Upper Fourth at Malory Towers (13 page)

Could she be ill? Could she complain of a sore throat and headache? No—Matron simply
never
believed her. She would take her temperature and say, “My dear Gwendoline, you are suffering from inflammation of the imagination as usual,” and give her that perfectly horrible medicine.

She thought of Clarissa's weak heart with envy. To have something like that—that prevented you from playing those awful games, and from swimming and climbing up hills—now that was something really worth while having—something sensible. Unfortunately, though, it didn't let you off lessons.

Gwendoline thought about weak hearts for a while, and gradually a plan began to unfold itself in her mind. What about putting it round that her heart was troubling her? She put her hand to where she thought her heart was, and assumed an agonized expression. What should she say? “Oh, my heart—it's fluttering again! I do wish it wouldn't. It makes me feel so queer. Oh, why did I run up those stairs so fast!”

The more she thought about this idea, the better it seemed. Next week was half-term. If she could work up this weak heart business well enough, perhaps her parents would be told, and they would be alarmed and take her away home. Then she would miss School Cert, which began not long after!

Gwendoline's heart began to beat fast as she thought out this little plan. In fact, she felt a little alarmed, feeling it beat so fast with excitement. Suppose she really
had
got one? No—it was only that she was feeling excited about this clever and wonderful idea of hers.

So, little by little, Gwen began to put it about that she didn't feel very well. “Oh, nothing much,” she told Clarissa and Bill. “
You'll
know what I feel like, Clarissa—my heart sort of
flutters
! Oh, why did I run up the stairs so fast?”

Clarissa was sympathetic. She knew how absolutely sickening a weak heart was. “Don't you think you ought to tell Miss Williams, or Miss Potts?” she said, quite anxiously. “Or Matron?”

“No,” said Gwendoline, putting on a pathetically brave face. “I don't want to make a fuss. Besides, you know, it's School Cert. soon. I mustn't miss that.”

If Alicia, Sally or Darrell had been anywhere near, they would have yelled with laughter at all this, but Bill and Clarissa didn't. They listened quite seriously.

“Well,
I
think you ought to say something about it,” said Clarissa. “If you'd had to go through what
I've
had to—lie up for weeks on end, not do a thing, give up all the riding and swimming I loved—you'd not run any risk of playing about with a groggy heart.”

Gwendoline took to running up the stairs when she saw any of the Upper Fourth at the top. Then, when she came to the landing, she would put her hand to her left side, droop over the banisters and groan.

“Got a stitch?” Alicia would say, unsympathetically. “Bend down and touch your toes, Gwendoline. Oh—I—forgot—you're too fat to do that, aren't you? “

On the other hand Mary-Lou might say, “Oh, Gwen, what's the matter? Is it your heart again? You really ought to have something done about it!”

Gwen did not perform in front of either Miss Williams or Miss Potts. She had a feeling that her performance would not go down very well. But she tried it on with Mam'zelle, who could always be taken in.

Mam'zelle was quite alarmed one morning to find Gwen sitting on the top stair near her room, her hand pressed to her heart, groaning.

“
Ma petite Qu'avez vous
? What is the matter?” she cried. “You have hurt yourself? Where?”

“It's—it's all right, Mam'zelle,” panted Gwendoline. “It's—it's nothing—just this awful heart of mine. When I run or do anything energetic—it seems to go all funny!”

“You have the palpitations! You are anaemic then!” cried Mam'zelle. “Me, I once suffered in this way when I was fifteen! You shall come with me to Matron, and she shall give you some good, good medicine to make your blood rich and red.”

Gwendoline didn't want her blood made “rich and red” by Matron. It was the last thing in the world she wanted! She got up hastily and smiled weakly at Mam'zelle.

“It's over now! I'm quite all right. It's not anaemia, Mam'zelle—I've never been anaemic. It's just my silly heart. It's—er—it's a weakness in our family, I'm afraid.”

This was quite untrue, but Gwendoline added it because she thought it might convince Mam'zelle it was her heart and not her blood that was wrong! Mam'zelle was very sympathetic, and told Gwen she had better not play tennis that afternoon.

