Running Wild

Chapter 7

The next day begins grey and blustery but I am forgiven. Lucy, being the right and proper Christian she is, see’s no wrong in my cowardly act and the matter has been dropped.

However, breakfast is a highly-strung affair that requires delicate handling in order to avoid strife. Tempers from yesterday are still running high and everyone makes a point to glare at Lucy over the tepid tea as though she is the one responsible for the kitchen staff managing to combine tea leaves and pond water in a willow pattern tea set.

Everyone except Diana.

Despite the less-than-cheerful atmosphere that permeates the very tablecloth, she is breezing through the pouting lips and petulant scowls, making jaunty remarks on invitations to upcoming balls and parties. I pretend to sip my tea and watch Di’s animated manner.

“…and has anyone received an invitation from the Longford’s? They always have the most marvellous music, I was so taken with it, one night I simply refused to stop dancing! They nearly ran out of partners for me to dance with!”

She laughs, a silvery tinkle that echoes off our cutlery and Jemima’s lips.

“No, you simply must introduce me to them sometime. But did anyone see the Faulkner’s painting collection? Quite magnificent to behold, scenes of hills and sea that quite take your breath away with their likeness to life!”

They all fall over each other at this latest titbit, fawning and preening and contributing, prattling on about whatever they saw in so and so’s drawing room.

“Isn’t that the point of photographs?”

You’re sure that’s wise?

Silence descends like a curtain across the table. All eyes flicker to me, narrow and hostile, picking over the words presented to them. Lucy shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“Photographs are not art, Miss Wilde. They do not have true value.” Jemima turns back to the sheep, sighing as though having to placate a disagreeable child.

“Well…” Diana tries to reconstruct the previous conversation.

My insides roil like a pit of snakes.

Another failure. You really cannot contribute to the conversation can you?

I place down my teacup with more force than is necessary. Some of the tea slops over the edge, staining the saucer a muddy brown forevermore. It will never be perfect, the stain will mar its features, leaving it to be smashed in the waste.

“…And they sound most interesting. Do you suppose, that if we preyed upon Miss Gedge, she would let us create our own versions?”

A hush falls again. But this silence is pregnant with suspense, the shock that someone would dare ask a teacher what they could do in a lesson and the possibility of…the possibility of change.

I discontinue my charade of inspecting the tablecloth to look properly at the raven-haired girl sitting opposite. Her blue eyes are large and unperturbed by the reaction they are receiving.

“I think it’s a splendid idea” Liz backs up Di’s argument with a winning smile that soon has everyone clamouring to agree.

“I’ll ask her right away then.” Diana beams as she sweeps out of her seat toward the teachers table. Jemima watches her go, her expression half admiration, half…what is it? Shock? Fear? Jealousy?

Before I can decide, Diana is back, holding court as her subjects cling onto her every syllable.

“She says we can do some sketches of the sea and hills as long as it doesn’t rain and we behave ourselves.” Squeals erupt all around, earning us disapproving looks from above. We dive back into our tea.