Behind My Back

By Aubade Teyal

Lennox has a bad record. She’s a beautiful social misfit with a history of violence. She hates it when people talk to her, look at her, or touch her. She hates school and she hates life.
When Lennox arrives at her new school, Calgacos, she discovers someone she doesn’t hate, the enigmatic Kellas and she is determined to get close to him. But Calgacos has other plans for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skillywidden
• Release date: Aug 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370652853

Aubade Teyal

Aubade is a writer, a thinker, a lover, and a believer. She writes to share these passions. Find out more about her books, and the Guardians series, at aubadeteyal.wordpress.com

Book preview

‘There was no way we could have known what Lennox Constable would do’ said Mr Alfred Grittle, Headmaster of Kingham College. ‘Or how unstable mentally she was.’

‘There was nothing wrong with the way she looked,’ Mr McGill pointed out.

‘She looked like Aphrodite.’ Mr Grittle agreed. ‘No-one noticed the rags she was wearing, except the Bursar. He went looking for her when he realised we were owed payment. He noticed with alarm she was wearing the contents of a lost property box.’ He shook his head. ‘She couldn’t give him any contact details for her father. All he got was the name of her last school. He phoned them up. Apparently, they hadn’t received a penny.’ Mr Grittle leant back in his chair. ‘There was no money but there were no signs of violence either. She did well in her entrance exam, very well. She was quiet, studious, intelligent. And we had no trouble, until…’

'…until Quentin Greene persuaded her to walk down the orchard and tried to kiss her.’ Mr Jonson interrupted. ‘He said, she tried to rip his neck off. She said, he was making it up. And it would have been his word against hers, except he had bite marks deep enough to put your finger in.'

‘I know. You told me.’

'She’s a liability. A danger to the other pupils. Psychotic at the least. She can’t stay here.' Mr Johnson was still in shock.

‘I know. The problem is we STILL don’t have contact details for her father. Yesterday, I phoned the MOD and asked to speak with Major Constable. I said it was urgent. They refused to give me any information, but they did offer to send a message. I said the Major had 24 hours to get in touch, or I would contact social services. An hour later, he was on the phone. God knows where he was. It was almost impossible to understand him, the line was so bad. He said he’d post a cheque to cover costs, and we should send her to Calgacos, in Scotland. Then the line went dead.'

'Calgacos? Never heard of it,' said Mr McGill.

'You're not the only one,' Grittle told him. 'I've spent all day trying to find it. I googled it and all that comes up is information about an ancient King, nothing about a school.’

'So?' asked Jonson. 'What are we going to do with her?'

Jonson had been on duty the night Lennox attacked. He’d done everything right; called an ambulance first, then asked questions later. Now, he was determined to be rid of Lennox.

'Apparently there’s a village of that name, some 5 miles from a town called Balreiag in the Western Highlands.’

There was a pause. No one made eye contact.

'So, I’m going to do what her father wants. I've booked a taxi, to come down from the Scottish Highlands and take her to Calgacos, near Balreiag.

Mr Jonson and McGill nodded.

'She goes tomorrow.'

Chapter Two - Refugee

Lennox expected the taxi ride to take an hour or two, that was the average when she changed schools.

She was woken before six and, ten minutes later, was standing on the driveway, one hand clutching breakfast, the other her rucksack. Mr Grittle handed a taxi driver a fat envelope with an address of sorts written on the front. The driver glanced fleetingly at the crabbed handwriting and slid behind his wheel. When he turned the engine on, Mr Grittle was already walking away.

Eight hours later, Lennox was still in the cab, staring out the window. For the first hour, she kept her hand curled tight round her rucksack. When they turned onto the motorway, she leant back against the seat and glared at the roadside flickering past.

The nightmare of exclusive Kingham College was over. She was free of the tyrannical Mr Grittle and his arrogant students. But there was no escape from the system. Kingham would be replaced by another school; possibly better, possibly worse.

She might have to share a room. She hated sharing. She refused to be typecast into the role of a sympathetic audience member for someone else’s life, and she was equally determined not to let anyone piggyback on her life. This left nothing but a stony silence.

She might have to do sport. She hated that too, because she hated being in a team, where people expected her to care about winning or losing.

She might have to eat food that tasted of cardboard. Kingham, for all its faults, had served up delicious food. Olives, muffins, couscous, marinated fish; the menu had been the best, for the elite.

