The Black Swan (48 page)

Caroline was a sort of leader. She enjoyed her role, and I noticed she extended her motherliness to the others as well as to me. Helga was more serious than the rest of us. She was very eager to do well at her studies, because her parents had struggled hard to send her to such a school. Yvonne was the sophisticated one. She knew about Life, she told us.

I did fairly well at lessons and was assessed as adequate for my age, and I fit in comfortably with the group.

I did not see very much of Annabelinda. At school she was known as Anna B. Grace Hebburn, who was the daughter of a duke and therefore was valued by Madame Rochère as “good for the school,” was a sort of head girl, having reached the dizzying pinnacle of seventeen years. Grace had decided—as she said somewhat inelegantly—that “Annabelinda” was “too much of a mouthful” and in the future Annabelinda should be known as Anna B.

Grace’s rival for Madame Rochère’s esteem was Marie de Langais, who was reputed to have descended from the royal family of France. Marie was a rather languid girl of certain good looks who did little to feed the rivalry, and Madame Rochère must have decided that an existing dukedom was worth more to the school than a connection with a monarchy now defunct for so many years. So Grace reigned supreme and her order that “Anna B” should be used in the future was respected.

At
La Pinière
there was great emphasis on the social graces. The objective was to mold us into young ladies who would be acceptable in the highest echelons of society, rather than into scholars. Consequently, great store was set on the dancing lessons, piano lessons and what was called conversazione.

This last activity took place in the great hall, the walls of which were hung with faded tapestry and portraits. Here we would sit under the searching eyes of Madame Rochère herself, who would suddenly address one of us and expect us to carry on a lively and witty conversation, which was usually about current events.

Each day we had a talk on what was happening in the world. This was delivered by a Monsieur Bourreau, who also gave piano lessons. Madame Rochère said the purpose was to turn us into young ladies who could be conversant on all matters of interest, including world affairs.

Anna B, as she was known now on Grace Hebbum’s orders, was enjoying school. Her great crony was her roommate, Lucia Durotti. They were constantly whispering together. Anna B loved dancing and was commended for it. Occasionally our paths met, but she was two years older than I and age is often an insurmountable barrier at school.

I was informed by Caroline that there was going to be a feast in the dormitory. “We have some biscuits and a tin of condensed milk—quite a big one. We also have a tin opener and a spoon. I brought them with me from home. I was waiting until everyone settled in before we had the feast. It’s my party, so I shall say who is to come. Everyone can bring a guest, so there’ll be eight of us.”

I was excited and immediately asked Anna B. She received the invitation with some hauteur and could not immediately decide whether it was beneath her dignity to accept. When I confided to Helga that Anna B thought she was too old to come, Helga said she was not sure whom she would ask so why shouldn’t it be Lucia Durotti. Then there would be another older one and it wouldn’t be so bad for Anna B.

When these invitations were offered the two girls accepted with alacrity.

Yvonne asked Thérèse de la Montaine, whose home was not far away from the school and who knew about the Rochère family and the old house before it had become a
pension
for
demoiselles
.

“It can be fun listening to her,” said Yvonne.

Caroline’s guest was Marie Christine du Bray, who was very sad at this time. It was only six months since both her parents had been killed in a railway accident. Marie Christine had been with them at the time but had escaped injury. She had been ill from emotional upset and was not yet fully recovered. Her family thought it would be best for her to be at school surrounded by people of her own age. Caroline had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on her.

We were all very excited about the feast. Secrecy was the order of the day.

“We do not want gate-crashers,” said Caroline. “There would be noise and the possibility of exposure. And you know what that means. Detention! Lines! Weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. ‘Sometimes I despair of you girls.’” Caroline was a good mimic and could give a fair imitation of Mademoiselle Artois.

Of course, the fact that what we were about to do was forbidden provided most of the excitement. There was nothing so very delectable about a biscuit and a few teaspoonfuls of a rather sickly condensed milk taken from a communal spoon. The great attraction of the enterprise was the aura of midnight feasts…and forbidden fruit.

