Searching for Shona Page 3

  “I’m just too tired to eat,” Marjorie mumbled.

  Glancing at the clock, Miss Campbell said, “It might be a good idea for you to have a quick bath and get into bed. You can meet my sister in the morning when you’re cleaned up a bit.”

  Then she added hesitantly, as if she couldn’t quite believe that their grubbiness had all been accumulated in only a few hours’ train journey, “They did have baths in that place you lived in, did they?”

  “Of course,” Marjorie said, and then stopped abruptly when Anna broke in saying, “You weren’t there!”

  “I’ll show you to your room,” Miss Campbell said, not understanding Anna’s remark. “I’ll help you with your bath—we can’t use too much water, you know.”

  Miss Campbell led Anna and Marjorie upstairs to a large front room. There were two single beds, and the thick blackout curtains were firmly in place.

  “You find your nighties while I run your bath.”

  Marjorie laid Shona’s suitcase on the bed and opened it, looking with dismay at the meager assortment of clothes that were now hers. She had never set much store by clothes, but then she had never thought there were girls whose entire wardrobe consisted of three jerseys, two skirts, a ragged change of underwear, an extra pair of socks, and a short flannel nightgown.

  There was, however, something else in the suitcase.

  Taking up the whole bottom of the case was a painting in a narrow wooden frame. Marjorie was puzzled that Shona, who had so few possessions, would bring a painting along with her. She lifted it out of the suitcase and carried it over directly under the light where she could see it better. It showed a Victorian house, rather ornate and turreted, standing in the middle of an overgrown garden. The windows were blank and empty and, in the foreground, iron gates hung open, bent and rusted. The big stone gateposts leaned at drunken angles, and a decorative stone ball had fallen from the top of one. It lay among the weeds, chipped and shadowed so that it looked like a skull.

  Marjorie stared at the picture, and Anna, who had crept up beside her, said, “That’s Shona’s house. She’s going to find it some day.”

  Of course! Shona had mentioned a painting that very first day when they talked together in the park. What was it she’d said? That it held a clue to her past. And then Marjorie remembered where she had heard the name Canonbie before. It was where Shona’s mother came from—the place Shona was some day going to find.

  Poor Shona! She would never have changed places with Marjorie had she known they were being sent to Canonbie. Marjorie felt guiltier about that than about cheating Uncle Fergus and Mrs. Kilpatrick.

  When they heard Miss Campbell’s footsteps coming from the bathroom, Marjorie hurriedly pushed the picture under the bed.

  Chapter 3

  Canonbie Primary School

  Marjorie was awakened the next morning by a light tap on the bedroom door and a voice saying, “It’s time to get ready for school!”

  For a brief moment she thought she was at home on Willowbrae Road and that it was Mrs. Kilpatrick’s voice, and then the events of the previous day flooded her mind. What had possessed her to do such a terrible thing? What would happen when she turned up at school today, saying she was Shona McInnes, when most of the other evacuee children knew she wasn’t? Could she tell them about the switch, as she had told Anna? They would probably just tell the teacher and then there would be a terrible row. The teacher would phone Mrs. Kilpatrick and maybe even Uncle Fergus. Marjorie couldn’t imagine what would happen then. She shrank farther down under the covers at the very thought of the commotion she was going to cause.

  How was Shona managing, Marjorie wondered. At least she was among complete strangers, so had less chance of being discovered. But Marjorie had the feeling that Shona would be able to cope with any situation she found herself in. Other children would always be on her side.

  A muffled sound told her that Anna was awake. Reluctantly, Marjorie climbed out of bed. The uncarpeted floor was cold on her feet as she made her way across the room to open the thick blackout curtains. When she drew them back, she saw that Anna was lying huddled on the bed, crying.

  “I don’t want to go to school,” she said.

  “Neither do I,” answered Marjorie. “But we have to.”

  “Shona didn’t—she played in the park. She was going to take me with her this week.”

  “We don’t know where any parks are around here,” Marjorie said.

  “Shona would have found one,” said Anna with a sniff.

