The Headmistress by Milena McKay
Of Eavesdropping & Sunspots
“I am claustrophobic. Ah, not much, but enough, I guess. I’m sorry. I, ah…”
Sam knew she was rambling. Her interlocutor had called it adorable when they’d exchanged quips and verbally sparred downstairs at the bar. She even said that she found it cute, how she could fluster Sam so easily with a wink or a compliment. Which was the truth, because even in the dimness of the bar, Sam could sense her own ears turning crimson. She did not feel cute or endearing. She felt clumsy. Gauche. This woman was clearly a cosmopolite, worldly, maybe a touch otherworldly even. Too good to be true. What was she doing wasting her time on someone like Sam, who was currently hyperventilating because of the enclosed space?
And yet here this woman was, on her way to Sam’s room, and they were stuck in the elevator. Some luck Sam had. After her total disaster performance at the bar, Sam thought she had started to claw some points back when she’d pressed the other woman into the doors merely a second after they’d slid shut. The sound the woman made—something between a moan and growl—when their tongues touched… Sam had to admit it was one of the hottest things she’d ever experienced. But then the lights had gone out, the elevator jerked to a stop, and they were stranded between floors.
Sam could sense the impending terror and panic behind the senseless string of her own words, confessing her phobia. It seemed tonight was just the night for all her flaws to be exposed in front of one of the sexiest women she had ever met. Not that she’d met many. In fact, she had only ever had one girlfriend, and that was in post-grad… And it all went up in smoke because Sam returned to Dragons and because Dragons meant a deep closet… And why was she thinking about all of this now anyway?
First her absolute ineptness at flirting, then her panic at being in close quarters, now the babbling... She stopped talking and sat down on the elevator’s carpeted floor. If she was to pass out, the least she could do was shorten her fall from her five feet ten inches. Unbidden images of her classmates calling her a beanpole came to mind, and she bit her lip to stop the insults from being brought back to the forefront. She looked around for anything, any distraction from her present predicament, only to find the woman sitting next to her, but not too close to crowd her, and in the semi-dark, illuminated only by the emergency lights, laying her hand palm up on the floor of the elevator just within reach of Sam’s own.
Slowly, perhaps a little disbelieving of her own good fortune and the generosity of this stranger, Sam placed her hand into the other woman's outstretched one. Slim fingers slid gently and loosely between hers, tethering, without restricting her. The touch centered her much more than the taste of copper on her tongue from biting her own lip.
“Star Trek or Star Wars? And believe me, there is only one correct answer to this question.”
Sam could not help the small chuckle followed by a sob, both escaping her unbidden. How humiliating. But the fingers in her grasp held hers a little firmer, squeezing reassuringly, and she focused on trying to answer and maybe talk her way out of the impending panic attack.
“Ah, if I say Star Trek, will the answer signal the end of our night?”
“I guess that would depend on the captain of choice.” The woman's low voice held a tinge of a smile, and Sam felt the fingers intertwined with hers relax.
“Janeway, always Janeway. Coffee and let the world burn.” For the next hour, they debated Star Trek theories and fangirled over a certain redheaded captain. The panic attack never materialized.
* * *
Spurred by Joanne’s order, Sam flew up the old, wooden staircase with its expansive ornate banister, following the two women who had already made great headway down the winding corridors of the Academy. Despite her high heels, Magdalene walked briskly—the staccato of her steps echoing loudly in the empty hallways—Orla's usually much more measured steps sounding hurried, no doubt to keep up with Magdalene’s longer stride. When Sam finally rounded the corner that allowed her to observe the two figures, Magdalene sped up her steps, probably simply because she could, and Sam felt a distinct pang of pity when Orla finally stopped and doubled over, dropping her hands on her thighs, breathing hard.
Magdalene halted too, a couple of steps away, watching the older woman dispassionately. For reasons yet unfathomable to herself, Sam slipped into an alcove, unseen by the women but within clear earshot.
“Running is a bit different from running one’s mouth, isn’t it, Doctor Fenway?” Magdalene’s low voice was laced with contempt.
“If you don’t want to hear people badmouthing you, you shouldn’t hide and listen through doors.” Sam thought she’d heard a groan, as if Orla still couldn’t quite get her breath back.
