The Naughtiest Girl in the School (8 page)

Elizabeth was just going to say that she didn’t want to, when she saw what lovely kind eyes Rita had. Rita was looking at her, and Elizabeth thought she was the kindest-looking girl she had ever seen-even nicer than Eileen. So she walked along by Rita in silence.

“You know, Elizabeth, it is strange that no one would go with you,” said Rita. “Doesn’t anybody at all like you?”

“No,” said Elizabeth. “Don’t you remember, Rita, that I told you I was going to be as horrid as could be so that I could go home? Well, everybody thinks I am very horrid, so nobody wants to talk to me or walk with me.”

“And are you really horrid?” asked Rita.

Elizabeth looked up. She was surprised that Rita should talk to her kindly, after having found her out in disobedience. But Rita did not look angry, only very understanding and wise.

Elizabeth thought for a moment. Was she really horrid? She remembered all the governesses she had had. She remembered that Miss Scott wouldn’t stay with her. Perhaps she really and truly was a horrid girl.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I believe I am horrid really, Rita. I make myself horrider than I truly am-but all the same. I believe I can’t be very nice.”

“Poor little Elizabeth!” said Rita. “I wonder what has made you grow so horrid? You look such a nice little girl, and when you smile you are quite different. I do feel sorry for you.”

A lump suddenly came into Elizabeth’s throat, and tears into her eyes. She blinked the tears away angrily. Now Rita would think she was a baby!

“Don’t feel sorry for me Rita,” she said. “I want to be horrid, so that I can go home.”

“Couldn’t you try to be nice for a change, and just give yourself a chance?” asked Rita.

“No,” said Elizabeth. “I shan’t be sent home if I am nice. I simply must be as bad as I can be.”

“But you will make yourself very unhappy,” said Rita. “And you will make other people unhappy too.”

“Shall I?” said Elizabeth in surprise. “Well, I don’t mind making myself unhappy, if I can get what I want in the end-but I don’t want to make other people unhappy. I think I am a horrid girl, but Rita, I wish you’d believe me when I say that I really don’t mean to make the others unhappy.”

“Well, listen, Elizabeth.” said Rita, walking all the time hack towards the school, “there is someone in your room who isn’t very happy. Have you noticed it? You might at least do what you can to make things nicer for her.”

“Who is it?” asked Elizabeth in surprise.

“It is Joan,” said Rita. “She hasn’t a happy home, and she comes back to school very miserable each term. She worries about her father and mother all the time, because they don’t seem to want her or to love her. They never come to see her at half term.”

“Oh,” said Elizabeth, remembering that Joan usually did look rather sad. “I didn’t know.”

“Nobody knows except me,” said Rita. “I live near Joan at home, so I know. I am telling you this, Elizabeth, because if you really do mean what you say about not wanting to make other people unhappy, you can just try to make things better for Joan. She hasn’t any friends, any more than you have but for a different reason. She is afraid of making friends in case anyone asks her to stay with them for the holidays and she knows her mother wouldn’t bother to ask any friend back to stay with Joan. And Joan is very proud and can’t bear to take kindnesses she can’t return. Now-  there’s a job for you to do! Can you do it?”

“Oh yes, Rita,” said Elizabeth at once. Although she was spoilt, she had a tender heart, and when she saw that someone was in trouble, she would always go to help them. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell anyone else.”

“I know you won’t,” said Rita. “It is such a pity that you mean to be bad, Elizabeth, because I can see you would be splendid if you would give yourself a chance.”

Elizabeth frowned. “It’s no good,” she said. “I’m going to do what I meant to do-get sent home as soon as ever I can. And I can’t be sent home if I’m good.”

“Well, come and talk to me any time you think you would like to,” said Rita, as they walked in at the school gates. “And I say, Elizabeth-don’t go alone into the village again, will you? Can you promise that?”

Elizabeth was just going to say no, she wouldn’t promise, when she thought of how kind and gentle Rita had been-and she felt she must promise.

“I promise, Rita,” she said, “and-and thank you for being so nice, You make it rather difficult for me to be as horrid as I want to be.”

“That’s a good thing!” said Rita, with a laugh, and the tall Head Girl walked away to her own room.

Nora met Elizabeth as she walked to the playroom.

“Did you go to the village?”she asked.

“Yes, I did,” said Elizabeth,

“Who went with you?” asked Nora.

“Nobody,” answered Elizabeth defiantly.

“Then I will report you at the next Meeting,” said Nora angrily.

“Report me all you like,” said Elizabeth, in a don’t-care tone. “I shan’t mind!”

“You’ll mind all right when the time comes, Miss Don’t-Care,” said Nora.

Elizabeth went to the playroom and put a record on the gramophone. She looked through the pile of records to see if the sea piece was there that she loved. But it wasn’t. She wondered how much it would cost but what was the use of wondering that? She would never have any money now to buy anything! This horrid, horrid school!

Joan Townsend came into the playroom. People were used to her quiet ways, and nobody took much notice of her. They called her the Mouse, and often asked her where she kept her bit of cheese! Elizabeth looked up, and thought that Joan did indeed look very sad.

“Has the afternoon post come yet?” asked Joan.

“Yes,” said Helen, “Long ago nothing for you, Joan.”

