The Headmistress by Milena McKay
Of Guests, Expected & Unwanted
The woman was stunning. Considering Sam’s multiple degrees and awards, she thought she should be better equipped to describe a beautiful being in stronger and more evocative epithets than ‘stunning’. However, either because of the wine she had consumed while brooding at the bar, or being her usual awkward self, Sam was completely tongue-tied and useless, as she always was around gorgeous older women. Still, awed and slightly inebriated, Sam could not bring her mind to conjure up a better description, despite it being utterly inadequate.
She was, though. Stunning and more. Her red-haired bob fell in gentle waves down to her jaw, the latter an anatomical feature that was probably illegal in several states with stricter weapons laws, for it was sharp and quite deadly in Sam’s opinion. For a brief moment, she envisioned running her fingertips along it, up to the junction where it met the neck and smoothly revealed the vulnerable spot right under the ear. She’d be ticklish there, Sam decided. Then she shook her head and chuckled ruefully at herself. What a complete idiot she was, and an inappropriate one at that. She did not make a habit of ogling women or of being this disrespectful to them as to fantasize about their attributes in public.
To somehow redeem herself, at least in her own eyes, or to pay penance for being no better than half the men at the bar currently ogling the redhead, Sam signaled the bartender and requested his most expensive whiskey, since the woman seemed to be perusing the hard liquor menu and not the cocktails. The price of the glass almost made Sam’s eyes water, but she just nodded, and the bartender splashed the golden liquid into a tumbler, placing it in front of the stranger with a flourish.
* * *
Standing quietly in front of a contemplative Magdalene, Sam reconsidered her strategy. Some questions needed answers, and with most of the school probably up in arms by now, gossiping, jumping to conclusions, panicking, and gunning for the new Headmistress, time was a precious commodity. So of course, instead of asking the truly important questions, Sam just had to reach for the sass and innuendo again.
“You told Lily that everyone will interview. But you’re already making an exception for me?”
It seemed her temper and the earlier established penchant to say the most insolent thing in the presence of Magdalene Nox held true despite her best intentions. She didn’t quite recognize herself. In all honesty, the awkward and tongue-tied person she’d been at the bar was her to a T, but the brazen and impertinent one? Was this displaced anger at Magdalene being married? At Magdalene not deigning to share her name? At Magdalene, seemingly completely indifferent to Sam’s presence? Either way, the swing from shy Sam to brash Sam was making actual Sam dizzy.
“You will have your interview, Ms. Threadneedle. Be at ease, I’m not showing any favoritism by saying that I will still rehire you. I bring a lot to the table. I also recognize that you do too. I can be as prepared as humanly possible, and believe me, I am, but reading reports and scorecards is one thing. Having been at the school for your entire life is something entirely different. ”
Sam flinched at the unvarnished truth of her personal history being laid out this plainly at her feet. Magdalene had indeed come prepared. Sam wondered if she should stop underestimating the woman now before she embarrassed herself further. She was clearly in the presence of a consummate professional. And Sam’s history was well-documented, after all. All Magdalene had to do was go through her records, as antiquated as the school filing system was, and perhaps through some of the school’s annual reports.
“Your awards aside, your history with the school, the obvious acceptance of your leadership among faculty and student body alike—as displayed both by you having been sent here by your inept peers and the staunch defense of you by your pupil—makes you a suitable candidate to spearhead the transition and help me make it as quick as possible.”
If Sam had more time she’d probably bristle at the qualification of her peers as ‘inept’ or herself as simply ‘suitable’, but that was a fight for another day. And she could not even begin to consider the war inside of her, her loyalty to Orla being what it was, despite the painful interaction they’d shared minutes ago. Sam also had to set her question about leadership acceptance aside for the moment. Clearly, Magdalene saw something or sensed something that Sam would have to ask her about later. Still, it was the last comment that got her hackles up.
“Quick, not smooth?”
Magdalene’s smile was lethal.
“You will discover, Ms. Threadneedle, that I have no interest in smooth. I do not care whose feathers I ruffle. The school is drowning in debt, mismanagement, and neglect. Smooth is not going to cut it to set it back on its course. Smooth is not what is needed to save it. Are you aware that, in the past five years, Dragons has operated exclusively in the red?”
At Sam’s dumbfounded expression, Magdalene turned towards the window, her brows drawing sternly together at the sight of Willoughby still lounging on his pillow, stretched to his full, impressive length now, paws twitching in his sleep. It’s as if he’d chosen the most impudent position possible to bask in the sun, simply to prove a point. Sam thought he was really pushing it with the new Headmistress, but could not help but smile at the audacity. She and Willoughby were birds of a feather today.