“I wasn’t. The doors were open. I have ears. I stood there for over ten minutes, in plain view—not that anyone cared enough to turn—waiting for someone to notice me, or for an opportune moment for me to finally break through the onslaught of gossip and be able to interrupt you.”
“Now you’re just splitting hairs, Nox. But…” Orla’s voice faltered slightly. “I do apologize. I have no idea who you are outside of the rumors and newspaper articles about you. And you do have a reputation.”
“Ah, the perfect non-apology apology. I lied viciously about you, but it’s your own fault. Spare me, Doctor Fenway. Now, if you could show me to the Headmistress’ office and start packing?”
Sam thought perhaps she should reveal herself. She was starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable with her own eavesdropping, seeing as she was doing exactly what Magdalene had done just minutes ago. Aside from being mostly in the wrong, Orla had one point: one rarely heard anything good about oneself, or about anyone else for that matter, by listening in.
“Look, Nox—”
“No, you look. I have been on the premises for less than half an hour and you have already started disparaging my character, insinuating that I got this job because of my connections, rallying the faculty against me sight unseen. Have I missed anything? Now, my office? Preferably sometime before the trustees arrive?”
That seemed to snap Orla out of her stupor, and she appeared to finally gather enough stamina, and perhaps dignity, to lead Magdalene down the hall in the direction of the Headmistress’s office. Sam took her time, digesting what she had heard.
She felt slightly dirty and decidedly in the wrong for having piled on the woman based solely on some innuendo and rather disparaging gossip. She also knew that her own opinion of Magdalene Nox was heavily clouded by what had transpired between them in New York, and the distinct possibility that Sam had unknowingly slept with a married woman. A married woman who clearly hadn’t valued their encounter enough to even give Sam her name.
Still, Joanne was right, there was too much at stake to get bogged down by one’s hurt and bruised ego. If the earlier display was anything to go by, Orla was outclassed and outmatched by a formidable opponent, hungover or sober. As Sam approached the Headmistress’ office, the raised voices coming from inside let her know that Joanne had been right, and Orla needed help indeed.
“… I have no idea what gives you the right to throw me out like this! I want to speak with the trustees!” Sensing that Orla was a second away from being obliterated, Sam pushed the door open and stepped into the office that had been Orla’s for the past twenty years.
Aside from the abundance of macrame everywhere, Orla’s time at the helm showed in the trophies and certificates lining the walls, along with what looked like hundreds of books scattered over every available surface. Sam had always loved the cozy and lived-in atmosphere of the space, but now, with the polished and elegant Magdalene Nox standing in the middle of it all, it felt shabby and old. Sam’s mind disloyally supplied, ‘like Orla,’ and she wanted to slap herself. She owed the older woman everything. Surely a little loyalty was the least she could project.
“I see that chaos reigns not just in the spaces you occupy, Doctor Fenway, but also amongst your staff. Do they practice simply walking in without knocking? Are manners too much to ask for in this place?”
Sam could hear Orla’s low growl and feared she might simply jump Magdalene at any moment. It was becoming abundantly clear that Sam should proceed immediately with the mission she’d come here to accomplish. And that wasn’t ogling the way Magdalene’s dress hugged her delicate shoulders and toned arms. She knew the shape of those muscles, of that sinew, how it flowed from articulation to bone, she had traced them herself, with her fingertips, with her mouth… Her face must’ve shown exactly where her mind had gone, for Magdalene’s eyes sparkled with something akin to anger and Sam took a step forward to forestall it.
“I apologize for the intrusion. And for not knocking. I assumed that, in the ongoing ruckus, neither of you would hear me.” Orla breathed in deeply, despite still glowering at Magdalene, whose lips twitched as the only reaction to Sam’s opening salvo.
“Ah, Sammy, are you here to save me then? I assume Joanne sent you? How gracious of you all to look after your old headmistress.” Orla chuckled theatrically, and her shoulders sagged. A game of chess was afoot, and strategically Sam felt now wasn’t the time for her to show her hand and to make it appear like Orla needed saving, even if she was clearly desperate for said salvation.
“I just thought that, since it has been announced that the trustees will be here soon, instead of tomorrow as we were informed earlier, you’d like to gather the paperwork and all the necessary documentation to prepare for that meeting? I can help Headmistress Nox in the meantime with whatever she requires.”
