she was thinking about what she had blurted out just now. There was a big difference between knowing a war had happened in the past and knowing one was about to happen in the future. If she did not get home to the future, she would see it.
7
Harbottle
A fter history with Miss Bradley it was geography with Miss Horton. Pogo helped Flora to gather up her books and put them in her satchel. She led her out of the classroom into the corridor.
“I can’t wait to ask you about this war,” she muttered into Flora’s ear. “But we’d better wait till we’re alone—unless you want the whole school knowing you’re from the future. You’d better try not to blurt out anything else.”
“I was mixed up, that’s all,” Flora hissed crossly. “Something weird’s happened to my brain—thanks to you lot and your stupid spell.”
“What do you mean?”
She couldn’t explain, and this made her crosser. “I don’t know—it’s like there’s stuff I’m not allowed to remember about the future—when I try, I just get a lot of old Indian memories from the other Flora.”
“Well, do your best not to make any more staggering statements before lunch.”
“Of course I won’t!”
Geography, fortunately, was less bewildering than history had been—perhaps her brain was starting to settle down. The lesson was quite easy to understand. Miss Horton had chalked a map of Europe on the blackboard, and the girls had to write in the names of the rivers and cities. This time, Flora’s memory did not let her down. She remembered some things from APS and some things from the map of the world in the Wimbledon kitchen, and Miss Horton said she had been “well grounded.”
Lunch was disgusting, but she was so hungry that she ate every scrap of the pale meat, boiled potatoes and soggy boiled cabbage. For pudding there was a lump of stodgy cake, topped with red jam and custard. It was surprisingly delicious, and Flora had a second helping.
At APS you lined up with a tray to get things like filled rolls, chips and drinks in cartons. At St. Winifred’s, the food was dolloped out by a squad of servants. One of them was Ethel, and she gave Flora a very friendly smile. Flora smiled back, to show she was grateful to Ethel for unpacking her bag last night.
On the other side of the table, Pete took a small silver coinout of the leg of her knickers, and put it on the table. Ethel quickly picked it up while she served Pete’s pudding.
“She buys us sweets,” Dulcie explained (luckily, lunch was in English). “We’re not allowed to go down to the village until the fourth form.”
“It’s enormously secret,” Pogo said, on Flora’s other side. “Don’t tell anyone, or we’ll all be in hot water.”
Flora pushed away her bowl. “How can you think about sweets? I’ve never been so full!”
“Oh, you wait,” Dulcie said. “You’ll be ravenous again by teatime.”
“We ought to think about this afternoon.” Pogo frowned. She glanced across the table at Pete, who was busily talking to the red-haired girl next to her, and taking no notice of her friends.
Pete’s already tired of me
, Flora thought bitterly.
She resents having to look after me
.
Pete was a selfish, lazy person who only did nice things when it didn’t cost her any effort. The whole stupid summoning spell had been her idea, but she left all the hard slog to Pogo and Dulcie.
Pogo spoke in a low voice. “I’m afraid it’s Latin with Miss Harbottle, and she’s a gorgon. You’d better keep as quiet as possible and pray she doesn’t notice you. She’s very mean, and so incredibly old that she probably taught Florence Nightingale—you do know who Florence Nightingale was, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Flora said. “The nurse. She’s still famous in my century.”
“Well, keep your head down—this is no time to give yourself away.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.” Flora didn’t really see what the fuss was about. The woman was only a
7
Harbottle
A fter history with Miss Bradley it was geography with Miss Horton. Pogo helped Flora to gather up her books and put them in her satchel. She led her out of the classroom into the corridor.
“I can’t wait to ask you about this war,” she muttered into Flora’s ear. “But we’d better wait till we’re alone—unless you want the whole school knowing you’re from the future. You’d better try not to blurt out anything else.”
“I was mixed up, that’s all,” Flora hissed crossly. “Something weird’s happened to my brain—thanks to you lot and your stupid spell.”
“What do you mean?”
She couldn’t explain, and this made her crosser. “I don’t know—it’s like there’s stuff I’m not allowed to remember about the future—when I try, I just get a lot of old Indian memories from the other Flora.”
“Well, do your best not to make any more staggering statements before lunch.”
“Of course I won’t!”
Geography, fortunately, was less bewildering than history had been—perhaps her brain was starting to settle down. The lesson was quite easy to understand. Miss Horton had chalked a map of Europe on the blackboard, and the girls had to write in the names of the rivers and cities. This time, Flora’s memory did not let her down. She remembered some things from APS and some things from the map of the world in the Wimbledon kitchen, and Miss Horton said she had been “well grounded.”
Lunch was disgusting, but she was so hungry that she ate every scrap of the pale meat, boiled potatoes and soggy boiled cabbage. For pudding there was a lump of stodgy cake, topped with red jam and custard. It was surprisingly delicious, and Flora had a second helping.
At APS you lined up with a tray to get things like filled rolls, chips and drinks in cartons. At St. Winifred’s, the food was dolloped out by a squad of servants. One of them was Ethel, and she gave Flora a very friendly smile. Flora smiled back, to show she was grateful to Ethel for unpacking her bag last night.
On the other side of the table, Pete took a small silver coinout of the leg of her knickers, and put it on the table. Ethel quickly picked it up while she served Pete’s pudding.
“She buys us sweets,” Dulcie explained (luckily, lunch was in English). “We’re not allowed to go down to the village until the fourth form.”
“It’s enormously secret,” Pogo said, on Flora’s other side. “Don’t tell anyone, or we’ll all be in hot water.”
Flora pushed away her bowl. “How can you think about sweets? I’ve never been so full!”
“Oh, you wait,” Dulcie said. “You’ll be ravenous again by teatime.”
“We ought to think about this afternoon.” Pogo frowned. She glanced across the table at Pete, who was busily talking to the red-haired girl next to her, and taking no notice of her friends.
Pete’s already tired of me
, Flora thought bitterly.
She resents having to look after me
.
Pete was a selfish, lazy person who only did nice things when it didn’t cost her any effort. The whole stupid summoning spell had been her idea, but she left all the hard slog to Pogo and Dulcie.
Pogo spoke in a low voice. “I’m afraid it’s Latin with Miss Harbottle, and she’s a gorgon. You’d better keep as quiet as possible and pray she doesn’t notice you. She’s very mean, and so incredibly old that she probably taught Florence Nightingale—you do know who Florence Nightingale was, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Flora said. “The nurse. She’s still famous in my century.”
“Well, keep your head down—this is no time to give yourself away.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.” Flora didn’t really see what the fuss was about. The woman was only a
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