Confession (5 page)

‘You do,’ I conceded but Emily remained silent.

Monsieur tapped his fingers on her desk.

‘Bien,’ he said picking up his book again. ‘Let us continue. Mademoiselle Emily, perhaps you would like to read to us?’

As soon as the lesson had finished Emily left the room. I apologized for my sister but Monsieur Heger seemed less concerned about her behaviour than I. He was standing by the window next to the cabinet of birds’ eggs. Serried rows of them lay on their individual beds of soft wool. Speckled, scrawled, splashed and scratched; each egg had its own pattern & colour from the palest of greys and softest of greens, to the darkest of browns and most sulphurous yellows.

‘You are a collector, Monsieur?’

‘When I was a child. I do not have the time nowadays – ’

I pointed to a cluster of pale blue eggs that nestled in a small box to one side of the main display. ‘Which species are those?’

‘They belong to the blackbird.
Terdus Merula.
Would you like to hold one perhaps?’

Monsieur opened the cabinet and very gently lifted one of them out before laying it in the
centre of my palm.

I gasped.

It was light as air, unnaturally so.

A bubble of heavenly blue.

‘How is that done?’ I asked looking up at him then back down at the egg.

‘You have to pierce it with an extremely thin needle at both ends and afterwards blow the yolk out. It takes patience,’ he said. ‘If you blow an egg too hard then the shell cracks. It can take several attempts – ’

‘It is very pretty,’ I said but my face must have betrayed me.

‘You do not like it, Mademoiselle?’

I confessed I found it peculiar.

‘Eggs are normally so warm and friendly,’ I said. ‘Emily & I often find pheasants’ eggs on our walks back at home – but these are cold and so weightless. They are empty – ’

‘That is their point – ’

‘And the wool,’ I said with a shudder suddenly finding the entire display queer. ‘It is as if you are coddling something that is already dead.’

Monsieur removed the blackbird’s egg from my hand and placed it back in its box before closing the cabinet door and locking it with a key.

He smiled.

‘You think me foolish?’ I said nervously for I had not intended to offend my teacher, far from it. ‘I am sure to the trained eye your collection is of enormous value, quite unique – ’

‘Twice in one day! – I would say that is pretty unique, wouldn’t you?’

‘I do not follow?’

‘To be criticized, Mademoiselle. First it is my church and now it is my collection of birds’ eggs – you and your sister like to hold forth.’

‘You misunderstand me, Sir – ’

‘Do I?’ he replied dryly but then afterwards smiled although whether in amusement or disdain, I could not tell.

VI

After our first visit to the Chapelle Royale, Emily and I were invited by friends of my father’s, the Revd and Mrs Jenkins to visit them and their two sons, John and Edward, for tea.

Their living quarters lay close-by to the Chapelle Royale and as we walked back Mrs Jenkins chatted away on a variety of subjects; her favourite being the impossibility of finding adequate domestic staff whilst residing in a foreign city. She was still chatting away on this subject when we reached their house and were shown up to their drawing room on the first floor. ‘You would think they were doing you a good turn, the way they carry on. I do not know what it is they expect from us. They are certainly not like the girls we employ back in England. And of course there is the question of money, it is tremendously expensive to keep domestics here at all. They expect such extortionate wages, but then everything is extortionate here, don’t you find? Extortionate and extravagant. The Belgiums are amongst the most profligate nations in the world, the Revd Jenkins agrees with me, don’t you my dear? Only the other day he was saying – ’

‘The Pensionat Heger is to your liking?’ enquired Mr Jenkins when his wife stopped momentarily to draw breath. ‘Are you quite settled?’

He asked a number of other questions too.

Did we find Brussels pleasant? Were we coping with the language? Was the food adequately prepared at the school?’

I tried to answer as best I could, but the scrutiny was painful. Nor was Emily of any assistance. She was as useful as a spoon shovelling coal. The moment we sat down in the Jenkins’ drawing room she turned her face to the wall so that no one could talk to her. Only the Revd Jenkins’s love of his own voice saved me from unqualified misery for, at one point he began to describe his own experiences of living in Brussels and while he carried on I began wondering how I should describe the room were I to write it down. It was a good exercise, one I felt sure Monsieur Heger himself might approve. For instance the chandelier, which hung in the centre of the room, looked to me as if raindrops had been suspended in mid air and when the sunlight struck them, the patterns they made on the walls were like ghosts dancing.

