Chapter Sixteen
Whenever a new girl or boy arrived at Hope Hall, Lady Constance would assign one of the older children to take them under their wing and show them the ropes.
The child she selected for the task was always carefully chosen.
It wasn’t just that Lady Constance hoped they would be a sympathetic match to the newcomer, but would also benefit from the process themselves by gaining a sense of responsibility and maturity.
Sometimes it was a way to bring that child out of their shell and encourage them to be more sociable.
This was why, on a freezing cold afternoon in December with snow falling from a leaden sky, and while she was on duty in the library, Venetia, who had a reputation for being something of an introvert, was asked to report to Lady Constance’s study.
There she found Lady Constance sitting in a wingback armchair by the fire with a dark-haired boy seated opposite her.
Above the fireplace there was a framed embroidered sampler with the words Hope Hall is a place of hope.
Lady Constance had sewn it herself and the words summed up her philosophy at Hope Hall.
The slogan appeared throughout the Hall whether it was painted in art classes, sewn in needlework classes, carved in woodwork classes, or engraved in metalwork classes.
‘Ah, there you are, Venetia. How are you today?’
‘I’m very well, thank you, Miss Constance,’ she replied politely.
If there was one thing Lady Constance demanded of the children in her care, it was courtesy and respect, but what she didn’t want was a lot of bobbing, bowing, and tugging of forelocks, just because she had a fancy toff title.
In spite of that, Venetia always thought of her as Lady Constance.
She was a tall, statuesque woman with a regal way about her – that was breeding for you – and wore her pretty reddish-gold hair in a messy chignon with bobby pins poking out.
Yet for all that regalness, she was often the first to offer comfort to a crying child, taking them to her ample bosom and soothing them until their tears had stopped.
She had never had children herself, in fact she’d never been married, but she was such a kind, motherly sort.
‘I’d like to introduce you to Lucien Barnes,’ she said to Venetia.
‘He’s joining us here at Hope Hall and I thought the two of you would get on famously well together.
You’re both twelve years old and from what Lucien tells me he’s a big reader just like you, so you’re kindred spirits.
Perhaps you’d like to give Lucien a tour around the library and then take him for tea in the dining hall? ’
Venetia nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Constance.’
Lady Constance turned to look at the boy sitting opposite her, who didn’t seem to have moved since Venetia had entered the room.
‘It’s sausages and mash today, followed by treacle pudding with custard and then later there’s hot chocolate before bedtime,’ she said. ‘How does that sound to you, Lucien?’
The boy seemed incapable of forcing a smile to his lips, never mind open his mouth to speak.
His gaze didn’t seem to reach further than the end of his nose.
His answer, such as it was, was a sullen shrug of his shoulders, which appeared to satisfy Lady Constance, but not Venetia.
This boy was going to be hard work unless he sharpened up.
‘You’ll probably find it feels a bit overwhelming to begin with,’ Lady Constance explained to the boy, ‘but you’ll soon get the hang of the place.
Especially with Venetia to help you. The important thing to remember is simply to be yourself.
Everyone is different and here at Hope Hall we strongly believe in fostering uniqueness.
’ She abruptly clapped her hands together which was a signal that the meeting was over.
‘Now, off you go, you two, and have fun.’
Fun looked like the last thing Lucien Barnes was capable of as he stood up and left the room with Venetia.
She led the way down the corridor towards the library, neither of them speaking.
From the far-off kitchen, the engine room of the Hall as Lady Constance referred to it, came the smell of tea being cooked.
They all joked that it didn’t matter what was served, there was always the smell of boiled cabbage.
From the rec room she could hear a crescendo of shouting and a piano being played, and from somewhere else a door slammed hard.
She noticed the boy beside her jumped at this last sudden noise.
Better get used to that, she thought, noise is part of Hope Hall.
The only quiet place was the library, which was why she enjoyed spending so much time there.
Some of the other children said she was stuck-up because she didn’t want to join in with their games that usually consisted of a lot of yelling and shrieking.
