Elves and Escapades (Scholars and Sorcery Book 2) (6 page)

Instead, we discuss alternative punishments. There’s nothing really satisfactory. Gating would annoy Kitty and Diana, as the trips to the village for shopping and tea are cherished privileges, but it hardly seems enough.

“If it was summer, Kitty might really care about being banned from tennis away games,” says Cecily, last year’s Games Captain. “She’s a splendid singles player. But she’s abysmal at hockey, entirely through her own fault. She doesn’t even pretend to try.”

“She’s not exactly a team player,” I agree.

“Dishes,” says Corona, sitting up straight.

“Whatever do you mean?”
 

“At my prep school, we were expected to take turn at kitchen duties. Washing and scouring. It was supposed to teach us about running our own household. Well—can you think of anything Diana and Kitty will like less than kitchen duties?”

There’s a general murmur of amused agreement at the idea of the elegant Diana and aristocratic Kitty working with the maids in the kitchen. “Shot! You’ve hit it completely,” says Cecily, clasping her hands. “Well, shall we let the accused come stand before the block and give an account of themselves?”

When they come in, my danger signals flare at once. Kitty is making some attempt to look chastened, but there’s the ghost of her impudent smile lurking at the corner of her lips, as if she’s confident her appeal, inherent or magical, will win through. Diana is all gentle, water-logged anguish, a vision of distressed innocence. She only needs flowers in her hair to play Ophelia.

The other girls’ faces soften at the sight of the wayward pair, and I suspect very strongly that the girls must be turning on the charm, in more than one way. Marion looks on the point of crying herself. I wonder what it must feel like, to be the victim of a Charm power, to feel yourself melting despite yourself. All I can feel is unhappy disgust.

Cecily, to her credit, remains firm. “This is a very serious matter, girls. You know that breaking bounds after dark is one of the very worst things you can do at this school. Miss Carroll has a responsibility to our parents to keep us safe. What would it have happened to the school if you were robbed, or something worse? And what would it do to Fernleigh’s reputation if someone saw you?”

Kitty holds out her hands appealingly to her Head Girl. “I’m so terribly sorry, Cecily. It could all have been cleared up if I had only kept my head last night! And Charley was such a sport not to turn us in, too.” She turns a glowing smile on me.

“What do you mean?”

“I should have told Charley to telephone Daddy today, and she would have found that it’s all perfectly tip top.” She dimples. “It was naughty of me, I know, not to get Daddy to ask Miss Carroll properly for permission —but then, a midnight escapade seemed such fun!”

“You’re saying your father gave permission for this?”

Kitty opens her jade green eyes very wide. “Of course! I would hardly leave the school without it. You can telephone him yourself, Cecily, and see. He’ll vouch for us.” Her face is a sweet and sunny as if morning is dawning on it, and I find I have an absolutely rock solid conviction that she is lying through her pearly white teeth.

“That puts quite a different complexion on the matter,” Emily says, slowly. “We’ll confirm this with your father, you know. And you’ve still broken bounds and behaved dishonourably, and you will need to take your medicine.”

“Of course!” Kitty and Diana chorus.

I pay close attention, not Diana and Kitty, but to my fellow prefects as the sentence is laid out. Cecily and Gladys still look grim, but there is a gentleness, a sympathy and even a few hints of amusement on the faces of the other girls. I don’t like it. It doesn’t seem called for by the situation. By the end, I sense that some of the girls think I was dreadfully harsh in summoning the meeting, and that I should have sorted things out quietly first. Diana and Kitty have broken our strictest rule, Kitty’s father having invited them to the party or not.
 

I turn back to Diana. There is a look of smug satisfaction on her face. She’s scored, forcing me to bring her before a prefects meeting and escaping with a tap on the back of her hand.

I sigh. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it, after all? For everything to be over without a fuss.