‘Too fanciful,’ I heard Mr Heger’s voice in my ear. ‘Too many metaphors, use your pen like a knife.’

I started again. The room contained comfortable armchairs and an ottoman covered in red silk with pale flowers embroidered upon it. At the windows hung thick red drapes whose colour reflected the flames from a large fireplace in front of which lay a decorative rug. On the whole the furnishings were comfortable although the general atmosphere of the room was cold.

‘Better,’ Monsieur Heger whispered. ‘Now describe Mrs Jenkins.’

Mrs Jenkins was a woman in her mid to late forties. Robust in appearance, she had Roman features with a neck as thick as a pillar. Her complexion was sallow and her hair, which was black, hung in tight ringlets about her face. Mrs Jenkins wore a necklace of pearls that
contrasted dramatically with the cold blue of her dress.

I paused for a moment. I had described Mrs Jenkins’ physical attributes but not her character.

Loquaciousness – I began – is said to be catching: in the right company I am sure this is true, but Mrs Jenkins talked too much and too long about far too little.

I smiled. It was not fair of me to pick on the poor woman as neither Emily nor myself were good company.

On the way back to the Pensionnat Emily chatted.

‘I hate small talk,’ she said looping her arm through mine. ‘What is the point of it? There is no point to it, that’s what.’

‘Mrs Jenkins has asked us to return next Sunday.’

‘Tell me you didn’t accept?’

I frowned. ‘We shall go next week,’ I said, ‘She insisted as much. But if she asks us to go the following Sunday, I will try to decline.’

This cheered Emily up and for the remainder of the walk we talked about the Revd Dixon’s sermon and what would be happening back in Yorkshire, how father would have delivered his own address at church and how afterwards he and perhaps one of his curates would have returned to the parsonage to discuss the following week’s obligations.

When we reached Rue d’Isabelle it was gone three o’clock. Madame’s eldest daughter, Marie Pauline, was playing outside with a wooden hoop. She bowled it along the cobbles making Emily and I laugh as we watched her tripping beside it – the hoop nearly as large as the child herself when – out of nowhere – Monsieur Heger appeared.

Marie Pauline ran up to him.

‘Where are you going papa?’ she cried out breathlessly whilst slipping her small hand into
his.

He explained he was to meet a professer at the Athénée Royal where he taught when he was not otherwise engaged at the Pensionat, but that he would be back later. He did not look at Emily or myself.

‘Carry me on your shoulders?’ Marie Pauline cajoled.

‘You should go in to your nurse,’ replied he, but he did not deny her the pleasure of being swung up in his arms and subsequently perched on his shoulders like a small cockatiel.

‘What will you talk about with your professor, Papa? Will you talk about books? Papa always talks about books– ’ his daughter said turning to us.

‘And do you like books?’ I asked.

‘Generally speaking,’ came back the reply. ‘I like books with pictures in best,’ she said, ‘although Papa says I will grow out of this.’

‘I never have.’

‘Then I shan’t either!’ cried she.

Monsieur Heger smiled. ‘Let me go now, Polly,’ he said, gently removing his daughter’s arms from around his neck. The way he looked at his daughter as he set her back on her feet again was endearing beyond measure. ‘Run along inside and I will see you later at teatime.’

Monsieur Heger began walking away. Marie Pauline called to him but he did not turn around.

He had not spoken to us for over a week now. He and my sister did not draw well together and I was concerned that she had upset him. After all he was the best teacher we could have wished for. In his hands literature came alive. He showed us how words can be used like tools to shape ideas, to carve the most beautiful imagery out of thin air. I watched Monsieur Heger striding across the uneven cobbles then a bend in the road and he disappeared.

Inside the Pensionat, Emily and I were met by a great deal of commotion. All the boarders had congregated in the large central hall and were in a state of over-excitement, hugging and chattering so loudly amongst themselves that the effect was like that of an overturned hive.

‘You shall never guess what is going to happen,’ Vertue Basompierre said rushing us up to us. ‘Madame has just announced we are to have a holiday next Wednesday and we are each to think of something we can perform or recite for everyone else to enjoy! It can be a poem or a song or we can act out a scene from a play and dress up. Isn’t it charming? Of course I already know what I am going to do but I shan’t tell. It is a secret. She made the announcement at tea. You weren’t there were you? In fact,
where
were you? You look quite dishevelled. Your hair is all over the place.’

