Secret Journal Read online

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘This? Oh, it’s just my invitation to the Alumni Luncheon.’ She pulled the invitation out of the envelope and showed me. It was shiny, like the envelope, and had ornate, curly gold letters on it. It looked like an invitation to something with the Queen of England.

  ‘But your mum wasn’t an Eden Girl,’ I said, confused.

  ‘No, she wasn’t. And neither was my grandma. But my aunt on my dad’s side was an Eden Girl. That’s why my parents were so interested in this school. Apparently my aunt had the most wonderful experience here. So, she’s coming to the Alumni Luncheon.’

  ‘Oh.’ I didn’t quite know how I felt about that. ‘I guess you get to be one of Saskia’s special group then,’ I said, rolling my eyes.

  Violet tilted her head to the side.

  ‘It’s not a big deal, Ella,’ she said. ‘I knew about this weeks ago, when my aunt got her invitation. I didn’t even think it was worth telling anyone about.’

  My cheeks reddened. ‘Well, as long as you don’t go on about it, I guess. Anyway, to answer your question, yes, I’d love to come inside and get some homework done with you,’ I said quickly, trying to change the subject.

  Violet extended her hand and helped me up. I dusted the stray leaves off the back of my dress and picked up my notebook and Elena’s diary.

  As Violet and I walked inside the dorm house, I wondered why I had a bit of a tight feeling in my stomach. Surely I wasn’t jealous that Violet was going to the luncheon, was I? Surely it wasn’t that important.

  But Saskia’s words from earlier in the day echoed through my mind. Maybe I really wasn’t special to Eden. Maybe this luncheon was important, after all.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Everyone, make sure you have your aprons on,’ Mrs Finn said. ‘Hurry now, it’s time to begin the lesson!’

  We all fidgeted with our cooking aprons, tying them around our waists. The aprons were royal blue and had the Eden crest in teal on the front, to match our uniforms. I glanced over at Grace, who was standing at the bench with me and Zoe. Somehow, Grace already had a bit of flour on her face, even though we hadn’t so much as touched any ingredients yet.

  ‘I wonder what we are making today!’ Zoe clapped, as she bounced up and down on her toes. Zoe and I love Hospitality and Food Technology. It’s a cool subject where we get to cook and bake and learn about the science of food. (That’s the bit Zoe likes. I prefer the bit with cake.)

  ‘I have some exciting news today!’ Mrs Finn gushed. Her round face was always beaming with happiness, and her thin silver-framed glasses bounced up and down on her tiny nose because she explained everything with such enthusiasm. My Nanna Kate always says you can tell what makes a person’s heart sing. And for Mrs Finn, it was definitely cooking.

  ‘You all know that the Alumni Luncheon is coming up shortly. The exciting news is that Mrs Sinclair has asked for our lovely Year 7 girls to act as waitresses and kitchen staff on the day!’

  Saskia’s hand shot up into the air. ‘But Mrs Finn, what if we are guests at the luncheon?’

  ‘Ah, yes, some of you will be attending the luncheon and will therefore not be expected to act as waitresses. You are free to spend time with your relatives who are guests with us on the day. But everyone else will be helping prepare and hand around the sandwiches, cakes and fruit to our guests.’

  ‘Oh, bummer!’ Grace frowned. ‘I want to be a waitress!’

  ‘But, you’re not going to the Alumni Luncheon, are you? None of your relatives came to Eden—you said so yourself,’ I said, confused. I felt the blood rising to my cheeks.

  ‘That’s true, none of my family are Eden Girls. But my grandmother’s sister—technically she’s my great-aunt—was one of the vice headmistresses of the school. They always invite previous headmistresses and vice headmistresses along. So, Great-Aunt Clarice is coming,’ Grace said, wrinkling up her nose.

  ‘Let me guess—you don’t like her much?’ Zoe laughed.

  ‘Oh, she’s always telling me I talk too much, and I’m too bouncy and fidgety, and I have terrible manners, and I’m always losing things, and I’m a disaster in the kitchen and I have no sense of decorum, whatever that means!’

