Time for Silence

“I recognized you.”

“Oh, well, you’re my dear old friend Lucinda, aren’t you?”

“Annabelinda,” I said, reverting to her proper name. “What were you doing?”

“That’s better,” she said. “I hate ‘Anna B.’ Never call me that again once we are away from here.”

“You’re changing the subject. What were you doing?”

“I felt like a walk.”

“Where to?”

“Just round the grounds. Perhaps I liked playing the ghost.”

“It was very dangerous. Do you want to be expelled?”

“I wouldn’t be.”

“I guess you would.”

“Of course not. Grandpère Bourdon is a great friend of Madame Rochère’s. They would work something out. He would plead for me.”

“You were taking a risk.”

“Haven’t you yet learned that I like taking risks?”

“Tell me what all this is about. I don’t believe you did all that just because you felt like a midnight stroll in the grounds.”

“You’re getting too clever, little Lucinda.”

“Which means you are not going to tell me. But Lucia knows.”

“Lucia’s a good sort.”

“She’s another such as you are.”

“Well, that may be so.”

“Where did you go, Annabelinda?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re eighteen.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“You’ll understand then. And perhaps you will have done the same thing yourself.”

Her eyes were dancing. I felt it was so mysterious, but I knew she was not going to tell me.

“I’m going in now,” she said. “Mustn’t be late for conversazione, must we? So let’s be good little girls. Come on.”

Later, when I saw her giggling with Lucia as though they were sharing secrets, I felt bitterly hurt.

The Indiscretion

CHRISTMAS WAS NOW ALMOST upon us. Bustle and preparation permeated the house.

A party of students went into Mons in the company of Miss Carruthers and Mademoiselle du Pont, who taught French, to buy presents for friends at home.

It was only a short journey by train and Miss Carruthers was very eager that we should see some of what she called “the points of interest” before we spent our time in the frivolous pleasure of gift selecting.

She lectured us as we chuffed along.

“Now, girls, you must know that Mons is situated between the Trouille and Haine rivers at the junction of two canals. One of these was built by Napoleon. Mons was at one time a Roman camp and it is the capital of the province of Hainaut.”

None of us was paying full attention to this; we were all consulting our gift lists. Anna B was looking a little preoccupied. She was sitting with Lucia and talking to her now and then, but I thought she was somewhat bored with the whole proceedings.

After arriving in the town, Miss Carruthers insisted we do a little sightseeing. We were all afraid that there would be too little time left for shopping. We went to see the Church of St. Waudru and the belfry famous for its forty-seven-bell carillon.

“And, girls,” said Miss Carruthers, “the Battle of Malplaquet was fought and won by our own great Duke of Marlborough not far from here.”

At last we were allowed our freedom, and I have to admit that the large store to which we were taken was of greater interest to me than the exploits of the great Duke. I bought some sugar almonds in a beautiful blue and silver box for my mother, a model of the church for my father and a penknife for Charles.

When we went back I sat with Annabelinda. I asked what she had bought.

“Nothing,” she replied briefly.

“You look bored,” I said.

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh, you’d like anything.”

She seemed genuinely disgruntled, and when I asked if she was annoyed about something she snapped at me, “Of course not. Why should I be? But old Carruthers did go on about that church and the bells.”

In due course we left for home for the holidays.

Aunt Celeste came for us and we spent a night at Valenciennes. Neither the Princesse nor Jean Pascal was there, and soon we were on our way to England.

My parents were at Dover to meet us. We kept hugging each other and they wanted to hear all about school. Annabelinda was staying the night with us, and Aunt Belinda was coming to London on the following day.

It was a wonderful homecoming. I told them all about school life and described Madame Rochère and the only slightly less formidable Mademoiselle Artois, Miss Carruthers, the whole lot. They wanted to hear about the midnight feasts and Marie Christine’s sleepwalking.

I was on the point of mentioning the ghost, but I held back. Somehow I felt that Annabelinda, in her present mood, would want that.

“It is quite clear to me,” said my mother, “that you enjoy that school.”

I assured her I did, although I wished it were not so far away. The Princesse had been wonderful, I went on, and her title did much to enhance our prestige with Madame Rochère.

“What of Jean Pascal Bourdon?” she said. “I have not heard you mention him.”

“We haven’t seen him,” I replied.

“He is busy at Château Bourdon, I suppose,” my mother said. “The wine and all that.”

“Yes, and Aunt Celeste just took us to their house at Valenciennes, didn’t she, Anna B? That’s what the girls at school call her. They say ‘Annabelinda’ is too long.”