5 in miss oakes’s class
darrell went out of the room, feeling so proud and pleased that she could have sung out loud. she was one of the successes! she had always longed to be—but she had made mistakes, been unkind sometimes, lost her temper more times than she liked to remember—and had ruefully come to the conclusion that although she wasn’t a failure, she wasn’t a howling success either.
but miss grayling seemed to think she was, so she must be. darrell held her head high, and went swinging along to the sixth-form classroom. she opened the door and went in quietly.
“i’m sorry i’m late, miss oakes,” she said. “i took the new girls to miss grayling.”
“yes, mary-lou told me,” said miss oakes. “we were just talking about the work this term, darrell. those of you who are taking higher certificates are to work in one group, taking only a few odd lessons with the rest of the form. you have been working hard for the last two terms, so you should not find this term unduly hard—but you will have to keep at it!” darrell nodded. she badly wanted to pass the higher well. she felt sure sally would. as for alicia and betty, their quick brains and excellent memories would make success certain. she glanced round at the other girls from the other towers, who would also be taking higher. yes—they would probably all pass. they were a keen, hard-working lot.
“i’m glad i’m not taking higher,” said gwen. “anyway, i suppose i could always take it at my school in switzerland, couldn’t i, miss oakes?”
miss oakes was not interested in gwen’s future school, any more than she was interested in gwen.
“you are not up to higher standard, whatever school you happen to be in,” she said coldly. “i can only hope that you will work a little better this term than you have worked for the last two terms, gwendoline. would it be too difficult to leave me with a little better impression of your capabilities than i have at present?”
gwen squirmed. she looked round at maureen for sympathy. she got none, for maureen always delighted in seeing gwen made uncomfortable. the others looked studiously into the distance, determined not to catch gwen’s eye or give her any chance of speaking about her future school. they felt certain they were going to get very very tired of hearing about it.
“amanda, i understand that you were going to work for higher, if your old school had not been destroyed,” said miss oakes, turning to the hefty, solid new girl. “do you wish to do so here? i hear that it has been left to you to decide, as you can take it next year if you want to?”
“i don’t want to take it this term, thank you,” said amanda. “it would be muddling, having had the work with different teachers. i shouldn’t do myself justice. i intend to work at my games instead. i hope to be chosen for the olympic games next year, anyway.”
only the north tower girls had heard this bit of news so far. the girls from other towers gaped at amanda’s forthright assertion. go in for the olympic games! she must either be mad, or else alarmingly good at games!
“ah yes,” said miss oakes, calmly. “i forgot you came from trenigan towers. well, amanda, you will find that the games side is very good here, fortunately for you—and very well run.”
amanda looked disbelieving, but didn’t say anything. it was, however, quite apparent to everyone that she was busy turning up her rather big nose at the games she might expect at malory towers. sally felt annoyed and half-amused. moira felt angry. she glared at amanda, making up her mind to take her down a few pegs as quickly as possible!
“and if she tries to interfere, i’ll soon show that i don’t stand any nonsense, even if sally does!” thought moira, scowling so fiercely at her thoughts that belinda’s hand went instinctively into her desk for her sketch-book—the one the girls called her scowl book. it had a most wonderful collection of scowls—though the finest were undoubtedly gwen’s!
how gwen wished she could get hold of that horrible book of belinda’s! but belinda guarded it jealously and had such a fine hiding-place for it when she took it out of her desk that gwen had never been able to make out where it was.
“no, belinda,” said miss oakes, who had already learnt to recognize the scowl book when she saw it. “we will have no scowl sketches in this session, please. and, irene, could you stop tapping out that tune, whatever it is, on your desk?”
“oh sorry,” said irene, stopping the tapping at once. “i just can’t help it when a new tune comes into my head. it’s the way the wind blows in those trees over there, miss oakes—shusha, shusha, shusha—like that, it goes. and it made me . . .”
