Six: Where Do All the Lost Croquet Balls Go?

Six: Where Do All the Lost Croquet Balls Go?

September 30, 1902

A week into the new school year and Virginia had to admit that it was not as bad as she feared it would be. Her teachers embraced the notion that she would be the leading archeologist in Egyptology. Miss Radcliffe laid the foundation requirement that Virginia be proficient in Latin and Ancient Greek before moving on to hieroglyphs. She was even managing to avoid Mrs. Flood’s temper and the subsequent potato peeling. Opportunities to get outside of the castle, however, were few and far between. The drawbridge went up at dusk, no exceptions.

The course mysteriously title "Sport" took place outside the castle in the spacious grounds surrounding the lake. The class met at the entrance to the Hedge Maze, located in the southern meadow. Virginia longed to explore the maze.

The sky was ominous with dark clouds heavy with rain. For the moment, it was dry but a cool wind kicked up and smelt of rain. The sensible inner voice Virginia spent most of her energy ignoring, told her to wear a warm woolen jumper this morning and she complied.
Charlotte shivered uncomfortably, wearing nothing more than a thin cotton blouse under her bicycling costume.

Miss Gorman was waiting for the class. She was a tall, stout woman with iron gray hair. She wore a bicycling costume of Turkish trousers that verged on the pantaloon in their proportions, a white blouse, and short jacket. The entire classed was outfitted in a similar costume. A tantalizing glimpse of the maze could be seen over Gorman’s shoulder.

"A fine looking class," Gorman said, hands on considerable hips. "Right, before the rain starts, it’s croquet today. Grab a mallet, a ball, and form groups of three."

Virginia, Charlotte and Jo formed their own group. On the far side of the crowd were Regina and Beatrice, holding court to decide their lucky third partner. Despite the lack of sunshine, Regina’s short reddish blonde curls seemed to glow.

Regina’s voice drifted above the crowd, her words clear and carried on the wind, "I don’t know girls, and I really want to avoid another side show."

Josephine looked as if she could spit nails. With red cheeks and a death grip on her mallet, she said, "Let us start on the far side of the course."

Virginia and Charlotte followed without comment.

"There goes the Bearded Lady and the American Savage. Listen to its native noises approach authentic speech!" Giggling ensued.

A distant rumble of thunder sounded in the sky. The storm could not be far off.

Josephine turned around, gritting teeth. Virginia touched her elbow and said, "Let the idiots talk but do not give them the show they want."

A growl escaped from Josephine. "Okay," she said slowly, "let’s go."

They set up at a hoop on the far side of the field. Charlotte tried a few practice hits with the mallet. "You have me at a disadvantage. I’ve never actually seen croquet played. I’ve only read about it in Alice in Wonderland."

"Flamingos are not standard equipment," Jo replied dryly.

The playing field on was the western meadow of the castle. On the far side, where Virginia, Charlotte and Josephine puttered with anonymity, was a thick growth of trees. The leaves sighed and whispered in the strong breeze. While Josephine explained the rules of rule, Virginia stared at the growth of trees.

"I’m freezing," Charlotte said, rubbing her arms to generate heat.

"Hit the ball, please," Josephine said.

"I did!"

"Not you, Virginia. Stop staring at the trees and please hurry up so we can back inside. It’s not fit for man or beast out here."

Virginia absently hit the ball, sending it the wrong direction.

"We need to go investigate the area where we saw the figure," Virginia said. The breeze set her dark brown fringe flying into her eyes. A hand helped to hold down the unruly hair.

"When?" The solid, satisfying thunk of wooden ball colliding with wooden ball. "Every minute of the day is accounted for with classes and we can’t leave the castle after sunset. Maybe on a Saturday, or Friday when we have no classes," Charlotte said.

"How about now?" Virginia asked.

"We’re in class," Charlotte replied in a less than pleased manner. "We just can’t go skipping class because you want to ‘investigate’ something we thought we saw in the dark a week ago."

"Can’t we?" Virginia righted her shoulders and looked around, surveying the class. The other students were hitting balls, sending them off course, chasing after the stray balls.

Virginia hunched over, knees bent, and aligned her mallet to the croquet ball.

The mallet hit the ball too hard and sent it flying into the woods, disappearing into the dark of green vegetation.

