Читать книгу Second Form at Malory Towers - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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On the first day of the term Miss Parker announced who the head-girl of the form was to be. The class were all agog to hear her, and sat like mice whilst she rustled her papers and looked for her pencil.

“I am sure you all want to know who has been chosen for head-girl this term,” she said. “Well, I will not keep you in suspense long. After a short discussion at the staff meeting we decided on—Sally Hope.”

The girls clapped and Sally blushed red. She was very pleased indeed. Miss Parker went on, glancing at her notes as she spoke.

“You may perhaps like to know what girls were in the running for the position. Darrell Rivers was, Jean MacDonald was another. Winnie Toms was a third.”

Everyone expected to hear Alicia’s name mentioned, or Irene’s. But Miss Parker did not give any more names at all. Irene didn’t mind. She knew she was a scatter-brain and she didn’t in the least want to be head of the form. So long as she had her music she was happy. Being head of the form might rob her of some of her practice time!

But Alicia did mind. She had been top of the form last term. She had a fine brain and an excellent memory, and although she never needed to work hard because she had these to help her, still she certainly had done well last term.

And yet she wasn’t even in the running for the position of head-girl! She bit her lips and wished she could stop herself going red.

“There’s too much favouritism!” she told herself, fiercely. “Just because I play the fool sometimes and upset the mistresses, they won’t even consider me as head!”

But Alicia was not altogether right. It was not playing the fool that made the staff pass over her name, but something else. It was Alicia’s hardness to those she didn’t like, her sneers at those less clever than herself, who needed help, not taunts. Often the staff laughed privately over Alicia’s ridiculous tricks, and enjoyed them—but nobody liked her wild and unruly tongue, and the sharp things it could say.

“She’ll get a lot of admiration and envy but she won’t get much love or real friendship from others,” Miss Grayling had said at the staff meeting. “As for Betty, her friend, she is clever too, but a little empty-head, compared with Alicia, who really has it in her to make good if she tried. It isn’t Alicia’s brain that is at fault, it’s her heart!”

And so the choice had been made—Sally Hope, the steady, loyal, kindly, sensible Sally. Darrell’s best friend. Sally might not be top of the form, but she would always listen to anyone in difficulty. Sally would not do brilliantly in exams, as Alicia would—but she would always help a younger girl at games or lessons. She would be completely fair and just as head-girl of the form, and she wouldn’t stand any nonsense.

Everyone in the form knew that a good choice had been made, although some of them would have welcomed a bad choice, for they didn’t like Sally! Gwendoline was furious. So was Betty, who had hoped that Alicia would have been chosen. So were one or two of Betty’s friends, not in Sally’s dormy.

Darrell squeezed Sally’s arm. “Jolly good!” she said. “I’m glad. Won’t your mother be pleased? You’ll be head of our dormy too, Sally. Sucks for Gwendoline!”

It certainly was most annoying for Gwendoline that night in bed, when Sally took command. Sally did not mean to use her new power too much or too soon, but she knew that if Gwendoline began to be silly again, she would have to make a stand at once. Gwendoline didn’t understand leniency, but took advantage of it.

So, as soon as the whispering began again, after lights out, Sally spoke up.

“Shut up, Gwendoline. I told you that last night. I wasn’t head of dormy then. But I am now. So shut up when I tell you.”

“Poor Daphne’s homesick,” began Gwendoline.

“It won’t make her any better if you whisper stuff and nonsense into her ear,” said Sally.

There was a short silence. Then Belinda’s voice cut through the darkness, asking a question.

“Sally! What happens if we disobey and go on whispering when the head-girl has said we’re not to?”

“Nobody ever does,” said Sally, grimly. “But I believe there is an unwritten law at Malory Towers that if anyone makes herself a nuisance at night a nice big hair-brush is chosen and a few slaps given.”

“Oh!” said Belinda, and snuggled down in bed, grinning to think of what Gwendoline would feel now. Would she whisper again or not?

Gwendoline had opened her mouth to continue her conversation with Daphne, but when she heard Belinda’s question and its answer, she shut it again, shocked. How dare Sally hint such a thing to a second-former! She debated whether or not Sally was just saying it to scare her. But, remembering Sally’s grim voice, she decided she wouldn’t risk it. It would be too humiliating if Sally really did carry out her threat. Daphne would never respect her again!

So there was peace in the dormy, and when Matron came silently to the door, there was only the regular breathing of ten girls to be heard. Eight were fast asleep. But two were awake.

They were Gwendoline and Ellen. Gwendoline was cross, and that always made her wakeful. Ellen was thinking about her work. She had done fairly well in the test-papers that morning, but not brilliantly. Was she really up to the second-form work here? Oh yes, she had won that scholarship, but it wasn’t brains that had done it, only hard, hard work. Was it going to be terribly hard work here to keep up with the others? Her brain didn’t seem to work so easily as it used to. Ellen was worried, and did not fall asleep till long after Gwendoline.