“The state of the endowment is such that the school will simply not survive even one more year under similar leadership, which has propelled it towards nothing but financial ruin. As it stands right now, the finances are depleted. But of course, let me use my time to coddle Fenway and spare her feelings. Is that what you’d want me to do? Or would you, perchance, prefer that I use my time to try to save the school she’s been so busy destroying during her tenure?”
Sam gasped, and Magdalene finally turned to face her full-on.
“I don’t do nice, Ms. Threadneedle. I don’t do doting or coddling. I do my job and hope it will be enough to first save Dragons, and then to perhaps restore it to its glory.”
Something in the way that Magdalene used the school’s name tugged at Sam’s mind, and she filed it away for a time when she was both calmer, and had her wits about her. Because currently the aroma of wild jasmine and something subtle that cut through it aimed right at Sam’s senses. The scent clouded her mind and reminded her of the time she’d feasted on that pulse point, the one where she’d surely left a mark that night, on the right side of Magdalene’s neck. It was doing strange things to her brain, rendering her mental acuity useless.
“Ah, I wasn’t aware things were as dire.” Sam felt she needed to say something, if only to keep the low husky voice speaking. But before she could stop herself, she mumbled. “And you were very nice to me when you didn’t need to be.”
“I sure hope you mean the elevator and not… afterward.” Hearing Magdalene stumble over what to call their night together again, unexpectedly warmed Sam, and she couldn’t hide her smile.
“Yes, ah, the elevator. Sure. That.” Now it was Magdalene’s turn to smile.
“Still tongue-tied, Ms. Threadneedle? I know a little something about panic attacks, I couldn’t leave you to it, even for self-preservation’s sake.” The words were bitchy to the extreme, but the intonation was warm, and the voice settled like velvet on Sam’s skin.
Before she could answer, the door opened without a knock for the fourth time and Sam braced herself for another disgruntled colleague or student. But instead, a short, dark-haired whirlwind made her way in and gave her a bright friendly smile.
“Am I interrupting then, Headmistress?” Clearly used to the formidable presence, the waif did not seem to be intimidated by Magdalene’s glare. “I’m Georgette Leroy, and who might you be, cutie?”
She waved away the hissed, “George,” from Magdalene and extended her hand to Sam, who felt swept up by the small, joyful hurricane.
“Sam Threadneedle, ma’am.”
“Oh, beautiful manners aside, none of this ma’am stuff. This one,” she winked cheekily in Magdalene’s direction, “might require such ceremony to soothe her dark soul, but I feel fine being called George, sweetheart.”
The second utterance of, “George,” from the Headmistress drew a rueful chuckle but did not deter the short woman at all.
“I’m ten years her senior and can get away saying things like that. Plus, I’ve been her secretary for oh, let’s see, never mind, an ungodly number of years, ever since she became Chair at Rodante. Such a wee, lovely lass she was back then.”
Sam, still reeling from the barrage of words and smiles and nicknames hurled her way, could only hold on and go along for the ride.
“Are you the welcome committee then, cutie?”
Magdalene, clearly having had enough of being barreled over, made an impatient gesture that looked like a royal wave, and despite her earlier exuberance and clear, complete disregard for her boss’ position, George immediately fell silent.
“Now that there is some quiet and less insolence in here... Ms. Threadneedle, Ms. Leroy is indeed my secretary, and will be replacing former Headmistress Fenway’s staff.”
“You’re firing Roger, sight unseen?”
Sam’s outrage could have probably been more honest if she herself had not felt that Roger should have gotten the boot a long time ago. Lazy, slow, and utterly derelict in his duties, Roger had departed the Academy the second the last bell signaling the end of the school year had rung. Come to think of it, Sam had never seen him stay until the actual end of his workday or come to work on time. While all of the above was bad, it was his sloppiness that grated on Sam the most.
She peered around George and saw the small space outside the Headmistress’ office. As usual, Roger’s desk was piled high with papers and files, and even a couple of undoubtedly dirty mugs. Clearly, he had been in too big of a hurry to clean up before he left for his vacation. Not for the first time, Sam wondered how many of her own carefully written and absolutely urgent requests were lost in the quagmire of Roger’s nonexistent filing system. Was this why she had never gotten approval for the trip to MIT that she had wanted to take with the juniors? The probability was pretty high that her request and estimates were simply lost or had coffee spilled over them, as half the papers on the desk seemed to.
She turned around, thinking her move had been stealthy enough, but Magdalene was regarding her with that all-knowing expression, clearly having followed her gaze, and probably reaching pretty much the same conclusion. She raised an eyebrow. Sam bit her lip. The eyebrow climbed just a touch higher and the corner of that sensuous mouth twitched.
