Читать книгу Third Year at Malory Towers - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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It was fun settling in the next day. The girls rushed into the third form classroom, which overlooked the courtyard and had a distant view of the sea.

“Zerelda’s to go to the fourth form classroom,” said Jean, looking round for the American girl. “She’s not with us after all.”

“I didn’t think I would be,” said Zerelda. “I’m much older.”

Jean looked at her. “Zerelda,” said Jean, “I’d better give you a word of advice. Miss Williams, the fourth form mistress, won’t like your hair-style—or your lipstick either. You’d better alter your hair and rub that awful stuff off your lips before you go to the fourth form. Anyway, they’ll rag you like anything if you don’t.”

“Why should I do what you tell me?” said Zerelda, on her dignity at once. She thought a great deal of her appearance and could not bear to have it remarked on by these proper English girls.

“Well, I’m head-girl of this form,” said Jean. “That’s why I’m bothering to tell you. Just to save you getting into trouble.”

“But Zerelda’s hair looks lovely,” said Gwendoline, who always resented having to have her own hair tied neatly, instead of in a golden sheet over her shoulders.

Nobody took the slightest notice of Gwendoline’s bleating.

“Well, thanks all the same, Jean, but I’m not going to make myself into a little pig-tailed English schoolgirl,” said Zerelda, in her lazy, rather insolent drawl. “I guess I couldn’t look like you, anyway. Look at you all, plain as pie! You ought to let me have a try at making you up—I’d soon get you some looks!”

Daphne, who fancied herself as very pretty, laughed scornfully. “Nobody wants to look a scarecrow like you! Honestly, if you could see yourself!”

“I have,” said Zerelda. “I looked in the glass this morning!”

“When you’re in Rome, you must do as Rome does,” said Jean, solemnly.

“But I’m not in Rome,” said Zerelda.

“No. It’s a pity you aren’t!” said Alicia. “You’ll wish you were in three minutes’ time when Miss Williams catches sight of you. Go on into the classroom next door for goodness’ sake. Miss Williams will be along in half a minute. So will our teacher, Miss Peters. She’d have a blue fit if she saw you.”

Zerelda grinned good-humouredly, and went off to find her classroom. As she got to the door Miss Williams came hurrying along to the fourth-formers. She and Zerelda met at the door.

Miss Williams had no idea that Zerelda was one of her form. The girl looked so grown-up. Miss Williams blinked once or twice, trying to remember who Zerelda was. Could she be one of the new assistant mistresses?

“Er—let me see now—you are Miss Miss—er ... Miss ...” began Miss Williams.

“Zerelda,” said Zerelda, obligingly, thinking it was a queer thing if the mistresses all called the girls “Miss”.

“Miss Zerelda,” said Miss Williams, still not realizing anything. “Did you want me, Miss Zerelda?”

Zerelda was rather astonished. “Well—er—not exactly,” she said. “I was told to come along to your class. I’m in the fourth form.”

“Good heavens!” said Miss Williams, weakly. “Not—not one of the girls?”

“Yes, Miss Williams,” said Zerelda, thinking that the teacher was acting very queerly. “Say, haven’t I done right? Isn’t this the classroom?”

“Yes,” said Miss Williams, recovering herself all at once. “This is the fourth form room. But you can’t come in like that. What’s that thing you’ve got on the top of your head?”

“What’s that thing you’ve got on the top of your head?”

Zerelda looked even more astonished. Had she got a hat on by mistake? She felt to see. No, there was no hat there.

“There’s nothing on my head,” she said.

“Yes, there is. What’s this thing?” said Miss Williams, patting the enormous roll of hair that Zerelda had pinned there in imitation of one of the film-stars.

“That? Oh, that’s a bit of my hair,” said Zerelda, wondering if Miss Williams was a little mad. “It really is my hair, Miss Williams. I’ve just rolled the front part up and pinned it.”

Miss Williams looked in silence at the roll of brassy-coloured hair and the cascades of curls down Zerelda’s neck. She peered at the too-red lips. She even looked at the curling eye-lashes to make sure they were real and not stuck on.

“Well, Zerelda, I can’t have you in my class like this,” she said, looking very prim and bird-like. “Take down that roll of hair. Tie it all back. Clean your lips. Come back to the room in five minutes.”

And with that she disappeared into the form room and the door was shut. Zerelda stared after her. She patted the roll of hair on top. What was the matter with it? Didn’t it make her look exactly like Lossie Laxton, the film-star she admired most of all?

Zerelda frowned. What a school! Here were a whole lot of girls, all growing up fast, and not one of them knew how to do her hair, not one of them looked smart—“and I bet they’re all as stupid as owls,” said Zerelda, out loud.

