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Paul Edmund Norman's Monthly Online Story Magazine June 2005 www.gatewaymonthly.com |
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A CHALET GIRL IN TROUBLE by Lisa Townsend
TO go back a few
hours, Miss Annersley had made repeated attempts to get Mrs O'Malley on the
phone. Finally, on her fourth try, she succeeded, and as she heard the English
accented Irish voice travel down the line, she had to repress a feeling of
irritation. "Good morning, Mrs
O'Malley," the Head began pleasantly. "This is Hilda Annersley calling from the
Chalet School." Before the Head could continue, Elizabeth O'Malley interrupted.
"What's Grainne done
now?" The Head thought for a
moment. They did not know what was wrong with the Irish girl; at the present
time it was only a suspicion, and she was too experienced at dealing with
parents to make an unsubstantiated allegation. She decided to tell some, but
not all, of the story, and to gain what additional information she could.
"She's done nothing, Mrs O'Malley," Miss Annersley replied quietly. "Your
daughter is an exemplary student, and we are more than happy to have her in the
School. However, she has been unwell of late, and all we have been able to
gather is that she had some sort of upset over the Easter break." There was a pause at
the other end of the line, and the Head waited, not without some cynicism, to
see what the other woman would say next. "Ah, well, you- you
see, we had to take her away from the Convent," Mrs O'Malley managed at last. "So you said before. I
did not press you on this matter when we last discussed it, but given your
daughter's present state, I think I'm entitled to ask why you felt this was
necessary. I understand that Grainne had attended Holy Family Convent from a
very early age." There was another
pause. "We were asked to take her away," the Irish woman responded, rather
sulkily. "May I ask why?" the
Head asked quietly, keeping a firm hold on her temper. Elizabeth O'Malley
pulled herself together. "I'm not sure you have any right to ask these
questions, Miss Annersley," she said haughtily. "It was my decision to remove
my daughter from her previous school and send her to your establishment. It is
not your place to question why!" When the Head spoke
again, her voice had a note that all evil doers knew. "To the contrary, Mrs
O'Malley, I have a perfect right. This is a boarding school. When you chose to
send your daughter to us, you put her in my care. She is a very unhappy and
unwell girl at the moment, and I have a responsibility to find out why. You
gave me that responsibility, Mrs O'Malley. Now, kindly answer my question!" Elizabeth O'Malley was
a beautiful and intelligent woman, but she had always been badly spoiled. She
was no match for the Head when the latter was in this mood. "Reverend Mother
heard- things," she said at last, so unevenly that had the matter been less
serious, Hilda Annersley would have smiled. As it was, she remained grave. "What was that?" "That she'd -Grainne,
I mean- been going to all night parties meant for much older folk, and going
home considerably the worse for wear. The scandal!" Mrs O'Malley's voice began
to rise as she thought of all the talk that had erupted throughout Dublin over
that affair. Even now, it was only just beginning to die down, and Elizabeth
resented the impact it had had on her own social life. "Where were you at
this time, Mrs O'Malley?" Miss Annersley demanded, with point. "I was in London,
visiting my cousins there," Elizabeth retorted, the haughtiness back in her
voice. "And Grainne?" That
dangerous quietness had returned to the Head's voice, and Elizabeth O'Malley
shivered in spite of herself. "I left her with my
sister, the Countess of Desmond," Elizabeth returned, rather uncertainly. "I
wasn't to know that Alanna had decided to go to the south of France for a week!
She never said a word to me about it," Elizabeth finished loudly and
defensively. The Head said
precisely nothing, and the silence drove Mrs O'Malley on. "It was all Sinead's
fault. That's Alanna's oldest girl," Elizabeth added helpfully. "She's twenty.
When I heard Grainne was left with just her, I wasn't too worried. I thought
she'd have enough sense not to get my daughter mixed up in her own tawdry life.
