13 zerelda’s unfortunate rehearsal
miss hibbert took a great deal of trouble in producing the school plays. she gave her time to each form in turn, and really achieved some excellent results. this term it was the third form’s turn. they were to give the play towards the end of the term. they were thankful not to be doing french plays. both the mam’zelles took a hand in producing those, and as they had quite different ideas about acting, it was a little trying for the actors.
“does miss hibbert choose the characters the first time?” asked zerelda.
“oh no—she tries us all out in almost every part several times,” said darrell. “she does that for two reasons—she says that in that way she really does find the right actor for every part—and we all get to know every part of the play and work better as a team.”
“gee, that’s wunnerful—i mean, wonderful,” said zerelda. “i’ve been studying juliet’s part. it’s a lovely one. would you like to hear me do some of the lines?”
“well—i’m just going out to my lacrosse practice,” said darrell. “sorry! look—ask alicia. she’s got nothing to do this period.”
but alicia was not going to admire zerelda’s juliet. she got up hastily. “sorry! i’ve got to go to a meeting, zerelda. but i’m sure you’d be just wunnerful!”
“i’ll hear you, zerelda,” said gwendoline, glad of an opportunity to please the american girl. “let’s go into one of the empty music-practice-rooms, where you won’t be disturbed. it will be lovely to see you act. i’m sure you must be awfully good. as good as—what’s the star you like so much—oh yes, lossie laxton!”
“well, maybe i’m not up to her standard yet,” said zerelda, fluffing up her hair in the way lossie did on the films. “okay, gwen—we’ll go to a practice-room.”
but they were all full, and music sounded from each of them, with the exception of one at the end. irene was there, poring over a music score.
“i say, irene,” said gwen, going in, “can you . . .”
“go away,” said irene, fiercely. “i’m busy. can’t you see?”
“well, you’re not needing the piano, are you?” said zerelda. “can’t you do your work, whatever it is, somewhere else?”
“no, i can’t. i shall want to try it out on the piano in a minute,” said irene. “go away. interrupting me like that!”
zerelda was surprised. she had never seen irene so annoyed before. but gwendoline had. she knew that irene could not bear to be disturbed when she was concentrating on her music, whether it was writing it out, or playing it on the piano.
“come on,” she said to zerelda. “let’s go.”
“yes. go!” said irene, with a desperate expression on her face. “you’ve stopped me just when it was all coming beautifully. blow you both!”
“well, really, irene, i do think you might let us use this room if you’re only playing about with pencil and paper,” began zerelda. “i want to recite some lines of juliet and . . .”
then irene went quite mad. she threw her music, her pencil and her music-case at the alarmed zerelda. “you’re daft!” she shouted. “give up my music-hour for your silly acting! oh yes, i know you’re going to be a wonderful film-star, parading about in marvellous clothes, thinking of third-rate things if ever you do have a thought in your head—but what’s all that compared to music! i tell you i’m . . .”
but zerelda and gwen did not wait to hear any more. they saw irene looking round for something else to throw and as there was a vase of flowers on the little mantelpiece gwen thought the sooner they went out of the room the better.
“well!” said zerelda. “if that doesn’t beat all! irene’s mad!”
“not really,” said gwen. “it’s only when she feels sort of inspired, and music comes welling up into her mind and she has to write it down. she’s got the real artistic temperament, i suppose.”
“well, so have i,” said zerelda at once. “but i don’t go mad like that. i wouldn’t have believed it of her.”
“she can’t help it,” said gwendoline. “it’s only when she’s interrupted. look—there’s lucy going out of one of the practice-rooms. we can have that one if we’re quick!”
they slipped into the room that lucy had just left. gwendoline sat down, ready to listen for hours if she could please zerelda and make her feel really friendly towards her. zerelda struck a lovesick attitude and began.
“wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day;
it was the nightingale and not the lark,
that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree;
believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”
gwendoline listened with a rapt and admiring expression on her face. she had no idea at all whether zerelda was good or not, but that made no difference to her praise.
“it’s marvellous!” she said, when zerelda at last stopped for breath. “however have you learnt such a lot? my goodness, you do act well. and you really look the part, zerelda, with your hair and all.”
“do i?” said zerelda, pleased. she always enjoyed herself when she was acting. “i know what i’ll do. i’ll shake my hair loose. and i’ll wrap this tablecloth round me. no—it’s not big enough. the curtain will do!”
to gwendoline’s amusement zerelda took down the blue curtain and swathed it round herself over her brown school tunic. she undid her brilliant hair and shook it all over her shoulders. she decided to put the tablecloth round her too. ah—now she felt more like juliet. holding her hands out pathetically in front of her she began another speech. it sounded really a little queer because zerelda tried very hard to speak in the english way but kept lapsing into her usual drawl, so that the whole effect was rather funny.
gwendoline wanted to laugh but she knew how offended zerelda would be. the american girl paraded up and down, declaiming her speeches most dramatically, the blue curtain dragging behind her like a train, her hair almost hiding one eye.
someone looked in. it was bessie, a second-former. she had come to practice. but seeing two third-formers there, she fled. then a fourth-former came. she was not scared of third-formers, but was very much astonished to see zerelda and her strange raiment.
