Chapter Two - Refugee
Lennox expected the taxi ride to take, at most, an hour; that was the norm when she changed schools.
She followed Mr Grittle outside to the main approach, a sweeping gravel drive where the taxi driver, a small faded man, was leaning against his car, smoking and idly surveying the sprawling Tudor school above him. Mr Grittle handed the driver a fat envelope with an address of sorts written on the front, and then ushered a scowling Lennox into the cab. The driver glanced only fleetingly at the crabbed handwriting, before sliding back behind his wheel. When he turned the engine on, Mr Grittle was already walking away. There was not even the pretence of a farewell.
Eight hours later, Lennox was still in the cab and still scowling. She had spent most of the journey glaring at the cars, cities, and roadsides they passed. She had sat tense, one fist clenched, one curled round the handle of her holdall, for a long time. She had expected the taxi to pull over at every secondary school they passed. When they eventually turned onto the motorway, she had leant back against the seat, dropped her bag and retained her scowl.
At least the nightmare of exclusive, elitist Kingham College was over. She had escaped. She had left Mr Grittle and his superior colleagues, and his superior students, behind.
But there was no escape from the system. Kingham would be replaced by another school, possibly better, possibly worse. Maybe she would have to share a room. She hated sharing. She refused to be typecast into the role of sympathetic audience member for someone else’s life, and she was equally determined not to let anyone piggyback on her life. This left nothing but a stony silence, and watchful eyes, at day break and light’s out.
Maybe she would be forced to compete in school hockey matches. She hated that too, not because she couldn’t play, she could, but because she hated being in a team, where people expected her to care about winning or losing. Maybe the food would taste of cardboard. Kingham, for all its faults, had served up tasty, café food. Olives, muffins, couscous and marinated fish, the menu had been the best; the privileged demanded no less. Maybe she would be hated and vilified by the Headmaster, or headmistress; that had happened many times before. There was something about her that turned people against her. She could make an enemy in a matter of seconds. She could see it in the cooling of their eyes, like lava, darkening.
It was late afternoon when they finally left the motorway and began travelling too fast down single carriage roads with no other traffic but logging trucks as wide as two cars, forcing the taxi to swerve to the roadside. Her legs were stiff, her tummy empty, her back sore, and yet the scowl that had been frozen on her face all day melted at the sight of the cracked mountains, feather tipped grass and a deepening sky. As the land outside grew wilder, she grew calmer.
The taxi pulled over at a remote petrol station on the edge of a stony village in a windswept valley. She was out on the forecourt before the driver, tipping back her head, breathing deeply in the chill air.
'How much longer?' she asked as he refuelled the car.
‘Another hour or so,’ he mumbled in her direction, his eyes darting in the direction of the crabbed handwriting on the envelope still lying where he had dropped it on the front seat.
She could see he didn't want to talk, didn’t really want to drive much further either. He just wanted rid of her, like the headmaster had. She had been in his car, silent, and scowling, for too long.
She waited outside in breeze whilst he slipped back behind the wheel and studied the envelope. She considered asking where they were headed, and decided against it. She would find out soon enough. He wasn’t going to tell her what she really wanted to know. He was just a taxi driver, not from the school. So she waited till he turned the ignition before jumping back in. The driver was off before her belt was on. He drove as fast as the narrow, winding road permitted. Lennox sat with her face to the glass, noticing every fern woven woodland, every grass covered slope, every pebble filled stream in the dying light. She hunted up and down the mountains, looking for signs of life, looking for the deadly glow of a city, its lights leaking up into the clouds, and saw none. Never before had she been sent to a school so remote. All her previous schools had been in quaint English villages or on the outskirts of affluent towns.
Grittle had told her nothing about her new school, just to pack. She had not even asked the school’s name. But now she was curious. She knew better than to get excited. Whatever the school was like, she would be the same. The strange new girl, on trial from day one. She would be out of place, unwelcome, a headache to the teachers, a threat to the pupils; the girls especially always hated her. She would be guilty until proven guilty. She would not last long. And yet, she was curious.