Evidently not!" That last was said with considerable bitterness, and it roused
the Head from her own astonishment. "What do you mean by
'tawdry'?" she asked eventually. "Sinead is a nice
girl, Miss Annersley. But some of her friends aren't, and sometimes they get
themselves- and her, I'm sorry to say!- mixed up in the most unsavoury
activities. Drugs. All night parties. Apparently, no-one can remember what
happened after them!" Elizabeth sounded as if she positively relished passing
on this piece of scandal about her niece, and the Head felt disgusted. "Yet, in spite of
this, you still left an innocent, impressionable fourteen year old child with
her. I see. Thank you for your help, Mrs O'Malley." For the life of her, Hilda
Annersley could not prevent her voice from turning icy cold as she spoke to the
other woman. Elizabeth took fright.
"She's not very ill, is she?" she asked nervously. That's the first time
you've even asked, the Head thought to herself. "No," she said aloud. "Not
very. But what will we do if we need to contact you again? Would you be able to
visit the Platz if it became necessary?" "That will not be
possible, I'm afraid," Elizabeth returned flatly. "I'm going on a six month
world cruise next week. It was just arranged yesterday. If the school needs to
contact me, they may do so through my bank, but I will be unable to visit at
any time during the cruise. Thank you for ringing, Miss Annersley. Say hello to
Grainne for me. Good bye!" With that, Mrs O'Malley hung up, leaving the Head on
the other side to do likewise, feeling a profound sympathy for the new girl as
she did so. What an irresponsible mother the woman was! Hilda Annersley had
known many irresponsible parents in her long teaching career, but Mrs O'Malley,
she thought, unconsciously borrowing one of Joey Maynard's expressions, really
took the biscuit for sheer heartlessness! Miss Annersley had
barely managed to concentrate on her letters when Len Entwistle, forgetful of
ceremony, burst in. "We were right-
Grainne's awfully upset- can you come?" she panted. The Head did not even
reply. She phoned for Matron, and then rejoined the more composed Len at the
door. "What happened?" she asked briefly as they made their way towards the
staff quarters. Len's reply was
equally brief, but informative, and the Head nodded to herself as she heard
that Grainne's version dovetailed neatly with her mother's. "Did you get hold of
Mrs O'Malley?" Len wanted to know. "I did. I'll tell you
about it later. But whatever we decide, we have to deal with it ourselves." Len stopped dead in
the middle of the staircase and stared blankly at her Head Mistress. "We have
to deal with it? But why? How can we? This is a school, n-not a reformatory!"
Len was, quite frankly, shocked. She had wondered how the Head would act, but
she had never doubted that ultimately, Grainne's difficulties were her mother's
responsibility, and the Head's bombshell had knocked her for six, so to speak. "I'll tell you later,
Len. In the meantime, stop talking and let us get to that poor child!" There
was a note in Miss Annersley's voice that brought a flush to Len's cheek, and
at the same time informed that young woman that the Head would say no more
about it for the moment. Then they had reached
the distraught Grainne, and both were fully occupied with trying to calm the
girl. It was with deep relief that both the Head and Len saw Matey enter and
deal with the situation in her own inimitable way, and so it was not until some
time later that a select group of the Head, Len, Daisy, and Matron foregathered
in the study to hear what Miss Annersley had to say. In the event, she had
very little to tell them that they did not already know. The only real surprise
was Elizabeth O'Malley's reaction, and the comments let loose should have made
that lady's ears burn fiercely. "That woman's not fit
to take care of a cat," Daisy flared when the Head had finished. "I'm sure that
kind of thing is against the law!" "Not as such. Lady
Sinead is over eighteen, and therefore an adult," Miss Annersley reminded the
fuming doctor. "Didn't she even seem
worried?" Len demanded, almost unable to believe her ears. "Unfortunately not.
All she could say was to hope that Grainne was not very ill, and to pass on her
regards." Len muttered something
under her breath that the Head wisely ignored. "You people, I know
you're angry and I don't blame you. I wasn't too impressed myself. But can I
remind you, Mrs O'Malley does not yet know precisely what is wrong with her
daughter- only that she is unwell and unhappy." Matron looked cynical.