Vertue giggled as I put my hand up to my head in the hope of restoring some kind of order.

Emily said, ‘We like our hair like this, thank you. The more dishevelled the better.’

‘No you don’t!’ cried our persecutor.

‘Oh but we do!’ replied Emily. ‘The more dishevelled the better,’ then, taking a step back she began shaking her head so violently that even I was shocked.

‘Your sister is a savage!’ Vertue exclaimed. ‘A savage,’ she repeated looking around her to see if anyone else had witnessed the scene. ‘No one will want to see
her
perform.’

Emily smiled.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I doubt it is obligatory.’

‘Oh, but it is,’ Vertue started again. ‘
Every
one has to take part. That is what Madame announced. Naturally some people will be allowed longer pieces than others – I am going to sing the whole of ‘Chanson D’Oiseau’ And look! I even have a new dress for the occasion,
not that it was bought with this in mind, but don’t you think it quite the prettiest dress in the world? All the way from Paris; Mademoiselle Blanche says that it will be perfect for the occasion. She is the one organizing the fête. We are to tell her tomorrow what we want to perform. Did I mention the piece I have chosen?’ ‘I believe you have, yes.’

‘It suits my voice. My singing master in Paris believes I have perfect pitch. Of course Papa chose him because he is one of the best teachers in Europe. I doubt your Papa could afford him – ’

There’s an old saying in Yorkshire, ‘Keep a stone in thy pocket seven year; turn it, and keep it seven year longer, that it may be ever ready to thine hand when thine enemy draws near’.

In my mind’s eye I held Emily’s stone in my palm, turning it over slowly again and again.

Upstairs Emily lay on her bed. She stared at the ceiling while I fussed around her, removing her shoes, rubbing her feet to warm them up.

‘If only you could have seen yourself,’ I whispered so as not to be overheard by the others. ‘What possessed you?’

‘The Devil.’

‘ “The Monster was hideous to behold?” ’ I quoted.

‘ “He was clothed with scales like a Fish” ‘ she rejoined cheerily, ‘ “had wings like a Dragon, feet like a Bear, and out of his belly came Fire and Smoke!” ’

‘Bravo! Well remembered. Are you worried about performing at Madame’s fête? I am quite certain if you were to ask Mademoiselle Blanche she would excuse you? There are so many of us I doubt there will be time for everyone to perform.’

‘But I know what I am going to do,’ Emily said lifting her head from her pillow and smiling.

‘You do?’

I was shocked.

‘I have quite decided. So long as they allow me.’

‘What piece?’ I said.

‘It will be a surprise.’

‘Every day you surprise me.’

‘What will you perform?’

I paused. Truth be told it vexed me that Emily knew what she was going to do. We sharedeverything –

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘I wonder if Monsieur Heger will be present?’

‘That is unlikely – ’

‘He would like something French I imagine. Something we have been studying perhaps?’

‘I am not performing for Monsieur Heger.’

‘No,’ she said and then, changing the subject, she started to talk about the Jenkins’s drawing room and whether or not I had noticed how the Revd Jenkins’s chin had wobbled like one of Aunt’s famous milk puddings.

Later that evening while the boarders attended the Lecture Pieuse and the Savage sat in the schoolroom poring over her books, I walked around the garden.

The paths were dark, lit only by starlight and a thin crescent moon. Occasionally I glanced up at the window where I had glimpsed the Heger children standing on the evening of my
arrival, but the window was empty. I walked in to the orchard where the apple and cherry trees had begun to blossom. Edged by moonlight the flowers glowed brightly, but when the moon slipped behind a cloud, darkness descended. Suddenly the garden became a place of shadows. I could not see much further than a few paces ahead of me and the trees – which only seconds before had looked as if they belonged in a fairytale – began to loom menacingly around me so that my imagination grew quite disturbed. I heard a rustling behind me and turning around too quickly a branch scratched my cheek. Suddenly a white shape rushed towards me. It was all I could do to hide my head in my hands and not let out a shriek for I was certain I was being descended upon by some evil spirit. The shapeless thing swooped past me only then did I realize that the apparition was an owl, its wingspan as broad as my outstretched arms, its blood-curdling shriek sharp as its talons.