“i’ve got to practise,” she said, coming in. “clear out.”
zerelda stopped indignantly. “clear out yourself!” she said. “gee, of all the nerve! can’t you see i’m rehearsing?”
“no, i can’t,” said the fourth-former. “and wait till a mistress sees you in that curtain—you’ll be for it, zerelda brass. clear out now, both of you. i’m late already.”
zerelda decided to go all temperamental like irene. she caught up her book of shakespeare’s plays and threw it at the fourth-former. most unfortunately at that moment matron came by, and, as she always did, glanced into the practice-rooms to see that each girl there was practising. she was filled with astonishment to see somebody wearing a curtain and a tablecloth, with hair all over her face, throwing a book at a girl about to sit down at the piano.
she opened the door sharply, making everyone jump. “what’s all this? what are you doing? oh, it’s you, zerelda. what on earth have you got the curtain round you for? are you quite mad? and what has happened to your hair? it looks a hundred times worse than usual. janet, get on with your practising. gwendoline, you shouldn’t be here when a fourth-former is practising. as for you, zerelda, if i see any more tempers like that, i shall report you to miss grayling! throwing books at one another indeed! a third-former too! you’ll go down into the first form if you behave like that!”
the girls couldn’t get a word in, for matron fired all this off at top speed. she pushed janet firmly down on the stool, shooed gwendoline out as if she was a hen, and took zerelda firmly by the shoulder.
“you’ll just come with me and let me find out if you’ve torn the cloth or the curtain,” she said. “if you have you’ll sit down in my room under my eye and mend it. and while i think of it—if you don’t darn your stockings better than you have been doing, i shall have to ask you to come to me for darning lessons.”
angry and embarrassed, poor zerelda had to walk down the corridor after matron, trying to take the curtain and cloth away from her shoulders and waist, and wishing she could tie her hair back.
but matron would give her no time to rearrange or tidy herself. this stuck-up, affected american girl had annoyed matron so often—now matron was getting a bit of her own back! let everyone see zerelda in this rumpled, ridiculous state!
and most unfortunately for zerelda they met a whole batch of giggling second-formers, who stared at zerelda in delighted amazement.
“what’s she done? where’s matron taking her? doesn’t she look awful!” poor zerelda heard the twelve-year-olds say. she blushed miserably and looked round for gwen. but gwen had gone. she knew matron in this mood, and she wasn’t going to go near her if she could help it!
they met mam’zelle at the bend of the stairs, and mam’zelle exclaimed in surprise. “tiens! what is this? zerelda! your hair!”
“yes. i’m dealing with her, mam’zelle,” said matron firmly. she and mam’zelle were usually at war with one another, so matron did not stop to talk, but swept zerelda along to her room at top speed, leaving mam’zelle to gape and wonder.
fortunately for zerelda, matron could find no damage done to either the tablecloth or the curtain. she was quite disappointed! she did zerelda’s hair for her herself, and zerelda was so overcome by matron’s briskness and ability to talk without stopping that she submitted without saying a word.
matron plaited zerelda’s hair into two fat plaits! zerelda had never had her hair plaited in her life. she sat there, horror-struck. this awful school! whatever would happen to her next?
“there,” said matron, satisfied at last, tying the ends of the plaits with blue tape. she stepped back. “now you look a proper schoolgirl, zerelda—and very sensible and nice too. why you want to go about pretending you are twenty, i don’t know.”
zerelda got up weakly. she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass. how awful! could that really be herself? why, she looked a nobody—just like all the other english girls. she crept out of matron’s room and fled up to the dormy to try and put her hair right.
she met miss peters, who stared at her as if she didn’t know her. zerelda smiled a weak smile and tried to get by without a word.
“well—zerelda!” she heard miss peters say, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. zerelda shot down the corridor, praying that she would not meet anyone else.
gwendoline was in the dormy, and she too stared at zerelda as if she was seeing a ghost.
“did matron do that to you?” she asked. “oh, zerelda—you look like a real schoolgirl now—not a bit like yourself. oh, i must tell the others that matron plaited your hair.”
“if you dare to repeat such a thing i’ll never speak to you again!” said zerelda, in such a fierce voice that gwen was quite scared. she shook her hair free of the plaits. “this horrible school! i’ll never forgive matron, never!”
