In the Fifth at Malory Towers (8 page)

“You look hot and bothered, Mam’zelle,” said Miss Potts, sympathetically.

“Ah — this June — she swells up like a frog — under my eyes!” began Mam’zelle, fiercely, swelling up too. Then she saw Miss Potts” astonished look, and she smiled suddenly. She opened her mouth and laughed. She rolled in her seat and roared.

“Oh, these treeks! One of these days I too will play a treek. It shall be
superbe
,
magnifique
,
merveilleuse
. Ha, one day I too will play a treek!”

DARRELL told Alicia about June’s idiotic trick. Alicia laughed. “It’s in the family, isn’t it! I and my brothers are trick-mad, and now June, my cousin, is going the same way. It’s a pity we’re in the fifth. I feel it wouldn’t be very dignified to play any of our tricks now.”

Darrell sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Growing-up has its drawbacks, and that’s one of them. We have to be dignified and give up some of our silly ideas — but oh, Alicia, I
wish
you could have seen June all blown up — honestly it was as good as any of
your
tricks!”

“It’s a pity that cousin of mine is such a hard and brazen little wretch,” said Alicia. “I don’t actually feel she’s afraid of
anything
— except perhaps my brother Sam. The odd thing is she simply adores him, though he’s given her some first-class spankings, and won’t stand a scrap of nonsense from her when she comes to stay.”

“You can’t seem to
get
at her, somehow,” said Darrell. “I mean — she doesn’t seem to care. Well — she’s a bit like you, you know, Alicia — though you’re a lot better now!”

Alicia went rather pink. “All right. Don’t rub it in. I know I’m hard, but you won’t make me any better by telling me! You’ve probably not noticed it but I have tried to be more sympathetic with fools and donkeys! Of course, not being either yourself you’ve had no chance of seeing it.”

Darrell laughed. She slipped her arm through Alicia’s. “You’re a bit of a donkey yourself,” she said. “But there’s one thing about you that sticks out a mile — and that is your absolute straightness — and I don’t feel that about June. Do you? I feel it about my sister Felicity — you could trust her anywhere at any time — but not June. There’s something sly about her as well as hard.”

“Well, we’ll have to lick her into shape whilst we’re still at Malory Towers,” said Alicia. “We’ve got two more years to do it in — and then off we go to college — leaving kids like June and Felicity behind to carry on!”

June arrived in the fifth-form common room on Tuesday evening to say her lines to Alicia and Darrell. She looked very sulky. The girls, who were most of them busy with odd jobs such as darning, making out lists, rewriting work, writing letters home and so on, looked up as June strode into the room.

“Don’t you know that a lower school kid knocks before she comes in?” said Moira.

June said nothing, but glowered.

“Go out, knock and wait till you’re told to come in,” ordered Moira, in her dictatorial voice. June hesitated. She detested being ordered about.

Moira felt in her pocket for her little Punishment Book, and June fled. She didn’t want any more lines!

“I never knew anyone who so badly needed licking into shape,” said Moira, grimly. “Little toad! I know she’s your cousin, Alicia, but she’s no credit to you!”

“I can’t say your sister Bridget is much credit to you either,” retorted Alicia. She didn’t particularly want to defend June, but she resented Moira’s high and mighty manner. Let her look after her own bad-mannered sister!

“June’s knocked twice already,” said Catherine. “Oughtn't we to say “come in”?”

“When I say so,” said Moira. “Do her good to wait.”

June knocked again. “Come in,” said Moira, and June came in, red and furious. She went to Darrell and silently gave her the book out of which she had learnt her lines.

“Repeat them to me,” said Darrell. June gabbled them off without a single mistake. Darrell looked at her. She really was very like Alicia — and she had Alicia’s marvellous memory, too. No doubt it had taken June only about five minutes to memorize that long poem.

She went to Alicia, and gabbled off what she had learnt for her, again with no mistake. “Right,” said Alicia. “You can go — and if you don’t want to spend the whole of this term learning lines, try to be more civil to your elders.”

June scowled. Belinda whipped out her pencil.

“Hold it!” she said to the surprised June. “Yes — just like that — mouth down, brows frowning, surly expression. Hold it, hold it! I want it for my Scowl Book. It’s called 'How to Scowl', and it’s really interesting. You should see some of the scowls I’ve got!”