Gwendoline was delighted—but on thinking it over she regretfully decided that she had better play, because she wouldn't possibly be able to convince Sally that her heart had played her up again. Sally just simply didn't believe in Gwen's weak heart. So she played. Mam'zelle saw her and was surprised.

“The brave Gwendoline!” she thought. “She plays even though she knows it may bring on the palpitations again! Ah, these English girls, they have the courage and the pluck!”

Gwendoline laid a few more plans. She would bring Mam'zelle up to her parents at half-term, and leave her to talk to them. She was certain that sooner or later Mam'zelle would speak about her heart—and then she, Gwen, would be anxiously questioned by her mother—and if she played her cards well, she would be taken home at once by a very anxious and frightened mother!

Gwen did not stop to think of the pain and anxiety she would give to her parents by her stupid pretence. She wanted to get out of doing the exam, and she didn't mind how she did it She was quite unscrupulous, and very clever when she badly wanted her own way.

“I'm certain Mother will take me home,” she thought. “I really don't think I need bother about swotting up for the exam. It will be a waste of time if I don't take it. Look at all the others—groaning and moaning every evening, mugging up Latin and French and maths and history and the rest! Well—
I
shan't!”

And, to the surprise of everyone, Gwendoline suddenly stopped working hard, and slacked!

“Aren't you afraid of doing frightfully bad papers?” asked Mavis, who was rather afraid of this herself, and was working very hard indeed.

“I shall do my best,” said Gwendoline. “I can't do more. It's this beastly heart of mine, you know—it does play me up so, if I work too hard.”

Mavis didn't believe in this heart of Gwendoline's, but she was really puzzled to know why the girl was so silly as to waste her time, when she ought to be putting in some good hard work preparing for the exam.

But, surprisingly enough, it was Connie who put her finger on the right spot! She had a great scorn for the weak ineffectual Gwendoline. She was a domineering, strong-minded girl herself, and she could not bear Gwendoline's moaning and grumbling. For some reason or other Connie had been touchy and irritable for the last week or two, and her bad temper suddenly flared out one evening at Gwen.

Gwendoline had come into the common room and flopped down in a chair. Everyone was swotting hard for the exam as usual, their heads bent over their books.

“I really must
not
carry heavy things again,” began Gwendoline, in her peevish voice. Nobody took any notice except to frown.

“I've had to help Potty with the books in the library,” went on Gwen. “Great heavy piles! It's set my heart fluttering like anything!”

“Shut up,” said Connie. “We're working.”

“Well, there's no need for you to be rude,” said Gwen, with dignity. “If you had a heart like mine...”

And then Connie exploded. She got up and went to stand over the astonished Gwendoline.

“You haven't
got
a heart, weak or otherwise! You're a big bundle of pretence! You're making it all up to get out of School Cert. I can see through you! That's why you're not working, isn't it—because you're banking on your heart letting you out, in some way or other you've planned! Well, let me tell you this—I don't care tuppence whether you do School Cert, or not, or whether you work or not—but I do care about my own work! And so do the others. So SHUT UP about your silly heart, and keep away from us with your meanings and groanings till School Cert. IS OVER!”

With that Connie went back to her seat, glowering.

Everyone was startled—too startled to say a word. They all felt that what Connie said was true.

“You hateful, cruel thing!” said Gwendoline in a trembling voice. “I hope you fail! And you will too—see if you don't! You only get decent marks because you're always cribbing from Ruth. We all know that! She'll pass and you won't! I think you're a beast!”

She burst into tears, got up and went out of the room, banging the door so violently that Mam'zelle and Miss Potts, working in their room not far away, wondered whatever was happening.

The girls looked at one another. Alicia made a face. “Well, I expect Connie's right—though you were a bit brutal, weren't you, Connie?”

“No more brutal than you sometimes are,” said Connie, rather sulkily. “Anyway, let's go to work again. Some of us are not like you, Alicia—skating lightly over every subject and doing everything well, without bothering. You don't understand how hard some of us find our work. Let's get on.”

There was silence in the room as the girls worked away, reading, making notes, learning by heart. Only Clarissa and Mary-Lou were really troubled about Gwen. Clarissa still believed in her weak heart, and Mary-Lou was always sorry for anyone who cried.