"Hilda, do you really expect her reaction to be any different when she knows
the full story? This woman really does seem almost unbelievably selfish!" "Well, I can only
try," the Head returned firmly. "She gave me her bank details, so I will write
to her in care of them, and ask them to forward it urgently. She may surprise
us all and abandon her cruise. She's the girl's mother, after all!" Matey gave a sceptical
"H'mph!" and got to her feet. "All the same, Hilda, if I were you, I'd start
thinking about solutions. If I were a betting woman, I'd put money on saying
that there is no way on this world or the next that Elizabeth O'Malley will
disrupt her own precious plans for her daughter!" and with this piece of
advice, she disappeared. Daisy and Len also
rose reluctantly to their feet. Daisy had to get back to her younger children,
and Len wanted to use the unexpected free time to do some lesson planning. As a
result, the Head found herself once more alone, and she abandoned her paperwork
to go and sit by the window and ponder the school's latest problem. "As Len says, this
certainly isn't going to be straightforward," she mused. "If Grainne had been
fully responsible for what has happened, I should have had no choice but to
expel her, under the circumstances, though I shouldn't have liked doing it. As
it is, she's very much a victim, and given her state of mind generally,
expulsion would not in any way shape or form improve matters. At the same time,
how can I keep her with the others? It doesn't matter so much at the moment,
but in September it will be too obvious to ignore, and I also need to consider
what the other girls and their parents would think! Never to speak of the moral
questions raised by the whole issue! Oh, what *am* I going to do?" But no
answers were forthcoming, and the anxious Head had to try to put the whole
matter from her mind and go back to preparing her lecture for Via that
afternoon. Meanwhile, the more
observant members of Upper Iva had noted the absence of the Head and Mrs
Entwistle as well as Grainne, and drawn their own conclusions. Most of them had
then not given it a second thought- all the more so as they knew they were
unlikely to discover a solution- but this was not the case with Cecil Maynard.
She was aware that something was not right with Grainne. She had always known
this, but that had not prevented her from wanting to do her job well as a
sheepdog, and then she had grown to like her 'lamb' and they were becoming good
friends. Cecil found that the Irish girl had a thoughtfulness that appealed to
her in her own serious moods, and since she could be mature for her age when
she liked, she found Grainne a respite from the raillery and tomfoolery that
was common coin in Upper Iva. She bided her time,
and when she got her sister alone before Kaffee und Kuchen, she went straight
to the point. "Where's Grainne?" Len looked cautiously
at her younger sister. She knew she had to be careful what she said. Cecil
could be very quick when she liked. "She's had bad news," she temporised
eventually. Cecil looked
concerned. "Is-is it her family?" she asked anxiously. Grainne had not said
much about her home circumstances, and Cecil, who talked unceasingly about her
own home and family, had noticed this. Len looked grave, and
glancing around her to make sure they were quite alone, she made a quick
decision. She pulled her young sister into a nearby room that she knew would be
empty as this hour, and leant against the desk. Cecil perched on a corner, and
looked curiously at Len. "What's the matter?" "Look, Cecil, I can't
tell you," Len said frankly. "I know it sounds mean. I'm your sister and
Grainne's your friend, and I won't tell you what the matter is. But honestly, I
can't! It's not my decision." "Is it Auntie Hilda's
then?" Cecil questioned shrewdly. Len faced her
squarely. "I suppose so. And Grainne's. But really, I can't tell you any more.
Don't push it either," she warned, as she saw a speculative glint in Cecil's
black eyes. "And don't tell Mamma. There's no need to worry her." Cecil dropped her
eyes. "There'd be no point in telling her anyhow," she muttered. "Mamma- Mamma
doesn't seem to care very much now, what happens!" Len looked shocked.