  Marjorie turned away and opened Shona’s little suitcase and pulled out a faded tartan skirt and much-washed yellow jersey. With a pang of regret, she remembered her own tartan kilt, the pleats carefully pressed by Mrs. Kilpatrick, and the white silk blouse she always wore with it. Anna finally crawled out of bed and pulled on the same blue skirt and jersey she’d worn the day before.

  Marjorie paused in front of the mirror to brush her hair and stared in dismay at the short, ragged haircut. Perhaps she could go to a hairdresser and get it properly trimmed with the half crown Mrs. Kilpatrick gave her. Then she remembered it was in the pocket of the green coat and that Shona had it. At that moment all her worries about crossing the Atlantic in a boat seemed nothing compared with the problem of pretending to be Shona and wearing old clothes and not having money to spend. She sat down on the edge of her bed and began to cry.

  “Don’t cry!” Anna said. She crossed the room and timidly patted Marjorie’s arm. “Shona never cried. Not about anything.”

  “But I’m not Shona!” sobbed Marjorie. “And I don’t want to be Shona.”

  “Come along, girls!” Miss Campbell’s voice sounded impatient. “Breakfast is waiting, and you don’t want to be late on your first day of school.”

  For perhaps the first time in her life, Anna was in charge. She urged Marjorie to hurry, and the girls went downstairs together. They made their way through to the kitchen where the two Miss Campbells were waiting for them, sitting at opposite ends of the table. Marjorie and Anna stared at them in surprise—two middle-aged ladies, wearing identical brown tweed suits with square padded shoulders and pink silk scarves tucked in at their necks. Their short brown hair was waved in just the same way and they peered at the girls through round glasses.

  “So you’re our evacuee children,” said one of the Miss Campbells, and then turning to the other, she added sharply, “I thought I told you to get older girls who could look after themselves while we are at the shop.”

  “They didn’t let us choose,” said the second sister, blinking nervously. “Shona can look after Anna—they’re used to each other.”

  “I should have gone down to the church hall myself,” said the first sister with a resigned sigh.

  The thought crossed Marjorie’s mind that the Miss Campbells probably wouldn’t have to look after them for very long. Before the end of the day someone was bound to discover she wasn’t Shona. She would be sent back to Mrs. Kilpatrick in Edinburgh, and they would have to find a new partner for Anna.

  “Sit down and have some breakfast, girls,” said one of the Miss Campbells quietly.

  Anna began to eat eagerly, while Marjorie forced herself to swallow a few spoonfuls of lukewarm porridge. She was remembering that the Miss Campbell they met last night had said that her sister didn’t like picky eaters. While Marjorie ate, she looked from one to the other and decided that although they looked exactly alike it wouldn’t be hard to tell them apart. One spoke hesitantly, blinking nervously, while the other sounded much bossier. Somehow it comforted Marjorie to know that there were two quite different people hiding behind those faces and clothes that were exactly alike.

  “So Agnes didn’t tell you that we’re twins,”Miss Campbell said, noticing Marjorie comparing them. “I’m Morag, and my sister is Agnes, though most people just call us Miss Campbell because they can’t tell us apart.”

  They hide behind their names, too, yet they are separate people, thought Marjorie.

 
When breakfast was over, the Miss Campbells cleared the table. Then they pulled on matching gloves and picked up identical umbrellas and handbags from the hall stand and were ready to take the girls to school. They walked back up the same road they had followed the night before. This morning Marjorie could see that the Miss Campbells lived on a street of prosperous looking houses, all with neat front lawns behind low walls or privet hedges.

  The road joined Canonbie High Street, and they walked past the church hall and the end of Station Road. On the corner of Station Road and High Street, one of the Miss Campbells stopped at a narrow little shop with a window full of dowdy hats. Above the door, in faded gold lettering, Marjorie read, M. & A. Campbell, High Fashion Ladies’ Clothes.”

  “I have to open up the shop,” Miss Morag said. “My sister will take you to school.”

  Marjorie was rather relieved because she felt less conspicuous with only one sister walking beside them.

  It was not much farther—only a little way down the street, but when they reached the school, Miss Agnes said, “Now you’ll be able to find your way back to the shop after school, will you? Or do you want me to meet you?”

