and Roneo copies for them all. Then some child would ask a question she hadn’t been expecting, Joanna would get flustered and the worksheets would stay in their neat pile.
Her fellow trainees had all been eager to get out of the lecture halls and into their respective schools. Joanna knew that she was thought to have the cushy billet with Kingscote. A private girl's school? How hard could it be? They’d all be eager and polite, with their posh accents and smart uniforms. Joanna was sure she ought to be feeling frustrated not to be in some secondary modern, capturing the imagination of scruffy louts from council estates. Still, she’d experienced a profound sense of relief when she’d seen the list and was honest enough not to pretend otherwise.
The letter from Miss Kempe, enclosing timetable, syllabi and calendar had hardly been effusive. In addition to her teaching responsibilities, Miss Hellier would be expected to take up residence in the Junior Boarding House where she would undertake Assistant House Mistress duties three evenings each week and every other weekend. Furthermore, the school play to be performed in the last week of the term was The Tempest and Miss Hellier would be required to coach several of the minor parts. Miss Kempe reminded Miss Hellier that Kingscote was a school which depended in large measure on its academic reputation and that she could expect high standards of all her classes in courtesy, diligence and achievement.
The taxi had taken her to the front of the main school building. Joanna picked up her suitcase in her left hand and her smart new leather bag in the other and climbed the impressive stone steps to the door. For an instant she hesitated, wondering if she should ring or go straight in. Then the door swung outwards, narrowly missing Joanna, and a tall woman of uncertain age appeared. Catching sight of Joanna, she paused, subjecting the younger woman to an unmistakeably critical survey. Joanna instinctively retreated to a lower step.
‘Did your mother write?’
The impersonal tones that compelled an answer reminded Joanna forcibly of being in one of Miss Drew's mathematics lessons. It was very difficult to give a response when you had no notion what the question signified.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she offered hesitantly, with a deferential smile.
‘To let the school know that you would be arriving early. There are two more days before term begins.’
Joanna clutched her bag more tightly. ‘No, you see, I’m not…’
The woman tutted loudly.
‘My name is Joanna Hellier. I’m from Wadebridge College. I’m here to do my teaching practice.’
Steel grey eyebrows rose above the piercing blue eyes. ‘Then it is I who must beg your pardon, Miss Hellier. I believe your rooms are in the Junior Side, are they not? You will find a path leading to the left just beyond the rose garden. Welcome to Kingscote.’
Joanna watched in awe as the woman walked imperiously down the steps, along the terrace, and eventually out of sight. She knew she had been snubbed but somehow, she felt she had perhaps deserved it, though really she couldn’t have said why.
ii. Getting by
‘Miss Hellier! Miss Hellier! Look, Bunty’s turning almost green. Shall I take her to Matron?’
‘Miss Hellier! Can I open the window now?’
‘Did you say pages ten to fourteen, Miss Hellier?’
Joanna’s eyes darted from one eager, devious little face to another. That child really didn’t seem to be well. And if they were prepared to go to Matron, who was quite the most alarming woman Joanna had ever met, then perhaps that would be best. She reached for her handkerchief and pressed it to her forehead. It was quite warm in the room. Yes, very well. She nodded to the child who was poised by the sash window.
‘Miss Hellier, the homework?’ repeated the last voice, shrill and insistent.
‘Yes, let me see.’ She sifted through the untidy pile of pages on her desk. ‘Forty. Ten to forty.’
‘One-four? Or four-zero?’
Great heavens, would they never be quiet? Joanna reached for the piece of chalk and turned to write the page numbers on the blackboard. Immediately, the room fell completely and unnervingly silent. She looked back to see what mischief they were plotting, but each head was bent diligently over its book, copying down the work. She permitted herself a small sigh of relief. There were only ten more minutes before the blessed bell would ring.
‘Take out your reading books,’ she instructed. ‘You may spend the rest of the lesson in silence.’
One by one, the girls reached into their desks and brought out an odd assortment of texts. As they opened the pages, Joanna let out the breath she had been holding and cautiously retook her seat behind the teacher’s desk. She was always amazed when she was obeyed without question or debate. Especially by the Seconds, who were always eager to offer their own suggestions as improvements on any scheme Miss Hellier proposed.
