In the Fifth at Malory Towers (12 page)

“It was mean to say all that in front of us,” she began. “She should have...”

“What does it matter?” said June, suddenly jaunty again. “Do you suppose I care tuppence for Moira, or Darrell or Alicia — or
any
of those stuck-up fifth-formers?”

A GRAND meeting was called to discuss the pantomime, the casting of the characters, and the times of rehearsal. Darrell had finished her writing, and Irene had completed the music. Everything was ready for rehearsal.

All the fifth-formers attended the meeting in the North Tower common room. It was very crowded. A fire burned in the big fireplace, for it was now October and the nights were cold.

Moira was in the chair. Catherine — rather a quiet and sulky Catherine, not quite so free with her beaming smile — was at her left hand, ready to provide her with anything she wanted. The committee sat on chairs on each side of the table.

Moira banged on the table with a book, and shouted for silence. She got it. People always automatically obeyed Moira! She had that kind of voice, crisp and curt.

The meeting began. Darrell was called upon to explain the pantomime and the characters in it. She was also asked to read the first act.

Very flushed and excited she gave the listening fifth-formers a short summary of the pantomime. They listened with much approval. It sounded very good.

Then, stammering a little at first, Darrell read the first act of the pantomime, just as she had written it, dialogue, songs, stage directions and everything. There was a deep silence as she read on.

“That’s the end of the act,” she said at last, raising her eyes half-shyly, not absolutely certain if she had carried her listeners with her or not.

There was no doubt about that a second later. The girls stamped and clapped and cheered. Darrell was so pleased that she felt hot with joy, and had to wipe her forehead dry.

Moira banged for silence.

“Well, you’ve all heard what a jolly good play Darrell and Sally have got together,” she said. “Darrell did most of it — but Sally was splendid too. You can tell it will bring the house down if we can produce it properly.”

“Who’s going to produce it?” called Betty.

“I am,” said Moira, promptly. “Any objections?”

There were quite a lot of doubtful faces. Nobody really doubted Moira’s ability to produce a pantomime — but they did doubt her talent for getting the best out of people. She rubbed them up the wrong way so much.

“I think it would be better to have two producers,” said somebody.

“Right,” said Moira, promptly. She didn’t mind how many there were so long as she was one of them. She meant to be the
real
producer, anyway. “Who do you want?”

“Betty, Betty!” shrieked half the fifth-formers. It was obviously planned. Moira frowned a little. Betty! Alicia’s laughing, careless, clever friend.

“Yes — let Betty,” said Alicia, suddenly. She felt that she wouldn’t be able to work happily with Moira alone for long. But two producers would be easier. She could consult with Betty all the time!

Betty grinned round and took her place on one of the committee chairs. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll produce the goods all right!”

“Now to choose the characters,” said Moira. “We have more or less worked them out. I’ll read them.”

Gwendoline and Maureen held their breath. Was there any hope of being Cinderella? Or even the Fairy-Godmother? Or the Prince?

Moira read the list out.

“Cinderella —
Mary-Lou
.”

There was a gasp from Mary-Lou, Gwen and Maureen — of amazement from Mary-Lou and disappointment from the others.

“Oh — I
can’t
!” said Mary-Lou.

“You
can
,” said Darrell. “We want someone sort of pathetic-looking — a bit scary — someone appealing and big-eyed — and it has to be someone who can act and someone who can sing.”

“And you’re exactly right for the part,” said Sally. “That’s right — make your eyes big and scared, Mary-Lou — you’re poor little Cinderella to the life!”

Everyone laughed. Mary-Lou had to laugh, too. Her eyes began to shine. “I never thought you’d choose me,” she said.

“Well, we have,” said Darrell. “You can act very well and you’ve a nice singing voice, though it’s not very loud.”

“The Prince —
Mavis
,” said Moira. Everyone knew that already. The Prince had a lot of singing to do and Mavis would do that wonderfully well. Her voice was beautiful again, and Irene had written some lovely tunes for her to sing to Darrell’s words. Everyone clapped.

“The Baron —
Bill
,” said Moira, and there was a delighted laugh.

