Daughter of Empire by Pamela Hicks

to take tea at school and I invited Belinda along. I remember that on one occasion, Miss Fairburns, our headmistress, offered around a plate of scones and my mother,
mid-story, took one but held it aloft in her small, perfectly manicured hand, gesticulating occasionally as she finished her anecdote. When it was over she smiled at Miss Fairburns’
appreciative comments and then popped the little scone into her mouth. Belinda, who could be terribly serious, could not contain herself: ‘Oh, but Lady Louis, at Buckswood we always put our
food on our plate
before
we eat!’ I couldn’t have been more surprised and glanced anxiously from Mummy to Miss Fairburns and back to Belinda, who was looking characteristically
unmoved. Poor Miss Fairburns, appearing not a little flushed, said: ‘Belinda! You must apologise to Lady Louis this instant!’ Luckily, my mother was always sweetness itself to my
friends: ‘No, no, Miss Fairburns, please don’t worry, Belinda is quite right. Where
are
my manners?’ And she turned the conversation effortlessly and immediately to the
less controversial topic of the school’s roses.
    Miss Fairburns shared the running of the school with her partner, ‘the other headmistress’, Miss Haines. She only ever dressed in a brown suit, shirt and tie and she was as pointy as
Miss Fairburns was soft and billowy. I was very fond of Miss Fairburns but was mortified when my parents asked her and Miss Haines to lunch at Adsdean. My father was apt to become lost in thought
as he plotted a new signalling manoeuvre or some such thing. On this occasion, the two principals were seated on the other side of the table to my father and to my alarm I noticed that he was
sitting in silence and had begun to roll up little pellets of bread that he began to flick towards his glass so that they pinged back towards him. Suddenly one ricocheted over Miss Fairburns’
plate. My father didn’t notice but she stiffened in alarm and throughout the rest of the meal she and Miss Haines remained visibly jumpy. I was able to relax only when my mother finally rang
for coffee and my father awoke from his reverie. He seemed oblivious to the dozens of little bread balls scattered in front of him. I wished Belinda had been there to tell him off.
    Belinda wasn’t always serious, though, and together we were prone to fits of giggles and madcap schemes, such as the occasion during my second year when we decided it was high time that
all the girls in our dormitory ran away. We plotted in hushed tones at lunch and tea and spent the whole of the next week stuffing our elasticated knickers with bread rolls. On the appointed
evening we went to bed as good as gold – no doubt alerting the teachers straight away that something was amiss – and at the prearranged hour, we dressed furtively then sneaked out one
by one into the corridor. But I was paralysed by a sudden thought: who would look after Sunshine if I didn’t go back home? As a special treat Sunshine had been allowed to come with me to
school and was housed at the local stables. ‘Come on, Pammy,’ hissed Belinda, ‘what are you waiting for?’ She gave me a shove. ‘I can’t come,’ I said,
‘I can’t leave Sunshine.’ ‘Don’t be such a chump,’ she replied, pulling me along. But what did she know? She didn’t have a pony and couldn’t possibly
understand. I shook myself free, handed over my bread rolls then went back to bed, feeling like the worst traitor ever. It wasn’t long before the other girls came back too: they had made it
as far as the roof before they were caught and sent straight back to bed.
    At Adsdean, my family was coming to terms with two recent tragedies. The first involved some of my German cousins. Cecile, my cousin Philip’s older sister, was married to Don, Uncle
Ernie’s son, and they had three children with another on the way. Cecile had been so kind in Germany, when we were living with Aunt Onor and Uncle Ernie, even