Song of the Sea Maid Read Free Page B

mountains or if it is something that is made by the hands as bread or cheese are and how light and cheerful our room would be with such a prolific number of glass panes letting in the sunlight all the long day. This is but one of the many ruminations my mind considers each night in the quiet and the darkness before sleep. Yet these thoughts move so fleetly I never have the chance to grasp them and by the next night they are gone and replaced by more and new ones, so many it hurts my head.
    One evening after dinner, Matron summons me to the kitchen and bids me sit before the fire, as I did that very first day with her.
    ‘You have been with us for one year now, Dawnay. We ask each of our new arrivals how they are settled in their new life after this period. ’Tis part of my role so I do it. How is it with you, child?’
    ‘What is the feather for?’
    Matron’s eyes grow wide. ‘Still harping on this?’
    ‘Is it for writing? I think it must be for writing.’
    ‘Yes, for writing. ’Tis named a quill.’
    ‘Quill.’
    ‘Quill,’ says Matron.
    ‘Do we learn to write? Will we learn to use the feather, the quill?’
    ‘Oh no, child. You do not learn to write here. Reading and numbers is all foundlings need. Writing is not necessary in your future forms of employment. Whoever heard of a cabin boy who could write, or a milkmaid? A charwoman does not even need her numbers, as she is not paid in coin but in broken meat and cinders. What need has she for a quill?’
    ‘I need one.’
    ‘Whatever for?’
    ‘To write down my thoughts so I cannot forget them.’
    ‘And what does an orphan need to think about?’
    ‘Everything.’
    ‘Is that so?’
    ‘Yes, Matron.’
    She is frowning at me. She is thinking. ‘I said you were a clever one. My nephew says it too.’
    ‘That I am clever?’
    ‘Indeed.’ I grin. Matron cannot help herself and she smiles also. Yet she stifles it. ‘But there is nothing to be done about it, child. The founder is resolute on the matter. Orphans are not to learn to write. And the idea of a girl receiving an education would never be borne. He has three daughters himself and no sons and has given them all the same sage advice in order to secure matrimony, namely, that they should hide any vestige of a lively mind if they are to catch a husband. Wives who are cleverer than their husbands are unnecessary, as are clever servants likewise. Thinking never cleaned a floor. Better put it out of mind.’
    But I do not put it out of mind, as I cannot. The following morning I hide a reading primer from the schoolroom inside my jacket. I carry it round all day – its weight a delicious secret against my heart – and hide it beneath my bedclothes that night. I wait in bed while the other girls whisper, then, one by one, their whispers cease and they all breathe heavy. I get up and creep across the room; the floorboards creak but everyone is too spent to waken. I fetch the candlestick from the stool and use the fire’s embers to light the wick. I make my way downstairs and along the hallway to the grand door and listen carefully. No sound emits, thus I deduce it is empty. I turn the handle to the court room and enter. There is no one inside, yet the dying fire throws shadows dancing on the walls that make me start. I am watched by the exalted ones from the wall paintings as I go to the side table and remove one quill from the vase, take one of the two inkpots and retrieve sheets of paper from the large table.
    For a moment, I consider staying in this room to do my work, but cannot risk the double punishment for not only thievery but also inhabiting Eden when God has banished me from it. I carry my treasures back up the staircase and into the dormitory. There is a table beside the fire where our water jug is stored. I remove it to the floor and set up at the table, using the candle stool to sit on. The stolen book open before me, I dip the stolen quill in the stolen inkpot and try to imitate the shapes