She should never have been at Kingham. It had been a mistake from the beginning. She had been out of place.

It was late afternoon when the taxi left the motorway and began travelling, too fast, down single carriage roads with no traffic but wide logging trucks, forcing the taxi to swerve roadside. Her legs were stiff, her tummy empty, her back sore.

The taxi pulled over at a remote petrol station in a windswept valley. She was on the forecourt before the driver, tipping back her head, breathing deeply.

'How much longer?' she asked, as the driver refuelled the car.

‘Another hour,’ he mumbled, looking at the crabbed handwriting on the envelope still lying where he had dropped it on the front seat.

He didn't want to talk. He just wanted rid of her, like the Headmaster had. He had been driving too long. She had been in his car for too long.

She waited for him to turn the ignition before jumping back in. He was off before her belt was on. He drove as fast as the narrow, winding road permitted. She sat with her face to the glass; she had never been to a school so remote. Mr Grittle had told her nothing about her new school, just to pack. She had not even asked the school’s name.

Whatever the school was like, she would be the same. The strange new girl, on trial from day one. She would be out of place, unwelcome, a headache to the teachers, a threat to the pupils; the girls especially always hated her. She would be guilty until proven guilty. And she would not last long.

The sun set, and the landscape lost colour. Her head became heavy, her eyes flickered. She slipped in, and out, of sleep. She woke when the driver said, 'This is it.’

She opened the door, peered out. She was in a dimly lit courtyard, surrounded by sheer walls all around, and very few windows or doors. She stepped out, and at once the driver reached over, yanked the door shut, revved his engine, and pulled away.

She was on her own.

Once the car headlights were gone, the courtyard was plunged into darkness. Lennox could see nothing but dim, yellowed windows, and, overhead, a dazzling spread of stars. She waited for a sign she was expected. No-one moved, no one called out. The courtyard was utterly deserted.

Behind her, there was a bang, then the sound of gravel crunching underfoot. Lennox sighed and turned towards the footsteps. This was it.

She saw the boy before he saw her. She was wearing black, as she always did, when she had the choice. Black leggings, a black shirt that hid every curve of her body, and a battered, but tough black coat, a gift from her father. Only her pale face would make her visible if the boy came close enough. She watched his hurried pace, and abrupt halt.

'Craig?'

He asked, squinting, and stepping closer.

'Obviously not!'

He was staring at her as they always did. Even in the darkness, he could see her opal eyes, her milky skin, and her delicate face. She was so beautiful, and so unexpected, he stared and stared.

'What are you doing here?'

'I was just dropped off.'

She paused, waiting for him to him to be helpful, instead he simply gawped.

'I’m looking for…' But she had no idea who she was looking for. '...a Housemaster?'

She didn’t want to see the Head, not if she could help it, and she didn’t know who else to ask for.

'Which Housemaster?' the boy asked.

Lennox shut her eyes and tried to ignore the feeling this start was worse than most.

'I don't know,' she admitted. 'Anyone will do.'

‘Maybe my Housemaster?’

‘Yes.’

‘This way.' The boy headed back the way he had come to a door in the courtyard behind him. ‘So, why are you here?'

'Why do you think?'

'I don't know,' he replied, quickly. 'That's why I asked. It isn’t obvious.'

'Well, this is a school, isn't it?’

'Yep.'

The door was set in a grey stone porch which jutted out from the walls like an overhanging rock.

'That's why I'm here.'

She followed him inside.

'But you're a girl.'

'So?'

She followed him through into a lobby where a fire smouldered in an open hearth beside a few empty, ancient chairs, then down a corridor of uneven flagstones, towards a set of open doors. Her footsteps slowed; she could hear, and smell, smoke, sweat, and deep voices drifting through the doorway.

‘Our common room,’ he told her and went inside.

There must have been about thirty people crowded into the common room. Some were sprawled on sofas, some were sitting at tables, tipping on chairs, chatting, laughing, playing cards, a few were bent over books, writing, reading. There was also a dart board, a pool table, and in one corner, a large group crowded around a colossal fireplace with a vast, blazing fire.

Within a second of Lennox’s arrival, every person in the crowded room stopped what they were doing, looked up, and fell silent.

Lennox could not stop her face from burning. She walked slowly, following her guide, staring at his back. Every eye was on her. Starting at a new school was never easy. But this was hideous.

