Read Online Beswitched by Kate Saunders - Free Book Online

teacher. How bad could it be?
    The classroom door opened with a crash. It was like a cold wind rushing in. Every girl sprang to her feet.
    Miss Harbottle was tiny—hardly taller than Flora—and dressed in a black teacher’s gown very rusty at the seams. Her lips were thin, her eyes were little and beady, and she looked like an angry, wrinkled turtle.
    She faced the class. “
Salvete
.”
    Everyone chorused “
Salve
!” and sat down.
    “Good afternoon, gels.” Her voice was deep and gravelly. “It is our first lesson this term, so let us pick up where we left orf. Daphne Peterson.”
    Pete stood up. “Yes, Miss Harbottle.”
    “Remind us—what did we talk about in our last lesson, all those weeks ago?”
    “I—I—” Pete’s face turned bright red (
Now she knows how it feels
, Flora thought meanly). “Was it—one of Pliny’s letters?”
    “I should think it was, since we spent the whole of last term studying the younger Pliny’s letters. And what was he writing about?”
    Pete held up her head proudly, as if facing a firing squad. “I don’t remember.”
    “You—are—an—IMBECILE,” croaked the turtle-mouth. “And a HALFWIT—and a NINNY! You are also a SLATTERN—where is your collar button? You will report to me tomorrow morning before breakfast, and if I find ONE HAIR out of place, you will earn yourself a
poena
.”
    “Yes, Miss Harbottle.”
    “Sit DOWN.”
    Pete collapsed thankfully into her chair.
    “Consuela Carver.”
    “Yes, Miss Harbottle.” The Carver stood up.
    “Please refresh Daphne’s memory.”
    Smoothly, the Carver said, “The letter was about a man who was murdered in his bath by his slaves.”
    “Thank you. Sit down.”
    Consuela Carver sat down, unbearably smug.
    “New gel.”
    Flora slid a quick glance at Pete, still red-faced and miserable, and stopped feeling mean.
    “NEW GEL!”
    Fart and bum, Harbottle was talking to her. Flora leapt to her feet. “Yes, Miss Harbottle.”
    “Are you DEAF?”
    “N-no, Miss Harbottle.”
    “In that case, you are a DAYDREAMER, and I do not tolerate daydreamers in any class of mine. Let us wake you up with a little mental exercise. Open the book at page sixty-five, and translate the first paragraph.”
    Flora looked down at the dark red book Dulcie had placedon her desk before the lesson. It was called
A Shorter Latin Primer
.
    “I’m waiting,” said Miss Harbottle.
    She was horrible, with her grating voice and spiteful little eyes—as if she wanted you to fail. Flora felt her face turning hot.
    “I can’t do it,” she said. “And before you call me names, it’s not my fault. I’ve never had a Latin lesson in my life.”
    A shudder of horror passed through the silent girls.
    “Really? Your father informs us that you have been learning Latin for three years—am I to take it that he is a LIAR?”
    “No—” (Bum!)
    “NO? Then YOU must be the liar—logically, only one of you can be telling the truth. Page sixty-five, if you please.”
    Flora opened the book and found the page, with shaking hands. Why did it look familiar?
    It was past eleven, and the sun climbed relentlessly. Drowsy in the heat, Flora did her best to concentrate while Miss Foster took them through the translation for the umpteenth time, mainly for the benefit of Joan from next door, who was a year older but rather dim
.
    “Balbus has built a wall. The wall is well made, and pleases him. Drusilla is the wife of Balbus. The well-made wall pleases Drusilla.”
    “So you HAVE learned Latin!” croaked Harbottle.
    Flora realized she had read it out loud. For once, the memories of the other Flora had come in useful. “I don’t know—”
    “And now she DOESN’T KNOW!”
    “What I mean is, I don’t know how I know.”
    “Let me tell you, Flora Fox, that I do not tolerate suchUNDERHAND behavior. For your prep tonight, you will write out all the verbs on page twenty-six.”
    “Yes, Miss Harbottle,” Flora said miserably.
    “If this is the kind of