Miss Kempe had informed her on her first day that Kingscote girls were always polite and helpful towards student teachers and that she would have nothing to worry about. A week later, Joanna had attempted to explain how it was the excessive politeness and helpfulness that made her so uncomfortable. Miss Kempe had listened with an amused look in her eyes and shaken her head.
‘Nonsense. Just tell them what you want them to do and be firm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see Miss Keith.’
That had been about the Play, of course. Joanna didn’t quite know how they managed it, but the capital P was quite evident whenever anyone talked about the Play. All sorts of wranglings about the Play happened in the staff room. Miss Redmond resented the way that rehearsals took precedence over team practices, though Miss Craven was an enthusiastic supporter. At times it appeared to Joanna that Miss Craven’s support was loudest when Miss Redmond was in the vicinity. Miss Boyd and Miss Bellamy made quite a point of having nothing to do with the Play at all, loudly changing the subject whenever it was raised. Miss Cromwell, who Joanna still took pains to avoid as far as she was able without making it obvious, had stated her opinions during the first staff meeting of the term. Any of her pupils whose work was found to be suffering due to their involvement in the Play would be out. Miss Kempe had pursed her lips, but no one had dared to contradict Miss Cromwell. The girls called her ‘Ironsides’ and Joanna could quite see why.
Of all her classes, Joanna found Miss Cromwell’s form quite the most alarming. The Headmistress’s niece sat in the front row and Joanna was quite sure that Thalia noticed everything. As if that ironic gaze wasn’t sufficiently disturbing, the dark little Jewish girl who sat beside Thalia had a way of looking down her nose at Joanna that made her instantly conscious of her cheap, navy blue suit that didn’t quite fit over her shoulders. Everything about Miranda was sharp – the point of her nose, the look in her eyes, the working of her mind.
The twins were in that class, too. Joanna had been somewhat disconcerted to see just how similar they appeared, more so than any twins she’d ever seen. She’d quickly discovered that there would be no difficulty distinguishing them, however. From the first time she’d asked Lawrence to read aloud, she’d understood why Miss Kempe always talked about her as an exceptional talent. Nicola was competent and interested, but it was Lawrie who could make texts come alive. And it was Lawrie who, often long after the class had moved on to another topic, would unexpectedly come out with a startlingly profound observation that left Joanna reeling.
The bell rang and Joanna promptly dismissed the Seconds. She collected her things together and made her way towards the staff room. As a student teacher, she had not been allocated a desk in the classroom, but there was a corner of the large, communal table where she liked to sit, well out of the way of everyone else. She still felt like an interloper, like a pupil who’d slipped inside the teachers’ inner sanctum by mistake.
Over by the fireplace, Miss Kempe was having yet another tense conversation with Miss Ussher.
‘Miss Hellier!’ She jumped, almost spilling her coffee, when the English teacher turned to address her.
‘Yes, Miss Kempe?’
‘What is your opinion of Lawrence Marlow?’
Joanna knew that she was growing red and she could hear herself stammering. ‘Well, she, er, well of course she can…’
Miss Kempe’s eyes narrowed, though she said nothing.
‘She reads well in class,’ Joanna managed.
‘And in rehearsal? Miss Ussher has been trying to persuade me to consider allowing Nicola to take the part.’
Joanna shook her head immediately. ‘Oh, no. Nicola couldn’t play Ariel.’
Miss Kempe nodded, a satisfied smile on her lips. ‘Quite. What do you say to Miranda West?’
She thought for a moment about the quick, decided face of the demon who haunted the front row. ‘There’s something about her.’
Miss Ussher shrugged. ‘Her singing voice would be well up to it, though it’s nothing on Nicola’s, of course. But will Miss Keith…’
Miss Kempe made a frustrated gesture. ‘If only those children hadn’t taken it upon themselves to recast the Christmas Play…’
‘Miss Kempe?’
She nodded permission for Joanna to continue.
‘Why couldn’t… I mean, why wasn’t Lawrie asked to audition for Caliban? I know she wants to…’
‘That child has become too accustomed to getting what she wants.’ Miss Cromwell took up her position in front of the fire, looking down her nose and daring Miss Kempe to disagree with her. ‘It’s about time she learned to do what other people want.’
