Elves and Escapades (Scholars and Sorcery Book 2) (2 page)

“Rosalind, I just love being with you. I love—”

The door swings open, and I instinctively snatch my hands away. Rosalind turns sharply on her heel and steps away as Frances clumps into the room.
 

Heat bursts into my cheeks, and tears, unexpectedly, to my eyes. I feel as if I have been caught at some guilty, underhand act.

“Oh, goodness, not you two as well!” Frances, usually the jolliest and most even tempered of girls, sounds thoroughly put out.

The burning in my cheeks grows worse. Surely Frances, of all people, didn’t understand what she had come upon.
 

“We two as well?” Rosalind echoes. Her voice is soft and hesitant. “What do you mean?”

“There’s been more than enough quarrels between friends this term!” Frances sniffs heavily, and pulls out a handkerchief, mopping her ruddy nose. “Honestly, I’ve just had Constance and Patty at each other’s throats over a dropped spoon, and I haven’t the patience for more rows when I have a headache and the sniffles coming on. Whatever it is, you two had better kiss and make up, for my sake as well as yours.”

I think for a moment about protesting, then shut my mouth. How exactly else to explain what had been going on? I had clearly made Rosalind uncomfortable enough already.

Besides, the mention of kissing has started me off blushing again.

“You’re one to talk about quarrels, my girl,” I say, trying to draw the attention away from my discomfiture. “You and Gladys haven’t been speaking to each other all term.”

I’m immediately remorseful. Frances’s eyes well up and she rubs her arm distractedly.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t cry!” I jump up in alarm, and put an arm around Frances’s plump back. “Dry up, old dear, and tell Aunt Charlotte all about it.”

She gives me a watery smile and lets me put her in the chair I have just absented. I press my cup of tea on her and go to sit on the table, swinging my legs. Rosalind quietly takes the other arm chair. Her own cheeks are very pink. Between the three of us, we rather resemble a field of strawberries.

“There’s nothing to tell.” Frances sneezes into her hanky, and keeps it against her face longer than strictly necessary. When she lowers it, her face is dry again. “Gladys simply got into one of her foul moods halfway through the hols, and never got out of it again. I have no idea what set it off, and she won’t tell me.”

“Do you want me to talk to her and find out what the problem is?” I offer. Gladys is not really the most inviting girl to ask for girlish confidences, but I’m as much her friend as anybody, except Cecily—and Frances, of course. Well, until this term.

“No,” Frances says, with unusual sharpness. “Not until she apologises. She’s been truly horrid, saying something nasty at every turn. She really let me down over Guides, you know, and she used to be so keen. She said it was for little girls!” Her voice rises in wounded outrage. “For little girls who play with dolls. Like me.”

“Oh, not your beautiful wax dolls!” Rosalind says in her soft voice. I shudder. I have tried not to notice the blank, cracked faces and rosebud mouths of the objects in ruffled silk on the top shelf of the study. “That’s so unfair. They’re family heirlooms.”

“From her great grandmother as well as mine!” Frances huffs her breath out, then sighs. “No use going over it, girls. I’m well rid of her. To be honest, it’s nice not having someone constantly overriding my decisions and ordering me around all the time.” She smiles at Rosalind, and I feel a little lurch in my stomach. “After all, I have the loveliest study-mate for company.”

Rosalind pats her hand fondly, and I stifle a stupid rush of jealousy.

My hopes of an intimate afternoon with Rosalind are thoroughly spoiled as Frances busies herself making more tea for us all. Probably all to the good, I tell myself, if I can’t trust myself not to make inconvenient confessions if left alone with the girl for a moment.

I hold on to the thought that it is for the best, as Frances cheers up over a game of cards, and everything seems back to normal between myself and Rosalind.

Normal meaning a kind of hopeless yearning on my part, and a terror of frightening her away.

That evening, when the Blue Dormitory is in a jubilant mood after the triumph of two out of three of our hockey teams, Rosalind drifts over to my cubicle and pulls the curtain across behind her, not at all succeeding in blocking the noise out.

“What’s the matter?”

She sits gracefully down on my bed.

“Poor Frances,” she says, unexpectedly. “To have driven Gladys away like that, and not to know what she’s done.”

“It’s a shame,” I say vaguely, plumping down beside her in a decidedly less elegant manner. “None of our business really, though.”

“I know how she feels.” Rosalind drops her chin down. “I do the same, you know. Drive my friends away.”

“I can hardly believe that!” Outside the cubicle, Gladys is describing her own heroics on the field, with Esther’s smooth voice cutting sardonically in. I suppose, as Games Captain, I ought to be out there, showing an interest.
 

Not until I work out why Rosalind’s lower lip is trembling.

I look helplessly at her. A small, pointed eared girl, looking much younger than her years, with blue eyes behind thick round spectacles. Hardly intimidating. Difficult to get to know, certainly, with her reserved manner, but not the kind of person to drive anyone away once you do get past her walls.

“It’s true.” She balls up her hands in fists.

“The quarrel with Diana was my fault, not yours, and in any case, she’s not much loss. Cheer up. I can’t imagine you scaring anyone off.”

“It’s true, I tell you!” She seizes my hand. “Charley, you don’t know the half of me. I’m dishonest, right to the bone.”

Gladys has lost her temper thoroughly at Esther now. There’s a shriek, and Cecily steps in, ordering Gladys to fetch some water and calm down right now and that she’ll be paying for it if Esther’s pyjamas are scorched. In other circumstances, I would be out there to back Cecily up and, later, to jeer mercilessly at Esther for getting her comeuppance for once. Right now, I am rooted to the bed, trapped by Rosalind’s slender fingers wrapped around my hand.