“Perhaps she hoped to hear from her mother or father,” thought Elizabeth “I hear from Mummy often, and Miss Scott has written twice-but I don’t remember Joan getting a single letter!”

She was just going to say something to Joan when the supper-bell rang. The children all trooped into the dining-hall. Elizabeth tried to sit next to Joan but she couldn’t. She noticed that Joan hardly ate anything.

After supper there was a concert in the music master’s room. Elizabeth ran up to Joan and spoke to her.

“Joan! Come and hear Mr. Lewis playing tonight. He’s going to play a lovely thing to us-my Mummy plays it at home, and I know it very well.”

“No thanks,” said Joan. “I’ve got a letter to write.”

Elizabeth stared after her as Joan went to the playroom, Joan always seemed to be writing letters-but none ever came for her. Elizabeth ran to tell Mr. Lewis she was coming to his little concert, and then she ran and peeped in at the playroom. Joan was there alone- but she was not writing letters.  She sat with her pen in her hand, and two big tears dropped on to the writing pad on the desk below. Elizabeth was horrified. She hated to see anyone crying. She stepped into the room but Joan turned and saw her coming. She wiped her tears away at once and spoke fiercely to Elizabeth.

“What are you spying on me for, you horrid thing? Can’t you leave anybody alone? You’re always making a nuisance of yourself.”

“Joan, I only wanted to…”

“Yes, I know what you wanted!” said Joan, just as fiercely. “You wanted to see me crying, and then laugh at me and tell all the others I’m a baby! You say you want to be as horrid and nasty as you can-but just you try telling the others you saw me crying!”

“Oh please, Joan! I wouldn’t do that, I really wouldn’t!” said Elizabeth, full of dismay to think that Joan should think such a thing of her. “Joan, please listen… I’m not quite as horrid as I make myself be. Oh, do please let me be friends with you.”

“No,” said Joan, who was almost as obstinate as Elizabeth, when she was unhappy. “Go away. Do you suppose I’d let the naughtiest girl in the school be my friend? I don’t want any friends. Go away.”

Elizabeth went. She felt dreadful. How could she help Joan if Joan wouldn’t believe that she was not quite as horrid as she pretended to be? She thought of Joan’s unhappy, freckled face, and although the music-master played really beautifully that evening, for once Elizabeth did not listen in delight-for once she was thinking of somebody else, and not herself!

“If only Joan would let me help her,” thought Elizabeth. “Rita wouldn’t have told me if she hadn’t thought I could do it. I wish I could have a chance of showing Rita I can really do something for somebody.”

Elizabeth’s chance came that very night. When she and the other five girls in her room were in bed, and Elizabeth was almost asleep, she heard a sound from the end bed, where Joan slept. Joan was sobbing quietly under the clothes! Elizabeth was out of bed at once, although she knew that the rule was that no one was to leave her own cubicle till morning. But Elizabeth didn’t care for rules, anyhow-and she meant to go to Joan, even if Joan pushed her away as fiercely as before!

CHAPTER 10

Joan’s Secret

Elizabeth slipped by Nora’s bed, and by Belinda’s. She came to Joan’s, at the end beside the wall. She slipped in between the curtains and went to sit on Joan’s bed.

Joan stopped crying at once and lay quite stiff and still, wondering who it was on her bed.

Elizabeth whispered to her. “Joan! It’s me, Elizabeth. What’s the matter? Are you unhappy?”

“Go away,” said Joan in a fierce whisper.

“I shan’t,” said Elizabeth. “It makes me unhappy myself to hear you crying all alone. Are you homesick?”

“Go away,” said Joan, beginning to cry softly again.

“I tell you I shan’t,” said Elizabeth, “Listen, Joan. I’m unhappy too. I was so bad at home that no governesses would stay with me–—so my mother had to send me away to school. But I love my Mummy, and I can’t bear to be sent away from home like this. I want my dog and my pony and even my canary - so I do know how you feel if you are homesick.”

Joan listened in surprise, So that was why Elizabeth was so horrid -partly because she was unhappy too, and wanted to be at home.

“Now, Joan, tell me what’s the matter with you,” begged Elizabeth. “Please do. I won’t laugh, you know that. I only want to help you.”

“There’s nothing much the matter,” said Joan, wiping her eyes. “It’s only that I don’t think my mother and father love me and I do love them so much. You see they hardly ever write to me and they never come to see me at half term and it’s my birthday this term, and everyone knows it and I shan’t get a present from them or a birthday cake or anything  I know I shan’t. And it makes me feel so dreadful.”

“Oh, Joan!” said Elizabeth, and she took the girl’s hand in hers and squeezed it. “Oh, Joan, That’s awful! When I think how my Mummy spoilt me and gave me everything I wanted  and fussed me and I was cross and impatient all the time! And here are you, just longing for a little tiny bit of everything I had. I feel rather ashamed of myself.”

“Well, so you ought to be,” said Joan, sitting up. “You don’t know how lucky you are to be loved and fussed. Goodness! I should be really thrilled and frightfully happy if my mother wrote to me even once in a fortnight and yours has sent you cards and letters almost every day. It makes me jealous.”

“Don’t be jealous,” said Elizabeth, beginning to cry herself. “I would share everything with you if I could, Joan; I really would.”