Spying on Miss Muller (5 page)

“Was there bombing anyplace else?” I asked. “In Derry?”

Ada interrupted me. “In Dungannon?” That's where her parents lived.

“No place else,” Bengie said. “Only Belfast.”

We all smiled.

“Whew!” Ada crossed herself, which was an awful thing to do since none of us was Catholic, but it did help to relieve the pressure.

“Did we manage to shoot down any of their planes?” I asked Bengie.

Bengie put her soap dish on the shelf above the line of basins. In the mirror we watched our own cluster of faces. Watched Bengie take off her dressing gown and roll up her pajama sleeves.

“Naah. We didn't get even one. The English took all the Irish anti-aircraft guns a while back. They didn't think we were important enough to ever be bombed.”

“But we heard gunfire,” Lizzie Mag said.

“Those were just ground guns. They couldn't shoot high enough to hit a sea gull.”

“The nerve of those English,” I said. “We could have shot down all the German planes last night if they'd left us our own property. The English are always taking our stuff.”

“Well, at least we got to see the boys.” Phyllis Hollister peered closely at herself in the mirror and peeled away a smudge of potter's clay that had lodged under her chin.

“I swear, Phyllis Hollister!” Bengie looked disgusted that we would even be interested in seeing the boys, although I knew for a fact that she'd gone more than once behind the kindergarten huts with Gordon Craig, who was a boy prefect and who always played leading man in the school shows. We'd been told that only one thing went on there behind those kindergarten huts. Nobody told us exactly what that one thing was, but we knew it was strictly forbidden, even for prefects. Still, it was pretty disgusting for Phyllis to be talking about boys when all those people had been killed. Not thinking about boys would be impossible. Talking about them now just didn't seem right.

Bengie dried her face and arms and said casually, “Morning assembly will be very interesting today. There's going to be a sensation.”

“A sensation? What, Bengie? What kind of sensation? You mean because of the air raid?” All of us spoke at once.

“Partly. You could say that.”

I could feel my stomach tightening. Was the sensation about me? Was it because someone had seen me kissing Ian McManus? But lots of others had kissed too.

“You'll find out. Just don't miss assembly, that's all.” Bengie wiggled her fingers over her shoulder at us as she departed.

“She's so mean not to tell us,” Lizzie Mag said.

Ada nodded. “ ‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.' You know who said that?” she asked Maureen.

Maureen looked puzzled. “Was it one of our teachers?”

By then girls were drifting into the bathroom from the other dorms, and all of them were talking about last night.

“Maybe the sensation's about Miss Müller,” Lizzie Mag whispered. “Maybe she's been found out.”

I emptied my hot-water bottle into one of the basins. The water made a small, lukewarm puddle that barely covered the stopper. If I added more water from the faucet, it would be freezing cold. “Maybe somebody else saw her,” I whispered. “Oh, cheese, Lizard. I've been hoping and hoping she's innocent.”

Mean Jean Ross, who wore a big silver crucifix around her neck, said, “It sounds as if somebody's head is going to be on the block this morning at assembly.” When she said that, she smiled her Mean Jean smile. She loved it when someone got in trouble. Her father was a Methodist minister, but none of the holiness had rubbed off on her.

“We're hoping the head on the block will be yours,” Ada told her, chopping down with one hand and running her finger across her throat.

“Really,” Mean Jean said.

Second bell was trilling in the distance and we had to hurry. Lizzie Mag and I skipped washing and headed back to our cubies.

I got dressed quickly, fastening my narrow garter belt, pulling up my black stockings and navy-blue knickers. I hadn't opened this week's laundry parcel, so I ripped it apart now, shook the folds from my white blouse, and got my gym tunic from under the mattress, where I put it each night to keep the pleats in.

Getting dressed for the execution, I thought, and then suddenly I remembered. I had to go to Nursie's dispensary this morning after breakfast. I didn't dare skip it. It was as much as your life was worth to ignore an order from Nursie. I'd hurry and hope I was first in line. Then I'd take whatever Nursie gave me and gulp it down fast.

