The class was dismissed at midday. As the Abbey bells tolled the hour, I followed the boys outside into the green space of the Dean’s Yard, wondering where I was to go next.
‘Love? Love? What sort of nan boy would know that kind of stuff?’ someone sneered as I passed two boys slouching in the winter sunshine. It was Richmond with Ingels beside him. I walked on, trying to remember to stride rather than take small steps as I usually did in skirts.
‘He looks like a nan boy, doesn’t he, Ingels?’
‘Yeah, just like a girl.’
It was no good. I’d have to stop or they’d next be shouting ‘girl’ – and that was an idea I did not want planted in anyone’s head.
‘Who are you calling a nan boy?’ I challenged, clenching my fists.
‘Pretty boy getting in a temper, is he?’ said Richmond, squaring up to me. ‘New boy not know his place? Still, they’re all nan boys in Dame Clough’s – not like us in Ottley’s.’
It seemed he was talking about some Westminster boy rivalry between the boarding houses. I had no idea what a real boy would do in this situation. I had to guess.
‘Call me that again and I’ll thrash you,’ I said, raising my fists in a boxing stance as I’d seen boys do.
‘I’d like to see you try,’ laughed Richmond, adding, ‘nan boy.’
That was it. I had no choice, Reader. I thumped him as hard as I could, remembering to follow through with a hook from my left as Syd had taught me. Richmond went down, but I then found Ingels jumping me from behind. I hadn’t planned on that. I went down with him and we all ended up in a confused scrap on the ground, with me taking an elbow in the eye.
‘Leave him alone!’ Someone yanked Ingels off me. ‘Are you all right, Ca . . . Tom?’ I was pulled to my feet and saw Frank and Charlie standing beside me, glaring furiously. Charlie sent Richmond packing with a kick up the backside. ‘Lay off my brother, Richmond, or you’ll be sorry. And you, Fatty!’
‘He started it!’ moaned Richmond as he limped away. Charlie and Frank looked at me in surprise.
‘Damn it, Cat, your nose is bleeding – and your eye!’ hissed Frank, tucking me under his arm. ‘I told you not to get into trouble!’
‘But they called me a girl!’ I protested. ‘And insulted Clough’s! I thought that’s what a boy would do.’
Frank exchanged looks with Charlie. ‘They would,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But you . . . you shouldn’t. It’s not right.’
‘Look, you got me into this. I’m just trying to play my part right! Bit late for qualms about seeing me in a scrap, isn’t it?’ I dabbed my nose: I was dripping blood on to my lip. ‘I thought I did quite well considering it was two against one.’
‘You did, little brother, I’m proud of you,’ said Charlie, slapping me on the back. ‘We’ll tell the boys in the house how you took on two bruisers from Ottley’s on your first day: it’ll do your reputation no end of good.’
I gave him a bloody smile.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ sighed Frank. ‘I can see we’ve a long day ahead of us.’
I soon discovered that life as a schoolboy was far more of a grind than I had imagined. When lessons were over, we had a breather for dinner, but then were expected to go to work again at something called Prep.
‘What’s that?’ I whispered as we made our way back into the classroom.
‘Preparation for lessons,’ said Frank. ‘Here – take this.’ And he thrust a Latin Primer into my hand. ‘I hope you’re a fast study. I had a word with Rookie and you’re doing Horace again on Monday. Look at Chapter Three.’
‘Rookie?’
‘Mr Castleton,’ explained Charlie. ‘You have to watch him, Cat: he’s completely obsessed with the Latin play. He’ll have you on the stage before you know it. Last year I got landed with a main part.’
‘Clytemnestra,’ snorted Frank. ‘Dress, wig – the works. It was a sight for sore eyes.’
‘Yes, well, thank you, Frank, for mentioning that,’ growled Charlie. ‘I had hoped I’d lived it down by now.’
‘You know I’ll never let you forget,’ grinned Frank. He turned back to me. ‘You’ll be all right in Arithmetic and Greek – they won’t expect you to know much – so I’d concentrate on the Latin if I were you.’
‘When this is all over, at least I’ll be qualified as a governess,’ I groaned, flipping over the cramped pages of text.
‘Disqualified,’ quipped Frank. ‘Girls don’t learn Latin, lucky beggars.’
‘Shh!’ Charlie hissed as Richmond took a seat along the table from us, eyeing my companions resentfully.
Dr Vincent came in and everyone but me immediately got to their feet. Frank kicked me and I leapt up.
‘I’m a boy, I’m a boy,’ I chanted to myself under my breath. ‘Boys get up when elders enter the room.’ I let my eyes wander round the room, searching for character notes. I’d never paid so much attention before. Ugh! Boys pick their nose. Boys scratch their armpits. I began to scratch mine, surprised to find how satisfying it was.
‘Hengrave Junior, stop that disgusting habit! We are a school for young gentlemen, not Covent Garden costermongers!’ barked Dr Vincent. Frank turned to look at me in astonishment. I winked and linked my hands behind my back.
‘You may sit down!’
With a noise like thunder, we resumed our seats and applied ourselves to work.
And that was when a miracle happened. Do you know, Reader, I found that those close-printed pages held a feast of poetry I had never before tasted. I couldn’t confine myself to Chapter Three. I had to leaf through to glance at the verses and their translations. Latin was a lovely language, I realized as I sounded out the lines in my head. Why had I not known this? Every schoolboy I met had complained about the tedium of studying it, but why? There was so much here I recognized. Playwrights had mined this stuff for some of the best speeches in English drama. I felt as if I had come home.