by Kenny Walters
Marland House School for Girls is set in the Surrey countryside about 20 miles from central London. It's a fee paying school and the premises allow for a mix of day girls and a smaller number of boarders.
The gravel-covered drive crackled and spat as the metallic blue Rolls Royce Silver Shadow eased towards the main school building, its driver alert for any girl being dropped off by a parent and so keen to get into school that she dashed carelessly across the drive without any thought for other cars entering. Two large signs affixed to tall stone gateposts at the entrance to the driveway cautioned about the school-imposed 10 miles per hour speed limit; to be fair, most parents and staff did keep their speed down close to that level. Those that didn't risked an uncomfortable conversation with the driver of the Rolls Royce that now eased into a parking slot marked 'Headmistress'.
"Good morning, Miss," several girls greeted as the lady driver emerged and retrieved an overloaded briefcase from the back seat.
"Good morning, girls. Don't dawdle now... and Emily, your tie isn't straight!"
"Sorry, Miss." One girl made a half-hearted gesture at fixing the offending tie, then continued, giggling with her friends as they made their way to the pupils' entrance at the far end of the school.
With the Rolls Royce securely locked and briefcase in hand, the headmistress headed for the main school entrance, the one used by staff and visitors only. A mother, an attractive woman with long dark hair, sped past in a silver Range Rover as she headed for the exit, narrowly avoiding the headmistress.
"Tut, tut!" An accompanying glare followed the Range Rover all the way until it disappeared from sight at the end of the driveway, the headmistress making a mental note to have a word with the offending driver when the next opportunity presented itself. Then she continued across the gravel-covered forecourt and entered through the large main doorway, the blue painted wooden door already propped open. Inside, an open office area surrounded by a polished oak counter contained two women sitting at desks and quietly going about their work.
"Good morning, Edna. Everything okay? Morning, Carol."
"Good morning, Headmistress." Edna Hobbs, the senior of the two school secretaries looked up from tapping away at the keyboard of her computer. "How did the conference go?"
"Oh, the usual twaddle... everyone griping about falling standards, falling income, falling numbers, falling everything. I told them we at Marland House don't have those problems because we run a tight ship with hard work and good discipline, and if they upped their game they too would see the benefit."
"You always were the perfect diplomat, Eleanor," Edna replied, resuming her typing.
"Coffee, Headmistress?" Carol Spencer, the younger secretary, interjected with a smile.
"Thank you, yes, that would be good." Eleanor Witlow continued through the outer office, through the connecting door and into her own study. She left the door open. "Anything happen while I was away?" she shouted as she sat at her desk. "Anything I need to know about, at least?"
"No, I think we coped pretty well without you, Headmistress. At least for the two days you were away," Edna Hobbs said. "There are half a dozen items you need to read out at assembly. They're on this list here." The secretary entered the study and placed a sheet of paper on Eleanor Witlow's desk.
"Something else, Edna?"
"A little problem with Mademoiselle Poitier, I'm afraid."
"Our temporary trainee teacher from France? What did she do?"
"Took a hockey session with Upper Six B."
"Well, that's not usually life-threatening, is it? It should be well within her capabilities, I would have thought. Mlle Poitier is supposed to be on the verge of French national team selection, isn't she? What could possibly have gone wrong?"
"Maybe the French rely too much on skilful play. Not equipped for good old English tackling, apparently. The good news is, she wasn't detained in hospital."
"Dare I ask if there's any bad news?"
"Presuming the ankle injury hasn't barred her from ever playing again, I suspect Mlle Poitier might not be too happy with Katie Pearson and Jane Morgan. Mlle Poitier somehow got herself sandwiched between those two with the ball at her feet. Then she tried to make a break for goal and the girls elected to stop her."
"That's the danger of entering the game herself, Edna. She should have stuck with just refereeing. That's the sort of trouble inexperience gets you in, you know."
"Apparently so, Headmistress."
"Anyway, keep me informed, and let me know if we see or hear from Mlle Poitier. Actually, it might be an idea if you could ask Katie Pearson and Jane Morgan to pop in and see me. Best to get their version of events."
"Very well, Headmistress."
"Here's your coffee, Headmistress." Carol Spencer entered the headmistress's study and placed a fine porcelain cup and saucer down on the large desk.
"Thank you, Carol. Now, what's the time? Five to nine? Super! It gives me fifteen minutes to catch up before assembly. Could you get me the files on Katie Pearson and Jane Morgan, please?"
At ten o'clock, with assembly over and the girls all safely in their first classes of the day, Eleanor Witlow sat at her desk with her second coffee of the day. Both Katie Pearson and Jane Morgan appeared to be first class students with no particular disciplinary matters blighting their records. Katie had just turned eighteen, Jane was four months older. A knock on her door interrupted the headmistress.
"Come in!"
Edna Hobbs appeared at the door.
"Katie Pearson and Jane Morgan to see you, Headmistress. They came of their own volition, so to speak."
"Send them in, please Edna."
Within moments, the two girls were standing in front of their headmistress's desk.
"So, girls, I hear you've been up to a bit of mischief on the hockey pitch."