Joanna retreated behind her coffee mug. She wasn’t about to take on Miss Cromwell with the whole staff room watching, but she felt a sudden sympathy for Lawrie. All her life, Joanna had found herself doing what other people wanted and it was no fun. Even when they assured you it was within your capabilities and told you what to do. She’d watched the rehearsals and she’d seen a wholly different Lawrie in her lessons. The child wasn’t interested in Ariel and Joanna could see no reason in trying to make her so.
Miss Kempe, Miss Ussher and Miss Cromwell had abandoned their discussion in favour of some mild banter concerning the Cricket Cup. Apparently Miss Cromwell’s form were batting well above their expectations, much to their form mistress’s delight. There was a small staff sweepstake which Miss Kempe, as the Sixth Form’s mistress, was accustomed to taking. Miss Cromwell rubbed her nose and smiled down at Miss Kempe, suggesting that she shouldn’t count her chickens this year.
iii. Disaster
There were just a few days left. Joanna hadn’t actually been crossing days off her calendar, but she knew exactly how many hours she had still to teach. All her lessons were planned out, though there was still some marking to complete and reports to be written. The book reports that the Seconds had written were stacked in one neat pile and the Sixth’s essays comparing Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Hazlitt’s reviews of The Tempest were in another. In the middle lay Lower IV. A’s attempts at parsing a paragraph from Henry James.
Joanna slipped them into her bag and picked up her annotated copy. It should take them the full forty minutes to work through the exercise, given the number of errors some of the girls had made. And after that, she would never need to face these girls again. She took a deep breath and left the comparative security of the staff room.
The girl who opened the door was smiling broadly as she entered the classroom. She put her things on the desk and turned to greet the class, waiting for them to respond as they always did with an unnerving level of cheerful politeness. Joanna nodded to them to sit down and took up their homework to be returned.
‘Please, Miss Hellier.’
She looked up to see who was asking for her attention. ‘Yes. Linda?’ She hoped she had that right.
‘Please, Miss Hellier, Nicola isn’t here.’ Linda indicated the empty desk beside her where, indeed, Nicola Marlow usually sat. Joanna instinctively looked one row back and found Lawrie, unmistakeably Lawrie, leaning back nonchalantly on her chair, wholly unconcerned by the absence of her twin.
‘No, well, I…’
‘She wouldn’t miss class, Miss Hellier,’ someone else – Esther, was that her name? – put in. ‘Not unless she was ill or… or… hurt or…’ Goodness, the child was about to burst into tears.
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Joanna said, trying to sound confident.
‘Could I go and look for her?’
No one ever told you what to do when there was a crisis. Joanna picked up the board cloth and began to twist it between her fingers. ‘Er, well, I don’t know. Is that what you normally do?’
She hoped she’d imagined the spark in Miranda West’s eye when she replied, ‘Yes, of course.’ But they were all nodding in agreement.
‘Well, perhaps some of you had better, then.’
Pens were laid down and chairs pushed back. Joanna watched in horror as the whole class seemed to get up. ‘No, I mean, I don’t think you all need… Some of you could stay… Come back…. Oh dear.’
The classroom wasn’t quite empty. ‘Margaret, isn’t it?’
The girl nodded.
‘I think I’d better…’ Joanna darted an anxious glance towards the door. ‘Will you be all right here?’
‘Yes, Miss Hellier. Should I read my book?’
‘Yes, fine. I… Oh dear.’
She’d heard stories, of course, of teachers who failed. Pupils who were disobedient, who never did homework, who made jokes at their teacher’s expense. She’d never heard of a teacher who’d let her whole class disappear.
Joanna bit her lip and prayed that she wouldn’t cross the path of any other member of staff. If only she could get them back before the end of the lesson. Ah, there was one… She groaned inwardly. They were going outside.
It wasn’t that any of them were being rude, she thought helplessly. Nor even disobedient. Just that whenever she managed to catch up with one or two of them, they’d darted away to go and look for Nicola elsewhere. Not that all of them were looking, exactly. Lawrie Marlow was turning cartwheels. Some of them were dancing. Joanna had no idea what to do. Her heels kept catching on the grass as she tried to persuade the girls to go back in. She put up one hand to try to keep her hair from coming down out of its bun. She must look a frightful state.
