No Talking after Lights (27 page)

I ought to go to the Head, Sylvia thought, and tell her what we saw. Perfectly natural, after all; two members of staff take an evening walk across the heath, nothing wrong with that, and happen to be there in time to avert a rape. I might even get some credit for it. I
love her!
I love her, want her, dream about coaxing her, patiently, as she discovers her own amazing pleasure. How gently my butterfly fingers would stray across her breasts, brushing her nipples as if by accident, waiting until she drew breath sharply, then again … guiding her towards the moment of her first climax. She is ready for it, waiting for me; otherwise how could that lout have persuaded her to come with him? Clumsy oaf. Coarse, red-faced, thick-witted peasant.
He
has touched her, and I, oh, I have not.

A hand went up.

‘Miss Parry, please, sorry but I've done so many crossings out, can I have some more paper …?'

‘Thick-witted child! And if I say no?'

‘But we're allowed to ask for …'

‘You are allowed, Rachel, whatever J decide you may have. Is that clear?'

‘Yes, Miss Parry.'

At least it had broken the train of thought. Constance's too. She heaved a sigh and began to study the exam paper.

Isolated in a small room beside the sick-room, Hermione woke in mid-morning from a deep sleep. She got out of bed, but found she could hardly keep her balance, staggered, and clung to the iron bedstead. She had a headache and her face hurt, especially her mouth. She looked down at her legs, which were streaked with iodine. Sitting on the bed, her back to the door, she pulled down the front of her nightie. Her chest was marked with fine parallel scratches. She shuddered and got back into bed, trembling. Shivers ran up her body and her arms and legs shook. Her breathing was fast. I was nearly raped, she thought, the secret, thrilling, adult word becoming real for the first time. William Truett nearly raped me. She clenched her fists to try and still her arms. Oh God, she thought, is that what it's like? Is that what men want? No wonder girls are supposed to stay virgin till their wedding night. Nobody would get married if they knew. It's horrible. He was so strong. And he smelt disgusting and common. I must have a wash. What on earth do I look like? What if he's marked my
face?
I must see.

There was no mirror in the next-door bathroom, but Hermione felt her face gingerly and knew that it was swollen. She found some TCP in a cupboard, and diluted it in a glass of water. It wasn't strong enough, so she put the bottle to her lips and drew a long, stinging gulp. She rinsed her mouth and gargled vigorously,

spitting the pale liquid into the basin. She locked the door and ran a bath.

Lying in the tepid water, she examined her scratches and bruises. William had fought quite savagely to pinion her and keep her quiet. She looked at her flat body and pointed breasts and at the memory of his rough, pawing hands she began to breathe fast and her heart raced. She drew long, deep breaths and closed her eyes, floating passively in the water until she became calm again.

The door handle turned.

‘Hermione? Is that you?' asked Miss Girdlestone.

‘I'm in the bath.'

‘Well hurry up, will you? Nobody said you could have a bath. The doctor will be here in about ten minutes. He's going to want to examine you.' There was a silence.

‘Are you all right?' Still silence. Ten minutes later the doctor was standing beside her bed.

‘My dear young lady,' he said. ‘I hear you've had a very nasty experience, and I'm afraid the next few minutes may not be very pleasant either. But it has to be done. Will you try and relax, don't resist, and please believe that I have to do this? It'll be over very quickly, I promise, but I need to have a dekko.'

His cold hands drew back the sheet and he pulled up her nightie, exposing her body to his gaze and that of Miss Girdlestone. She tried to relax, but was very aware of him manipulating her legs apart and probing gently. She shut her eyes.

‘She's OK,' she heard him say. ‘No permanent harm done. Keep an eye on those scratches. It could be nasty if they turned septic. The main thing she needs is lots of rest. Give her a dose of this now, and another sleeping-pill last thing at night. Young girls are very
resilient. In a week or two shell hardly remember what happened.'

‘Poor child,' Mrs Birmingham's voice said from beside the door. ‘Poor Hermione. She may not forget quite that easily.'

