Naughtiest Girl 8: Well Done, The Naughtiest Girl Page 3

  ‘Fair enough,’ agreed Colin.

  There were no complaints or grumbles this week and the two head pupils began to wind up the Meeting.

  Elizabeth’s mind was already moving on to other things. Talk of Colin and William and Rita leaving so soon had given her a fresh jolt! It reminded her that there was very little time left before the Leavers’ Concert. She longed with all her heart to be a part of that concert, to pay her special tribute to William and Rita from the concert platform. The sweet sad piece she was learning expressed her emotions far better than words.

  But swotting for exams every day had not left her all the time she needed for her piano! And Mr Lewis would be expecting to see a big improvement at the next lesson. She had promised him! And, besides, her hopes depended on it.

  ‘It’s too late to go to my secret den and do my times tables today!’ Elizabeth decided. ‘I’ll do extra piano practice instead. I’ll do a whole hour!’

  She collected her music case after the Meeting and set off for her usual practice room. But Sophie had got there ahead of her. She was practising the flute. Elizabeth reflected that Sophie would surely be chosen to represent the junior class at the Leavers’ Concert. She was a remarkable little player.

  ‘I think I’ll be here till bedtime now, Elizabeth,’ the younger girl said wryly. ‘This is a Grade V piece and

  I’m only on Grade IV but Mr Lewis says he thinks I can master it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sophie! I’ll go upstairs.’

  There was a piano on the top floor, right at the end of a long corridor. It was rather out of the way. Nobody bothered to use that one much.

  But when Elizabeth reached the top landing and walked down the corridor, she heard the distant rippling of the piano being played.

  ‘It’s that lovely piece again!’ she realized. ‘The one I heard yesterday. It must be the same person. Now I can find out who it is.’

  The piano was tucked away in an alcove, around a corner at the far end of the corridor. Anxious not to disturb the player, who was in the middle of a delicate diminuendo, she tiptoed the last distance. Then she peeped round the corner . . .

  She stared in amazement.

  It was Arabella! The fair-haired girl was seated at the piano, playing with the deepest concentration. Her friend, Rosemary, stood alongside her and was turning over the pages for her.

  Elizabeth hurriedly drew back. Her heart was pounding. That Arabella should be playing like that!

  Her mind could hardly take it in. The conceited Arabella was always showing off. If ever she had something to boast about, she liked the whole world to know.

  Why had she never let anyone know she could play the piano so well? Why was she keeping it secret?

  Elizabeth stood there, quietly, her body pressed to the wall.

  And very soon there came the answer to her question.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Joan states her opinion

  THE MUSIC stopped. Arabella had come to the end of her piece. Then Elizabeth heard Rosemary speak.

  ‘It’s perfect now, Arabella. It really is! Shall we go down to our dormy now and I’ll test you on your spelling? You know Miss Ranger’s said everybody has to pass the English exam before they can go into the second form—’

  Out of sight, Elizabeth held her breath in alarm and shrank back harder against the wall. She would creep away, quickly. She didn’t want the pair to see her. It would look like spying!

  About to turn and tiptoe back down the corridor, she heard Arabella’s voice next . . .

  ‘We’re not going anywhere, Rosemary. We’re staying right here! You may think the piece is perfect but I do not. It is improving though. Oh, yes, it’s definitely getting better all the time!’

  She sounded strangely elated. Gleeful.

  Elizabeth’s attention was riveted.

  ‘But what about the exams?’ asked Rosemary, timidly. ‘You know I’ll die if we can’t go up into the second form together.’

  ‘One thing at a time, please. Do stop bleating about the exams, Rosemary,’ said Arabella, impatiently. ‘Do you really think I’ve been wearing my fingers to the bone for nothing? Just to throw it all away? Elizabeth’s started practising again! I’ve heard her. Now the play’s over I expect she’s decided to be in the school concert! Well, she’s got such a surprise coming!’

  ‘I bet Mr Lewis can’t get over how much practice you’ve done,’ giggled Rosemary. ‘All the months you’ve complained to him about it being boring. He must be amazed.’

  ‘I’m his pet now,’ said Arabella, conceitedly. ‘Silly old man. He thinks I’m doing all this to please him.’

  Rosemary knew the real reason.

  ‘It’s going to teach Elizabeth a lesson if you’re chosen this year instead of her!’ She was rather a weak character. She always said what her friend wanted to hear. ‘Oh, won’t that be fun, Arabella?’

  ‘It’s about time she was cut down to size,’ said the other girl, fiercely. ‘After that, I won’t do a stroke of this boring old stuff again, I can tell you. Now, come on, let me play this through again. After that I shall do my scales . . .’

  Elizabeth crept away down the corridor. She had heard enough.

  All kinds of thoughts and emotions were tumbling through her.

  Envy. That Arabella could play the piano so beautifully, when she really tried. She must have a real gift. How could someone so horrid create such a lovely delicate sound?

  Realization. Now she knew why Mr Lewis had chuckled to himself about Arabella. He had been chuckling with pleasure. He would have recognized Arabella’s gifts as soon as she arrived at Whyteleafe School. For months he had nagged at her to do her piano practice, to no avail. And suddenly she had turned over a new leaf! She seemed to want to please him, after all. How delighted the elderly music master must be at her dramatic improvement. He lived for his pupils and loved to nurture their gifts.