Moira and Gwendoline, who knew they had contributed to this unique book, immediately scowled with annoyance, and then straightened their faces at once in case Belinda saw them. Blow Belinda! One couldn’t even scowl in peace with her around.

June stood still, scowling even more fiercely. “Done?” she said at last. “Well, I wish you joy of all your scowls — I’ll be willing to come along and offer you a good selection any time you like. It’s an easy thing to do when any fifth — former is around.”

She stalked off, feeling in her pocket for the lines she had learnt for Mam’zelle. They hadn’t really taken her very long. Thank goodness for a parrot memory! June had only to read lines through once, saying them out loud, to know them. Others with less good memories envied her tremendously. It didn’t seem fair that June, who tried so little, could do such good work, and that they, who tried so hard, very often only produced bad or ordinary work!

“Blow!” said Irene, suddenly, putting down her pencil. She had been composing a little galloping tune, the one that had been in her head for some time after she had heard the galloping hooves of the horses in the drive. “I’m just nicely in the middle of this tirretty-too tune — and I’ve just remembered it’s my turn to do the flowers in the classroom. I ought to go and pick them before it’s quite dark.”

“Let
me
go,” said Catherine, putting down her darning. “I’ll be pleased to do it for you. You’re
such
a genius, Irene — you just go on with your tune. I’m only an ordinary mortal — no gifts at all — and it’s a pleasure to do what little I can.”

She smiled her beaming smile, and Irene felt slightly sick. Everyone was getting tired of Catherine and her martyr-like ways. She was always putting herself out for someone, offering to do the jobs nobody else wanted to do, belittling herself, and praising others extravagantly.

“No thanks,” said Irene, shortly. “It’s my job and I must do it.”

“How like you to feel like that!” gushed Catherine. “Well — I’m quite busy darning Gwendoline's stocking, so if you
really
wouldn’t like me to do the flowers for you, I’ll...”

But Irene was gone. She slammed the door and nobody except Catherine minded. They all felt like slamming the door themselves.

“I do think Irene might have said thank you,” said Catherine, in rather a hurt voice. “Don’t you, Maureen?”

Maureen felt that everyone was waiting to pounce on her if she dared to say “yes”. Irene was so very popular. She was hesitating how to answer when the door opened and Irene came back.

“Someone’s done the flowers!” she said.

“Yes — now I come to think of it, I saw Clarissa doing them,” said Mavis.

“What on earth for?” demanded Irene. “Gosh — I hope people aren’t going to run round after me doing my jobs! I’m still perfectly capable of doing them.”

“Well,” said Darrell, suddenly remembering, “it’s Clarissa's week, idiot. Your week is next week. You looked it up this morning.”

“Gosh!” said Irene again, with a comical air of dismay. “I’m nuts! I go and interrupt my own bit of composing, and rush off to do a job I’m not supposed to do till next week. Anyway — it gave dear Catherine a chance to make one of her generous offers!”

“That’s not kind of you, Irene,” said Catherine, flushing. “But never mind — I do understand. If I could compose like you I’d say nasty things sometimes, I expect! I do understand.”

“Could you stop being forgiving and understanding long enough for me to finish my tune?” said Irene, in a dangerous voice. “I don’t care if you “understand” or not — all I care about at the moment is to finish this.”

Catherine put on a saintly face, pressed her lips together as if stopping herself from retorting, and went on darning.

There was a knock at the door. Irene groaned. “Go away! Don’t come in!”

The door opened and Connie’s face peered round. “Is Ruth here? Ruth, can you come for a minute? Bridget is out here. We’ve got rather a good idea.”

“I don’t like Bridget,” said Ruth, in a low voice. “And anyway I’m busy. So's everyone else here.”

“But, Ruth — I’ve hardly seen you this week,” protested Connie. “Come on out for a minute. By the way, I’ve mended your roller-skates for you. They’re ready for you to use again.”

Irene groaned. Darrell groaned, too. She was trying to draft out the third act of the pantomime.

“Either tell Connie to go, or go yourself,” said Irene. “If not,
I’ll
go! I’ll go and sit in the bathroom and take this with me. Perhaps I’ll get a few minutes peace then. Tirretty-tirretty-too. Yes, I think I’ll go.”

She got up. Connie fled, thinking Irene was going to row her. Ruth looked round apologetically, but said nothing.