Hermione's scratches had been painted with iodine again, the doctor had gone, and she lay in bed flicking idly through one of the sick-room's collection of old magazines. The door opened and the Head came in, sat on a chair beside the bed and folded her hands in her lap.

‘Feeling a bit better now?' she asked. ‘Yes, thank you.'

‘Good. I expect you will be relieved to know that William Truett has gone. He has been dismissed. He will never come near the school again. You, of course, will not be punished. Now, dear, do you want to tell me about what happened yesterday evening, up on the heath?'

Hermione blushed. She couldn't tell the Headmistress - nor anyone, for that matter - about that. She shrank from the thought of his hot pushing hands, his breath whistling in her ear, the weight of his sweaty body as he tried to straddle her and hold her down. And after that Miss Parry, her rage, the force with which she'd slapped her, the struggle as Miss Monk had tried to hold her back.

‘I can't,' she said.

‘Listen to me, Hermione. I'm afraid young men can sometimes be carried away by their feelings towards girls, especially if they happen to be rather lovely. It's why we - your parents, and I - have to try so hard to protect you. But you're
all right
apart from a few nasty scratches. You
are
still a virgin, Hermione. It's important for you to know that. You may be quite, quite sure.

You have nothing to hide from your future husband. Don't be embarrassed, my dear. It is right that you should know, and that I should tell you. Finally, I am dreadfully sorry that this horrible thing should have happened to you. But it will not ruin your life, however distressed you may be feeling now. And it certainly hasn't spoiled your pretty face.'

Hermione blushed, more to be caught out in vanity than because of the Head's calm words. She didn't care in the least what her future husband would think. She doubted if there would
be
a future husband, after this.

‘I'm dreadfully sleepy,' she said.

The Head rose heavily to her feet.

‘Of course you are. Sleep's the very thing you need. Now, I shall go and telephone your parents - oh yes, my dear, I am afraid they have to be told - and we'll see what they want to do next. I'll come and see you again later. And I shall remember you in my prayers.'

There have been no new cases for a week, Mrs Mailing-Smith. We believe the outbreak is now contained … The polio is not, however, my main reason for telephoning you. I tried to make contact with you yesterday evening … The theatre. Yes, I see. Well now, I am afraid something rather unpleasant occurred yesterday. Yes, it involved your daughter.' In measured tones, she described the attack. ‘Yes, of course you may remove Hermione before term ends. The choice must be yours … May I finish explaining? Then you will be in a better position to decide. She has, of course, been seen by the school doctor. On health grounds, as I have said, I do not think it necessary to send her home. Hermione is, of course, rather shocked, but she is in good hands, and at the moment she is sleeping peacefully … I understand. For the time being. Of course you must talk to your husband. Very well.'

The study door opened, and Peggy Roberts came in. Henrietta raised her eyebrows to indicate exasperation, and ended her conversation with slightly more emphasis.

‘Of course, Mrs Mailing-Smith. Yes,
I'll
tell her. Not at all. And once again, please accept my profound apologies for what has happened. Goodbye.'

She looked at her Deputy and her shoulders slumped. ‘Hysterical mothers are the final straw. Hermione Mailing-Smith has quite enough on her plate without having to listen to a melodramatic outburst from her distracted mother. However, I can hardly prevent them from speaking on the telephone. Unfortunately it seems far more likely that she will get into her car the moment she puts the receiver down and remove the child forthwith. But enough of that. How was the hospital today?'

‘Very distressing, I am afraid.'

‘Shall we go into the drawing-room? Will you ring for some tea?'

Mrs Birmingham walked heavily through the connecting door into the next room, sank heavily into her armchair and sighed.
Be with me, O Lord, in this tribulation. Make me strong. Give to these Thy sick children comfort and hope. Lay Thy blessing upon Hermione and, O Lord, give it also to me!

