Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 15.

by Melissa 

Part 15. Talking to the dean at last. 

The next day, I stood nervously in the hallway of Elmwood Academy, my heart racing as I saw the message flashed by the biometrics system after I had placed my hand on the fingerprint scanner to access to the laundry room: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Please suspend current cleaning duties and report immediately to the dean, Mrs. Cavendish." 

Rejoicing inwardly, I offered a silent prayer of thanks to Agnès, the receptionist. Her initiative in snagging this meeting with the dean had potentially saved the day. Now, I'd finally have a chance to explain myself to Mrs. Cavendish, the one person with the power to resolve this bureaucratic nightmare. Crucially, she could update my registration in the biometrics system and undo the identity mix-up that led me to be mistaken for my namesake, a delinquent girl sentenced by a Court to community service as school maid under the strict supervision of Mrs Henderson, the head maid. 

Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mrs. Henderson, who had been keeping a close eye on me. "Melissa, I've been meaning to warn you," she began, her tone grave. "Tread very carefully around Mrs. Cavendish, the dean. She's a woman of formidable sternness. If you claim to be a student and she doubts your word, things could turn ugly fast. She has the power to dish out extreme punishments, and even with my best efforts, there'd be nothing I could do to shield you from her wrath. Trust me, for your own safety, it's best to avoid telling her about any fantasies of being a student." 

I braced myself and decided to tell the truth. "I've got to do what's right, Ma'am, and that means clearing my name."

 

Mrs. Henderson took a deep breath and looked at me with concern. "As a tale of caution," she said, "I will tell you about something that happened during the first week of my employment as a maid at Elmwood Academy. This story involved a student named Emily. She had been caught lying to a teacher, and the punishment for such an infraction was severe. Mrs. Cavendish didn't even bother to ask Emily why she had disobeyed the rules. Instead, the girl was given a choice: either being expelled with no hope of setting foot in the school ever again or being punished as Mrs. Cavendish saw fit. Not wanting to leave the school and all her friends, Emily decided to stay and accept the punishment, without even knowing what it was. Mrs. Cavendish simply walked over to her desk, took out her trusty ruler, and ordered Emily to bend over. Well, you can guess what happened next. Let's just say that Emily's behind glowed like a beacon for the rest of the day. And when Mrs. Cavendish was finished, she also made poor Emily write out 'I will obey the rules of Elmwood Academy and never lie again' a hundred times on a blackboard. And remember that Emily was a privileged student. Mrs. Cavendish is not likely to show the same respect and leniency to a delinquent school maid caught in a lie." 

Mrs. Henderson's words sent a shiver down my spine. I knew that Mrs. Henderson was meaning well, and the thought of being punished by Mrs. Cavendish was indeed terrifying. "I understand, Ma'am", I replied, "and I thank you for your concern. But I have no choice but to explain myself to the dean. I just want to get back to my life and to pursue my education." 

"I can see that you've already made up your mind," Mrs. Henderson's voice quivered with a mix of resignation and fear, "and that nothing will change it. I'm trembling for you, Melissa, but I wish you good luck on the perilous path you've chosen. You will need it. And be certain never to contradict Mrs. Cavendish and make sure to obey her every command to the letter." 

With a deep breath and a silent plea for composure, I nodded to myself. Wiping my sweaty palms on my apron, I made my way to the dean's office. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, threatening to burst free. Timidly, I rapped my knuckles on the heavy oak door. "Come in!" barked a stern voice from the other side. Hesitantly, I pushed the door open, my eyes immediately snagged on the imposing figure of Mrs. Cavendish, enthroned behind her expansive desk. Clad in a no-nonsense skirt suit, she exuded an air of stern authority. Her sharp gaze, like a laser, scanned me from head to toe, dissecting every detail of my appearance, leaving me feeling utterly exposed. I gulped, the air suddenly thick and suffocating. In that moment, all I craved was to melt into the floorboards and vanish completely. 

After dropping a curtsy, I bit my lip nervously, my heart pounding as I gazed into the cold, steely eyes of Mrs. Cavendish. The dean's office was impeccably tidy, with not a speck of dust anywhere; even the books on the shelf seemed to be arranged in perfect alignment. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling more out of place than ever before. I took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to speak. "Um... Ma'am. Mrs. Cavendish?" I began tentatively. 

The woman fixed me with an unyielding stare. Her gaze was like a spotlight, pinning me in place and demanding an answer. The air crackled with unspoken tension. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and gravelly. "Yes, girl...?" she prompted, the question mark a mere formality. It was clear she expected an explanation, and the weight of her unspoken judgment settled heavily on my shoulders. I swallowed hard, my mind racing for the right words. 

I swallowed hard. "I'm not... I'm not supposed to be a school maid, Ma'am. You see, there's been a mistake. I'm not the girl who was sentenced to community service. My name is Melissa Jones, but I'm supposed to be a student here." 

The dean's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really?" she drawled, her voice laced with scepticism. "Please, place your finger on the biometrics scanner so I can verify your identity." 

