Picking right up from where the previous chapter left off...
Jack and Peter were huddled under Peter's umbrella, walking back from eating at the pub when they came across a gaggle of the upper-form girls from the school.
As Jack had warned, they were a rowdy bunch. Six girls were huddled under two umbrellas, but as the two young men approached, one of the girls shoved another into the driving rain, laughing as the second girl stumbled. The red-haired girl who had been shoved shrieked, and dove for the first, clawing at her. "You're a [— — —], Anne!"
The word that came out of the girl's mouth made Peter blink hard, and he exchanged a look with Jack, who shook his head in disgust. The two young men hurried around the group of girls, speeding their way to the shelter of Jack's flat.
Peter caught only fragments of the girls' conversation as they passed:
"How do you like the rain?" This in mocking, honeyed tones. Then, lower, "We really should—"
"We're not."
"But—"
"I said she can stay there all night and I meant it."
There was real rancor in the biting words, and Peter started to see why Jack thought them 'vicious.' As they passed, the girls' voices faded into the rush of the rain.
"What if Miss Aines finds her missing?"
"No fear. She's sleeping in a side room again…"
By the time Peter and Jack got back to the flat, the cold rain had started to change to sleet. Jack put the kettle on for some tea and the two young men settled in to a game of backgammon while they waited for the kettle to boil.
They had just started to steam dry when they were startled by the 'phone. (Jack had one installed when he took over his father's store in this village.)
"Who could that be, this time of night?" Jack asked, puzzled, and went to answer it. "Stanbridge 0934, hullo? Why, yes, I do know a—hullo, operator?"
Peter was startled from pondering his move by Jack's sharp exclamation. "Marjie! Are you all right? What? All right, slow down, slow down. Who's gone?" There was a pause. "What? Yes, yes, I think that's very strange. Look, Peter and I will be there in— Yes, the gate. Meet us there."
Something about Jack's tone gave Peter a feeling of foreboding.
Jack put the receiver up, a strange look on his face. "Pete, old fellow—er—that was Marjorie."
"So I gathered," Peter said. "What's happened?"
"Well, she doesn't know." Jack's mouth twisted. "But… she can't find Lucy anywhere. She said something about the older girls being angry earlier, and she said she's got a bad feeling. And the hall monitor doesn't seem to be about, either. Which is how Marjorie got access to the 'phone in the closet. She sounds pretty shaken."
"That's not like Lucy, to go off without saying anything. So what's the plan?"
"You and I are going to trespass at the school, and look for Lucy," Jack said frankly. "There's a side gate that's only used by the gardeners, and Marjorie is going to go unlock it for us."
"Has she called anyone else?"
"Just me, I guess. She could hardly get a word out, Pete. The operator had to ask me if I was the right person. Let's go see what sense we can make of this."
Peter quelled his rising unease. Lucy could be a dozen places, even if she were supposed to be in her dormitory at the moment. She could be in the library, or the little chapel. Or maybe she was hanging out in a different dormitory, though how two college-age men were to discover that without causing an uproar in this girls' school, he couldn't think.
She could be any number of places, but 'could be' didn't calm his suddenly twisting gut. Where are you, Lucy?
When they arrived at the side gate, rain slickers on and electric torches in hand, they were met not only by Marjorie, but two other slightly younger girls, as well. All three, huddled under an umbrella, looked near to tears and explained to Peter and Jack that Lucy had promised to tell them one of her stories tonight, and she always kept her promises. But she'd never come upstairs at all.
Some questioning established that they'd already checked all the unlocked places in the dormitory (and where was the monitor?) and the chapel and even all around the main academic building, though it was locked up tight for the night.
They didn't know the Head's number, and all the older girls had gone out in the village, as it was Friday evening. Not even terrible weather could deny those girls their due freedom, it seemed.
"And…" Marjorie held out a notebook. Peter could hardly hear her over the thunder overhead and rain pounding into the ground. "I found this near Lucy's usual table in the study room, on the floor."
Peter instantly recognized it as one he'd given Lucy only a few hours before, and he felt a stab of real fear. He tucked the book into an inner pocket. "All right, girls, now think," he said, his voice slipping into a deeper, more commanding tone. "Where have you not yet looked? No matter how far-fetched."
"The outbuildings?" one girl suggested. "Though I don't know why she'd be in one of them. And they ought to be locked, too."
"You've checked under stairways, out-of-the-way window seats, those sorts of places?" Peter asked. The girls all nodded.
"That was the first place I checked," one of them said. "Under the staircase is where everyone goes if they want to be alone for a while."
"But why would Lucy want to be alone?" Marjorie asked. "She was fine at supper. Except when Missy bumped her."
"Missy?"
"The red-headed cow you ignored this afternoon," the other girl volunteered. At the looks the others gave her, she shrugged. "She is a cow!"