'Master Conley?'

The boy brought her to the edge of the large group who, moments before, had been talking by the fire. Now they were all watching her. Sat right in the heart of the group, in a weary armchair, its armrests worn to string across wood, was Master Conley. He looked no more than twenty-five and was the youngest, most striking, Housemaster she had seen with tawny hair and a kingly, cragged nose. Even in a room full of strangers, he would have stood out. Here, among boys, he was majestic. He looked right at Lennox and laughed.

'Jonas! What have you found?'

Lennox scowled. She was dying of embarrassment, the unwelcome centre of attention of the entire common room, and Master Conley thought it was funny!

Her embarrassment burned with anger.

'Not what, but who,' she corrected him.

She regretted it at once for Master Conley looked even more amused. He had golden brown eyes under heavy dark eyebrows and lips thin as the horizon.

'Who, then, have you found, Jonas?' Master Conley asked, staring unwaveringly at Lennox.

'No idea, Sir,' Jonas replied. 'She was wandering around the courtyard.’ Jonas made her sound like an intruder. 'She asked to see a Housemaster, but she didn't know which one, so I brought her to you.'

'I see,' Master Conley leaned towards Lennox, his smile fading. 'Well, I am Master Conley, Housemaster of Aves. What can I do for you?'

'I just got here,' Lennox tried to explain. 'My name's Lennox Constable.' She paused. There was no hint of recognition from Master Conley. His face was blank.

‘I’m new here,’ she blurted.

To her horror, the group around them burst into laughter. Only Master Conley became more serious, not less.

'New?' he asked, frowning.

The laughing died.

'Yes.' Her cheeks were burning. Mr Grittle, the Headmaster from my old school, Kingham College, arranged it. He said you were expecting me.'

'There's been a mistake,' Master Conley said, and for the first time she thought she heard sympathy in his voice. 'Look around you,' he added.

Lennox tried. But it was hard. Everywhere she looked, people were looking back at her.

'This school, Calgacos, is special in many ways. It has existed for over 500 years and during that long and proud history, we have only ever had male students here. Never once a girl.'

Lennox screwed her eyes shut and wished she could disappear. It could not be worse. She had no idea where her father was, and she was stuck, late at night, in a school exclusively for boys, in an area so remote the nearest town must be miles away, with a crowd of 30 boys all staring at her as if she were a freak.

'Yes, a mistake,' Lennox whispered. If she ever saw Mr Grittle again, she would kill him. It was his mistake. He had wanted her gone. Her father wouldn’t have chosen a boys’ school for her, but Mr Grittle would. It was probably the furthest school he could find. She had been in that taxi for almost 12 hours.

'Indeed, a mistake.' Master Conley‘s sympathy made Lennox die inside. 'And it is too late to correct it tonight.'

The nightmare just kept getting worse.

'Jonas,' Master Conley decided. 'You found her so you can be her escort. Take her to Master Torkil.' He turned to Lennox, 'Our Headmaster. He will make the necessary arrangements for you.'

Master Conley waved a hand.

'Show's over,' he told the onlookers.

Lennox didn't need telling twice. She was outside the common room before Jonas could blink. She waited for him to catch up with her, her back to the wall, out of sight of all the onlookers.

'You can move fast when you want to,' Jonas muttered.

He led the way back outside, into the far corner of the courtyard, to a short flight of shallow steps leading up to a tower. Jonas knocked respectfully and stepped back quickly. From far above their heads, a voice called down,

'Send her up.'

Jonas raised his eyebrows at Lennox.

'Her!' he hissed. 'He knew.'

He pushed the door open and nodded towards the opening.

'Go on. He's expecting you.'

Inside, a narrow stairway twisted up, its steps worn silver in the centre. As she climbed, she listened carefully but heard nothing from above. The only sounds were the tapping of her feet, the pounding of her heart.

The tower had one room at the top of the steps. A fire burned in a hexagonal hearth in the centre of the room, sparks flying up into a central funnel. Windows lined every wall, framed in lead. Master Torkil stood by an open window, completely still despite the wind which whistled past him.

'Lennox Constable,' he said. 'Welcome to Calgacos.'

Master Conley thought she was a mistake and had clearly not been expecting her. So, how did Master Torkil know her name? It didn’t make sense.