Oh, thank goodness, Maggie Sutton had stopped running out towards the sports pitches. And the dancers seemed to have given up their chants. In fact, all the girls were heading back towards the school. Perhaps they had found Nicola. Joanna turned back gratefully, then stopped in her stride. Miss Cromwell was standing on the steps, surveying her form with utter distaste. She had not, so far as Joanna could tell, spoken a word. Yet every girl was hurrying back to the classroom in meek obedience.
Joanna brushed away her tears. She would not allow Miss Cromwell to see how easily she had been defeated. She squared her shoulders as best she could and walked back to the steps.
‘I’m sorry…’ she began.
‘I apologise,’ Miss Cromwell announced briskly, ‘that you have been treated to the most vulgar and ill-disciplined breach of manners that I have seen in all my time at Kingscote. You may trust me to deal with the situation as it deserves. I suggest that you go and sit quietly in the staff room until your next lesson. And there’s no need to cry. We all have to learn.’
Joanna nodded feebly. She was sure Miss Cromwell had never had to learn in quite this fashion.
‘I can only apologise again that it was my form who behaved so disgracefully. But I promise you there will now be blood for breakfast.’
Miss Cromwell turned on her hell and swept up the staircase leaving Joanna somewhat startled by the vehemence of her final statement.
iv. Moving on
She had hardly expected anyone to notice that she was leaving, other than Miss Kempe and Miss Miller who would be taking back their classes, so Joanna was somewhat taken aback to receive a small pile of cards by her place at the breakfast table.
Miss Ussher leaned across. ‘You’ll come to watch the Play, of course?’
Joanna hadn’t thought about it. ‘Well, I…’
‘Certainly,’ Miss Kempe answered. ‘You’ll wish to see how your budding actors perform.’
She had enjoyed the time she had spent with Elisabeth Cardigan and Denise Fenton. There had been a few of the younger girls who had asked for Miss Hellier’s help as well.
She nodded. ‘Yes. Possibly. If I can make it.’
‘Miss Hellier.’
Joanna swallowed her mouthful of toast and marmalade and turned nervously to greet Miss Cromwell.
‘Miss Hellier, I should be most grateful if you would spare me a few moments of your time after breakfast. I shall be in the staff room.’
There was no possible way to refuse. Joanna decided that she didn’t really want another slice of bread. She eked out her cup of tea for as long as she dared after Miss Keith had dismissed the girls. Finally, she picked up her post and made her way to the staff room. It was usually empty on Sunday mornings, and today there was only Miss Cromwell, standing by the mantelpiece, waiting for her.
‘Sit down.’
Joanna sat in one of the uncomfortable armchairs. Miss Cromwell took the other.
‘Do you want to be a teacher, Miss Hellier?’
Joanna blinked. No one had ever asked her that before. They had always assumed she did. She had even begun to assume it herself. That was what she was working for, after all.
‘Well, I…’ She stopped. ‘I don’t know.’
Miss Cromwell eyed her closely.
‘There are other jobs. Teaching is not for everyone.’
Joanna shook her head. ‘But…’
‘Think about it, Miss Hellier. Better to bow out now than to spend the rest of your life being miserable.’
Struck quite dumb, Joanna could merely nod.
‘That is, of course, merely my personal advice. I daresay that Miss Kempe has given your lecturers her own assessment of your abilities.’
Joanna bit her lip. She could imagine what that would be.
Miss Cromwell stood. ‘I think you have grown accustomed to pleasing other people, Miss Hellier. Perhaps now is a good time to think about what it is that you want.’ With a final nod towards Joanna, she left the room.
What did she want? Joanna began to flick through the pile of cards on her lap, recognising the handwriting on several. One large envelope from the Seconds; a handful from members of Lower IV.A; something from the Sixth. They were nice girls, she realised, but she hadn’t been able to teach them at all.
Miss Cromwell was right. She couldn’t possibly do this for the rest of her life. She didn’t want to be a teacher. She never had.
Joanna smiled. Standing up, she walked over to the fire and, before she could regret it, she threw the cards into the flames. She had no idea what she was going to do once she’d left Kingscote, but whatever it was, she was going to enjoy it.
Joanna Hellier never consciously intended to become a teacher. At school she was always considered a solid student, rather than an able one. She worked hard to gain respectable passes in her three A-levels and watched enviously as others effortlessly surpassed her. During the first term of her final year at Henchester Grammar, the formidable Head of Sixth Form, Miss Drew, summoned Joanna into her office, fixed her with a stern gaze and instructed her to submit an application to Wadebridge Teacher Training College.
