“Was there really a secret society here?” Rafaella asks Mrs. Harzenmoser.
Up until now, Kersti assumed the stories about the infamous Helvetia Society were merely urban legend.
“Of course there was,” Mme. Harzenmoser says, sounding almost offended by Raf’s skepticism. And then she does something absolutely unexpected: she sits down cross-legged in their circle. She’s surprisingly agile given how tall she is. Kersti imagines she was one of those people who used to practice yoga. Maybe she took a sabbatical from the Lycée in the sixties or seventies and went off to India on a quest for spiritual enlightenment. Looking at her now, with her silver braid resting on her shoulder like a pet snake, Kersti can picture her in her youth, a free spirit who was unwillingly tethered to this school like a balloon tied to a child’s wrist. Someone who was handed a certain life—one she would not necessarily have picked for herself—but who never had the inner fortitude to leave it, or even to know she could have made a different choice.
“Was the Helvetia Society like the Skull and Bones?” Alison asks her.
“Well, interestingly, it was an American student named Mary Oxford who started it,” Mme. Harzenmoser explains. “She was from the East Coast and her older brother was a member of Elihu, one of the secret societies at Yale.
“Mary chose the six most outstanding female students at the Lycée to join her in a secret society based on the tenets of Elihu. The idea was to champion the cause of their generation—suffrage—which was really gaining momentum in the States. In those early days, the Helvetians’ raison d’être was social justice and philanthropy. That’s why my father approved of it.”
Kersti glances over at Cressida, wondering if she already knows any of this, but her expression offers no clue.
“Eventually,” Mme. Harzenmoser continues, “the causes changed—war, temperance, feminism, and then, coming full circle, women’s right to vote in all the cantons of Switzerland, which only happened in 1971.”
“Weren’t you running the school then?”
“I was.”
“And the students were allowed to have secret meetings?”
“They did good philanthropic work, which, in turn, was good for the school’s reputation,” she explains. “So we allowed it.”
“What happened?” Lille asks.
“The Helvetia Society fizzled out in the seventies. By then it had become a glorified sorority,” Mme. Harzenmoser remembers. “There were no causes to rally the girls, and drugs had become prevalent on campus.” She pronounces it drogues. “Finally, in 1974, Monsieur Bueche expelled two students for vandalism. They were both Helvetians, so we made the decision to ban the meetings once and for all. They were serving no more purpose other than to cause trouble.”
“Was Madame Hamidou here then?”
“Oh yes, she started in the early sixties. She was very attached to those girls who were expelled, so it must have been hard for her. You know how she treats you, like you’re her own children. She’s always been very protective.”
“Wasn’t expelling them for vandalism kind of extreme?”
“Monsieur Bueche felt it was the only thing to do,” Mme. Harzenmoser says pragmatically, and then she claps her hands together and rises to her feet. “Now to bed,” she announces, her tone changing. “And I will have to let Madame Hamidou know that you’ve been smoking in here. You’ll all have detention next Saturday.”
“Madame Harzenmoser?” Lille says, as she reaches the door. “What did those girls vandalize?”
Mme. Harzenmoser turns back to them. “Our statue of Helvetia,” she says.
The next night after supper, Cressida and Kersti go to the teachers’ lounge to speak to Mme. Hamidou. They find her grading science papers with a trademark cigarette between her lips. The room is cloudy and reeks of Gauloises. Cressida sits down in an armchair and Kersti sits cross-legged at her feet, leaning her head against Cressida’s legs. Cressida absently starts playing with Kersti’s hair.
“What can I do for you?” Hamidou says, in her peculiar accent. It turns out she’s half Filipino, born in Algeria and raised mostly in France.
“Why were those two girls from the Helvetia Society expelled in ’74?” Cressida asks, stealing a Gauloises from her pack. She’s outrageously bold with Mme. Hamidou, knowing as she does that she’s untouchable. Kersti still isn’t sure if it’s because Hamidou adores her like a daughter or because Cressida simply doesn’t give a shit if she gets expelled.
Hamidou looks surprised. “Why do you bring that up out of the blue?” she asks. “It was twenty years ago.”
“Harzenmoser told us about it last night.”
“Harzenmoser?” Hamidou repeats. “Since when does she talk to the students?”
“She was patrolling Huber last night.”
“Hmm.” Mme. Hamidou looks annoyed to hear of this intrusion on her turf, even if it is the director of the school. “She must be lonely.”
“You’ve never mentioned the expulsions before,” Cressida says. “Which is strange, considering how much you love to warn us about how Old Girls got into trouble.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, you frequently use Lycée lore to make veiled threats,” she teases.
Hamidou smiles. The spaces between her teeth are brown. “More like cautionary tales,” she clarifies. “Vandalism has not been an issue since then.”
“So it was vandalism?”
Hamidou nods.
“What did they write on the statue?” Kersti asks her.
“I never knew,” she says. “Monsieur Bueche had it removed by morning. Whatever it was, he thought the punishment fit the crime.”
“But you didn’t, did you?”
“Bof,” she says dismissively. “I’ve always cared more about the students than the Lycée’s reputation. Of course I was against the expulsions. I tried to persuade him to be more lenient, but when Bueche make up his mind, fini.”
“What were their names?”
Hamidou stubs out her cigarette and reaches for another. “Brooke Middlewood and Tatiana Greenberg. They were both American. The Helvetians were mostly American. The popular girls, the overachievers, as you say.”
Hamidou stands up and goes to the window. She opens it and lets in some air.
“What happened to the other Helvetians after that?”
“They graduated.”
Cressida looks thoughtful. Something is on her mind. After a pause, she says, “What do you think they spray-painted on the statue that got them expelled?”
Hamidou shakes her head, looking sad. “Bueche wanted those girls out of the school,” she states. “That’s all I know for sure.”
Chapter 7
TORONTO—October 2015