It was agreed that I would move into the institute at the beginning of the new academic year, which was in September. So, I spent what remained of the Summer in a state of great sadness.
A few times, I asked my mother to reconsider, but, each time, she refused to listen to my arguments. Instead, she would try to make me forget this impending change by suggesting a lunch to a new bistro she had been hearing about, or maybe an afternoon of shopping; other times, she would simply say things like:
'Auguste is so good to us – You will see how this change will improve things for you – Aren't we so very lucky?'
As the days passed and I got closer to the beginning of school, I observed my mother's behaviour turn into some sort of mania.
She was of course very eager to please Mr LeClair: his every opinion was agreed on and his every decision seconded; while he, on his part, never had to raise his voice with her: she was as obedient as a trained dog who hasn't forgotten the smarting of the whip.
My mother was now so eager to enjoy herself and not discuss my imminent departure, that she never rested: she was always frantically going from one distraction to the next. The shops, the cafes, the theatres, the outings in the carriage, the games of cards, the parties around town. I soon began to doubt that any of these activities were capable of giving her any lasting pleasure. She seemed determined not to miss any opportunity, and never satisfied with any for long. I wonder whether the experience of losing everything after my father's departure had been too great for her. I wondered whether she was determined to prove to herself that she had money to spend, or whether she was afraid that each frilly hat she bought might be the last. Maybe she was trying to console herself with the only activity that was allowed to her.
On their part, Mr LeClair would often look me with a sardonic smile on his lips, while Grin adopted an air of 'I told you so'. I don't believe I ever said another word to them, and I felt the first was enjoying the idea of having won and having made me powerless, and that the second one was simply regarding me as another proof of his master's vindictiveness.
Finally, the day of my departure came, and my mother and I mounted on the carriage directed to the institution I would be enrolled in.
Mr LeClair kissed my mother on the cheeks.
'I will see you when you come back tonight,' he said.
My mother thanked me and, regarding me, said:
'Won't you thank Auguste for his hospitality?'
I much resented this request.
Mr LeClair was watching my reaction closely.
What could I do? I knew that my mother felt indebted to this man, and that was much afraid of losing his protection, but I had nothing to lose, now that I had was being sent away, so I said:
'His hospitality is being generously repaid by you every night. I have nothing to thank him for.'
My mother's face dropped. She quickly glanced at August: his face hadn't changed; the same smirk of superiority was still on his lips.
'I do believe you indeed require some better manners,' she said, not wanting to sound too cross.
I then glanced at Mr LeClair making him understand that there was no way of making me accept him in my life. So, I marched out of the house and into the carriage.
During the journey, my mother could not stop talking about all the advantages I would derive from better education. She talked about the parties she would give upon my return, so that I could meet eligible bachelors. She wondered what I would wear. What she would wear.
I wanted her to understand I was unhappy about her decision of sending me away, so I didn't once reply to these comments. I doubted whether she was really thinking about my happiness, finding it more likely that she was worried about Auguste's reaction to my final comment.
I stared outside the window. The view of the houses and the city streets was soon replaced by the sight of fields, farms, and woods. Everything seemed indifferent to my suffering: grey clouds was chasing each far above in a corner of the sky; the fields had been harvested and were now laying barren, resting after the season; now and then, the sound of a song or the tweeting of birds was heard, then disappeared again, as if those melodies were not designed for my enjoyment.
The institute was a large manor, a few miles outside the small town of ***. The walls had not been whitewashed and were of rough stone. The construction had three floors: the ground floor and the first floor were marked by two lines of tall windows; as for the third floor, this was shrouded by the cowl of the tin roof, and the fact that it was inhabited was indicated by a few, isolated dormer windows.
Nobody was waiting for us at the door.
The footman that had accompanied us dragged my trunk and my belongings through the front door and into a small, dark hall. The man looked around puzzled for where to go.
Mother and I followed him in silence.
The sound of our steps reverberated in that hollow space and was changed into a frightening clap.
'Hallo?' the man called.
Two girls of about thirteen emerged from a side door, seemingly puzzled to see us there.
'Yes?' one of the asked.
'My daughter is joining your school,' my mother said timidly.
The two girls giggled among them.
'We would like to see the principal,' Mother continued.
'Through this door, past the hall, second stairs, first room to the right,' the same girl said.
My mother mumbled these instructions to commit them to memory.
'Second stairs, you said?' she asked.
The two girls were now regarding me with some curiosity and said nothing.
My mother and I thanked them, and they made no show of having heard. Instead, they giggled some more and walked away through another door that led to the internal courtyard, where we could see more pupils walking about.
We walked into the building, through the hall, looking for the stairs the girl had mentioned. The building was dreary. Not a painting, not a vase of flowers. There were no divans, only unupholstered, wooden chairs. There was no intent to please the eye or to provide come comfort. This sight very much depressed me and wondered what my stay would be like.
My mother made some attempts at complimenting the rooms but quickly desisted. So, we walked in perfect silence until we reached the first floor, where we knocked to the first door on the right, as instructed.
'Enter!' a booming voice commanded from within.
