Letters from a Patchwork Quilt

3: Entangled

3: EntangledJack stood at the front of the schoolroom and swallowed hard. He told himself he was being foolish to feel intimidated by a couple of dozen boys under the age of eleven. Their faces were upturned towards his, with expectant expressions. He realised they were probably as nervous as he was. The register. Start with the register. As he called the names out, he looked up and tried to memorise the faces as each boy rose from his seat and called out, “Yes, Sir”, in turn. He wondered if attendance here would be better than it had been back in Derby, where children were often absent when their families needed them to help at home or if the chance of casual work came along and presented an opportunity to add a few pennies to the family income.

The boys were ranked in rows behind their desks, the smaller ones at the front and the older boys at the back. He began the day with morning prayers, followed by recitation of the catechism, then some arithmetic drill. Maybe the pupils were on their best behaviour for the new teacher, but they were responsive and well-behaved and Jack hoped he would never have occasion to use the cane that hung on the wall at the front of the classroom.

There were two pupil monitors in the class, older boys of around twelve or thirteen. Jack gave each of them a small group of boys to supervise as they worked at their copybooks, while he passed between them, examining each boy’s work in turn. The morning passed quickly and, before he knew it, the bell was ringing to mark the two hour break for the children to go home for their dinners. Jack sat alone in the schoolroom, eating the bread and dripping, wrapped in a linen napkin, that the cook had left out for him at breakfast that morning. He swallowed it down quickly, hunger replacing the nervous energy that had fuelled him all morning. It had already been a long day, and tomorrow would be even longer, as he was expected to spend time with the monitors after class ended, teaching them the lessons they would need to pass on to the rest of the class. At least today, his first day, that would not be required.

The afternoon also went well. The children were lively but keen to learn. They recited the names of the Plantagenet kings and queens without errors and settled to draw pictures of the feeding of the five thousand with the loaves and fishes in their copy books. Jack’s predecessor must have done an excellent job in discipline and teaching the basics. Before he knew it, the final bell was ringing.

Sister Callista was waiting outside the classroom door and came inside after the children had surged out. ‘How did it go, Mr Brennan?’

‘Well, I think, Sister.’ He grinned. ‘I really enjoyed it anyway.’

‘That’s good to hear. Children learn better if their teacher is enthusiastic. They are a bright bunch and made good progress with Miss Oxley, so I hope you will keep them on a similar track.’

‘I’ll do my best, Sister.’

‘And so you will. You can do no more. I expect great things of you, after the confidence Mr Quinn had in you. I would have preferred a qualified teacher, but as long as you do a good job and work hard, all will be well. I will sit in on one of your lessons, maybe in a day or so, once you’ve had a chance to get to know the children and get over your inevitable nerves.’ She smiled and added, ‘Welcome to St Bridget’s. I’m delighted to have you here. Now I want you to meet the probationary teacher who is looking after the little ones.’ She moved to the doorway and called out, ‘Miss Hewlett, come and meet Mr Brennan, our new member of staff.’

A young woman, about his own age, entered the room. She was small, slightly built, with light brown hair and enormous brown eyes. As she stood in the doorway with the afternoon sunshine behind her, Jack was reminded of a vision of the Virgin Mary, bathed in light.

He tried to swallow and prayed his face wasn’t giving away what he felt. Was that a blush suffusing her face as she looked at him? She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen. It was as though she were bathed in a radiant light. The room swirled around him, everything blurring into background. He wanted celestial trumpets to play – why didn’t they? Showers of roses should be falling from the ceiling – why weren’t they? Where were the choirs of jubilant angels? They were singing in his head. Jack felt an urge to rush forward and wrap the girl in his arms and crush her small body against his. Instead he coughed nervously and forced the words, ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss,’ out of his parched throat.

With a nod in acknowledgement of him, and a slight bob towards the headmistress, Miss Hewlett left the classroom. Jack wanted to run after her, but stood rooted to the spot, uncertain what to do or say. He’d forgotten Sister Callista was there and jumped at her voice.

‘I’ve a school governors’ meeting,’ she said. ‘Can’t be late for that. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr Brennan.’ The nun patted his arm and left the room.

Jack gathered up his books, grabbed his cap from the hook on the back of the door and rushed outside, hoping to catch up with Miss Hewlett in the street, but there was no sign of her. To burn off his energy he ran all the way back to his lodgings, heart hammering in his chest from the exertion and his excitement. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks to his father for giving him such a good pasting and being the catalyst for the dramatic change in his fortunes. Life was good.

As he burst through the gate into the walled garden, he cannoned into Mary Ellen MacBride. She jumped aside, half stepping into a flower bed and catching her billowing skirts on a rose bush.

‘I’m so sorry, Miss, I’d no idea there was anybody there.’

The woman tugged at her gown, trying in vain to disentangle herself. ‘It’s torn now. Completely ruined. I shall have to go and change. Will you set me free?’

Jack knelt down on the pathway at her feet. How was he to extricate her clothing from the thorns without causing her ankles to be revealed? The only way to free her was to put one hand under her skirt while the other worked the rose free from the other side, but he didn’t want to do that. It would not be seemly. Swallowing nervously and looking around to make sure they were not observed, he took the fabric into his hands and shook it gently.

‘That’s not going to do it,’ she said. ‘Hurry up and get on with it. I can’t stand here all day'

More conscious of the need to protect her modesty than she appeared to be, he inserted his hand between the outer layer of her gown and the multiple layers of petticoats underneath, so that there was no risk of touching her leg. It was an awkward operation and he silently cursed his fingers which had turned into a series of uncoordinated thumbs. As he struggled to disengage the fabric he was conscious of her leg pressing against his forearm. Shocked, he looked up, thinking maybe she had lost her balance. Her eyes met his but gave nothing away, yet at the same time she unmistakably increased the pressure of her leg against him.

‘What’s the matter?’ she said. ‘Stop looking at me and get on with it. I’ve important things to do and Papa will be going out soon. I don’t want him to see me leaving. Do hurry.’

He worked the fabric free, just as the stentorian voice of Mr MacBride crashed into his ears.

‘What the devil do you think you’re doing, Brennan? Mary Ellen, go to your room.’

‘But, Papa, I was going out for a walk.’

‘You’re not going anywhere. Go indoors. Look at the state of you.’ A long strip of torn silk trailed from the hem of her gown.

Mr MacBride turned to Jack. ‘I’ll see you in my study. Before supper. At precisely twenty minutes before six o’clock.’ And with that he swept past them down the pathway and out of the gate.

To Jack’s horror, Mary Ellen’s face was streaked with tears.

‘Look what you’ve done, you horrible boy. He’ll take all my privileges away. I’ll be stuck inside this miserable house for the rest of the week and I’ll go completely mad. I will. I promise you. Quite mad.’ She stamped her foot on the path, sending up a small spray of gravel stones. ‘It’s not fair. It’s all your fault.’

Her words turned into a wail as she gathered up her skirts and ran into the house. Jack remained rooted to the spot, paralysed with fear. Was his host going to tell him to leave? Would he tell Sister Callista what had happened? Would Jack lose his job? Just as he’d landed on his feet it looked as though the ground was to be knocked away from under him. He thought of Miss Hewlett and nearly cried out with frustration. Surely he hadn’t messed everything up just as he had begun to imagine the possibilities for his future?