As for Gwendoline, her tears were not tears of sorrow, but of rage. That horrible Connie! If only she could get back at her for her unkind words. How Gwendoline hoped that Connie hadn't spoilt her beautiful plan!

Half-term came at last. It was a really lovely day, with bright sunshine and a nice breeze. The kitchen staff worked with a will to produce masses of good things for the grand School Tea. All the girls were excited about seeing their people.

Gwendoline had quite thought that Clarissa's people were coming, and had planned to introduce them to her mother and father. Then she suddenly heard Bill and Clarissa planning a picnic together on the half-term Saturday!

“Two of my brothers have their half-term at the same time,” said Bill, “so they're coming with Mother and Daddy. We'll take our lunch up to the top of Langley Hill, shall we, and bathe in the cove afterwards, before we come back to the Tennis Exhibition.”

Gwen listened in astonishment. “But what will Clarissa's father and mother say to that?” she said. “Won't they want Clarissa to themselves?”

“They can't come on the Saturday, worse luck,” said Clarissa. “They may be able to come over on Sunday though—at least, Mother might be able to, even if Daddy can't. They're dreadfully busy people, you know.”

“So I've asked Clarissa to come with us,” said Bill. “My family will bring enough lunch for twice as many as we'll be, so we'll have a good time!”

Gwen was jealous. Why, she could have had Clarissa spend the day with
her
, if she'd known.

“Well! You might have told me your people couldn't come on Saturday,” she said. “You know how much I should have liked you to spend your time with my people.”

Clarissa looked embarrassed. She had purposely not told Gwen, because she had so much wanted to go with Bill and her brothers—all nice horsy people! But she couldn't explain that to Gwen. So, to make up for her remissness she was extra nice to her, and promised to go and speak to Gwen's people when they arrived.

“You might just
mention
my heart to them,” said Gwendoline. “I don't really like to make a fuss about it myself—but
you
could just say something, Clarissa.”

“Of course I will,” said Clarissa, who still believed in Gwen's weak heart. “I think something ought to be done about it.”

So, on half-term Saturday, Clarissa was led up to Mrs. Lacy, Gwendoline's mother, and Miss Winter, her gentle and scared-looking old governess. Her father was not there.

Mrs. Lacy was talking to another mother. Clarissa sat down on the grass with Gwendoline, waiting till she had finished. Darrell's mother was near, and Darrell introduced her to Clarissa.

Soon she heard Gwen talking to her mother and Miss Winter. “Well, dear,” said her mother, fondly, “and what has my darling Gwendoline been doing this term? Are you in the exhibition tennis?”

“Well, no, Mother,” said Gwendoline. “I was almost chosen but it was decided only to have girls from the fifth and the sixth.”

“How stupid!” said Miss Winter, feeling that Gwen would certainly have been better than any fifth- or sixth-form girl.

“What about your swimming, Gwen?” asked her mother. “You said in one of your letters that you had won a back-stroke swimming race and I
did
think that was clever. Backstroke is so difficult. I remember I could never do it at school because the water kept going over my face.”

Clarissa couldn't help hearing this conversation, though she was talking to Mrs. Rivers, Darrell’s mother. She was horrified. Whatever did Gwen mean by all this?

“No, I'm not swimming today,” said Gwen. “There's a lot of jealousy, you know, Mother—often the good ones aren't given a proper chance. Still, I don't really mind. I can dive almost better than anyone now.”

As Gwen always fell fiat on her stomach, hitting the water with a terrific smack whenever she was made to dive, this was distinctly funny—or would have been to Darrell, Sally or Alicia. But it wasn't funny to Clarissa. It was shocking. What terrible lies—real thumping lies! However could Gwen say such things? She was very thankful that she was going out with blunt, straightforward Bill instead of having to be with Gwen and her silly, credulous mother. She saw very dearly why Gwen was as she was—this mother of hers had spoilt her, idolized her, believed every word she said—it was she—and probably that pathetic little governess too—who had made Gwendoline into the silly, conceited, untrustworthy girl she was!

Clarissa felt that she really could not go and speak to Gwen's mother, after hearing all Gwen's untruths. She couldn't! Clarissa was meek, and weak in many ways, but she was straight and truthful. She was really shocked now.