Naughtiest Girl 5: The Naughtiest Girl Keeps a Secret

by Anne Digby

  Keeps a Secret

  Written by Anne Digby

  Illustrated by Kate Hindley

  Contents

  Title Page

  Introduction

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BONUS BLYTON

  THE LIFE AND TIMES OF ENID BLYTON

  SCHOOL RULES

  MY HAPPIEST TIMES

  WHAT THEY DID AT MISS BROWN’S SCHOOL

  Have you read them all?

  Copyright

  More from Enid Blyton

  If you liked this you’ll love . . .

  Introduction

  by Cressida Cowell

  bestselling author of the

  How to Train Your Dragon series

  Like so many, many children before and after me, Enid Blyton’s books played a crucial role in turning my nine-year-old self into a passionate reader.

  That is because Enid Blyton had an extraordinary knack for writing the kind of books that children actually want to read, rather than the kind of books that adults think they should read.

  Enid Blyton could tap into children’s dreams, children’s desires, children’s wishes, with pin-point accuracy. She knew that every child, however good and well-behaved they might look on the outside, secretly longed to be Elizabeth Allen, the naughtiest kid in the school. I’m afraid I entirely cheered Elizabeth on, as she defied her parents, the headmistresses, her schoolmates, and the very serious School Meetings. If anything, I wanted her to be even naughtier.

  But the Naughtiest Girl books were really my favourite of Enid Blyton’s school stories because of Whyteleafe, a very different school from Malory Towers or St Clare’s. What if there could be a school in which discipline was administered by the children rather than the adults? In which all money was given in at the start of the term and distributed amongst the children along socialist lines? Wouldn’t this be the kind of school that children would actually want to go to, rather than the kind of school that children have to go to?

  It was an interesting proposition to a nine-year-old, and it remains an interesting proposition.

  I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did when I was nine years old.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A message from William and Rita

  ‘IT’S STILL lovely and sunny!’ said Elizabeth happily, as she came out of the first form classroom with her friend Julian and his cousin, Patrick.

  It was four o’clock in the afternoon. Lessons at Whyteleafe School had finished for the day. Along the corridor, boys and girls were bursting out of other classrooms, laughing and chattering noisily. Soon everyone would change out of school uniform, go to tea, then race off to take part in all their summer term activities.

  There was always so much to do at Whyteleafe, thought Elizabeth. She loved it here now. She was still a monitor, though only an honorary one this term. There were no silly quarrels to worry about at present, no misunderstandings, no having to keep her temper. She and Patrick were just starting to get on reasonably well too. At the beginning of term they had been sworn enemies.

  ‘This is my favourite time of year!’ Elizabeth told Julian. ‘The evenings are so light and long. It gives you time to fit everything in. I think I’ll do some gardening later. I’m sure my lettuces need watering . . .’

  ‘You’ve got to come and watch my tennis match first,’ Patrick butted in.

  Elizabeth nodded that she would, then continued.

  ‘To think how much I hated it here at the beginning. It seems so strange now. I did everything I could to try and get myself sent home.’

  ‘You mean, last summer, when you were the naughtiest girl in the school?’ asked Julian, his green eyes showing his amusement. ‘Wish I’d been here then. Poor Elizabeth. You’ve been trying to live it down ever since.’

  ‘Well, I have lived it down,’ said Elizabeth firmly.

  ‘She wouldn’t be a monitor if she hadn’t,’ Patrick pointed out. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t all that strange. Hating it here at the beginning, I mean. Look at me: three weeks ago I couldn’t stand the place!’

  It was true. Julian’s cousin was new this term. And, although the two cousins looked rather alike, their characters were very different. Julian was lively and jokey, full of a self-confidence which came from being so clever and good at everything. He didn’t, for example, in the least mind Elizabeth being a monitor. Patrick, when he’d first arrived, had been sullen and lacking in confidence. And he had deeply resented a girl telling him what to do.

  ‘But you do like it here now, don’t you, Patrick?’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Not so terrible having a school with girls in it, is it?’ said Julian, wryly. ‘And you’ve got your trial for the second tennis team. Already! I call that good going.’

  ‘Yes, not bad.’ Patrick flushed with pride. ‘Don’t you two forget to come and watch me, either. I need supporters.’

  ‘We’ll come and support you,’ piped up a voice in the corridor, just behind them. It was Arabella Buckley, with a friend. ‘We’ll come and cheer Patrick on, won’t we, Rosemary?’

  ‘Of course we’ll come!’ said Rosemary, who always agreed with everything Arabella said.

  ‘We’ll be there, Patrick,’ said Elizabeth quietly. ‘You know you can do it. I’m sure you can beat Roger.’

  Roger Brown was a big boy, in his last term at Whyteleafe. But even so, he was only clinging on to his place in the school’s second team by his fingertips.

  Mr Warlow, the sports master, had watched Patrick play. He had also noted how hard the new boy practised each day. So a trial had been arranged.

  After tea today, Roger and Patrick were to play singles against each other. Everybody knew that if Patrick proved to be the stronger player, he would be awarded that precious place in the second team.