"That's why we wanted to see you, Miss," said Katie Pearson, slightly the taller of the two. "We felt we needed to explain what happened." Katie glanced nervously at her colleague. "I don't suppose you know how Mlle Poitier is, do you Miss?"
"I believe we're still waiting to hear, Katie." Eleanor Witlow thought for a moment, then decided to invite the two girls to sit in two of the comfortable armchairs over to one side of her large study. She followed them over.
"At the moment, girls, this is not a disciplinary matter. Until I hear anything to the contrary, it was simply an unfortunate accident. Unless, of course, you're going to tell me something different, or until Mlle Poitier tells me something that might make me view the matter in a different light." Eleanor Witlow looked at the two girls, thinking her words might have relieved them somewhat. Clearly they hadn't. "So, what happened?" she prompted.
"We had a double period games lesson, Miss," Katie began. "There were twenty-one of us in the class, so Mlle Poitier decided she'd both referee and play on one of the teams to even up the numbers. She was in the opposite side to us." Katie paused and looked at her friend, as though to check the story was mutually agreed to this point.
Having found no disagreement, Katie continued. "Well, halfway through the second half, Mlle Poitier won the ball and was playing some really delicate stuff and working her way through our defence. Jane and I both moved in to tackle her and somehow our sticks hit Mlle Poitier on either side of her ankle."
"I see." Eleanor Witlow looked at both girls as she considered what she'd heard. "So, your story is that it was a complete accident?"
"It's not a story, Miss. That's what happened!" Jane Morgan, with similar blonde hair to Katie, but shorter, spoke with some feeling.
"Yes, I wasn't disputing what Katie had said, Jane," the headmistress answered in a conciliatory tone. "I was merely trying to imagine how Mlle Poitier might view things."
While Jane shrugged, Katie grimaced in the manner that said, 'Who knows what that cow will say'.
"We did pick her up and help her to the changing room, Miss," Jane added, in the hope of suggesting some mitigation.
"Very good of you, Jane," Eleanor Witlow answered unconvincingly. "Tell me, what happened after you got Mlle Poitier to the changing room?"
"I went to the staff room to get some assistance, Miss," Jane explained. "I found Miss Hornchurch and Mr Bagley there. I told them what happened and they came to assist."
"And then what?"
"Miss Hornchurch said she thought Mlle Poitier ought to go to hospital to get her ankle X-rayed. Mr Bagley offered to take her."
"In that tiny little sports car of his?"
"Yes, Miss."
"It's a wonder getting into that little thing didn't cause her more injury than you two belting her with your hockey sticks."
"She seemed quite happy for Mr Bagley to take her, Miss," Jane suggested.
"Did she now?" Eleanor Witlow pondered with a modicum of amusement. "Right, you two get off to your classes. Leave this with me."
"Are we going to be punished, Miss?" Katie asked.
She received a stern glare from Jane, who wasn't keen on planting ideas in their headmistress's head.
"That very much depends on Mlle Poitier's version of events, Katie. As long as she backs up your assertion that it was entirely an accident then there should be no problem."
"Thank you, Miss."
The two girls left the study and Eleanor Witlow followed them through to the secretaries' office. When both girls were well out of earshot she spoke to the younger of the two secretaries.
"Carol, could you find Miss Hornchurch and ask if I could have five minutes of her time when she has a moment?"
"Of course, Headmistress."
At a quarter to eleven, during the mid-morning break, Abigail Hornchurch sat in the headmistress's study.
"Abigail, I wanted to get your version of events. You know, when Mlle Poitier was injured while refereeing a hockey practice match. I hear you were called to assist, together with Mr Bagley."
"Actually, Headmistress, I think Mr Bagley did all the assisting." The rather plump Physics teacher peered at Eleanor Witlow over silver rimmed spectacles in a manner that suggested she didn't approve of any sort of friendly relationship between the two younger members of staff. "Then they went off in his little sports car."
"Yes, I hear he took her to the hospital."
"Pah! It was just a bruised ankle, for goodness sakes. In my day, it would have been a quick sponge down with a bucket of cold water and on with the game."
"Yes," Eleanor Witlow said thoughtfully as she tried to imagine the short, plump, fifty-four year old teacher dressed in a short games skirt playing hockey. "So, you weren't too impressed with the extent of Mlle Poitier's injury?"
"It's probably not for me to say, Headmistress. Although I think I'd have felt quite embarrassed if a mere ankle injury had stopped me from doing my job."
"Made of sterner stuff, eh?"
"Quite, Headmistress!"
"Well, thank you for your opinion, Abigail. I'm keeping you from your cup of tea, so you had better get along to the staff room before they drain the teapot."
The telephone on Eleanor Witlow's desk rang.
"Headmistress, I have Mlle Poitier on the phone asking to speak to you."
"Good! Put her through, please Edna."
"Estelle! My dear, how are you? I'm so sorry to hear about your little accident."
"Accident? Huh!" The twenty-three year old teacher snorted. "But thank you for your concern, Headmistress. I am on the mend, thank you."
"I'm sorry, Estelle. Are you suggesting your little, er, contretemps wasn't accidental? What on earth do you mean?"
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.