June and July haven't been the best months for me. But now that things are opening up in the UK, I ventured out for a long overdue haircut. It felt fantastic and I've really started to appreciate the little things. Other than that, I'm still mostly staying at home. I hope everyone is keeping as safe as their circumstances allow, and that you and your loved ones are doing well.
"O take me then to the aisle of the tower,
And my fears you shall not see;
My heart shall be still in the midnight aisle
If I may but watch with thee;
"I hate the gloom of the eastern tower,
And its dismal hall I shun;
I have heard it said 'tis the haunt of the dead,
The haunt of the Perjur'd Nun!"
~'The Perjur'd Nun,' by Anne Bannerman (1802)
'... if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die-die, sweetly die-into mine.' ~ Carmilla, by J. Sheridan Le Fanu*
Chapter Forty-Nine - My Wild Heart Bleeds With Yours*
Blazing orange interspersed with roaring red spilled over the waxed floorboards of Kathleen's dorm. Its effect seemed more like an abstract painting than the daily rise of the sun. The mid-morning warmth glistened as it melted the frost clinging to the glass. Her fingers dimpled - bitten by ice - as she pressed them against the frozen windowpane. Outside was a wonderland akin to the artisan cakes found in the bakery of her native village. Every inch of ground lay thick with snow like icing, each tree shivered under their sugary dusting, while the edges of the stone mansion hosted glittering icicles, and silvery gossamer like spun-sugar cobwebs.
Kat breathed in the crisp fragrance of the December morning. The cool air dissipated all traces of sleep from her mind. Each breath sharpened her senses, and thus her awareness of the near-empty draws. The need to send for her laundry was becoming desperately clear as her eyes roamed the cavernous boxes; freezing like dumortierite gems on a similar tone of denim rolled up in the far corner. She rocked back on her heels, grasping at the solid furniture as her Grandfather's disdain for such articles of clothing flashed amber through her mind. Aside from their scheduled evening meeting, it was rare for any student to see Nolan roaming the school on a Sunday. Her left hand brushed the soft cotton of a neglected black turtleneck. The temptation to change for dinner whispered like a seductress from the depths of her reason; all opposition drowning as she admired the contrast of the night-like fabric with her red nails.
Visions of College girls in blue jeans spun around her mind like the catchy melodies heard in the record stores they frequented near St Mary's. Their crimson lips had stood out against the beige coffee shops, and their tight-fitting jumpers had made the school matron gasp once in the bookstore. Since then, the style had echoed across the more vivacious older girls in the absence of their conservative parents. Even Nancy had been swept up in the fever of youth; stipulating that pastel sweaters were a non-negotiable alteration to the bold style. Kat let her fingers glide over the fabric in tune with the symphony of memory.
"Carpe Diem," she muttered to herself, dusting off her knees as she grabbed the lipstick hidden away in the top draw. If anything, a high neck jumper was sensible in a chilly stone fortress. Looping her usual, matching red ribbon onto her ponytail, Kathleen regarded her reflection in the looking glass, startling herself with glowing figure staring back. She rolled back her shoulders, watching a delicate smile bloom like a rose upon her lips.
Unable to anticipate the gathering winds of fate, Kat lost herself in the bouncing steps of her sturdy Oxfords. She twirled like a child around the solid domes resting on the banister at each end of the central staircase, shocked by the lack of reprimand. Perhaps Shakespeare was misjudged in his claim of 'old December's bareness.'* Blessings, she decided, were indeed bountiful in the month of her birth.
XXXX
"I can't believe this." Nuwanda's jaw tensed, accusation in his eyes as she continued spreading strawberry jam over her toast. "I never suspected it would be you."
"Charlie, it's just-"
He cut her off with his mug slamming down upon the table. "In all the time I've known you-"
"You met me three months ago" Kathleen replied, rolling her eyes.
"One month should've given me the hint!"
Kat appealed to Neil who looked on with amusement, "you've seen me in pyjamas, and in shorts!" He shrugged, smirking into a mouthful of porridge. "You've all seen it," she licked a blob of jam from her index finger before pointing wildly around the table. "Don't condone his dramatics."
"I'm not dramatic," Charlie crossed his arms with an exaggerated scowl. "Even I haven't tested the faculty's fragile sensibilities with jeans!"
"Oh, so you're the head of the rebellion committee." Her eyebrow arched as she looked him in the eye. "Are you demanding we ask permission to break the rules, unwritten or not."
"That's not...no," He spluttered, "I-"
Todd snorted, coughing into his palm to suppress his glee at Nuwanda's rare, speechless state.
"Do you not think she looks nice?" Neil asked, eyes wide with innocence. "I think red is her colour."
