Doc Martin and all of its characters, themes and plotlines are the property of Buffalo Pictures. This work of fiction is written for purely entertainment purposes and no infringement of legal rights is intended.
Chapter 6
Louisa
Sister Celeste surveyed the room with an air of quiet impatience. The teaching staff paid her no mind, busy catching up after a week of preparing students for end of term exams. But they weren't discussing their student's academic performance, or lack off in some cases, but rather the upcoming nativity play, an important tradition at St. Vincent's. It attracted a large audience of family and friends and showcased the best of what the school had to offer; a sound education steeped in Catholic traditions. A good turn-out was sure to bring much needed funds to the perpetually cash strapped school, made worse in the last few years by a sluggish economy. This bit of fiscal reality was never openly discussed by the good sisters, uneasy as they were with filling the school coffers by trotting out the students on stage. Instead they gathered their collective energies and sewed costumes and spruced up the manger all the while wondering who would be cast in the all-important role of Mary.
Each nun lobbied for her favorite with Sister Celeste, who, as head of school, had the last say. Joseph was an afterthought, possibly because St. Vincent's was an all-girl school. Only two men ever breached its walls; the custodian, a jovial but perpetually scattered pensioner, and Father Phillip who said daily mass in the small chapel adjacent to the convent. Louisa had been shown the chapel when she had interviewed for the job, and had been struck by its opulence.
Stain glass windows depicting biblical scenes filtered muted light onto hand carved cornices and moldings of blue and gold. The altar was covered with fine embroidered linens and above, hung a large painting of St. Vincent de Paul, name sake of the school and patron to the poor and needy. Votive candles glowed on a stand of carved silver near the entrance, and the scent of beeswax reminded Louisa of the church in Portwenn where she had been christened, and almost wed. The little sea side church was very plain in comparison, and she had voice this observation to Sister Celeste who had answered with a thin smile, "This is not the C of E, Miss Glasson." Louisa knew the head sister was referring to the austere architecture of the churches of her own faith, and thought she should feel insulted by her comment. Instead she wanted to laugh out loud at the absurdity of the situation she found herself in – the former head teacher of a small village school, previously engaged to the village GP and now on the run in London. It felt as if she was going back in time, loosing ground, demoted, single, without a clear idea of where she was heading.
It might just turn out alright in the end, thought Louisa, looking around the long refractory table where the teachers had assembled for the last meeting of the autumn term. This room served many purposes, with a kitchen tucked at one end and bookshelves lining the walls not covered by floor to ceiling windows. Most of the staff met here for lunch, and there was always something on the warmer. Someone was now passing down cups of tea, and Louisa took one, adding a heaping spoonful of sugar while she listened to the nuns chat excitedly around her.
"Katie should be chosen to play the part of Mary. She has the looks, while poor Sasha is rather lacking in that department…Have you found the baby Jesus yet? I know the custodian stored it with the other props after last year's play but now it's nowhere to be found…We must have a donkey. I don't care what father Phillip's says. It's not the same without a real live donkey…"
Louisa smiled and nodded but kept quiet, having yet to figure out her place in this still foreign mélange of religious and lay teachers. It hadn't helped she'd come on board mid-term, after one of the nuns had been sent to Canada "for health reasons". Louisa didn't think anyone went to Canada for their health, but hadn't asked and no one had offered up an explanation. She was just happy to have been offered job, and thought she could have done much worse, teaching in a government funded school where the classes were twice the size of St. Vincent's.
The noise level in the room had reached a near fevered pitch when a rather harassed looking woman pulled up a chair next to Louisa. She sat down with a heavy sigh, and pushed a loose strand of ginger from her face. "There's another hour of my life I can't get back. Any tea? I'm parched."
"What happened? Never mind, take my tea. I haven't touched it," said Louisa, sliding over her cup and saucer.
"You know how it goes – parents get testy when their little princesses don't earn straight A's. There's nothing to be done with some of these kids. Either they have an aptitude for languages, or they don't." Emma Southgate was the one and only language specialist at the school, teaching both French and Latin. She complained of being overworked and underpaid, threatening to look for greener pastures, but this was mostly bluster. In truth she enjoyed the job, even though it meant putting up with overbearing parents and at times, underachieving students. And it was convenient, a stone's throw from the gentrified terrace house she shared with her account husband and two young children.
Emma took a sip from the cup sitting in front of her and grimaced. "Sweet. I should have known. You always had jelly babies or biscuits squirreled away in your bag at school." She grinned impishly at Louisa, who was still getting used to the idea of working alongside her old college classmate. Imagine her surprise when she had been ushered into this very room, after a rather unsettling interview with Sister Celeste, to find Emma grinning like the Cheshire cat. Later she had learned Emma had but a good word on her behalf with the search committee. This had puzzled Louisa at first, since they had never been close while in school together. They had orbited in different circles, Emma the ever popular girl, asked to weekend parties at the country estates of their well-to-do classmates while Louisa stayed behind, studying at the library or working her part-time job at a tea shop. But Emma was nothing but loyal to her Alma mater, and felt the importance of supporting one of her own.
"So, how are you finding us? The nuns take some getting used to, but they're not a bad lot, all and all." Emma took another sip of tea, without grimacing this time.
"It's good, really. The sixth form catch on to the math very quickly. And I don't mind the nuns, although Sister Celeste can be a tad intimating."
