Howie entered the common room. She frowned at Sloane, who seemed to have that phone perpetually stuck to her ear.
“Prep,” Mrs. Howard ordered.
“But I’ve got play practice in ten minutes.” Sloane smirked.
“Oh no you don’t,” Mrs. Howard replied. “Haven’t you read the schedule, young lady? This afternoon, only Alice-Miranda, the prince and the woodcutter are needed. Oh, and Millie and Jacinta.”
“Why does Millie get to go? She’s my Magic Mirror,” Sloane grouched.
“I don’t know. But it says so on this here piece of paper.” Howie waved the notice under Sloane’s nose. She was still on the telephone.
Mrs. Howard took the handset from her. “Hello, Mrs. Sykes, it’s Mrs. Howard. I’m afraid Sloane has to go to prep, so I’ll tell her you said goodbye, will I?” And with that, Mrs. Howard hung up the phone.
“You’ve got no right…,” Sloane began, steam rising from her nostrils.
Mrs. Howard raised her eyebrows. Miss Grimm had asked her to keep a close eye on their newest student after the incident with Millie. She knew that any cheek, and Sloane would be out of the play. “Are you sure you want to say something?”
“I’m going.” Sloane stalked off to her room.
Alice-Miranda, Jacinta and Millie were required on set for an extended rehearsal that afternoon. The group had walked to Fayle, but Miss Reedy had arranged for Charlie to pick them up in the school bus when they were finished, as it would be dark.
Miss Reedy was keen to get some of the lighting in place and, although the girls knew their parts well, she had decided it was easier to practice some scenes separately so the cast were completely confident. Lucas and Sep were also required to be there. The children had been rehearsing well, but as it was getting close to performance time, things needed to step up a little.
“Girls, I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll get started straightaway and then break for tea with the boys later. Then we’ll do another hour or so and call it a night.”
“That’s lovely, Miss Reedy. It will give us a chance to catch up properly with Lucas and get to know Sep a bit better too.” Alice-Miranda smiled.
Mr. Lipp greeted the group as they entered the auditorium. Today’s suit made him look like a bloated canary.
“Hello, girls, Livinia.” He had taken to using Miss Reedy’s Christian name, which caused her to frown.
“Mr. Lipp.” Miss Reedy nodded.
“Ready for some hard work?” Mr. Lipp asked.
“Oh yes, sir.” Alice-Miranda beamed. “Where would you like to start?”
“I thought we’d go from your scene, Alice-Miranda, with the Prince,” Miss Reedy directed.
And so the rehearsal began.
An hour later, the group trooped off to the dining room. The children sat together, while Mr. Lipp invited Miss Reedy to sit at the head table with Professor Winterbottom and his wife.
Sep grinned. “I think old Hairy’s got a thing for your Miss Reedy.”
“Really?” Millie screwed up her nose. “Well, that’s gross. Anyway, she has a thing for our science teacher, Mr. Plumpton. You should see the two of them—he looks like a little beach ball and she’s a string of spaghetti, but it’s quite plain they adore one another.”
“Perhaps they’ll get married.” Jacinta beamed. “I do love a wedding.”
“Well, I imagine the next one you’ll attend is my father’s and Charlotte’s,” Lucas offered.
“Will I get invited?” Jacinta asked, wide-eyed.
“I should imagine so.” Lucas grinned. And there it was again. Jacinta’s heart fluttered in her chest.
“So, how are you all getting on with my sister?” Sep asked the group.
“Let’s just say that she and I are hardly best friends,” Millie replied.
“I think Sloane’s a bit complicated,” said Alice-Miranda. “I’m sure she has a heart of gold.”
“You’re kidding, Alice-Miranda,” Jacinta snorted. “Sorry, Sep, but your sister isn’t my favorite person either.”
Septimus Sykes looked concerned. “Has she actually done anything wrong over there?”
“Well, she tipped her dessert on my head last week,” Millie explained. “But I probably deserved it.”