The time came. Eight of us were in our dormitory seated on two beds, four on one, four on another, facing one another.

The can of milk was opened with some difficulty and there were squeals of excitement when some of it was spilled on the bedclothes, followed by frantic efforts to wipe them clean. The biscuits were handed around and consumed.

“Be careful of the crumbs,” warned Caroline. “Arty has the eyes of a hawk.”

The conversation was carried on half in English and half in French, often embracing the two, which made it easy to speak, such as, “
Parlez doucement
.
Est-ce que vous
want old Arty to hear?” There was a great deal of laughter, made more hilarious because it had to be suppressed; and there was no doubt that we were all enjoying ourselves immensely.

Then Yvonne remembered the reason why Thérèse de la Montaine had been asked, and she was eager for her guest to shine in the company; when the conversation flagged and the giggles were less spontaneous, she said, “Tell us about Madame Rochère and this house.”

“It’s a very old house,” put in Caroline. “There must be some stories about it. There are always stories about old houses. Does it have a ghost?”

“There is one ghost I know of,” said Thérèse. “It’s a lady who walks at night.”

We all looked around the room expectantly.

“Not here,” said Thérèse, “though I suppose quite a lot of the old ancestors are cross about the house being changed. Ghosts don’t like it when rooms are changed. Well, it would disturb them, wouldn’t it?”

“Fancy having your haunting place changed!” said Helga.

“And a lot of girls put in it,” Yvonne added.

“Having midnight feasts in it,” said Anna B.

“I wonder they don’t all come out and haunt
us
,” said Lucia.

“It’s not our fault,” pointed out Caroline. “We didn’t make the change. We’re what you might call victims of circumstance. I think it is Madame Rochère who should look out.”

“She’d frighten any ghost away,” declared Lucia.

“How long is it since Madame Rochère made the change?” Yvonne prompted her guest.

“I think it was about thirty years ago. Old houses take a lot of money to keep up. The Rochères lost a lot of their property in the revolution…so then they came to this one, just over the border. They lived here as they had in their French château…and then of course Madame Rochère couldn’t afford to keep it up any longer. She’d married Monsieur Rochère, but hers was a great French family, too, and this house was very important to her. Monsieur Rochère died quite young and as she couldn’t keep up the house she decided to turn it into a school.”

“We all know that,” said Anna B. “What about the ghost?”

“Oh, that was long before…about two hundred years.”

“Time doesn’t count with ghosts,” said Anna B. “They can go on haunting for hundreds of years.”

“This was a lady….”

“It’s always ladies,” retorted Anna B. “They are better haunters than men.”

“It’s because more awful things happen to them,” said Caroline. “They have a reason to come back…for retribution.”

“Well, what about this ghost?” asked Yvonne.

“Well,” said Thérèse, “it’s a lady. She was young and beautiful.”

“They always are,” said Anna B.

“Do you want to hear about this ghost or not?” asked Lucia.

“Get on and tell us,” replied Anna B.

“Well, she was young and beautiful. She had married the heir of
La Pinière
and then her husband caught a pox and his life was in danger.”

“You get spots all over,” said Lucia. “And you are marked for life.”

“That’s right,” went on Thérèse. “She should have left him alone. It was very infectious. Everyone warned her, but she insisted on nursing him herself. She would not let anyone else do it. She was with him night and day and she did it all herself. They said she was risking her life, for people died of it, you know.”

“We did know,” said Anna B. “What happened to her? She died, I expect.”

“Not then. Her husband was cured. It was all due to her nursing. He was better and there were no marks on him at all. All the spots had gone and left no scars. He was more handsome than ever. But no sooner was he on the way to recovery than she found she was suffering from the pox, which she had caught.”

“From him!” said Lucia.

“Of course from him,” said Anna B, “who else?”

“Get on with the story,” cried Yvonne.

“Well, her beauty was gone. She was covered in spots.”

“And he nursed her back to health,” cut in Lucia.

