‘I do not consider a fire to be suitable for a schoolroom,’ Miss Crichton said, looking at the cheery blaze in the grate as she sat down at her high desk. ‘It’s too luxurious for serious study; it distracts from the task in hand. I’ll have to make it clear in future that there is to be no fire in this room. But for today we must make do with it. Feet on the floor, eyes forward, and be quiet!’
There was no disobeying that tone of voice; Sergeant Majors in the army would have sounded mild and polite compared to Miss Crichton when she was aggrieved.
‘Stand up and show me what you have been reading. You first, boy.’
‘Boy?’ Colin trembled with anger. ‘My name is Master Colin Craven and I’ll thank you to –’
She picked up a ruler and rapped it three times on the desk, a sharp noise that seemed to echo around the room. ‘My motto is spare the rod and spoil the child. It’s clear to me that too much spoiling has gone on in this household. You will treat me with respect, or I will not spare the rod – or in this case, the ruler.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Colin spluttered, but one look from those cold, grey eyes told him that she could, and she would.
‘Show me your book,’ she insisted. He held out his much-loved copy of Treasure Island which had been a Christmas gift from his father last year.
‘Deary me. This is hardly educational! Whatever can you hope to learn from this?’
‘About honour and bravery,’ Colin said, ‘which I think are important, don’t you?’
She sniffed. ‘I shall confiscate this rubbish, and return it to you only when you have learned your first Latin lesson.’ She stalked over to him and took the book from his hand. He thought about refusing to give it to her, but then looked again at the coldness in her eyes, and the ruler in her hand.
‘Here is your Latin primer.’ She placed a small, grey schoolbook open in front of him. ‘Sit down and begin. When you know the first chapter by heart, you shall have this trashy novel back again – but only to be read out of the schoolroom. It is never to be brought into my presence again.’ She opened the drawer of her desk, put the book inside and shut it with a bang, locking it with a key that hung from a belt around her waist. Colin sat back down at his desk.
She turned her attention to Mary. ‘You girl. Stand and show me your book.’
Mary knew better than Colin when argument was useless, so she got to her feet and held out the book to Miss Crichton. She looked at the book as if Mary had dug it up from a particularly muddy part of the Secret Garden.
‘Botany? This is not a subject for a girl. Needlework, deportment and fine manners are all that a young lady needs to learn. You’ll never get a husband grubbing about in the dirt!’
Mary looked down and said nothing, but her eyes burned with anger. Miss Crichton took the book from her, and it followed Colin’s into the drawer.
‘Here is some thread and some canvas. You can begin sewing a sampler today.’ Miss Crichton placed the materials in front of her.
Mary sat down and looked at Colin, whose cheeks were a hectic red, and whose eyes were brimming with tears. He hated to be ordered about, and he loved the book that Miss Crichton had taken. Mary knew it was wrong to lie – but she also knew that she had to help Colin. He was so much stronger than he had been, but still he was delicate. It was easy to make him ill if he got upset or over-wrought. She couldn’t let Miss Crichton do that to him. Mary had to find a way to get rid of her.
Well, at least they had already come up with one idea to try, and the winter wind was wailing around the chimney pots right now.
‘Miss Crichton?’ she said, with a deep breath, ‘I wonder, can you hear that noise? It sounds like a child, crying. I think it might be the ghost …’
Liz Taylorson 