The Headmaster's Daughter

I. Clem.

“Clement Hartley!” the professor brought his ruler down on my desk with a sharp thwak. “If there is something more interesting outside that window than my lesson, I beg you, share with the class. What’s that—nothing? Good. Stand up and recite the next verse.”

I stood up, read the lines—impeccably, I might add—and promptly retook my seat. The professor, finding no fault, moved away to harass a different student, and I went back to gazing out the window. 

It was autumn, and newly fallen leaves coated the usually immaculate grounds of Ashmore Preparatory School. On the far side, the high iron gates stood like sentries guarding the Gothic façade of the ignominious boarding school. Really, it was a less a school than a convenient dump, a temporary holding place for unwanted children. Education here was secondary to picking the pockets and appeasing the guilt of absentee guardians. Every day was the same; we were herded into sparse, whitewashed classrooms; lectured at by severe professors with their ever-ready canes; told when to eat, when to study, when to sleep. I sat brooding until the bell rang.  

Emory caught up with me in the hallway after class. He called out, and I saw his blond, tousled head bobbing toward me through the crush of students. Soon he was at his usual place by my side, papers crumpled and uniform in complete disarray, as usual. 

“Clem!—On your way to the library?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“Fine—you can help me write the essays I’ve been putting off.” 

Emery and I had known each other even before we were enrolled together at Ashmore. He stuck by me like a loyal hound; wherever I was, he wasn’t far behind. I always thought we made an odd duo; the fair-haired boy in his constant disarray, and me, trim and proper, with black hair combed neatly back. He didn’t seem to notice the contrast. 

We arrived in the library, and took our usual spot by one of the high vaulted windows. Neighboring country homes, steeped in wealth and subject to the whims of similarly dissolute parents.

We spread our books out on the table and settled in for some studying. I leisurely flipped through my volume of poetry. Every once in a while, Emery would interject a question about some small geography or arithmetic problem. I answered his questions and started one of his essays for him, since mine were already finished. After a while, I pushed back my chair and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Emory asked, peeking out from behind the pile of books he was buried in. 

“Just to put some of these away,” I answered, gathering up some of the leather-bound volumes splayed across the table. Emory nodded and went back to his work. I wandered through the aisles, replacing the books on the shelf one by one. The final volume in my hands belonged in the far back of the library. I made my way toward the section, weaving through the dimly lit, dusty stacks. I didn’t pass another soul. When I rounded the final corner, I stopped in my tracks. Standing in the middle of the aisle was a girl with long, dark hair and, although I could only see the right side of her face, I knew it was her—the girl with the scar. Rumours had spread like wildfire around the school of the new student who was kept hidden à la the Phantom of Paris Opera fame. A horrible disfigurement, they said, but it wasn’t that which outcasted her; it was her paternity—she was the bastard daughter of the headmaster. Or so said the rumours.

Her arm was extended upward grasping for a book she couldn’t quite reach. I walked up behind her and pulled the book down. She started and whirled around to face me. I could see her entire face now, but this time prepared for the revelation, I didn’t recoil. Instead I smiled and handed her the volume. 

III. Gwen.   

The first time I actually spoke to Clem was in a musty corner of the library. The sunlight from the line of narrow windows on the opposite wall illuminated the specks of dust floating high up air; it was so close I could barely breathe. Despite the sunlight, the light was dim in amongst the shelves; I didn’t feel so embarrassed if the light was dim. 

He took me by surprise, sneaking up behind me and taking down a book just out of my reach. I felt him at my back before I saw him. Just like last time. Started, I whirled around to face him, not taking care to cover my face. I remembered too late, he was already looking at me. But this time he didn’t recoil; I didn’t care if he did, either—what business was it of his?

“Thank you,” I spat, snatching the book from his hand, and completely failing to hide my annoyance.  

“You’re welcome,” he replied, apparently unfazed by my ungraciousness. “Have we met before?”

“No,” I said, as I attempted duck out of the corridor. He blocked my way.

“In that case,” he said, holding out his hand, “let me introduce myself.”

I didn’t like this situation at all. I felt cornered, interrogated. And I was embarrassed. Rejecting his handshake, I said, “I don’t care who you are,” and, after a pause I huffed, “and I don’t care for boys who sneak up on girls in dark corridors.” While he was still taken off guard by my rudeness, I slipped past him, making my escape into the maze of bookshelves. 

Not wanting him to come after me, I exited through one of the side doors reserved for professors and library staff. It led into a corridor lined by private offices, which I snuck by, careful not to be seen. Safely away, I headed toward the dormitories. All of the students were studying or in class at this hour, so I was able to make my way through the girl’s dormitory unnoticed. Up two flights of stairs there was an attic room. It was small and dingy, but it was all my own.