  “We’ll manage all right,” Marjorie assured her. Taking Anna’s hand to comfort herself as much as Anna, she walked into the playground, which was swarming with children.

  It was easy to tell the local Canonbie children because they were all running about, playing noisily, while the new Edinburgh children stood quietly in a group near a closed door. As Marjorie and Anna walked across the playground to join them, a bell rang and the door was opened by a tall, gaunt man, wearing a black gown. His slightly hunched shoulders and hooked nose made him look remarkably like a great, black crow.

  “I’m Mr. James, your headmaster,” he said. “I want all the new children to follow me to the hall after you have hung up your coats in the cloakroom. The rest of you go quietly to your classrooms.”

  When they reached the hall, Mr. James made a speech telling them all how much the Canonbie Primary School children welcomed them and how he hoped they would all feel at home here. Then he said that when he called their names one of the older girls, Isobel McKay, would show them the way to their classrooms.

  Shona McInnes was one of the first names to be called, for she was in the top class. Marjorie gave Anna a quick smile as they parted.

  “I’ll find you at lunchtime,” she whispered.

  There were five evacuees in the top class—three boys and another girl and Marjorie. As they walked down the corridor to the last door, one of the boys stepped on the back of Marjorie’s shoe. She turned around quickly to find herself facing a big boy with curly red hair and so many orange freckles that they ran together like smudges.

  “What’s the game?” he whispered.

  “I don’t know what your mean,” Marjorie said.

  “You’re not Shona McInnes any more than I am.”

  “I am so,” Marjorie said.

  They reached the classroom door, saving her from further questions. She had spent a lot of time thinking about what she would say when someone accused her of not being Shona, and she hadn’t intended to lie about it, but there hadn’t been time for a long explanation, and the boy had caught her off guard.

  Marjorie was relieved to see that their teacher, Miss Dunlop, was young and quite pretty. She didn’t even look like a teacher. She made another little speech, telling them once again how much the Canonbie children welcomed them. Meanwhile the Canonbie children stared at them with suspicion, belying all the kind things Miss Dunlop was saying.

  Before they were allowed to take their places in the empty seats in the front row, Miss Dunlop said she wanted them to say their names and tell a little about themselves. She asked one of the boys to begin.

  “I’m Jimmy Davidson.”

  “Yes,” prompted Miss Dunlop. “And where are you from?”

  “Edinburgh, Miss.”

  “Yes, and a little more about yourself and your family?”

  “I’ve got five brothers and sisters and my dad’s going off to the army.”

  Next was the red-haired boy. He introduced himself as Douglas Craik. His dad owned a newspaper and tobacco shop in Edinburgh, and his mother worked at the picture house there so he got in free every Saturday afternoon. The Canonbie children were impressed by Douglas Craik.

  Next came a thin, pale boy, who looked younger than the others in the class.

  “I’m Tommy Walker,” he whispered. “I’m from St. Anne’s.”

  “Could you tell us more about St. Anne’s?”

  “It’s the orphanage,” whispered Tommy.

  “Oh, I see,” said Miss Dunlop, and hurried on to the next girl.

  “Elsie Waters,” the girl said brightly. “I’ve to two little sisters and two little brothers and my dad’s joined up and mum’s been evacuated with the babies, but not to the same place as here, but maybe I’ll get to go there, too.”

  While the children tried to sort out this information, Miss Dunlop smiled encouragingly to Marjorie.

  “I’m Shona McInnes.”

  “A little louder, please!”

  “I’m Shona McInnes,” Marjorie said again, “And I’m from St. Anne’s Orphanage, too.”

  “You and Tommy must know one another well,” Miss Dunlop said, and for a moment Marjorie thought Tommy was going to say something, but he only ducked his head in the shy way he had.

  When lunchtime came, Miss Dunlop told Isobel McKay to take Elsie and Shona to the dining room where school lunches were served. The girls sat on one side of the room and the boys on the other, so Marjorie had no trouble avoiding Douglas Craik. She did not, however, enjoy her lunch. In spite of the rule that they had to eat everything on their plates, Marjorie left most of her food untouched. Elsie Walters obligingly bolted down Marjorie’s jam tart as well as her own.

