Elves and Escapades (Scholars and Sorcery Book 2) (3 page)

She sweeps us back to her study, much to her study-mate Valerie’s annoyance, and the subject of Gladys’s affairs—or my own—is not raised again. It stays on my mind, though. I recall Frances choked with tears, and resolve to do my best by them both.

two

M
IDNIGHT
A
LARUMS

THE FIRST ELEVEN and our reserves pile onto the coach together in a cacophony of hockey sticks and singing. My spirits bob somewhere up in the wintry blue sky where Ember usually flies. My gating is over at last, we’re fielding an excellent team and, if we should fall to the College Club, well, that is to be expected of mere schoolgirls. I’m certain we can put up a creditable fight. On the other hand, if we win, the victory will be all the more sweet for being so unexpected, and will be a real feather in my cap. Our caps. The school’s cap. Well, let’s face it, there would be just a smidgen of honour and glory in it for me personally.
 

The sun is only pale and wintry, yet I’m beaming enough to make up for it.

Cecily and Esther are sitting together, Esther’s bronze head close to Cecily’s dark one, so I take a seat next to Gladys. She is in a good mood as well, grinning in welcome in an unusually open manner. She only shuts down a little when Frances, who is playing reserve, glances over at the two of us, then wordlessly takes a seat next to her fellow Guide and Welshwoman Marion Jones.

Something about the free-and-easy mood and the covering noise gives me the courage to say, “What’s gone wrong between you and Frances? It seems a shame for you two to fall out.”
 

Her expression darkens immediately, her thick black brows drawing down over her dark blue eyes. “Is it really any of your business?”

I shrug, without apology, and persist. I never would have broached a delicate matter like a quarrel between bosom friends so directly with anyone else, but there doesn’t seem to be much point pussy-footing around with Gladys. She’s the kind of girl who stomps all over delicacy. “We’re friends, or at least I hope we’ve become good friends, this term. And I like Frances, too. I can’t help noticing that you’re never in each other’s studies, and I would have expected you to be popping in and out at all times. I mean, I can’t imagine Cecily is folding your clothes for you and playing Mama in Frances’ stead.”

Gladys’ expression is still black. “I don’t need anyone to play dolls with me, Charley.” Still, I fancy there is a slight softening at the mention of being good friends. Gladys, with her brusque and ungraceful ways, has never been particularly popular in the Form. “Besides, Rosalind is far more the kind to want her hair brushed and be babied and cosseted. She’s welcome to Frances.”
 

I try not to stiffen in return. I’ve been glad of Frances’ maternal interest in Rosalind, naturally so. Rosalind is the kind of girl to deserve being petted. It’s not Frances’ fault, let alone Gladys’ fault, that I would love to be the one brushing that dull platinum hair and making a fuss over Rosalind. Gladys has no way of knowing how I feel about the matter.

Gladys, I suspect, is not in the way of knowing how anyone else feels about anything.

It’s that thought that makes me say, carefully, “But don’t you feel rather bad over it?”

I hold my breath a little after I ask it. Of course, it is entirely possible that I am not the only one to feel hidden feelings over another girl. Of course, there is Esther, but so often what Esther feels is a complete mystery to me. It seems impossible that stolid Gladys could feel the same, but, after what Miss Carroll said to me about her and Frances… I feel like I am edging close to dangerous ground.

A girl who can send up a shower of fire in a tantrum must be capable of pretty strong feelings.

Gladys snorts. “Frances is welcome to her study mate and her babyish Guides and everything else. I have no time for her until she grows up a little and realises she is nearly an adult.”

I fancy there is a certain sadness in the set of her mouth as her gaze darts sideways to where Frances and Marion are singing and giggling together. There is, however, no sign of hidden, guilty knowledge. It seems this truly is just a quarrel between cousins and friends, without any more complicated and secret kind of love.

I decide to leave well enough alone for now. I punch Gladys lightly, and affectionately, on the arm. “Never mind, old girl. Let’s cheer up and sing along in the hopes of an splendid victory, shall we?”

It’s actually a splendid defeat, it turns out. Gladys acquits herself well, saving goals whenever humanly possible, and when Rae Watson twists her ankle, Frances does a valiant job on the wing. I notice that Gladys opens her mouth as if to join in when I slap Frances’ back and praise her, as if a hint of the habit of pride in her cousin remains. Then her jaw snaps shut and she goes to talk to Corona.

I don’t push it, but I resolve to fix things if I can. I have no idea how. I just know that no amount of second rank friends could make up for a missing best beloved.

After all the fuss of my quarrel with Diana, there is an unstated acknowledgement by the rest of the form that Rosalind is now my particular friend. We walk together, sit together in the courtyard, pair with each other as much as possible in the Saturday dancing and conversation classes.
 

The second consequence, perhaps as a result of the first, is that Cecily, Esther and Gladys openly take Rosalind up. The first time Cecily sits herself next to Rosalind and asks her about an essay, Rosalind gives her one scared look, then sets back her shoulders and manages to answer, even though she looks like she wants to turn tail like a startled rabbit. She is still terribly shy, and a little stiff and unfriendly with Esther, but she is gradually throwing off Diana’s nasty influence. I am glad for her.
 

Now, when I spend time with the others in my crowd, Rosalind is often there too, unobtrusive but seemingly content. Once, when Cecily is yarning about life back on the station and hunting for bunyip joeys, Rosalind unexpectedly responds with a tale of her own about finding a nest of dragonlings in the grounds of her house. It’s the first time I’ve seen her volunteer a story to the other girls. Away from Diana’s shadow, she is visibly blooming, and I feel a secret pride that the others can now see some of the charm I see in her.

