Chapter 5: Versailles Academy
Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the January 19th, when Agatha came into my room and found me already up and covering my bed neatly. I woke up about a half hour before she came in, and took a shower. I was I was leaving Yule Mansion that day on a taxi which would come by at six a.m. Agatha was the only other person awake; she had lit a fire in the nursery, where she now proceeded to make my breakfast. Few children can eat when excited with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Agatha, persuaded me to take a spoonful or two if cereal and packed me some muffins and a bottle of juice; then she helped me my jeans, gray sweater, Housse boots, my blue wool duffle coat, we left the nursery. As we passed Mrs. Yule's bedroom, she asked, "Will you go say good-bye to Mrs. Yule?"
"No, Agatha: she came to my room last night when you went to supper, and said I didn't need to disturb her in the morning, or my cousins either; and she told me to remember that she had always been my best friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her accordingly."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing: I covered my face with the blanket, and turned from her to the wall."
"That was wrong, Zoe."
"It was right. Your Mrs. Yule has never been my friend: she has been my enemy."
"O Zoe! don't say that!"
"Good-bye to Yule Mansion!" I cried, as we walked down the hall and out the front door.
The moon was set, and it was very dark; Agatha turned on the path lights. The winter air was raw and feisty, My teeth chattered as I walked toward the gate. I wheeled my suitcase outside the gate and Agatha and I stood waiting for the taxi. I jogger ran by.
"Is she going by herself?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And how far is it?"
"Fifty miles."
"What a long way! I wonder Mrs. Yule is not afraid to let her go alone so far."
The taxi drove up up; the driver put my suitcase in the trunk; I hugged Agatha for the last time really tightly.
"Be sure and take good care of her," cried she to the driver, as he closed the door behind me.
"Sure, sure!" was the answer: the driver side door was slapped shut, a voice exclaimed "All right," and we drove off. Thus was I separated from Agatha and Yule Mansion.
I remember very little of the journey; I only know that the day seemed to me of a preternatural length, and that we appeared to travel over hundreds of miles of road. We passed through villages and farms, and in one, a very large one, the taxi stopped; he pumped some gas into the car. He carried me into a cafe, where the driver wanted me to have some dinner; but, as I had no appetite, he left me to sit still while he got himself a sub.
I woke up when the taxi door opened, and a person like a servant was standing at it: I saw her face and dress by the light of the street lamps lamps.
"Are you Zoe Barton?" she asked. I answered "Yes," and was then lifted out; my suitcase was handed down, and the taxi instantly drove away.
I was stiff with long sitting. Gathering myself, I looked around me. Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly discerned a wall infront me and a door open in it; through this door I passed with my new guide: she shut and locked it behind her. There was now visible a house or houses—for the building spread far—with many windows, and lights burning in some; we went up a broad pebbly path, splashing wet, and were admitted at a door; then the servant led me through a passage into a room with a fire, where she left me alone.
I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, then I looked round; two desk lamps were on, reflecting the light, by intervals, papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining mahogany furniture: it was a parlor, not so spacious or splendid as the living room at Yule Mansion, but comfortable enough. I was racking my brain to make out the subject of a picture on the wall, when the door opened, and an individual carrying portfolio; another followed close behind.
The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale and large forehead; her figure was enveloped long black dress, her countenance was grave, her bearing erect.
"The child is too young to be sent alone," she said, putting portfolio on the table. She studied me attentively for a minute or two, then further added—
"She had better be put to bed soon; she looks tired: are you tired?" she asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.
"A little."
"And hungry too, no doubt: let her have some supper before she goes to bed, Kathy. Is this the first time you have left your parents to come to school?"
I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how long they had been dead: then how old I was, what was my name, whether I could read, write, and sew a little: then she touched my cheek gently with her forefinger, and saying, "She hoped I should be a good child," dismissed me along with Kathy.
