Naughtiest Girl 5: The Naughtiest Girl Keeps a Secret

by Anne Digby

  He gazed around the hall, slowly and carefully.

  ‘The simple fact is that somebody in this hall invented this foolish joke. It is quite unfair that the first form should be the only ones under suspicion. Rita and I therefore ask the person responsible to stand up now and own up. The Meeting will then decide what their punishment should be.’

  He waited.

  There was a breathless hush.

  ‘Will the person please stand up?’ he repeated.

  He waited again. Still there was no movement in the hall.

  William frowned. Then, quietly he consulted Rita and all the monitors. A minute later he came back and banged the gavel, to stem the tide of whispering in the hall.

  ‘Silence, please. As you know, at Whyteleafe School we do not believe in tale telling. But if the person will not own up, we must get to the bottom of this in some other way. If anybody has any information, if they know anything at all that can shed some light on this, will they please stand up?’

  Arabella could barely restrain herself, thinking of the previous incidents. She glanced at Patrick. But he gave a quick shake of the head and stared at the floor.

  There then came a sound from the front of the hall. A member of the junior class, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, was scrambling to her feet. It was Sophie.

  ‘What do you want to say, Sophie?’ asked Rita, gently.

  ‘I know where the person must have stolen the dead slugs from,’ she said, importantly. ‘They must have stolen them from Elizabeth.’

  Elizabeth had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could hear her classmates giving little gasps.

  ‘From Elizabeth?’ asked Rita.

  ‘She’s got a special place where she keeps them in the school garden,’ explained Sophie. ‘She likes playing with them sometimes, don’t you, Elizabeth?’ asked the child, in all innocence, at the same time turning round to look for Elizabeth.

  ‘You may sit down now, Sophie,’ said William. ‘Elizabeth, stand up, please.’

  Elizabeth did so, her cheeks aflame. Even Julian was looking at her in surprise.

  ‘Is this true?’ asked William. ‘That you own some dead slugs?’

  ‘I don’t own them,’ stated Elizabeth, her voice clear and decisive.

  ‘But you know where there are some? You like playing with them?’

  Some of the more senior pupils were snorting and trying not to laugh.

  ‘I do know where there are some,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘But I don’t really play with them. I was just messing about to see if they were properly dead.’

  She stopped. If this line of questioning went on much longer, John’s secret was bound to come out.

  ‘Some of us might call that playing with them,’ commented William.

  Now the head girl stood up and took over.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ said Rita, gently. She was puzzled beyond belief. ‘Please just answer one simple question. Yes or no. Did you put some slugs in Mam’zelle’s biscuit tin?’

  ‘No, Rita. I did not,’ replied Elizabeth, in a loud, ringing voice. ‘Somebody else must have found my slugs. That’s what must have happened.’

  That was too much for Arabella. She leapt to her feet.

  ‘Fibber!’ she cried indignantly. ‘You must have done!’

  ‘That will do, Arabella,’ said William, firmly. ‘If you have something to say, please address the whole Meeting.’

  Arabella took a deep breath. But before she could compose a little speech, Patrick grabbed her arm.

  ‘Shut up and sit down!’ he hissed. ‘You haven’t any proof.’

  Arabella subsided.

  ‘Very well, then,’ said William, looking troubled. ‘The time has come for Rita and I to discuss things with the monitors and to come to a decision.’

  Everybody on the platform went into a huddle. In the hall, the children whispered quietly amongst themselves. Julian gave Elizabeth’s arm a squeeze.

  ‘Don’t they eat snails in France?’ he grinned. ‘Maybe that’s why someone played the trick on Mam’zelle.’

  ‘So what!’ Elizabeth hissed back. She was in no mood for Julian’s jokes. She was pent up, waiting to hear what the Meeting decided. She could see Joan up on the platform, speaking anxiously. She was quite sure that her best friend would be sticking up for her.

  At long last, William returned to the table and banged the gavel.