Two years later, Joanna Hellier had survived, and even at times quite enjoyed, the theoretical part of her course. There had been three brief forays into actual classrooms, each time under close supervision. Joanna found these increasingly alarming. She would work long into the night, laboriously preparing worksheets and outlines, then get up early to go in and Roneo copies for them all. Then some child would ask a question she hadn’t been expecting, Joanna would get flustered and the worksheets would stay in their neat pile.
Her fellow trainees had all been eager to get out of the lecture halls and into their respective schools. Joanna knew that she was thought to have the cushy billet with Kingscote. A private girl's school? How hard could it be? They’d all be eager and polite, with their posh accents and smart uniforms. Joanna was sure she ought to be feeling frustrated not to be in some secondary modern, capturing the imagination of scruffy louts from council estates. Still, she’d experienced a profound sense of relief when she’d seen the list and was honest enough not to pretend otherwise.
The letter from Miss Kempe, enclosing timetable, syllabi and calendar had hardly been effusive. In addition to her teaching responsibilities, Miss Hellier would be expected to take up residence in the Junior Boarding House where she would undertake Assistant House Mistress duties three evenings each week and every other weekend. Furthermore, the school play to be performed in the last week of the term was The Tempest and Miss Hellier would be required to coach several of the minor parts. Miss Kempe reminded Miss Hellier that Kingscote was a school which depended in large measure on its academic reputation and that she could expect high standards of all her classes in courtesy, diligence and achievement.
The taxi had taken her to the front of the main school building. Joanna picked up her suitcase in her left hand and her smart new leather bag in the other and climbed the impressive stone steps to the door. For an instant she hesitated, wondering if she should ring or go straight in. Then the door swung outwards, narrowly missing Joanna, and a tall woman of uncertain age appeared. Catching sight of Joanna, she paused, subjecting the younger woman to an unmistakeably critical survey. Joanna instinctively retreated to a lower step.
‘Did your mother write?’
The impersonal tones that compelled an answer reminded Joanna forcibly of being in one of Miss Drew's mathematics lessons. It was very difficult to give a response when you had no notion what the question signified.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she offered hesitantly, with a deferential smile.
‘To let the school know that you would be arriving early. There are two more days before term begins.’
Joanna clutched her bag more tightly. ‘No, you see, I’m not…’
The woman tutted loudly.
‘My name is Joanna Hellier. I’m from Wadebridge College. I’m here to do my teaching practice.’
Steel grey eyebrows rose above the piercing blue eyes. ‘Then it is I who must beg your pardon, Miss Hellier. I believe your rooms are in the Junior Side, are they not? You will find a path leading to the left just beyond the rose garden. Welcome to Kingscote.’
Joanna watched in awe as the woman walked imperiously down the steps, along the terrace, and eventually out of sight. She knew she had been snubbed but somehow, she felt she had perhaps deserved it, though really she couldn’t have said why.
ii. Getting by
‘Miss Hellier! Miss Hellier! Look, Bunty’s turning almost green. Shall I take her to Matron?’
‘Miss Hellier! Can I open the window now?’
‘Did you say pages ten to fourteen, Miss Hellier?’
Joanna’s eyes darted from one eager, devious little face to another. That child really didn’t seem to be well. And if they were prepared to go to Matron, who was quite the most alarming woman Joanna had ever met, then perhaps that would be best. She reached for her handkerchief and pressed it to her forehead. It was quite warm in the room. Yes, very well. She nodded to the child who was poised by the sash window.
‘Miss Hellier, the homework?’ repeated the last voice, shrill and insistent.
‘Yes, let me see.’ She sifted through the untidy pile of pages on her desk. ‘Forty. Ten to forty.’
‘One-four? Or four-zero?’
Great heavens, would they never be quiet? Joanna reached for the piece of chalk and turned to write the page numbers on the blackboard. Immediately, the room fell completely and unnervingly silent. She looked back to see what mischief they were plotting, but each head was bent diligently over its book, copying down the work. She permitted herself a small sigh of relief. There were only ten more minutes before the blessed bell would ring.
‘Take out your reading books,’ she instructed. ‘You may spend the rest of the lesson in silence.’