Lizzie Mag was at my door.

“Coming,” I said as I finished knotting my tie.

“I was thinking, if Miss Müller has been caught, we don't have to plan on watching her. Most likely she won't be around to watch.” Lizzie Mag gave me a frightened glance.

I nodded.

We hooked arms and joined the others tramping up the corridor to the dining room just the way we did every morning. But this wasn't like every other morning.

Now we could see the boys coming toward us from their wing. A bunch of teachers in their floating black university gowns stood as usual at the dining-room doors. You would think nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No air raid, no bombs, no possible spies at Alveara, no kissing in the shelter.

“Boys to the left, girls to the right. Boys to the left, girls to the right,” the teachers chanted as usual. And as usual they kept a close watch for love notes being passed. Outside the dining room was a favorite note-passing place.

Today I didn't see a single letter being confiscated. Actually, nobody had had time to write one, as we'd all had other things on our minds. We went to our places at the tables and stood behind our chairs with our hands folded and our eyes closed.

Mr. Atkinson said grace, and our voices joined in. “Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus Dominus Deus,” we chanted.

I glanced through my half-closed eyes at Miss Müller standing in her place at the head table with the other women teachers. Old Rose never appeared at breakfast. She said she meditated at the start of each day, but we knew for a fact she was just taking an extra hour in bed, probably snoring her brains out like Maureen.

Miss Müller looked pale and tired. Her dark-red lipstick matched the dark-red suit she wore under her black gown. Her eyes were closed. She must have known how we felt about the Germans this morning. And that almost everybody here detested her. Did she know about the sensation that was coming? She must. I glanced at her again. The muscles in the sides of her neck were tight. Maybe her teeth were clenched.

After grace and before we sat down, Mr. Atkinson gave a small P.S. of thanks that we had sustained no injuries last night, and prayed for those who had.

“Amen,” we chanted.

Our chairs scraped across the floor as we pulled them out. We had place lists that changed every month, so we had to sit where we were told to. Ada said we'd have lists for our funerals when the time came. This month my back was to the boys and I had to depend on Lizzie Mag for commentary on Ian. Today we didn't even mention him, though. There were too many other things going on, which was sad, because a girl's first kiss should never be overshadowed by anything.

The maids came up from the kitchen carrying the trays filled with the thick slices of bread and margarine, the big white jugs of milk, and the boiled eggs in their shells.

I poured milk for all those around me, the way I always did. I loved milk when I was at home, but I didn't like it here. It smelled of the dishcloths they used in the kitchen when they washed the jugs. Ada said the best thing to do was not to breathe when you drank.

There was a sudden sharp little scream from farther up the table.

“It's Carol Murchison,” Ada said, craning her neck. “What's wrong with her?”

Carol was a prefect in Goldilocks. We all leaned forward and watched as she shoved back her chair and stood, her hands pressed to the sides of her face, her eyes staring down at the table.

“Heaven save us. Maybe there's a German under there,” Nancy Eden screamed. “Maybe one bailed out and came down on his parachute!”

Girls were scraping out their chairs and lifting the tablecloth, trying to see beneath it. Others peered through the mullioned windows, where rain beat at the glass, making it impossible to see anything.

“Maybe we're being invaded,” Nancy Eden shrieked.

Pat Crow, who sat next to Carol, yelled, “It's not the Germans. It's not an invasion. There's a dead chicken in Carol's egg.” Pat held her nose and pointed.

Mr. Atkinson tapped his spoon against his cup and called, “Settle down, girls. What
is
the matter?”

Carol gulped. “There's a dead chicken in my egg, sir.”

“Impossible. Bring it up here.”

Carol ran her hands down the sides of her gym tunic and stepped back. “I can't, sir. I can't touch it, honestly.”

The eggcup got shoved along the table and half a dozen girls managed to look in it before Miss Hardcastle came stomping over and picked it up.

“It's got a beak and everything,” one of the girls said, gagging behind her napkin.

The boys guffawed and poked each other and made clucking sounds. Boys can be horrible sometimes. They think they're so superior.

