“I think you mean both,” said Miss Devon. “They’ll try to wear you down, Miss Nash.”
“You ’ave to fight them with your wits,” said Miss Clauvert. “Set them the exercises impossible and watch how they will be silent.”
“Just lay about you with the ruler on a more regular basis,” said Mr. Dimbly. “Swish swat…it’s good exercise for you and keeps them right up to the mark.”
“I don’t believe indiscriminate corporal punishment is a valid teaching method,” said Beatrice. “I intend to reach them through rational thought and a shared thirst for knowledge.” This caused peals of laughter from all gathered in the snug staff room.
“When you stop talking like that is when you’ll stop feeling so dead,” said Miss Devon. “Won’t she, Mr. Dimbly?” There was more laughter, and Beatrice could only munch on her egg in miserable silence. Later that morning she found occasion to rap her ruler smartly on the edge of two desks. And when Snout appeared to deliberately break wind, right in the middle of her explanation of how the next day’s test would determine those who might be scholarship examination material, she made sure to whistle the ruler past his ear. The class seemed to sit up and become less like blank mutes, and, as Snout gave her the slightest nod of acknowledgment, Beatrice felt the pressure to sleep slip from her brow like the pulling off of a heavy wool cap.
With only half an hour to go before the class was released into the Saturday afternoon, the Headmaster stuck his head around the classroom door and asked to speak to her a moment in the library about the plans for the upcoming town fete. Her Upper Form Latin class’s participation in the afternoon was to consist of parading through the streets dressed as Roman warriors and then a handful of rousing war speeches selected from the Aeneid, to be recited from the stage in both Latin and the pupils’ own English translations. Her three summer pupils had taken a leadership role, Arty and Jack with a certain swaggering air of expertise and Snout with continued protestations of complete indifference. But the whole class had shown an unusual diligence in the project, though their excitement seemed largely to do with the promised costumes and swords.
It seemed the Headmaster wished to suggest that a particular pupil, the captain of the rugby team, should take over Snout’s role as Aeneas in the Latin class’s performance.
“Headmaster, I should be allowed to put together my Latin recitation based on what will best represent the school,” said Beatrice. “The boy I have chosen to play the Trojan hero has a particular passion for the piece and fluent recitation. He is my best student and I believe one of our strongest candidates to win a scholarship in the Latin examinations. The boy you suggest is more at home on the rugby pitch than in Latin class and recites like a wooden post.”
“We have a great sense of camaraderie here,” said the Headmaster. “You will find I employ only the lightest touch on the tiller to keep our little ship moving to the wind.”
“That is wonderful to hear, Headmaster,” she said.
“Only in recognition that you are new here, it does behoove me to just hint to you when there are matters which may have a bearing on the situation,” he continued. “I think only of guiding you to the greatest understanding and success.”
“Is there something I should know?” she asked.
“The young man in question has received much from us. He has been granted a fuller education than most boys of his background enjoy and I believe he has reason to be appreciative of all we have done for him.”
“He is very bright,” said Beatrice.
“One must wonder, of course, whether too much education at some point may make a young person frustrated with his or her life,” he mused. “It can be very upsetting to find that one cannot go further but has gone so far that one no longer fits comfortably into the life to which one is born.”
“Most people welcome the opportunity for advancement,” said Beatrice. “I think young Master Sidley has a great chance of bringing honor to the school with a scholarship, and of going on to achieve much.”
“I regret that, despite Mrs. Kent’s desire for change, we must face the fact that the boy must not sit for the scholarship,” said the Headmaster, shaking his head with an air of gentle sorrow. “It is a question of leadership, you see,” he continued. “The natural leaders among our pupils do the greatest credit to the school, and I think you’ll find, Miss Nash—when you’ve been here a little longer—that the pupils themselves accept and admire such leadership; they expect and desire to see themselves so represented.”
“Surely the best and brightest…” she began. “I really must protest, Headmaster.”
“Such a boy could never adequately represent our school, Miss Nash,” he said. His tone was so gentle she was almost lulled into agreement. “So he can parrot a little Latin—little more than a parlor trick really—but he would never manage in the company of boys of real learning, of real families. Why, he would find it unbearable and be a laughingstock.”
“The rugby captain, is he such a leader?” asked Beatrice. But she knew the answer and, to her shame, that further protestation would only damage her own position.
“You see it too!” said the Headmaster. “I am so glad you understand. I had no desire to step in and usurp your authority.” He rubbed his hands in delight. “Only think how well our young athlete will fill out the Trojan General’s breastplate and with what authority he will hoist his sword.”
“If only he could recite Latin with any feeling,” said Beatrice, defeated.
“As long as he is loud, Miss Nash, as long as he is loud,” said the Headmaster.
—
Snout had sneaked away from the gymnasium, where the smell of India rubber mats and hot feet overwhelmed him, and Mr. Dimbly, cheering on some feat of strength by one or two of the strongest athletes, left the other boys to bump and jostle him up the rough ropes and over the leather vaulting horses. Escaping into the fresh air of the afternoon, he slipped into the bare dirt patch behind an overgrown yew bush near the library windows, to roll and smoke his last few strands of tobacco.
Miss Nash’s voice came blunt and urgent through the open window. The slower, old-man voice of the Headmaster, with his longer sentences, and digressions into this and that, was unmistakable. Eavesdroppers, as his great-grandmother would tell him, will have their ears burned off with a hot coal. His eyes watched the curl of smoke from the tip of his cigarette paper as he scratched at the itchy wool of his school uniform. He felt the tightness of the hatband around his head, smelled the dry dirt and the green cemetery waxiness of the yew. His neck grew hot and his teeth clenched.