"Yes, that's why us lay teachers have to stick together. That would be you and me, because I can't see Miss Gregory taking one for the team." Miss Gregory's name was said with near contempt, and Louisa thought the years hadn't softened Emma's sharp and at times cruel edge.
"She does keep to herself," said Louisa, remembering what it felt like to be the recipient of Emma's teases at school, a hazard of being part of the unpopular set. Poor Miss Gregory was a prime target, an older woman built like an ice box who taught sports to a load of uninterested girls. She was surprisingly shy for someone who spent her days calling fouls on the field, but Louisa had managed to draw her out on the few occasions they had shared recess duty. Philomena (she rarely used her Christian name for obvious reasons) was an avid birder and landscape painter. She was particularly fond of the Cornish coast, having summered there as a child, and both women had spent an agreeable half hour comparing notes on their favorite hiking paths and beaches.
Miss Gregory had taken one of the straight back chairs along the wall, ignoring everyone and in turn, being ignored. Louisa watched her shift uneasily in her seat when Emma exclaimed, "Oh, I almost forgot." She rummaged through the stack of marking and pulled out an engraved card on heavy cream stock. Waving it in front of Louisa she asked, "Did you get one of these?"
"I have no idea. Let me see." She took the card from Emma, and saw it was an invitation to a party at her former tutor's home, the one who had been kind enough to let Louisa stay until she had moved into her bedsit. "Something from Magdalene came in the post yesterday, but I didn't have a chance to open it." She had been too tired by the time she had come home from having dinner with Toby to do much else but take a bath and go to bed. The envelope was still sitting on the coffee table, and she had meant to take it with her, but had forgotten in her usual mad rush to get out the door.
"You should come. It should be a good party, catered by the Savoy with loads of champagne. But a word of warning – it's a couples kind of affair. You must find yourself a date. Or better yet, I can make a few inquiries. Anthony oversees a whole herd of eligible men at his accounting firm. Most are a tad young, but that's not all bad." Emma smiled knowingly, and Louisa handed back the invitation. "Thanks, but I'm sure something will turn up."
"Suit yourself." Emma glanced at Sister Celeste and whispered urgently, "Watch out! She's about to blow."
The words were scarcely out her mouth when the table shook with a loud bang that made the tea cups tremble in their saucers. Sister Celeste's hand rested on the polished wood surface of the table, her steel grey eyes slowly sweeping the room until the only sound was the wheezing of the ancient cast iron radiator.
"Thank you for giving me your undivided attention," she said quietly. There was a touch of sarcasm in her voice that wasn't lost on Louisa.
They all watched as Sister Celeste turned to the white board, picked up a marker and checked off the first of a long list of items on the agenda. She was a tall woman, well into her sixth decade but her face was barely lined, her carriage one of a woman half her age. The plain nun's habit was worn with the easy elegance of a New Bond street gown, a nod to her august origins. Louisa had come to find out she was the daughter of an earl, one who had squandered his fortune on horses and bad investments. The ancestral lands had been sold little by little, until the only evidence of the family's former glory was a derelict dowager house and a string of stables that now housed a thriving colony of feral cats. The story goes she chose the convent over the post of governess to the children of a cousin in Alsace. Religious life offered a certain amount of independence, unlike the life of servitude she would have faced at the hands of foreign relatives. And here, she was free to exert her formidable will.
And exert it she did, as she was doing now, chastising the staff for what she perceived was the slovenly state of their classrooms. "You will agree tidiness is a virtue to be instilled in the young, and is best taught by setting a good example. Please see that your classrooms are neat and tidy. I will be making a tour of inspection later today."
Emma leaned over to Louisa and whispered, "Yes my captain!"
Louisa suppressed a giggle and was rewarded with a glare from Sister Celeste. Better toe the line, she thought, and demurely placed her hands on her lap. Emma quieted down beside her, and they both turned their attention to the proceedings. But the holiday craft sale and the nativity play kept Louisa's attention only for so long, and her thoughts soon drifted to the events of the previous evening. It had been a stroke of good luck to run into Toby on the train, and despite her misgivings, she was glad to have accepted his invitation to dinner. He was funny and witty and kind and she couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed herself this much on a date. Martin wasn't one for going out, least of all to dinner, and she knew he had agreed to do so just to please her. It had been difficult to appreciate the gesture, fussing as he had over the salt content of the food or the restaurant's level of sanitation. His behavior had put a damper on what would have otherwise been a pleasurable, even romantic, evening. She had quickly learned to lower her expectations, happy to get through a meal without a lecture on the dangers of saturated fats or worse, an altercation with the wait staff. Towards the end she had given up, and they had taken their meals either at the surgery or in the cramped kitchen of her little cottage.
It had been so easy with Toby. The conversation had flowed with the wine, and she had even ordered dessert without feeling the need to apologize. But yet…
"Miss Glasson!" Louisa snapped out of her reverie to find all eyes on her. She met Philomena Gregory's sympathetic gaze from across the room as Sister Celeste said, "I'm pleased you've decided to join us. Now, if you'd be so kind as to report on the sixth form math curriculum."
Louisa felt the head sister bristling with annoyance as she riffled through her bag, looking for the report she had prepared that morning. She quickly found it, shelving all thoughts of the tattered remains of her love life for another day.