18 the dictator

the days began to fly after half-term. darrell and sally got fits of panic quite regularly whenever they thought of the pantomime being performed to the parents at the end of term.

“we’ll never be ready!” groaned darrell.

“no. we never imagined there’d be so much to do,” said sally, seriously.

“if only everyone knew their parts like mary-lou and mavis,” said darrell. “louella drives me mad. she forgets the words of her songs every single time. i wish we hadn’t chosen her to be the fairy-godmother now.”

“oh, she’ll be all right on the night,” said sally. “she was like that in the play she was in last year—never knew a word till the last night, and then was quite perfect.”

“well, i only hope you’re right,” groaned darrell, amusing the steady sally very much. darrell went down into the dumps easily over her precious pantomime. sally was very good for her. she refused to think anyone was hopeless, and was always ready with something comforting to say.

“alicia’s marvellous, isn’t she?” she said, after a pause, looking up from the work she was doing.

“yes. she’s a born demon,” said darrell, with a giggle. “i get quite scared of her sometimes, the way she leaps about the stage and yells. and her conjuring is miraculous.”

“so is her juggling,” said sally. “and she’s practised that demon-sounding voice till it really sounds quite uncanny.”

daphne joined in with a laugh. “yes—and when she suddenly produces it in french class, the amazement on mam’zelle’s face is too good to be true.”

“alicia’s a scream,” said darrell. “she’ll be the best in the show, i think.”

there was a little silence. “there’s only one thing that really worries me,” said darrell, in a low voice. “and that’s moira. she’s not hitting it off with betty at all—or alicia either. she’s bossing them too much.”

“yes. she can’t seem to help it,” said sally. “but it’s idiotic to be bossy with people like betty and alicia. after all, betty’s co-producer, and alicia’s a terrific help to them.”

darrell was right to worry about moira. moira was intensely keen on getting the whole pantomime perfect, and made everyone work like slaves under her command. the girls resented it. louella purposely forgot her words in order to annoy moira. bill purposely came in at the wrong side each time to make her shout. and moira couldn’t see that she was handling things in the wrong way.

she was a wonderful organizer, certainly. she had gone into every detail, worked out every scene with darrell, proved herself most ingenious, and given very wise advice.

but she did it all in the wrong way. she was aggressive and opinionated, she contradicted people flatly, and she found fault too much and praised too little.

“you’re a dictator, moira,” bill informed her at one rehearsal. “i don’t take kindly to dictators. nor does anyone else here.”

“if you think you can produce a first-class pantomime without giving a few orders and finding a few faults, you’re wrong,” said moira, furiously.

“i don’t,” said bill, mildly. “i never said i did. but you can do all that without being a dictator. you sit up there like a war-lord and chivy us all along unmercifully. i quite expect to be sent to prison sometimes.”

“let’s get on,” said darrell, afraid that moira was going to blow up. arguing always wasted so much time. “we’ll take that bit again. mavis, begin your song.”

mavis sang, and a silence fell. what a lovely voice she had, low and pure and sweet. that would make the audience gasp! it wasn’t often that a schoolgirl had a voice like that.

“we shall miss her when she leaves, and goes to study music and singing at the college of music,” thought darrell. mavis’s song came to an end, and she stepped back to let buttons come on and do her bit.

yes, rehearsals were hard work, but they were fun, too. sally and darrell began to feel more confidence as time went on. darrell surprised herself at times, when she suddenly saw something wrong with the lines of the play, and hurried to alter them.

“i know just what’s wrong and what’s right now,” she thought, as she scribbled new lines. “i adore doing this pantomime—feeling it’s mine because i wrote it all. i want to do a play next. could i write one—perhaps just a short one for next term? shall i ever, ever be a well-known playwright?”

gwen was a sulky actor. she hated being stuck at the back in the chorus, dressed as a servant, with nothing to say or do by herself. maureen was much more cheerful about it. she drove gwen nearly mad by some of the things she said.

“of course, i don’t mind having such a small, insignificant part,” she said. “but it’s different for you, gwen. you’ve been here for years, and i’ve not been even one term. you ought to have had a good part. i couldn’t expect one.”

gwen growled.

“i shall write and tell your mother you are awfully good as a servant,” went on maureen. “i do think it’s so kind of her to ask me to stay. won’t it be fun to be together so much, gwen, in the hols?”

gwen didn’t answer. she was beginning to be a little afraid of maureen. maureen was silly and affected—but she had a cunning and sly side to her nature, too. so had gwen, of course. she recognized it easily in maureen because it was in herself too. that was the dreadful part of this forced friendship with maureen. it was like being friends with yourself, and knowing all the false, silly, sly things that went on in your own mind.

gwen did try to alter herself a bit, so that she wouldn’t be like maureen. she stopped her silly laugh and her wide, false smile. she stopped talking about herself too.

to her enormous annoyance nobody seemed to notice it. as a matter of fact, they took so little notice of her at all that if she had suddenly grown a moustache and worn riding-boots they wouldn’t have bothered. who wanted to pay any attention to gwen? she had never done anything to make herself liked or trusted, so the best thing to do was to ignore her.

and ignore her they did, though poor gwen was doing her best to be sensible and likeable now. she had left it a bit too late!

two more weeks went by, and then suddenly a row flared up at a rehearsal. it began over a very silly little thing indeed, as big rows often do.

alicia took it into her head to evolve a kind of demon-chant whenever she appeared or disappeared on the stage. she only thought of it a few minutes before rehearsal, and hadn’t time to tell darrell or sally, so she thought she would just introduce the weird little chant without warning.

and she did. she appeared with her sudden, surprising leaps, chanting eerily. “oo-woo-la, woo-la, riminy-ree, oo-woo-la . . .”

moira rapped loudly. the rehearsal stopped.