His eyes flicked between his interrogator, and her crimson painted lips. "I never said she doesn't look nice." He mumbled before jerking upwards, utensils in hand. "This" he declared, stabbing his fork in the air by Neil, "is betrayal."
Kat fought the smile straining at her cheeks as Charlie's reddened. He ducked into his pancakes, chewing fiercely until he regained his composure.
"That's a shame." She let herself mirror Neil's smirk. "I thought Cameron would have to defend my honour and challenge you to duel."
Affronted, Charlie straightened in seat. His eyes narrowed with an intensity churning their earthen tones into the ripple of a forest fire. "You're a well-read woman, Kat. All those books must have taught you which one of us to back in a duel."
"I don't know," she tapped her chin to ponder the answer with mock sincerity. "Cameron's fencing skills are rather good." Her gaze roamed upwards, catching the deadly combination of his wild grin with the flecks of gold in his eyes. It set her alight from the inside; a blaze so bright against the dull hall that she wondered how he continually failed to see it.
This time it was Charlie who rolled his eyes. "Yeah, at attempting to get you killed."
She couldn't help the laugh bubbling up as she recalled Cameron's vicious pursuit. "If I am ever in need of a hero than I shall give you call."
"It's not telephone call from God, "Knox interjected - startling the pair with reference to Nuwanda's disastrous attempt at defending her educational honour - "but if Hager frowns any deeper, he won't need a spoon. His chin will be in his porridge."
A giggle caught in her sip of tea, almost causing her to choke as she looked subtly towards the teacher's table. The few members of staff assembled were largely enjoying a late, but quiet breakfast accompanied by the morning paper. Unlike his colleagues, Hager's attention was lavished on the students. His disapproving stare was at first focused on a lower year game of tabletop hockey, which emitted clatters as forks clashed over an orange. Yet every so often his attention turned to the society's table, more specifically to Kat's denim clad self.
"What a creep." Charlie glared at Hager, but Meeks leaned forward to obstruct the detention earning offense.
Nuwanda transferred his glare. "What?"
"Don't provoke him."
"I have to, on principle."
Neil sighed, dread overwhelming his tone. "On what principle?"
"The principle of his authority being stupid. He hasn't earned the right."
Meeks shook his head. "That's not compelling enough to tempt him over here. Pitts can't afford any more detentions."
"If his authority is stupid" Kat interjected, "refuse him the satisfaction of exercising it." She watched Hager's expression twitch as the orange went flying off the table at the far end of the dining hall. "I choose to derive joy from how much my presence as a girl annoys him."
"Well now I have to enjoy it." His lower lip protruded in what he would deny resembled a pout. "On principle!"
XXXX
"You can't make it red!" Pitts snatched the chess club poster from Knox's grasp. "No fighter plane was red; it would be shot before you could blink."
Knox threw his hands up. "Alright. It's just a game of paper planes, guys. It's launching at Fraser's head, not going to war in Europe."
"Making a red Spitfire is disrespectful." Meeks pushed the stack of posters across the table. "Pick again."
Kat let her face fall theatrically into her hands. "Do you honestly not find it concerning that you know more about the Royal Air Force than Britain itself?"
"No."
Pitts paused, pretending to consider his answer. "Definitely no."
She opened her mouth, but before she could express her disbelief a familiar creak sounded. The small noise prompted silence as it echoed around the common room. In an instant, paper planes were hastily stuffed under abandoned jumpers, beneath armchairs, and even open books were overturned to hide the flimsy instruments of mayhem. Just as Neil kicked a stray plane behind his feet, Hager appeared in the doorway. He surveyed the room with his trademark disapproval at the unkempt hair, and untucked shirts typical of a weekend. Finally, his scrutiny retreated to a single individual.
"Miss Murray." Hager's mouth puckered in distaste. "You have been summoned to Mr Nolan's office."
Kathleen blinked, her mind racing like the rapids of a river as she tried in vain to fish for a reason.
"Now."
She scrambled to her feet, flushing at his impatient tone. Ignoring the stares prickling her skin, she stepped out into cool corridor. Hardly waiting for her to fall into step, Hager marched down the dim passage. He seemed determined not look at her, let alone speak any more than necessary.
Pain shot through her bitten lip as her palms brushed down the denim. Kat tried to steady her breath. Suddenly, she ached for Ginny's presence. The girl's proclivity for quoting the dialogue of Portia, Beatrice, or even Lady Macbeth would've provided solace. The lingering desperation to please her grandfather was uncomfortable enough, but a battle between this futile hope against her sense of self - tied up in clothing of all things - was downright humiliating.