“And I caught her and your mother going through my things on the day she arrived,” Jacinta added. “But they were probably just unpacking.”
“I think you’re both being far too kind.” Sep shook his head. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“But she’s your sister, Sep, you should stick up for her,” Alice-Miranda said.
“I wish I could,” Sep began. “She should be more grateful. The only reason either of us is at boarding school is because of our stepgrandmother Henrietta. She’s paying for the lot. She’s the sweetest lady, and my mother and father and sister treat her like garbage. I just wish I could see her.”
“Where does she live?” Alice-Miranda asked.
“Well, that’s the thing. She was meant to be able to stay in the flat over Grandpa’s old grocery shop, here in the village, for as long as she wanted. But Mum and Dad sold it and then she had a terrible stroke and now she lives in a retirement home called Golden Gates.”
“But do you write to her?” Alice-Miranda asked.
“Yes, but she can’t write back because of the stroke,” Sep explained. “My sister is so hateful to her. But Grandpa adored her and so do I.”
Alice-Miranda’s brain was already in overdrive. She would call her parents as soon as she could and arrange for Sep to visit his granny. “Don’t worry, Sep, I’m sure you’ll get to see her very soon.” She smiled.
Septimus Sykes had never met a girl like Alice-Miranda. She was so small, but seemed incredibly kind and smart too. He wished that she was his sister.
Millie changed the subject. “And how are you getting on with all the work, Lucas?”
“Good.” Lucas grinned at Sep, who raised his eyebrows. “I scored one hundred percent on a maths test this week.”
“Well done!” said Alice-Miranda.
“Problem was, so did everyone else,” Lucas continued.
“What?” Mille wrinkled her nose. “The whole class got a hundred?”
“Was it an easy test?” Jacinta asked.
“No, that’s just the point,” Lucas answered. “There were some tricky questions.”
“Was it multiple choice?” asked Millie.
Sep rejoined the conversation. “No. Lucas tried to tell Professor Pluss that the tests had been tampered with, but he would have none of it.”
“Tampered with?” Alice-Miranda gasped. “Do you mean that someone changed the answers—they cheated?”
“Yes, someone cheated and we all got one hundred percent,” Lucas confirmed.
“But why?” Millie asked.
“Well, Lucas and I have a bit of a theory.” Sep frowned. “And it’s probably been happening for years.”
“Really?” Alice-Miranda’s eyes were wide.
The children leaned in close. Lucas explained about the Fayle School Charter. He and Sep had come to the conclusion that the teachers must be cheating to make sure that the school stayed open. Maybe this time, Professor Pluss had just gotten carried away with himself and didn’t realize that he’d changed all the papers.
“I asked Miss Reedy how Fayle came to be named and she told me all about the charter. That would be awfully sad, if what you say is true,” Alice-Miranda said.
“I’d bet poor old Mr. Fayle would be turning in his grave,” Millie added.
But Alice-Miranda found it hard to believe that a school like Fayle, with its wonderful teachers and high standards, would allow such a thing. It would mean that the teachers were plotting together, and she simply didn’t believe this to be possible. Goodness, all the teachers she knew were honest and responsible. There had to be something else going on. They just needed to find out what it was.
September Sykes put the telephone down and cupped her face in h
er hands. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard. She dialed the number for the common room at Grimthorpe House.
“Hello, it’s September Sykes. I must talk to my daughter, Sloane, immediately. It’s an emergency,” she informed Mrs. Howard.
“May I ask what type of emergency, Mrs. Sykes? I don’t want to alarm your daughter,” said Mrs. Howard.
“No, you may not ask, you nosey old parker,” September growled.
Howie had a mind to hang the phone up immediately but thought better of it. September Sykes was the rudest, most vacuous mother she had ever come across in all her years in the boardinghouse. At times, that had been a hotly contested title, but this woman was the clear winner.
“Sloane.” Mrs. Howard rapped on the door. “Your mother would like a word. She says that it’s important.”
Howie entered the dorm. Sloane was lying on her bed, admiring her nails.