  Zoe giggled.

  ‘It means having good manners and acting properly,’ I said quickly. ‘So, that means you get to sit at the tables and be part of the luncheon, while we all wait on you?’

  Grace looked at me and her smile disappeared from her face. ‘It’s not a big deal,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Well, it sounds like everyone is going to be involved in this thing except me,’ I muttered.

  ‘I’m not involved,’ Zoe said gently.

  I shook my head. I knew I was being unfair to Grace. It wasn’t her fault she had an invitation.

  Mrs Finn clapped her hands to get our attention. ‘There will be a catering company on the day, of course, but we will also be baking something for the luncheon. So, today we are going to have a practice run of making scones! Get into groups of three and stand together at one of the benches that already has the ingredients ready.’

  Zoe, Grace and I all looked at each other straightaway, knowing we wanted to be in a group of three. Even though it was a bit sad that Violet wasn’t in our Food Tech class, it was probably a good thing, as it would have been awkward to make a group of three out of the four of us.

  Mrs Finn instructed us first to sit down with a pencil and go through the entire recipe, marking any necessary notes or questions in the margin. Zoe was meticulous about this. Meticulous means very thorough and detailed. And that’s Zoe! She carefully highlighted each measurement to make sure we wouldn’t make any mistakes.

  ‘Come on, let’s BAKE!’ Grace jittered.

  ‘Grace, you know what happened in Science when you weren’t paying attention to the measurements,’ Zoe said in a serious voice.

  Grace reddened. The bright pink stain from Grace’s last disaster remained on the science lab ceiling, even after the cleaners had spent hours trying to remove it.

  Zoe measured out the flour and put it to the side while she measured out the milk. I cubed the butter with a knife, while Grace pulled out a bowl and a baking tray and then preheated the oven.

  While Zoe squinted over the recipe with her pen poised over the paper, Grace grabbed the flour and milk and dumped them in a bowl together.

  ‘Grace, wait!’ Zoe said, all too late. ‘We were meant to rub the butter into the flour first.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Grace. She shrugged, picked up the butter and dumped it into the bowl, too.

  ‘Grace, no!’ Zoe said, frustrated.

  ‘Oh, it’ll be FINE,’ Grace said, grabbing a wooden spoon and trying to mix the gluey concoction.

  I winced. It didn’t look right. ‘It’s all lumpy,’ I said, peering into the bowl.

  I looked at the bench in front of us, where Saskia, Portia and Mercedes worked their soft smooth dough with a spatula.

  Grace ducked down below the bench and started fossicking around in the cupboard. ‘I know what’ll fix this,’ she murmured to herself.

  ‘I think we should start again,’ Zoe said.

  ‘No, no, this will fix it,’ Grace said cheerfully. She pulled out a blender and plugged it into the socket on our bench. Then she picked up the bowl and began sploshing the mixture into the blender, causing soggy lumpy batter to spill down the sides. It was like clumpy glue.

  ‘This should thin it out,’ she said.

  Zoe and I looked at each other uncertainly. Before we could say anything, Grace’s finger touched the dial of the blender.

  ‘WAIT!’ Zoe and I cried in unison … but it was too late.

  The blender, which had no lid on it, erupted to life as Grace flicked the dial to full power. The sloppy batter shot up into the air, sending big, sticky white lumps raining down on us, as well as on Saskia, Portia and Mercedes. The three girls in front of us screamed in horror as their hair was coated with what can only be described as floury g
lue.

  Saskia tried to pull a lump of dough out of her hair, but it stuck like a badly done papier-mâché craft project.

  ‘Turn it off!’ Mrs Finn yelled over the top of the whirring blender, which was still shooting batter up and out like a fountain.

  I reached over and switched the power off at the socket. Then I bleakly looked around at the disaster that was the Food Tech kitchen. Zoe, Grace and I were covered in batter and so were Portia, Saskia and Mercedes, who glared at us through narrowed eyes.