After the other girls from the other Houses and forms disperse to their morning classes, I linger, ending up in a huddle with Cecily and Gladys.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Gladys asks. We both naturally turn to the Sensitive one among us for guidance.

“Kitty? No. No, I don’t.” Cecily shakes her head. “She’s a plausible little thing, all right, but she would tell you that she was a chimney sweep if it suited her purposes. I’ll tell you this, though. Diana was terrified out of her wits and she was desperately worried when Kitty said they’d been invited by her father. I’m sure that was made up on the spot by Kitty and Diana wasn’t expecting it. It would be awfully queer if Diana was invited and knew nothing about it.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Cecily shrugs. “It wouldn’t have done much good. I’m pretty sure that when we check, her story will pan out. There’s a girl in the Fifth with the Gift of Communication who can send suggestions cross-country in the blink of an eye, and she’s awfully chummy with Kitty. Besides, they were both exerting so much glamour that I could feel the world dissolving into sugar syrup around them. It was all I could do not to give in to it. I had to rush to get them out with some kind of punishment, or the other prefects would have been patting their little heads and giving them bouquets.” She gives us a wry look. “It’s nice to know I can depend on you two at least. Charley for being impervious to charms, and you, Gladys, for just being plain contrary and getting mad when anyone tries to win your heart.” Cecily’s laugh turns into a sigh. “Oh, well. Now to go to Miss Carroll and spare her the shocking details but let her know that two of our girls are doing kitchen duty—and bang goes our last chance for the Banner this term.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” I squeeze her hand. “I wish I hadn’t woken.”

“Bless you, my sweet, it’s not your fault. I’m glad you caught them; I’m hoping it will pull them up and give them a shock before they do anything irreparably bad. Run along to English and let Miss Evans know I’ll be late, there’s a pet.”

“At least it’s all over,” I say with some relief, as Gladys and I make our way to class. I try to dismiss all the unpleasantness from my mind. After all, Diana will surely be more careful now she’ been caught.

I don’t like the thought, however, that Diana is probably even more thoroughly my enemy now than she was before. Something about that makes me wary.
 

three

C
HRISTMAS
AND
C
ONFESSIONS

THE END OF term goes out in pounding rain and hockey. We have a set of home games against a local High School with an excellent games reputation. My brood of chicks in the lower school distinguish themselves with four goals in the Third Eleven and I feel as proud as if my own child has won an Olympic medal. They have worked themselves half to death for me, turning out to every extra practice regardless of weather and treating my coaching like gospel, and I love them for it. I’ll stand out in the icy rain shouting advice and encouragement for this lot any time, so long as they keep turning out in the mud.
 

Miss Carroll really was doing something wonderful for me when she made me Games Captain, not just heaping me with unwanted responsibilities. Watching my girls play, I feel like I am really achieving something for the school and for myself.

The gallant efforts of the Third Eleven are not enough to save the match for Fernleigh. The Second and First retire in disgrace with two goals each, one of which I’ve scored. The first-formers chosen for the hallowed duty of bringing us lemon halves at half time beam at me with admiration completely out of proportion to what I’ve actually done. It gives me a warm glow in my heart that becomes warmer when I look to the side of the field and see Rosalind there, smiling with the same pride. I feel like I should scold her for being out in the rain, but it’s so nice to see her there for me. Of course, Esther and Cecily slap my back hard. It’s just not quite the same.

Diana is not, sufficient to say, one of my supporters. I know she finds the kitchen duties imposed on her humiliating and is in a state of loathing against all prefects and their kind. Kitty, for her part, takes her duties on meekly and smilingly, winning the hearts of prefects and servants as she goes, with the result that she does very little actual work but spends a lot of time being fed up with cakes and chocolate biscuits. Little demon.

Then—Christmas. Four blissful weeks of home and Ember and no classes. For the first fortnight, too, I will have Rosalind.
 