She decided to go along and do something to her hair. That prim and proper Miss Williams might say something to the Head. Zerelda had been very much impressed with Miss Grayling and the little talk she had had with her. What had Miss Grayling said? Something about learning to be good-hearted and kind, sensible and trustable, good, sound women the world could lean on. She had also said that Zerelda might learn something from her stay in England that would help her afterwards—and that Zerelda, if she was sensible and understanding, might also teach the English girls something.

“Well, I don’t want to get on the wrong side of Miss Grayling from the word go,” thought Zerelda, as she went to find her dormy. “Where’s this bedroom of ours? I’ll never find my way about in this place.”

She found the dormy at last and went in to do her hair. She looked at herself in the glass. She was very sad at having to take down that beautiful roll of hair. It took her ages to put it there each morning. But she unpinned it and brushed it out. She divided it into two, and pinned it back, then tied her mane of hair with a piece of ribbon so that it no longer fell wildly over her shoulders.

At once she looked younger. She rubbed the red from her lips. Then she looked at herself. “You look plain and drab now, Zerelda,” she said to herself. “What would Pop say? He wouldn’t know me!”

But Zerelda didn’t look plain and drab. She looked a young girl, with a natural, pleasant youthful face. She went slowly to find her classroom. She was not sure whether she had to knock at the door or not. Things seemed to be so different in an English school—more polite and proper than in an American school. She decided to knock.

“Come in!” called Miss Williams, impatiently. She had forgotten all about Zerelda. Zerelda went in. She now looked so completely different that Miss Williams didn’t recognize her!

“What do you want?” she asked Zerelda. “Have you come with a message?”

“No,” said Zerelda, puzzled. “I’m in the fourth form, aren’t I?”

“What’s your name?” said Miss Williams, looking for her list of names.

Zerelda was now quite certain that Miss Williams was mad. “I told you before,” she said. “I’m Zerelda.”

“Oh, good gracious—so you are,” said Miss Williams, looking at her keenly. “Well, who would have thought your hair would make such a difference! Come and sit down. That’s your place over there.”

The fourth form were mystified and amused. They were all keen hard-working fifteen-year-olds, who were to work for their School Certificate that year.

“Let me see—how old are you, Zerelda?” said Miss Williams, trying to find Zerelda’s name on her list.

“Nearly sixteen,” said Zerelda.

“Ah then—you will probably find the work of this form rather easy,” said Miss Williams. “But as it’s your first term in an English school, that’s just as well. There will be many different things for you to learn.”

Zerelda looked round at the fourth-formers. She thought they looked too clever for words. How serious they were! She wished she was back in the third form with Alicia, Darrell, Belinda and the rest. They had all seemed so jolly and care-free.

The third form were busy making out time-tables and lists of duties. Books were given out. Miss Peters, tall, mannish, with very soft hair and a deep voice, was in charge. The girls liked her, but sometimes wished she would not treat them as though they were boys. She had a hearty laugh, and a hearty manner. In the holidays she rode practically all the time, and was in charge of the riding-teams on Saturday mornings at Malory Towers.

“I really wonder she doesn’t come to class in riding-breeches,” Alicia had said often enough to the third form, making them giggle. “I’m sure she hates wearing a skirt!”

“Shall I put a set of books for the new girl, Wilhelmina Robinson?” asked Jean, who was in charge of the books. “When is she coming, Miss Peters?”

“This morning, I believe,” said Miss Peters. “She and her brothers have been in quarantine for something or other. I think Miss Grayling said she would be arriving this morning. By car, I suppose.”

After Break the third form went to the sewing-room for half an hour, and it was from there that they saw the arrival, the quite astonishing arrival, of Wilhelmina Robinson.

They suddenly heard the clatter of horses’ hooves outside—a tremendous clatter. Alicia went to the window at once, wondering if there was a riding-lesson for anyone. She gave an exclamation.

“I say! Just look here! Whoever is it?”

“I say! Just look here! Whoever is it?”

All the class crowded to the window. Miss Donnelly, the gentle, sweet-tempered sewing-mistress, protested mildly. “Girls, girls! What are you doing?”

“Miss Donnelly, come and look,” said Alicia. So she went to the window. She saw a girl on a big black horse, and with her were seven boys, ranging in age from about eight to eighteen, each of them on horseback! There was a great deal of laughter, and stamping and curveting and cries of “Whoa there!”

“Golly! It must be Wilhelmina!” said Darrell. “And her seven brothers! Don’t say that her brothers are coming to Malory Towers too!”

“Well! What a way to arrive!” said Gwendoline Mary. “Galloping up like that on horseback! What a peculiar family Wilhelmina’s must be!”