  ‘We have reached our decision. The two second form monitors are convinced that, whatever quarrels may be going on in the first form, Elizabeth Allen is very honest and has never been afraid to own up to wrongdoing. They know her best, of course, but Rita and I are of the same opinion. We have no evidence that Elizabeth played this trick and she has stated clearly to the whole Meeting that she did not. In due course we will discover the true culprit and until then let their own guilty conscience be their punishment.’

  Elizabeth sighed with relief, proud to be a member of a school like Whyteleafe. But then her relief turned to dismay.

  ‘Nevertheless, messing around with dead slugs is not something we would expect of a former monitor. It may even have given someone the idea for the trick played on Mam’zelle this morning. Please stand up again, Elizabeth. We have decided on your punishment.’

  Elizabeth stood up, faced the platform and awaited her sentence.

  ‘Until John Terry is released from the san and is able to supervise you again, you are forbidden from the school gardens. They are strictly out of bounds. That must be clearly understood.’

  Elizabeth nodded and sat down. Her face was very pale.

  The Meeting ended. Sophie was upset. She had not meant to get Elizabeth into trouble.

  ‘If you ask me, you got off lightly, Elizabeth Allen!’ scowled Arabella, as they came out of the hall. ‘Who wants to do any gardening in this weather, anyway!’

  ‘Yes, what a swizz!’ echoed Rosemary.

  Patrick was looking thoughtful. He hurriedly steered Arabella and her friend away from Elizabeth. He badly wanted to have a talk with them.

  ‘Got off lightly?’ thought Elizabeth, bitterly, as she stood and watched them go. She could have wept with frustration. She had been banned from the school gardens. She would never dare to defy such a ban, given out by the Meeting in front of the whole school. However unjust she knew it to be.

  But it meant that she would be unable to follow John’s secret instructions this week. She would be unable to save his prize lettuces for him. All the worry, all the trying to help, all the getting into trouble . . . it would all have been in vain.

  The Meeting could not have decided on a worse punishment.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Arabella stirs up trouble again

  ‘COME ON, Rosemary. Let’s go and talk to Cook,’ said Arabella, the following afternoon. ‘You never know, she might have seen something.’

  ‘Do you really think we should?’

  ‘Of course we should. I don’t think Elizabeth should be allowed to get away with playing that trick on Mam’zelle! Patrick says we haven’t got any proof. Well, let us see if we can find some!’

  Arabella was still smarting, even twenty-four hours later, from the conversation that had taken place with Patrick.

  The fact was that poor Patrick was rather confused.

  He had been rather impressed with Elizabeth’s bearing at the special Meeting, with the clearness and candour of her voice. He was sure she had played that mean trick with his tennis racket. He felt she must dislike him very much to have done that and the idea made him miserable.

  But surely Elizabeth did not dislike Mam’zelle, too? They got on well. Why should she want to play an unkind trick on Mam’zelle? It did not make sense. At the special Meeting, she had seemed to Patrick like someone telling the trut
h. So could there be an anonymous joker on the loose in the school? Somebody with a rather warped sense of humour, who chose their victims at random? To someone like that, putting his racket in the boot of the Beast’s car could have seemed really amusing.

  Could it be, reasoned Patrick, that Elizabeth really had found his racket for him, in the nick of time, that day? The thought chastened him, remembering the bad things he had said to her. On the other hand, he found it strangely cheering. It would mean that Elizabeth did not dislike him, after all.

  ‘What are you suddenly talking about proof for, Patrick?’ Arabella had asked scornfully. ‘Have you forgotten about the missing jug of milk? She didn’t own up about that either. And it was actually found in her locker!’

  Patrick had no answer. Yet he had still felt uneasy.

  ‘Let’s see what we can find out, Rosemary!’ said Arabella, now. She felt excited as they walked over to the school kitchens together. She had discovered that Mam’zelle always left her empty biscuit tin with Cook at weekends, to be replenished for the new week ahead. ‘Elizabeth could have got into the kitchens over the weekend and put her slugs inside the tin and shut the lid firmly. Then Mam’zelle could have come to collect her tin soon after. Picked up the tin, felt it was heavy and thought her biscuits were inside! Come to think of it,’ frowned Arabella, ‘I wonder what happened to the biscuits?’