I had been suddenly enrolled after the responsibly of my care had devolved onto my father. I hadn’t known my paternity until my mother confessed on her deathbed that I was the daughter of the most influential man in town: the headmaster of Ashmore. He was well-respected among the locals and wasn’t keen to recognize his deformed bastard child; no doubt the blow would have been softened if I had been pretty, like my mother. For want of anything better to do with me, he enrolled me in Ashmore. On the condition that I was kept apart from the other children, both to save face and, so he said, for my own good. The other students would be terrified of me, and might even resort to cruelty. With this constant threat, I was quartered alone in the garret. On that particular afternoon, thinking back to the encounter with the boy in the library, I thought it would have been nice to have even one friend. Suddenly feeling guilty, I kicked myself for lashing out at him, and hoped I would have a chance to apologize.

III. Clem.

I made my way back to where Emory was waiting. He must have noticed the concern on my face because he immediately asked what had happened in the stacks.

“I just met the transfer student—the one everyone’s been talking about,” I said. He looked interested.

“Really? What’s she like?”

I was a little embarrassed that I had been rejected so harshly, and so I mumbled something about her being in a hurry. “But, I added,” taking a slim, silver band out of my blazer pocket, “she dropped this; I’d like to return it to her.”

“Looks expensive,” Emory glanced at the ring, which was engraved with an ivy pattern, then tossed it back to me, “you can just drop it in the lost in found.” I told him I wanted to deliver it myself—it felt too precious to remand to the severe-looking librarian, and, besides, I didn’t want to leave her with that bad impression.

We left the library at six-o’clock, when the dinner bell rang. During dinner and throughout the corridors I searched for the girl, surveying every face. I hoped to be able to talk to her again, apologize for being too forwards, and return the ring she must be missing dearly. But she was nowhere to be seen.

When we got back to the dormitory, I kicked my shoes off and threw myself onto my bed. Emory sat on the edge of his own bed, next to mine. 

“Listen,” he said, leaning in, “this is only hearsay, but one the head girl said she saw the new girl creeping around the halls at night.”  

“What? Why at night?”

“It’s the only time she won’t run into anyone,” he shrugged, and then kicked back on his bed, “I heard that her face is pretty gnarly. I don’t know why you care so much anyway.”

I didn’t know either, but I thought she much be lonely; being a new kid at any school was difficult, let alone being a new kid that looks different and has a questionable relationship to the headmaster. At the very least, I was determined to extend an olive branch by returning her ring to her.

That night, when all of the boys were sleeping soundly in their beds, I got up and silently dressed. Sneaking out of the dormitory unnoticed was easy; everyone was asleep at this hour. The corridor outside was dark. It didn’t matter. I knew these halls from memory. I made my way toward the library and, careful not to make a sound, I slipped inside.   

The library was eerily lit by the light of a full moon glowing through stained-glass windows. Taking cover behind the bookshelf nearest to the entryway, I waited, but not long. 

IV. Gwen.

I was in a panic. Frantically, I tore apart my little bedroom, searching for the ring. That particular ring had adorned my finger ever since my late mother had bequeathed it to me just days before her death. That small relic was all I had left, of both my parents and their fortune. 

I was absolutely positive it had been on my hand this morning, as I had a habit of absentmindedly fidgeting with it, but if it wasn’t in here, that means I could have dropped it anywhere in the entire school! I would have to retrace my steps, and pray that no one had picked it up. It was past curfew now, so there was little danger of being spotted. I dressed hurriedly and made my way down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky steps. The last place I had come from had been the library, and that meant that my ring could be anywhere along the route I had taken from there to here. With the soft glow of the candle, I could see less than a meter in front of me. Eyes peeled and nose close to the floor, I began my search. 

I arrived at the great wooden doors of the library with nothing to show for my pains. Feeling somewhat discouraged, I cracked open the doors and slipped inside. I stood alone in the vast room, bathed in the moonlight. 

“Excuse me,”

I almost jumped out of my skin. Whirling around to search for the source of the voice, I saw a figure emerge from the shadows. 

“Sorry to scare you again,” he said, stepping from the darkness into the pool of moonlight. “But I’ve been looking for you.”

It was Clem, of course. He must have noticed my suspicion, because he began fidgeting and offered a boyish smile before saying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to frighten you.” Looking sheepish, he reached into his pocket and held something out in front of him. My ring! I took it from him and slid it onto my finger, and then held out my hand, letting the sapphire glisten in the moonlight. 

“It’s very pretty,” he said, shyly. I rounded on him, demanding why he had been in possession of the precious object. 

He answered looking embarrassed, “I’m sorry, you dropped it while we were talking earlier and ran off before I could return it to you. I looked for you, and asked around, but you seemed to have disappeared,” he paused here, perhaps expecting an explanation. I didn’t offer one. When that was apparent he continued, “I assumed you would come looking for it, most likely after hours, so I waited here in the library to return it to you.”

I was surprised at his kindness, and admittedly, a bit embarrassed about how I had treated him before. He wasn’t like the other boys and girls that pointed and jeered. I thanked him. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I stood quietly, turning the ring in my fingers. We stayed like that for a moment, in mutual silence. Then he cleared his throat and began to shift around. 

“Well, I won’t keep you up.” He looked like he was about to leave, but turned around and held out his hand again, “by the way, I’m Clem.”

“Clem,” I repeated, and, this time, I took his hand and smiled, “I’m Gwen.”