"What happened at supper?" Peter demanded, sensing this was important, despite the time it took to ask the questions.
"Well, Lucy wasn't eating much, since she'd just come from luncheon with you," Marjorie said, "and Missy tried to embarrass her and it backfired."
"Missy tried to trip her, and turned her tray over when Lucy was walking back to her seat," clarified the other girl. "Only she didn't realize that all Lucy had on the tray was some bread-and-butter, so it didn't make nearly the mess Missy was hoping for. Lucy scotched her, though. She just made a comment about children's temper tantrums, picked up the bread, and went back to her table without even looking at Missy. Everyone was laughing at her. Missy, I mean."
"She was furious, but Lucy just ignored her." The other girl concurred.
"Is this Missy… vindictive?" Peter asked. At the girls' blank looks, he said, "Is she the type to get revenge?"
Three heads nodded emphatically. "Oh, yes. She's a nasty piece of work. Her and Anne Featherstone both."
"She has red hair, you say?" Jack asked. "Is she one of that pack who's allowed to roam about on Friday and Saturday nights?"
Marjorie nodded. "But what has that to do with where Lucy is?"
Peter remembered the pack of girls they'd gone around. "Well, we know she's not with them—we ran into them out in the village, earlier." The scrap of overheard conversation surfaced. He snapped his fingers. "Jack, what was it they said when we passed?"
"I wasn't listening."
"Something about the rain, and someone staying there all night… I think Lucy's somewhere outside. Maybe they locked her out somewhere. Girls, where haven't you looked?"
"The gardens?" one of the girls suggested. "Though it's awful dark…"
"We've got the torches," Jack said. "Let's go."
The five of them moved across the grounds amidst flickering flashes of lightning and peals of thunder. The girls hurried on ahead, heedless that they were getting half-soaked despite their umbrellas, anxious to find their friend.
One of the girls approached an iron gate set into a mid-height brick wall and worked the latch, her fingers slipping on the icy, wet iron, and swung it open.
Peter bit back a curse when he realized it wasn't a tidy little herb garden, which could be searched in a quarter hour. Instead, the school's gardens were a sizable forced-wilderness space, with curving pathways and tall dripping trees and soaked plants sagging across the stones, half-flattened by the rain.
There wasn't a bit of shelter anywhere, either, except beneath these heavy dark trees, and Peter desperately hoped Lucy wasn't out here hurt or unable to move. The sleet and the air were getting colder, and the thunder and lightning more frequent.
Even as he thought this, he saw shivers wrack the girls' frames. "All right, we'll look through here," he said. "But you girls need to go back in your dorm building before you're found missing and get in trouble."
"But—" one of them started to protest.
"Go," Peter said inflexibly. "Anyway, someone needs to watch for Lucy to get back on her own. If she comes back, one of you can come tell us, all right?"
The younger two reluctantly agreed, but Marjorie firmed up her jaw. "I'm not going in until we find Lucy," she declared. "She'd do the same for me."
"But you'll get soaked!" Jack said, having noticed her shivers, too.
"I've got my mac. I'm just a little cold, but I'm not wet at all!" Marjorie said.
"At all?" Said her brother doubtfully.
"I promise, only my feet are wet, Jack."
The thunder crashed and lightning jolted down, making all of them jump. It was close enough Peter actually felt the tingle through his feet. Sensing a change, he peered through the driving rain at the closest building, and realized the lights had gone out.
"Enough," Peter said. "It's getting too dangerous here. You girls, get inside—be careful, I think the power's gone out. Marjorie, stick with Jack. If you two look down this path," he indicated one with his torch, I'll go down this way. We'll meet back here at the gate in half an hour. You two," he tuned to the other girls, "if Lucy comes back, come tell us then. If she doesn't come back, just stay inside, all right?"
They nodded, turned, and pelted off through the sleet.
With no further word, Peter strode off his self-appointed path, calling for Lucy and peering under every likely bush and tree, but there was no sign of her. After about 20 minutes, he heard something. "Lucy?" He called hopefully, but hope was dashed as he saw the bobbing light of Jack's flashlight.
"No, it's us, Pete," Jack said, and he sounded a bit downtrodden. "I suppose these paths connect in a loop."
"I don't know," Marjorie admitted. "I don't come in here, much."
"You didn't see any side paths, did you?" Peter asked. "I was looking, and I didn't see any."
A shake of Jack's head confirmed he hadn't seen any, either. "Just the main path."
"Well." Peter shook his head, then squared his shoulders, turned and headed back toward the gate. "Let's start searching the outbuildings, then."
"How many are there, Marjie?"
"Let's see… There's three gardeners' sheds, the games shed, and a little building around the electrical station down at the other end of campus." Marjorie said, and Peter let out a breath.
"Well, that doesn't sound too bad."
"Um…"
"What?"
