Lowewood Academy

I can’t say I noticed that she wasn’t at breakfast.  But then, when you’re table-monitoring for the Dashwood second years, you can’t afford to take your eye off the ball for a moment!  Boy are they unruly!  Was I really ever that unruly when I was a second year?

On second thoughts, don’t answer that!

What was I saying?  Oh yeah: Juliet.  So it didn’t really hit us that something was up until she didn’t appear for first period.  I mean, prefects often have other tasks to perform, teachers to see, pupils to discipline, and that must be even more the case for the Head Girl.  But even though going to classes after the exams were finished has to be one of the most pointless exercises ever, Juliet equally had to be the least likely girl in the school to bunk off one!  Yet when Mr Croft asked us where she was, none of us could actually be sure.  He made a note, and the lesson carried on without her.

When she didn’t appear for history either, Lydia’s nose for a story started twitching.

“Do you think she could’ve been sleepwalking again?” she hissed to me when old Necrophia was writing on the board.  “Maybe there’s been an accident?  Maybe she went in the lake again?  Maybe…”

“Seymour, you may be 18 and you may have sat your history papers already, but nonetheless, if you talk in my class, I will tawse you.  I would have thought you were clear about this by now.”  Dr Necrophia glared at her in customary ill-humour.

“Er, yes sir, sorry sir,” she replied.

“Final warning,” he snapped dismissively, and effectively ended the conversation.  It had got me thinking though.  *Had* something happened?

At morning break, I had a boy to beat, which rather got in the way of pursuing any decent gossip.  I don’t really care about people smoking in general – it would be pretty hypocritical of me if I did (even though I’ve virtually given it up now myself – too much to lose).  However, I *do* care when they do it near the stables and then don’t even take care when they flick the butt away to see that it’s out.  Given how flammable everything is in that environment, and the utter carnage a fire could wreak, I care a lot.  As my old friend Leon Barwick was about to discover.

Leon.  We’d had a bit of a dalliance in the lower sixth of course.  His bad boy / good looks combo had taken me in, but it had all blown up big time at Lord Fawcett’s soirée and I’d barely spoken to him again since the subsequent prefects’ council… Suffice to say, he was still the bad boy, but I wasn’t shirking this one, despite the sullen glare with which he met me outside the Dashwood prefects’ common room.

I don’t generally take a lot of pleasure in whacking people, apart from in the technical aspect of delivering a perfect set of stripes that is.  But for this job, I’d taken the trouble to borrow Ned’s particularly nasty, heavy tawse: thick black leather, the three tails broad enough to cover most of the average arse when it was properly presented.  Leon’s arse was neat, tight and athletic: a perfect target.

“You’re wasting my breaktime, Barwick, so let’s keep this brief.  What you did yesterday evening was not only a direct and blatant rule breach but incredibly, dangerously stupid.  To reflect that, I’m docking you 30 housepoints, and you’re lucky I’m not reporting you straight to Mr Tough.”

“That’s really big of you, thanks Clauds,” he drawled, at which it was my turn to glare.

“That’s Claudia to you, and I suggest you button the attitude or you’ll dig yourself an even deeper hole.”

Silence.

“Fine.  Your eight strokes just became a dozen, and your underwear just joined your trousers round your ankles.  Get them down and bend over.”

I knew I held the aces, and I also held his eye steadily until he dropped his gaze.  Then he turned around and dropped his kecks too, and I finally got the chance to admire that firm backside.  Mm, nice!  And it would be enhanced even further over the next few minutes!  He bent himself into position, touching his toes when I told him to, so that his buttocks were spread and taut.  I wasn’t going to spare him.

“Brace yourself, Leon.  You deserve this to hurt and I need it to, so you won’t be such an idiot ever again.  Count them.”

I unleashed the stroke, cracking it straight into his crease.  He howled and started to come up, before managing to catch it and force his hands back to the floor.

“I can’t hear you.”

“One,” he ground out.

“One thank you, Claudia,” I corrected him.

“One thank you, Claudia,” he repeated back to me through gritted teeth.  I instantly whacked him again, and this time he got it: stayed put, counted it properly.  Progress!

It did seem to take forever though.  Normally I strap or cane pretty fast, but if they’re counting the strokes you have to wait for them in between each.  Not that I wouldn’t prompt them if they were taking the piss, mind, but you have to be fair.  Even to scum like Leon.  To give him his due, he took it pretty well overall, his tough guy reputation stayed intact.  No leaping up or anything, but I was satisfied to hear the pain in his voice as it wavered towards the end.  I was definitely getting through!  The fact that I put around half the lashes into his sit spot, virtually atop one another, might have had something to do with it.

I dismissed him afterwards, when he’d got dressed.

“There are only a few weeks left, Leon, before we’re all out of here.  Try, for once in your life, to keep it low key?”

He gave me a barely-acceptable ‘whatever’ shrug and mooched off back to Byron.  By the time I’d returned Ned’s tawse to him, break was all but over.  But Lydia was bubbling over with news.  It seemed that someone, at least, couldn’t wait another few weeks to get out.  Someone – the least likely person you could’ve bet on – had kept it anything *but* low key!

“She’s gone!  It’s true – she’s really gone!”

