Part 1 (2/2)
”I think I learn better when there's some fun in my life. One needs a balance,” Charlotte said. She had been on dates with three different boys that summer - a record for their group - and still managed to finish her English reading list.
”Just think of what happened to Lucy Martin,” Margery said. ”I can't think of anything more terrible than that.” Lucy Martin was something of a legend in the school, albeit infamous rather than celebrated. She had been in the sixth form a few years ago, a scholars.h.i.+p girl who was tipped to go to Oxford, but she had fallen pregnant and been expelled when the school found out.
”I can think of something far more terrible,” said Laura.
”What?”
”Getting back to our dorm and finding Teresa Hubert in the fourth bed. Come on! There's the bell. We may as well not annoy Matron too much on the first evening, if we can help it.”
Happily, the fourth bed remained empty on their return. The dormitory had two beds by the windows at one end, taken by Laura and Charlotte. The other two beds were either side of the door. Margery had taken one of these, as conveniently for all of them she didn't like windows. She had a fear of something looking through at her in the night.
Charlotte bounced on her bed. ”Much as I hate school to the bottom of my feet, except for hockey and tennis, I am glad to be back with you guys. Wales was great, but being back home got very dreary.” Charlotte's father was extremely strict - her romantic dalliances had only been made possible by a fortnight's stay with her Welsh grandmother. School actually represented more freedom for her in some ways than her home did.
”I wonder if that bed will stay empty?” Laura said.
”I doubt it. They're usually packed to the rafters. Everyone wants to be in Michaelmas House, because of Gi-Gi,” Charlotte said. Grace Grant, their housemistress, was regarded as by far the nicest of all the houseparents in the schools. Whitsun House - all the houses were named after liturgical dates for some long-forgotten reason - suffered under the dread rule of the Geography teacher, Mrs Ayers.
”I can't think who's late back, I'm sure I've seen just about everyone,” Margery said. She fretted a little. ”What if it's a snorer? I couldn't bear if it was a snorer. I really need my sleep this year so I can study properly.”
”If you thrashed yourself out at Games a bit more you'd sleep like a log even in a thunderstorm,” Charlotte said. Margery was not a sporty girl. Laura was average. Given the choice Laura would have preferred to play something like cricket or even rugby, which she had played with her cousins in the holidays, but these weren't an option at Francis Hall. Two terms of hockey preceded a summer term of athletics and tennis. She had little interest in these so didn't put much effort in.
Laura also dreaded ever getting picked for a sports team - Charlotte's greatest desire - as it meant giving up even more time having to travel miles in the school coach to matches every weekend. Laura preferred to escape with a book on weekends. Charlotte went off with her jolly hockey sticks, Margery put her nose to the grindstone, and Laura read everything from their English texts to smuggled novels forbidden by the school. The three of them enjoyed perfect harmony as a result - not overly living in one another's pockets.
”I shall keep a diary this year,” Margery announced. ”I think we all should. It's a good way to gather your thoughts and will be interesting for us all to look back on years from now.”
”Good girls keep diaries, bad girls don't have time,” said Charlotte.
”I might give it a go,” Laura said. She had a blank journal that she hadn't yet found a purpose for. She had thought of writing poetry - she was the creative one of the three - but English homework tended to keep them so busy that her inspiration ran out beyond the composition required for cla.s.s.
”I'll keep a sports diary then.” Charlotte had vague ambitions of being a sports commentator. She would have also liked to play for England at hockey, or perhaps javelin, but wasn't yet convinced that she was good enough or that Francis Hall would provide sufficient training. Always the pragmatist and the optimist, she was keeping her options open.
Laura laughed. ”I know you, you'll end up just putting match results in with no commentary.”
”Maybe. We'll see. If it's awful weather, I'll have more time on my hands,” Charlotte said.
2. New Language.
He was tall. That was the first thing Laura noticed. He had clear-cut features and had a kind of masterfulness that many new teachers lacked, to their cost. He reminded her of a book she had once read, of a man who ”must have done something in life”.
She saw Teresa Hubert simpering with her friends across the room, and also realised how good looking he was.