Diana cuts me dead every time our paths cross and vanishes from the study altogether each night, saying once that she can’t bear to see Rosalind and I billing and cooing like soppy idiots. Fortunately, Rosalind doesn’t seem to think much about the remark. I have no idea where Diana goes—she can hardly be running to Valerie’s study, as she’s avoiding Esther like the plague as well, and there would be far too much chance of running into her in their shared study.

At first I’m glad to have Diana’s uncomfortable presence removed. It’s lovely, having the long evenings alone with Rosalind. As time goes on, though, Diana’s absence makes me feel a little guilty. After all, if you look at it squarely, she might be mean and spiteful but the worst she actually did was to be all too right about me. I’m also uneasily aware that poor Valerie is the real loser by this arrangement. I’ve never been particularly fond of Val; nevertheless, I feel a bit wrong about it. It can’t be very jolly for her, cooped up with the sharp-tongued Esther who frankly despises her and doesn’t bother to hide it. I think, too, of Frances, equally left on the sidelines when she isn’t off leading her Guides. It’s a shame when friendships break up.

I gird my courage to corner Diana when she’s leaving the playing field after a form friendly match.

“I have nothing to say to you or your friends, Charlotte Forest,” she says. If I had been wearing Rosalind’s glasses, my bet is that they would have frosted over at her tone.

I sigh. “Look here, Diana, I’m not saying we have to be friends.” I ignore her disdainful snort. “I still think it’s jolly silly that we can’t share the study like sensible girls. As you apparently can’t put up with me at all, I thought I’d offer you a bargain. You can have Valerie or any other guest you wish on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and I’ll clear out and leave you undisturbed. Does that suit you?”

She stares over my shoulder for a moment, then stiffly inclines her head. I take it as a done deal and go to ask Frances and Rosalind if they mind babysitting me a few days of the week.

Sharing a study with Frances turns out to be not bad at all. She’s transparently delighted that Rosalind is more friendly now and to have some extra company. Poor thing, she must have been lonely with Diana sweeping her study-mate off all the time and Gladys still maintaining a cold silence toward her cousin. I find myself becoming quite fond of her and I know Rosalind feels the same. It makes me happy that Rosalind is starting to find friends, not in the slightest bit jealous. I still have to spend so much time on my duties, and I know she will come to no harm with a mother hen like Frances as a friend, unless she runs the risk of being fussed to death or killed with kindness. In my opinion, Rosalind can stand a good deal of fussing over and kindness.
 

The mystery of where Diana goes when she’s not with Valerie is solved one Wednesday when I come back to my study to pick up an exercise book I’ve forgotten. Diana is there, and Valerie, and Kitty, who really should not be there at all.

“Hi, you!” I poke her. “You know Fifth formers aren’t allowed in the Sixth form studies.”

“I can have whomever I want here,” Diana snaps.

“Hush, Di.” Kitty smiles up at me, very prettily. She is nearly as small as Rosalind, with the same round eyes and pointed ears, but the similarities end there. She is exceptionally good looking in a fluffy way, not unlike the ginger kitten of her nickname, with a halo of red-gold hair and wide jade eyes. Under her shapeless gym slip she still manages to give the impression of hourglass curves. “Charley doesn’t really mind, does she? Just for once? Come on, Charley, do be a sport.” Long golden eyelashes flutter at me.

I scowl at her. I dearly want to chuck her out, as much for the wheedling attempt to get around me as anything. I wouldn’t trust Lady Emmeline Eversleigh, as she is properly known, as far as I could throw her. All that stops me physically booting her from the study is that I’ve already put a spoke in Diana’s wheel by thwarting her first attempt at a best friend.

“Just this evening, then,” I say, relenting a little. “You let me find you in my study again, Kitty, and you’ll catch it.”

She smiles impudently up at me. “I’ll take care not to be caught, my gallant Captain.”
 

I resist the urge to stick out my tongue at her.

I do tell Cecily, as some of the girls brave the icy wind for a few moments of fresh air after breakfast the next day, that Diana has taken up with Kitty.
 

Cecily’s brow creases. “Oh, the Fifth will be the death of me! What does Diana want with an idiotic Fifth former like Kitty?” She huddles over the ball of flame that Gladys has conjured for us in the palm of her hands.

Esther, snuggled into her wrap against the cold, grins. “Isn’t it obvious, angel mine? Her attempt to win herself into one aristocratic family’s graces has failed, so she’s moved on to the next one. With a more impressive title, too.” I shoot Rosalind a concerned glance at this tactlessness. She bites her lip a little, but doesn’t object, so I leave it be. “I shouldn’t worry too much,” Esther goes on. “If anyone can take care of herself and manage dear Diana, it’s that ginger demon in the Fifth.”

“That’s precisely what I’m afraid of,” Cecily sighs. “Never mind. It’s not like inter-form friendships are forbidden or anything. We can’t do a thing about it. Let’s troop inside before we all die of cold. Especially you, kidlet,” she adds, with a quick pat on Rosalind’s shoulder. It’s generally understood that Rosalind is delicate and can’t do games or risk chills. Protecting her, it seems, is becoming second nature to Cecily as well as Frances and myself.

The matter rests there. I have to admit I don’t think of Diana and her new friend much after that. My life is full—with games and duties and lessons, and with Rosalind.