  ‘That’s one of the things we can ask!’ said Rosemary, who was not quite following all this.

  Cook was on tea break but one of the kitchen helpers, Molly, was there.

  ‘No, I didn’t see nobody suspicious, not over the weekend,’ she said blankly.

  Then Rosemary asked if she had seen any of Mam’zelle’s special oatmeal biscuits lying around anywhere.

  ‘Well, isn’t it funny you should ask that?’ replied Molly, looking unhappy. ‘I found them all dumped in the waste bin on Saturday afternoon. I don’t think Mam’zelle could have liked the look of them this week. Very wasteful, I thought it was.’

  In the waste bin!

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t see somebody from our form in here, on Saturday?’ begged Arabella. ‘Some time earlier? Before it was time for Mam’zelle to come to collect her tin? Think hard, Molly!’

  ‘Well, only Patrick, of course,’ said Molly. ‘He came in to collect the tennis tin. He had made some nice chocolate crispy cakes for the tennis match. It was stood on the table, next to Mam’zelle’s. I nearly gave him the wrong one. It’s a blue tin, you see, very like hers.’

  Arabella gasped out loud. Two blue tins. Of course!

  ‘Thank you, Molly,’ she said. ‘You’ve been most helpful. If they didn’t take all our money away from us at this school, I would give you a small gift.’

  Then, grabbing Rosemary by the hand, she hurried out of the kitchens.

  ‘Where are we going, Arabella?’

  ‘To find Patrick, of course!’ cried Arabella, triumphantly.

  The rain had stopped for a while. They found Patrick by the south wall, practising his tennis strokes. Arabella was careful not to show her true feelings.

  ‘Patrick, I’m afraid I’ve got some rather unpleasant news,’ she said, sorrowfully.

  She told him about the inquiries they had made in the school kitchens.

  ‘So I’m afraid the slugs weren’t meant for Mam’zelle, at all, Patrick,’ she said, her eyes cast down demurely. ‘The person dumped the biscuits and replaced them with slugs because they thought it was the tennis tin. They were playing a mean trick on you again, Patrick. Nobody would dare play a trick like that on Mam’zelle.’

  Patrick’s face turned pale, as the words sunk in.

  A vivid picture of how it would have been came to his mind’s eye. He, the hospitality monitor, proudly opening the blue tin, proudly offering round to the visiting team from St Faith’s . . . the dead slugs! Elizabeth, sitting on the bank, waiting eagerly for this moment. Convulsed with laughter when she saw him humiliated . . .

  So Elizabeth really did dislike him then. How he had fooled himself!

  The sense of disappointment turned to a sudden rush of blind anger.

  ‘And nobody will dare play a trick like that on me again, either!’ he raged. ‘Especially not Elizabeth Allen. Just wait till I find her.’

  He pushed the two girls aside almost rudely and went racing round to the front of the school. Rosemary felt a twinge of anxiety. What was going to happen now?

  It was very unfortunate.

  Elizabeth was standing at the top of some steps outside the main doors. She was standing on one leg, like a stork, staring into space and thinking about John’s lettuces. They were probably being chewed up right now, one by one, and there was nothing she could do . . .

  Patrick came round the corner of the building, saw Elizabeth, then charged towards the steps, with his head down like an angry bull. He almost cannoned into Mr Johns on the way. He came bounding up the steps towards Elizabeth, shouting wildly and waving his arms—

  ‘Those slugs and snails were meant for me, weren’t they, Elizabeth! You wanted to make me look an idiot. You wanted to get me into trouble—’

  His flailing arms caught Elizabeth’s right elbow and she overbalanced. With a cry of surprise she found herself slithering all the way down the steps, to crash face downwards into a big muddy puddle at the bottom. She lay there, winded, gasping for breath. Whatever was the matter with Patrick? It had all been a dreadful shock.

  Miss Ranger came running over. Both she and Mr Johns helped the girl to her feet. Elizabeth was covered in mud from head to toe. She was clearly shaken and tears were running down both cheeks.