  ‘Oops!’ Grace said sheepishly. ‘Looks like I did it again!’

  Chapter 9

  When my Nanna Kate was younger, she decided one day to move to France. She said she had little more than the clothes on her back when she turned up there without a job. But she soon got work cleaning in a very famous opera theatre.

  Each night, she would wait in the wings while the performers sang the beautiful compositions. Afterwards she would clean up the stalls, humming the songs she’d heard throughout the performance. But because she didn’t speak French, she never quite knew what the opera was about. She could tell some parts were sad, some parts were passionate and some were triumphant. But she couldn’t really appreciate it without knowing the language.

  Nanna Kate said if you wanted to know about things in the days before the internet, you had to go and find out with your feet. So she found a library, and in the library were audio tapes that taught you how to speak French. Each day, before the show, she would go and spend hours in the library, studying and learning and practicing the language. After many months, when the opera was coming to the end of its season, Nanna Kate decided she would listen again and see if she could understand.

  She said once the language barrier had been broken, a whole new world opened up in that theatre. Once she understood, she listened with tears streaming down her cheeks as she stood in the wings, waiting with her broom to sweep up the stage after the show.

  And so, my Nanna Kate always says that libraries are ‘the fount of knowledge’.

  This is what I was thinking about as I walked up the steps to the school library. I knew that if I wanted answers about Elena’s diary, the library would be a good place to start my investigation.

  I entered through the big glass doors and approached the front desk. Miss Mason was standing at the desk and greeted me with a warm smile. I knew Miss Mason because we had Library Studies with her once a week.

  ‘Hello, Ella,’ she said. ‘Do you need any help finding a book? I have lots of good new ones to recommend.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t need a fiction book today, Miss Mason. But I am interested in anything you have about Eden College’s history.’

  Miss Mason frowned quizzically.

  ‘For Eden Press,’ I clarified.

  ‘Ah. Yes, come this way.’ She beckoned me with a wave and showed me around to a small corner of the library I’d never been to before.

  ‘This is the archives,’ she said. ‘Here we keep all sorts of things about Eden’s history, including old photographs, year books, reports and maps. Is there anything specific you are looking for?’

  I thought for a moment. I didn’t want to tell Miss Mason about the ‘secret place’ Elena mentioned in her diary, but I did want to know where I should look to find it.

  ‘I’m wanting to see what Eden might have looked like in older times. I think it would be interesting for the Alumni Luncheon—you know, to do an article on how the school has changed since our oldest alumni left.’

  Miss Mason nodded. She pulled out some books, including one titled An Eden History.

  ‘This one would be a good place to start—it has photographs and maps of the school before the newer parts were added,’ she said, opening up the book to show me. ‘Are you happy to have a browse?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Give me a wave if you need more help,’ she smiled.

  As Miss Mason left, I pulled out my notebook and pen and flicked through the pages of An Eden History. Grainy tea-coloured photographs of girls in thick long tunics and funny little hats peppered the pages. One photo showed a big old house, which I immediately recognised as our dormitory. It looked older and smaller—I was certain some additions had been built on since this photo was taken. But I could see the same entryway and the windows of the common room. Underneath were the words ‘Main house’.

  My heart skipped a beat. ‘Main house’ was the exact term Elena had used about the location of her secret place.

  I looked down at the words again. The paragraph described the downstairs of the building as the classrooms where the girls did their learning, whereas the upper levels were where they all slept. As I read on, it seemed that the girls slept on the first floor and the teaching staff slept on the floor above. So, there was a chance that Elena could have slept in the very same room I was now living in!

  The thought gave me a tingle of excitement, as well as a feeling of unease—like a ghost from the past was looking over my shoulder. I shivered.

  As I turned to the back of the book, I found old photographs of the past year groups at Eden College. I gasped excitedly—if I could find Elena’s year group, I might actually see her face!