I nodded, my hands shaking slightly as I extended my index finger toward the scanner. It hummed to life, and I felt a slight pressure as it took my fingerprint. A moment later, the scanner beeped and displayed a positive match: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated." 

Mrs. Cavendish look at me. "Our Elmwood Academy biometrics system is the most advanced around, and it leaves no room for error. It confirms you are Melissa Jones, yes, but it also reveals an undeniable truth. The data screams it loud and clear: you're here as punishment, a delinquent sentenced to community service. Biometrics don't lie, girl. On the other hand, I can read here, in the file transmitted by the Court, that you are known to be a pathological liar." 

The air hung heavy with suspicion, and the weight of her words threatened to crush my carefully constructed façade. I had to think fast, to come up with an explanation that would hold water against this seemingly infallible technology. I hesitated, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. "Well, when I arrived at the school, there was a mix-up with the biometrics system. It registered me as my namesake, also called Melissa Jones, the girl who was supposed to be serving her sentence. As a result, nobody believes me when I tell them who I really am. They think I'm just lying to avoid punishment." 

The dean pursed her lips, her gaze flickering over my plain, school maid uniform. "And what makes you think that I will believe you?" she asked coldly. The question hung heavy, a challenge that dared me to bridge the vast gulf between a lowly maid and the authority she wielded. 

I swallowed hard, feeling a sting of disappointment. "I-I don't know, Ma'am. I just thought that as the dean, you would want to get to the bottom of things, and that you'd want to make sure that everyone at the school is who they say they are." 

The dean considered this for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Very well, Miss Jones. You have my attention. Please, have a seat." I tentatively took a seat across from Mrs. Cavendish, my heart racing. The dean's office was immaculate, with every surface polished to a shine and every book neatly arranged on the shelves. It was a far cry from the disarray of my own room back home. 

"Now," Mrs. Cavendish said, "if what you're saying is true, there should be another Melissa Jones in our records." The dean checked the biometrics database on her laptop. A moment later, there was a glint of surprise in her eyes. My heart leapt with relief as I glanced up at her expression. 

"Hmm," she murmured. "This is indeed quite peculiar. It seems that there are indeed two Melissa Jones' registered with us, a student and another one who is supposed to be serving her sentence as a school maid." 

I felt a surge of hope. "So you believe me, Ma'am?" I asked, my voice trembling with emotion. 

The dean gave me a thoughtful look. "I suppose it's possible that there could be an error in the system, at least in theory," she said carefully, "but it doesn't seem very likely." 

My heart sank. I knew I had to convince Mrs. Cavendish of the truth, but it was hard when the dean didn't seem to believe me. "I... I'm really a student. But when I got here, I found out that the other girl had already been registered as me. Someone also named Melissa Jones. She is the one supposed to be doing community service here, but it's not fair for me to be punished for her mistakes." 

Mrs. Cavendish pursed her lips, her expression unreadable. "And why didn't you speak up when you first arrived, Miss Jones?" she asked pointedly. "Why did you allow yourself to be processed as if you were this community service girl?" 

"By the time I arrived at Elmwood Academy," I tried to explain, "darkness had fallen, punctuated by the relentless drumming of rain. The last bus had vanished, leaving me stranded and facing a night alone in the cold and dark. Desperate for shelter, I made a foolish decision. When offered entry, I panicked and agreed to be registered in the biometrics system under that other girl's identity. It was the only way to get inside the school. But relief turned to dread as morning arrived. My pleas to explain the situation fell on deaf ears. I was stuck in a tangled web of mistaken identity and, since then, everyone believes me to be someone I am not." 

The dean leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers beneath her chin. "Hmm. Well, it's a serious matter, Miss Jones. My years of experience have honed my ability to discern fact from fiction and you can be sure, I will see through any attempts to manipulate the truth, so don't try to spin the story or bury the facts with me. If you're not telling the truth, you'll be held accountable for your deception and severely punished." 

I felt my throat tighten. I knew I had to be honest, but the fear of being punished was overwhelming. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I... I really am the student Melissa Jones, Ma'am. I swear it. I just want to join my class and study with my classmates." 

Mrs. Cavendish looked down at me in my maid's uniform and suddenly asked me to show my hands. It was an odd request, and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I couldn't help but wonder what Mrs. Cavendish was thinking. As I slowly extended my hands, palms upwards, Mrs. Cavendish studied them intently, her gaze unwavering. 

"Those are the rugged hands of a maid," Mrs. Cavendish said matter-of-factly. "A hardworking maid, who spends her days cleaning and scrubbing. Not the soft manicured hands of an upper class student." I felt a pang of disappointment. I had hoped that Mrs. Cavendish would believe me, but it seemed that my words had fallen on deaf ears. 

"Please, believe, Ma'am," I insisted, my voice wavering. "I'm not the girl who's supposed to be a school maid. I'm Melissa, a student at Elmwood Academy. As for the rough appearance of my hands, it's because I have been constantly working as a school maid since my arrival 10 days ago." Mrs. Cavendish's expression remained unchanged. 

