5 the arrival of wilhelmina

unfortunately the bell for the next class rang at that moment and the third-formers could not see what happened next. would miss grayling come out to the horse-riders? how would wilhelmina enter the towers? darrell imagined her riding up the steps and into the hall!

“golly! fancy riding to school like that,” said alicia. “i suppose she’s going to keep her horse here. one or two girls do do that already. bringing all her seven brothers too! what a girl!”

nobody had been able to see clearly what wilhelmina had looked like. in fact, it had been difficult to tell her from the boys, as they had all been in riding-breeches. the third-formers went to their classroom, discussing the new arrival excitedly. wilhelmina promised to be a somebody!

“i shall be scared of her,” said mary-lou.

“don’t be silly,” said mavis, who was always very scornful of mary-lou. “why should you be scared of her? i just hate tomboys, and i’m sure she’s one. she’ll think of nothing but horses and dogs, and she’ll smell of them too. people always do when they’re mad on animals.”

“miss peters doesn’t,” said darrell.

“oh, miss peters!” said mavis. “i’ll be glad when i’m out of her class. she’s too hearty for anything!”

darrell laughed. miss peters was rather hearty and loud-voiced. but she was a good sort, though not at all sympathetic to people like mavis. neither had she much patience with alicia or betty when they played any of their idiotic tricks. in fact, she had looked with such disfavour on tricks in class that poor alicia and betty had almost given up playing any.

wilhelmina didn’t turn up in the classroom that morning, but jean found matron waiting for her in the passage when the third form went out to get ready for dinner. with her was somebody who, except for the school tunic, looked exactly like a boy!

“jean,” said matron, “you’re head-girl of the third, aren’t you? well, look after wilhelmina for me, will you, and take her down to dinner? she couldn’t come yesterday because she wasn’t out of quarantine. here you are, wilhelmina—this is jean, head-girl of your form.”

“hallo,” said wilhelmina and grinned a boyish grin that showed big white teeth set very evenly. jean looked at her and liked her at once.

wilhelmina had hair cropped almost as short as a boy’s. it curled a little, which she hated. her face was boyish and square, with a tip-tilted nose, a big mouth, and big, wide-set eyes of hazel-brown. she was covered with freckles from forehead to firm little chin.

“hallo,” said jean. “i saw you arrive—on horseback, didn’t you?”

“yes,” said wilhelmina. “my seven brothers came with me. mummy was awfully cross about that. she wanted me to go in the car with her and daddy—but we got our horses and shot off before they started!”

“good gracious!” said jean. “did you really? have you each got a horse?”

“yes. we’ve got big stables,” said wilhelmina. “daddy keeps racehorses too. i say—i’ve never been to boarding-school before. is it awful? if it is i shall saddle thunder and ride away.”

jean stared at wilhelmina and wondered if she meant all this. she decided that she didn’t. she laughed and pulled wilhelmina along to the cloakroom, because she had to wash ink off her hands before dinner. miss potts would be sure to spot them if she didn’t!

“malory towers is a jolly fine school,” said jean. “you’ll like it.”

“shall i be able to ride thunder each day?” asked wilhelmina, staring round the big cloakroom where girls were chattering and laughing as they washed. “i tell you, i wouldn’t have come if they hadn’t let me bring thunder. i shall have to look after him too, even if it means missing some of my lessons. he would hate anyone else looking after him.”

“haven’t you ever been to school before?” asked belinda, who had been listening to all this with interest.

“no. i shared the tutor that three of my brothers had,” said wilhelmina. “there wasn’t a school near at all. we live miles out in the country. i expect i shall be at the bottom of the form.”

belinda liked this outspoken girl. “i bet you won’t,” she said, and cast her eye round to see if gwendoline was about. yes, she was. “not while gwendoline mary is in the form, anyway!”

“don’t be beastly,” said gwendoline, cross at having fun poked at her in front of a new girl.

“it will all seem a bit queer to you at first,” said jean. “if you’ve been even to a day school before it helps—but never to have been to school at all—well, you’re sure to feel a bit strange, wilhelmina.”

“i say—would you mind very much if i asked you something?” said wilhelmina, staring hard at jean.

“what?” said jean, wondering what was coming. the others came round to listen. wilhelmina looked round at them all.

“well,” she said, “i’ve never in my life been called wilhelmina. never. it’s a frightful name. everyone calls me bill. after all, people call william bill for short, don’t they? so my brothers said they’d call me bill, short for wilhelmina! if you all start calling me wilhelmina i shall be miserable. i shan’t feel i’m myself.”

in the usual way if a new girl asked for a nickname, she would have been laughed at, or told to think again. nicknames were only given when people knew you well and liked you. gwendoline mary opened her mouth to say this but belinda spoke first.