"Better go retrieve it, Smithson," the teacher ordered.

Virginia shrugged and skipped off the trees. Jo followed. Lacking any partner and no balls to speak of whatsoever, Charlotte followed. The first drops of rain fell, splashing to earth with weighted droplets.

Within moments, the rain increased from mild spitting to a steady pattering. The rain pattered against the canopy of leaves in a soft drone. The trees shielded them from the majority of the rain.

A shrill whistle sounded. "All right girls, let’s take this in doors."
Virginia pushed her way through the wet foliage, leaves sticking to her warm skin. Her head was completely wet and water droplets rolled down the bridge of her nose.

"Maybe we should go back," Charlotte offered.

"We’re already wet and will not get any drier walking back to the castle. This is our opportunity, let’s not waste it," Virginia said.

"We might get another detention."

"We won’t get a detention. Don’t worry so much."

"I want to go back," Charlotte insisted. "I’m cold, I’m wet. We’ll catch our death of cold."

"Maybe you should go back, then," Virginia snapped.

"Maybe I will."

"No one invited you to follow, anyway. All you do is complain, honestly."

In the dark under the trees, it was hard to see Charlotte’s face. Virginia thought she could make out the glassy wide eyes of tears about to be spilled. Virginia bit down her response to order Charlotte not to cry, which would have only made her cry, but chose to ignore the rapid, jagged breath and watery eyes.

"What is that?" Josephine moved aside a branch. In a clearing was a small cabin.

The cabin appeared abandoned, white paint dingy with age and flaking off in great sections. The windows had a dusty, sad and forgotten look. The roof sagged in the middle, weighted with the accumulation of leaves. The porch looked near collapse.

"What is this place?" Virginia whispered.

"I don’t know," Jo said.

They said nothing, observing the cabin in the relative silence. The rain obscured the building, softening the harder details.

The crack of a twig snapping pierced the drone of rain on the leaves.

The girls gasped in unison and jumped.

A pale figured emerged from the dark under the shelter of the trees, jerking with hesitant footsteps, almost battling the trees themselves. An umbrella was at Fowles’ side, thrashing it’s way through the underbrush like a machete, useless to protect its owner from the rain.

"What are you girls doing here?"

Wet leaves and tiny twigs stuck to the damp white of Fowles’ flannel suit. He and his white flannel suit looked equally as ridiculous out of doors in the rain as the ensemble looked indoors and perfectly dry. Fair hair was dark with rain and plastered against the shape of his skull, making his ears look ridiculously out of proportion for the rest of his face.

Charlotte was the first to answer. "We are searching for our lost croquet ball." Her voice
quivered and was barely louder than a whisper.

"Pardon, Miss Penn?"

Louder she repeated, "We are searing for our lost croquet ball."

"In the rain?"

"It wasn’t raining when we lost the ball," Charlotte replied, near tears.

Josephine chimed in, "Gormie told us to go find it and then we were caught by the rain."

"And where is the rest of your class?" Fowles asked with skepticism.

"Gormie must have sent them in doors but we were caught by the rain," she repeated, as if stating the obvious.

Fowles frowned but looked as if he believed the story. Perhaps Charlotte’s tears pushed him in that direction. He made a clumsy attempt at comfort, "Now, now…hmph, there’s no need for that. It’s only a little rain."

"It’s not…the rain…"

"What is that building?" Virginia asked, interrupting Charlotte. No sense in not asking, they were already soaked to the skin, couldn’t get any more soaked to the skin, and cornered by a teacher. If they were going to get a detention, might as well make it worthwhile.
Fowles’ hair was plastered to his forehead with rain. "That is the old groundskeeper cottage. It has not been used for some years because it is unsafe."

Fowles must have anticipated Virginia’s next question because he added, "The groundskeeper, Mr. Broadfoot, now lives in the old mill by the lake. It is a prudent position, I think, to monitor the activities of the students." The mill was the first island in the lake and the first section in the three bridges required to enter the castle. Third if one was leaving the castle.

"Now if you do not mind," Fowles said, "I am most anxious to return to the castle."

Charlotte was the first in the bath. She had not said a word since returning from the woods. At dinner, she sat at another table from Josephine and Charlotte, preferring to eat alone than in their company.

