‘It’s good to be whole.’ Allie grinned at the headmistress.
After the London rescue, she’d spent a few days sheltering with the Patels, which consisted mainly of hanging out by the pool and, memorably, riding a horse for the first time.
Clearly seeing a girl in need of a parent, Mrs Patel had overfed Allie and fretted about her safety, while Rachel’s younger sister, Minal, followed them everywhere, eager to be included in everything they did. In some ways it was bittersweet; the Patels were the kind of family Allie had always wanted. The kind of family hers had almost been once.
But Rachel’s father and Isabelle had decided they’d be safer at Cimmeria. So even though school didn’t start for another ten days, Mr Patel had driven the girls back.
The school looked the same as it had in the summer – huge, solid and intimidating. The three-storey red-brick building towered over them – its slate roof a range of Gothic peaks and valleys where wrought iron finials thrust into the sky like an armoury of dark knives. Symmetrical rows of arched windows seemed to watch them as they pulled their bags from the car.
The headmistress had pulled her light brown hair back tightly with a clip, and wore a white Cimmeria polo shirt over a pair of jeans. Allie couldn’t remember ever seeing her in jeans before.
‘Thank you for sending Mr P. to save me,’ Allie said. ‘I don’t know what would have happened without him.’
‘You followed my instructions perfectly.’ Even on a cloudy day like today the headmistress’ golden-brown eyes seemed to glow. ‘You were very brave. I can’t tell you how proud of you I am.’
Blushing, Allie looked down at her feet.
‘And Rachel, my star student.’ Smoothly deflecting attention, Isabelle turned. ‘Thank heaven you’re back; the library needs you. Eloise will be so glad you’re here. Hello, Raj.’ As she shook Rachel’s father’s hand she arched one eyebrow. ‘Or should I call you, Mr P.?’
‘If you must.’ His smile was wry. ‘I seem to have no say in the matter.’
Turning back to the stack of luggage beside the car, Isabelle said, ‘I assume most of these hold your books, Rachel? You can leave them here between terms, you know. We won’t throw them away.’
Grinning, Rachel picked up one of her bags and heaved it over her shoulder. ‘You know how I am, Isabelle …’
‘Indeed I do. Well let’s get you settled in. Everybody’s busy with the repair work, so we’re more on our own than usual.’
The headmistress picked up a bag and walked briskly to the door. The others lumbered themselves with luggage and followed her through the grand entryway with its stained glass window, dull on this cloudy day with no sun to illuminate it. Allie noticed the fanciful unicorn tapestry usually found hanging near the door was missing. And it soon became clear much more had changed since she’d last seen the school on the night it nearly burned down.
‘Carter, Sylvain and Jo are here already.’ Isabelle’s voice echoed as they walked across the stone floor towards the grand hallway. ‘Jules will be back in the next few days, as will Lucas and a few of the older students, but we’ll be a small group until term starts.’
In the wide, main hallway, the wood floors were covered in an inelegant carpet of dirty canvas dust sheets. The dozens of oil paintings that usually brightened the glossy oak wall panelling had all been removed. Without them the space felt oddly naked and, to Allie, disturbingly impermanent.
Ahead, Isabelle was still talking cheerfully but Allie noticed how high-pitched she sounded; she could hear the strain the headmistress was trying to hide.
‘Because some rooms were damaged in the fire, classes and bedrooms are being shifted around.’ Isabelle’s sensible, rubber-soled shoes gripped each step with firm assurance. ‘We must be ready by the time the rest of the students begin arriving in ten days. I think you’ll find volunteering to help is compulsory.’
At a brisk pace, she led them up the wide staircase, where the Edwardian crystal chandelier overhead was draped in a filmy, protective fabric that looked like a gigantic spider-web. As she trotted after the others, she could hear hammers banging somewhere, workers shouting orders and the sound of something being dragged.
She’d known repairs would be needed. Even though she’d left the day after the fire, she’d seen enough to know the work would be substantial. But somehow she hadn’t envisioned the school so … damaged. Stripped of the art and details that had made it feel like a fairy tale castle it seemed wounded, and she trailed her hand softly up the wide, polished oak banister as if to comfort it.
At the top of the stairs they turned on to a narrower staircase which led them to another hallway and then a second set of steps. The acrid smell of smoke was stronger here and Allie’s stomach churned as she remembered the night a few weeks before when she’d seen her brother, Christopher, standing down the hall, a flaming torch in one hand, as he set fire to the school.
As if she’d expected this reaction, Isabelle was by her side in an instant, putting an arm around her shoulders and turning her away from her room.
‘Your room had smoke and water damage, Allie, so we’ve moved you down the hall.’ She steered Allie past her usual door to one marked 371. ‘Your things have already been moved.’
‘Hey, that’s right next to mine!’ Rachel said, throwing open the door marked 372. As she walked in Allie heard her say, ‘Hello small, rectangular personal space. How I love you.’