They came to halt by a familiar, yet rarely propped open door. Deep voices chattered lowly; their owners obscured from view. Kat paused. Her hand poised on the wooden frame. Hager stepped back. At his insistent look she grit her teeth and crossed the threshold.
Inside, Nolan's solemn decor seemed alive. Light flooded through the parted lace valance, air shimmering with floating dust. Every dull, mahogany surface gleamed under the rare attention of the winter sun. While the desk stood grand and empty, the portrait stood overhead with a warmth Kathleen hadn't observed before. To its right, the fire blazed. Basking in its glow were three men, their ages descending like three generations of painted heirs. Her grandfather smiled tightly, his lips pressed thin as she took the remaining seat between himself, and a dark-haired boy around her own age.
"Excellent Sunday best" remarked the boy. His brown eyes shining at the other man's cough.
"Perhaps a warning was in order." Nolan gestured at the elegant spread laid out on the linen covered table, "I hope my surprise is still pleasantly received. Kathleen, the tea, if you please?"
She slipped into the role dictated by her etiquette lessons, serving the noticeably British afternoon tea with ease. A composition of cutlery clinked against the floral tea set, accompanied by the pattering of crumbs onto brightly designed china. The rich aroma of strawberry preserves and clotted cream overpowered the scent of dusty upholstery as it spread over golden, home baked scones. For a moment, she could almost pretend she was home.
"Mr Van der Garde," Nolan turned to the grey-haired man at his side. "This my granddaughter, Miss Kathleen Murray."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."
"And this is his son, Mr Phillip Van der Garde. Although he will inherit the family real estate business, the young man is currently majoring in Literature at Harvard."
Kathleen nodded politely at the boy, struck by his handsome features as she examined him properly. He flashed her a pearl laden smile, extending his hand. She reached out awkwardly, almost jumping back as his lips brushed her skin. The second he released it a scone found its way into her hand. Despite the pleasure of tasting jam and cream scones again, the sugary treat hardly made up for the nightmarish situation. It was like the dream Neil once told her about; blinded by lights and pushed onto stage naked without knowing the lines.
She let her mind wander as the older men spoke. Imagination filled the gulf of silence between herself and Phillip, transforming the two from solitary sufferers into reactive peers - connected only by her consciousness. Kat helped herself to another scone, feeding the displeasure simmering in the pit of her stomach. If she couldn't enjoy the conversation, she could at least enjoy the food.
"Phillip," Nolan's demand cut through her musings. "What would you consider your favourite book to be?"
"Golding's 'Lord of the Flies.'" The answer rolled off his tongue with ease, "I find its philosophy fascinating."
Nolan inclined his head, turning at last to his forgotten kin. "And you, Kathleen?"
Her pursed lips parted, spitting "Carmilla" before she could think.
Phillip choked on his tea, discreetly hiding a grin with the delicate china. She shifted uncomfortably, her grip tense on the fragile teacup. Blood pulsed in her veins at the shadow of truth, but if Nolan understood the implication, he did not show it.
"I'm impressed, Mr Nolan." Phillip's brow arched, "Kathleen certainly has an impressively broad education."
His father ignored the comment, turning back to the older man. "Working in a school, you must have some insight into the minds of young men and the merits of Golding."
"Educating boys certainly provides insight." Nolan settled upright in his armchair, "without strict order society fractures. It is evident in the students - the well-bred thrive while those susceptible to impulse are kept in line. With no firm hand chaos would be irrefutably rife."
"Kathleen, how would you represent the young women's perspective?" Mr Van der Garde asked, his smile kind. "You are, of course, the First Lady of Welton."
Placing down her saucer, Kat considered her answer. "The lack of female presence within the novel seems purposeful, indicating that Golding supposes girls are too civilized, or thought their capacity for chaos terrifying, too different, or simply beyond his knowledge. Young girls are rarely literary villains." She glanced to her left at the sound of clinking glass. Despite the sugar tongs in hand, her Grandfather's look was anything but sweet. "My personal outlook of society is more optimistic. From a student standpoint," she added diplomatically, "my friends at the Academy have solidified my views."
Phillip nodded thoughtfully. "That is a fascinating question. I am yet to encounter a female villain in the form of a child. The seductress, or controlling elder tropes take precedent."
"Grandfather?" Kathleen addressed him softly, cautious of her tone. "As an experienced English teacher, may I ask the reason why no female poets are on the syllabus?"
Nolan's face pulled taut, eyes narrowed in discrepancy with the wide, politician smile stretching his lips. Kat could not recall a question provoking such a reaction from Keating. His lessons were so engaging precisely because he encouraged their voices as the class deviated from the prescribed list.
