Just One Damned Thing After Another (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #1)
by Jodi Taylor
Chapter One
There have been two moments in my life. Moments when everything changed. Moments when things could have gone either way. Moments when I had to make a choice.
The first occurred when, after another disruptive day at school, I stood in front of my head teacher, Mrs De Winter. I’d done the sullen silence thing and waited for expulsion, because I was long past three strikes and you’re out. It didn’t happen.
She said, with a strange urgency, ‘Madeleine, you cannot let your home circumstances define your entire life. You are intelligent – you have abilities of which you are not even aware. This is the only chance you will ever have. I can help you. Will you allow me to do so?’
No one had ever offered to help me before. Something flickered inside me, but distrust and suspicion die hard.
She said, softly, ‘I can help you. Last chance, Madeleine. Yes – or no?’
No words came. I was trapped in a prison of my own making.
‘Yes – or no?’
I took a huge breath and said yes.
She handed me a book, a notepad, and two pens.
‘We’ll start with Ancient Egypt. Read the first two chapters and Chapter Six. You must learn to assimilate, edit, and present information. I want 1500 words on the precise nature of ma’at. By Friday.’
I whispered, ‘But … you know I can’t take this home.’
‘You can use the school library and leave your stuff there. Miss Hughes is expecting you.’
That was the first time.
The second time came ten years later. An email – right out of the blue.
My dear Madeleine,
I am sure you will be surprised to hear from me, but I have to say that, since you left the University of Thirsk, I have followed your career with great interest and some pride. I am writing now with details of a job opportunity I think you will find extremely interesting.
You will be aware, from your time at Thirsk, of the existence of a sister site; the St Mary’s Institute of Historical Research; an organisation I think would appeal to anyone who, like you, prefers a less structured existence. Their work inclines more towards the practical side of historical research. This is all I can say at the moment.
The Institute is located just outside Rushford, where I now reside, and interviews are on the fourth of next month. Do you think you would be interested? I feel it would be just the thing for you, so I do hope you will consider it. Your travels and archaeological experience will stand you in good stead and I really think you are exactly the type of person for whom they are looking.
The pay is terrible and the conditions are worse, but it’s a wonderful place to work – they have some talented people there. If you are interested, please click on the link below to set up a possible interview.
I’m so sorry; where are my manners? I was so anxious to let you know about this opportunity that I forgot to ask – how are you? Congratulations on your academic record at Thirsk, Doctor Maxwell! It is always gratifying to see a former pupil do so well, particularly one who laboured under so many difficulties in her early years.
Please do not reject this opportunity out of hand. I know you have always preferred to work abroad, but given the possibility that America may close its borders again and the fragmentation within the EU, perhaps now is the time to consider a slightly more settled lifestyle.
Obviously I’m very keen for you to apply, but don’t let me influence you in any way!
With best regards,
Sibyl De Winter
I always said my life began properly the day I walked through the gates of St Mary’s. The sign read:
University of Thirsk.
Institute of Historical Research.
St Mary’s Priory Campus.
Director: Doctor Edward G. Bairstow BA MA PhD FRHS
I rang the buzzer and a voice said, ‘Can I help you, miss?’
‘Yes, my name’s Maxwell. I have an appointment with Doctor Bairstow at 2.00 p.m.’
‘Go straight up the drive and through the front door. You can’t miss it.’
A bit over-optimistic there. I once got lost on a staircase.
At the front door, I signed in and was politely wanded by a uniformed guard, which was a little surprising for an educational establishment. I did my best to look harmless and it must have worked because he escorted me through the vestibule into the Hall. Waiting for me stood Mrs De Winter, who looked no different from the last time I saw her. The day she took me off to Thirsk. The day I got away from that invention of the devil – family life.
We smiled and shook hands.
‘Would you like a tour before the interview?’
‘You work here?’