The sun set, and the landscape lost colour, then became fully dark. Her head pressed against the window became heavy, and she slipped into an unsettled, uneasy sleep. It was the cessation of the car’s momentum which woke her. The engine was still running but the car had come to a stop.
'This is it,' he announced, without turning round.
Lennox had nothing to give him. He had already been paid. He just wanted her out of his car. She opened the door, peered out. She was in a dimly lit courtyard. There seemed enormous amounts of sheer walls all around, and few windows or doors. She stepped out, and at once the driver reached over, yanked the door shut, revved his engine, and pulled away.
She was on her own.
With the car headlights gone, the courtyard was plunged into darkness. Lennox could see nothing but a few dim, yellowed windows, and, overhead, a dazzling spread of stars. She waited, wondering if she was expected. But no-one moved, no one called out. The courtyard was utterly deserted.
Behind her, there was a bang, then the sound of gravel crunching underfoot. Lennox sighed and turned towards the footsteps. This was it. She saw the boy before he saw her. She was wearing black, as she always did, when she had the choice. Black leggings, a black shirt that hid every curve of her body, and a battered, but tough coat, a gift from her father. Only her too pale face made her visible, if the boy came close enough. She watched his hurried pace, and then the abrupt change in direction; a change in direction that took him towards her.
'Craig?' he called out.
Then the boy got close enough to see her properly and make a strange sound, a cross between a laugh and a snort.
'Obviously not!' he said and drew closer still, staring at Lennox as she had known they all would. Even in the darkness, he was struck by her opal eyes, her milky skin, and her high, finely moulded cheeks. She was so beautiful, and so unexpected, he stared and stared.
'What are you doing here?' he finally exclaimed.
Lennox shrugged.
'I was just dropped off.'
She paused, expecting him to offer to show her in, but he did nothing but gawp.
'I’m looking for…' She begun, and tailed off. She had no idea who she was looking for. But the boy was too busy looking her up and down to reply. '...the housemaster...?'
Actually she had no interest in meeting the housemaster. But there was no way she was going to ask for the headmaster, and she didn’t know who else to ask for.
'Which housemaster?' the boy asked.
Lennox shut her eyes, and tried to ignore the horrible feeling that this start was worse than most. This school did not appear to be expecting her.
'I don't know,' she admitted. 'Any one will do.'
'Alright, we'll go to my housemaster. This way.'
The boy pointed towards a door set in one of the walls, and fell into step beside Lennox.
'So why are you here?' he asked almost conversationally.
'Why do you think?'
'I don't know,' he replied, quickly. 'That's why I asked. It’s not obvious.'
'Well, this is a school, isn't it?’
'Yep.'
They had reached the small door set deep into a grey stone porch which jutting out from the walls like an overhanging rock.
'Well, that's why I'm
here.'
She followed him inside. The door banged loudly behind her and she nearly cursed. She didn't want to make any noise. She didn't want to anyone else to notice her. She wanted to be as inconspicuous as driftwood, floating ashore at midnight, without purpose or plan.
'But you're a girl.'
'So?'
She followed him through to a lobby where a lowly fire smouldered between a few empty, ancient chairs. Then down a corridor of uneven flagstones, towards a set of wide open double doors, her footsteps slowing all the time, through which she could hear, and smell, strengthening with every step, smoke and sweat and continuous talk.
‘Our common room,’ the boy told her, and led her inside.
There must have been about thirty people crowded into his common room. Some were sprawled on rugs and sofas, some were sitting at tables, tipping on chairs, chatting, laughing, playing cards, a few heads were bent over books, others’ were writing and studying. There was also a dart board, a pool table, and in one corner, a large group crowded around a colossal fireplace with a vast, blazing fire.
It took only a few seconds after Lennox appeared for every person in the crowded room to stop whatever they were doing, stiffen, and fall silent.
Lennox could not stop her face from burning. She walked slowly, following her guide, staring at his back, not able to raise her face. Every eye was on her. Staring new was never easy. But this... this was even worse than she had imagined.
'Mr Conley?'