“Oh
yes
! Bill stamping about in riding-breeches, calling for her horse!” cried Clarissa in delight.

“Fairy-godmother —
Louella
,” said Moira. Everyone looked at Louella who came from South Tower, and had a tall, slim figure, golden curls and a good clear voice.

“Hurray!” shouted all the South Tower girls, glad to have someone from their tower in a good part.

“Buttons — the little boots —
Rachel
,” went on Moira. “Rachel can act jolly well and she’s had the same part before, so she ought to do it well.”

“Who are the Ugly Sisters?” called a voice.

Gwen’s heart suddenly gave a lurch and sank down into her shoes. Ugly Sisters! Suppose
she
had been chosen to be one? She couldn’t, couldn’t bear it. She saw Alicia gating at her maliciously and felt sure she had been chosen.

She simply couldn’t bear it. She got up, saying she didn’t feel very well, and went towards the door. Alicia smiled. She could read Gwen’s thoughts extremely well. Gwen was going because she was afraid her name would be read out next as one of the Ugly Sisters.

“Your heart worrying you again?” called one of the West Tower girls to Gwen, and everyone laughed. Gwen disappeared. She made up her mind not to go back till the meeting was over.

Maureen was also worried about the same thing. She thought about her rabbit-teeth. Moira might think she was
made
for an Ugly Sister. Why, oh why hadn’t she been sensible and had her teeth straightened when she had a chance? She drew her upper lip over them to try and hide them.

“Ugly Sisters —
Pat
— and
Rita
!” said Moira, and there was an instant roar of approval from the girls.

Pat and Rita looked round humorously. They were twins, and certainly not ugly — but they had upturned comical noses, eyes very wide-set, and hair that flew out in a shock. They were comical, good at acting, and would make a splendid pair of Ugly Sisters.

“Thanks, Moira!” called out Rita. “That suits us down to the ground — right down to our big ugly feet!”

“Demon King —
Alicia
” said Moira, and again there was a great roar of approval, led by a delighted Betty.

Moira beamed round, looking quite pleasant. “Alicia’s going to do juggling and conjuring as well as leap about the stage like a demon,” she said. “I can’t think of anyone else who could be a demon so successfully.”

More shrieks of approval. Miss James, not far off, wondered what in the world was happening. It sounded as if about fifty thousand spectators at a football match were yelling themselves hoarse.

“Jolly good casting!” called somebody. “Go on!”

“Well, now we come to the servants and courtiers and so on,” said Moira. “That means the rest of you. There’s a part for everyone, even though it may be small.”

“What about Darrell?” called a voice.

“Darrell’s written the play and will help in the producing,” said Moira. “Sally will help her too. They won’t be in it because their hands will be full. We’re going to ask Pop if he’ll do the electricity part — he’ll love it.”

Pop was the handyman of the school, very much beloved, and quite invaluable on these occasions.

“It all sounds jolly good,” said Winnie. “When are the rehearsals?”

“Every Tuesday evening, and on Friday evenings too for those who want an extra one,” said Moira. “And the parts will be sent out to everyone tomorrow. For goodness' sake learn them as quickly as you can. It’s hopeless to keep reading them when we rehearse — you can’t act properly like that.”

“You forgot to say that Irene’s done the music and Belinda the decorations and Janet’s doing the costumes,” said Darrell.

“No, I hadn’t,” said Moira, quickly. “I was coming to that. Anyway, everyone knows it. By the way, we’ll be glad of any help for Janet in making the costumes. Anyone good with their needle will be welcomed. Janet will give out the work if you’ll be decent enough to ask her for it.”

More clapping. Then a spate of excited talk. This was going to be the best pantomime ever! It would make the whole school sit up! It would bring the house down.

“There’s never been a show before where the girls wrote the songs and words and music themselves,” said Winnie. “My word — won’t the Grayling open her eyes!”

A bell went somewhere and everyone got up. “We’ll be at rehearsal! We’ll learn our parts! Mavis, what about the singing? Are you going to train the chorus?”

Chattering and calling they all went to their own Towers. Darrell sighed happily and put her arm through Sally’s.

“This is about the most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life, Sally,” she said. “You know — I shouldn’t be surprised if I don’t turn out to be a writer, one of these days!”