  ‘You’ll need that special racket of yours though, Patrick,’ said Julian. ‘Better not let Elizabeth get anywhere near it. You know what she’s like.’

  He kept a straight face as he said it. For a moment Elizabeth took him seriously.

  ‘Julian Holland, what a hateful thing to say—’

  Once, in a fit of rage with Patrick, Elizabeth had caused his lovely new racket to get soaked with rain. She hated to be reminded of it now.

  It was Patrick who quickly smoothed things over. ‘Don’t worry! I’ll guard it with my life!’ he smiled.

  Elizabeth smiled then, too, and the awkward moment passed.

  At teatime, she even managed to make a joke at her own expense.

  Patrick had changed into his tennis things and come over to join Elizabeth’s table, carrying his precious tennis racket. It really was his pride and joy.

  ‘If anything can bring me luck, it’s this,’ he told John McTavish. ‘I’m useless with any other racket.’

  ‘Better not leave it by my chair then, Patrick,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I think you ought to padlock it to the table leg. You know what I’m like!’

  All the boys and girls at the table laughed. Julian gave Elizabeth’s arm an approving pinch. He was pleased to see his friend not taking herself too seriously.


  Arabella, however, turned her pretty little doll-like face towards Patrick and smiled primly.

  ‘It wasn’t so funny at the time, though, was it, Patrick?’ she said.

  Elizabeth ground her teeth.

  She tried hard to think of something clever to say, to get back at Arabella. But at that moment, someone came hurrying over to their table.

  ‘Elizabeth?’

  ‘Joan!’

  Elizabeth was always pleased to see her special friend. But Joan was older and had gone up to the second form quite quickly, so the two girls saw less of each other these days. Elizabeth knew that if she did well at lessons this term she, too, would go up in September. Then she and Joan would be together again. Elizabeth was looking forward to that.

  ‘I’ve got a message for you,’ said Joan softly. She was always quietly spoken. ‘It’s from William and Rita. They would like you to come along to their study after tea, please.’

  Elizabeth frowned in surprise. William and Rita were the head boy and the head girl of Whyteleafe School.

  ‘Are you coming too? Are all the monitors coming?’ Elizabeth asked. She was puzzled because there was no school Meeting due for a day or two yet.

  Sometimes all the monitors were called in if there was something important to discuss before the Meeting. The Meeting was held once a week. All pupils had to attend. It was a kind of Parliament. At Whyteleafe it was the boys and girls themselves who made many of the important rules and saw that they were applied fairly. When problems arose, they sorted them out themselves. The teachers rarely had to be involved.

  ‘No, they just want you,’ said Joan. ‘I don’t know what it’s about.’

  Elizabeth rushed through her tea after that. What did William and Rita want to see her about?

  ‘Hey, Monitor, don’t gobble your food. You’re supposed to set a good example,’ teased Julian. ‘William and Rita aren’t going to disappear down a big hole. They can wait,’ he added, carelessly.

  ‘I’ll finish up your scrambled egg if you can’t manage it all, Elizabeth,’ said her friend Kathleen, all smiles and rosy cheeks as usual.

  ‘Would you really like it?’ asked Elizabeth, gratefully. ‘Cook’s given me too much. Then I can slip off and see what they want with me. I haven’t done anything bad lately, have I, Kathleen?’

  She picked up her remaining chocolate biscuits, put them in her pocket, scraped her chair back, then got up and left the table.

  ‘If you’d done anything bad it would have to wait for the Meeting, Elizabeth!’ Julian called after her, ‘and the whole school would have to hear about it. You know that’s the system here. See you later!’

  ‘Come straight on to the tennis-courts!’ Patrick added. ‘I’ll be playing soon.’

  But Elizabeth, hurrying out of the hall, didn’t hear them. The chatter and clatter from other tables filled her ears and drowned out the boys’ voices.

  There was only one thought in her mind at present.

  Why had the head boy and girl asked her to come and see them?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elizabeth upsets Patrick

  ‘COME IN,’ called the head boy, as Elizabeth tip-tapped nervously on the study door.

  It was a lovely, sunny room with a big window. William and Rita were sitting in their armchairs.

  Rita pointed to the visitor’s armchair. ‘Do sit down, Elizabeth.’ She was smiling and speaking kindly.

  William was smiling, too.

  The little girl’s heart stopped beating quite so fast. She sat down in the visitor’s armchair with its cheerful chintz cover.

  ‘We’ve got a problem,’ explained William. ‘We have discussed it with Miss Belle. But now we’d like your advice. We would like to know what you think.’

  Miss Belle! Elizabeth’s chest swelled with pride. Miss Belle and Miss Best were the joint headmistresses of Whyteleafe School. The children called them The Beauty and The Beast. If Miss Belle were involved in this, then it must be an important matter on which her opinion was being sought.

  Rita decided they should get it over quickly.

  ‘The fact is, we shouldn’t really have thirteen monitors,’ she said. ‘It’s always been the tradition that we have twelve. And as I’m sure you’ve noticed at the Meetings this term, Elizabeth, it’s almost impossible to get thirteen chairs on the platform. There’s always one person practically falling off the end.’

