Running Wild

Chapter 5

Days fade into weeks. An army of colour has prevailed over the dripping wet mist that has invaded the woods to the north of Grey’s Academy.

To the south, the seas spring fury is tamed by the now frequent spears of sunlight that pierce the thick, woolly clouds. They stab at the sea, creating glittering patches of spray where the waves jostle for a chance to be warmed after so long in the grip of the cold. The waves remind me of the many girls that this place holds, elbowing each other for space. But unlike the girls, these waves seem to beckon to me through dirty classroom windows, curtained in a thick layer of grime.

Joining the waves is out of the question. They may be happy at the approaching summer but I am as opposed to it as to being locked in a room with Jemima Harrison. But Time, being Time, only laughed as I begged him to slow down and all too soon my debut is fast approaching on the horizon. In order for me not to be a complete shambles in London, I have taken it upon myself to learn to be a lady. It has been slowly murdering my well being that I have to abide by all these rules. Don’t fidget when sitting, wait for the gentlemen to begin the conversation, never go anywhere unattended...they go on and on. Pointless rules, ridiculous laws and petty beliefs, all in an endless list that everyone else seems to have mastered and on that spew’s out of my tutor’s mouths and into my unwilling ears. After so long of resisting the bridle I am forced to wear I have finally decided to accept and instead find more subtle ways in throwing the blasted thing off.

But after endless practise, I am part way there. I can now embroider a handkerchief, request the cake in French and ride side saddle without falling off. However, performing a curtsey with an acceptable amount of grace is still beyond me.

I raise my eyes from my hand writing (which apparently resembles the roots of an old tree and need much improvement) to gaze politely at the talkers sitting opposite myself and Lucy Wakefield.

Of course, closing your ears does have results. After four and a half years of ignoring everything I was told, I naturally needed help in learning it all in the last term. As jemima would have preferred to fall off swallow again, her acolytes in similar mind and Liz and Di so wrapped up in each other, the great and lengthy task in aiding me to become a lady fell to Lucy, who has proved to be a great teacher, with vast amounts of patience and a veritable goldmine of gossip.

The talkers have turned into gigglers. “Ladies, pray tell what you find so amusing?” These ladies are of the 4th form and seem to be whispering about my changed appearance.

Lucy has won the battle against the “bush”, armed with hairpins and an evil comb that delivers pain whenever it makes contact with my scalp. She has drawn my hair into a reasonably presentable bun and it only escapes rarely. My skirt now retains its cleanliness after the lack of muddy escapades and my boots no longer have scuffed toes, thanks to Lucy’s correction to my walk and posture.

The 4th formers, unused to a higher being stooping to their level, blink and shuffle, before a bold one of their number raises her head and meets me eye to eye.

“Well, we were just wondering what changed you so?” her eyes trail over my image as the words bounce off it, leaving behind their question. Why indeed do I wish to become a lady?

“Well?” Her voice, with its shrill uplift toward the end is beginning to annoy. Like a mosquito, it whines in my ear.

“I confess I realised the good in becoming a lady. Though I refuse to completely empty my brain and become as impoverished in intelligence as yourself.”

She blinks. It takes a while for that impoverished intelligence to realise the insults.

I smile my practised smile and turn back to my page as they scurry off with their tails between their legs. I frown as I realise the dot on an i has punctured the page and an overflow of ink has caused a flood in the neat rows of freshly planted letters.