“Such a commotion over nothing,” Miss Hardcastle said severely. Then she looked into the egg herself, gasped, and turned a strange color. She held the eggcup at arm's length, went to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called, “Bridget? Mary?”

One of the new little maids came and took the eggcup away.

“Carol, would you like them to bring you another egg?” Miss Hardcastle asked.

“No, thank you, Miss Hardcastle. Not for the rest of my life,” Carol said.

None of us wanted our eggs but Miss Gaynor said we must think of the starving children in Europe and not waste good food. Several of us told her we would have been happy to send the starving children of Europe every egg in Ireland.

Nobody wanted to eat anything more, and we were glad when at last Mr. Atkinson stood to dismiss us. Usually he said, “Deo gratias, hosanna in excelsis.” Today he added, “And don't let the Jerries get you down.” We liked to call them Jerries instead of Germans. It made them sound less scary.

We all shouted, “They'll never get us down,” and stamped our feet in approval.

The teachers left first, all of them except the two on inside dining-room duty. I watched Miss Müller. She walked with her head down and she was almost at the door when the hissing began. I don't know who started it, or even where it came from. One moment we were cheering because the Jerries would never get us down, and then the cheering had changed to this ugly, hateful sound. It filled the dining room like steam coming out of a kettle. Miss Müller stopped, lifted her head, then bowed it again and walked faster.

Mr. Bolton moved beside her. He took her arm and bent over her. His round face was kind and concerned. The short bulk of his body seemed to be shielding her from our attacks. Teachers always stuck together no matter what.

Mr. Atkinson turned to face us. “Stop this abominable noise at once,” he said. His glare was so fierce that the hissing began to die away.

The kettle being taken off the stove, I thought numbly.

Mean Jean Ross's finger traced the shape of the silver cross under her blouse. She wasn't allowed to have it outside when she was wearing her gym tunic. She said she should be allowed, because it was God's symbol, but Old Rose said it was jewelry and no jewelry was permitted when we were in uniform.

“It's going to get worse for the Fräulein before it gets better,” Mean Jean said with satisfaction.

I had a feeling Mean Jean was right.

W
E DRIFTED ALONG
the corridor away from the dining room.

“Let her pass
that
along to Hitler,” Ada said, and went “ssssss” between her little squared-off teeth.

“Too bad it wasn't Miss Müller that got the egg,” Maureen said. “That would have been true justice. A rotten egg for—”

I interrupted. “I have to go to dispensary and I'm rushing so I'll be there first. Save me a seat at the assembly, Lizzie Mag.”

“Hurry,” she called after me. “You don't want to miss anything.”

“I'll go like the wind.”

I ran up the stairs, remembering last night: the red brothel carpet, the painted portrait eyes watching me. Nightmare time! But when I turned to look, the eyes were still watching me. The past headmistresses were extra guards in our boarder prison, keeping an eye on our every move. I ran the last few steps to the dispensary.

Cheese! Even though I was out of breath from running, two other, younger girls had made it before me. They were leaning against the wall, talking about the air raid. Opposite them the san door lay open. When there were no patients, Nursie unlocked the door every morning in case of emergency, though there'd never been one yet as far as I knew. To my right was the arched stone opening and the steps that led to the roof. Not so scary now in daylight, but scary enough.

“I was awful frightened by those bombs,” the little girl ahead of me was saying to the other one. I remembered her name was Hillary something. Walker, I thought.

“Me, too,” the girl in front of her said. She was wearing the badge on her tunic that showed she was on the under-ten hockey team. I thought her name was Flash. “A lot of the fifth and sixth formers seemed to be having fun,” Flash said, and I knew her big-eyed innocent look was just a put-on. She meant I, for one, had been having fun. The two of them giggled and put their hands over their mouths. They wanted me to know they knew.

“Wasn't it awful the way everybody hissed Miss Müller this morning?” Flash asked me.

“She deserved it,” little Hillary said quickly. “She's a Nazi. Her daddy was in the Nazi army.”