Upper Fourth at Malory Towers (16 page)

Connie shook her head. “I can't think who's doing it,” she said. “I suppose it
is
someone. It can't be a series of accidents—there's too many of them.”

“What do
you
think about it, Ruth?” asked Darrell—but Connie answered first.

“Oh, Ruth can't think who does it, either. It's very upsetting for her, because twins are always so fond of one another. She's sweet, too—keeps on giving me her things when I lose mine.”

“Well, it's certainly most extraordinary,” said Darrell. “I'm very sorry about it, it's a horrid thing to happen in the
fourth
form!”

The girls talked about the Connie Affair, as they called it, and puzzled about it. One or two of them looked at Gwendoline, wondering if she had anything to do with it.

“Don't you remember how Connie flared out at Gwen and put her finger on Gwen's weak spot—when she was putting over that nonsense about her heart?” said Daphne. “And you know—Gwen
has
done these nasty tricks before. Don't you remember? She did them to Mary-Lou when we were in the second form.”

“Give a dog a bad name and hang him,” quoted Darrell. “Just because Gwen did once do thing like this, and got a bad name for it, doesn't mean we ought to accuse her of the same thing now. For goodness' sake wait a bit before we decide anything.”

“There speaks a head-girl,” said Irene,

Darrell flushed. “I'm not head-girl,” she said. “Wish I was. But seriously, it really is jolly queer, all this business. The things are so very
silly
too—Connie's ink-pot was stuffed up with blotting-paper this morning, did you know?”

“Well!” said Belinda. “How petty!”

“Yes—most of the things are petty and spiteful and quite futile,” said Darrell. “You don't suppose they'll get any worse, do you? I mean—stop being petty and get harmful?”

“Let's hope not,” said Mavis. “Here are the twins. Hallo, Connie—anything more to report?”

“Yes—somebody's cut my racket handle,” she said, and showed it to them. “Just where I grip it! Mean, isn't it?”

“You can use mine, Connie. I told you,” said Ruth, who was looking very distressed. “You can use anything of mine.”

“I know, Ruth—but supposing your things get messed up, too?” said Connie. “I'd hate that.”

“It's all very, very queer,” said Irene, and hummed a new melody she had just composed. “Tooty-tooiy-tee!”

Mavis sang to it—”It's all” very—queer! It's all—very—queer!”

“I say!” said Darrell. “Your voice is coming back! That's just how you used to sing, Mavis! It is, really.”

“Yes, I know,” said Mavis, her face red with pleasure. “I've tried it out when I've been alone—though that's not often here!—and
I
thought it had come back, too. Let me sing a song for you, and you can tell me if you think I've got my voice back!”

She sang a song that the lower school had been learning. “Who is Sylvia, what is she?” The girls listened spellbound. Yes—there was no doubt about it, Mavis's lovely low, powerful voice had come back again—better than ever. And this time it was owned by a Somebody, not a Nobody, as it had been before!

“We shall once again hear you saying, 'When I'm an opera singer and sing in Rome and New York and...'“ began Darrell. But Mavis shook her head.

“No, you won't. You know you won't. I'm not like that now. Or am I? Do say I'm not!”

“You're not, you're not!” said everyone, anxious to reassure a girl they all liked.

Darrell clapped her on the back.

“I'm
so
glad, Mavis. That almost makes up for this horrid Connie Affair, You'll be able to have singing lessons again next term.”

For a day or two it seemed as if the Connie Affair was at an end. Connie did not report any more strange happenings. Then she came to the common room almost in tears.

“Look!” she said, and held up her riding-whip. It was one she had won at a jumping competition and was very, very proud of it.

The girls looked. Someone had gashed the whip all the way down, so that in places it was almost cut through. “I had it out riding this afternoon,” said Connie, in a trembling voice. “I came home and took my horse to the stable...”

“You took two horses,” said Bill. “Yours and Ruth's, too. I saw you.”

“I took the horses to the stable,” said Connie, “and left my whip there. When I went back to look for it, I found it like this!”

“Anyone in the stables?” said Darrell.

“No. Nobody at all. Bill had been there, of course, and June and Felicity had, too—and I and Ruth. Nobody else,” said Connie.