“I don’t really believe that for a moment.” I squeeze her hand. “You’re the most straightforward girl I know, in your own way. Even if it’s true, though, you know I promised to be your friend always. I keep my word. There’s nothing you can tell me that would stop us being friends.”

“Do you truly mean that?” She tightens her grip on my hand in return, until it almost hurts.

“Naturally I do.” I’m confused.

The curtain is flung open, and Cecily throws herself on the bed. “I’m hiding in here,” she declares, “until Gladys and Esther make up and Gladys stops setting fire to things. Hope you don’t mind.” She punches my pillow and arranges it under her head.

“Not at all,” I say courteously. “Shall I sleep on the floor?”

“If you like.” Cecily smiles graciously at me.

I let go of Rosalind’s hand and concentrate on beating Cecily with my pyjamas. To my delight, Rosalind even giggles a little, forgetting her sombre mood.

She is far too serious, that girl. As if she could ever do anything wrong enough to be worthy of such dramatics.

“Will you come to rehearsal tonight, Charles?” Esther asks, somewhat unexpectedly, linking her arm through mine as we go in to luncheon. “I’d be interested in your opinion.”

I hesitate only for a moment before nodding. I have very few free evenings, these days. Still, I can’t bring myself to refuse, despite the preciousness of my unaccounted for time. After all, I’m gated, and it’s not like I can sneak off with Rosalind to check on Ember and little Sunflame. Esther asks little enough of me as a rule, for all her nonchalant loyalty in the matter of games and defending me against deadly personal enemies.

The thought of deadly personal enemies makes me ask, “Of your performance, or…” I drop into my seat.

Esther grimaces. “I will admit that my usually swollen head might benefit from a little inflating from someone immune to, shall we say, certain Charms. Hi, Cissy, come to rehearsal? Our sporting Games Captain needs a chaperone among all these artistic theatrical types. And you need a break from Head Girl duties.”

Cecily looks up from a confab at the next table with Marion over, I assume, prefect business, and smiles. “I think casting a benevolent eye over your play counts as Head Girl duties, dearest, not a break. Of course I’ll come and hold your precious Charles’ hand for you.” I fancy for a second that Rosalind gives a quick darting glance over at us. “I’ll give you heaps of helpful criticism, as well.”

“I’m sure you will.” Esther grins at me. “What ever did we do to deserve such a tyrannous Australian foisted on us, Charley? You’ll have to protect me from her scathing tongue.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promise, helping myself to potatoes.

I’m not a devotee of Tennyson, but we studied
The Princess
in English last year, and I’ve seen Gilbert and Sullivan’s
Princess Ida
one Christmas, and Diana is very little like my idea of the Princess. Imperious, yes, and charming. Confident in her lines. Just lacking in fire, and really coming across as almost petty in her resistance to Hilarion’s blandishments, rather than with the strength of a passionate conviction of women’s need for independence.

Rae is perfectly acceptable as Prince Hilarion, but I can’t help imagining how much better Esther would be in the role. She has much more power and charm, even in the role of Melissa. When Esther plays against Azalea, who seems to have gotten the role of Florian through pure seniority rather than any talent, she carries most of the weight of the romance even though it should by rights be the other way around. I can only imagine how much more seductive and commanding Esther would be as Hilarion, how much more alluring to the Princess. It would not matter in the least that Diana towers over her.

Except I don’t really have to imagine Esther being alluring. I remember certain looks, certain tones of voice, and blush a little, trying to keep my mind back on the play. I am supremely conscious of Cecily beside me.

Trying to divert my mind, as the rehearsal descends into a heap of recriminations over Azalea’s inability to remember her lines and Esther’s manifest cruelty in loudly prompting her with exaggerated inflections, I ask Cecily:

“Know what’s up between your study-mate and her former shadow?”

“Not a smidgen of a clue. Gladys has so far rejected all invitations to confide in me.” She purses her lips for a moment, obviously considering how much it’s decent to tell me. “She’s pretty torn up about it, I think. Awful temper. I mean, more awful than is usual for her. When our little gas ring wouldn’t light, she nearly scorched her eyebrows blasting it.” She sighs. “Poor old thing.”

“I like Frances,” I say, slowly. “She’s a sport. I like Gladys, too. It seems a shame.”

“It is. But, Charley, my love, for goodness sake don’t go shoving your nose in their business. You have quite enough to worry about with your own affairs.”

There’s a warning tone in her voice that makes me stiffen a little. I stare down at my hands, wondering how much she knows, how much she has felt coming from me with her Sensitive nature. I am seized by a strange impulse to confess and have one person, just one person who might understand and forgive, to hear all my silent faults and worries.

“Oh, Charles always has enough affairs on her hands.” Esther’s voice, honey smooth, cuts into my thoughts. “Come along, my bosom darlings. Seeing Azalea knows her lines
perfectly
without needing
my
stuck-up help, there’s no need for me to stick around to rehearse with her.”

“Did anyone ever tell you, Es, that you sometimes lack the feather light touch of a tactful woman?” Cecily says mildly, as Esther ushers us out.

“Frequently. They are, of course, mistaken.”

“Is it really all right to storm out like that?” I say.

“Oh, perfectly. What are they going to do—give me a
worse
part?” Esther asks bitterly, tightening her grip on our arms. “Come along, my dears, and help me get this poisonous temper out of me, or I’ll start setting fire to things like Gladys. A good, vicious game of Old Maid should do it. No prisoners taken.”