“Yeah, I guess some things do need an overhaul,” Sam admitted.
“Well, I’m glad you approve, Ms. Threadneedle.” The words were infused with sarcasm, and really, it should not be as attractive as it was, but Sam couldn’t help but find it alluring. She had a war to fight. She had a school to protect. Yet here she was being swept up in the scents and sounds and the sheer elegance of the presence of Magdalene Nox. George gave her a long look before winking at her, obviously having caught Sam staring. Sam closed her eyes and prayed that that was the extent to which the other woman had figured her out. Because if anyone could glean her true thoughts, she’d be in deep trouble indeed. Her closet was getting more transparent by the minute with Magdalene’s presence on the island.
Magdalene, seemingly already having dismissed Sam from her mind if not from her sight, proceeded to slowly peruse the equally messy desk in front of her. Sam suddenly felt embarrassed for Orla. Couldn’t she have left the school’s affairs in better shape? She spied a half-eaten donut among the student files and could feel her cheeks catch flame. How was Sam supposed to defend anything when she was faced with things like this? As if on cue Willoughby raised his head, stretched, and with deadly precision honed in on the donut on the desk, coiling for the leap from the windowsill. At the last moment, as if sensing that he was in the presence of a much bigger predator, he turned his head to Magdalene, giving her a beseeching look and a rather pitiful meow. The Headmistress simply raised the file that was half obscuring the donut and nodded, her face a grimace of disgust.
One heavy leap later and Willoughby proceeded to loudly chew on his stale prize. He did not seem to mind. Sam could feel her cheeks turn an even deeper shade of crimson, her humiliation on behalf of her mentor complete.
Magdalene shuddered and turned to Sam who was nearly shaking with embarrassment, and to George who looked positively joyful, hiding her snicker behind a cough.
“Now that we’ve dispensed with small talk and disgusting pastry, George, you’re here, does that mean that those troglodytes are here as well?”
“If by troglodytes you mean the trustees, you would be right. All nine arrived with me on the ferry. Sorry to tell you though, they are all sorts of disgruntled and disheveled. The waters were a bit choppy.” But George’s voice did not sound regretful at all, in fact, there was a lot of schadenfreude mixed in, and it looked like she was holding back another snicker.
Sam looked questioningly between the two women, and George moved closer to murmur conspiratorially.
“This one’s ex-husband is among the crowd. Good times ahoy, matey.”
“George!” And this time the tone was sharp as a whip, brooking no argument and leaving no doubt about how upset Magdalene was. Whether at the fact that George was disclosing decidedly personal information and being cavalier with a complete stranger, or at the presence of her ex-husband on the premises, Sam could not know. But the remark still left her slightly lightheaded with relief. Ex-husband. Ex. Sam breathed with her whole chest for the first time since she’d realized she might have inadvertently participated in a rather sordid act of adultery. Or was it because she still had all this absolutely obvious attraction toward Magdalene and it was disconcerting to her that she would lust after a married woman? If Sam was honest with herself, it was more the latter than the former, but she thought that it was good of her to cling to some morals under the circumstances.
George’s tone was suitably chagrined when she spoke up again. “Apologies, Madam Headmistress. I believe there was talk of assembling at the Mess Hall and waiting for the faculty to gather as well. I’ll join you in a jiffy, as soon as I find the restroom in this labyrinth.”
“The Headmistress’ personal facilities are right there on the left.” The words were out of Sam’s mouth before she could think about them. “I mean, ah, if Headmistress Nox doesn’t mind you using them...”
With a wave of her hand and a little nose twitch, that, as Sam was coming to understand, indicated dismissal or displeasure, Magdalene made to exit the office. Sam stood rooted to the spot, exchanging a ‘what in the hell just happened?’ look with the now sated cat, who’d resumed his place on the lingering sunspot on the windowsill.
“I assume you still want to be part of the faculty, Ms. Threadneedle? Then I advise you to join the rest of that rag-tag bunch in the Mess Hall, and not at your convenience but preferably immediately.” Sam jumped guiltily and hurried after the departing Magdalene, who simply strode away as if she had not spoken. She could swear, if Willoughby was capable of laughing he’d be doing it right now, as he looked at her with a distinct twinkle from his bicolored eyes.
* * *
By the time Sam and Magdalene had made their way back through the winding corridors, the Mess Hall was full of people. On the stage normally reserved for the Headmistress and her closest faculty members, sat nine people. The differences among them were rather grotesque in their starkness. Sam thought that if she wanted to pick a group who looked or acted nothing alike, she’d be hard-pressed to look any further than the Three Dragons Board of Trustees. Young, old, sickly, in perfect health, the group couldn’t have been more diverse in looks. Their only similarities, she knew, lay within how rich and powerful they were. Usually, the trustees were bankers, trust fund managers, and heirs or heiresses, most of them ran multi-million dollar empires during the day and played at charity on the weekends.