"There's also the garage, and the stables, and the coal-store, and the hay barn."
"All right." Peter wanted to curse, but bit it back. He wiped the rain from his face. "All right. So." He lifted his hands a little in a helpless shrug as they neared the gate. "Let's get started, then."
"You're sure you won't go inside?" Jack pleaded with Marjorie, but she refused.
"Not until we know where Lucy is."
Peter felt a surge of warmth toward this girl—he knew, a while ago, Lucy and she had had some sort of falling-out, and had since patched it up, and it seemed Lucy's giving the girl a second chance was being rewarded with steadfastness.
He only hoped that steadfastness would be rewarded on this night's errand.
They set off on the search again.
Lucy was soaked through, exhausted, and hurting all over. Her shoulders, wrenched behind her, had long since stopped burning and simply hurt now. The sleet was fiery cold against her skin. Mechanically, she kept hitching her hands behind her, and shoving against the ground with her feet, moving along the bowed branch as she kept up her backwards-rope-climb movements.
From time to time, she'd have to press little offshoots of thorns and flowers away, or pass them through the backwards loop of her arms. If their tiny needlelike thorns put further tears in her skin, she couldn't feel them.
She had no idea how long she'd been at this but Missy's laughter echoed in her mind:
"Stay there all night."
Well, damned if she would give Missy that satisfaction!
From the vigor with which the branch was now trying to flip upright, she had to be getting close to the end. The only thing that could possibly be holding the branch down was the weight of her body.
Experimentally she tested the width of the branch. Or she tried to; her hands were so numb now she couldn't tell if her hand was even closing. Was it smaller than her grip? She had no idea.
And she was so tired. She craned her neck to see if she could see how much more of the branch stretched along the ground. She waited a moment for the next flash of lightning, but all she could see was a tangle of wet leaves and sharp thorns and decaying flowers.
Of course; this was an old rose-tree; the crown was tangled and massed together. Her branch wouldn't have miraculously disentangled itself. It had dragged some of its neighbors down with it. No end in sight, and she laughed hoarsely. Better to laugh than cry, right now.
Courage.
But she had to go on. She gasped in a muddy breath, and kept moving.
Then she came to a Y in her branch. It had split as the roses grew taller and sought more light, and now… Now that split in the tree trapped her in the mud and ice on the ground.
"No…" She moaned aloud, wishing she could pound her fists in frustration. Her moan was echoed by more thunder.
Maybe… maybe the other branch was thinner and she could still move her bound hands around her branch and this new one. What else could she do?
Lucy pressed on, the second branch bowing a little, but it soon became apparent it was a long offshoot, and wouldn't just slide out of her way any time soon.
The crack right near her ear startled her so badly, she wondered if she'd been struck by lightning. Certainly there was a rushing sound—
She realized it was the great wash of leaves and thorns and blossoms flexing upright, away from her, and she lay, stunned for a moment.
What had happened?
She shifted in place and still felt the bole of the branch against her back. Confused, she felt around behind her.
Jagged, hard wood at the small of her back. The branch had finally broken off. As quickly as she could manage, she wriggled her hands down, passed the loop of her arms around the jagged shards, and rolled away from the thorny branch.
Free, finally!
She let her head thunk back against the sodden ground in pure relief for a moment, and then sense reasserted itself. She might be free from the rose-tree, but she wasn't safe yet.
It took her some moments to roll herself to her shaking knees. She slung her absolutely soaked hair out of her face and looked around.
And slumped back down in the ice. Everything was dark leaves, where ever she looked. She had no idea which way to go.
Peter started to follow Jack and Marjorie across the grounds, but something nagged at him. Something they were missing. "Hang on a moment," he said, and the other two stopped, looking at him curiously.
What was it?
Peter let his eyes wander across the school's darkened buildings, the dim lights of the village a short distance away, the empty expanse of the quad, the brooding square of the gardens, more of the quad, and—
Away in the distance, that weird copse of trees he'd noticed earlier. The storm seemed to whip at the trees in the copse more aggressively than anywhere else.
He was suddenly certain that this is where those vain, vicious girls had taken Lucy—it was small enough to be overlooked, yet large and dense enough to hide one girl inside.
"There," he said, pointing. "We need to look in there."
Marjorie visibly shrank at the idea. "Are you sure?"
Peter shook his head. "I don't know why, but... we need to look."
"It's a place we haven't checked," Jack put in briskly. "And if she's not there, it's on our way to the stables. Let's go."
They started toward the darkness, and despite its eldritch aura, Peter felt his spirit lifting with every step. They were getting closer to helping Lucy, he knew it.
Lucy bit down hard into her lip. She couldn't start crying now. She couldn't. All she had to do was get out of this patch of woods, just enough she could see a wall or a school building or something, and she could get to safety.
But what way to go?