“Well,
one
of those must have done it,” said Darrell. “But honestly I can't believe any of them
did
. Ruth and Bill certainly wouldn't. My sister Felicity wouldn't even think of such a thing. And I feel pretty certain June wouldn't either, much as I dislike that cheeky little brat.”

“Anyway, both the first-formers had gone by the time I'd stabled the horses,” said Connie. “You didn't see them when we left, did you, Ruth?”

“No,” said Ruth.

“Did you notice anyone else at all, when you were grooming your horse, Ruth?” asked Darrell, puzzled.

“She didn't even groom her horse,” Connie answered for her. “I always do that. She stood there, looking at all the other horses, and would have seen anyone slinking round.”

Everyone was puzzled. Ruth went out of the room and came back with her own whip, a very fine one. “You're to have this, Connie,” she said. “I'm so upset about all these things happening. I insist on your taking my whip!”

“No, no,” said Connie. “I don't mind taking things like rubbers and shoe-laces—but not your beautiful whip.”

That evening Darrell was alone with Bill. She was worried and puzzled. “Bill,” she said, “are you
sure
there was nobody else in the stable but you and the twins this afternoon? I suppose—er—well, Gwendoline wasn't there, was she?”

“No,” said Bill.

“I hated to ask that,” said Darrell, “but it is just the kind of thing Gwen would do.”

“It's her own fault if we think things like that of her,” said Bill.

“Why does Connie groom Ruth's horse for her?” asked Darrell. “Is Ruth so lazy? She's always letting Connie do things!”

“No. She's not lazy,” said Bill. “She's just queer, I think—a shadow of Connie! Well, I must go and give Thunder a lump of sugar, Darrell. See you later.”

She went out and left Darrell thinking hard. A curious idea had come to her mind. She fitted one thing into another, like a jigsaw puzzle—she remembered all the unkind things that had been done to Connie, and she remembered also all the kind things that Ruth had done to try and put right the unkind things. She remembered also a queer look she had seen on Ruth's face that evening, when Connie had refused Ruth's whip.

“A kind of frightened, half-angry look,” thought Darrell. “Just as if she'd apologized to Connie, and the apology had been refused.”

And then something clicked in her mind and she suddenly saw who the spiteful person might be that played all these petty tricks on Connie.

“What am I to do about it?” wondered Darrell. “I can't tell anyone in case I'm wrong. It's got to be stopped. And I'm half afraid of going and tackling anyone to get it stopped. But I must! It's serious.”

She got up and went in search of Ruth. Yes, it was Ruth she wanted, and Ruth she must tackle!

Where was Ruth? She wasn't in the common room or the dormy or the classroom. Where could she be?

“Anyone seen Ruth?” asked Darrell, when she met any girls in her search. Nobody had. But at last a second-former said she thought she had seen Ruth going into the gardeners' shed by the stables.

Darrell sped off to look. She came to the shed, where the gardeners kept their tools, and stopped outside the door to try and think what she was to say.

As she stood there, she heard a curious sound. Somebody was certainly in the shed—and the sound was like a kind of groan. Darrell pushed open the door quietly and looked in.

Ruth was there, right at the back, sitting on some sacks. 134

In her hand she held the cut and broken riding-whip, which she had obviously been trying to mend.

She didn't see Darrell at first. She put her hand over her face and made another sound—either a groan or a sob, Darrell didn't know which.

“Ruth,” said Darrell, going up. “Ruth! What's the matter?”

Ruth leapt up in fright. When she saw it was Darrell she sat down on the sacks again, and turned her face away, still holding the broken whip.

“Ruth,” said Darrell, going right up to the girl, “why did you spoil that lovely whip of Connie's?”

Ruth looked up quickly, amazement and dismay on her face. “What do you mean?” she said. “I didn't spoil it! Who said I did? Who said so? Did Connie?”

“No. Nobody said so. But I know you did,” said Darrell. “And it was you who did all the other horrid things, wasn't it?—took this and that, hid things, and broke things, anything you could get hold of that belonged to Connie.”

“Don't tell anyone,” begged Ruth, clasping Darrell's hand tightly. “Please don't I won't do it again, ever.”

“But Ruth—why did you
do
it?” asked Darrell, very puzzled. “Anyone would think that you hated your twin!”

Ruth slapped the broken whip against the sacks. She looked sulky. “I
do
hate her!” she said. “I always have done—but oh, Darrell, I love her, too!”

