Second Form at Malory Towers (4 page)

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 ten 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 sketchbook 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. Neatly 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 imply 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 dot 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 mat 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 tiled 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!”

The first week went slowly by. It always did go slowly, and then after that the weeks went faster and faster. All the girls had now settled in well, and were enjoying themselves.

The weather kept fine and warm and there was still bathing to be had for those who wanted it. The tennis courts were still in use too, although the winter game of lacrosse was now being played. So there was plenty to do in spare time.

Gwendoline and Daphne had become firm friends. Gwendoline had not had a proper friend during the four terms she had been at Malory Towers and she was thrilled to have Daphne. She admired the girl's prettiness and her charming ways, and loved to hear the stories of her wealthy home.

The two girls had much in common. Neither of them liked the water and nothing would persuade them to take a dip in the Pool.

“We have to do enough of that each summer.” objected Gwendoline, one hot day, when her form tried to get her to come along and bathe, “We don't have to swim this term, so I'm jolly well not going to. Anyway, you don't really want me to come—all you want me for is to creep behind me and push me in!”

“No—we want Belinda to see you shivering in your bathing suit, putting one toe gingerly into the water!” said Alicia. “It would make such a comical picture for our classroom wall. Gwendoline!”

“Beast!” said Gwendoline, who hated to be made fun of. She walked off with Daphne. “Just because they live, violent things like swimming and tennis and rough games, they think everyone ought to,” she said to Daphne. “After alt you and I have never been to school before we came here, and we'll never get used to all their stupid ideas. I wish I had been born French. Then I shouldn't have had to swim if I didn't want to, or tire myself out trying to hit a silly ball over a net”

“We have three courts at home.” said Daphne. “Two are hard and one is soft. You see, Mother is a marvellous hostess, and she likes to give tennis parties as well as other kinds. But, of course, the ones people really love are the ones she gives on board Daddy's yacht.”

Gwendoline hadn't heard about the yacht before. She gazed enviously at her friend. Perhaps Daphne would invite her to stay one summer holiday and then she too could go on this wonderful yacht. How pleased her mother would be to know she had made such a fine friend at last!

“You must have hated coming away to school. Daphne,” she said. “Leaving all your luxury, and having to pig it here. I don't expect you ever made your bed in your life before you came here.”

“Of course I didn't,” said Daphne, shaking back her pretty hair. “And I bet you didn't either!”

“No. I didn't,” said Gwendoline. “My governess Miss Winter always did things like that for me. She still does in the holidays. She's a stupid old thing but she's useful in those ways. She wasn't much good at teaching me, though, I was awfully backward when I first came here.”

Gwendoline still was! Instead of getting down to things and trying to work really hard all the term to catch up with the others, she made a great show and did very little. Her parents were almost resigned to the fact that her reports always contained the words “Fair. Could work harder.” “Weak. Does not use her brains enough.” “Poor—has not tried her best”

Her father made plenty of cutting remarks about her reports, but as her mother always sympathized with Gwendoline, and spoilt her. His remarks did no good at all, except to make Gwendoline cross. Then she would burst into tears and it would be all that Miss Winter and her mother could do to comfort her. Gwendoline knew how to turn on her tears all right And Daphne knew how to turn on her charming smile! It got her out of a good deal of trouble, especially with Mam'zelle Dupont Miss Linnie the art mistress, and Mr. Young the singing master.

Mam'zelle could not resist that smile. Daphne could make it sweet, pathetic, brave, affectionate—it was extraordinary what a smile could be!

When Daphne presented a badly written French exercise to Mam'zelle, she would turn on her smile, and Mam'zelle would gaze warmly at her. Ah, the pretty child!

“I've done my best, Mam'zelle,” Daphne would say, still keeping on her smile. “But I'm afraid it's not very good yet. You see—it's so difficult my not having been to school before.”

Then the smile would become rather pathetic, and Mam'zelle, quite overcome, would pat Daphne's arm.

“You do your best,
mon enfant
! You cannot do more! See, I will help you if you like to come to me in the evenings for extra work!”

Mam'zelle would make this generous offer, beaming all over her face. But Daphne was quick enough to deal with it at once. She would shake her head regretfully and say how sorry she was, but already she had extra work with another mistress.

Then on would come that smile again, and the blue eyes would look beseechingly at Mam'zelle.

“Do not make me do all this French work again, please. Mam'zelle,” she would say. I have so much to do to catch up with the others my first term.”

And. no matter who had their French exercises to do all over again. Daphne never did. She could do anything with Mam'zelle, if only she exerted her charm and put on that ravishing smile!

Unfortunately it worked the other way with Miss Parker. Miss Potts and Mam'zelle Rougier—especially with Mam'zelle Rougier, who, as a rule, made it a habit to dislike those girls that the other Mam'zelle liked, and to tike those she didn't She was hard on Daphne, and soon it became impossible for the girl even to try to smile at her. They both disliked one another intensely. If it had not been for the unexpected help of somebody else in the class, Daphne would have had a very bad time, and have had all her work returned from Mam'zelle Rougier.

That somebody was, surprisingly enough, Mary-Lou. Mary-Lou had become exceedingly good at French, for her mother had had a French girl to look after her in the holidays for the past year, and Mary-Lou could chatter almost as well in French now, as she could in English, pleasing both Mam'zelles immensely.

Mary-Lou thought Daphne was lovely. She couldn't help gazing and gazing at her. She would never, never like her as much as she liked Darrell and Sally, of course, but she couldn't help warming to her prettiness and nice manners.

One day she saw Daphne almost in tears over some returned work from Mam'zelle Rougier, who had told Daphne that she would return it yet again if it was not given in perfect this time. Mary-Lou went to her.

“Can't Gwendoline help you?” she asked timidly. “She's not doing anything in particular. Shall I ask her to come and help you?”

Daphne dabbed her eyes and turned a watery but still charming smile on Mary-Lou. “No, it's no good asking Gwen. She'd help if she could. But she's not much better than I am at French!”

“Well—I suppose you wouldn't like me to help you, would you?” asked Mary-Lou, eagerly. “I'd like to.”

“Oh, thanks awfully.” said Daphne, thrilled, “You're frightfully good at it, I know. Simply wizard. Look, what have I done wrong here?”