Think, Lucy. How had she got here to begin with? Had those girls taken any paths once they herded her into the copse? She didn't think they had. Maybe… maybe they'd veered a little to the right to get to the rosebush?
She wasn't sure, her mind fogging with exhaustion and cold, but it was as good a guess as any. And while she knew conventional wisdom said to stay in place when one got lost, well, nobody knew she was lost, did they? And it was getting colder and colder, with this storm not letting up at all. All right. Keep moving, Lucy.
She was grateful the undergrowth wasn't so thick here she couldn't move forward, and the lightning was frequent enough she could avoid any major missteps. She couldn't see any of the lights of the school, though, and hoped she wasn't heading in entirely the wrong direction. Her arms, still behind her, were numb past the wrist now.
Just keep going, Lucy. Just keep—
Her heart nearly stopped when she heard her name, faintly: "Luuu-cyyyy!"
Was that… Peter's voice? But how?
It didn't matter how. Lips cracking, she yelled: "Peter? Peter!"
"Did you hear-?" Not Peter's voice.
"Yes. Lucy!"
"Peter!" She tried to shout toward his voice. "Peter! I'm here!"
"Lucy!"
Oh no, no, no; he sounded like he was going in a different direction.
"Peter! Here! Here!"
"Lucy! Where are you!"
Was that… Marjorie? She was a better friend than Lucy had given her credit for being, and the thought gave her a sudden rush of strength. "Marjorie! Peter! Here!"
Finally, finally, she saw the gleam of the torches through the driving sleet and reeled toward their dim warmth. One beam swept across her middle, then swung back, too far past the other way. "Peter?" The beam came back and held, then grew brighter as Peter sprinted toward her.
"Lu! Lucy! Oh God—"
His arms swept around her, hugging her tight. His torch whacked into her side, but she didn't notice, instead gratefully burrowing her head into his chest.
"Lucy! Are you all right?" Jack asked, then shook his head. "Never mind, let's get you inside."
Lucy managed a half smile. "Inside would be wonderful. Peter, do you have a knife?"
"What?" Peter took a step back and shined his light at her; she twisted to present her hands to him, and he bit off a swearword. "Good God, Lucy, your hands—"
"Please get the tie off?" Peter was already fumbling through his pockets for his knife, handing the torch to Marjorie to hold. In a moment, he had the keen blade out. It took him a moment to saw through the swollen tie, and by the time he sawed through the last strands pinning her hands together, Jack had his coat off and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Lucy mostly stifled the hiss as her shoulders finally came forward to their proper positions after—who knew how long it had been? When Peter put his arm around her, she winced but accepted the flare of pain. When Marjorie squeezed her, she squeaked but smiled at her friend.
"Now what?" Jack asked. "Lucy, sorry, but you look awful."
"We need to get indoors," Peter said, and as though to underscore it, thunder growled overhead. He wrapped his arm more firmly around Lucy and started out of the copse. Evidently he had a better sense than Lucy as to where to go, and she followed him gratefully.
"We can't go into the school," Marjorie said.
"No," Lucy agreed, "Those girls are back by now."
Peter's hand tightened in anger on her shoulder, and Lucy winced.
"Well, there's that, but there's no power. No hot water," Marjorie pointed out practically.
"My place, then," Jack said decisively. "Marjorie, you should—"
"I'm sticking with Lucy." Marjorie said fiercely.
"Marjorie, you don't have to," Lucy began.
"I want to be sure you're all right."
"Thank you, then." And that seemed to be all there was to say.
Fortunately Jack's flat was only a few streets away. Jack ran ahead to start a hot bath, and between them, Marjorie and Peter kept Lucy moving.
When they got to Jack's flat, he had the kettle boiling, a bath filled, aspirin set out, and some spare clothes of Marjorie's set out. It was obvious, however, that it was getting difficult for Lucy to move, so Peter wasn't surprised when Marjorie's quiet offer of help was accepted.
When the bathroom door closed behind the girl, Peter sighed, slumped forward, and leaned his head in his hands. "What time is it?"
"Half past ten."
"That's all? Lord. Feels like it has to be later."
"It does. Tea?"
"Thanks."
"What're we going to do, Pete?" Jack looked at his friend seriously as he handed him a cup. "Those little witches could have killed Lucy with this idiocy. Do we call the police?"
"Maybe. Let's see what Lucy has to tell us. We don't know that it was all of those girls." Peter cast an uncertain glance at the door. "I don't suppose there's a doctor in the village?"
Jack shook his head. "Closest medico is about fifteen miles away. Assuming he's even in, it'd take him an hour to get here, with the weather. I have plenty of iodine and plasters, though. Hopefully that's enough for tonight."
"Hopefully. And what about reaching the school—oh, wait, never mind. No power; no 'phones."