In place of an answer, the Headmaster merely enquired after the Van der Garde's winter plans. While his Father complied, Phillip silently placed a strawberry tart on her napkin. His countenance full of pity.
The ancient clock inched onward, its numerals imprinting on her pupils as the hour wore on. Her companion spoke only in jests few and far between, seeming as contented in their silence as her own discontented itch.
Finally, as Helios' chariot paced west across the paling sky, Kathleen was released from Zeus' court with the distinct feeling that she had failed a trial. Greek heroes at least had a prophecy; while she had the puzzle of a man she wished remained in memory. At least there, he had the chance of being sweet.
XXXX
Kat slipped into the common room, leaning gently on the door until it shut with a soft click. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the familiar scent of aging wood and ink. Tension melted from her muscles like ice cream on a warm summer day. Under the yellow light, everything seemed golden. Chess pieces gleamed, polished shoes shone, and light seemed to dance off the pens conducting homework in tune with upcoming deadlines. Among the low buzz, she heard Neil's voice. She followed the soft tones, edging along the wall until she spotted him dropping his script with a satisfied grin. Todd sat reading on his left, and on his right was Charlie hunched over a sketchbook balanced between the table and his knee. Settling against the wall by their table, she pulled out her book. Knox looked up from the study circle formed by the rest of the group. A frown flattened the line of his lips.
"Kat? When did you get sneak in?" The others' heads shot up, startled by her silent presence. "And why do you look like you want to punch someone."
She shrugged, pulling at a loose thread on her embroidered bookmark. "Probably because I do. Unfortunately, it's frowned upon to harm the elderly."
"What did Nolan do?" Neil pushed his script away, turning his full attention on the girl in front of him.
Hesitantly, she traced the silhouette outlining Agnes Grey on the book cover. Her quietened mind struggling to arrange her impressions of the afternoon into some semblance of sense.
Knox leaned over to steal Meeks' notes, tapping Kat's hand lightly as he retracted his arm. "You okay?"
With a sigh, her expression collapsed into a grimace. "Of course. I'm used to Nolan, he's-"
"A bastard" Charlie muttered darkly, his eyes fixed on his sketchpad.
"I was going to say he's been this way my whole life, but that term is concise."
Todd shuffled closer, "what did he do?"
"Ambushed me with a surprise suitor" she responded bitterly, sliding down the wall until she was sat cross legged on the floor. Sheltered by the table, she succumbed to the welcoming shadows.
"Do you want a seat?" Todd glanced around the room, "I'm sure there's another chair somewhere."
Kat shook her head, "I just want to hide from everything. Let me wallow in self-pity for ten minutes."
"What happened?" Charlie asked, continuing to draw like he did not care about the answer.
She sighed at his transparency, and its roots in the difficulty of their unspoken situation. "I walked into afternoon tea with another of Nolan's associates, Mr Van der Garde, and his son who happens to be wealthy, a year older, and an Ivy League literature major."
Neil hummed, "at least Nolan's trying to appease you this time."
"It's still messed up" frowned Knox, unable to imagine a date with anyone but Chris. "So, what was wrong with the son?"
"Nothing. He was pleasant enough, objectively handsome" she replied nonchalantly, hiding her smile at Charlie's sudden attentiveness. "But he's not what I want."
"No?"
"No." She kept her eyes on Charlie, thinking of her earlier revelation. "I know how I feel, and I don't want him." She let her eyes slide over the rest of the group, asking how many surprise dates they thought her grandfather would engineer, but her focus remained on Charlie who was looking at her with the same odd expression that she had once struggled to decipher. His cards had lain halfway on the metaphorical table for weeks. It was time, she realised, to lower her own.
* '...old December's bareness,' Sonnet 97, William Shakespeare
* Portia, Beatrice, Lady Macbeth - female characters from Shakespeare plays who are characterised by their intelligence
* Lord of the Flies, William Golding (1954) - A novel about a group of boys stranded on an island whose attempt at governing themselves deteriorates into violence
* 'Carmilla,' J. Sheridan Le Fanu (1872), a lesbian vampire novella published a few years BEFORE Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' (1897)
By name dropping 'Carmilla' as her favourite book Kat is accidentally outing herself (if he understood the reference) as bisexual to Nolan.
I went down a bit of a research rabbit hole on the history of jeans and nail painting during the writing of this chapter. Writing historical fiction really provokes panic over accuracy, and it seems to involve aspects of life people don't often think to question.
Chapter 50 should be up within the next two weeks. Typing those words is indescribable. I never imagined I would write anything this long. Thank you so much for sticking with me on this journey!