  Gently, Miss Ranger took hold of her hand.

  Patrick stood, frozen, at the top of the steps, staring down at the scene in dismay.

  ‘I’ll see Elizabeth gets a hot bath and some fresh clothes,’ said Miss Ranger. ‘Oh, poor Elizabeth.’

  ‘And I will deal with the boy,’ said Mr Johns, angrily. ‘Patrick Holland, stay right where you are. I am going to have a word with you.’

  As Elizabeth, still shaken and upset, was led indoors by her class teacher, the senior master spoke sternly to Patrick.

  ‘We do not tolerate this sort of behaviour at Whyteleafe.’

  ‘I didn’t push her, sir. It was an accident—’

  ‘Yes, because your temper was completely out of control,’ replied Mr Johns. ‘You behaved like a ruffian.’

  ‘I had good reason to lose my temper!’ protested Patrick. ‘I’ve just found out something. Elizabeth tried to do something extremely bad to me . . .’

  Mr Johns cut him short.

  ‘You will report to the head boy and girl’s study in one hour’s time,’ he said. ‘You may put your side of the story then. They will be very fair. But I shall be very surprised if you go unpunished, Patrick. Whatever the provocation. Until you are called, please go and wait in your common room.’

  Over the next hour, as he paced up and down the first form common room, Patrick gradually began to feel calmer. His classmates had heard about the incident on the school steps. At Matron’s insistence, Elizabeth herself had been sent to bed after her hot bath. Luckily she was unhurt, not even a bruise. But it was felt she should rest, have an early night. Now, as his classmates heard about the two blue biscuit tins, and how Elizabeth must have mistaken Mam’zelle’s tin for the tennis tin, they began to understand why Patrick had lost his temper.

  ‘I’m sure William and Rita will understand, too,’ thought Patrick. ‘I don’t like telling tales but I will have to explain it all to them. They will see what Elizabeth has been putting me through. It is hateful the way she can dislike me so much!’

  However, on his way to their study, he heard running footsteps behind him.

  ‘Patrick!’ puffed Kathleen, catching up with him. ‘Wait! I’ve only jus
t heard about it all and what you intend to say to William and Rita. But you can’t. It’s rubbish. Elizabeth could not have thought the oatmeal biscuits were the goodies for the tennis match. She could never have made that mistake. She knew you had made some chocolate crispy cakes.’

  ‘How could she know?’ asked Patrick. ‘I kept it a secret. And besides, we are not even on speaking terms.’

  ‘I know you’re not! That’s why when Cook gave her a message to give you about the cooking chocolate, she asked me to give you the message instead. To pretend that Cook had asked me to tell you. Elizabeth would never have put the slugs in the wrong tin. Either somebody from another form did it, or the trick was meant for Mam’zelle after all.’

  Patrick’s mouth fell open now.

  ‘Thanks, Kathleen,’ he croaked. ‘Thanks for telling me this.’

  He walked into the head boy and girl’s study in a bemused state.

  When asked to put his side of the story, he could only mumble in embarrassment.

  ‘It was just a misunderstanding. I thought Elizabeth had done something to me . . . but she hadn’t. It was wrong of me to lose my temper.’

  ‘You must learn to control it in future, Patrick. You must learn the hard way.’

  At breakfast the following morning, everyone at Elizabeth’s table was very subdued. They had all heard the upsetting news. Patrick had lost his place in the tennis team. He was forbidden the honour of representing the school against Hickling Green, the most important fixture of the summer. He would have to be replaced by Roger Brown.

  Patrick had moved to the farthest end of the table, away from Arabella. While he crunched his cornflakes, he stared at her, moodily.

  She never once looked at him. She kept her eyes fixed on her cereal bowl, her face pink with discomfiture.

  Even Elizabeth was silent.

  Patrick had apologized to her this morning. He had apologized handsomely. But he had lost his place in the second team. Nothing she could say would bring that back for him. As the little girl stared at Patrick’s sad, crumpled face, she could only feel sorry for him. Poor Patrick!