The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine; the one who went with me appeared some years younger: the first impressed me by her voice, look, and air. Kathy was more ordinary; ruddy in complexion, though of a careworn countenance; hurried in gait and action, like one who had always a multiplicity of tasks on hand. Led by her, I passed from room to room, from hallway to hallway, of a large and irregular building; till, emerging from the total and somewhat dreary silence pervading that portion of the house we had traversed, we came upon the hum of many voices, and presently entered a wide, long room, with great long table, and seated all round on chairs, a congregation of girls of every age, from nine or ten to twenty. Seen by the dim light of the candle chandeliers, their number to me appeared countless, though not in reality exceeding eighty; they were uniformly dressed in black turtle neck short sleeved shirts, blue and black plaid belted knee length skirts, black tights, red rosette flats. Each girl had a white cameo bow brooch pinned on the left side of their collar, and theu wore a red bow headband. Red Tara Jarmon coats hung on the back of their chairs. It was dinner time, and the girls ate and talked excitedly.
Kathy assigned me a chair near the door, then walking up to the front of the long room she cried out—
"Girls, we have a new pupil, please welcome her warmly!"
The girls all turned to stare at me as I sat down awkwardly.
Someone brought me a tray of food, and gupled in down like I hadn't eaten for days.
The meal over, prayers were read by Kathy, and the girls filed off, two and two, upstairs. I was taken to a room where there were two beds. A girl was already asleep. I undressed quietly and lay down in the bed that was empty, and amidst silence and complete darkness I fell asleep.
The night passed rapidly. I was too tired even to dream; I only once awoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts, and the rain fall in torrents. When I opened my eyes again, a loud bell was ringing; the girl next to me was up and dressing in her uniform; day had not yet begun to dawn, and a rushlight or two burned in the room. I too rose reluctantly; it was bitter cold, and I dressed in the uniform laid out for my by Kathy as well as I could while shivering, and washed my face in the bathroom that occupied 4 girls when there was a sink free, which did not occur soon, as there was one sink to four girls. Again the bell rang: all formed in a line, two and two, and in that order descended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly lit breakfast room: here prayers were read by Kathy.
Trays of cereal was brought in and set at each table of two. Breakfast flew by fast.
A distant bell tinkled: immediately the girls got up and almost marched to a classroom that was formed like theater. Three ladies entered the room, two walked to a table and the other at the other table. Kathy assumed the place by the single standing woman, which was that nearest the door.
Business now began, the day's Collect was repeated, then certain texts of Scripture were said, and to these succeeded a protracted reading of chapters in the Bible, which lasted an hour. By the time that exercise was terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefatigable bell now sounded for the fourth time: the girls took out their text books and began to read silently.
A quarter of an hour passed before the lesson began. Kathy was now the only teacher in the room.
After a while, as my eyes wandered from face to face, the whole school rose simultaneously, as if moved by a common spring.
What was the matter? I had heard no order given: I was puzzled. By the time I comprehended to do the same, the girls were again seated: but as all eyes were now turned to one point, mine followed the general direction, and encountered the personage who had received me last night. She stood at the bottom of the long room, on the hearth; for there was a fire at each end; she surveyed the two rows of girls silently and gravely. Kathy approaching, seemed to ask her a question, and having received her answer, went back to her place, and said aloud—
"Monitor of the first class, fetch the globes!"
While the direction was being executed, the lady consulted moved slowly up the room. I suppose I have a considerable organ of veneration, for I retain yet the sense of admiring awe with which my eyes traced her steps. Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked tall, fair, and shapely; brown eyes with a benignant light in their irids, and a fine pencilling of long lashes round, relieved the whiteness of her large front; on each of her temples her hair, of a very dark brown, was clustered in round curls, according to the fashion of those times, when neither smooth bands nor long ringlets were in vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, was of purple cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet; a gold watch around her wrist. She was Miss Murrell—Camille Murrell, as I afterwards saw the name written in a prayer-book she let me borrow.
The superintendent of Versailles Academy taught geography with the globes to the younger children, I amongst them; History and Grammer was next; writing and arithmetic succeeded, and music lessons were given by Miss Murrell to some of the older girls. The duration of each lesson was measured by the clock, which at last struck twelve. The superintendent rose—
"It is time for lunch," said she.
Lunch consisted of sandwiches which were served in the lunch dining room with a view into the garden.