Most of the time they knew to leave her alone, that if provoked she could more than fight her corner.
But this boy didn’t look like he could defend himself; he looked like a gust of wind might carry him off.
He had a serious face with a pointy chin and large dark eyes with smudgy shadows beneath that made his pale skin look paler still.
There seemed so little of him, as though he hadn’t eaten properly in a very long time.
Maybe he hadn’t. Some children arrived here in a terrible state, thin as anything and in filthy threadbare rags.
Venetia hated to see the little children arrive like that and she always counted herself lucky that she’d never experienced anything but the loving warmth of Hope Hall.
Yes, she’d been an unwanted baby and abandoned on the doorstep, but she had no memory of it, so what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.
In contrast, some of the children here had awful memories of their lives before, of terrifying neglect and abuse.
Perhaps this boy did too. With that in mind, she made herself think kindlier towards him, to give him the benefit of the doubt.
‘Lady Constance was right when she told you it might feel a bit overwhelming here to begin with,’ she said, ‘most feel that way at the start. But everyone settles in eventually.’
There was no response from him, which annoyed her. Didn’t he realise she was trying to be nice to him? It made her not want to share the library with him, which she regarded as her very own special place. Why should she share it with this pathetic boy?
The library wasn’t her only favourite place to be, she loved being upstairs with Edie Buckle in her cosy office just off from the sick room.
She also loved being outside in the grounds where she liked to sit on her own with a book, often in the woods where she wouldn’t be disturbed.
Some of the other children had convinced themselves that they were haunted and wouldn’t go near them.
Venetia didn’t believe in ghosts, not for a second, but she actively encouraged the myth so that she would have the woods to herself.
Finding your own private space at Hope Hall was important, as was having the freedom to do as you liked at times.
Lady Constance insisted that during their free time they were allowed to have as much freedom as possible, whether it was playing tennis, swimming in the river (under strict supervision), climbing trees, playing football, rounders, or cricket, or just sitting quietly under a tree.
There was nobody else in the library and closing the door after them, Venetia stood back to let this strange elfin-like boy explore the bookshelves himself. But he didn’t. He just stood rooted to the spot as if waiting for something to happen.
‘We’re only allowed to have one book at a time, and we can keep it for just two weeks,’ she explained, moving away from him, and going over to the large bay window through which she could see the snow was coming down even harder now and settling thickly on the grass.
‘Sometimes you have to put your name down on a waiting list for a book that’s really popular,’ she continued.
‘What kind of books do you like to read?’
She was prattling on, something she never did but this peculiar boy with his unnaturally quiet stillness was having an odd effect on her; he was making her nervous, something she rarely felt.
Usually, it was the other way around, with some of the younger children feeling nervous when in her company, not because she was nasty to them, but because she didn’t chatter on nineteen to the dozen like most others.
Perhaps this boy was the same. Was that why Lady Constance had said they were kindred spirits?
The boy was staring at her now, the first time he’d looked at her properly, and she was taken aback at his unblinking gaze, almost as though he was staring right through her.
But as uncomfortable as it made her feel, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of turning away. No chance, mister, she said to herself.
Seconds passed. Long drawn-out seconds with neither of them moving, not until he narrowed his eyes which gave him a slightly menacing appearance, as if he might lurch forward and strike her.
Let him try, she thought. For starters she was taller than him and doubtless stronger, given how slight he was. But just then the boy with his weirdly narrowed eyes moved towards her, and she took an involuntary step away from him.
‘I like the Narnia books,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ she said, surprised at the sound of his voice which was low and gruff, ‘me too.’
‘Can you show me where they are?’
She slipped around him and went over to the shelves where the books of C. S. Lewis were kept.
‘They’re here,’ she said.
Standing next to her, his nose just inches away from the shelf, he ran a hand slowly along the row of books, touching each one on its spine before pulling out The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.
‘Is that your favourite of the series?’ she asked.