FELICITY came to see Darrell the next day about the match with Wellsbrough School. She looked with bright eyes at her fifth-form sister.

“I
say
! Fancy me playing in the Fourth School Team! I thought perhaps I might by the end of the term, with luck — but next week. Thanks awfully for putting me in, Darrell.”

“Well, actually — it was Moira who insisted on putting you in,” said Darrell. “I wanted to — and yet I just wondered if I was thinking favourably of you because you were my sister, you know. Then Moira said you must certainly go in, and in you went.”

“June’s awfully disappointed she’s not in,” said Felicity. “She’s been practising like anything, Darrell. She pretends she doesn’t care, but she does really. I wish she wouldn’t say such awful things about you fifth-formers all the time — she really seems to have got her knife into you. It’s horrid.”

“She’ll get over it,” said Darrell. “We don’t lose any sleep over young June, I can tell you!”

“Will you be able to come and watch the Wellsbrough match?” asked Felicity, eagerly. “Oh do. I shall play ever so much better if you’re there, yelling and cheering.”

“Of course I’ll come,” said Darrell. “And I’ll yell like anything — so just be sure you give me something to yell for!”

The first-formers prayed for a fine day for their match. It was to be at home, not away, and as it was the first time they had played Wellsbrough Fourth Team, they were really excited about it.

The senior school smiled to see the “babies” so excited. They remembered how they, too, had felt when they had the delight of playing in an important match for the very first time.

“Nice to see them so keen,” said Moira to Darrell. “I think I’ll get my lacrosse stick and go and give them a bit of coaching before dinner. I’ve got half an hour.”

“I’ll fetch your stick,” said Catherine at once, in her usual doormat voice.

“No thanks, Saint Catherine,” answered Moira, “I’m still able to walk to the locker and reach my own stick.”

The day of the match dawned bright and clear, a magnificent October day. The trees round the playing fields shone red and brown and yellow in their autumn colours. The breeze from the sea was salty and crisp. All the girls rejoiced as they got up that morning and looked out of the window. Malory Towers was so lovely on a day like this.

The happiest girls, of course, were the small first-formers, excited twelve-year-olds who talked to one another at the tops of their voices without stopping. How they ever heard what anyone else said was a mystery.

Miss Potts, the first-form mistress, was lenient that morning. So was Mam’zelle who was always excited herself when any of her classes were.

“Well, so today is your match?” she said to the first form. “You will play well,
n’est-ce pas
? You will win all the goals. I shall come to watch. And for the girl that wins a goal...”

“
Shoots
a goal, Mam’zelle,” said Susan.

“Shoots! Ah yes — but you have no gun to shoot a goal,” said Mam’zelle, who never could learn the language of sports. “Well, well — for the girl who
shoots
a goal I will say “no French prep tomorrow”!”

“But, Mam’zelle — that’s not fair!” cried a dozen voices. “We’re not all in the match — only Felicity and Susan and Vera.”

“Ah, I forgot,” said Mam’zelle. “That is so. Then what shall I say?”

“Say you’ll let us
all
off French prep for the rest of the week if we win!” called Felicity.

“No, no,” said Mam’zelle, shocked. “For one day only I said. Now, it is understood — if you win your match no French prep for you tomorrow!”

“You’re a peach, Mam’zelle,” called a delighted first-former.

“
Comment
!” said Mam’zelle, astonished. “You call me a
peach
. Never have I...”

“It’s all right, Mam’zelle — it’s a compliment,” said Felicity. Peaches are wizard.”

Mam’zelle gave it up. “Now — we will have our verbs,” she said. “Page thirty-five,
s'il vous plaît
, and no more talking.”

The Wellsbrough girls arrived at twenty past two in a big coach. They were rather older than the Malory Towers team, and seemed much bigger. The Malory Towers girls felt a little nervous. The two captains shook hands and the teams nodded and smiled at one another.

The games mistress blew her whistle and the teams came round her. The captains tossed for ends.

The teams took their positions in the field. Felicity gripped her lacrosse stick as if it might leap from her hand if she didn’t. She put on a grim expression that made everyone who saw it smile.