3 the first evening

“any more new girls coming, have you heard?” darrell asked alicia.

“yes, one. somebody called wilhelmina,” said alicia. “she’s coming tomorrow. one of my brothers knows one of her brothers. when he heard she was coming here, he whistled like anything and said, ‘bill will wake you up all right!’?”

“who’s bill?” said darrell.

“wilhelmina, apparently,” said alicia, taking the things out of her night-case. “she’s got seven brothers! imagine it! seven! and she’s the only girl.”

“golly!” said darrell, trying to imagine what it would be like to have seven brothers. she had none. alicia had three. but seven!

“i should think she’s half a boy herself then,” said darrell.

“probably,” said alicia. “blow, where’s my toothbrush? i know i packed it.”

“look—there’s mavis!” said darrell. alicia looked up. mavis had been a new girl last term. she had not been a great success, because she was lazy and selfish. she had a beautiful voice, pure and sweet, but curiously deep—a most unusual voice that was being well trained.

mavis was proud of her voice and proud of the career she was going to have. “when i’m an opera-singer,” she was always saying, “i shall sing in milan. i shall sing in new york. when i’m an opera-singer, i shall . . .”

the others got very tired of hearing about mavis’s future career. but they were most impressed with her strong, deep voice, that could easily fill the great school hall. it was so rich and sweet that even the little ones listened in delight.

“but the worst of mavis is that she thinks she’s just perfect because she’s got such a lovely voice,” jean had complained a dozen times the term before. jean was head-girl of the third form, and very blunt and forthright. “she doesn’t see that she’s only just a schoolgirl, with duties to do, and work to get through, and games to play. she’s always thinking of that voice of hers—and it’s wonderful, we all know that. but what a pity to have a wonderful voice in such a poor sort of person!”

darrell hadn’t liked mavis. she looked at her now. she saw a discontented, conceited little face, with small dark eyes and a big mouth. auburn hair was plaited into two thick braids.

“mavis is all voice and vanity and nothing else,” she said to alicia. “i know that sounds horrid, but it’s true.”

“yes,” said alicia, and paused to glance at mavis too. “and yet, darrell, that girl will have a wonderful career with that voice of hers, you know. it’s unique, and she’ll have the whole world at her feet later on. the trouble is that she knows it now.”

“i wonder if gwendoline will still go on fussing round her, now she’s seen zerelda?” said darrell. gwendoline, always ready to fawn round anyone gifted, rich or beautiful, had run round mavis in a ridiculous way the term before. but then gwendoline mary never learnt that one should pick one’s friends for quite different things. she was quite unable to see why darrell liked sally, or why daphne liked little mary-lou, or why everyone liked honest, trustable jean.

“where’s betty?” asked darrell. “i haven’t seen her yet.” betty was alicia’s best friend, as clever and amusing as alicia, and almost as sharp-tongued. she was not in north tower, much to alicia’s sorrow. but miss grayling, the head mistress, did not intend to put the two girls into the same house. she was sorry they were friends, because they were too alike, and got each other into trouble continually because of their happy-go-lucky, don’t-care ways.

“betty’s not coming back till half-term,” said alicia, gloomily. “she’s got whooping-cough. imagine it—six weeks before she can come back. she’s only just started it. i heard yesterday.”

“oh, i say—you’ll miss her, won’t you?” said darrell. “i shall miss sally too.”

“well, we’ll just have to put up with each other, you and i, till betty and sally come back,” said alicia. darrell nodded. alicia amused her. she was always fun to be with, and even when her tongue was sharpest, it was witty. alicia was lucky. she had such good brains that she could play the fool all she liked and yet not lose her place in class.

“but if i do that, i slide down to the bottom at once,” thought darrell. “i’ve got quite good brains but i’ve got to use them all the time. alicia’s brains seem to work whether she uses them or not!”

mary-lou came up. she had grown a little taller, but she was still the same rather scared-looking girl. “hallo!” she said. “wherever did you pick zerelda up, darrell? i hear she came down with you. how old is she? eighteen?”

“no. nearly sixteen,” said darrell. “i suppose gwendoline is sucking up to her already? isn’t she the limit? i say, what do you suppose miss potts will say when she sees zerelda?”

miss potts was the house-mistress of north tower, and, like matron, not very good at putting up with nonsense of any sort. most of the girls had been in her form, because she taught the bottom class. they liked and respected her. a few girls, such as gwendoline and mavis, feared her, because she could be very sarcastic over airs and graces, or pretences of any sort.

darrell felt rather lost without sally there to laugh with and talk to. she was glad to walk downstairs with alicia. belinda came bouncing up.

