Pandora (7 page)

As arranged, Mrs Laskaris got the girls to the headmistress’s office at a quarter to nine. Despite the warmth of the day, Miss Hill was wearing a rather heavy, old-fashioned dress.

“I have your files here,” said the headmistress, placing a hand on three brown folders on her desk. There was another pile of similar brown folders at her elbow. “I have your test results and assessments from your previous school.” Her eyes flickered over the three girls as though she did not approve of her new pupils. She only softened when she looked back at the files on her desk. Her hand gently caressed the topmost report.

“No problems, I hope?” warbled Mrs Laskaris.

“These test results are profoundly unsatisfactory,” snapped Miss Hill, finally showing some emotion. “All are well below the standard we expect here at St Hilda’s.”

“I’m afraid their old school wasn’t very good, academically,” began Mrs Laskaris, before being cut off by Miss Hill.

“The results speak for themselves. The government-approved curriculum is the yardstick by which we measure and define the progress of the students and thus determine which students are falling behind the predetermined, authorised, acceptable standards. Your daughters, I’m afraid to say, are well behind the predetermined, authorised, acceptable standards.”

“I’m sure now that they’re in a better school,” twittered Mrs Laskaris, her cheeks glowing red with shame, “that their grades will improve.”

“I certainly hope so,” replied Miss Hill, who seemed to trust the paperwork more than she trusted people. “We have excellent academic standards at this school, and we do not tolerate any students pulling down the average by getting poor results in their exams. I have organised a schedule so that the girls can have extra work, both in the evening and at weekends, so that they may catch up with the rest of the school.”

“Extra work?” gasped Pandora. “We never had any complaints at the old school about our work!”

Miss Hill looked shocked that Pandora had spoken. “We do not talk back to teachers at St Hilda’s,” she snapped. “Such behaviour is outrageous and unacceptable.”

“I’m not talking back,” protested Pandora in astonishment. “I’m simply saying—”

“That will do!” yapped Miss Hill, her composure almost shattered by Pandora’s behaviour. “I have never known such reprehensible manners from a new student before! I see there is much work to be done. It is nine o’clock. You will all report to your form tutors for your weekly schedules. I shall be writing notes to your tutors warning them of your insolence.” She got up, marched to the door and wrenched it open.

Mrs Laskaris gathered the girls up and pushed them out of the office, squeezing Pandora shoulder as she did so in warning against saying anything else.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Hill,” said Mrs Laskaris as the office door shut behind the three girls. Pandora strained her ears, hoping to hear a little bit more, but the school receptionist collected the three girls together and marched them down the corridor.

“Oh, great, thanks a lot, Pan,” said Sarah. “Our first day here and we’re already in trouble.”

“Yeah, thanks to you, we’ve made a bad impression,” complained Anne.

Pandora looked in hurt bewilderment at her sisters. “It wasn’t my fault,” she protested. “How was I to know she would act like that? I was only saying—”

“That will do, girls,” said the receptionist in a prim manner. “You’re not allowed to talk in the corridors.”

“But—” began Pandora, but by this time, they had reached the twins’ classroom and the receptionist was already ushering them through. Neither Sarah nor Anne looked back at Pandora as they entered the room. The receptionist came back out and marched Pandora to her classroom. Pandora bit her lip all the way. She and the twins had never had any real disagreements before moving to Willowcombe.

The receptionist opened the door to another classroom, bundled Pandora through, and shut the door behind her. Pandora looked across the room at her new form tutor and saw the flyaway hair and badger-like moustache of Mr Gilchirst.

“Ah, the young, Miss Laskaris, fresh from your appointment with Miss Hill. How did that go? All well, I hope.”

Pandora went red, aware that the whole class was watching her. “Um,” she said.

“Just
um
?” enquired Mr Gilchirst with an affable smile.

“I’m not even sure I’m allowed to speak,” said Pandora, shrugging her shoulders in irritation at the headmistress.

“Ah, you have been introduced to that school policy, have you?” said Mr Gilchirst with a sympathetic cluck. “Not to worry. In my classes, you are quite free to ask any sensible questions. Just remember, though, that as far as our esteemed headmistress is concerned, pupils wait for permission before having any original thoughts.” A giggle went round the class. Pandora smiled, feeling a little better as the giggle was not aimed at her.