“you’re tapping again, irene,” said miss oakes, impatiently. she was never quite certain if irene really did get as lost in her “tunes” as she said she did, or if she acted like this to make a diversion and cause laughter.
but irene was quite serious about it. she lived half in a world of music and half in the world of ordinary things—and when one world clashed with another, she was lost! she was quite capable of writing out a tune in french dictée instead of a word of french—and quite capable too, of handing it in! mam’zelle had often been amazed to find herself staring at pages of music notes, instead of lists of french verbs.
the french girl, suzanne, had sat with her eyes half closed through the talk so far. miss oakes spoke to her suddenly and made her jump.
“suzanne! are you listening?”
“police?” said suzanne. miss oakes looked surprised.
“she means ‘please?’?” said darrell, with a laugh. “she keeps saying ‘police?’ whenever she doesn’t understand anything. don’t you, suzanne?”
“police?” said suzanne, not understanding a word. “police, darrell, je ne comprends pas. i not unnerstand!”
“well, suzanne, you will have to listen with your ears and eyes open,” said miss oakes, “or you will not learn a word of english while you are here. i understand that is why you have come—to learn to speak english fluently?”
“police?” repeated suzanne, again, her black eyes very wide open. “i spik him bad.”
“what does she mean?” said miss oakes.
“she means she speaks english badly,” said sally.
“she must have special coaching then,” said miss oakes, firmly.
“no, no. i not want zat,” said suzanne, equally firmly.
“ah—so you understood what i said then,” said miss oakes, beginning to be suspicious of this innocent-looking suzanne.
“police?” said suzanne again, and miss oakes gave it up. she privately resolved to have a few words with mam’zelle rougier about her seemingly stupid niece. she began to give out instructions regarding the work to be done that term, what books were to be used, and what work was to be done by the girls on their own.
“i like old oakey,” said darrell, at break. “but i’ve often wished she had more sense of humour. she never, never, never sees a joke. but she always suspects there may be somebody leading her up the garden path.”
“yes. like irene and her tunes,” said belinda, “and actually irene is perfectly serious about them. look at her now—shusha, shush, shusha, shush, over by the window, with her eyes glued to the trees.”
alicia grinned wickedly. she went up to irene and tapped her on the shoulder. “i say, irene—can i play trains too? shush, shusha, shush, shusha—come on, let’s play trains.”
and before the surprised irene knew what was happening, half the sixth-formers had formed a line and were playing “trains” behind irene, chuffing like engines.
amanda watched disdainfully. what a school! she thought. now if she were at trenigan towers, everyone would be out practising tennis strokes or something!
“hold it, amanda, hold it!” said belinda, suddenly, spotting the unpleasant look on amanda’s large face. she had whipped out her scowl book, and was busy drawing. amanda had no idea what she was doing. she was so new that she didn’t even realize that belinda could draw.
she saw in horror that belinda had caught her face and expression exactly. she snatched at the book but belinda dodged out of the way.
“i didn’t look like that,” said amanda, enraged. “i just stood there thinking that if i were at my old school, we wouldn’t be playing the fool like this, but out in the open air, practising strokes at tennis, or something sensible.”
“really?” said moira, coldly. “i suppose it has escaped your notice that at the moment it is pelting with rain?”
actually amanda hadn’t noticed. she had been too busy scorning the others at their fooling. she turned away, after giving moira a most unpleasant look which moira fully returned. darrell thought there wasn’t a pin to choose between the two looks!
amanda turned off to the corner where the wireless stood. she began to fiddle about with it and eventually managed to find a recording of some sporting event. the commentator was very excited, and his voice came loudly through the common-room, where the girls were having their break.
nobody quite liked to tell her to turn it down a bit. darrell nudged sally and nodded to the window. it had stopped raining. sally grinned.
she and darrell made signs to the others to creep out of the room without disturbing amanda. one by one they tiptoed out, and darrell softly closed the door. they rushed to the cloakroom, found their lockers, slipped on tennis shoes, snatched up their rackets and ran out to the courts.
“let’s hope she sees us!” panted moira.
amanda did. the recording came to an end and she switched off the wireless. she was immediately struck by the quiet in the room, and swung round. it was empty. she heard the sound of voices outside, and the thud of tennis balls being struck, and went to the window. she scowled down. beasts! they were just doing all that to annoy her!
the girls came back, laughing, when the bell went. “pity you didn’t feel like a practice, amanda!” called moira. “never mind—better luck next time!”