The garden was a wide inclosure, surrounded with walls so high as to exclude every glimpse of prospect; a covered verandah ran down one side, and broad walks bordered a middle space divided into scores of little beds: these beds were assigned as gardens for the pupils to cultivate, and each bed had an owner. When full of flowers they would doubtless look pretty; but now, at the latter end of January, all was wintry blight and brown decay. I shuddered as I stood and looked round me: it was an inclement day for outdoor exercise; not positively rainy, but darkened by a drizzling yellow fog; all under foot was still soaking wet with the floods of yesterday. The stronger among the girls ran about and engaged in active games outside, but sundry pale and thin ones herded together for shelter and warmth in the veranda; and amongst these, as the dense mist penetrated to their shivering frames, I heard frequently the sound of a hollow cough.
I hadn't spoken to anyone yet, nor did anybody seem to take notice of me; I stood lonely enough: but to that feeling of isolation I was accustomed; it did not oppress me much. I leant against a pillar of the veranda, buttoned up my red coat and crossed my arms, trying to forget the cold which nipped me. I looked around the convent-like garden, and then up at the house—a large building, half of which seemed grey and old, the other half quite new. The new part, containing the schoolroom and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed windows, which gave it a church-like aspect; a stone tablet over the door bore this inscription:—
"Versailles Academy.—This portion was rebuilt 1971, by Mary Worth, of Worth Hall, in this county." "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."— Matt. v. 16.
I read these words over and over again: I felt that an explanation belonged to them, and was unable to find it. I was still pondering the signification of "Academy," and endeavoring to make out a connection between the first words and the verse of Scripture, when the sound of a cough close behind me made me turn my head. I saw a girl sitting on a stone bench near by; she was bent over a book, on the perusal of which she seemed intent: from where I stood I could see the title—it was "Sense and Sensibility;" a title I had read many times. In turning a page she happened to look up, and I said to her directly—
"You like Jane Austen nooks?" I had already formed the intention of asking her to lend it to me some day.
"Yes," she answered, after a pause of a second or two, during which she examined me.
"Is this the first book you read?" I continued. I hardly know where I found the hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was contrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched a chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though of a frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or comprehend the serious or substantial.
"Yes, you may look at it," replied the girl, offering me the book.
I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were less taking than the title: The book had no pictures, only words one after another. I returned it to her; she received it quietly, and without saying anything she was about to relapse into her former studious mood: again I ventured to disturb her—
"Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door means? What is Versailles Academy?"
"This house where we all live."
"And why do they call it Academy? Is it in any way different from other schools?"
"It is a private-school: you and I, and many rest of us, are charity-children. I suppose you are an orphan: are not either your father or your mother dead?"
"Both died before I can remember."
"Well, all the girls here have lost either one or both parents, and this is called an academy for educating orphans."
"Do we pay no money? Do they keep us for nothing?"
"Sponsors pay for us. Otherwise we would be given to an orphanage and we wouldn't be wearing such nice uniforms."
"Then why do they call us charity-children?"
"Because people that don't know us, pay for us."
"Who pays?"
"Different rich people in Paris."
"Who was Mary Worth?"
"The lady who built the new part of this house as that tablet records, and whose son overlooks and directs everything here."
"Why?"
"Because he is treasurer and manager of the establishment."
"Then this house does not belong to Miss Murrell?"
"To Miss Murrell? Oh, no! I wish it did: she has to answer to Mr. Worth for everything she does. Mr. Worth approves or disapproves of what to buy."
"Does he live here?"
"No—two miles off, in a large apartment."
"Is he a good man?"
"He works at a bank, they say he does a lot for this academy."
"Do you like the teachers?"
"Some."
"Do you like the little black one, and the Madame ---?—I cannot pronounce her name as you do."
"Miss Shortshanger is hasty—you must take care not to offend her; Madame Ruvog is not a bad sort of person."
"But Miss Miss Murell is the best—isn't she?"
"Miss Murrell is very good and very clever; she is above the rest, because she knows far more than they do."
"How long have you been here?"
"Two years."
"Are you an orphan?"
"My mother is dead. My father left her long ago."
"Are you happy here?"
"You ask too many questions. Let's stop for now. I want to read."
But at that moment the bell sounded for tea; all re-entered the house. The tea room was red and dark. Instead of tables and chairs, there were booths. It looked like a restaurant in some ways.
After tea, we immediately adjourned to the schoolroom: lessons recommenced, and were continued till five o'clock after which we had dinner.
The only event worth remembering was the girl I met during lunch and our small conversation.