Goodbye, Ms. Chips by Dorothy Cannell

Author:Dorothy Cannell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

10

On our walk across the gently sloping lawn to the school, I was relieved that Gillian seemed in a better frame of mind than the day before. She was reserved and in no way a lively fourteen-year-old, but I detected none of the nervous agitation that had so worried me. Even so, I hoped I could learn more about her from Matron.

It was Gillian who brought up her great-aunt. “Mrs. Haskell, I told Aunt Wilma about seeing you and Miss Critchley when I went for my lesson with Mr. Middleton, and she told me to tell you she hopes you’ll stop in and see her after you have finished the Home Skills class.”

“I’ll do that. Will she be in her office or the staff common room?”

We had drawn level with Mr. Mossop busily clipping grass around the base of a tree. He mumbled something but didn’t look up, and we passed on. I made a mental note to have a word with both husband and wife on the off chance either of them had seen a shifty-eyed someone making off with the Loverly Cup.

“Her office,” said Gillian. “Do you remember where it is?”

“Roughly.”

“It’s around the corner from the main corridor on the left, outside the San.” We were now going up the broad steps to the front entrance door. Gillian added hesitantly, before pushing it open, “I wasn’t myself yesterday, but that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have spoken unkindly about Aunt Wilma. If she’s been cross with me, it’s because she doesn’t want me to get into Mrs. Battle’s bad books and be seen as a problem that might end with me being sent home.”

“But do you want to stay here?” I said, looking around the reception hall, with its high, partially wainscoted walls, parquet flooring, and broad oak staircase. I turned my eyes back to her. “Not everyone is cut out for boarding school. You shouldn’t feel you’ve failed if it isn’t for you.”

“Did you like it, Mrs. Haskell?”

“I enjoyed the friends I made.” It was a struggle to sound more positive, especially when I had the feeling we were a subject of disapproving interest to the somber-faced men and women represented in the portraits on the staircase wall. All of them, if I remembered correctly, had been members of the Board of Governors. It seemed to me that a fiercely mustached gentleman, his cheeks and waistcoat swelling with importance, looked down at us with a particularly jaundiced eye. One of Mr. Bumbleton’s forebears, if I wasn’t mistaken. Perhaps even the founder of the architectural firm with a fondness for niches.

Gillian wasn’t looking at him or at the companion portraits. “Mrs. Haskell, did you ever think of running away?” The face she raised was calm, but I heard the tightness in her voice and picked my words accordingly.

“I imagine every girl at boarding school does when she is homesick or things go badly. It’s easier, I suppose, for the ones who are tremendously popular and clever. I was neither of those things, besides being hopeless at games and sports.

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