And Nothing But the Truth (2 page)

“We
could
go down and run around,” she said. Then she yawned. “I’m getting pretty sleepy, though. Should we go back to bed?”

She carefully opened the window and they slipped inside. “Good night,” whispered Eleanor.

Polly whispered good night back and got into her cot. It was just as uncomfortable as before, but she pulled the covers around her and finally slept.

CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!

“Omigosh, what’s happened?”

“It’s the morning bell. It means we have to get up.”

“Make it stop—I can’t bear it!”

Polly had been wakened so violently that she almost fell out of bed. She sat up, rubbing her stinging ears.

“Is that awful noise going to happen
every
morning?” asked Rhoda.

“You’ll get used to it, love,” said Mrs. Blake. She was standing at the door. “Rise and shine, girls! You have half an hour to get washed and dressed and make your beds. Don’t forget to turn over your mattresses first. It’s such a lovely hot day you don’t need to wear your blazers, and you can put
on short socks instead of stockings. I’ll be back soon for inspection.”

“This place is like an army,” complained Rhoda. “Who invented this
ghastly
uniform?” she went on. “I’ve never seen anything so ugly!”

Polly agreed as she assembled her clothes. Each item was labelled “P. Brown,” even her underwear. She and Noni and Aunt Jean had spent many evenings last week sewing on name tapes.

St. Winifred’s uniform was intensely uncomfortable as well as ugly. The stiff white blouse chafed Polly’s neck. Over it was an itchy woollen grey tunic. After she tied a maroon belt around her waist, her top half sweltered. At least her legs were bare; but she had to wear sateen bloomers over her regular underwear and heavy black oxfords over her short white socks.

They all struggled with their mustard-coloured ties until Eleanor fastened each girl’s with a neat knot. “I tie my father’s every Sunday,” she explained. When she came to Polly, they exchanged a glance. The other two didn’t know they’d been outside last night.

“Your beds are perfect, girls,” said Mrs. Blake when she returned, “and you all look very nice.”

“Mrs. Blake, do we
have
to wear these horrible bloomers?” Rhoda asked. “They’re so hot!”

What a whiny voice she has
, thought Polly.

“I’m afraid so, Rhoda.”

“But who will know if we don’t?”

“It wouldn’t be proper, especially in gym. And I’m sorry, but you and Polly will have to take off your jewellery.”

“But this ring was my grandmother’s!” protested Rhoda.

“All the same, you’ll have to put it away for now.” Mrs. Blake put out her hand. “Give it to me and I’ll find a box for you. Then you can keep it in your drawer so you can wear it on the weekends. Polly, what would you like to do with your necklace?”

Polly undid her necklace and slipped it into her pocket. Daddy had given it to her: a small silver heart on a chain. Her neck felt vulnerable without its comforting presence.

Rhoda handed over her ring to Mrs. Blake. She looked around the room angrily and found a target. “Mrs. Blake, shouldn’t Polly do something with her hair? It’s so messy!”

Mrs. Blake smiled. “Rhoda’s right, Polly. Your long hair may get in your way—I’ll braid it for you.”

Polly scowled. As usual, she was the only girl who didn’t have bobbed hair; but that was none of Rhoda’s business! Mrs. Blake quickly braided it and fastened the end with an elastic. When she finished, all the girls looked the same: tidy and tight, like four grey parcels.

Now Mrs. Blake seemed embarrassed. “It’s time for Devotions. You are each to kneel at your beds and pray for five minutes.”

Polly buried her face in the rough grey blanket. “Please,
please
make this year go fast,” she begged.

Breakfast was runny oatmeal and as much toast and marmalade as you wanted, but Polly still couldn’t eat much. At least it was quieter this morning as the roomful of girls bent over their meals, yawned, or murmured to one another.

“Where are you from, Polly?” Daisy asked, as she had yesterday. This morning Polly told her, but she didn’t say she lived with her grandmother, not her parents.

“
I’m
from Bellingham. That’s in the United States,” said Rhoda importantly.

Polly ignored her. She found out that Daisy was from a small town on northern Vancouver Island, and that they had both gone to one-room schools at home.

“I’m sorry you had to put your hair in a braid,” said Daisy. “I like it long. It’s so lovely and wavy.”

“Long hair is so old-fashioned,” said Rhoda. “Why don’t you get a bob, Polly?”