It took the new girls a few days to get into the way of things. Ellen and Daphne learnt their way about more quickly than Belinda, who kept turning up in the wrong classroom continually. She would go into the first-form classroom instead of in the second form, and Miss Potts got quite annoyed with her.

“Belinda! Don’t tell me you’re here again!” she would say. “Do you particularly want to work with the first form? Of course, if you really feel that the work of the second form is ...”

But by that time Belinda had fled, muttering hurried apologies. She would appear in her own form-room a minute or two late, giggling.

“I’m so sorry, I got lost, Miss Parker,” she would say, and subside into her seat.

“I’ll look after her a bit, Miss Parker,” said Irene. But Miss Parker forbade that immediately.

“That would mean the two of you getting lost,” she said. “You’d probably be down in the swimming-pool waiting for a diving lesson whilst we were all up here doing maths. It’s time Belinda learnt to look after herself. After all, she’s been here three days now!”

“Yes, Miss Parker,” said Belinda, meekly, and began to make a little sketch of the teacher on her blotting-pad. She was always drawing, wherever she was. She kept a little sketch book in her pocket and filled it with odd drawings of the girls, the flowers on the windowsill, the view from the window, anything that caught her observant eye.

Mam’zelle Dupont, plump, short and beady-eyed, holding her lorgnettes close to her eyes, was a source of delight to Belinda, for she was so easy to draw. Nearly every girl in the class now had a neat little sketch of Mam’zelle marking her place in her French grammar. It was the ambition of the class to have, as a marker, caricatures of all the mistresses taking their different classes—Miss Carton for their history books, Miss Grayling for the scripture exercise books, Mr. Young for the school song book and so on.

Belinda had promised to do one for each girl as a marker, providing that they would tidy her drawers for her, keep her desk spick and span, and generally see that whatever she forgot, was done before she got into trouble.

“I simply can’t help forgetting things,” she explained. “I’m even worse than Irene. If I get into too many rows I get upset and can’t draw. That’s awful.”

“Don’t worry! We’ll run round you all right!” said Alicia, looking in delight at the sly drawing Belinda had done of Mr. Young the singing-master. There he was, with his funny little moustache twisted up at the ends, his bald head with the three or four hairs plastered down the middle, his too-high collar, and his eyes large behind their glasses.

“You really are a marvel, Belinda,” said Betty, looking over Alicia’s shoulder at the drawing. “What will you draw for me if I promise to take over your week of classroom duties when your turn comes?”

Thus Belinda made her bargains, and got out of all the jobs she didn’t want to do! Miss Parker was amazed to find the girls doing so much for Belinda. Belinda exasperated her, with her irresponsible ways, and she couldn’t think why the girls ran round her so much.

“It’s queer,” she said to Mam’zelle. “They never do that for Irene, who is almost as bad. Do they like Belinda so much then? I can’t see what there is in that silly child to make them fuss round her so much! Why, I even saw Gwendoline tidying out her desk for her this morning, instead of going off at Break!”

“Ah, Belinda has the artistic temperament!” said Mam’zelle. “She has no time for such things as tidying desks and making beds. I myself have an artistic temperament, but in this so-English school, it gets no sympathy. You English, you do not like such things.”

“No, we don’t,” said Miss Parker, who had heard a good many times before about Mam’zelle Dupont’s artistic temperament. It usually took the form of groaning over such laborious jobs as marking papers, making out long lists and so on. Mam’zelle’s artistic temperament was always at war with such tasks, and she tried in vain to hand them over to more practical people, such as Miss Potts or Miss Parker.

“We must be patient with such as Belinda,” went on Mam’zelle. “How I have suffered because people ...”

“Well, believe me, Belinda will suffer too, if she doesn’t get rid of some of her ways,” said Miss Parker, grimly. “I know what Miss Potts had to put up with, in Irene, the last year. She put a bit of sense into her, thank goodness, and I can deal with her. Belinda’s got to toe the line too. It’s a pity all the girls seem bent on doing so much for her.”

Nobody told Miss Parker the real reason, and although she tried hard to find out, she couldn’t. Nobody showed Miss Parker any of the drawings either. Belinda had a malicious pencil sometimes, and just hit off the weak points in her subjects. Miss Parker’s big nose always appeared in her drawings just a little bit bigger than life! Mam’zelle Rougier was always bonier than she really was. Mam’zelle Dupont was rounder and fatter. No, the girls certainly didn’t want to show those clever caricatures to their teachers!

The only teacher who was really delighted with Belinda was Miss Linnie, the art mistress. She was young and light-hearted with a great sense of fun. She soon found out Belinda’s gift for art, and encouraged her all she could.

“I’m going to enjoy myself here!” said Belinda to Irene. “Miss Linnie’s thrilled with me and is helping me no end. And I’ve got out of all the silly jobs I hate. Emily’s even going to darn my stockings for me!”

“You’re lucky,” said Irene, enviously. “I wouldn’t mind swopping some of my music compositions if somebody would do jobs for me—but nobody wants the music I write! But they all want your funny drawings, Belinda!”