Part two

It turned out I had quite a lot to lose.

Mum packed us all away in our squat little Fiat on the morning of the move, as they had been calling it, squashed up to thousands of bags I didn't need. First of all, they supplied school uniform there, a ghastly grey do up, with white little girly socks and a straw hat tied with an orange ribbon. I was going to look ridiculous, and Mum still insisted on bringing all of my floral frocks and old granny cardigans, even though I would never wear them. All of the other bags seemed to be filled with air, but they still weighed a ton when we tried to lift them into the boot.

"This is a dumb idea."

"Don't be so blunt, Prudence!" snapped my mother. "If you want to express your point, you will say 'Excuse me, but I think we should reconsider this.' Do you hear me?"

I heard her all right. Loud and clear.

It was one of those journeys that made you want to cry because it was so boring. Everything outside was bleak and grey, the sky, the ground, the neat suburban houses, even the people looked faded. Just to match my mood. Peregrine Academy was supposed to be one of those unbelievably posh old country manors with huge entrance halls and creepy passage ways and art galleries the size of houses. At least the dormitories would be big, but everything else would be so old fashioned, just like an enlarged version of our house that my parents would drool over. I sighed and slumped even lower into an S shape on my seat.

"Sit up, Prudence!" spat Dad, not taking his eyes of the wheel. It was so stupid; even though there was no one else here, they still had to make sure I was presentable.

We were driving idly along a tiny country lane, when we saw it.

Peregrine Academy was huge, like a magnificent beast showing off its beauties. Towers with blood red roofs snaked right up into the sky, little extra buildings jutted out of the side of the huge main house, which was complete with dinky little bay windows, and incredibly detailed carvings. I just gaped. I couldn't believe it. I had thought it would be horrible, a prison full of rich snobs, but it was absolutely amazing. Perhaps I would like it here.

I could hear Mum breathing deeply, trying to gulp down a shout of joy, and her hands trembled in her lap. Dad suddenly swerved left, towards it, and we went down a little dirt track until we reached enormous iron gates guarding the building behind it. We just sat in the car, pink with excitement, looking foolish, until we remembered that we had to be on time. Mum had made us leave three quarters of an hour early in case we got lost, but we had already wasted half an hour of it.

"Is there a bell, or do we walk straight in?" asked Mum nervously, stabbing a hole in the silence. She bit her lip. I crossed my legs. Dad twitched.

"I would have hoped there was someone here to meet us," sniffed Dad disapprovingly (talk about pompous) "After all, we were on the register."

Just as he had said it, a tiny figure wobbled out of a side door we hadn't noticed, wearing a tight black suit, to match her tight expression, and carrying a clip board.

"Aha!" breathed Mum, and then put on her fanciest accent that made her almost natural voice barely understandable. "I say, I say!" she cooed, leaping out of the car and throwing her hand around her face. I wanted to die on the spot. I say indeed! Wasn't that from the 1800's?

"Oh, oh, you must be . . . Prudence Lilith?" cried The Lady.

Mum nodded enthusiastically and yanked me out of the car. "Smile." she hissed in that poisonous voice that meant if I messed up there would be serious trouble. She even had me dressed up in my "Special Sunday Frock" a hideous yellow and pink buttercup number, and curled my hair. I was the Persil child. Dazzling smile, posh frock, perfect curls.

Unreal.

The Lady came tottering up in her kitten heels, until she reached the gate, and pressed some sort of buzzer which opened the gate. Dad, who hadn't said a word, drove into the gravel car park, and parked near the entrance. I guess he was feeling left out, after all, he desperately wanted to show off how posh he was, but all he could show was how bad at parking he was.

Mum and The Lady were in deep conversation, both talking in strained fancy accents. It was typical, just typical. I stood nervously in the corner, shuffling in my horrible clacking ballet pumps. The Lady introduced herself as Mrs Deem, and told us repetitively that I would enjoy my time here very much, and then beckoned me inside the rich front gates.

And then I made the worst mistake of my life, and followed her in.