"We could call the new Headmistress; she's got her own 'phone at home. Marjie says she's wonderful, though I don't know how wonderful she'll be if she gets a call in the middle of the night."
Peter glanced again at the door, and shook his head. "We'll wait and talk to Lu. Now, let's pick up that backgammon game. Take my mind off…"
"Good idea," Jack hastily agreed, and they bent over their game, trying not to listen to the muffled speech coming from behind the door.
Lucy was grateful that Jack had thrown a lot of soap powder into the bath, since it meant she could hide under the masses of suds. The water's heat soaked in, finally thawing her out. Although it was a mixed blessing: the feeling coming back to her feet and hands hurt.
The water quickly turned murky from the quantity of dirt on her skin. She realized that the laces were still around her wrists, like bracelets. An experimental tug proved they weren't coming off without being cut off, so she left them for the moment and concentrated on trying to get clean.
Her arms were by far the worst. She tried to pick out some of the thorns that were still lodged in her skin, but found her nails were nigh useless. They had been torn ragged, and little wonder.
So when Marjorie tentatively knocked and asked if she needed help, Lucy was grateful to accept. "It's all right, I'm mostly under the soapsuds."
Marjorie closed the door behind her, opened one squinched eye and relaxed when she realized her friend was, indeed, hidden beneath clouds of dirt-streaked white foam. "What can I do?"
Lucy stretched her arms out. "Help me get these thorns out?"
Grimacing, Marjorie started picking the bits of thorn and wood out of Lucy's arms, which were worst below the elbow. Above the elbow, Lucy's inner arms were bruised and scraped but generally whole, and her shoulders were slowly feeling more normal.
Her back had its share of abrasions and bruises and her legs were covered in thorn scratches, but all in all, Lucy considered she'd got off all right.
When they'd got out as much of the dirt and debris as they could find, Lucy sent Marjorie out so Lucy could sluice out her hair, rinse off the remaining dirt, and get dressed.
Stings across her face told her there were other scratches there, too, and Lucy grimaced. She wasn't vain, but she did like to look decent. Then as she found herself frowning at her torn-up hands and forearms, she had to laugh at herself. Well, maybe she was a little vain.
Finally she thought she was as clean as she'd get, and went out to the others.
Peter's head slewed around at her footstep. "Lu, how are you doing?"
She slumped into the chair next to his, leaned against his shoulder, and sighed. "My hands hurt. And I need your knife again—the loops are still on my wrists."
"Oh—of course." As gently as he could manage, he sawed through the loops—and winced when one of them had to be peeled out of Lucy's skin, leaving a red-welling line behind. Lucy, for her part, drew in a shaky breath through her nose, but didn't complain.
That changed quickly when Jack sat down in the chair opposite her with a bottle of iodine, gauze, and sticking tape.
"That's a lot of iodine." She said, eyes wide.
"You have a lot of cuts," he replied evenly. "Pete, hold her hands down, would you? This is going to sting."
It did sting—a lot—especially around the wrists—and Lucy was making little sounds and twisting in her chair by the time all the cuts had been ministered to.
Jack was liberal with the gauze as well as the iodine. She looked more like a mummy than a girl when he pronounced himself satisfied.
Thank goodness, Marjorie was standing by with a fresh cup of tea when it was over. Lucy gratefully fumbled the cup to her mouth.
"Now," Peter said, fixing her with his no-nonsense-now look. "Tell us what happened, Lu."
She told her story as briefly as she could manage. "…and I'll tell you, I was grateful to hear you all."
"We're grateful we found you!" Marjorie exclaimed. "I was so worried when you didn't come in."
"So it was this Missy and Anne and some other girls who did this?" Peter asked, making sure he had the story right.
"And their hangers-on, but I don't know all their names." Lucy said.
"I know who they were." Marjorie said, a fierce note in her voice. At Lucy's surprised look, she explained, "Those girls have all convinced themselves that you somehow stole something from them by winning the writing contest. Never mind that only one of them could have won, anyway."
"So we know who did it, then. What do you want to do, Lucy? Go to your teachers? Go to the police?"
"The police?" Lucy blurted, startled.
"Lucy," Jack said, leaning forward. "Listen to the weather out there. It's freezing, and you had only your school uniform on. Peter heard those girls deliberately deciding to leave you out there all night, even when they knew the weather had turned. You could have been seriously injured, or even killed, with such treatment."
"You are injured, as it is," Peter said. "How seriously we won't know until we get some medical person to take a look at you."
"They shouldn't be allowed to get away with it," put in Marjorie. "Anne and Missy, anyway. I'm not sure the rest of them would have gone along with it if not for them…"
Lucy was shaking her head. "No… They did go along with it. And it's a fact that not a single one of them came back to help, or let anyone know where I was."
"The police, then?" Jack said, moving to the phone.
