“If you do not abuse the privilege. May I have your word?”
I sat watching him, looking up. He sat watching me, looking down. He looked very satisfied with himself.
I ventured to say, “I don’t believe I understand, Headmaster.”
“But I believe you do, Miss Windrose. May I have your word?”
“What exactly am I agreeing to, Headmaster?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “No doubt you would like to have your legal counsel present before you answer. But that is a prerogative only adults may enjoy.”
“Headmaster, I only want to know what I am agreeing to…”
“Must you play games with me, Miss Windrose? That, I am afraid, is also a prerogative only adults enjoy, and few of them come off the better for it, I assure you.” He drew his eyes back down from the ceiling, and, at that moment, even though the doors and windows here were shut, a very heavy draft fluttered through the room. I shivered in the sudden cold. His loose hair rose up off his shoulders for a moment, swaying and reaching in the wind gust, and his robes rippled. He appeared not one whit disaccommodated by the sudden drop in temperature.
He said, “In sum, you will agree not to do anything to make me regret my decision, Miss Windrose. No running off, no midnight escapades. We have a concern for proper morality here, and do not need to have young girls making visits to young men in the small hours before dawn.”
He leaned back, and the wind gust stopped. I could not shake the feeling that the draft had come from his side of the room, despite that the door was behind me. I sat in the chair, hugging myself.
Headmaster Boggin tapped his fingers on the tabletop, looking idly amused. “Well, do we have an agreement?”
I looked up at him. I really, really hated that chamber pot. And the agreement would not go through if Vanity did not agree also. Nevertheless…
“Why?” I said.
“Why what, Miss Windrose? The question is very general in its application, and has caused puzzlement among philosophers for years.”
“Why is it important to you? Now, I mean. It’s the meeting of the Board of Visitors and Governors, isn’t it?”
“Very perceptive.”
“Well, you did mention it at breakfast…”
“Yes, but none of your brothers asked about it. Of course, this upcoming meeting is very important to us. To you, especially. The way we do things here may be changed. The school might close. Or it might stay open. You might be moved to another institution. Or…”
“Or what?”
“Or, if the Board of Visitors and Governors become convinced that we have made an error in estimating your age… your records were lost, you see… you might simply be released. Free. Off to see the world! Wouldn’t that be grand? It could happen tomorrow. Or the next day.”
He paused to let that sink in.
“But…”
Another pause.
He said, “But what do you think, Miss Windrose, would persuade the Board that you are, in fact, an adult and mature woman? Surely you make the strongest case by acting in the most adult fashion possible. The most, if I may say, responsible fashion possible.”
I asked, “What is this meeting about? Why is it so important?”
Now he smiled again, folded his arms, and leaned forward with his elbows on his desk, a fairly informal posture I do not think I had seen him take before. “The matter is complex. You may have noticed, over the years, certain tensions here among the staff. I, for example, am employed directly by Saint Dymphna’s School and College for Destitute Children. Dr. Fell, who looks after your health, is an employee of the Delphian Trust for Foundling Children. Both he and I, however, are paid out of trust funds, as are the teachers who are employed by the school. Mr. Glum, on the other hand, works directly for the Branshead Estate, and is paid out of the funds of the Talbot family, who owns the land. Mrs. Wren is not, in fact, under my direct authority, but was appointed by Her Majesty’s Commission on the Welfare of Unwanted Children. She is, in fact, a crown officer, who also serves as an inspector and compliance overseer for you children.”
“Who pays Mr. ap Cymru?”
“Mr. ap Cymru works for the Historical Institute, who lent a rather large sum of money to the Talbot family, in return for certain promises that historical features on the ground would be preserved. In effect, he is here to make sure Mr. Glum does not run over a cromlech with a tractor, or something. He would be something of a free agent were it not for the fact that the Institute also borrowed money from the Foundling Trust, and ceded some authority to them.
“I should tell you, however, that the Foundling Trust recently lost its master. The property was supposed to pass to the heirs of the chief trustee, but the matter is being disputed in court as to which of two sons the new chief trustee should be. Both factions, quite frankly, are courting our favor, for neither wants us to file an amicus curiae brief—that is a type of legal document—saying we prefer one man over the other. The court may take our opinions quite seriously.
“There you have the whole picture, Miss Windrose. Are you an adult, as you claim? Do you see the seriousness of your position, and mine? The new trustee might conclude that you have been living here in the lap of luxury, and should be sent to a state-run home, or even a workhouse. Or, he might conclude that you have been kept here too long, release the funds held in trust for you, and send you with Godspeed to wherever you wish to go. My position is similar. I might be discharged. Or my authority might be expanded. It is odd indeed to be a headmaster of a school that employs nine tutors and has only five students; I would like to see more faces here, myself. You would not believe the trash they learn in state schools these days. They do not even teach Greek and Latin any longer.”
I looked at the painting of Odysseus. “They don’t read Homer?”
“Students are lucky if they are assigned to read Page Three of the
“The reason why you and I have not had this talk before is that there was no need before. If you wish to help Mr. Triumph in his extracurricular studies, I do not wish to impede you. I am frankly rather proud of him, and of you. Most teachers beg on their knees to the deaf and uncaring heavens for students as bright as you have shown yourselves to be. Can you imagine how pleased they would be to find someone who could understand the Michaelson-Morely experiment, much less reproduce it?
“I am proud of you, Miss Windrose. You are bright and attractive. Maybe even a genius. But I am also deeply ashamed when I hear of certain late-night shenanigans and vandalism. Ashamed, because it becomes clear we have not done our duty in raising you properly. Please do me the favor, Miss Windrose, of allowing me to hear no more such rumors.”
He sat there, looking friendly yet stern. I sat, feeling smaller and smaller with each passing moment.
Finally I said, “May I go, Headmaster…?”
“You may go, Miss Windrose.”
I rose and was walking out, when his voice stopped me. “Oh, Miss Windrose…? One more thing…?”
I turned. There he sat, between the doomed glory of Atlantis and the torments of Odysseus, his loose red hair piled around his shoulders.
“Yes, Headmaster?”
“Your word, Miss Windrose…?”
“You have it, Headmaster. I promise.”
“Then your door shall be unlocked tonight.”
I closed the door behind me. In the waiting room again, I stood between the two clocks, ticking slightly out of synch, with their tick-tock now in my left ear, now in my right. I was shaking slightly.
