23 a black day for gwen
nobody ticked off the second-formers after all. the sixth agreed that they had had such a wonderful laugh that afternoon that it wasn’t really fair to row them. “it was just what i needed, after that nightmare week of exams,” said darrell. “poor mam’zelle. she’s recovered now, but those wicked little second-formers hiss whenever they walk behind her—and she runs like a hare.”
“they’re worse than we ever were,” said alicia. “and i shouldn’t have thought that was possible!”
now the term began to slide by very quickly indeed. darrell could hardly catch at the days as they went by. matches were played and won. swimming tournaments were held—and won! moira, sally and darrell played brilliantly and swam well—but the star was june, of course. she was in the second teams for swimming and tennis, the youngest that had ever played in them or swum.
amanda, still hobbling about, was very proud of june. “you see! i picked her out, and i told you she was the most promising girl in the school!” she said, exultantly, to the sixth-formers. “she’ll pay for watching and training, that child. she’s marvellous!”
sally and darrell looked across at one another. what a different amanda this was now. it had been decided that as she couldn’t possibly be allowed to train for any games or sports for at least a year, she should stay on at malory towers. and now that amanda could no longer centre her attention on her own skill and prowess she was centring it on june, and other promising youngsters. already she had made a great difference to the standard of games among them.
“i shall be able to keep an eye on june, and on one or two others,” went on amanda, happily. “i’m sorry you’re all leaving, though. it’ll be queer without you. won’t you be sorry to go?”
“gwen’s the only one who will be glad to leave malory towers,” said darrell. “none of the others will—even though we’ve got college to go to—and belinda’s going to a school of art, and irene to the guildhall.”
“and bill and i to our riding school,” said clarissa, “and moira . . .”
“oh dear,” said darrell, interrupting. “let’s not talk about next term yet. let’s have our last week or two still thinking we’re coming back next term. we’ve had a lot of ups and downs this term—now let’s enjoy ourselves.”
they all did—except for one girl. that was gwen. a black afternoon came for her, one she never forgot. it came right out of the blue, when she least expected it.
matron came to find her in the common-room. “gwen,” she said, in rather a grave voice, “will you go to miss grayling’s room? there is someone there to see you.”
gwen was startled. who would come and see her so near the end of term? she went down at once. she was amazed to see miss winter, her old governess, sitting timidly on a chair opposite miss grayling.
“why—miss winter!” said gwen, astonished. miss winter got up and kissed her.
“oh, gwen,” she said, “oh, gwen!” and immediately burst into tears. gwen looked at her in alarm.
miss grayling spoke. “gwen. miss winter brings bad news, i’m afraid. she . . .”
“gwen, it’s your father!” said miss winter, dabbing her eyes. “he’s been taken dreadfully ill. he’s gone to hospital. oh, gwen, your mother told me this morning that he won’t live!”
gwen felt as if somebody had taken her heart right out of her body. she sat down blindly on a chair and stared at miss winter.
“have you—have you come to fetch me to see him?” she said, with an effort. “shall i be—in time?”
“oh, you can’t see him,” wept miss winter. “he is much, much too ill. he wouldn’t know you. i’ve come to fetch you home to your mother. she’s in such a state, gwen. i can’t do anything with her, not a thing! can you pack and come right away?”
this was a terrible shock to gwen—her father ill—her mother desperate—and she herself to leave in a hurry. then another thought came to her and she groaned.
this would mean no school in switzerland. in a trice her whole future loomed up before her, not bright and shining with happiness in a delightful new school, but black and full of endless, wearisome jobs for a hysterical mother, full of comfortings for a complaining woman—and with no steady, kindly father in the background.
when she thought of her father gwen covered her eyes in shame and remorse. “i never even said good-bye!” she cried out loudly, startling miss winter and miss grayling. “i never—even—said—good-bye! and i didn’t write when i knew he was ill. now it’s too late.”
too late! what dreadful words. too late to say she was sorry, too late to be loving, too late to be good and kind.
“i said cruel things, i hurt him—oh, miss winter, why didn’t you stop me?” cried gwen, her face white and her eyes tearless. tears had always been so easy to gwen—but now they wouldn’t come. miss winter looked back at her, not daring to remind gwen how she had pleaded with her to show a little kindness and not to force her own way so much.
“gwen, dear—i’m very sorry about this,” said miss grayling’s kind voice. “i think you should go and pack now, because miss winter wants to catch the next train back. your mother needs you and you must go. gwen—you haven’t always been all you should be. now is your chance to show that there is something more in you than we guess.”
gwen stumbled out of the room. miss winter followed to help her to pack. miss grayling sat and thought. somehow punishment always caught up with people, if they deserved it, just as happiness sooner or later caught up with people who had earned it. you sowed your own seeds and reaped the fruit you had sowed. if only every girl could learn that, thought miss grayling, there wouldn’t be nearly so much unhappiness in the world!
darrell came into the dormy as gwen was packing. she was crying now, her tears almost blinding her.