"The Headmistress." Lucy said, surprising them all. "The police might think it's just schoolgirls being mean, a prank that went too far. But the Headmistress knows those girls." At Peter's questioning look, she smiled wryly. "After I won the contest, we talked for nearly an hour."
"Ah." Jack glanced at the clock. "It's eleven o'clock at night. I might not get an answer, but I'll try." He picked up the handset, and dialed the operator. "Operator? I need you to connect me to Anna Dawlins, I don't have the number."
Peter could hear the tinny response of the operator, and then the clicks indicating the call was being put through. After a while the operator's voice could be heard again. "No, try again," Jack directed. "Thank you."
Lucy leaned her shoulder against Peter's and sipped her tea as she listened.
This time, the phone was evidently answered. "Headmistress Dawlins? Sorry to call so late—" There was a gabble across the line. "—This is Jack Preston, Marjorie's brother here in the village. Yes. Yes, well, that's what I'm calling about. You need to come here. No, this can't wait. It's most urgent you come here. It's about one of your students–no, not Marjie. I don't want to get into more detail over the 'phone—all right, we'll be waiting." He gave her his address, thanked her, and hung up the phone.
"Well. She'll be here shortly, Lucy."
"Do you want to rest until she gets here, Lu?" Peter asked her, seeing her sag a little.
"No, I'm afraid I'll just fall asleep," she said.
"Marjie?" Jack said to his sister.
"I'm sticking with Lucy," she said stoutly, and received Lucy's first real smile since they'd found her.
The Headmistress did hurry over. Marjorie and Lucy had never seen their Head so disheveled. Peter hadn't realized the woman was so young—forty at the oldest.
Before Jack had the door all the way open, she was speaking. "Now, Mr Preston, you said this was about some of my stu—" She cut herself off as she caught sight of Lucy and Marjorie, sitting beside one another on the sofa.
"Girls! What are you doing here?"
Peter liked that she didn't sound angry, just surprised that the girls were not in their school dormitory.
"Believe me, Headmistress, I'd rather be asleep right now, but…" Lucy began, and Miss Dawlins exclaimed and stepped across to look at her bandaged hands and scratched face.
"What on Earth happened, Lucy?" She said, and pulled a chair over to sit in front of Lucy. "May I?" At Lucy's nod, she began unwinding one of her hands as between them, Lucy, Marjorie, Peter, and Jack told her of the night's events.
When they'd finished, and the Headmistress was examining the injuries to Lucy's left hand, the woman sighed and straightened, re-wrapping Lucy's hand and doing an expert job at it. "I was hoping those girls would have done some growing up," she said sadly. "But I certainly never thought them capable of this."
"It really did happen, ma'am," Marjorie said timidly. "Honest."
"I do believe you, child," she said. "I just wish it hadn't really happened."
"Do you—" Lucy broke off.
From where he was sitting, Peter couldn't see her face, but he thought she was keeping back a sob.
"What is it, Lucy?" Headmistress Dawlins said, as gently as Peter's mother would speak.
"Do you think I should pull my story out of the contest, to perhaps calm them down? I don't want them doing this to anyone else." Lucy gestured with her battered hands, and then ducked her face to hide the tears that seeped out. "Or me, again."
The gentle, sensitive embrace that Miss Dawlins drew Lucy into made Peter like this woman. Better still was her crisp response: "Absolutely not. Your work is meritorious and deserves to be recognized; their problem with it is their problem. And," she added. "Their problem is now with me. It should never have been with you."
She turned to the others in the room. "Let me assure you all, that when I say behavior like this is not accepted in my school, it is not accepted in my school. I will be speaking with the Trustees tomorrow on this matter. I strongly suspect the police may get involved, though I have no doubt the girls' families will want to avoid that at all costs."
She looked at Peter. "What do you think your family will wish to do?"
"Must we tell them?" Lucy burst out, and everyone looked at her in surprise. "I don't want Mother deciding school isn't right for me," Lucy explained. "She nearly pulled Susan out during her last year, and I've still got several to go."
"She nearly pulled Susan out for entirely different reasons," Peter pointed out.
"But with the same cause," Lucy reminded him: the last time Lucy had had to get involved with the police, it was due to Lucy being attacked. But the others here didn't know about that, of course.
"We can't tell them nothing, Lucy. You're hurt!"
"Can we say… it was a prank that got out of hand?"
"A prank? No." The Headmistress was firm on this. "A prank is something someone does as a joke, with no intent to cause harm. These girls intended to cause you real harm. If you really fear your parents overreacting…" she thought a moment.
"It would not be dishonest to say there was a fight over jealousy at your win." She said. "And I would leave it to you to discuss the extent of how hurt you are, or not. You may have one or two scars that will take a while to fade, and certainly you will be bruised for a couple of weeks, but overall, I don't believe you'll have any lasting physical harm."