“Headmistress Nox? I see how it is, Sammy. Burying me already?” The dirty look Orla threw her way felt like a physical blow.
“No, Orla, you‘ve had a long night and might need—” Sam did not have the opportunity to finish her sentence as Orla pushed past her and out the door.
“Save it. I will see you at noon, Nox.”
Sam watched with trepidation and not a little hurt and betrayal as her mentor left the hallowed space of her own office. Sure, Orla probably hurt more than most right now, with the trustees not having the grace to properly inform her of the change in her situation, of her actual dismissal, but there was no need to lash out at Sam for simply trying to help. It stung just a bit.
She still stared, dumbfounded, at the door that took the former headmistress out, when the gravelly voice behind her made her jump a foot in the air.
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Yes, that was the saying Joanne had taught her when she was just a little kid who’d always gotten herself in trouble on behalf of others. Judging by Orla’s reaction, Sam was already being issued a one-way ticket to the underworld.
“So I’m learning.” She turned slowly, facing Magdalene. With the sun shining fully through the massive windows behind her, she was encased in light, her outline statuesque. Sam wanted to say something. Something smart or funny, something appropriate for this momentous occasion. An occasion she had fantasized about for months and thought would never come to pass - being face to face with the woman who consumed her dreams and her waking hours. Standing here, in front of her, Sam did not feel the happiness or the expected trepidation she’d envisioned. She simply felt hapless and not a little helpless. Not even naked underneath her hands and mouth, had she felt this vulnerable in front of Magdalene. Yet here she was, stripped of all her defenses in her worn flannel shirt and old Converses.
Perhaps sensing how utterly lost Sam felt, Magdalene took a step forward, only to be interrupted by the creaking of the door and Willoughby, strolling in like he owned the room—which was par for the course for the red menace that he was—unceremoniously making his way to the pillow strategically placed on the windowsill.
“Who in the world let this mongrel in?” Magdalene’s voice sounded both affronted and scandalized.
“Ah, nobody really. He lives here.” Sam felt a smile tugging on her cheeks and tried not to burst into laughter as Willoughby, in complete disregard of the potential storm brewing right next to him, stretched to his full, impressive length and promptly fell asleep on his back, all four paws up in the air. “This is Willoughby the Third, the Academy’s mascot, I guess you could call him. An animal—a dog, a cat, or a horse—has been at the school since its very inception. In a nod to the Downing Street cat, this one holds the job title of the Mouser in Chief.”
“From his bulk, he is either exceptionally good at it, or exceptionally bad at it. And from the state of the school and the accounting reports on the hiring of exterminators three times just in the past two years, should I assume it’s the latter?”
Now Sam’s smile came unbidden and blossomed fully.
“Willoughby is an unconventional employee. But you can literally set your watch by him. Depending on which pillow he chooses to sleep on during the course of the day, you can tell what time it is.”
Magdalene snorted, and the inelegant sound was so unexpected coming from someone of her deportment, Sam almost goggled.
“I assume he faithfully follows the warmest sunspots? Cats don’t belong inside. And Three Dragons doesn’t have a barn.” She strode closer to the sleeping cat, and Sam thought she would have to add poor Willoughby to the list of all the things she would be fighting for.
“With all due respect, Headmistress, he is not a barn cat. He’s one of us.”
“Well, since you are showing me the courtesy of using my official title, it will be under my purview to decide what will happen with the Mouser in Chief of Three Dragons.”
Sam opened her mouth to argue further when the door was thrown open again, now with more force, and a lanky disheveled teenager nearly jumped past Sam to get at Magdalene. She might’ve succeeded, too, if Sam’s reaction had been less swift.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t fire the teachers! Not without hearing the students out. We have the right to be heard and they have the right to a fair trial.”
Sam wanted to bang her head on the massive desk that stood between herself and Magdalene, who regarded the spectacle with a slightly raised eyebrow.
“And who might you be?” The words were dismissive, but the tone held a curious note that made Sam’s insides clench with the anxiety of what was to come. It also made her curse Orla or Joanne or whoever it was who had gotten Lily so riled up.