Polly just shrugged. She wasn’t going to tell this nosy girl that Daddy liked her hair long.

“I get
my
hair cut at a real salon,” said Rhoda, primping her curls.

“It’s so thick,” said Daisy enviously. “I wish mine wasn’t so thin and flat.”

“I could put pin curls in it for you if you like,” said Rhoda.

“Thanks, Rhoda! I’ve tried, but the bobby pins keep slipping.”

Daisy kept talking to Rhoda, while Eleanor and Polly munched their toast in silence.

After breakfast, they had fifteen minutes to go back to their dorms and get ready for school. Out the window, they could see the day girls arriving, some on bikes, some walking, and a few being dropped off by cars. The junior dorm gazed at one another nervously.

“I know,” said Daisy, “let’s call ourselves ‘the Fearless Four’! Come on, troops!”

She led them over to the school, a long, low building opposite the boarders’ residence. It was a gloriously bright day. Again, Polly looked yearningly at the woods and lawn she had seen from the fire escape. The sun lit up a patch of emerald moss behind an enormous sequoia. It would be so soft to sit on … but she had to follow the others.

They asked a prefect—she wore a mustard-coloured belt instead of a maroon one—the way to the Form IVB classroom. “It’s so weird that you don’t have
grades
in Canada!” declared Rhoda in a superior-sounding voice.

Polly was glad to correct her. “We do in public school, but St. Winnie’s has forms the way they do in England,” she explained. “Four B is also called the ‘upper fourth.’ It’s the same as grade eight.”

“I still think it’s weird,” said Rhoda. “And why do you
call it ‘St. Winnie’s’? I’ve never heard anyone else say that.”

“
All
the girls call it that,” said Polly coldly. “I know, because my sister went here.”

“No talking in the hall!” admonished another prefect.

That rule didn’t seem to apply in the classroom. The girls who were already there screeched and giggled and banged their desk tops. As other girls entered, they were greeted with dramatic hugs.

The Fearless Four huddled in a corner. “They all seem to know one another,” said Daisy.

“They must have been together last year,” said Eleanor.

“Look, there’s someone else who’s new,” said Rhoda, pointing out a quiet girl by the door.

“Silence, please, young ladies!” A short, sour-looking woman strode into the classroom and rapped a pointer. She told them she was Mrs. Horner, their homeroom teacher.

“Not the Hornet!” Polly heard a girl beside her whisper.

Mrs. Horner read out a seating plan and directed the sixteen girls to their places. The five new girls were put near the front.

“Polly Brown …” said Mrs. Horner with a frown.

Polly flushed. Had she done something wrong?

“I hope you will follow your sister’s excellent example,” continued Mrs. Horner. “Maud was the best pupil I have ever had.” She frowned even more, as if she already knew that Polly wouldn’t be the same.

As soon as they were seated, they had to stand up again and walk in single file to the gymnasium building for assembly. Polly squatted on the hard floor in a line with the rest of her form. Behind her sat the youngest students: the lower fourth form, and the upper and lower third. Prefects handed out hymn books, and one hundred voices boomed out “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Then the girls were ordered to sit again.

Miss Guppy stood at the front. Her gruff voice preached to them about living up to the high standards of the school; Polly stopped listening after the first few words.

They sang another hymn, chanted the Lord’s Prayer, and droned “God Save the King.” Then they filed back to their classrooms.

Mrs. Horner passed out notebooks, pencils, pens, nibs, and textbooks. She announced that Pauline Abbott and Ivy Moore would be this term’s class president and vice-president. More tasks were assigned, but none to the new girls.

The ink monitor, Phyllis, was told to fill each inkwell. Then they had to copy out the schedule that Mrs. Horner had written on the board.

Polly couldn’t believe all the periods that were crammed into each day: four in the morning and three in the afternoon. She tried to keep her hand steady as she copied the subjects she would be taking this term: Scripture, British
history, geography, literature, composition and grammar, chemistry, botany, mathematics, French, and drawing. Some days ended with gymnastics or folk dancing, and Noni had told Polly she would also be taking piano lessons.

This was why Noni had wanted her to come here: to get a good education. But when would Polly have time to relax? She thought of her tiny school on Kingfisher Island, where she had shared a desk with Biddy, her best friend. Mrs. Oliver had been so busy coping with the little ones that she had let the older pupils learn on their own. No one had to sit still for long; there was always an excuse to get up, whether to fill the woodbox or help pass out books or take a younger child to the privy. Except for arithmetic, Polly had always done well in school, but how would she cope with all these new subjects?

