Free The History Room by Eliza Graham Page B

knowing.
    ‘She wore nice clothes,’ Clara said.
    ‘Very striking.’ Mum’s voice was flat.
    Clara had nudged me after Mum had left the room. ‘She was Dad’s old girlfriend. Before he came over here.’
    My eyes had widened. I couldn’t imagine Dad with someone who wasn’t Mum. ‘How do you know, Clara?’
    She shrugged. ‘It’s obvious. That’s why he’s been so quick to paint over her again.’ It was true. The repair job had been done that same day, as soon as school had
finished. The house had smelled of white spirit and paint. By morning Mum had been restored.
    I still felt I was being observed. A twig cracked and I jumped. ‘Let’s go back,’ I told the dog.
    Don’t be a wuss , I heard my husband tell me in his mocking tones.
    ‘Shut up,’ I told him, silently. ‘I don’t want to hear your voice in my head any more.’
    I wished I could hear the distant and reassuring shouts of a hockey lesson out on the fields.
    I’d reached the iron gate leading to the rose garden when Samson whined again and turned round. This time I felt the hairs rise on the back of my own neck. From the corner of my eye I
observed a slight figure step out from behind a bush.
    ‘What are you doing?’ I sounded sharp. ‘This is out of bounds for you.’ First Emily and now a kid. Nowhere was private.
    ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Cordingley.’ The girl spoke quietly, her head bowed. I couldn’t think of her name. She was a second-year I didn’t teach. ‘I didn’t know
how else I could see you alone.’
    ‘You should be at lessons.’
    ‘I didn’t feel well. I came out for fresh air.’
    ‘What did you want to see me about?’ I still sounded sharp. The first person she ought to have gone to was Cathy, the school nurse.
    ‘That baby.’ She corrected herself. ‘The reborn doll. The one they found in Mr Radcliffe’s room.’
    ‘You know something about that? Why didn’t you say something at the time?’
    She hung her head. ‘Perhaps I should have. But I heard it was wearing the white gown and cap.’ Word would have spread quickly. ‘I’ve seen those clothes before.’
    ‘Are you in the play?’
    ‘ The Crucible ? Yes, I’ve got a small part.’
    ‘So you saw the costumes hanging up in the drama department when you had lessons up there.’ I sounded impatient. My empty stomach growled and reminded me that, for all the lugging of
laden trays from kitchen to hall earlier on, I still hadn’t had my own breakfast yet. A bowl of porridge would have been good, but there wouldn’t be time for much more than a quick
coffee.
    She shook her head. ‘I saw the clothes in Tracey Johnson’s bag. In the kitchen.’
    ‘What?’
    She blushed. ‘I know we’re not allowed in there but I have to have gluten-free bread.’
    She tugged at the sleeves of her shapeless school jumper. I wondered how anyone could make a piece of uniform look quite so baggy so early in the academic year. She certainly looked like the
kind of child who would need a special diet. I shouldn’t be judgemental.
    ‘Sometimes they forget to leave it out. So I just get it myself quickly if they’re busy.’
    She had very wide hazel eyes. I ought to have told her off for entering the prohibited zone of the kitchen but I couldn’t bring myself to do this. The girl had only wanted to grab a slice
of bread from the pantry when everyone was too occupied to help her.
    ‘Tracey brings in that basket of hers every day. The baby’s outfit was folded up on the top in a bag. A see-through bag.’
    ‘When was this?’
    ‘Last Tuesday.’
    The day before the reborn doll had been discovered in Simon’s room.
    ‘Thank you for telling me this.’
    She nodded and looked as though she was going to scuttle off around the side of the wall.
    ‘Hang on, just one other thing . . . Why did you come to me and not your housemistress or tutor?’
    She shrugged and raised a hand to her mouth. The nails were bitten to the quick.
    ‘It’s OK, you’ve done the right