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I STRODE ACROSS THE springy lawn to the mausoleum, a minute’s brisk walk from the staffroom. Heaving open the old oak door and pushing aside the thick velvet curtain, I then swung the door closed behind me. The clang as the lock hit the doorjamb ricocheted off the chilly marble-lined walls.
Low light filtered in through tiny arrow slits and high diamond-patterned windows near the roof, draining everything of colour. I looked down at myself. It was like seeing my own ghost.
The cool, shadowy atmosphere was restful for the dead at least. The school bell, as dependable as Big Ben, would never penetrate these thick walls, nor would anyone outside hear what went on within. But for some reason, I felt on edge.
I swallowed hard and stepped out towards Lord Bunting’s tomb with a boldness I did not feel. It might be interesting, I told myself, to become better acquainted with him. The calm profile of the old man’s alabaster effigy suggested his satisfaction with his life’s achievements. I ran my fingers along his intricately carved robes, the work of a master sculptor.
How sad for Lord Bunting that his beloved wife had opted not to join him in this place of rest. What a different society she lived in, in which a man’s proposal of marriage included what he offered beyond the grave. Happier for Lady Bunting, however, to find a new love, even if it meant the second plinth would remain forever vacant.
Or not. As I turned away from Lord Bunting’s tomb, intending to cast a sympathetic glance at the empty plinth, I drew in a sharp breath of surprise. For there in a pose mirroring Lord Bunting’s lay the unmistakeable figure of Miss Harnett, McPhee curled up at her feet like the dog on the tomb of a crusader.
In contrast to Lord Bunting’s cream alabaster robes, Miss Harnett was wearing a red tartan skirt suit and multicoloured floral silk scarf. As I gasped, her eyes flicked open and she sat up.
“Gemma, my dear, you startled me. I didn’t hear you come in. Have you come to let off steam where no-one can hear you? Good for you.”
She must have been either asleep or deep in a meditative trance.
“I – I’m sorry, Miss Harnett, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
She swung her legs round to step carefully down on to the tiled floor.
“Not at all, my dear. I just slip down here now and again to draw strength and inspiration from dear Lord Bunting, especially at the start of a new school term. Lying here beside him, I can feel his energies, like ley lines, shooting through my body.”
For a moment, I wondered whether they had been secret lovers, until I realised he was at least a hundred years her senior.
“Was he an educational expert? I thought his house and grounds became an educational establishment only after his death.”
“In a way, you are right, Gemma. He was simply a gentleman, going about his business as an engineer, inventor, and landowner, living on his patent fees, rents and dividends. But that didn’t preclude him from also being a man of vision, commissioning this beautiful house and its gardens even though he knew he’d never live long enough to see it reach maturity. When he died, all that weathered old Cotswold stone was still as fresh as when it was cut from Slate Green quarry, and the trees that tower above us now were mere saplings.”
She looked up to the arrow-slit windows.
“But his influence spread far beyond St Bride’s. His inventions shaped the nation’s infrastructure for future generations. They still do today.”
She stepped across the aisle to lay her hands gratefully on his own.
“There are many parallels between him and me. As he did with his inventions, I cast my girls out into the world. And just as he planted his gardens with only an inkling of how they’d look at maturity, I can only guess at the ultimate destiny of my girls. I just hope and pray that they will flourish and thrive.”
“But surely you know how some of them fare? Don’t they keep in touch?”
“Some do, but many don’t.”
I suppose a headmistress’s work is just the start of the story. It must be like mixing up so many fairy cakes, putting them in the oven, but never being around when the timer rings to see which have sunk or risen, or what decorations will adorn them once they’ve had a chance to cool on the wire rack.
“The girls’ exam results must give you a certain indication of their future destiny.”
Miss Harnett sighed as she lifted her still sleeping cat from the second plinth and cradled him in her arms.
“My dear, how often must I tell you? Exams count for nothing here. Of course, the girls all take them, and we prepare and encourage them as best we can. But all public exams do is tell you who is good at passing tests, and which teachers are best at brainwashing or bullying their pupils into submission. I’ve seen straight A pupils end up in dire straits, and dunces go on to shine. Exam results are no indication of our true chances in life. It’s what’s in your heart, not your head, that makes the difference. Which is probably just as well for us all.”
“So if not exam results, what do you see as the girls’ most important achievements?”
I was genuinely interested, thinking it politic to align my teaching, such as it was, with her philosophy, at least while I was in her employ.
She strolled towards the door, and I followed.
“We teach them to be kind; to be caring; to be interested in the world about them. To value beauty, art and culture. To be opportunists; to be enterprising, creative and inventive; to make the most of their individual passions. More than one girl here is already running a lucrative online business, you know.”
“Lord Bunting certainly provided the perfect setting in which to nurture talents, although perhaps it’s not where a teenager would choose to live.”
“No bright lights, you mean? No shops, no bars, no nightclubs? Don’t you believe it. They’ll have plenty of time for such things later. Many have more than enough of them in the school holidays. Some find it a blessed relief to return here each term, ditching their make-up and their hair straighteners and on-trend clothes for the sake of returning to a childlike state. They’re in no hurry to grow up. They’ll be a long time –”
“Dead?”
“I was going to say a long time grown-up.”
I bit my lip. “That too.”
“So, my dear, I’ll leave you in peace here to ponder on our conversation. You have five minutes before afternoon lessons begin.”
When she’d closed the door behind her, I leaned back against the velvet curtain, pressing my fingers into the comforting pile, and breathed a sigh of relief at being on my own again. Apart from Lord Bunting, of course. I wondered how many curious conversations he had overheard from his slab; how many confidences lonely or anxious staff had whispered into his stone ear. I could do worse than share mine with him.
Returning to his side, I stroked the bridge of his Roman nose, then ran a finger over his high cheekbones. The sculptor had etched smile lines about his wide, thin-lipped mouth and at the corners of his heavily hooded closed eyes. I decided I would have liked him in real life. Patting his clasped hands companionably, I was just considering testing the empty plinth for myself when the banging of a door jolted me out of my reverie. It was not loud enough to be the main door, but I hadn’t noticed another one.
Gripping Lord Bunting’s hands for moral support, I jerked round just in time to see Max, wearing a head torch, emerging from what looked like a wardrobe set into the wall between the plinths.
“Oh my goodness, Max, you frightened me!”
When I shielded my eyes from the dazzling torch beam, he reached up to turn it off.
“Stealth is my middle name. But I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to check you were OK now that the boss has gone.”
“Miss Harnett? Have you been there all the time?”
I tried to remember whether I’d made any embarrassing confessions.
“Never more than a scream away, that’s me.” He tapped the side of his nose.
I left Lord Bunting’s side to investigate Max’s cupboard. Beyond the doors were steps leading down through pitch darkness.
“Is this another exit from your tunnel network?”
“Lord Bunting’s network of tunnels. Although there’s only one other exit to this particular tunnel” He turned to give a military salute to the effigy before glancing at his vast and complicated watch.
“By the way, you’d better get to your classroom. The bell for the next lesson will just be ringing.”
And with that he flicked his head torch back on, stepped inside the cupboard and closed the latch from within. When I opened the door a moment later, he’d vanished like a magician’s assistant in a trick wardrobe.