All my life, she reflected, it has fallen to
me
to be strong. When I first knew that I was expecting James, I told Lionel and he said, ‘Hetty, my dear, I don't know if I'm cut out for fatherhood. It's all right for you, but …' and I had to reassure
him
. I tried to suggest he might earn some money, since Papa's allowance would no longer be sufficient. That's when he said he wasn't born to be a bank clerk. The humiliation of trailing round my family, my pregnancy increasingly obvious, asking them to find him work that wouldn't offend his
pride. ‘He'd like to be in
charge,
' I used to say; and I could read their thoughts. They had never suspected him of possessing qualities of leadership, or much intelligence, for that matter. He didn't even go to the right tailor. And then James was born, their first grandson, their only grandson, and somehow a position was found for Lionel, a nanny for James, and for a few years we were content - until the war came. And I had to be strong yet again …

‘Henrietta? Your tea.'

‘Peggy … tell me about the hospital. How are they all? Is there any improvement?'

‘It's not easy to tell with those children. They lie there, very still, not daring to move. They look so pale and frightened. It is hard to be cheerful and encouraging.'

‘What chance of …?' asked Henrietta. ‘Too early to say. Little Katherine Wilson seems most at risk. One daren't think about it.'

‘And Charmian?'

‘She didn't say a word. The nurse tells me that she keeps asking when her mother is coming. Her father's been, I'm glad to say, but her mother … I don't know, Henrietta. I don't pretend to understand these women.'

A sudden knock startled them both.

‘Come in!' called Mrs Birmingham.

Miss Parry's wiry head looked round the door.

‘Please come in. Sit down. I was going to ask you to see me. I understand that you and Miss Monk were able to intervene yesterday evening? It was most fortunate for Hermione Mailing-Smith that you happened to be there.'

In the pause they all heard Mrs Birmingham's wireless; although it was turned right down, a Chopin
Étude
was faintly audible. The clear, plangent notes fell like grains of sand into the silence.

‘I came to tell you,' said Miss Parry steadily, as though she had rehearsed in advance what to say, ‘that Miss Monk and I were walking on the heath when we came upon Hermione Mailing-Smith just in time to prevent her from being assaulted. We heard her cries for help. Who knows what might have happened otherwise? The boy is strong, and seemed determined to … Well, fortunately we were in time. When he saw us he ran away. Hermione, I am sure, was not to blame.'

‘Hermione had presumably made some sort of assignation with the under-gardener, for she had no business being on the heath, alone with him, at that hour. To that extent she
was
to blame. However,' said the Head, ‘she has in my view been punished quite enough, and I do not propose to discipline her further.'

‘What will happen to her?' asked Miss Parry. The question was her only reason for coming to see the Head. ‘Will her parents take her away?'

‘For the time being she is resting in the sick-room. It is up to her parents what they decide. I spoke to her mother earlier. They may wish to remove her immediately, since it is almost the end of term. I have not yet discussed with them the question of whether she will return.'

Sylvia Parry fixed her intent gaze upon Mrs Birmingham for what seemed like minutes. Chopin sweetened the tension. Eventually she drew a deep breath.

‘I have a great many papers to mark.'

‘I am grateful to you for giving me your own account of what took place,' said Mrs Birmingham coolly. ‘Unless you have anything further to add, you may go, Miss Parry.'

When the afternoon exam was over, Constance knew she had done well. It was English, her best subject, and

she'd answered the questions with ease, writing until the last moment. She didn't join the others clustering round to commiserate with one another, but headed up towards the pets' shed. Flopsy would be thirsty after another hot day.

She found that once again, none of the animals had been fed or watered. As she trudged to the rain-water barrel and back, filling their bowls first with water and then with oats from the sack in the corner of the shed, she tried to sort out her plans for running away. It all seemed terribly difficult. First she would have to make her way to the station in the village - a good twenty minutes' drive in the school coach, so that meant, what? Ten miles? How long would it take her to walk ten miles? Perhaps she could borrow someone's bicycle. But she daren't confide her plans, so that meant taking it without the owner's permission, which was dishonest. She couldn't do that. Well then, she'd have to get up very early one morning, slip out of school unseen, and walk. Maybe she'd meet someone who could give her a lift. But how would she pay for her train ticket? They were only allowed ten shillings pocket money a term, and that was kept in a locked petty-cash box in the staff-room. It was all much too complicated. She'd never manage it.