“Can I take it in here?” Sloane noticed that Howie had the cordless telephone in her hand. Usually, it was strictly forbidden for the girls to take calls in their rooms, but this time, Howie relented and handed over the phone.
“Just don’t be long,” Howie instructed. “There are other girls who like to speak to their parents too.”
Sloane turned her back to the house mistress and waited until she had left the room.
“Hello, Mummy,” she said.
“Are you a complete idiot?” September began.
“What are you talking about?” Sloane snapped back.
“I’ve just got off the phone from your brother, and apparently he’s been doing so well, he got one hundred percent on his maths test this week,” September informed her daughter.
“That’s not possible,” Sloane griped. “I changed all the papers.”
“Yes, and whose paper did you copy from?” her mother asked.
“Septimus’s, of course. Everyone knows he’s as dumb as a rock,” Sloane snarled.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s not true. You see, everyone in the class scored one hundred percent!” September yelled. “And what were you thinking, changing all the answers to the same thing? I’m sure they wouldn’t be very suspicious about that, now, would they?”
“How was I to know Sep’s some kind of mathematical genius? I think he’s an idiot!” Sloane roared back.
“Clearly you’re wrong.” September could hardly believe they were so close to their fortune and Sloane had made a complete mess of everything. “You have to do it again. And this time, don’t use your brother’s paper to copy from.”
“Well, whose paper should I use, then?” Sloane demanded. “I don’t know who’s smart and who’s not.”
“As it happens, your brother commented that some kid called Figgy almost never passes mathematics tests but got a hundred this time. So use his—but make sure that you mix them up a bit. For goodness’ sake, do I have to do everything for this family?” September growled.
“Where’s Daddy?” Sloane changed the subject. “I want to talk to him.”
“Your idiot father is overseas checking on the development. But I have a feeling that it’s not going according to plan either. Sloane—I don’t have to tell you again what this will mean to our family. Now, can I rely on you this time?” Her mother’s voice softened slightly.
“Of course, Mother.” Sloane rolled her eyes. “But I can’t do anything until next week.”
“Why not?” September demanded.
“Because they only have their stupid test on Tuesday and it’s the weekend. Duh!”
“There’s no need to get smart with me, young lady. You’d better think about who you’re talking to.”
“And you’d better remember who’s in the driver’s seat here, Mother,” Sloane snapped.
And with that, she terminated the call.
As it turned out, two more weeks passed before Sloane had her chance. Professor Pluss was so anxious about the boys not replicating their one hundred percent result that he didn’t prepare a test for the coming week, and the week after that they had a sports carnival. But by the time they had their regular weekly quiz again, Pluss was confident the lads would not let him down.
Professor Pluss stood outside the headmaster’s study trembling. He couldn’t believe that in a career spanning more than thirty years, this was what he would be remembered for.
The campus was abuzz. Pluss had asked two of his colleagues to re-mark the papers. They had both come back to him, faces solemn, heads bowed.
Someone must have leaked the news to Professor Winterbottom, who had summoned Pluss for an urgent meeting first thing this morning. Even old Hedges, the gardener, had sneered as Herman Pluss took his walk of shame to the headmaster’s study.
Miss Quigley, the headmaster’s personal assistant, shuddered as he entered the room. She was poring over a large document and had just retrieved a gigantic magnifying glass from the bottom desk drawer.
A woman renowned for her confidential manner, she had been with Professor Winterbottom as long as he’d been in charge. “How could you?” she murmured under her breath.
Herman thought his knees would buckle any moment.
“He’ll see you now.”
For a moment, Herman wondered how she knew that the headmaster was ready for him, but he suspected that after almost forty years together, they likely shared some sort of telepathic messaging system.
The door opened and Professor Winterbottom asked Professor Pluss inside.
“Take a seat. There.” The headmaster pointed. Professor Winterbottom’s dog, Parsley, who spent his days curled up in a basket in the headmaster’s study, growled as Professor Pluss sat down.
“I hear you have something to tell me?”