”I'm Mr Rydell,” he told them. ”I'm from Surrey, I read Modern Languages at Cambridge, I've previously taught at schools in Hertfords.h.i.+re and Northamptons.h.i.+re, and my goal is introduce you to German in a way that inspires at least some of you to love the language and its literature as I do.”
Concise, factual, straight to the point. Their initial unasked questions all answered. Everyone always wanted to know where a teacher was from and where they had been, in part so they could a.s.sess how soft a touch lay before them. ”This is my first job” or ”I'm new to teaching” were fatal.
”German is more challenging in certain ways than French or Spanish, but also highly rewarding. If you put the effort in, you'll very quickly be able to use basic German on holiday, or to talk with German visitors,” he continued. ”Hands up who's done Latin?”
Around half the hands went up, including Laura's. Latin was compulsory at Francis Hall for the top set and was the bane of their lives. Mr Rydell's eyes went around the room. When they met hers - it was only for a moment, she felt a sudden jolt. For a split second the rest of the room disappeared, and then he moved on and she felt herself flush and wanted to hide behind her hair. Which she couldn't do, because it was neatly tied back as school rules demanded.
Oh I hope I didn't make an idiot of myself, she thought. Had he noticed? He seemed so much more serious than other teachers. In fact he hadn't even smiled yet.
”Though German isn't as complex as Latin, you will find your studies useful for recognising certain elements of grammar,” he explained.
Textbooks were handed out, and opened at the first chapter. Teresa muttered and sn.i.g.g.e.red something to her friend, then froze as Mr Rydell looked directly at them.
”I would like this to be enjoyable for all of us,” he said. ”But it is going to be hard work, particularly for those of you taking exams a year early, and will require everyone's full attention.” He emphasised these last words while looking at Teresa. There was a faint contempt in his voice, which coming from him seemed more cutting than any direct censure or threat of detention.
The posse at the side of the cla.s.sroom went white and quiet. There was a crackle of electricity around the room. Rarely did a new teacher a.s.sert that they meant business so quickly or so effectively.
The lesson progressed, and Laura was happy to discover that he was a very inspiring teacher. He had a broad depth of knowledge, and had spent considerable time in Germany.
”Are you fluent, Sir?” one girl asked.
”Not natively. Sufficiently for conversation and correspondence,” he told her.
When Laura was looking down at a list of basic vocabulary, she had no idea how but she felt his eyes on her. She glanced up, and he held her gaze for a moment, before turning to the blackboard again. She couldn't read his glance at all, but her stomach did the same flip that it had done earlier. Get a grip, she thought. He clearly can't stand foolish schoolgirls, look at how he reacted to Teresa Hubert's giggling.
”Wow, wasn't he gorgeous but terrifying?!” was the general consensus voiced after the lesson. ”I shall totally dread German!”
”Did you see how harsh he was towards Teresa?”
”I wouldn't want to get on his bad side.”
”What a shame that someone that looks like that has to be so strict and serious!”
Laura didn't think so at all, but she kept her opinion to herself. Despite the steel grip of discipline that he maintained the cla.s.s in, she had enjoyed her first German lesson. And she kept remembering the feeling in her stomach when he looked at her.
Normally she would have confided this to Charlotte and Margery but something held her back. Her reaction to the new teacher seemed so out of step with everyone else's that she needed more time to a.n.a.lyse it. Her new journal would be the perfect place.
Lunch was awful. Laura predicted that once their tuckboxes, which helpfully supplemented school food in the first weeks of term, were empty, she would actually lose weight. She never understood how Charlotte could stuff down so much over-boiled stodge with apparent gusto. Exercise surely couldn't make someone's tastebuds that undiscriminating. But even Margery, albeit more slowly, steadily ate her way through soggy cabbage, dumplings and the horridly gristly beef stew.
You were required to finish your plate at Francis Hall, and thank goodness for Charlotte who could hoover up anything that Laura couldn't bear to touch. Often quite gratefully. Swapping food had to be done on the sly of course, but so far they had got away with it.
”You'll fade away if you don't eat,” Margery warned her.
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