One by one, the girls reached into their desks and brought out an odd assortment of texts. As they opened the pages, Joanna let out the breath she had been holding and cautiously retook her seat behind the teacher’s desk. She was always amazed when she was obeyed without question or debate. Especially by the Seconds, who were always eager to offer their own suggestions as improvements on any scheme Miss Hellier proposed.
Miss Kempe had informed her on her first day that Kingscote girls were always polite and helpful towards student teachers and that she would have nothing to worry about. A week later, Joanna had attempted to explain how it was the excessive politeness and helpfulness that made her so uncomfortable. Miss Kempe had listened with an amused look in her eyes and shaken her head.
‘Nonsense. Just tell them what you want them to do and be firm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see Miss Keith.’
That had been about the Play, of course. Joanna didn’t quite know how they managed it, but the capital P was quite evident whenever anyone talked about the Play. All sorts of wranglings about the Play happened in the staff room. Miss Redmond resented the way that rehearsals took precedence over team practices, though Miss Craven was an enthusiastic supporter. At times it appeared to Joanna that Miss Craven’s support was loudest when Miss Redmond was in the vicinity. Miss Boyd and Miss Bellamy made quite a point of having nothing to do with the Play at all, loudly changing the subject whenever it was raised. Miss Cromwell, who Joanna still took pains to avoid as far as she was able without making it obvious, had stated her opinions during the first staff meeting of the term. Any of her pupils whose work was found to be suffering due to their involvement in the Play would be out. Miss Kempe had pursed her lips, but no one had dared to contradict Miss Cromwell. The girls called her ‘Ironsides’ and Joanna could quite see why.
Of all her classes, Joanna found Miss Cromwell’s form quite the most alarming. The Headmistress’s niece sat in the front row and Joanna was quite sure that Thalia noticed everything. As if that ironic gaze wasn’t sufficiently disturbing, the dark little Jewish girl who sat beside Thalia had a way of looking down her nose at Joanna that made her instantly conscious of her cheap, navy blue suit that didn’t quite fit over her shoulders. Everything about Miranda was sharp – the point of her nose, the look in her eyes, the working of her mind.
The twins were in that class, too. Joanna had been somewhat disconcerted to see just how similar they appeared, more so than any twins she’d ever seen. She’d quickly discovered that there would be no difficulty distinguishing them, however. From the first time she’d asked Lawrence to read aloud, she’d understood why Miss Kempe always talked about her as an exceptional talent. Nicola was competent and interested, but it was Lawrie who could make texts come alive. And it was Lawrie who, often long after the class had moved on to another topic, would unexpectedly come out with a startlingly profound observation that left Joanna reeling.
The bell rang and Joanna promptly dismissed the Seconds. She collected her things together and made her way towards the staff room. As a student teacher, she had not been allocated a desk in the classroom, but there was a corner of the large, communal table where she liked to sit, well out of the way of everyone else. She still felt like an interloper, like a pupil who’d slipped inside the teachers’ inner sanctum by mistake.
Over by the fireplace, Miss Kempe was having yet another tense conversation with Miss Ussher.
‘Miss Hellier!’ She jumped, almost spilling her coffee, when the English teacher turned to address her.
‘Yes, Miss Kempe?’
‘What is your opinion of Lawrence Marlow?’
Joanna knew that she was growing red and she could hear herself stammering. ‘Well, she, er, well of course she can…’
Miss Kempe’s eyes narrowed, though she said nothing.
‘She reads well in class,’ Joanna managed.
‘And in rehearsal? Miss Ussher has been trying to persuade me to consider allowing Nicola to take the part.’
Joanna shook her head immediately. ‘Oh, no. Nicola couldn’t play Ariel.’
Miss Kempe nodded, a satisfied smile on her lips. ‘Quite. What do you say to Miranda West?’
She thought for a moment about the quick, decided face of the demon who haunted the front row. ‘There’s something about her.’
Miss Ussher shrugged. ‘Her singing voice would be well up to it, though it’s nothing on Nicola’s, of course. But will Miss Keith…’
Miss Kempe made a frustrated gesture. ‘If only those children hadn’t taken it upon themselves to recast the Christmas Play…’
‘Miss Kempe?’
She nodded permission for Joanna to continue.