“I’m Lily Easterly and I’m here to tell you that there are no better teachers in the whole world than Professor Threadneedle or Professor Dorsea or Doctor Fenway!”
“Lily…” Sam’s admonishment fell on deaf ears as Lily continued to struggle in her grip.
“Well, Ms. Easterly, to your earlier questions, I am Headmistress Nox and I can do pretty much whatever I want under the Charter that governs the Academy’s functioning. As of a minute ago, I failed to see why anyone at Three Dragons would require a trial to begin with. Are they delinquents? Usually, some sort of criminal activity is required for judicial proceedings.”
There was a smile lurking in the curious eyes of the new Headmistress and Sam’s own lips twitched despite the seriousness of the situation. The calm question and the prior statement took the wind out of Lily’s sails, who sagged in Sam’s arms in obvious relief until she realized what had just happened.
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry, I just heard that you fired everyone and that you will be discontinuing the scholarships and cutting all the funding, and turning Dragons into a religious school again and… But you have to know that everyone here, all the students, we can vouch that there are no better teachers—”
“Yes, you said, Ms. Easterly. ‘In the whole world,’ was it?” Magdalene’s tone was dry, not mocking necessarily, but it was clear she did not appreciate the interruption.
Sam closed her eyes in resignation. This was so not how she would have wanted to present the scholarship girls’ case to Magdalene. But despite the unfortunate incident, Sam felt very proud of Lily and very gratified by this kind of loyalty and support. Even under the best of circumstances, the girl’s position at Dragons had always been extremely tenuous. She’d started at the school as a legacy pupil five years ago, her mother having attended a couple of decades prior, but during her time in middle school the family’s situation changed, her father gambling away their fortune, and by the time he and Lily’s mother had declared bankruptcy, they could no longer afford tuition at Dragons. But legacy student or not, Lily had a talent that was so unique, so wonderful to behold, there was no question about ensuring she’d stay. Sam knew that Orla had worked tirelessly to adjust the budget so that a hastily cobbled together scholarship could be awarded.
On top of being talented and loyal and brave, Lily had always been an incredibly sweet child. A staunch defender of truth and a fighter of lost causes, Sam saw a lot of herself in Lily. The girl was fearless, despite having a lot to lose, since she was trans and under the new Board, and their recent inroads at turning the school back to its conservartive roots, Sam worried about her continued welcome at Dragons.
While Sam wasn’t at the school when Lily had started her studies here, she knew that initially, Orla flat out hid her presence at the Academy from the trustees. Subsequently, she took it upon herself and made the unilateral decision to keep Lily at Dragons, despite the trustees’ insistence on a formal review of the overall situation and how all scholarship girls’ cases fit with the rules and procedures enshrined in the school’s charter, since the document in question contained restrictive provisions regarding scholarships.
Some parents had been up in arms about these students, and Sam knew that this summer—with some new faces among the board members—was when the true battle for Lily and Amanda and Suzie and the rest of the scholarship pupils was supposed to take place. She was fully prepared to go to war for the girls, but she wanted to throttle whomever had ruined her strategy of introducing these cases slowly and carefully.
When nothing else followed the statement from the Headmistress, both Sam, and Lily in her arms stood stock-still while Magdalene looked at them, slowly moving her curious eyes from one to the other.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, Ms. Easterly?” Magdalene's voice was again devoid of all emotion or inflection.
“Did you really send absolutely everyone at school packing?” Lily hiccuped a sob, and Sam felt the rest of the fight drain out of the small bony shoulders under her palms.
“Never believe rumors, Ms. Easterly. I told everyone that, in the coming days, I will be interviewing the teachers to ascertain their suitability for a place at Dragons. I think you will find that I meant it. You and the rest of the scholarship girls will have a chance to discuss your situation before any decision is made regarding the existing arrangements.”
Brightening up a bit, Lily extracted herself from Sam’s hold, and with hastily murmured thanks and embarrassed goodbyes, made her way out of the sunlit office.
“It’s not fair, you know.”
Clearly, Sam thought, she was simply not capable of biting her tongue in the presence of this woman.
“Fairness is a nonexistent concept. I assume you don’t think it’s fair that I interview the scholarship students, while everybody else will be allowed to arrive back in two months without having their presence here questioned because their parents have the money to pay for it?”