But Professor Winterbottom didn’t have to ask. He already knew. The whole school knew. Something as monumental as this would never remain a secret. It had never happened before, and it would certainly never happen again.
“I … don’t know what to tell you, sir.… My class … eighty percent of them …” Herman gulped.
“Yes, eighty percent of them have what?” Professor Winterbottom had so far managed to keep calm.
“Eighty percent of them have …” Herman clutched his face in his hands, hardly daring to say the word. “They’ve failed. There it is. I’ve said it.”
“How can a class go from one hundred percent success two weeks ago to … this?” Professor Winterbottom held one of the offending papers aloft. “Yes, I know all about it. Your colleagues would hardly keep something like this a secret. In fact, they all know—the boys, the teachers. Do you know what this means, Pluss?”
Herman Pluss looked up and nodded.
“You, you and your vanity, have brought this great school to its knees. Do you know what it says in that charter out there?” Wallace pointed at the wall where the Fayle School Charter hung in all its ancient glory. “It says that if more than twenty-five percent of students fail any test, the school must be closed within twenty-eight days.”
“But, sir.” Herman shuddered. “Surely, that can’t really be true. Can it?”
“It most certainly is. I warned you, Pluss, about all those weekly quizzes. I told you they weren’t necessary and that one day you might come unstuck. But you assured me. Your teaching methods were inscrutable. You were the best teacher this place had ever seen. Well, look what you’ve done.” Professor Winterbottom’s head looked like a pressure cooker about to explode.
There was a knock on the door. It opened and Miss Quigley entered.
“Sir, may I interrupt?” she asked. “I’ve found something.”
“Well, unless it will save the school …” Professor Winterbottom sighed so deeply it felt like a draft in the room.
“Well, sir, I think you will be very happy to see this.” Miss Quigley unfolded the original copy of the Fayle School Charter onto her boss’s football-field-sized desk. She produced the magnifying glass from her skirt pocket and pointed her manicured finger at the very bottom of the page.
“There, sir.” Wallace Winterbottom and Herman Pluss leaned in closely to look.
“I can’t see a thing. It looks like a squiggly line,” the headmaster complained.
“That’s what I thought too. But, sir, if you look closely—” She held the magnifying glass over the end of the line and read aloud. “ ‘Clause thirty of the Fayle School Charter can be revoked at any time, at the discretion of the heir to the Fayle estate. In the event that there is no living heir, the school must close and be sold, with the proceeds going to the Queen’s Trust for Children.’ ”
“Heavens, that’s it!” Professor Winterbottom grabbed Miss Quigley in a bearlike embrace. “Woman, you’re a genius!” He then quickly let her go, embarrassed by his uncharacteristic outburst of affection. “But how did we miss this?”
“Well, sir, it’s not on the charter in the foyer. I suspect that the edge of the page was cut off to fit it in the frame,” Miss Quigley remarked. “From the looks of this dusty old thing, it hasn’t been out of the safe in many years.”
“But who is the heir?” Wallace Winterbottom paced the floor. Not that it was an easy thing to do in his office, which was crammed full of furniture, books and other paraphernalia, including a rather large cabinet containing a bizarre collection of taxidermic birds. He began to think out loud. “Fayle was founded by Frederick Fayle, and the next headmaster was his only son, George, and then I think the next head was George’s son Erasmus.”
“Sir, if I may say something?” Professor Pluss asked.
The headmaster was terse. “What?”
“Didn’t Erasmus, his wife and his daughter perish in some terrible accident? I seem to recall when I was a boy and lived in Downsfordvale, there was a story about the headmaster of Fayle and his family passing in tragic circumstances. I can’t remember much else.”
“Yes, I’ve read about that somewhere too. There was another man who came in then. The headmaster after Erasmus was Rigby Lloyd. You’d remember him. He employed me. And that’s how I became headmaster so early on. Rigby was working in here one night when the poor fellow dropped dead of a heart attack.”
Alice-Miranda Takes the Stage Page 14
