21 mavis and zerelda
it was a sorry ending to what everyone had thought to be a very fine trick. “i suppose that pellet had been made stronger than usual,” said alicia, gloomily.
sally didn’t say “i told you so” which was very good of her, darrell thought. “i shall give up the half-holiday just the same as you all do,” she told darrell. “i may have stood out against the trick, but i’m going to share the punishment, of course.”
“you’re decent, sally,” said darrell, slipping her arm in hers. “let’s go downstairs and see if there’s anything interesting on the notice-board. i believe there’s a debate tonight we might go to—sixth-formers against fifth-formers, all arguing their heads off.”
they went to find the notice-board. one of the fourth-formers was also there, looking at it. it was ellen. “hallo, darrell!” she said. “congratulations!”
“what on?” asked darrell, surprised.
“well, look—you’re playing for the third match-team next thursday!” said ellen. “three people have fallen out, ill—so all three reserves are playing—and you’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“oh—how perfectly wizard!” cried darrell. she capered round the hall—and then her face suddenly sobered. “i say—will miss potts let me play next thursday? that’s the half-holiday, isn’t it, except for match-players? oh, sally—do you think i shan’t be able to play because we’ve all got to give up our half-holiday and work instead?”
“what are you talking about?” said ellen, puzzled. darrell told her.
“goodness!” said ellen. “you won’t be able to play then. you can’t expect potty to let you off a punishment in order to have a great treat like playing in a match-team.”
darrell groaned. “oh—what simply awful bad luck. my first chance! and i’ve chucked it away. oh, sally, why didn’t i back you up and stand aside with you, instead of going in with alicia?”
it was a terrible blow to poor darrell. she went about looking so miserable that sally couldn’t bear it. she went to miss potts’ room and knocked at the door.
“please, miss potts—darrell is down to play in the third match-team next thursday,” said sally. “and because of the trick today she’s supposed to work on that day. she’s terribly disappointed. you said i needn’t give up the half-holiday because i didn’t agree to the trick. can i give it up, please, and let darrell take it instead of me? then she could play in the match.”
“a kind thought, sally, but quite impossible,” said miss potts. “darrell must take her punishment like the rest of the form. it’s her own fault if she misses her chance of playing in the match.”
sally went away sadly. she met darrell and told her how she had tried to get her the half-holiday so that she might play in the team. darrell was touched. “oh, sally! you really are a sport! a proper friend! thank you.”
sally smiled at her. her jealousy slid away suddenly. she knew she had been silly, but she wouldn’t be any more. she linked her arm in darrell’s.
“i’ll be glad when betty’s back and alicia has her for company,” she said.
“so will i,” said darrell, heartily. “it’s annoying the way she keeps trying to make us into a threesome. don’t let’s, sally.”
sally was satisfied. but how she wished she could give darrell her half-holiday! poor darrell—it was such a wonderful chance—one that might not come again for ages.
they met sister and asked her for news of mavis. “much better,” said sister. “her voice has gone though. she can only croak, poor mavis. she seems very miserable. she can have a visitor tomorrow. she’s asked for zerelda, so you might tell her she can go to see mavis after tea.”
darrell and sally looked at each other in astonishment. zerelda! whatever did mavis want zerelda for?
mavis was very unhappy. she had been horrified when she found that her voice had gone. she had only a croak that sounded quite unlike her own voice. “oh, sister—won’t i ever be able to sing again?” she had asked, anxiously.
“not for some time,” sister had said. “oh, yes, i expect it will come back all right, mavis—but you have been very ill with throat and chest trouble, and you won’t have to try and sing for a year or two. if you do the specialist says you will damage your voice for ever, and will never be able to become a singer.”
mavis let the tears slide down her cheeks without wiping them away. no voice! no singing for a year or two—and perhaps not then. why, she might not become an opera-singer after all. throat trouble—chest trouble—they were the two things a singer must always guard against.
“it’s my own fault! why did i creep off in the rain that night?” wept poor mavis. “i thought it was a grand thing to do. the others didn’t. perhaps zerelda would understand though—she’s going to be a grand film-actress, and she understands how a singer or an actress longs to be recognized, aches for applause.”
so, when sister told her she could have a visitor and asked her whom she would like, she chose zerelda! she must tell zerelda everything. zerelda would understand and sympathize.
zerelda was surprised, too, to be chosen. she hadn’t liked mavis very much. but she went to see her, taking some fruit, some sweets and a book that had just come for her from america. zerelda was always generous.
she was shocked to see how thin mavis looked. “sit down,” said mavis, in a terrible croak.
“what’s happened to your voice?” asked zerelda, in alarm.
“i’ve lost it—perhaps for ever!” said mavis, in a pathetic croak. “oh, zerelda, i’ve been an idiot. i’m sure nobody would understand but you!”
in a series of pants and croaks she told zerelda all the happenings of that saturday night—and how they wouldn’t even let her sing. “so it was all for nothing. oh, zerelda, what am i to do without my voice? i shall die! the others have always told me that i’m nothing without my voice, nothing at all.”
“don’t talk any more, mavis,” said sister, putting her head in at the door. “you talk instead, zerelda.”
so zerelda talked. what did she find to talk about? ah, zerelda suddenly found a bit of character and quite a lot of wisdom. she had learnt quite a few things already from her term at malory towers—she had especially learnt from her failure at acting. and she told mavis all she had learnt.
it wasn’t easy to tell what had happened in the shakespeare class—but when zerelda saw how mavis was drinking it all in, paying her the very closest attention, she spared herself nothing.
“so you see, mavis,” she finished at last, “i was much, much worse than you. you really had a gift. i never had! you were proud of a real thing. i was vain of something false, that didn’t exist. i’m happier now i know, though. after all, it is more sensible to be what we really are, isn’t it—schoolgirls—not future film-actresses or opera-singers. you’ll feel the same, too, when you’ve thought about it. you can be you now you’ve lost your voice for a bit.”
“oh, zerelda,” croaked mavis, slipping her hand into the american girl’s, “you don’t know how you’ve helped me. i was so terribly miserable. i didn’t think anything like this had ever happened to anyone before. and it’s happened to you as well as to me!”
zerelda said nothing. it had cost her a lot to make such a confession to mavis, of all people. but with all her faults, zerelda was generous-hearted, and she had quickly seen how she, and she alone, could help mavis.
sister put her head in again. she was glad to see mavis looking so much happier. she came right in. “well, you have done her good, zerelda!” she said. “she looks quite different. you’re friends, i suppose?”
mavis looked eagerly at zerelda. “yes,” said zerelda firmly. “we’re friends.”
“well, two minutes more and you must go,” said sister and went out again.
“i’m going to make the others see that i wasn’t only a voice,” croaked mavis. “zerelda, will you go on helping me? will you be friends with me? i’m not much, i know—but you haven’t got a friend, have you?”
“no,” said zerelda, ashamed to say it. “well—i suppose i’m not much of a person either, mavis. i’m just a no-account person—both of us are! we’ll help each other. now i must go. good-bye! i’ll come again tomorrow.”