“Yeah… That.” When things were put quite that plainly to her, Sam had no idea how to respond.
“Eloquence itself, I see. Scholarships are always a very touchy subject at any private school. I imagine, given the circumstances, they will be a similarly sensitive issue here at Dragons. You know the Academy’s charter does not provide for any kind of student funding from outside of the school? And the current scholarship arrangement is exploring a loophole where funding is taken directly from the endowment, hence not considered technically an outside source. It’s not exactly within the scope of the charter.”
“It should be though. Love one another, help one another—aren’t these oh-so-Christian beliefs?” Sam shot back and again wondered why she was quite intent to put her foot in her mouth time and again today.
“Be that as it may.”
Magdalene moved closer to the massive window overlooking the quad, and for once Sam found herself at a loss for words.
“It occurred to me that, for someone so eager to introduce herself on another occasion, Sam, you are remarkably taciturn on this particular subject, now that my knowing your name is infinitely more important. There is no Sam on the list of faculty at Three Dragons.”
And that, as they say, answered that. She simply hadn’t had the occasion to introduce herself in all the cacophony of interruptions, and Orla didn’t bother in her huffy exit. But now, when faced with such a clear-cut and cruel reminder of their previous meeting, Sam felt like a speck of dirt on Magdalene’s expensive four-inch heels.
“There is, or at least there was before you fired everyone, a Samantha Threadneedle on that faculty list.”
If Magdalene was angered by the baiting, she did not show it. She just smiled that enigmatic smile of hers, that said everything without saying anything at all.
“Samantha… Lovely name.” It was becoming clear to Sam that reading this woman was going to be a challenge, her poker face being masterful, and the lack of understanding of what was going on underneath the veneer of indifference made Sam’s patience snap.
“Is this your version of Miranda Priestly, where you call me by my full name now, in a show of how special I am or how different you are in contrast to the rest of us here, Headmistress? First of all, I’m not sure you could pull off a Miranda Priestly, and second, allow me to inform you that, despite what you might think, and despite whichever version of my name you might prefer, it is my name, after all, and I prefer Sam.”
Whatever Sam had expected the reaction to her pronouncement to be, outright laughter, that low seductive, infectious one, wasn’t quite it. Yet it was all she got.
“Touché, Sam it is then.” The strange eyes crinkled endearingly at the corners, as if saving the smile for a later moment, and Sam felt enchanted all over again. God, she truly was a completely useless lesbian, one that could not seem to find middle ground or engage in appropriate behavior, oscillating from angry to enamored in a matter of seconds.
“Also, you mentioned being fired. Indeed, but if I were you, Ms. Threadneedle, I wouldn’t be as concerned about your position.”
“Why? Because you slept with me?” Sam’s hand flew up to her mouth, but it was too late. The words were out, hanging between them in the air like lead for one second, before dropping to the floor and destroying whatever shaky common ground they’d been trying to build.
“My, my, you just can’t seem to help yourself, can you?” Sam hung her head to avoid the gaze that seemed to see straight into the depths of her thoughts.
“And to answer your question, no, not for… that reason.” Magdalene almost stumbled over whatever word she wanted to use for their one-night stand, but Sam thought that not much flustered the formidable woman who soldiered on.
“The answer to your questions is because there are no circumstances under which I would not rehire the New England Teacher of the Year and recipient of the Governor’s Honors this past school year. Which is commendable for someone of your relatively tender age. Brava, Miss Threadneedle. Though why so camera-shy? None of the awards or articles were accompanied by your picture.”
Sam wanted to say that she was too busy with more important things, like teaching and overseeing two hundred students, to go parading to the Governor’s Mansion for a silly photo op, but Magdalene’s eyes were looking at her with so much understanding, that all her words seemed superfluous.
“I may be a newcomer, Ms. Threadneedle, but I never come into a new situation unprepared. With your former headmistress unequipped, and her deputy obviously unable to insert herself into this situation, I trust you will find it within yourself to help me with the transition?”
Sam could only gulp and nod. As her head dropped to her chest again, she thought she heard a low, murmured, “And you and I both know I could pull off a Miranda Priestly just fine.”
Yes, they both knew it, and therein lay most of Sam’s troubles.