Darrell listened to this in surprise. “But you can't love a person and hate them at the same time,” she said, at last.

“You can,” said Ruth, fiercely. “You
can
, Darrell. I love Connie because she's my twin—and hate her because—because—oh, I can't tell you.”

Darrell looked for a long time at Ruth's bent head, and saw the tears rolling off her cheeks. “I think I know why you hate Connie,” she said at last. “Isn't it because she's so domineering—always answering for you, doing things for you that you'd rather do yourself—pushing herself in front of you—as if she was at least two years older?”

“Yes,” said Ruth, rubbing her wet cheeks. “I never get a chance to say what
I
think. Connie always gets in first. Of course, I know she must have a better brain than I have, but...”

“She hasn't,” said Darrell, at once. “Actually she ought to be in the lower fourth, not in the upper. I heard Miss Williams say so. They only put her with you in the upper class because you were twins, and your mother said you wouldn't like to be separated. Connie only keeps up with the form because you help her so much!”

There was a silence. Darrell thought about everything all over again. How very queer this was! Then a question arose in her mind and she asked Ruth at once.

“Ruth—why did you
suddenly
begin to be so beastly to Connie? You never were before, so far as I noticed. It all seemed quite sudden.”

“I can't tell you,” said Ruth. “But oh—I'm so miserable about it.”

“Well, if
you
won't tell me, I shall go and ask Connie,” said Darrell, getting up. “Something's gone awfully wrong, Ruth, and I don't know if I can put it right, but I'm going to have a jolly good try.”

“Don't go to Connie,” begged Ruth. “I don't want you to tell her it was me that was so beastly all the time. And oh, Darrell, I was so
sorry
for Connie, too, when I saw how upset she was at losing her things. It's dreadful to hate somebody and make them unhappy, and then to know you love them, and try to comfort them!”

“I suppose that's why you kept giving Connie your own things,” said Darrell, sitting down on a tub. “Queer business, this! First you hate your twin and do something to upset her, like spoiling the riding-whip she loved—and then you love her and are sorry—and come to give her your own riding-whip! I could see you were upset when she didn't take it.”

“Darrell—I
will
tell you why I hated Connie so much lately,” said Ruth, suddenly, wiping her eyes with her hands. “I feel I've got to tell someone. Well—it was something awful.”

“Whatever was it?” said Darrell, curiously.

“You see—Connie adores me, and likes to protect me and do everything for me,” began Ruth. “And so far we have always been in the same class together. But Connie was afraid she would fail in School Cert, and felt sure I would pass.”

“So you would,” said Darrell. “And Connie would certainly fail! “

“Well—Connie thought that if she failed and I passed, I'd go up into the lower fifth next term, and she would have to stay down in the Upper Fourth and take the exam again another term,” went on Ruth. “And that would mean she wouldn't be with me any more. So she asked me to do a bad paper, so that I would fail, too—and then we could still be together!”

Darrell was so astonished at this extraordinary statement that she couldn't say a single word. At last she found her tongue.

“
Ruth
! How wicked! To make you fail and feel humiliated when you could so easily pass! She
can't
love you.”

“Oh, but she does—too much!” said Ruth. “Anyway, I said I
would
do a bad paper—somehow I just can't help doing what Connie wants, even if it's something horrid like that—so I
did
do a bad paper—and then afterwards I hated Connie so much for making me do it that I did all these horrible things to her!”

Poor Ruth put her face in her hands and began to sob. Darrell went and sat on the sacks beside her and put her strong comforting arm round Ruth's shoulders.

“I see,” she said. “It's all very peculiar and extraordinary, but somehow quite understandable. It's because you're twins, I expect. Connie should have been your elder sister, then it wouldn't have mattered! You could have loved each other like ordinary sisters do, and you'd have been in different forms, and things would have been all right. Cheer up, Ruth. It's all been frightening and horrible to you, but honestly I can see quite well how it all happened.”

Ruth looked up, comforted by Barren's simple explanation. She pushed her hair back and sniffed.

“Darrell, please, please don't tell Connie I did all those things,” she said. “I'm awfully sorry now that I did. She wouldn't understand, and she'd be awfully upset and unhappy. I couldn't bear that.”