17 half-term at last
half-term came at last. it was a really lovely day, with bright sunshine and a nice breeze. the kitchen staff worked with a will to produce masses of good things for the grand school tea. all the girls were excited about seeing their people.
gwendoline had quite thought that clarissa’s people were coming, and had planned to introduce them to her mother and father. then she suddenly heard bill and clarissa planning a picnic together on the half-term saturday!
“two of my brothers have their half-term at the same time,” said bill, “so they’re coming with mother and daddy. we’ll take our lunch up to the top of langley hill, shall we, and bathe in the cove afterwards, before we come back to the tennis exhibition.”
gwen listened in astonishment. “but what will clarissa’s father and mother say to that?” she said. “won’t they want clarissa to themselves?”
“they can’t come on the saturday, worse luck,” said clarissa. “they may be able to come over on sunday though—at least, mother might be able to, even if daddy can’t. they’re dreadfully busy people, you know.”
“so i’ve asked clarissa to come with us,” said bill. “my family will bring enough lunch for twice as many as we’ll be, so we’ll have a good time!”
gwen was jealous. why, she could have had clarissa spend the day with her, if she’d known.
“well! you might have told me your people couldn’t come on saturday,” she said. “you know how much i should have liked you to spend your time with my people.”
clarissa looked embarrassed. she had purposely not told gwen, because she had so much wanted to go with bill and her brothers—all nice horsy people! but she couldn’t explain that to gwen. so, to make up for her remissness she was extra nice to her, and promised to go and speak to gwen’s people when they arrived.
“you might just mention my heart to them,” said gwendoline. “i don’t really like to make a fuss about it myself—but you could just say something, clarissa.”
“of course i will,” said clarissa, who still believed in gwen’s weak heart. “i think something ought to be done about it.”
so, on half-term saturday, clarissa was led up to mrs. lacy, gwendoline’s mother, and miss winter, her gentle and scared-looking old governess. her father was not there.
mrs. lacy was talking to another mother. clarissa sat down on the grass with gwendoline, waiting till she had finished. darrell’s mother was near, and darrell introduced her to clarissa.
soon she heard gwen talking to her mother and miss winter. “well, dear,” said her mother, fondly, “and what has my darling gwendoline been doing this term? are you in the exhibition tennis?”
“well, no, mother,” said gwendoline. “i was almost chosen but it was decided only to have girls from the fifth and the sixth.”
“how stupid!” said miss winter, feeling that gwen would certainly have been better than any fifth- or sixth-form girl.
“what about your swimming, gwen?” asked her mother. “you said in one of your letters that you had won a back-stroke swimming race and i did think that was clever. back-stroke is so difficult. i remember i could never do it at school because the water kept going over my face.”
clarissa couldn’t help hearing this conversation, though she was talking to mrs. rivers, darrell’s mother. she was horrified. whatever did gwen mean by all this?
“no, i’m not swimming today,” said gwen. “there’s a lot of jealousy, you know, mother—often the good ones aren’t given a proper chance. still, i don’t really mind. i can dive almost better than anyone now.”
as gwen always fell flat on her stomach, hitting the water with a terrific smack whenever she was made to dive, this was distinctly funny—or would have been to darrell, sally or alicia. but it wasn’t funny to clarissa. it was shocking. what terrible lies—real thumping lies! however could gwen say such things? she was very thankful that she was going out with blunt, straightforward bill instead of having to be with gwen and her silly, credulous mother. she saw very clearly why gwen was as she was—this mother of hers had spoilt her, idolized her, believed every word she said—it was she—and probably that pathetic little governess too—who had made gwendoline into the silly, conceited, untrustworthy girl she was!
clarissa felt that she really could not go and speak to gwen’s mother, after hearing all gwen’s untruths. she couldn’t! clarissa was meek, and weak in many ways, but she was straight and truthful. she was really shocked now.
she got up to slip away before gwen could see she was going. but gwen did see, and pulled her down again, so that she had to smile and say “how-do-you-do?” to gwen’s mother and governess.