“Now, let’s see, I believe young Zoe Bailey has a space next to her,” said Mr Gilchirst, indicating one of the old-fashioned desks which was occupied by a tall black girl. “Zoe is also new, having arrived just a few days ago. Also clustered in that area of the classroom are the other new pupils who we are squeezing in as best we can as Willowcombe Clatford expands.”

Pandora took the seat indicated. She and Zoe smiled shyly at each other. Pandora couldn’t help but notice that Zoe was a very attractive girl, and she felt her spirits lift a little.

Mr Gilchirst looked at a mass of papers spread randomly over his desk and frowned over his half-moon spectacles. “Drat, I know I have your schedule here somewhere from Miss Hill. Where did I put it?” He turned to an ancient leather bag, of the sort doctors used to carry, and began rummaging through it, disinterring more paperwork, several folders, some books, numerous pens and a lone shoe.

“I shall be with you shortly,” said Mr Gilchirst, plunging with fresh energy into the bag. Immediately, the new pupils at the back of the class began to talk quietly amongst themselves, while the native Willowcombe children began reading their textbooks, making notes as they went along.

“He’ll probably be a while,” whispered Zoe to Pandora. “He’s a great teacher, but he’s not very organised.”

“I’m surprised the head allows him to be so chaotic,” replied Pandora, looking in amazement as another shoe, but not the brother of the first, was lifted from the brown leather bag and placed on a table.

“Ah, got it!” exclaimed Mr Gilchirst in triumph, finding the schedule had been in his pocket all the time. He unfolded the paper, shook out some biscuit crumbs and peered at the timetable. Then he turned it on end and shook it, as though hopeful that some of the activities would fall off the page. “Hum,” he muttered, turning the paper around again. “Double maths, extra English, second geography, history revision, RE revision, craft and textile revision...”

Mr Gilchirst shuddered, carefully folded the timetable up and pushed it into the huge pile of papers he had taken from his bag. He then picked the papers up and dropped them into a small bin next to his desk, where they overflowed onto the floor.

“Given that it is your first day, I suspect it would be better to have some time to orientate yourself to your new surroundings,” said Mr Gilchirst to Pandora. “Go and explore the school, introduce yourself to some of the people. And do make sure you visit the most important room in the school, which is what, anybody?”

“The library,” chorused the class.

“And why?” beamed Mr Gilchirst.

“Because society is measured by its books,” said the class as one. This was clearly something they had learnt long ago from their eccentric form tutor.

“Excellent,” smiled Mr Gilchirst. “Of course, we must also explore the concept of what type of books society favours to truly understand the values of society, but that must wait as, sadly, I see by our schedule that today we are to finish our study of last year’s exam papers. There is little point in throwing you, Pandora, into such a scintillating area, especially as we start the brand new topic tomorrow of studying slightly older exam papers, so take the time to settle in. Get to know your way around, meet the librarian, Miss Winters, and then meet us in the hall at twelve sharp for lunch.”

He stood and beamed vaguely.

Pandora, slightly stunned by the flowing words, said, “Er, ok. Thanks,” and gratefully fled the classroom and the threat of old exams.

Pandora decided to take Mr Gilchirst’s suggestion of finding the school library. She walked the new, cheap, bland, disinfected corridors, all full of plastic signs telling students not to run or talk at any time for their own safety, to work hard for extra credit, to listen in order to learn and to volunteer for afterschool clubs for even more credit.

It was a surprise to reach the older part of the school and see that the fabric of the building seemed to be little changed from its original form, consisting as it did of old wooden panelling and brass fittings. Here, the plastic signs seemed alien to the atmosphere of solid learning and exploration.

The library stood behind an old set of wooden double doors. Pandora heaved one of the doors open and walked through. Inside was a huge room, divided into two distinct halves, separated by a large desk at which sat an upright woman with piercing blue eyes and thick, unruly, grey hair.

Pandora slouched to the desk and said, “Hello.”