‘Why couldn’t… I mean, why wasn’t Lawrie asked to audition for Caliban? I know she wants to…’
‘That child has become too accustomed to getting what she wants.’ Miss Cromwell took up her position in front of the fire, looking down her nose and daring Miss Kempe to disagree with her. ‘It’s about time she learned to do what other people want.’
Joanna retreated behind her coffee mug. She wasn’t about to take on Miss Cromwell with the whole staff room watching, but she felt a sudden sympathy for Lawrie. All her life, Joanna had found herself doing what other people wanted and it was no fun. Even when they assured you it was within your capabilities and told you what to do. She’d watched the rehearsals and she’d seen a wholly different Lawrie in her lessons. The child wasn’t interested in Ariel and Joanna could see no reason in trying to make her so.
Miss Kempe, Miss Ussher and Miss Cromwell had abandoned their discussion in favour of some mild banter concerning the Cricket Cup. Apparently Miss Cromwell’s form were batting well above their expectations, much to their form mistress’s delight. There was a small staff sweepstake which Miss Kempe, as the Sixth Form’s mistress, was accustomed to taking. Miss Cromwell rubbed her nose and smiled down at Miss Kempe, suggesting that she shouldn’t count her chickens this year.
iii. Disaster
There were just a few days left. Joanna hadn’t actually been crossing days off her calendar, but she knew exactly how many hours she had still to teach. All her lessons were planned out, though there was still some marking to complete and reports to be written. The book reports that the Seconds had written were stacked in one neat pile and the Sixth’s essays comparing Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Hazlitt’s reviews of The Tempest were in another. In the middle lay Lower IV. A’s attempts at parsing a paragraph from Henry James.
Joanna slipped them into her bag and picked up her annotated copy. It should take them the full forty minutes to work through the exercise, given the number of errors some of the girls had made. And after that, she would never need to face these girls again. She took a deep breath and left the comparative security of the staff room.
The girl who opened the door was smiling broadly as she entered the classroom. She put her things on the desk and turned to greet the class, waiting for them to respond as they always did with an unnerving level of cheerful politeness. Joanna nodded to them to sit down and took up their homework to be returned.
‘Please, Miss Hellier.’
She looked up to see who was asking for her attention. ‘Yes. Linda?’ She hoped she had that right.
‘Please, Miss Hellier, Nicola isn’t here.’ Linda indicated the empty desk beside her where, indeed, Nicola Marlow usually sat. Joanna instinctively looked one row back and found Lawrie, unmistakeably Lawrie, leaning back nonchalantly on her chair, wholly unconcerned by the absence of her twin.
‘No, well, I…’
‘She wouldn’t miss class, Miss Hellier,’ someone else – Esther, was that her name? – put in. ‘Not unless she was ill or… or… hurt or…’ Goodness, the child was about to burst into tears.
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Joanna said, trying to sound confident.
‘Could I go and look for her?’
No one ever told you what to do when there was a crisis. Joanna picked up the board cloth and began to twist it between her fingers. ‘Er, well, I don’t know. Is that what you normally do?’
She hoped she’d imagined the spark in Miranda West’s eye when she replied, ‘Yes, of course.’ But they were all nodding in agreement.
‘Well, perhaps some of you had better, then.’
Pens were laid down and chairs pushed back. Joanna watched in horror as the whole class seemed to get up. ‘No, I mean, I don’t think you all need… Some of you could stay… Come back…. Oh dear.’
The classroom wasn’t quite empty. ‘Margaret, isn’t it?’
The girl nodded.
‘I think I’d better…’ Joanna darted an anxious glance towards the door. ‘Will you be all right here?’
‘Yes, Miss Hellier. Should I read my book?’
‘Yes, fine. I… Oh dear.’
She’d heard stories, of course, of teachers who failed. Pupils who were disobedient, who never did homework, who made jokes at their teacher’s expense. She’d never heard of a teacher who’d let her whole class disappear.
Joanna bit her lip and prayed that she wouldn’t cross the path of any other member of staff. If only she could get them back before the end of the lesson. Ah, there was one… She groaned inwardly. They were going outside.
It wasn’t that any of them were being rude, she thought helplessly. Nor even disobedient. Just that whenever she managed to catch up with one or two of them, they’d darted away to go and look for Nicola elsewhere. Not that all of them were looking, exactly. Lawrie Marlow was turning cartwheels. Some of them were dancing. Joanna had no idea what to do. Her heels kept catching on the grass as she tried to persuade the girls to go back in. She put up one hand to try to keep her hair from coming down out of its bun. She must look a frightful state.