“He certainly did not. She got better but her face was all pitted. She wore a veil over it, and he…well, he didn’t love her anymore because she had lost her beauty…in caring for him.”

“What a sad tale,” said Helga.

“There’s more to come. He neglected her. He had a
mistress!
”

There was a long sigh from everyone present. The girls were all sitting up. The story had taken on a new dimension with the introduction of the mistress.

“You see, she had lost her looks from the pox, and then he did this to her. And what did she do?”

“Killed the mistress…or him?” suggested Anna B.

“No, she did not. She went up to the top of the tower…and jumped right down and killed herself.”

There was a shocked silence.

“And,” went on Thérèse, “she now walks. She is the ghost. She can’t rest. Every now and then she walks through the hall right up the spiral staircase…you know, the one that leads to the tower. You can hear her footsteps on the stone, they say.”

“I’ve never heard them,” said Helga.

“You have to be sensitive to hear them,” Thérèse told her.

“I’m sensitive,” said Caroline.

“So am I,” we all cried.

“Well, perhaps you’ll hear them one day.”

“Has anyone seen her?”

“One of the girls said she did. She had long, flowing hair and there was a veil over her face.”

“I’d like to see her,” said Anna B.

“Perhaps you will,” replied Yvonne.

“What do you say to a ghost?” asked Lucia.

“You don’t say anything, of course,” retorted Thérèse. “You’re too frightened.”

“Perhaps one of us will see her,” I said.

“Who knows?” replied Thérèse.

After that we talked of ghosts. No one had seen any, but they had of course heard a great deal about them.

The clock in the tower struck two before the guests departed, and after having made sure that there were no crumbs to attract Mademoiselle Artois’s attention, we all went to bed.

After that night there was a good deal of talk about ghosts in general and in particular about the lady who had been disfigured by smallpox and had thrown herself from the top of the tower. An account of the midnight feast and the revelations of Thérèse were whispered from dormitory to dormitory.

We four used to talk about it continuously, after lights out. Anna B was quite interested, too. She said it showed how you had to be on your guard with men and it was a lesson: If they caught smallpox, never nurse them.

Some girls said they had heard footsteps in the night…steps walking across the hall and out to the tower.

I saw a little more of Anna B after that night; the feast had brought us closer, for those who could provide such an entertainment were not to be despised, even if they were only thirteen years old.

If I met her she would pause and talk and I was able to ask how she was getting on. She said she quite liked it. She loved the dancing, and she got on very well with Lucia. She did not ask how I was getting on. But that was typical of her.

One day I had a great surprise.

It was about half past four. We had finished lessons for the day and this was our rest period, when we could go to our dormitories to read or chat together.

I thought I would take a little walk in the gardens, which were very beautiful. This we were allowed to do, providing we did not go beyond the grounds.

As I was coming out of the house, I caught sight of Anna B. She was hurrying toward the shrubbery and I went after her.

She was some way ahead, and fearing that when she entered the shrubbery I should lose sight of her, I called her name.

She looked around. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, and went on walking. I ran up to her.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Oh…nowhere.”

“Really, Anna B. One doesn’t go nowhere.”

“Just for a walk, that’s all.”

And then I saw him. I could not believe it at first. It was so unexpected. For there, in the shrubbery, was Carl Zimmerman. My mind went back to the last time I had seen him, standing uncertainly outside the cubbyhole and then again inside it talking to us until Robert took him to the dining room.

He stared from me to Anna B.

“Why…” he began.

“You were at our home…do you remember?” I said.

He nodded.

“It is so strange to see you here…at our school….”

Anna B looked a little exasperated. She said, “I knew Carl was here. I saw him the other day and he explained to me.”

“Explained…?”

I could not stop myself from looking at him. He was very different from the previous occasion when he had been immaculately dressed for the evening. He was now wearing a loose jacket which had smudges of earth on it; and so did his trousers. Moreover, he was carrying a rake.

“Carl works here…in the gardens,” said Anna B.