“It’s all right,” said Darrell, softly. “Keep Connie at arm’s length till she leaves you in peace, Ruth — and don’t worry about it!”

But Catherine had to be silly about it, of course. “Poor Connie,” she said. “I really can’t help feeling sorry for her. We oughtn't to be too hard on her, ought we?”

NOW the days began to slip by more quickly. Two weeks went — three weeks — and then the fourth week turned up and began to slip away, too.

Everything was going well. There was no illness in the school. The weather was fine, so that the playing fields were in use every day, and there was plenty of practice for everyone. Work was going well, and except for the real duds, nobody was doing badly. Five lacrosse matches had already been won by the school, and Darrell, as games captain for the fifth, was in the seventh heaven of delight.

She had played in two of the matches, and had shot both the winning goals. Felicity had gone nearly mad with joy. She had been able to watch Darrell in both because they were home matches. Felicity redoubled her practices and begged Darrell for all the coaching time she could spare. She was reserve for the fourth school-team, and was determined to be in it before the end of the term.

The plans for the Christmas entertainment were going well, too. So far no help had been asked from either Mr. Young, the music-master, or Miss Greening, the elocution mistress. The girls had planned everything themselves.

Darrell had been amazed at the way she and Sally had been able to grasp the planning of a big pantomime. At first it had seemed a hopeless task, and Darrell hadn’t had the faintest idea how to set about it. But now, having got down to it with Sally, having read up a few other plays and pantomimes, and got the general idea, she was finding that she seemed to have quite a gift for working out a new one!

“It’s wonderful!” she said to Sally. “I didn’t know I
could
. I’m loving it. I say, Sally — do you think, do you possibly think I might have a sort of gift that way? I never thought I had any gift at all.”

“Yes,” said Sally, loyally. “I think you
have
got a gift for this kind of thing. That’s the best of a school like this, that has so many many interests — there’s something for everybody — and if you
have
got a hidden or sleeping gift you’re likely to find it, and be able to use it. There’s your way of scribbling down verse, too — I never knew you could do that before!”

“Nor did I, really,” said Darrell. She fished among her papers and pulled out a scribbled sheet. “Can I read you this, Sally? It’s the song Cinderella is supposed to sing as she sits by the fire, alone. Her sisters have gone to the ball. Listen:

“By the fire I sit and dream

And in the flames I see,

Pictures of the lovely things

That never come to me,

That never come to me,

Ah me!

Carriages, a lovely gown,

A flowing silver cloak —

The embers move, the picture’s gone,

My dreams go up in smoke,

My dreams go up in smoke,

In smoke!”

She stopped. “That’s as far as I’ve got with that song. Of course, I know it’s not awfully good, and certainly not poetry, only just verse — but I never in my life knew I could even put things in rhyme! And, of course, Irene just gobbles them up, and sets them to delicious tunes in no time.”

“Yes. It’s very good,” said Sally. “You do enjoy it all, too, don’t you? I say — what
will
your parents think when they come to the pantomime and see on the programme that Darrell Rivers has written the words — and the songs, too!”

“I don’t know. I don’t think they’ll believe it,” said Darrell.

Darrell was not the only member of the fifth form enjoying herself over the production of the pantomime. Irene was too — she was setting Darrell’s songs to exactly the right tunes, and scribbling down the harmonies as if she had been composing all her life long — as she very nearly had, for Irene was humming melodies before she was one year old!

The class were used to seeing Irene coming along the corridor or up the stairs, bumping unseeingly into them, humming a new tune. “Tumty-ta, ti-ta, ti-ta, tumty-too. Oh, sorry, Mavis. I honestly didn’t see you. Tumty-ta, ti-ta-gosh, did I hurt you, Catherine. I never saw you coming.”

“Oh, that’s
quite
all right,” said Catherine, gently, patting Irene on the arm, and making her shy away at once. “We don’t have geniuses like you every...”

But Irene was gone. How she detested Catherine with her humble ways, and her continual air of sacrificing herself for others!

“Tumty-ta, ti-ta,” she hummed suddenly in class, and banged her hand down on the desk. “Got it! Of course, that’s it! Oh, sorry, Miss Jimmy — er, James, I mean, Miss James. I just got carried away for a moment. I’ve been haunted by...”