"Do you mean that generally, or you in particular?" she demanded. Cecil shuffled her
feet. "Generally. No. I-I guess both," and she looked up at Len. "Oh, Cecil." Len
looked helplessly at her, and turned things in her mind. She supposed that in
many ways Cecil's feelings were natural. Joey had always had so many demands on
her that sometimes she had neglected her children- especially Cecil, who was a
'singleton.' The only other 'singletons' in the family were the boys, Stephen,
Charles and Mike, all of whom were several years older than she, and who saw
her as a nuisance of a kid sister, after the fashion of boys. Felix and
Felicity, the two above Cecil were, like Phil and Geoff, who came after Cecil,
twins. That had left Cecil rather isolated within the family, especially since
most of her early childhood had been taken up with Phil's bad illness. Len
remembered that even when Geoff and Phil had been small babies, and the
triplets themselves had been off school, Cecil had sorrowfully told her mother
that she was always leaving her. Joey had brushed it off by saying it was only
because it was holiday time and the elder people needed her, but looking back
now, Len wondered if that comment by the young Cecil had been largely
representative of her feelings in general, and now found herself unable to say
anything. Deciding that that school didn't matter, she pulled Cecil into her
arms, and gave her a tight hug. Cecil clung to her.
Sometimes she felt that her eldest sister, whom she saw on an almost daily
basis, was more her mother than Joey. Len dropped a kiss on her head, and then
began to speak. "Listen, pet. I know Mamma is always busy, and she was very ill
last year- but you know that, don't you?" Cecil's black head nodded against
her. "Well, Mamma wasn't just sick in her body, She wasn't very well in her
mind either- do you understand? She wanted the baby, and then she lost it, and
Uncle Phil told her not to have any more. And that made her very, very unhappy.
And when she was that unhappy, she didn't really want to talk to anyone- not
us, not Papa, not even Auntie Madge or Auntie Hilda. She's much better now but
she's still not completely right. I think," Len added thoughtfully, "she likes
writing this Napoleon thing because it gives her something else to think about.
But you mustn't ever, ever think that she doesn't care about what you do, or
that she doesn't love you. She's your mother and she loves you very very much!
OK?" Cecil stepped back
from her. "OK. Will she have more time for me later?" she asked wistfully. "Of course she will,"
Len responded heartily, mentally deciding to have a talk with her father, and
possibly her mother as well. Whoever would have thought that insouciant,
heedless Cecil had been feeling like this? Cecil looked somewhat
reassured, and returned to the original topic. "Well, if Grainne's not ill, can
I go and see her?" Len shook her head
regretfully. "I don't think so. She's probably sleeping now and you wouldn't
want to disturb her, would you?" "No," Cecil agreed.
"But can I send a message?" "'Course you can," Len
said easily. "I'll tell her you hope she's ok and you're looking forward to
seeing her again. Will that do?" Cecil nodded her head
vigorously. "Smashing!" she said, giving her sister a watery grin. Len laughed. "Don't
push it, my child! You'd better run along, hadn't you?" but before she pushed
Cecil out the door, she gave her another quick hug, and Cecil smiled up at her.
"Thanks, Len. You-
you're the most miraculous sister, do you know that?" and, bright red from this
piece of effusiveness, she vanished, leaving Len looking after her in a bemused
fashion. "Poor kid!" she thought as she made her way back to the staffroom. "I must get hold of Papa and tell him about this. He'll probably be as shocked as I was. But I suppose we three had each other. Not Margot so much, though. But Con had her writing and I had my work, and I suppose there was always Auntie Hilda in the background, so we didn't feel it so much. Then of course the boys were away, and all the other kids are twins. At least young Cecil has her Crew. But that's not the same as family. I wonder if Auntie Hilda would let me take her home with me this Friday for a few hours? She loves Gina, and Reg enjoys teasing her." Resolving to speak to the Head as soon as she could to ask permission, she then pushed Cecil and her affairs from her mind and concentrated on her own work. Home ::: Contents ::: Features ::: Reviews ::: Galleries ::: Archive ::: E-mail
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