The Room in the Attic by Louise Douglas

Author:Louise Douglas [Douglas, Louise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books
Published: 2021-10-11T22:00:00+00:00

Ironically, it was an actual relief when the academic day was over and I was back in Ward B. I wanted to be by myself somewhere where nobody could see me or jostle me or slap me on the back and call me a hero. The fifty per cent of my classmates who were rebels had assumed that I’d deliberately messed up my homework to rile Mr Crouch; they thought I was emerging as a troublemaker, a desperado, someone with a complete disregard for authority. But actually, that wasn’t me at all. I didn’t want to be that kind of person. And especially I didn’t want the teachers to think I was like that. I didn’t want to keep getting beaten. It hurt, and I didn’t like being hurt and I didn’t like being humiliated either. I didn’t like to think of how upset my mum would be if she knew what was going on here, and lastly, I didn’t like imagining my father’s face when he opened my academic report at the end of the year and discovered the number of my transgressions.

Fortunately, ‘my’ booth in Ward B was free. I scuttled to it before anyone else could claim it and took out my homework, part of which was to read the chapter in my history textbook about Bishop Ridley and learn that which I’d failed to learn before. I found the chapter and stared at the words but my eyes had started to glaze over with boredom before I’d even read one paragraph.

Was this it? I wondered. Was I to be stuck forever at page 170 of my Reformation book, never being able to climb the hill that was the martyrdom of Ridley, never being able to move on to other topics?

I stared at Bishop Ridley’s picture. He had a black hat and a pointy beard and laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. From the little I knew of him he hadn’t seemed like someone who might have a good sense of humour, but the person who painted him obviously thought he did. He was holding a book which was must have been a bible but that looked ever so similar in size and shape to Emma Everdeen’s nursing manual.

Frustrated, tired, I took the lid off my pen and began to make notes, resenting every ounce of energy and concentration that the task demanded. The pen lid rolled towards the edge of the desk. I pushed it with my finger and it went all the way and fell onto the floor. I dropped down to retrieve it, my heart thudding with anticipation; but I could see at once that there were no more marks on the floorboards.

The disappointment was like a lump in my stomach. But what had I been expecting? Did I really think some person decades ago, chained to this wall, would have been somehow able to see my question mark and write back? It was stupid. I was stupid.

Still, I didn’t feel ready to give up just yet.

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