Oh, thank goodness, Maggie Sutton had stopped running out towards the sports pitches. And the dancers seemed to have given up their chants. In fact, all the girls were heading back towards the school. Perhaps they had found Nicola. Joanna turned back gratefully, then stopped in her stride. Miss Cromwell was standing on the steps, surveying her form with utter distaste. She had not, so far as Joanna could tell, spoken a word. Yet every girl was hurrying back to the classroom in meek obedience.
Joanna brushed away her tears. She would not allow Miss Cromwell to see how easily she had been defeated. She squared her shoulders as best she could and walked back to the steps.
‘I’m sorry…’ she began.
‘I apologise,’ Miss Cromwell announced briskly, ‘that you have been treated to the most vulgar and ill-disciplined breach of manners that I have seen in all my time at Kingscote. You may trust me to deal with the situation as it deserves. I suggest that you go and sit quietly in the staff room until your next lesson. And there’s no need to cry. We all have to learn.’
Joanna nodded feebly. She was sure Miss Cromwell had never had to learn in quite this fashion.
‘I can only apologise again that it was my form who behaved so disgracefully. But I promise you there will now be blood for breakfast.’
Miss Cromwell turned on her hell and swept up the staircase leaving Joanna somewhat startled by the vehemence of her final statement.
iv. Moving on
She had hardly expected anyone to notice that she was leaving, other than Miss Kempe and Miss Miller who would be taking back their classes, so Joanna was somewhat taken aback to receive a small pile of cards by her place at the breakfast table.
Miss Ussher leaned across. ‘You’ll come to watch the Play, of course?’
Joanna hadn’t thought about it. ‘Well, I…’
‘Certainly,’ Miss Kempe answered. ‘You’ll wish to see how your budding actors perform.’
She had enjoyed the time she had spent with Elisabeth Cardigan and Denise Fenton. There had been a few of the younger girls who had asked for Miss Hellier’s help as well.
She nodded. ‘Yes. Possibly. If I can make it.’
‘Miss Hellier.’
Joanna swallowed her mouthful of toast and marmalade and turned nervously to greet Miss Cromwell.
‘Miss Hellier, I should be most grateful if you would spare me a few moments of your time after breakfast. I shall be in the staff room.’
There was no possible way to refuse. Joanna decided that she didn’t really want another slice of bread. She eked out her cup of tea for as long as she dared after Miss Keith had dismissed the girls. Finally, she picked up her post and made her way to the staff room. It was usually empty on Sunday mornings, and today there was only Miss Cromwell, standing by the mantelpiece, waiting for her.
‘Sit down.’
Joanna sat in one of the uncomfortable armchairs. Miss Cromwell took the other.
‘Do you want to be a teacher, Miss Hellier?’
Joanna blinked. No one had ever asked her that before. They had always assumed she did. She had even begun to assume it herself. That was what she was working for, after all.
‘Well, I…’ She stopped. ‘I don’t know.’
Miss Cromwell eyed her closely.
‘There are other jobs. Teaching is not for everyone.’
Joanna shook her head. ‘But…’
‘Think about it, Miss Hellier. Better to bow out now than to spend the rest of your life being miserable.’
Struck quite dumb, Joanna could merely nod.
‘That is, of course, merely my personal advice. I daresay that Miss Kempe has given your lecturers her own assessment of your abilities.’
Joanna bit her lip. She could imagine what that would be.
Miss Cromwell stood. ‘I think you have grown accustomed to pleasing other people, Miss Hellier. Perhaps now is a good time to think about what it is that you want.’ With a final nod towards Joanna, she left the room.
What did she want? Joanna began to flick through the pile of cards on her lap, recognising the handwriting on several. One large envelope from the Seconds; a handful from members of Lower IV.A; something from the Sixth. They were nice girls, she realised, but she hadn’t been able to teach them at all.
Miss Cromwell was right. She couldn’t possibly do this for the rest of her life. She didn’t want to be a teacher. She never had.
Joanna smiled. Standing up, she walked over to the fire and, before she could regret it, she threw the cards into the flames. She had no idea what she was going to do once she’d left Kingscote, but whatever it was, she was going to enjoy it.