The boy had brought her to the edge of the large group who, moments before, had been talking by the fire. Now they were all watching her. Sat right in the heart of the group, in a weary armchair, its armrests worn to string across wood, was Mr Conley. He looked no more than twenty five and was definitely the youngest, most striking housemaster she had ever seen with tawny hair and a kingly, cragged nose. Even in a room full of strangers, he would have stood out. Here, among boys, he was majestical. He looked right at Lennox and laughed.
'Jonas! What have you found?'
Lennox scowled. She was dying of embarrassment, the unwelcome centre of attention of the entire common room, and this man, Mr Conley, thought it was a joke!
Her embarrassment burned with anger.
'Not what, but who,' she corrected him.
She regretted speaking at once for Mr Conley looked even more amused. He had golden brown eyes under heavy dark eyebrows, lips as thin as the horizon, which curved now in a knife like smile.
'Who then have you found Jonas?' Mr Conley asked, staring unwaveringly at Lennox.
'No idea, Sir,' Jonas replied. 'She was wondering around the courtyard.'
Jonas made her sound like an intruder.
'She asked to see a housemaster,' Jonas added. 'But she didn't know which one.'
'No,' Master Conley agreed, as if this, at least, was expected. 'Well, I am Master Conley, Housemaster of Aves. What can I do for you?' he leaned towards Lennox, his face serious.
'I've only just got here,' Lennox tried to explain. 'My name's Lennox Constable.' She paused. Her words seemed to be having little effect. There was no light of recognition in Master Conley’s burning eyes. Normally, by this point, most teachers would have understood who she was, and often pity, sometimes wariness, would have seeped into their eyes.
But not Master Conley. His face was blank. He betrayed nothing.
‘I’m new,’ she blurted.
To her horror, the group standing round her burst into laughter. Only Mr Conley became more serious, not less. He raised an eyebrow sharply.
'New?' he asked, and frowned at those round Lennox.
The laughing died.
'Yes.' Her cheeks were burning. She stared at his Conley's shoes, black but polished like stones. 'Mr Grittle, the headmaster from my old school arranged it all. He said my father had arranged it and you were expecting me?'
'I think there's been a mistake,' Mr Conley said, and for the first time she thought she heard sympathy in his voice.
'Look around you,' he added.
Lennox tried. But it was hard. Everywhere she looked there were eyes, like mirrors, staring straight back into hers.
'This school is very special in many ways,' Mr Conley told her. 'Ways which do not need to concern you,' he continued. 'But Calgacos, our school, has existed for over 500 years and during that long and proud history, we have only ever had male students here. Never once a girl.'
Lennox screwed her eyes shut and wished she could disappear. It could not be worse. She had no idea where her father was, and she was stuck, late at night, in a school exclusively for boys, in an area so remote the nearest town must be miles away, and with a crowd of 30 boys all staring at her as if she were a freak.
'Yes, a mistake,' Lennox whispered. If she ever saw Mr Grittle again, she would kill him. It was his mistake. He had hated her. He had just wanted her gone. Her father wouldn’t have chosen a boys’ school for her but Mr Grittle might have. He probably chose the furthest school he could find; that would have been his only concern. She had been in that taxi for almost 8 hours.
'Yes, a mistake,' Master Conley agreed, again with a sympathetic tone which only made Lennox feel worse. 'And it is too late to correct it tonight.'
He looked around. There was a general intake of breathe. Lennox sighed. The nightmare just kept getting worse.
'Jonas,' Master Conley decided. 'You found her, you can be her escort. Take her to Master Torkil.' He turned to Lennox, 'Master Torkil is our Headmaster. He will find out how this mistake has happened and make the necessary arrangements for you.'
Master Conley waved a hand.
'Show's over,' he told the gathered boys.
Lennox didn't need telling twice. She understood exactly what Conley meant. Torkil would send her on her way. She was outside the common room before Jonas could blink. She waited for him to catch up with her, her back to the wall, out of sight of all the onlookers.
'You can move fast when you want to,' Jonas muttered.
He led the way back outside, and this time Lennox spotted a few others moving through the darkness of the courtyard, their chests braced, their arms defiantly in their pockets, as the cold air whistled past.
