Founded 1851. Headmistress; Miss A. Craven. The maroon and grey lettering of the large painted sign more or less matched the colours of her uniform – maroon blazer over a grey tunic. And the pale yellow background of the sign was a similar colour to that of the ludicrous straw hat that lay upon the buckboard seat between her and Robert. The words MISS A. CRAVEN appeared to have been painted more recently than the rest, the raised outline of a previous name just visible in the Saturday morning sunshine. Celandine had plenty of time to study these things because there was an obstruction up ahead – a motor coach and a carriage had between them blocked the steep curving driveway that led to the school. There was no point in Robert trying to go any further until the way was clear. It began to look as though they might be stuck there for quite a while, and Robert finally said, ‘P’raps you should walk on up, miss. ’Tain’t very far. I can drop your boxes at porter’s lodge when I gets there.’ ‘Yes, all right.’ She waited to be helped down from the pony trap, and then stood awkwardly holding her hat whilst Robert retrieved her large canvas bag from among the other things that were stacked at the back.