  Elizabeth nodded. She had noticed that.

  It had all come about because, owing to lots of misunderstandings last term, Elizabeth had lost her position as monitor. A second former, Susan, had been elected in her place. But then, at the end of term, when all the misunderstandings had been sorted out, the first form had asked for Elizabeth to be reinstated, as an honorary monitor.

  ‘For once, in a way, we must have an extra one’, Miss Belle had agreed. For she knew how much Elizabeth wanted to prove herself a good, wise and sensible monitor, after some of the reckless things she had done.

  ‘It seemed such a lovely idea to have an extra monitor at the time,’ continued Rita. ‘But we’ve discussed it with Miss Belle and we’re all agreed that it can’t be a permanent arrangement.’

  William looked straight at Elizabeth.

  ‘We’ve been wondering whether we should ask Susan to stand down, Elizabeth. What do you think?’

  ‘Poor Susan! That wouldn’t be fair!’ exclaimed Elizabeth without hesitation. ‘She has had hardly any time as a monitor! And she was elected by the whole school, with proper votes and everything . . .’

  Her voice tailed away. She swallowed very hard. There was no alternative.

  ‘Let me stand down,’ she said nobly, with a weak, wobbly smile. ‘I’ve had a good turn as a monitor now. I wanted to prove myself—’

  ‘You have certainly done that, Elizabeth,’ said Rita.

  ‘Good kid,’ said William softly. ‘Are you quite sure, Elizabeth? We could ask Susan, you know. She was only elected because of the misunderstandings about your behaviour.’

  ‘I am quite sure,’ said Elizabeth, somehow managing to keep that brave, wobbly smile in place. She wanted to rush away now, as fast as she possibly could.

  ‘Well done, Elizabeth,’ said Rita. ‘William will announce it at this week’s Meeting then.’

  As Elizabeth left the study, William held open the door for her. He gave her a pat on the back as she went.

  ‘You will be elected monitor again one day, Elizabeth. I am quite sure of that.’

  ‘Thank you, William,’ replied Elizabeth, feeling very noble.

  She was proud of herself for being so calm and sensible in front of William and Rita, but as soon as the study door closed behind her, she felt a hot prickling sensation behind her eyes. She was going to cry! She must run somewhere safe, where nobody could see her.

  No longer a monitor!

  She needed to be alone. She needed time to think, to get over the shock. Where could she go? Where was quiet and unhurried – peaceful?

  The school gardens. She often went there when she wanted to think.

  She made a beeline for the gardens at once. She shut herself in the farthest greenhouse.

  Then she let the tears flow.

  ‘It’s not fair!’ she sobbed. ‘It’s not, not fair!’

  She forgot all about Patrick and his tennis trial. She forgot that she had promised to come and support him.

  Patrick’s hopes and dreams had completely slipped her mind.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Elizabeth Allen,’ she told herself, some time later. ‘Stop being a silly baby. It’s perfectly fair and you know it is.’

  She dried her eyes as best she could. She put her sodden handkerchief away in her pocket. Then she peeped cautiously through the greenhouse windows.

  There
were very few people around. There was no sign of John Terry, the senior boy who ran the school gardens. Good. She did not feel like facing anyone yet, not even John. He was the most kind and understanding of boys, of course. He cared nothing for important positions, monitorships and the like, only for his beloved garden. John was a genius at growing things and at teaching others how to grow them. With his team of volunteers, he helped to provide enough fresh fruit and vegetables to supply the kitchens at Whyteleafe School for much of the year.

  Even so, she wanted a little more time on her own.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ she told herself, ‘you will no longer be a monitor after this week’s Meeting. Just get that into your head! It’s perfectly fair. And you’ve got to accept it!’

  She felt rather cross with herself for not having foreseen this. It was quite true that since the beginning of term it had been uncomfortable and awkward having an extra chair on the platform at Meetings. She should have offered to stand down earlier! But it was such fun being a monitor, you wanted it to go on forever. So she had simply buried her head in the sand, as an ostrich does when it sees trouble ahead.

  ‘All good things come to an end, Elizabeth,’ her last governess used to tell her. ‘And sometimes sooner than you expect.’

  Elizabeth had never listened to a word that Miss Scott said. She blushed to think how rude she had been. Of all the awful things she had said, not only to Miss Scott but to the long line of governesses before her. Not surprisingly, none of them had ever stayed very long. But now she realized Miss Scott had been speaking sense, after all.

  ‘But Rita says I’ve proved I can be a good monitor. And William says my turn will come again.’

  Elizabeth began to feel more cheerful. It was very warm in the greenhouse. She went and opened the door wide and stood there for a while, gazing out.

  The sun was sinking lower. A gentle breeze was making rustling sounds in the blackcurrant bushes. Somewhere a blackbird was singing. A sweet, warm scent wafted from the wallflowers that bordered the nearest vegetable plot. There were butterflies settled there, sharing the flowers with the buzzing bees. In a reverie, Elizabeth found her chocolate biscuits, rather warm and sticky by now. She ate them slowly, a melting mouthful at a time.