“i mustn’t stop, i’m afraid,” said clarissa, hurriedly. “bill’s people have come and i mustn’t keep them waiting.”
gwendoline looked at her meaningly. clarissa knew what that look meant. “say something about my heart.” but alas, she found that she no longer believed in gwendoline’s heart. she was sure that the girl had lied about that now, just as she had lied about the other things a few minutes back.
“and are you in the tennis or swimming exhibitions?” asked mrs. lacy, her large, pale blue eyes, so like gwen’s, looking down at clarissa’s small face.
“no, i’m not, i’m afraid,” said clarissa.
“you see, poor clarissa has a weak heart,” said gwen, hastily, seeing a very good opening indeed here for clarissa to bring up the subject of gwen’s own heart. but clarissa didn’t say a word.
“poor child,” said mrs. lacy. “what a dreadful affliction for a young girl. now gwen has always had such a strong heart, i’m glad to say. and doesn’t she look well now—so plump and bonny.”
gwen looked at clarissa in desperation. this was all wrong! she gave her a sharp nudge. but still clarissa didn’t mention gwen’s weak heart! gwen glared at her angrily.
clarissa was now tongue-tied. she sat there, red in the face, her eyes blinking behind their thick glasses, wondering how in the world to get away from gwen and her silly mother.
bill came to her rescue with a shout. “clarissa! i say, can you come? we’re ready!”
“i must go,” said clarissa, nervously, and got up gladly. “good-bye, mrs. lacy.”
“but, clarissa!” called gwendoline after her, dismayed and angry that clarissa hadn’t done what she had said she would do.
“who did you say that girl was?” said mrs. lacy. “i didn’t catch the name.”
“it’s clarissa carter,” said gwen, sulkily. “why did she have to rush off like that? rude, i call it!”
“a most unattractive child,” said mrs. lacy. “very plain indeed. no manners either. gwendoline, i do hope she isn’t a friend of yours.”
“oh no, mother!” said gwendoline, making up her mind that after clarissa’s failure to help her that morning she would never be friendly with her again! “i don’t like her at all. very plain, as you say—almost ugly—and undergrown, too. not at all clever, and rather unpopular.”
“i should think so!” said miss winter. “she must have been very badly brought up. when i compare her with gwendoline—well!”
gwendoline basked in their approval. she kept a sharp watch for mam’zelle. mam’zelle was her only hope now!
the day went by very fast. the tennis exhibition was loudly applauded, and the swimming and diving were exclaimed at in wonder, even the fathers admiring the crisp clean strokes of the fast swimmers, and the beautiful diving.
afterwards the dancing display was held in the amphitheatre of grass in the centre of the great courtyard. mothers and fathers sat on the stone ledges surrounding the big circle, looking for their own girls as they came tripping in, dressed in floating tulle of different colours—and each parent, of course, felt certain that her own child was quite the nicest there!
clarissa came back after her picnic lunch with bill and her family. she did not go near gwen, and would not even look in her direction in case she was beckoned over. but gwen made no sign—she had finished with clarissa, the horrid little two-faced thing.
most unfortunately for gwendoline, mam’zelle kept quite out of reach the whole day. she was busy helping the dancing mistress, dressing the girls, arranging their tulle skirts and wings, thoroughly enjoying herself. gwendoline had to comfort herself by thinking that she would find it easy to get mam’zelle the next day. she would ask mam’zelle to show her mother and miss winter the beautiful bedspread she was making. mam’zelle would certainly love to do that—she was very proud of her bedspread!
“i wish this day wasn’t over,” sighed darrell that night. “it was lovely—and what a smashing tea!”
she was happy because her mother and father hadn’t said a word about her not being head-girl any longer—but each of them had managed to convey to her that they understood all about it, and were backing her valiantly—her father by an extra hard hug, and her mother by linking her arm in darrell’s and holding it very hard as she walked round the towers with her.
felicity, of course, was mad with joy to see her parents again. “i love malory towers!” she kept saving. “thank you for sending me here, mummy and daddy. i simply love it!”