Then an amazing shift in the cosmos occurred. Plates clattered down onto the table on either side of Charlotte then Regina and Beatrice appeared, bringing to Charlotte the center of the universe and the light of a thousands suns.

Virginia watched in silence as Charlotte made conversation and laughed. Glances were tossed in Virginia’s directions.

Suddenly ashamed, Virginia broke the gaze and looked down at her plate. Bloody vultures, swooping in when they smelled blood. Regina and Beatrice were trying to take Charlotte away or drive a wedge between their trio. Maybe they deserved to have Charlotte. Charlotte seemed spend all her time asking if Virginia’s ideas were good decisions and warning about detentions. One little detention and all the girl’s desire for adventure was squashed. That wasn’t the type of person Virginia wanted to always be dragging behind her, and she would always be dragging Charlotte, kicking and complaining about detention.

Josephine said, "I’m not sure what happened between you two but you better fix it. I will got go through another year with warring roommates."

Virginia was beginning to feel remorse for the mean things she said, letting her irritation and impatience get the better of her.

In the Common Room, Virginia found a chair next to the divan where Charlotte wrote quietly in her journal.

"That was very clever, what you said to Fowles," Virginia said.

Charlotte looked at her with cool disdain. "It was only the truth."

So much for flattery.

"Look," Virginia said, "I’m sorry."

The journal closed with a snap. "No you’re not. You’re not sorry. You’re only apologizing because Josephine made you. I heard her! Apologies mean nothing if you’re forced into them."

"I’m trying to apologize but if you can’t have the decency to accept…"

"Decency! You think you can boss everyone around but you can’t, not always, and you can’t boss me around. I will not accept your half-hearted apology, Virginia Smithson."

"I didn’t mean to be bossy," Virginia said.

"Please leave me alone," Charlotte said.

Virginia did as Charlotte asked and left her alone. She went down to the second floor dormitory.

Nessa was playing chess by the fire with a brown haired girl who had enormous spectacles.

"Virginia!" she exclaimed when she saw her sister.

"Who’s winning?" Virginia asked, pulling a chair up to their table.

"It’s not about winning," Nessa said, thumping her forehead with her index finger. "It’s about
strategy."

"So you’re winning," Virginia said, addressing the girl with the spectacles.

"Quite soundly, too." The bishop moved across the board with motive and purpose. "Check mate," the girl said, smiling broadly. The broad smile nearly dwarfed the enormous glasses.

Nessa shrugged her shoulders. "Oh well, good game though." She studied the board for a few moments. Looking back to Virginia, she said, "Oh! I got a letter from Cyril."

"Really? And what does the little barbarian have to say for himself? More mice coming in the post?"

"No, something’s happened."

"Something?" The sickening feeling of cold dread curled about her stomach. She knew she could leave Jack alone to his own devices; the man had no regard for his own safety or the well being of his nieces, who depended on him…

"It’s not bad," Nessa said. A crumpled letter emerged from the front pocket of her green pinafore. She held out the letter. "Please read."

Dearest Cousins,

I feel it is my familial responsibility to inform you of recent events here in London. As you know, Uncle Jack left London nearly the same day as yourselves. Two days latter, nefarious persons broke and entered his residence. Nothing was taken, nothing that is obvious. Perhaps the thief thought the house abandoned, it is idle speculation at this point. What it is obvious is that the thief thought the house empty because a great deal of noise was made, as the staff would attest to. The butler heard glass breaking and raised the alarm. Within an hour, London finest was on the scene but the thief has long since left the premise. A description was given to the police but I’m not sure how much good a panic look in the dark will do for capturing the crook.

I write to you not only out of the ties of family but also out of concern for your safety. I think we all know the curiosities that Jack has housed in his home. Perhaps this thief was after something more than silver cutlery? Perhaps it was only a common thief looking for something shiny and pretty to sell quickly. Mother says that my imagination has fixed on this event in an unhealthy manner and not to think anything more of a common thief.

But cousin, if it was a common thief, why did they not take anything? While interrupted by the butler, there might still have been time to grab at least one item. I will continue to scour the newspapers and look for any of suspicious activity that might be related. Consider me your man in the field.

Mother does not want me to write to you so I am attaching this to a letter for Nessa regarding her request for another mummified mouse. Hopefully mother will be so horrified by the content she will not read the second page.

Warmest Regards,

Cyril Jones.