"Thank you, ma'am." Lucy said gratefully.
"But you must promise me, both of you girls, that you will come to me with any worries or fears that come from this event, as well," Miss Dawlins said seriously. "Harm to the mind can take many odd forms, and you shouldn't try to deal with them on your own."
"No, ma'am," the girls murmured.
"Now, I expect you don't want to go back to school tonight," the headmistress said. "Do you have room for them here, Mr Preston? I can take them back to my house if needed."
"Oh, no, Miss Dawlins, but thank you. There's a truckle bed and the sofa, so we'll be all right."
"Very well. Mr Pevensie, have you anything to add?"
"Only that I am grateful you seem to be taking Lucy's part in this," Peter said, not hiding his puzzlement.
"I will get the other girls' side to the story," she assured him. "It should at least be more inventive than their contest submissions. In any case, decisions regarding the disposition of miscreants is up to the Board, not I, though my voice carries much weight with the members. So right now, I may be partial.
"As I am not needed here, I'm going to go find out where the missing hall monitor is," she shook her head. "I hope she is not injured somewhere, but this never would have happened without her absence."
"Do you need help, ma'am?" Peter offered.
"No, no, there's been enough turmoil this evening I don't need to add strange young men on campus, too. But thank you for the offer, Mr Pevensie. Gentlemen, young ladies, please get some rest, and I shall see you all in the morning around nine o'clock, if you are available."
They all said their goodbyes and Headmistress Dawlins swept out.
"She certainly seems… competent." Peter blinked.
"She is," Lucy said, yawning. "She was head of a nursing corps during the War, and I guess she was pretty close to some awful things."
"That explains the neat re-wrapping of your hands," Jack said. "She didn't use half so much of the gauze."
"'S all right, Jack, you did your best."
"And from your yawns, it's far past time we all got some sleep." Peter declared.
"Marjorie, Lucy, you two take my bed; it's plenty big for the both of you," Jack said. "Pete, you'll have the spare, and I'll kip out here on the sofa."
"Jack, we can't kick you out of your own bed."
"No, you can't, since you're not kicking me out, I'm putting you there," Jack said, and smiled at Lucy's worried expression. "Look Lucy, with those nutty girls in your school running amok, I'll sleep much better knowing you and Marjorie are in the safest room in the place, with Pete and me between you and anything else."
Lucy acquiesced at that. And she had to admit to herself (after she'd let some tears out) that falling asleep at last in a warm bed, hearing the breathing of her best friend just a couple of feet away, safe and tended to, was a far better end of the day than she'd expected.
When they arrived at the Headmistress' office the next morning, they were surprised to see a police constable in the office.
Peter glanced at Lucy's wary expression. "Good morning, Headmistress Dawlins. I thought we'd discussed keeping Lucy's name quiet with this situation?"
"Officer Reardon is here in an… unofficial capacity at the moment, but he has an interest in the affair." The headmistress said. "If you would all kindly sit down?"
They did, and Miss Dawlins had them go over their story again, taking notes and stopping to ask questions. How exactly did the initial confrontation happen? Had there been previous altercations? Why didn't Lucy run? Why didn't she shout for help?
At that question Lucy paused in her answers. "I did, but Miss Aines was gone. Whatever happened to her?"
"She was found to be sleeping—very soundly—in an adjacent room, and she was unable to either account for it, nor to prove to me she was not in the habit of abandoning her post, either."
"But she is all right?" Lucy asked.
"Yes. But let us continue."
Peter watched Lucy's face as she answered the questions, and when it came to the part where she'd been left alone, out there in the dark and cold, he saw her expression go tight. He moved behind her to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she grasped it gratefully, despite her bandages.
Headmistress Dawlins smoothly switched her questions over to Marjorie for a while, allowing Lucy time to collect herself. After a bit, Lucy straightened in her chair and let go Peter's hand—though he left it on her shoulder in mute support.
The questions flowed out to include Peter's and Jack's parts—"Sorry, ma'am, but we had to trespass on school grounds—" and finally, it was over.
For the first time, Officer Reardon spoke. "So what I'm gathering is that it was chiefly Missy Flynn and Anne Featherstone who caused harm, and the others mostly followed along? Is that right?"
"Yes," Lucy said. "I don't really think the others would have done more than make nasty comments to me without their influence, and I can handle nasty comments."
"Several of the others are basically nice girls," Marjorie volunteered. "They'll just go along with anyone, though."
The headmistress' mouth tightened. "Unfortunately I cannot request students be expelled for spinelessness," she said. "And in any case expelling most of this year's top form would cause a scandal, and there'd be no softening the news for your parents, Lucy."
"Do you young ladies think," Officer Reardon said, leaning forward, "if Miss Flynn and Miss Featherstone were removed from the school, that would balance things?"