"I understand that you're going through a difficult time, Melissa," Mrs. Cavendish said softly. "But lying about your identity won't make things any better. In fact, it could make things much worse, as I would have to report it to the Court." She paused, studying my face. "If you truly believe that you are who you say you are, then you have nothing to fear from telling the truth. But if you're trying to escape your ordeal by pretending to be someone else..." Her voice trailed off ominously. 

I felt a knot forming in my stomach. I wanted to believe that Mrs. Cavendish was on my side, but the woman's words left my feeling more uncertain than ever. I swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to speak the truth. "I really am Melissa, the student," I said, my voice shaking. "I'm not lying. I promise." As I spoke, I could feel the weight of my words pressing down on my chest. I forced herself to meet Mrs. Cavendish's gaze, hoping that the woman would finally believe me. But Mrs. Cavendish didn't look convinced. She pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully. 

"I see," she said slowly. "And what proof do you have that you are a student?" My heart sank. I didn't have any proof besides my word. "I understand that this must be difficult for you, but I cannot simply take your word for it," Mrs. Cavendish continued, "especially as the biometrics system confirms your identity as the community service girl." 

I bit my lip, feeling more desperate than ever. "I don't know what to do, Ma'am," I whispered. "I just want to go back to my life as a student. I didn't mean to cause any trouble." Tears welled up in my eyes, and I fought to keep them at bay. 

Mrs. Cavendish studied my face for a moment, her expression softening slightly. "I understand how difficult this must be for you," she said quietly. "But lying about who you are will not help you. You need to face the truth, Melissa." She reached out and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "If you truly are the upper class student you say you are, then there's no need to be afraid. You have nothing to hide. But if you're not being honest with me... If you're just a lower class girl trying to escape punishment..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air. 

"Let me be clear," she insisted, "I can see in your file that the conditions of your community service are extremely harsh and humiliating, and I could conceive that you might believe that the way you are treated is unfair. But think hard before answering my next question. Are you really sure about what you just told me? If you admit now that you have been lying to me, I will forget this conversation and you won't be punished. Otherwise, if you are caught lying, the judge will know it and the consequences for you are likely to be severe." 

Mrs. Cavendish paused, letting her words sink in. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up or escape. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my palms were sweaty. 

"I understand that you are frightened," the dean said more gently. "But you must understand that lying will only make things worse." 

I felt a wave of panic wash over me as I considered the dean's words. But I was telling the truth, so I took a deep breath and steeled myself before responding, my voice trembling slightly. "I-I'm sorry, Ma'am," I stammered, my heart pounding in my chest, "I just want to go back to my life as a student. I am really Melissa, the student. I swear it. I'm sorry for causing all this trouble. I'll do whatever I can to make it up." Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I could feel the weight of her gaze on me, assessing my sincerity. 

The dean studied my face for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Very well, Miss... Jones, I'll look into this matter further. "In the meantime, however, I must treat you as the Melissa Jones who is serving her sentence. You will continue with your duties as the school maid until we can sort this out." 

I felt my heart sink. "But I didn't do anything wrong!" I protested. "I don't want to be punished for something I didn't do!" 

Mrs. Cavendish's expression hardened. "I understand that this is a difficult situation for you, girl," she said, no longer calling me "Miss Jones", "but until we can sort out this possible misunderstanding, you will have to obey the rules and fulfil your duties as a school maid. Do you understand?" 

My shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes, Ma'am," I mumbled. "I understand." 

The dean reached across her desk, handing me a piece of paper and a pen. "Here is a form for you to fill out with your information. Please make sure you include your full name, date and place of birth, former schools and details about your parents and other people who might vouch for your identity." 

I picked up the pen and started filling in the form, my hand shaking as I wrote down my personal details. When I got to the part about my parents, I indicated that, due to their scientific expedition, they would be out of touch for several months. I also added Maria's contact details. Agnès, the receptionist, had promised to call her as soon as possible about my letter of apology, so hopefully she would have received and read my letter before the dean might contact her to vouch for my identity. 

When I had finished to write, Mrs. Cavendish took the form and set it aside. "I will look into this matter as soon as possible," she said, her tone indicating that she was not entirely convinced of my story. "In the meantime, you'll continue to perform your cleaning duties, and you'd better do it without complaining. Do not think that you can simply ignore your responsibilities because you pretend to be the victim of some sort of mistake." 

"Thank you for hearing me out, Ma'am," I said, forcing a brave smile. "I appreciate your willingness to look into this matter. I'll do my best to fulfil my duties as a school maid while we wait for the truth to come out." 

"You're dismissed, girl," Mrs. Cavendish told me, still looking at me with suspicion. "Now get back to your cleaning duties. Chop chop." 

The curt "chop chop" sent a jolt through me, reminding me of my precarious position as a lowly servant. With a forced smile, I rose from my chair and dropped a curtsy. "Yes Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am." 

As I turned to leave the dean's office, I let out a sigh of relief, grateful that I hadn't been immediately punished. But, at the same time, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had somehow gotten myself into a much bigger mess than I had bargained for. I felt a knot forming in my stomach and knew that proving my innocence was going to be an uphill battle, but I refused to give up hope. I made a silent vow to myself: I would find a way to clear my name, no matter what it took.