“alicia! what on earth’s that? it’s not in the script, as you very well know.”

“of course i know,” said alicia, annoyed as always by moira’s unnecessarily sharp tone. “i hadn’t time to ask darrell to put it in. i only thought of it just now.”

“well, we can’t insert new things now,” said moira, coldly. “and in any case it’s not for you to suggest extraordinary chants like that. if we’d wanted one we’d have got darrell to write one in.”

“look here, moira,” said alicia, losing her temper rapidly, “i’m not a first-former. i’m . . .”

darrell interrupted hastily. “moira, i think that’s really a good idea of alicia’s. what do you think, betty? i never thought of a chant like that for the demon—but it does sound very demon-like, and . . .”

“yes,” said betty, anxious to go against moira, and back up her friend alicia. “yes. it’s a jolly fine idea. we’ll have it.”

moira went up in smoke at once, in a way that a demon king himself might have envied!

she stood up, glowering. “you only say that, betty, because you’re alicia’s friend, and . . .”

“shucks,” said betty, rudely.

moira went on without stopping. “and darrell only says it because she always backs up alicia, too. well, i’m chief producer, and i’m going to have my way over this. there’ll be no demon-chant. get on with the rehearsal.”

alicia was white. “i’m not performing any more tonight,” she said, in a cold and angry voice. “you’re quite stealing the performance yourself, aren’t you, moira? wonderful demon queen you’d make, with that look on your face!”

it was so exactly what moira did look like that there were quite a lot of guffaws. alicia walked off the stage. darrell was petrified. sally took charge.

“who’s on next? come on, bill.”

bill came on the wrong side as usual, determined to flout moira, too. she stalked in, her hands in her breeches pockets. she always wore riding things when she rehearsed. she said it made her feel more baronial!

“bill! you know perfectly well you don’t come in that side,” shouted moira, who also knew perfectly well that it was just bill’s way of showing that she sided with alicia. bill stood there like a dummy.

“go back and come in the right side,” ordered moira, harshly.

“no. i’m going riding,” said bill. quite simply and mildly, just like that! she walked off, humming, and moira heard her calling to clarissa.

“clarissa! come on! i’m not feeling fit for acting tonight. i want to do something energetic!”

“this is silly,” said betty. “everyone walking off. let me take charge, moira. you’re rubbing them up the wrong way tonight.”

moira shoved her roughly aside. she had a wicked temper when she was really roused, the same kind of temper as her sister bridget, who liked to smash things up if she really felt mad!

“i’m going on,” she said, between her teeth. “once we let things get out of hand, we’re done. we’ll take the servants’ chorus.”

the chorus came on, giggling and ready to play up moira if they could. they all resented her hard ways, even though they admitted that she could get things done and done well.

moira picked on gwen and maureen at once.

“you two! you’re not singing! oh no, you’re not! so don’t say you were. you’re pretty awful every time, and you’d better pull your socks up now, or you won’t even be in the chorus. i’ll get some third-formers instead.”

“i say! do shut up, moira,” said betty, in a low tone. “you know you’ll never do much with those two, and certainly not if you go for them like that.”

moira took not the slightest notice. “did you hear what i said, gwen and maureen?” she called. “come out in front and sing by yourselves, so that i shall see if you do know the words.”

gwen hesitated. she longed to cheek moira, or walk off as bill had done. but she was afraid of moira’s sharp tongue.

“very well then—stop where you are and sing there,” said moira, suddenly realizing that she couldn’t very well go and drag gwen and maureen to the front by main force. “music, irene!”

irene, looking very glum and disgusted, played the servants’ chorus. gwen’s reedy voice piped up and maureen mumbled the words, too.

“stop,” said moira, and the music stopped. “you don’t know the words and you don’t know the tune—and it is about the seventh rehearsal. you’re the worst in the whole play, both of you.”

gwen and maureen were furious at being humiliated like this in front of everyone. but still they dared not answer moira back. they were both little cowards when it came to anything like that. they stood mute, and gwen felt the usual easy tears welling up in her eyes.

needless to say the rehearsal was not a success. everyone sighed with relief when the supper-bell went. moira went off scowling. many of the girls sent scowls after her in imitation.

“beast,” said daphne. “she gets worse!”

“she’s worried because she has so many rehearsals to take, and so much to do,” said darrell, trying to stop the general grumbling. it made things so difficult if the girls didn’t come willingly and cheerfully to rehearsal. it was her pantomime, her masterpiece—she couldn’t let their resentful feelings for moira spoil it all.

“saint darrell!” called betty, in delight. darrell grinned.

“i’m no saint!” she said. “i’m as hot and bothered as everyone else. but what’s the good of messing up the show just because we’ve got a producer who can’t keep her temper?”

“let’s chuck her out,” suggested somebody. “we’ve got betty—and there’s you and sally and alicia at hand to help. we don’t need moira now the donkey-work is done.”

“we can’t possibly chuck her out,” said darrell, decidedly. “it would be mean after she’s got it more or less into shape. i do honestly think she’s irritable because she’s so interested in getting it perfect, and every little thing upsets her. give her another chance!”

“all right,” agreed everyone. “but only one more chance, darrell!”