"It certainly would make things a bit easier," Lucy admitted. "But why do you care, if this isn't to be a police issue?"
"Well, the school can request that charges be brought on your behalf, without directly involving you," he informed her. "You may be requested to speak to a judge if that happens, but your identity would be protected." He paused a second. "The other reason I care is that Missy Flynn, I am shamed to say, is my granddaughter. Her role in this will not go unpunished. And on behalf of the rest of my family, I wish to give you my deepest apologies that her wildness has brought you to harm, Miss Pevensie."
Lucy gazed at his face for a moment, and believed him. "Thank you," she said simply, and he nodded. "I should make it clear that I am not badly hurt, except perhaps my wrists—"
"I have a doctor coming to look at them, Lucy." Miss Dawlins said.
"—and I really don't know that the girls had any inkling how foul the weather would have been last night. If it had been a clear night, I would have been uncomfortable, but I don't think getting myself free would have been as urgent. Or difficult."
"I understand," he said. "Nevertheless, she oughtn't be allowed to get away with this. She's old enough to think through the consequences of her actions—and if she isn't doing so, she ought to start learning. If she needs to learn the hard way, so be it."
"Thank you." This time, it was Peter who spoke. "Having to be hard on family members is a difficult decision to make, even if it is for their own good."
Reardon nodded his acknowledgement, and took his leave.
Miss Dawlins looked at them after he left. "Do you all feel these proposed steps will go a way toward making things as right as they can?"
"If Missy and Anne are expelled, it will make a lot of things right," Marjorie said. "Not just last night."
"I agree," Lucy said. "May I go get changed into my own clothes, ma'am? Marjorie was kind enough to lend me some she had at Jack's, but I'd rather get into my own."
"Certainly, Lucy. You and Marjorie run along. You are both excused from classes today; please take the time to rest in your dormitory. Lucy, I will send for you when the doctor arrives."
The girls left, talking quietly.
The headmistress fixed her gaze on Jack and Peter. "Do you have anything else to say?"
"Only that Lucy isn't putting on a brave face—much—she truly does not consider herself badly injured. She's been through some trying situations before, and generally she rises above them."
"That is reassuring to know."
"And Marjorie will no doubt keep a close eye on her," put in Jack. "She'll speak up if she thinks Lucy's in distress."
At that, the headmistress smiled. "Friends looking out for their friends. As it should be."
"I agree," Peter smiled back.
In the end, the doctor pronounced that Lucy's hurts would heal well enough, provided she looked after them, which was a relief to all. The bruises faded within a couple of weeks; the stiffness went even sooner. By the start of the winter hols, most of the signs had vanished.
Lucy did have one awkward moment when her mother saw her and fussed over the three thin, pale scars that now ran from the corner of her eye to her cheekbone. Lucy waved it off as nothing; the summer sun would erase the marks. Margaret only sighed, and reflected that at least Lucy still had her shoes on. She supposed some things would never change with her youngest always getting into scrapes of one sort or another.
Anne and Missy were quietly expelled, and Lucy and Marjorie reported that most of the girls who tended toward vicious behavior got the unspoken message and tempered themselves. Later, Jack discovered that Missy had been sent to a strict convent school for the remainder of her school years. Anne had been sent to live with relatives in the north.
Lucy hoped they'd both improve, and decided to try and forget about them as best she could.
By far the best outcome of the whole situation was Marjorie, anyway: She was as steadfast a friend as one could want, and the whole affair had caused her to start to come out of her shell somewhat. Lucy found in her a true and honest friend, and as she told Peter later, "A real friend is worth just about any hardship, don't you think?"
He had to agree.
OK so that's part II of this rather unexpected bit of story. Apologies if the pacing is rushed? I had to cut the word count some (this two-part was huuuge), but hope I kept tension and pacing OK. Pleeeease review, as I am not sure how these story bits are being received?
If anyone thinks the schoolgirls were a bit over the top, just google "schoolgirl classmate attack" or similar, and there are a distressing number of news articles that come up : ( Unfortunately. So… what I've written is not actually far fetched. (One article I saw had one child *hanging* another, and the other child didn't die only because a teacher saw it happen. And the children involved were well old enough to understand death and its finality. No mention what happened to the perpetrator.)
As to the outcomes as written—that was tricky. I found newspaper articles from the 40s and 50s that did name minors in legal/attack/etc situations, I found some that were discreet and did not; I found some that blasted every detail; I found others that were circumspect. I have no idea if a 40s/50s boarding school would require parents and/or police to be notified about injuries, etc, or if they would give students some say in things, so consider all of that artistic license if it bothers you. We all know the Pevensies are considered a bit odd anyway, right? So maybe people treat them oddly, too.
I'm working on several chapters in Golden Narnia, for those who are following it.
And as always if you have something you'd 'like to see' let me know! I'll see what I can do : )