“where’s sally? darrell, i did some wizard sketching in the hols. i went to the circus, and i’ve got a whole book of circus sketches. you should just see the clowns!”

“show the book to us this evening,” said darrell, eagerly. everyone loved belinda’s clever sketches. she really had a gift for drawing, but, unlike mavis, she was not forever thinking and talking of it, or of her future career. she was a jolly schoolgirl first and foremost, and an artist second.

“seen irene?” said alicia. belinda nodded. irene was her friend, and the two were very well-matched. irene was talented at music and maths, but a scatterbrain at everything else. belinda was talented at drawing, quite fair at other lessons, and a scatterbrain almost as bad as irene. the class had great fun with them.

“seen zerelda?” asked darrell, with a grin. that was the question everyone asked that evening. “seen zerelda?” no one had ever seen a girl quite like zerelda before.

at supper that night there was a great noise. everyone was excited. mam’zelle dupont beamed at the table of the third-formers of north tower.

“you have had good holidays?” she enquired of everyone. “you have been to the theatre and the pantomime and the circus? ah, you are all ready to work hard now and do some very very good translations for me! n’est ce pas?”

there was a groan from the girls round the table. “no, mam’zelle! don’t let’s do french translations this term. we’ve forgotten all our french!”

mam’zelle looked round the table for any new face. she always made a point of being extra kind to new girls. she suddenly caught sight of zerelda and stared in amazement. zerelda had done her hair again, and her golden roll stood out on top. her lips were suspiciously red. her cheeks were far too pink.

“this girl, she is made up for the films!” said mam’zelle to herself. “oh, là là! why has she come here? she is not a young girl. she looks old—about twenty! why has miss grayling taken her here? she is not for malory towers.”

zerelda seemed quite at home. she ate her supper very composedly. she was sitting next to gwendoline, who was trying to make her talk. but zerelda was not like mavis, willing to talk for hours about herself. she answered gwendoline politely enough.

“have you lived all your life in america? do you think you’ll like england?” persisted gwendoline.

“i think england’s just wunnerful,” said zerelda, for the sixth time. “i think your little fields are wunnerful, and your little old houses. i think the english people are wunnerful too.”

“wunnerful, isn’t she?” said alicia, under her breath to darrell. “just wunnerful.”

everyone had to go early to bed on the first night, because most of the girls had had long journeys down to cornwall. in fact, before supper was over there were many loud yawns to be heard.

zerelda was surprised when gwendoline informed her that they had to go to bed that night just about eight o’clock. “only just tonight though,” said gwendoline. “tomorrow the third-formers go at nine.”

“at nine,” said zerelda, astonished. “but in my country we go when we like. i shall never go to sleep so early.”

“well, you slept in the car all right,” darrell couldn’t help saying. “so you must be tired.”

they all went to the common-room after supper, chose their lockers, argued, switched on the wireless, switched it off again, yawned, poked the fire, teased mary-lou because she jumped when a spark flew out, and then sang a few songs.

mavis’s voice dominated the rest. it really was a most remarkable voice, deep and powerful. it seemed impossible that it should come from mavis, who was not at all well-grown for her age. one by one the girls fell silent and listened. mavis sang on. she loved the sound of her own voice.

“wunnerful!” said zerelda, clapping loudly when the song was ended. “ree-markable!”

mavis looked pleased. “when i’m an opera-singer,” she began.

zerelda interrupted her. “oh, that’s what you’re going to be, is it? gee, that’s fine. i’m going in for films!”

“films! what do you mean? a film-actress?” said gwendoline mary, her eyes wide.

“yes. i act pretty well already,” said zerelda, not very modestly. “i’m always acting at home. i’m in our dramatic society, of course, and last year at college i acted lady macbeth in shakespeare. gee, that was . . .”

“wunnerful!” said alicia, irene and belinda all together. zerelda laughed.

“i guess i don’t say things the way you say them,” she said, good-naturedly.

“you’ll have a chance to show how well you can act, this very term,” said gwendoline, remembering something. “our form’s got to act a play—‘romeo and juliet’. you could be juliet.”

“that depends on miss hibbert,” said daphne’s voice at once. daphne had already imagined herself in juliet’s part. “miss hibbert’s our english mistress, zerelda, and . . .”

“bed, girls,” said miss potts’ voice at the door. “eight o’clock! come along, everyone, or you’ll never be up in the morning!”