‘Sit,’ he told her and gestured towards a desk strewn with papers and before which was placed a wooden stool.

But sitting was the last thing Lennox wanted to do. She had been sent to Master Torkil so he could get rid of her, not welcome her to his school. She stood beside the stool and watched him take his seat behind the desk. He was short, dressed in a well-worn suit the colour of dead bracken and had a straw like beard that curled into a sharp point below his chin. He was bizarrely non-descript; diminutive. In a crowded room, he would be overlooked, the opposite to the majestic Master Conley.

'There's been a mistake,' she said.

Behind Master Torkil, next to a window, was a curious, tall wooden stand. She might have thought it a coat stand, except it was empty and without hooks.

'How so?'

It had been painfully obvious to Master Conley. Did she really have to explain it?

'Master Conley has explained this is a boys' school. You don't take girls.'

'That's right.' Master Torkil agreed, nonplussed.

Magnified under steel rimmed glasses, his eyes were vast, and colourless as dust. It was impossible to read his thoughts, guess his mind, and exhausting trying.

‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘This will take some unpicking. I will need to speak to your father before we can do anything.’

How did he know she only had a father? It was uncanny. She had not mentioned him, and most people assumed she had parents when they first met her.

‘He’s difficult to get in contact with.’ If Master Torkil wanted to speak to her father, she could be stuck here a long time. ‘Why not order me a taxi and send me to the nearest mixed school?’

‘Because they also would not be expecting you, and your father must have plans for you. But we will discuss this in the morning. Right now, it is late, and you are exhausted.’ Torkil’s voice was strangely soft unlike his penetrating, unblinking eyes. 'I will leave you in the care of Master Kearns, Housemaster of Feliformia.’ A slight pause. ‘While you are with us.'

She could not argue. Not now, and not with him. He was the Headmaster and she was a stray, a nothing. She would spend the night, and, in the morning, she would make her escape.

Chapter Three – The New Girl

Master Kearns, Housemaster of Feliformia, resembled an escaped convict not a teacher. Muscular, square jawed, he had ragged skin, dark rimmed eyes, and more of a snout than a nose. With a suspicious sideways look, he led the way out the tower and back into the castle.

She passed through another lobby resembling the one Jonas has guided her through not long before, the only difference was a vast painting, wide as a room, and high as the ceiling, of a darkened forest, and a feline shadow slipping through the trees. She followed him up several floors of wide, stone steps, bare as winter, then down a narrow corridor. He stopped in front of an old battered door.

'Your room.’

Lennox went in and shut the door firmly behind her.

There was no point unpacking. She was not going to stay, and she had little to unpack. The room smelt of ice and dust, as if it had been not entered for over 100 years. A woollen blanket, hairy as a sheep, covered a wooden framed bed. On the bare wooden floor, there was a thin attempt at a rug. Beside a blackened fireplace were two frail looking armchairs and a three-legged stool. Apart from a small chest, and a wardrobe that looked as if it had been rescued from a museum, there was nothing else in the room but Lennox and her backpack.

It was late, and she was weary. She crossed over to the bed, peeled off a few clothes, and curled up under the ancient blanket.

To her surprise she slept deeply and well. In the morning, when she woke, her room was full of dazzling sunlight, but her exposed fingers were numb with cold. Somewhere outside her room, she could hear others talking, water splashing.

A tap on her door gave her a fright. She sat bolt upright. She was not even dressed.

'No!'

She pulled on her clothes in a frenzy. The same clothes as yesterday; black shirt, black leggings and a black hoody that did nothing to combat the cold. Please don't let it be Master Kearns, she prayed. She did not want to see his coarse face up close in daylight.

But it wasn't Master Kearns. It was an entirely new face, wide and pale, with clumps of wild brown hair, deep as snow drifts.

'... Lennox?' He shivered as he said her name, as if buffeted by a cold wind.

Lennox felt better. This boy's fear wiped hers away.

'Yeah.’

He was thin, like her, and his body seemed to bend like a bow from his wide face to his enormous feet. He was wearing a green fleece hanging loosely from his scrawny frame and all-weather trousers.

'Breakfast?' he asked.

She was so hungry she could have eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all at once. She needed to eat before she did anything else.

'I guess so.'

She stepped out. Looked around. Wary. The corridor was empty.

'I’m Mannik. I was told by Master Kearns to get you,' he explained as they