Sam assumed that being a trustee on a board of a private school was somewhat of a chore, rather than a gainful and prestigious occupation. Sure, it looked good on their resumes, that they volunteered their time to oversee the finances and the smooth running of one of New England’s oldest and proudest, if recently shabbiest, schools—although Magdalene’s revelation of the state of ruin of the endowment still floored Sam. But it also must have proven to be a bit of work for them, especially lately, and most of their faces showed they wanted to be anywhere but on this piece of land torn from the continent by the rebellious ocean thousands of years ago.
Sam took a seat next to Joanne, with Orla very demonstratively sitting next to one of the oldest and most distinguished trustees. Stanton Alden, whom Sam knew to be a direct descendent of one of the passengers of the Mayflower, looked particularly weary. Sam was better acquainted with him than with the rest of the board members since he was the longest-serving trustee. He had been there when they had decided to keep a child that had been found on the steps of the Academy during one of the worst winters on record, that had cut the island off the mainland for months. He, along with Fredrick Tullinger, who’d passed away last year, had served as her de jure guardians throughout her childhood and teenage years. De facto, Sam was raised at Dragons with Joanne—and later Orla—acting as her actual guardians and minders. It pretty much took the proverbial village, but she’d made it. From a foundling on the steps of the school chapel to Math Chair in a little under thirty years.
Since Sam had never gotten into too many scrapes and exceeded the seemingly meager expectations that were placed on her by her guardians—she remembered Tullinger once telling her that Alden and he only wished for her to stay out of trouble—there’d been no need for either of her de jure guardians to interfere in her life. She’d gotten birthday cards from both the Alden and Tullinger families, as well as some kind of present for Christmas each year, but that had been the extent of their interactions.
With Fredrick Tullinger’s passing, his son Joel had taken his place on the Board. Looking nothing like his cheerful and ever-merry—if not always sober—father, Joel sat imposingly to Alden’s left. Sam had really only spoken to him at length once before. They’d gotten into a bloody fistfight the one time a then-teenaged Sam had been invited to spend Christmas with the Tullinger family on their massive estate in Cambridge. She’d broken Joel’s nose back then, and their relationship had not improved over the years. They mostly stayed out of each other’s way when they had to cross paths, which was extremely rare.
Sam did not know most of the other trustees, some of them never showing their face on the island. Still, they looked distinguished and polished. She thought that the cost of their getups and jewelry alone could probably solve the school’s funding problem for the next year. The person who drew Sam’s eyes the most was the man in his forties sitting at the very end of the row. She’d have noticed him anyway, as he had an extremely elegant bearing and a kind of hauteur that people of certain breeding had about them. But the fact that Magdalene took a seat next to him caught Sam’s attention right away.
Handsome, blond and draped in a bespoke suit that Sam thought was probably worth more than her monthly salary, the man did not seem to care for the crowd in front of him; he had eyes only for the woman to his right. And if Sam was completely honest, and she tried to be—at least with herself—he had beautiful eyes, damn his hide. Deeply blue, they rivaled the sapphires sparkling on the cufflinks on his wrists. Of course, he had sapphires on his wrists, of course. He said something, and even from her seat, Sam could tell that he did it deliberately quietly enough for Magdalene to lean closer to hear. Then he laid a regal, well-manicured hand on the Headmistress’ forearm in a gesture that spoke of possession and prior intimacy, and Sam had to grit her teeth. Next to her, Joanne chuckled, clearly following Sam’s gaze.
“Still randy that one. Timothy Nox. He’s aged well. Though Magdalene looks better, in spite of them being the same age. Not sure if it’s the red hair or her natural beauty, but in comparison, he looks much older and somewhat too made up. Like the plastic surgery, while well done, wasn’t entirely necessary. Call me sexist, but I don’t understand why he needed it.”
Sam wanted to say that she didn’t care and to turn away from Joanne, but she knew her guardian had a keen eye for faces, being a skilled photographer. If anyone, Joanne would see things that Sam would not be able to. Plus, she clearly had a ton of gossip about the couple. Sam made a mental note to question her more. On second thought, she wondered why she cared so much. George had already revealed that Magdalene was divorced. Her personal status did not matter and should not matter to Sam. Magdalene had made it crystal clear during their time together that it was a one-night stand.