  I hurriedly looked through the class pictures. I knew Elena was writing in 1940. And I knew she was in her first year of high school. By looking through the pages, I could see that the first year of high school was called Form 1 back then.

  I glanced along the bottom of the grainy photographs, reading through the corresponding names. I didn’t know Elena’s surname, but I knew her first name at least. It didn’t seem to be the most common of names.

  But as I searched through Form 1 from 1940, I frowned. There was no listing of an Elena. I checked the other year levels of 1940, just in case her year group was called something else.

  But there wasn’t an Elena in sight. If Elena was writing from the dorm in 1940, she must have been a student in 1940. So why wasn’t she in any of the photographs from that year? What happened to her?

  I looked at my watch and realised how much time had gone by while I’d been sitting in the library, flicking through the photos of past Eden. I packed up my belongings and began to walk back to the library doors—lunchtime was almost finished and the bell would sound soon.

  ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ Miss Mason called out to me as I passed her desk.

  ‘I did find some interesting things,’ I said. I thought through the other things on my list that I still needed to investigate.

  ‘Miss Mason?’ I asked. ‘Just off the top of your head, do you know if there was anything significant going on around 1940?’

  ’ Miss Mason cocked her head to the side. ‘Do you mean within the school or the world in general?’

  ‘Well, either,’ I shrugged. I wanted to know what might have been going on in Elena’s world.

  ‘1940? Well, Ella, that was a very difficult time in history,’ Miss Mason said.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘1940 was during World War II.’

  Chapter 10

  I sat on my bed and pulled out Elena’s journal, hoping to find some more clues about her ‘secret place’. I opened the worn pages delicately and flicked to where I’d last left off.

  There had been several other entries that I’d read recently, but, disappointingly, they had shed no light on the mystery of the secret place. Elena had spoken more about feeling a little like an outcast and referred a lot to the ‘troubling times’ they were in then. Now I knew she must have been referring to the war.

  I smoothed open the tea-coloured pages.

  2 March 1940

  To my dear diary,

  I almost revealed my secret place today—completely unintentionally, of course! I was walking along the landing of the first floor and had made it right to the far wall. I’d already shifted the panel and, just as I was about to crawl in, I heard someone coming up the stairs! I was able to shut the panel just as Cordelia reached the landing, but she eyed me sus
piciously before going on her way.

  I felt a pang, although I must say, people looking at me suspiciously is not something new. In these troubled times of war, everyone seems to have an eye for suspicion. I heard some of the girls at tea-time saying that Papa was probably making equipment for the enemy in his workshop. So hurtful! Papa only makes things of great beauty.

  Which brings me to my exciting piece of news! My gift from Papa finally arrived and it is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen him create! It is an Italian sparrow brooch, and reminds me of the birds from home. It is made of pure, glistening gold and Papa has moulded it so perfectly that the golden feathers look as if they should be soft to the touch. Of course, they are smooth and cold, as metal is, but from a distance they shimmer like the feathers of a real bird. The pin on the back is long and sharp, and fastens with what I can see is a clasp of high quality.

  I will wear it on my school dress with pride—a symbol of home.

  I must go now, my diary.

  Elena

  I read back over the entry, my heart beating wildly. This was the most detail Elena had ever given in relation to her secret place. I knew from the library that the main house she spoke of was our dormitory. And in this entry, she spoke of a panel on the far wall of the first floor hallway. That was the very floor my room was on!

  I leapt off my bed and peeked into the hallway. There was no sign of Grace, Zoe or Violet, disappointingly. I wanted to share this secret and, hopefully, explore the secret place with my friends. But they must have all been at after-school activities. I was too anxious to start searching for the secret place to wait for them, so I went back into my dorm room and slipped my school shoes on.

  I tiptoed down the hallway to the end of the corridor and looked at the wall blankly. There didn’t seem to be a door or opening anywhere. I felt along the wall for some kind of secret catch or knob, but found nothing. I looked up, but the wall seemed to meet the ceiling in a very ordinary way—no cracks of sunlight peeping through. I frowned.