The woman at the desk, who had been writing in a huge, tatty, leather-bound book, looked over the top of her glasses and focussed on Pandora. She saw a tall girl with a complexion that hinted strongly of the Mediterranean, smiling with a mixture of shyness and impudence.

“Hello,” replied the woman in a clear, powerful voice. The word seemed to ricochet around the room. “You must be Pandora.”

“I suppose I must,” agreed Pandora. “Are you Miss Winters?”

“I am. Welcome to the library. Do you read a lot?”

Pandora sensed that a great deal depended on her answer. Miss Winters was clearly an avid reader. Honesty, however, was generally Pandora’s way.

“Not much,” she said. “It’s hard to find anything interesting.”

“Hmm. What’s your favourite book?”

“I like
Wuthering Heights
. It’s dark, mysterious and you’re never sure how Heathcliffe or Cathy will react next.”

“Very true,” smiled Miss Winters. “Would you like a book to take home? I’m sure we will have something to suit your tastes.”

“OK,” said Pandora with a grin, sensing she had made a friend. “How do I go about choosing something?”

“I have divided the room into two,” explained Miss Winters. “On the one side are all the officially approved books.” She gestured at the front of the library, where the shelves were white, neat and symmetrical. All the books slotted perfectly into their allocated spaces. “The officially approved books have all been vetted by the school governors and can be found by referencing the computer catalogue. There, you will find such modern day pap as
Tiny Tilda and the Hedgehog Tea Party. The Famous Three Explore the Apple Orchard. Mummy and Daddy Take Us to the Zoo
.”

Miss Winter’s face wore an expression of barely restrained pain. “You will also find there
The Expurgated and Approved Shakespeare.
The Expurgated and Approved Dickens. The Expurgated and Approved Austen.
Suitable for all ages and enjoyable for none. I could go on but I won’t.” The light shone down brightly on the approved books from a circular window set in the roof.

“The back of the library, part of the original building, will be of far more interest to someone of your tastes. There, you will find the books from the very first school library, as well as books donated by teachers, past and present, old pupils, authors, publishers and many that I have found and added myself.”

Pandora looked with interest at the old part of the library. The shelves were all crooked, made of dark wood and the books were piled wherever they would fit. The sunlight that got in to the back of the library didn’t so much illuminate the shelves as bathe them in shadow, creating dark nooks and niches.

“Unfortunately, this section is rarely visited by the pupils,” added Miss Winters sorrowfully.

“How do you know what’s there?” asked Pandora in wonder. There seemed to be a thousand books, at least.

“There is no catalogue as such for this section, but this is where I record them all.” Miss Winters gestured at the huge book she had been writing in. “I shall have to leave you, I’m afraid,” she added with a sigh. “I had hoped to do a little more on the catalogue this morning, but another meeting has been called by the headmistress. She wants to discuss the cross-referencing of the new B2 paperwork with the existing A5 records, and I am already late for it. Do please help yourself, simply record on the last page of the ledger which book you have taken. All loans are valid for one month.”

“Right, thanks, I will,” said Pandora as Miss Winters gathered up her coat and handbag. The librarian smiled and hurried out, leaving Pandora alone.

She spent a few minutes walking up and down the shelves, looking at the spines of each book.
The Hound of the Baskervilles. The Phantom of the Opera. Dracula. Death in the Middle Ages. Romanticism Lost. The Steampunked Pirates
. Pandora moved deeper into the stack, and her own name jumped out at her, stamped in faded gold on a crumbling book of red leather. She frowned and pulled the book out and saw the whole title.
Pandora and Other Greek Myths
.

Pandora glanced inside the book and found the frontispiece, which showed a young woman in a toga releasing what looked like ghosts or wraiths from a small wooden box. The description on the opposite page read,
Explore the myths and legends of ancient Greece. Rich in colour and imagination, the ancient Greek culture informed–and still influences–much of today’s Western culture. Discover the story of the Minotaur, devouring victims in his labyrinth. Explore the Gods of Olympus and their petty squabbles and vindictive actions. Learn of the ten-year siege of Troy and the hundreds of dead warriors who fell during the onslaught. Read of Pandora ’s Box, which unleashed all the ills of the world...