But something in Sam kept tugging her attention back to the couple sitting close to each other on the stage, with one of them staring dispassionately ahead at the faculty assembled, and the other caring not a jot about anyone else in the room but the person next to him.
Finally, when it seemed everyone who was still at the school had assembled, Joel Tullinger rose from his place and approached the podium, looking pointedly at the crowd in front of him. Sam thought his father used to do this much better. Authority sat awkwardly on Joel’s shoulders. Like he desperately wanted it, but the fit chafed.
“Esteemed faculty and students of Three Dragons Academy. We have gathered here to celebrate the end of another school year. I do not say that it was a successful one.” At his words, Orla bristled visibly, and Sam could see Alden lay a quelling hand on her shoulder.
Throwing the former headmistress a pointed look, Joel went on.
“It is not a secret to the trustees that the school has been underperforming for years. Moreover, some practices enshrined by our forefathers in the Academy’s charter have fallen by the wayside. The proud principles this school has embodied for centuries are being swept aside in order to prove wokeness and relevancy, and to pursue newfangled trends and a liberal agenda.”
The faculty and the scholarship students, who had nowhere else to go and hence would be boarding at the school for the summer, collectively held their breaths. Joel might as well have added ‘homosexual agenda’, the way he spat out the syntagm. Sam could see clearly where he was headed with his little speech.
“We will not allow this illustrious institution to fall prey to the things this entire country is struggling to temper.” He took a long swig from the glass on the podium, as if his speech had made him severely dehydrated, and surveyed those in front of him with the air of a tyrant commanding his people.
“With all that being said, the trustees felt it was time to make a belated change. We don’t yet know if the school is still within anyone’s power to save, its finances being what they are and the endowment depleted. But if anyone can steady this ship before we assess the sustainability of the Academy and its ability to continue to function past next summer, it’s the new Headmistress - Ms. Magdalene Nox. We have full faith that Headmistress Nox will put a stop to the foolishness that has been allowed to flourish at Three Dragons, to the malicious and insidious emblems that have been corrupting the student body, and to the potentially harmful curricula tendencies. She has succeeded at many other schools in New England, cutting the fat, streamlining the educational process and returning the institutions to all their former glory. I give you your new Headmistress.” He turned to where Magdalene was sitting and demonstratively started to clap.
If he or Magdalene expected people to follow him in his applause, they were mistaken. Unlike Timothy Nox and the trustees, the faculty and students did not move. Sam thought that, after what they had just heard, they might as well all stand up and leave. Three Dragons had largely been a secular school for over three decades, and even before that—despite a charter that dated back two centuries, to a very religiously influenced beginning—the school had always been moving away from morning and evening prayers as well as other kinds of religious practices. If Magdalene Nox was being brought in to re-instill practices from the 19th century, she was about to fail. Sam would see to it. And what kind of gall did someone have, to suddenly oppose the alluded-to homosexual agenda after doing decidedly homosexual things to Sam in New York?
Sam fumed, the muscles of her jaw working, and looked defiantly at the woman who stood in front of the crowd, whose eyes betrayed absolutely nothing. If this was a moment of triumph, her pale countenance showed no elation. She simply surveyed those before her and nodded.
Joel looked at the Headmistress in puzzlement, perhaps waiting for her to say something, to pontificate as he had done, but when nothing was forthcoming, he took his seat too.
The silence that loomed over the Aula Magna was ominous, and Sam felt a shiver run down her spine. Joanne’s trembling hand was in hers and the grip was like iron. Several seats away from her she could see Lily holding Amanda’s hand, her eyes defiant. In fact, the girls were showing remarkable resoluteness in the face of adversity, unlike the adults in the room. They were certainly showing more bravery than Sam, whose thoughts were consumed with fear. Could she stand up for the students without revealing who she was? With Joel clearly pushing for a return to the roots, would she even have a place at Dragons if her being a lesbian were revealed? Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Selfishness had never been a characteristic of hers. She hoped when push came to shove, the Fourth Dragon would find her courage.
Orla’s cheeks were wet. Sam gritted her teeth again and ruefully shook her head. Now was not the time to cry over things that they could no longer change. Now was not the time to show weakness and despair. Orla was their leader. She should at least try to act like it, instead of succumbing to tears. So she had lost her position as headmistress, but she was still one of the faculty, previously holding the English Chair. She could still try to interview and fight for the school.
Sam’s disappointment at the situation and at Orla displaying such obvious weakness must have shown on her face, because when she turned her head, her eyes ran dead straight into the dark, unwavering stare of the new Headmistress. She felt a charge of electricity run between them, but she refused to lower her gaze. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the eyes crinkled slightly at the corners and the lush lips twitched with something Sam thought was approval.