My family greet her cheerfully, like an old friend. It’s not the first time I’ve had a friend home, after all. I’ve sometimes brought Cecily, who obviously can’t go home in the hols, home with me, and Esther when her parents were ill. Rosalind is accepted in the same friendly spirit.
 

It’s sheer joy to take her around the place and show her the beasts, knowing that none of her delight is feigned. Best of all is introducing her to my darling Meggs. My scrap of a cait sith kitten has grown huge over the years, standing taller than my knee, his face a mask of what appears to be sheer evil, although I know it is harmless mischief. Truly. He’s my snuggly boy, and the kids and dragonlings shouldn’t provoke him so much.

Alarming as Meggs looks, Rosalind shows no fear when he shimmers into visibility next to her, dropping to her knees to introduce herself to him. Meggs inspects her thoroughly, then kisses her nose with his rough dark tongue, a sign of high favour.

“Evil beast,” mutters Walter. “He’s just memorising her taste for when he rips her to threads and devours her.” We ignore him.

The holidays are just as glorious as I’d hoped. It rains and sleets—no lovely drifts of snow—but we make the most of every clear moment we can. We’re on pegasus-back every moment we can manage, braving the shattering cold, with rucksacks full of hot coffee and soup to ward off chills. Rosalind is as glorious in the air as she is on a unicorn, daring and fearless, racing my brothers and sisters over the treetops. Once or twice, she actually shouts with delight. She volunteers to help out with the stables, too, quickly learning the names and tastes of all my Father’s precious breeding stock, lending a hand with mucking out and grooming.
 

I’ve never seen her elfin face so vivid with colour as in these frigid days, surrounded by the warmth of my family and our beasts. It reinforces my desire to make sure my brother brings her home for good, one of these days.
 

The colder days and our evenings are spent reading in front of roaring fires, toffee making in the kitchen, playing games and piecing together jigsaw puzzles and exchanging visits with the neighbouring houses. My parents don’t believe in letting children home for the holidays fall back on their own devices, for fear of mischief, even when we are on the verge of being grown up. I don’t mind. I’d far rather play word games, dreadful as I am at them, and let my little siblings laugh at me, than have lessons and prefect duties forever hanging over me. I glory in the free hours.

I’m pleased to see the attitude my older brothers take to Rosalind. The don’t chaff her like they do me and my other friends, treating her with a kind of chivalrous gentleness, as if she’s made of china. Harry is particularly solicitous, carrying things for her and checking that she’s warm enough. When I charge him with it, he grins at me.

“What you’re forgetting, Charles, is that Rosalind is a
real
girl.” I stick my tongue out at him, secretly pleased.

I’ve kept to my plans to encourage Rosalind to look more grown up. It helps that she’s out of uniform. She has what even I can tell are really lovely and flattering clothes. Even her riding kit is beautifully cut rather than simply serviceable like mine, although I have no idea if the exquisite taste is hers or her mother’s. She seems bewildered and pleased when I start insisting on doing her hair. I’m better at it than I expected, for a girl who never cared over much for her own. After all, many are the mane and tail I’ve made look pretty for gymkhanas. Human hair isn’t very different.

“You have such beautiful hair,” I tell her, pausing in brushing to lift the silky weight in my hands. It runs through my fingers like water, all in softly glowing greyish waves. I could touch it forever.

“It’s queer looking,” she says, frowning a little. “Like an old lady.”

“It’s perfectly lovely.” I brush it back from her face and secure it with slides. “More like a unicorn’s tail than ordinary hair. You should be proud of it.”

“Yours is nice, too. Such gorgeous curls. I wish my hair curled like that.”

“Don’t
you
start with me. Mother is always telling me it’s a waste to crop it off. She doesn’t need an ally.”

“I won’t. I like it the way you wear it. It suits you, especially when you wear a ribbon.” She smiles at me in the mirror in a way that makes me feel almost pretty, for a moment. I’m too aware, though, of the contrast between us in the mirror, one girl delicate and silvery and feminine, the other tall and clumsy and tomboyish.