times too.
Elizabeth persisted in keeping her hair long at a time when most women cut theirs. She had long dark hair tinged with copper, which she groomed with a set of silver hairbrushes. Thomas would watch her at her dressing table, with her hair falling down her back, brushing and brushing. When white strands began to appear, she first plucked them out, then discreetly dyed her hair until she could no longer remember its true colour. a woman in her thirties should not have any white hairs, she was clear about that.
Once she had completed her dressing-room rituals, Elizabeth would emerge into the school. Crisply dressed, with her distinctive clipped walk echoing through the Marble Hall.
Anna could recognize her footsteps at once. From a distance, half-afraid and half-intrigued, she would often watch Mrs Ashton in her silken blouse, with her skirt barely shifting as she walked. Her shoulders and long neck appeared still and poised, even though she moved briskly. Her face, too, was unflinching. She did not smile much, and always seemed to be setting off somewhere else. Probably because she didn’t teach any lessons like her husband. She was usually busy organizing everyone else – the matrons, the kitchen staff, the housemaids.
Ashton Park was more like a proper school now, with rotas and rules, and Anna always did what she could to stay out of trouble. At first she had been afraid of dormitory life, wherenothing could be secret and she had to undress in front of other children. Yet she had got used to that, as well as the thin blankets at night, and the cold days when they all took turns to sit on the old tepid radiators. But she was often hungry.
“Don’t you know there’s a war on?” muttered the cook, if she saw the children’s disappointed faces.
Yet despite these austerities, Anna now often relaxed into happiness. There were group games of hide-and-seek right round the house, and her heart raced with the elation of playing with so many children. Sometimes, when she hid in a cupboard waiting to be found, she had to bite her knuckles just to stop herself from whooping out loud.
But although Anna appeared cheerful, even to herself, she was troubled by bad dreams at night. Sometimes her mother would grow old very suddenly, all grey and withered, or her face would begin to bubble with warts, with her small, straight nose turning bulbous and ugly. Anna would run to save her, but the scene would dissolve into a chase, with a faceless, implacable man following them everywhere, through cupboards, down streets, into every dark corner.
She cherished any remembered glimpses of her mother, but too often her face was unclear – a shape, a glance, her head turning, no more. Sometimes, Anna simply could not remember what she looked like. Yet she dreaded her mother’s hair turning white in her absence.
She began to wet her bed, unleashing a cycle of fear and shame. She would wake suddenly in cold, sodden sheets, and know with a shiver of panic that the matron would be furious with her.
Miss Harrison was fiercely impatient with any bed-wetters. She would publicly scold the offending children at breakfast, making them stand up one by one, before ordering them upstairs, shame-faced, to change their sheets.
Every night, Anna prayed solemnly for a dry bed. She avoided drinking any water, and went to the lavatory as many times as she could. Yet in the dead of night she would still wake up to a slippery damp mattress, the sheets icy-wet against her legs, her heart chilled with fear.
Every third Wednesday, the children had to troop down to the laundry room in a long line, dumping their sheets in wicker baskets. One morning, Anna was the first down, and she saw the junior matron slip out the key from a crockery cabinet to unlock the door.
Two nights later, she woke up alert and afraid in a wet bed. But she remembered the key to the laundry room. Quietly, she stripped the offending sheet from her bed and used it to sop up the
Elizabeth persisted in keeping her hair long at a time when most women cut theirs. She had long dark hair tinged with copper, which she groomed with a set of silver hairbrushes. Thomas would watch her at her dressing table, with her hair falling down her back, brushing and brushing. When white strands began to appear, she first plucked them out, then discreetly dyed her hair until she could no longer remember its true colour. a woman in her thirties should not have any white hairs, she was clear about that.
Once she had completed her dressing-room rituals, Elizabeth would emerge into the school. Crisply dressed, with her distinctive clipped walk echoing through the Marble Hall.
Anna could recognize her footsteps at once. From a distance, half-afraid and half-intrigued, she would often watch Mrs Ashton in her silken blouse, with her skirt barely shifting as she walked. Her shoulders and long neck appeared still and poised, even though she moved briskly. Her face, too, was unflinching. She did not smile much, and always seemed to be setting off somewhere else. Probably because she didn’t teach any lessons like her husband. She was usually busy organizing everyone else – the matrons, the kitchen staff, the housemaids.
Ashton Park was more like a proper school now, with rotas and rules, and Anna always did what she could to stay out of trouble. At first she had been afraid of dormitory life, wherenothing could be secret and she had to undress in front of other children. Yet she had got used to that, as well as the thin blankets at night, and the cold days when they all took turns to sit on the old tepid radiators. But she was often hungry.
“Don’t you know there’s a war on?” muttered the cook, if she saw the children’s disappointed faces.
Yet despite these austerities, Anna now often relaxed into happiness. There were group games of hide-and-seek right round the house, and her heart raced with the elation of playing with so many children. Sometimes, when she hid in a cupboard waiting to be found, she had to bite her knuckles just to stop herself from whooping out loud.
But although Anna appeared cheerful, even to herself, she was troubled by bad dreams at night. Sometimes her mother would grow old very suddenly, all grey and withered, or her face would begin to bubble with warts, with her small, straight nose turning bulbous and ugly. Anna would run to save her, but the scene would dissolve into a chase, with a faceless, implacable man following them everywhere, through cupboards, down streets, into every dark corner.
She cherished any remembered glimpses of her mother, but too often her face was unclear – a shape, a glance, her head turning, no more. Sometimes, Anna simply could not remember what she looked like. Yet she dreaded her mother’s hair turning white in her absence.
She began to wet her bed, unleashing a cycle of fear and shame. She would wake suddenly in cold, sodden sheets, and know with a shiver of panic that the matron would be furious with her.
Miss Harrison was fiercely impatient with any bed-wetters. She would publicly scold the offending children at breakfast, making them stand up one by one, before ordering them upstairs, shame-faced, to change their sheets.
Every night, Anna prayed solemnly for a dry bed. She avoided drinking any water, and went to the lavatory as many times as she could. Yet in the dead of night she would still wake up to a slippery damp mattress, the sheets icy-wet against her legs, her heart chilled with fear.
Every third Wednesday, the children had to troop down to the laundry room in a long line, dumping their sheets in wicker baskets. One morning, Anna was the first down, and she saw the junior matron slip out the key from a crockery cabinet to unlock the door.
Two nights later, she woke up alert and afraid in a wet bed. But she remembered the key to the laundry room. Quietly, she stripped the offending sheet from her bed and used it to sop up the
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