She examined her schedule again and calmed down when she saw “drawing” every Wednesday afternoon. At least she would shine there! And Noni had told her she was to take extra art classes, as well. Polly wondered when they would happen.

Mrs. Horner explained the house system to the new girls. There were four houses that competed for points during the year: Kent, York, Sussex, and Cornwall. “You can gain points for your house through sports or other activities, which you will learn about later. But if you do
anything
against the rules, such as talking in the hall, or being rude or slovenly or late, you will receive an order mark, which will
be deducted from your house points. If you get five order marks, you will get a conduct mark, with serious consequences. Do you understand?” She glared at them as if they had already received conduct marks.

The other new girls murmured, “Yes, Mrs. Horner,” but they looked confused. Polly, however, knew all about the house system from Maud. She also knew, before Mrs. Horner told her, that she would be in Sussex, because sisters were always in the same house. Polly was glad Rhoda wasn’t assigned to Sussex, but she was disappointed when Eleanor wasn’t. She was in Kent, and Daisy and Rhoda were in Cornwall.

“I will be teaching you British history, girls,” Mrs. Horner informed the class. “Our first lesson will be after lunch. Now, put away your things and fold your hands on your desk until the bell goes for morning break.”

This clanging bell was just as imperious as the one that had woken them up earlier. “Stand,” ordered Mrs. Horner. All the girls rose, then they filed quietly out of the building.

The boarders dashed into the dining room and grabbed apples, then stood around outside on the concrete square. Polly felt as if she’d been released from jail. For the first time since she’d arrived, she was free to do as she pleased. She stood on the edge of the chattering crowd and nibbled her apple, fingering Daddy’s necklace in her pocket.

Then she noticed a group of older girls staring at her and whispering. Did they know about Daddy? She glanced at
the woods again, and the patch of moss that looked so inviting. If only she could escape into there with her sketchbook and stay there all day! She could try drawing the sequoia’s furrowed trunk …

Two of the staring girls came over. “You must be Polly!” one said. “I’m Amy, and this is Becky. Maud asked us to look out for you. Are you enjoying your first day of school?”

Polly tried to smile. Amy and Becky went on to tell her how much they missed Maud.

A teacher came out and swung another hand bell to signal the end of break. When they got back to the classroom, Mrs. Horner had disappeared. “Stand for Miss Draper!” shouted Pauline, who was watching by the door.

Miss Draper entered and said, “Good morning, girls.”

“Good morning, Miss Draper,” droned the class. Then they had their first geography lesson. Polly relaxed a bit; she knew she could easily do their homework of sketching meandering rivers.

Miss Draper left and another teacher—Mrs. Partridge—arrived to teach them mathematics. Polly’s ease disappeared. Mrs. Partridge began explaining the elements of algebra, and already Polly didn’t understand. “You certainly don’t take after your sister, do you?” said Mrs. Partridge, when she came around to check their work.

Polly squirmed. Why did they all expect her to be as good as Maud?

At lunch, the dining room was even noisier than it had been last night, because many of the day students were eating there, as well. At least they were allowed to sit where they wanted. Again, some older girls came up to Polly and told her they’d known Maud. “How’s she doing at varsity?” they kept asking. Polly didn’t know—she hadn’t had a letter yet.

If only Maud were still here! She could protect Polly, as she had always done. Polly could sit beside her at meals, and Maud would explain the confusing rules and sympathize with her about staying inside and never being able to be alone for one minute.

Or maybe not … Maud had loved St. Winifred’s from the start, so she’d probably just be impatient. Polly could
hear
her: “Buck up, Doodle! Don’t just sit there like a lump. Eat your lunch and talk to your new friends.”

Polly took a few bites of her sandwich, but the bread was so dry she could barely swallow it. She turned to the other members of the Fearless Four. “What do you think of Mrs. Horner?” she asked.

Daisy grinned. “She’s a terror! I can see why they call her ‘the Hornet.’ But I’m sure she’ll be nicer when she teaches us history.”

Eleanor examined Daisy curiously. “You’re a very
optimistic person, aren’t you? I’m afraid I don’t agree with you. Mrs. Horner isn’t going to change.”