“No way!  But, I mean – where?  Why?”

“Dunno; working on those.  I’ve got Susannah and Nat on the case though.  They’re gonna pump her fags for dirt.  Meanwhile, Shafters has called a prefects’ meeting at lunchtime.  No guesses for what that’s all about!”

“Was she in trouble, do you think?  All that sleepwalking and stuff…”

“I’m really worried about her.”  Faye Dennington-Glass had joined us on the trek to biology.  Her face looked strained, and I realised she actually meant it.  Lydia put her arm around her.

“Juliet’s one of the smartest chicks we know, Faye,” she comforted her.  “She must have known exactly what she was doing, even if we don’t.  I’m sure she’ll be fine, wherever she’s gone.”

“Try convincing Jo-Jo of that,” sighed Faye.  “I’ve had her weeping inconsolably all break after some of the first years started doing victory chants…”

“Poor kid,” I conceded.  “She did really look up to Juliet, I know.”

Biology was a blur of suppressed gossip, passed notes and whispered rumours.  Thankfully Mrs Antrobus had more of a post-exams glow about her than old Necrophia, otherwise half the upper sixth would probably have been in the poo!  All the prefects were counting the minutes to the meeting, whilst everyone else was wondering how they could either blag their way into it or eavesdrop.  Lunch itself was forgotten – unheard of at Lowewood!

When the bell finally sounded, we assembled promptly in the geography classroom, as instructed.  Every prefect was present, along with several teachers – if any pupil wanted to make mischief around the school, I thought, now was their perfect opportunity!  Alex ap Iorwerth was tight-lipped, whilst Dr Higgins and Miss Golding both looked, in their own ways, extremely weary.  It occurred to me that, coming so soon after Seraphina Townsend’s removal, this was really not looking so good for Dashwood.  Had we really lost two of our sixth formers in less than a week?  I cast up a silent prayer of thanks that at least the hockey season was over – both of them had been key players in my First XI!

Such were the anticipatory ramblings of my mind as we waited and gossiped, but silence fell instantly when Mr Shaftebotham entered.  He was looking a bit grim, but cleared his throat as he took to the podium and addressed us all calmly and frankly.

“Some of you may have heard stories spreading today regarding the whereabouts of our Head Girl, Juliet Aston-Beresford.  I am sorry to report to you that it is true that Juliet has left Lowewood Academy.  The reasons for her premature departure remain unclear at this juncture, but we do not expect her to return.”

He paused to let the wave of responses subside: gaping, gasps and muttered, “I told you so”s.

“I would like to say to you right away that we have no reason to believe Juliet has come to any harm,” he continued, when all was quiet again.  “However, I cannot endorse her decision and am, of course, disappointed by it.  I can assure you, however, that I, my staff and the school governors will be doing our utmost to ensure that no adverse publicity results for Lowewood Academy from this unfortunate event, which could impact upon either its current or future students.”

Was it my imagination or did his steely look focus particularly on my best friend as he spoke those words?  If it did, Lydia was coolly impassive in response!  But it was a clear warning.  Lowewood was embarking on a damage limitation exercise now that one of its star pupils, titled and multi-talented, had done a bunk.

As quickly as he could, Mr S moved onto the practicalities of managing information, and structuring the post-Aston-Beresford era.  The staff teaching first period after lunch would be making a short announcement to all classes, with suitable reassurances for all age groups that there was nothing to be alarmed over.  A letter would also go out to all parents within the next couple of days (poor Miss Bellend!). 

“In the meantime, we have only a short period before the end of term,” he added.  “For this reason, I do not intend to appoint a new prefect to bring us back to our full complement.  However, Vanessa Rees will be promoted to Head Girl for the remainder of the school year, and I am sure you will all join me in congratulating her.”

After a near-indiscernible pause, some dutiful applause broke out, although us Dashwood prefects wrinkled our noses at one another simultaneously.  Vanessa wasn’t too well-liked in our neck of the woods; Pippa would’ve been a far more popular choice.  But Vanessa herself beamed with delight.  She’d be formally presented with her badge in assembly tomorrow. 

As it was, though, Pippa did get made up to Deputy House Captain for Dashwood, which we really *were* enthusiastic about!

“Better late than never,” Gabby whispered as we clapped again.  Of course: Pips had been given that role originally, before Juliet had been moved to Dashwood at the last minute!  So at least something positive and cool had come out of all this.

It still felt very weird though, I reflected later, as I swam some lengths whilst the sun went down.  I couldn’t remember a Lowewood day quite like this one, so full of mystery drama which had gripped the whole school.  We were none the wiser as to what had made such a high-achiever take flight.  Every possible rumour had circulated, from running away to join the circus to being pregnant by Lord Fawcett!  For all that we’d never really connected, I hoped that Juliet *wasn’t* in trouble.  But my gut feeling was that Lyds was right on that score: she was too smart for that.  In which case, it must be for better, not worse, that she had left Lowewood.  And I wished her all the best, for whatever had prompted her decision.  Cos we all deserve to find some happiness in our lives, wherever they may take us.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 17th, 2009 at 12:00 pm and is filed under Classrooms, Corridors, English Classroom, History Classroom, Prefect's common room. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.