“yes. we’ll call you bill. it suits you. wilhelmina’s a nice name for some people, but not for you. you really are a bill. what do you say, darrell—and jean?”

“yes,” they agreed at once. they couldn’t help liking this sturdy, freckled girl with her short hair and frank smile. she was bill. they couldn’t possibly call her anything else.

“well, thanks awfully,” said bill. “thanks most awfully. now i can forget i was ever christened wilhelmina.”

mavis and gwendoline mary looked as if they didn’t approve of this at all. why should a new girl get a nickname at once, just because she wanted it? daphne looked disapproving too. how could any girl want a boy’s name? and how could anyone like to wear her hair as short as wilhelmina and get so many freckles? why, daphne couldn’t bear it if she got so much as a single freckle!

zerelda came into the cloakroom, her hair still done properly, without the big roll on the top of her head. jean looked at her.

“gracious, zerelda! you do look different—about ten years younger! i bet miss williams was mad with you, wasn’t she?”

“she was mad all right,” said zerelda. “really queer, i mean! i’m quite scared of her. i’d rather have your miss peters. i say—who in the big wide world is this?”

she stood and stared in the utmost wonder at bill, who looked back, quite unabashed. the two took in one another from top to toe.

“are you a boy or a girl?” inquired zerelda. “gee, i wouldn’t know!”

“my name’s bill,” said bill with a grin. “short for wilhelmina. what’s yours?”

“zerelda. short for nothing,” said zerelda. “why do you wear your hair like that?”

“because i couldn’t bear to wear it like yours,” retorted bill.

zerelda stared at bill again as if she really couldn’t believe her eyes.

“i’ve never seen a girl like you before,” she said. “gee, you’re wunnerful! gee, i think all you english people are wunnerful!”

“anyone would think you hadn’t got an english mother,” said darrell. “you’ve lived with her all your life, haven’t you? you always sound as if you have never met anyone english before.”

“my mother’s as american as anyone,” said zerelda. “i don’t know why she’s gotten it into her head to send me to england. she’s forgotten she was ever english. i’d like to take you back to america with me, bill. why, nobody would believe you were real, over there! gee, you’re just . . .”

“wunnerful!” chorused everyone, and zerelda laughed.

a bell rang. “dinner!” yelled belinda. “i’m starving. rotten breakfasts we get here!”

“rotten!” agreed everyone. they had all eaten big plates of porridge and milk, scrambled eggs, and toast and marmalade, but it was always agreed that the food was “rotten”—unless, of course, an outsider dared to criticize the food, and then it suddenly became “too wizard for words.”

they tore down to the dining-room. zerelda went to sit with the third-formers, having put up rather a poor show in the fourth form that morning, and feeling rather small—but miss williams called her over.

“zerelda! this is your table now. let me look at your hair.”

zerelda submitted to miss williams’ close examination, glad that she had not put any red on her lips. how dare miss williams treat her like a kid of six? she felt angry and annoyed. but she soon cheered up when she saw the steaming dishes of stew, surrounded with all kinds of vegetables. gee, she liked these english meals. they were—no, not wunnerful—what was the word the others used—yes, they were wizard!

darrell wrote to sally that night and told her about bill and zerelda.

you’ll like bill (short for wilhelmina), [she wrote]. all grins and freckles and very short hair, mad on horses, has seven brothers, says just exactly what she thinks, and yet we don’t mind a bit.

she bit her pen and then went on.

but, oh my, zerelda! she thinks she’s going to be a film-star and says she’s “wunnerful” at acting. you should have seen the way she did her hair—and the way she made up her face! we thought we were going to have some fun with her and take her down a peg or two, but she’s not in our form after all. she’s nearly sixteen so she’s gone into the fourth. i bet miss williams had a fit when she saw her walking into her classroom this morning. sally, do hurry up and come back. betty isn’t back yet either, so alicia and i are keeping each other company, but i’d so much rather have you. you steady me! alicia doesn’t. she makes me feel i’m going to do idiotic things. i hope i’ll last out till you come back!

somebody put their head in at the door. “hey, is wilhelmina here? matron wants her. wilhelmina!”

nobody stirred. “wilhelmina!” said the voice again. “hey, you, new girl! aren’t you wilhelmina?”

bill put down her book hastily. “golly, yes, so i am!” she said. “i quite forgot. i really must tell matron to call me bill.”

she went out and everyone laughed. “good old bill! i’d like to see matron’s face when she tells her to call her bill!” said belinda.