The principal, for I assumed this was who the woman behind the desk was, appeared to be a woman of about fifty. She was very tall with large shoulders and a stocky appearance. She was dressed all in black with starched collar and cuffs. She had a very ugly and stern face, dominated by a large, Roman nose, over which a golden pince-nez was firmly lodged. Her eyes were black, which greatly contrasted with her pale incarnation. Her face was framed by grey hair kept high in a tight bun.
'Yes?' the woman asked.
'I'm the Countess ***,' my mother said.
The principal squinted through the spectacles and barked:
'LeClair? Yes, yes. You're the woman Mr LeClair sent us.'
My mother nodded, suddenly fearful of this woman.
'I'm always sure,' the principal said with much conviction. Then, she held out a hand and introduced herself: 'Adeline Renouf.'
My mother took the hand awkwardly.
'Madame Renouf…' she began.
The principal looked scandalised:
'Mademoiselle!'
My mother was quick to apologise, but Mlle Renouf informed her that:
'My dear lady, I am an educator, much devoted to the pedagogic art. I have no time to run around with men!'
I smirked, as I believed that it was more likely that no man would not be inclined to be run around with as long as Mlle Renouf's face and figure were involved.
'And this,' this woman said, quickly turning towards me and making me hide my smile in fright, 'must be the little brat. I have heard about you… you…'
'Eloise,' I said.
'I am not to be interrupted!' she exclaimed. 'Madam (she now turned towards my mother), I now see why Mr LeClair sends you to me.'
My mother looked positively frightened and said nothing.
'We will turn this little specimen into a fine young woman, with manners of sufficient quality not to embarrass her own mother,' Mlle Renouf continued. 'No distractions! No indolence! Only study and discipline!'
Mlle Renouf looked at my mother with intent curiosity, which bordered with suspicion, and said:
'You want me to give you a tour of the facility, don't you? Very well!'
She then stormed out of her office.
It took a moment for Mother and me to realise we were supposed to follow, so we timidly peeked out of the door, and, noticing that the principal was already far down the corridor, we quickly tried to catch up.
'You will see, madame,' Mlle Renouf said, 'that ours is a model institute. It runs on the strictest regime: cleanliness is my motto! Not only, won't you find a speck of dust anywhere, you will not see a single opportunity for our girls to soil their minds. All books are strictly academic. And, most importantly, no men. You will agree with me, madame, that men are the greatest threat to a girl's education. Granted that all these fine young girls will eventually be turned into fertile mothers and dutiful wives, that can't be helped, but, while they're in my care, they will only fill their minds with algebra, literature, and all the other finer subjects in our curriculum.'
The principal showed us the classrooms, which, as the term started only the next day, still had no students in them. She showed us the library. Finally, she took us out into the internal courtyard we had seen upon our arrival.
Here were a few students. Some were conversing in small groups; others were reading by themselves.
'All these girls come from the finest families of France. As you will know, we are one of the finest institutions of our kind in the country. We had to make an exception for you,' the principal said, now addressing me. 'I hope you will not give us any difficulty and will be thankful for the opportunity you have been given.'
'She won't!' my mother was quick to say.
'I see that speaking out of turn runs in the family,' sighed the principal. 'No matter. I've seen worse…'
I then noticed a man of about twenty, who was raking up some leaves.
He caught my mother's eye too.
'I thought you had said that no men were on staff,' she said.
The principal said casually:
'That is Marc Antoine. He is an unfortunate case: he was brought in as an orphan and grew up in the institute. His mind is purer than that of an angel. He is dumber than a dog, or a donkey: you see, his mental faculties never developed fully, and he is barely capable of the menial tasks we assign to him. No impure thoughts would cross his mind.'
I regarded this man for a moment. He was taller than average, with broad shoulders and a rather remarkable figure. His face was also pleasant, with big blue eyes, and curly hair the colour of ink.
'Certainly,' my mother then said, 'while he may not be tempted, the girls might… find him attractive.'
Mlle Renouf glanced at Marc Antoine with some surprise, obviously unable to see what attraction might be there. She then looked at my mother, wondering if she was joking, or if there really was something that had escaped the keen eye of the educator. Something to worry about.
'Be as it may,' the principal said, not wanting to concede a point, 'our girls are kept in line, first and foremost by their teachers, and, secondly, by the prefects. These are students of the highest integrity: what they see, I also see. What they hear, I eventually hear. Make no mistake,' she then said with a menacing tone, turning towards me, 'you are being watched, day and night. You will improve your manners. You will fill your head with useful notions. Or else…'
I could already see what was in store for me. This was Mr LeClair's punishment: dull lessons and strict rules.
'Do you have any questions, madam?' the principal asked to my mother with a tone that didn't invite any other reply by a firm no.
Mother shook her head.
'Very well. You have paid this term's rent. We expect all payments to be made on time. I trust you will not recognise your own daughter when you see her next Summer at the end of the academic year.'
My mother then gave me a hug and, seeing the disconcerted look on my face, reminded me that all this was for my improvement, and it was done in the spirit of motherly loved.
'Now, this is excellent timing,' the principal said, as my mother walked away. 'Here is your prefect. She will guide you to your dormitory and will explain the basics. I hope you understand you are to treat her as your superior, defer to her, and obey her instructions as if they were my own.'
I turned to see a familiar face, twisted in an air of great superiority and poorly hidden glee at this introduction. I instantly recognised her as Juliette Aumont.
It was clear to me then that that place was even worse than I had feared.