“gwen—what’s the matter?” said darrell.
“oh, darrell—my father’s terribly ill—he’s not going to live,” wept gwen. “oh, darrell, please forget all the horrible, horrible things i’ve said this term. if only he’d live and i had the chance to make up to him for the beast i’ve been, i’d do everything he wanted—take the dullest, miserablest job in the world, and give up everything else. but it’s too late!”
darrell was shocked beyond words. she put her arm round gwen, not knowing what to say. miss winter spoke timidly. “we really must catch that train, gwen dear. is this all you have to pack?”
“i’ll pack her trunk and see it’s sent on,” said darrell, glad to be able to offer to do something. “just take a few things, gwen, in your night-case.”
she went with gwen to the front door, miserable for her. what a dreadful way to leave malory towers! poor gwen! all her fine hopes and dreams blown away like smoke. and those awful words—too late! how dreadful gwen must feel when she remembered her unkindness. miss grayling saw her off too, and shut the door quietly after the car had gone down the drive.
“don’t be too miserable about it,” she said to darrell. “it may be the making of gwen. don’t let it spoil your last week or two, darrell dear!”
darrell gave the surprised miss grayling a sudden hug, and then wondered how in the world she dared to do such a thing! she went to tell the news to the others.
it cast a gloom on everyone, of course, though many thought secretly that gwen deserved it. gwen had no real friends and never had had. she had grumbled and groaned and wept and boasted her way through her years at malory towers, and left only unpleasant memories behind. but sally, darrell, mary-lou and one or two others tried to think kindly of her, because of her great trouble.
soon other things came to make the girls forget gwen. darrell and sally won the school tennis match against the old girls. moira won the singles. someone had a birthday and her mother sent such a magnificent cake that there was enough for everyone in the school! it was delivered in a special van, and carried in by two people!
then news came of jo. it came through deirdre. she received a parcel from jo and a letter.
here’s some things for you i got myself [wrote jo]. and i’ve packed them myself too. i don’t know what i’m going to do yet. dad says he won’t be able to get me into a school as good as malory towers, i’ll have to go to any that will take me. but i don’t mind telling you i’m not going to be idiotic again. dad’s been a brick, but he’s awfully cut up really. he keeps saying it’s half his fault. mother’s fed up with me. she shouldn’t have kept boasting i was at malory towers. she says i’ve let the family name down. all i can say is, it’s a good thing it’s only “jones”.
i’m sorry i got you into a row, and i’m awfully glad they didn’t expel you too. i wish you’d do something for me. i wish you’d tell the second-formers (go to felicity) that i apologize for not owning up that time. will you? that’s been on my conscience for ages.
i do miss malory towers. now i know i’m not going back again i see how splendid it was.
hope you like the parcel.
deirdre took the letter to felicity, who read it in silence and then handed it back. “thanks,” she said. “i’ll tell the others. and—er—give her best wishes from the second-formers, will you? don’t forget. just that—best wishes from the second-formers.”
news came from gwen too—news that made darrell heave a sigh of relief. gwen’s father was not going to die. gwen had seen him. it hadn’t been too late after all. he would be an invalid for the rest of his life, and gwen would certainly now have to take a job—but she was trying to be good about it.
it’s mother who is so difficult [she wrote]. she just cries and cries. well, i might have grown like that too, if this hadn’t happened to me. i shall never be as strong-minded and courageous as you, darrell—or sally or bill and clarissa—but i don’t think i’ll ever again be as weak and selfish as i was. you see—it wasn’t “too late” after all. and that has made a lot of difference to me. i feel as if i’ve been given another chance.
do, do, do write to me sometimes. i think and think of you all at malory towers. i know you none of you think of me, but you might just write occasionally.
all the best to the form and you.
gwen.
darrell did write, of course. she wrote at once. darrell was happy and had a happy future to look forward to, and she could well afford to spill a little happiness into gwen’s dull and humdrum life. sally wrote too and so did mary-lou. bill and clarissa sent photographs of the stables they meant to set up as a riding school in the autumn.
and now indeed the last term was drawing to an end. tidying up of shelves and cupboards began. personal belongings from the sixth-form studies were sent home. trunks were lugged down from the attics. all the familiar bustle of the last days of term began once more. belinda drew her last “scowl”, and irene hummed her last tune. the term was almost finished.
