20 the connie affair

“now we can have a good time for the rest of the term,” said darrell, pleased. “no more swotting—no more long preps even, because miss williams says we’ve done enough. we’ll enjoy ourselves!”

“it ought to be a nice peaceful end of term, with no horrid happenings,” said sally. “when alicia comes back, it will be nicer still.”

sally was wrong when she said there ought to be a nice peaceful end of term, with no horrid happenings—because the very next day the connie affair began.

it began with quite small things—a missing rubber—an essay spoilt because a page was missing, apparently torn out—a lace gone from one of connie’s shoes.

nobody took any notice at first—things always were missing anyhow and turned up in the most ridiculous places—and pages did get torn out of books, and laces had a curious habit of disappearing.

but the connie affair didn’t end there. connie was always in trouble about something! “now my french poetry book has gone!” she complained. “now my cotton has gone out of my work-basket.” now this and now that!

“but, connie—how is it that so many things happen to you lately?” said darrell, puzzled. “i don’t understand it. it’s almost as if somebody was plaguing you—but who could it be? not one of us would do silly, idiotic things like this—sort of first-form spite!”

connie shook her head. “i can’t think who’s doing it,” she said. “i suppose it is someone. it can’t be a series of accidents—there’s too many of them.”

“what do you think about it, ruth?” asked darrell—but connie answered first.

“oh, ruth can’t think who does it, either. it’s very upsetting for her, because twins are always so fond of one another. she’s sweet, too—keeps on giving me her things when i lose mine.”

“well, it’s certainly most extraordinary,” said darrell. “i’m very sorry about it, it’s a horrid thing to happen in the fourth form!”

the girls talked about the connie affair, as they called it, and puzzled about it. one or two of them looked at gwendoline, wondering if she had anything to do with it.

“don’t you remember how connie flared out at gwen and put her finger on gwen’s weak spot—when she was putting over that nonsense about her heart?” said daphne. “and you know—gwen has done these nasty tricks before. don’t you remember? she did them to mary-lou when we were in the second form.”

“give a dog a bad name and hang him,” quoted darrell. “just because gwen did once do thing like this, and got a bad name for it, doesn’t mean we ought to accuse her of the same thing now. for goodness’ sake wait a bit before we decide anything.”

“there speaks a head-girl,” said irene.

darrell flushed. “i’m not head-girl,” she said. “wish i was. but seriously, it really is jolly queer, all this business. the things are so very silly too—connie’s ink-pot was stuffed up with blotting-paper this morning, did you know?”

“well!” said belinda. “how petty!”

“yes—most of the things are petty and spiteful and quite futile,” said darrell. “you don’t suppose they’ll get any worse, do you? i mean—stop being petty and get harmful?”

“let’s hope not,” said mavis. “here are the twins. hallo, connie—anything more to report?”

“yes—somebody’s cut my racket handle,” she said, and showed it to them. “just where i grip it! mean, isn’t it?”

“you can use mine, connie. i told you,” said ruth, who was looking very distressed. “you can use anything of mine.”

“i know, ruth—but supposing your things get messed up, too?” said connie. “i’d hate that.”

“it’s all very, very queer,” said irene, and hummed a new melody she had just composed. “tooty-tooty-tee!”

mavis sang to it—“it’s all—very—queer! it’s all—very—queer!”

“i say!” said darrell. “your voice is coming back! that’s just how you used to sing, mavis! it is, really.”

“yes, i know,” said mavis, her face red with pleasure. “i’ve tried it out when i’ve been alone—though that’s not often here!—and i thought it had come back, too. let me sing a song for you, and you can tell me if you think i’ve got my voice back!”

she sang a song that the lower school had been learning. “who is sylvia, what is she?” the girls listened spellbound. yes—there was no doubt about it, mavis’s lovely low, powerful voice had come back again—better than ever. and this time it was owned by a somebody, not a nobody, as it had been before!

“we shall once again hear you saying, ‘when i’m an opera singer and sing in rome and new york and . . .’?” began darrell. but mavis shook her head.

“no, you won’t. you know you won’t. i’m not like that now. or am i? do say i’m not!”

“you’re not, you’re not!” said everyone, anxious to reassure a girl they all liked.

darrell clapped her on the back.

“i’m so glad, mavis. that almost makes up for this horrid connie affair. you’ll be able to have singing lessons again next term.”

for a day or two it seemed as if the connie affair was at an end. connie did not report any more strange happenings. then she came to the common-room almost in tears.

“look!” she said, and held up her riding-whip. it was one she had won at a jumping competition and was very, very proud of it.

the girls looked. someone had gashed the whip all the way down, so that in places it was almost cut through. “i had it out riding this afternoon,” said connie, in a trembling voice. “i came home and took my horse to the stable . . .”

“you took two horses,” said bill. “yours and ruth’s, too. i saw you.”

“i took the horses to the stable,” said connie, “and left my whip there. when i went back to look for it, i found it like this!”

“anyone in the stables?” said darrell.

“no. nobody at all. bill had been there, of course, and june and felicity had, too—and i and ruth. nobody else,” said connie.

“well, one of those must have done it,” said darrell. “but honestly i can’t believe any of them did. ruth and bill certainly wouldn’t. my sister felicity wouldn’t even think of such a thing. and i feel pretty certain june wouldn’t either, much as i dislike that cheeky little brat.”

“anyway, both the first-formers had gone by the time i’d stabled the horses,” said connie. “you didn’t see them when we left, did you, ruth?”

“no,” said ruth.

“did you notice anyone else at all, when you were grooming your horse, ruth?” asked darrell, puzzled.

“she didn’t even groom her horse,” connie answered for her. “i always do that. she stood there, looking at all the other horses, and would have seen anyone slinking round.”

everyone was puzzled. ruth went out of the room and came back with her own whip, a very fine one. “you’re to have this, connie,” she said. “i’m so upset about all these things happening. i insist on your taking my whip!”

“no, no,” said connie. “i don’t mind taking things like rubbers and shoe-laces—but not your beautiful whip.”

that evening darrell was alone with bill. she was worried and puzzled. “bill,” she said, “are you sure there was nobody else in the stable but you and the twins this afternoon? i suppose-er—well, gwendoline wasn’t there, was she?”

“no,” said bill.

“i hated to ask that,” said darrell, “but it is just the kind of thing gwen would do.”

“it’s her own fault if we think things like that of her,” said bill.

“why does connie groom ruth’s horse for her?” asked darrell. “is ruth so lazy? she’s always letting connie do things!”

“no. she’s not lazy,” said bill. “she’s just queer, i think—a shadow of connie! well, i must go and give thunder a lump of sugar, darrell. see you later.”

she went out and left darrell thinking hard. a curious idea had come to her mind. she fitted one thing into another, like a jigsaw puzzle—she remembered all the unkind things that had been done to connie, and she remembered also all the kind things that ruth had done to try and put right the unkind things. she remembered also a queer look she had seen on ruth’s face that evening, when connie had refused ruth’s whip.

“a kind of frightened, half-angry look,” thought darrell. “just as if she’d apologized to connie, and the apology had been refused.”

and then something clicked in her mind and she suddenly saw who the spiteful person might be that played all these petty tricks on connie.

“what am i to do about it?” wondered darrell. “i can’t tell anyone in case i’m wrong. it’s got to be stopped. and i’m half afraid of going and tackling anyone to get it stopped. but i must! it’s serious.”

she got up and went in search of ruth. yes, it was ruth she wanted, and ruth she must tackle!