HIRSTMERE HALL: THE FENCING MISTRESS
Parry! – lunge! – parry! – our blades made a sharp metallic sound as they clashed together. Then I over-committed myself in an attack and left an opening, which Miss Champney was quick to exploit. With lightning speed, the tip of her foil flicked against the padded collar of my protective tunic, and our practice bout was over. I wasn’t disappointed that she had won – she is my coach, and had been testing me on some new feints that she had demonstrated earlier in the training session. My name is Rebecca, but everyone calls me ‘Becky’ for short. I am nearly sixteen and a half years old and a pupil at Hirstmere Hall, an exclusive boarding school for girls in the south of England – what we in Britain call a ‘public school’, but …