Lennox kept her head down, and nothing was said. Nobody noticed that Jonas was with a girl. In the darkness Lennox was camouflaged. Safe from ridicule.
Jonas took Lennox through a narrow passageway smelling of damp and nicotine into a second smaller courtyard. In the far corner, there was a short flight of shallow steps and a door so small Lennox nearly had to duck her head.
Jonas knocked respectfully, and stepped back quickly. From far above their heads, a voice called down,
'Send her up.'
Jonas raised his eyebrows at Lennox.
'Her!' he hissed. 'He knew.'
He pushed the dwarf shaped door open and nodded towards the opening.
'Go on. He's expecting you.'
Through the low door was a narrow twisting stairway, the steps worn silver in the centre. As she climbed, she listened carefully but heard nothing from above. The only sounds were her own feet tapping, her heart pounding. The room at the top was as silent as a museum.
At the top of the steps an open door leaked orange light and flickering shadows. She stepped into a room with shelves upon shelves of books, a lively fire hissing and spitting, a sofa that sagged as if a giant had hollowed out its heart, an old circular table made from wood like polished ebony with chairs tucked so neatly under its shadow it looked as if it were never used, a desk strewn with papers and oddments, such as a magpie might collect, and, in the corner, a curious stand that might once have housed hats except now was empty. The room was hexagonal shaped; on every wall there was an open window, criss-crossed with lead, and, at one, stood Master Torkil, his back to the door. Lennox stood, frozen at the doorway, holding her breath as he turned round slowly, his head moving before his body, and fixed her a solemn stare even as his lips smiled.
'Lennox Constable,' he said. 'Welcome to Ca
lgacos.'
Lennox opened her mouth and shut it again, taken aback. Everyone else she had met so far had stared at her as if she were a freak. Now Master Torkil greeted her by name. Had he expected her?
He gestured towards the old sofa. Reluctantly, Lennox edged forward, her eyes fixed warily on the headmaster. He was short, and dressed in a well-worn suit the colour of dead bracken. A straw like beard grew coarsely over his lower cheeks and curled into a sharply defined point below his chin. This, and the wire rimmed and stained glasses he wore, completely hid his thoughts from Lennox. It was like looking at a portrait, its features forever frozen. He was utterly unreadable.
'Sit,' he told her.
But sitting was the last thing Lennox wanted to do. She had been sent to Master Torkil so he could get rid of her, not welcome her to his school.
'There's been a mistake,' she said stopping dead where she was, several feet from the sofa.
'How so?' Master Torkil asked, tilting his head.
Lennox frowned. It had been painfully obvious to Master Conley. Did she really have to explain it to Master Torkil?
'Master Conley has already explained to me that this is a boys' school. You don't take girls.'
'That's right.' Master Torkil agreed, nonplussed. 'So you must have a very good reason for coming here.'
'No. I don’t. It’s a mistake.'
Torkil stared hard at her, his eyes like rocks, grey and impenetrable, she had to look away. It was too much scrutiny.
‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘Mistake or otherwise, I shall need to speak to your father.’
‘Mistake,’ Lennox declared. ‘Mr Grittle’s mistake, I’m sure. He was my previous Head. He put me in the taxi. He probably didn't even check to see what kind of school you were. Or maybe he did check, but didn't care.’
As soon as she had finished speaking, it occurred to her that Master Torkil had mentioned her father before she had. It was almost as if he knew, as if he had been expecting her, as if the mistake was not an accident after all.
She shut her eyes and tried to imagine she was anywhere but here, an outsider, out of place and unwelcome, in this strange school with this even stranger head master who seemed to know more than he ought.
'I will make contact with your father and see what he wants to happen,' Torkil promised, his voice strangely soft unlike his hard, unblinking eyes. 'But right now it is late, and you are exhausted. I will leave you temporarily in the care of Master Kearns, Housemaster of Feliformia. He will keep an eye on you while you are with us.'
The humiliation of being an uninvited guest was to continue a little longer. There was only one consolation. It was not Kingham.