  Then they all went out to the playground where Marjorie immediately spotted Anna standing by herself near the bicycle shed, and ran over to join her. But Douglas Craik got there first and snatched Anna’s woolen hat and waved it just out of her reach.

  “Make him give it back to me!” Anna said.

  Marjorie made an ineffective grab at the hat as Douglas dangled it in front of her for a minute and then tossed it to another boy.

  “Shona would have got it back for me,” Anna said tearfully, watching her red wool hat as it was thrown and kicked around the playground.

  “Who is she, anyway?” Douglas asked Anna, forgetting the hat for a moment.

  Anna hung her head and didn’t say anything, and Marjorie didn’t know how to explain who she was to this rough, bullying boy.

  “She’s not Shona McInnes,”Douglas yelled loudly. “I’ll tell you who she is! She’s a German spy!”

  Some of the children near them heard Douglas, and they gathered around, curious to find out what was going on.

  “That girl wasn’t at our school in Edinburgh. She’s really a German spy,” Douglas told them.

  “German spy! German spy!” The children took up the shout in taunting voices. Within seconds, Marjorie was surrounded by a crowd of hostile jeering children. She looked at the ring of cold faces and mean eyes, and they seemed to waver and blur in front of her. The sound of their chanting voices became unbearably loud, and then faded, and then became loud again. Her head began to spin and her knees buckled. She collapsed on the ground in a faint, and the children stared at her crumpled form in dismay, their voices stilled.

  Miss Dunlop, who had seen and heard some of what had happened, came running across the playground and pushed between the children. She picked Marjorie up and carried her inside to the staffroom, leaving the playground unnaturally quiet. Many of the children didn’t know what had been going on, and those who were part of it didn’t want to talk about it.

  When Marjorie came too, she heard Miss Dunlop saying to Mrs. Gray, another teacher, “They were all around her, taunting her, calling her a German spy. Our own Canonbie children and some of the eva
cuees. What made them do it?” And then she dropped her voice and added, “What makes it worse is that the poor child is from the orphanage, and we treated her like that.”

  Marjorie opened her eyes. Miss Dunlop was immediately at her side, urging her to drink a cup of hot, sweet tea.

  “Drink this,” she said. “You’ll feel better.”

  “I’m not Shona McInnes,” Marjorie whispered. “I was meant to go to Canada, not here.”

  “Hush, now, Shona. They didn’t mean that nonsense!” Miss Dunlop said, and added to the other teacher, “They’ve even got her doubting herself.”

  “It was more likely that sort of talk that started it,” Mrs. Gray said disapprovingly.

  “I just can’t think what started this German spy business,” Miss Dunlop said. “But there will be no more of it. I intend to see that no more teasing and bullying take place in Canonbie School.”

  “The war has unsettled them,” Mrs. Gray said. She and Miss Dunlop started talking together while Marjorie sipped her tea. She wanted to confide in Miss Dunlop—to get it over with—but she had already tried, and now she didn’t know how to break into their conversation.

  When the bell rang, summoning the children to their classes, Miss Dunlop turned to Marjorie and asked, “Who are you staying with, Shona?”

  “The Miss Campbells,”

  “The Miss Campbells,” Miss Dunlop repeated with a slight smile. “Would you like to go back there this afternoon?”

  “I’d rather stay here,” Marjorie said, hoping she could spend the afternoon in the quiet peace of the teacher’s room.

  Miss Dunlop answered cheerfully, “That’s a brave girl! We’ll go right in and face them.”

  So Marjorie found herself back in the classroom. Miss Dunlop made no reference to the incident on the playground—at least not in Marjorie’s presence—and the children seemed to forget it quickly, too.

  Even the Edinburgh children, who had known Shona McInnes, seemed to accept the new Shona as just another of the many puzzling and bewildering changes that had taken place in their lives. Only Douglas Craik continued to harass Marjorie, but he did it quietly, enjoying his power over her and Anna. In fact, it led him into a sort of petty blackmail, where he was able to exhort an apple and a piece of chocolate in payment for his silence.