  Scorn. How could Arabella be so unkind about Mr Lewis? A silly old man, she had called him. What a horrid thing to say. How mean that she was not really trying to please him! Nor was she working hard for the love of music, or for the honour of playing at the Leavers’ Concert. It was all being done simply to spite Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth could feel a temper coming on. What a sneaky person Arabella was. While she had been busy with the school play, Arabella had been swotting away to beat her in class and plotting to steal her piano place as well. Just to get her own back on Elizabeth for being in the play!

  It didn’t occur to the Naughtiest Girl that Arabella’s desire for secrecy was to be expected. She was learning from past mistakes. Encouraged by the feeble Rosemary, she had been cocksure about being chosen for the play. When Elizabeth had been chosen in her place, she had been made to look a fool. She had decided to be much more careful this time.

  None of this crossed Elizabeth’s mind as, feeling surprised and angry, she walked downstairs, her unopened music case bumping by her side. She didn’t feel like doing her piano practice now. She didn’t feel like doing anything!

  She would go and find Joan. Joan would understand how she was feeling!

  She met her best friend coming out of the second form common room with Susan. Gentle Joan could see at once that something was wrong. Making an excuse to Susan, she linked arms with Elizabeth.

  ‘Let’s go and sit outside,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely evening.’

  They sat on the school terrace. Elizabeth blurted out her secret ambition to Joan. Then she told her everything that she had overheard upstairs.

  ‘What a trial Arabella is!’ said Joan, sympathetically.

  ‘I don’t know what to do now,’ confessed Elizabeth. ‘The worst thing is that I think she’s playing better

  than I do. I don’t know whether I should go on trying.’

  Joan fr
owned and thought about it.

  ‘I don’t think it would be very nice if Arabella were chosen,’ she ventured. ‘I wouldn’t feel happy knowing that someone was playing at the Leavers’ Concert in such a mean spirit. They should want to do it for the honour! And to give the people who are going a happy last memory of Whyteleafe.’

  ‘That’s exactly how I feel,’ said Elizabeth, eagerly. ‘Do you think I should go on trying, then?’

  ‘Of course,’ smiled Joan, wanting to make her friend happy again. ‘Arabella may be talented but so are you, Elizabeth. She has got a head start at the moment, because you’ve been so busy since half-term. Given that you’re both talented, it’s all about who can get the most practice! You must practise and practise, Elizabeth, every spare minute of the day. You must at least give it your best!’

  ‘I will!’ promised Elizabeth, her eyes shining. ‘I’ll practise till my fingers are worn out, Joan. You just see!’

  In stating her opinion, Joan knew nothing of the fright Elizabeth had been given about dropping behind with her school work. She never dreamt that her friend had a secret fear of the coming exams.

  As with Julian and all Elizabeth’s younger friends, Joan Townsend never imagined that the Naughtiest Girl could have any serious worries about her school work. And Elizabeth was certainly not going to tell her. Her pride wouldn’t let her.

  ‘Oh, Elizabeth, I am looking forward to your being in the second form,’ were her friend’s last words to her that evening.

  ‘Yes. It’s going to be really good!’ replied Elizabeth, stoutly.

  That weekend, however, she blanked all thought of school work out of her mind. It was easier that way. She did not once return to her secret hideout in the oak tree.

  Her next piano lesson was looming up and the weekend was her last chance of making it a different story from the last one.

  She practised non-stop on Saturday and again on Sunday, only taking breaks for meals and other essential activities.

  She went back to basics, with Grade I piano scales. Then she worked her way up through the Grades, playing the more difficult scales and finger exercises over and over again. Only then would she tackle her latest piece, the difficult arrangement of Greensleeves. She knew that she must achieve technical mastery before she could make it truly expressive.

  Julian did not mind at that stage. He was pleased to see that the bold, bad girl had got the bit between her teeth! He was very busy with hobbies himself and also spent a lot of time in the craft room on his wood carvings.

  Nor did Kathleen or Jenny or Belinda mind. They were busy, too, revising for the exams, and only felt envious that Elizabeth could afford to be so casual about them.

  The only person who minded was Arabella.

  She quickly noticed what a huge effort Elizabeth was making.

  Arabella had planned to revise for exams this weekend. She was going to try to learn her French verbs and read her English set book. There would be questions about the book in the English exam!

  But as soon as she realized what Elizabeth was up to, she abandoned her studies and returned to the piano herself.

  ‘She must have found out! Have you said something to her, Rosemary?’ asked Arabella, pouting sulkily. ‘Have you?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t!’ said Rosemary, indignantly. ‘People must have noticed you coming up here to practise! You can hear it outside when this window’s open. Elizabeth must have noticed. You can’t expect to keep it secret for ever.’

  The new week dawned.

  All too soon, in Elizabeth’s opinion, it was time for her next piano lesson.

  ‘Hello, Elizabeth!’ said Mr Lewis, as she appeared in the doorway, music case in hand. He gave her a warm smile. He had noticed how much practice the first former had been putting in! ‘Come and sit down. Let’s see how we get on this week, shall we?’

  The Naughtiest Girl sat down at the piano. Her fingers trembled slightly as she undid the case and found her music.

  This was a lesson in which she must do her very best. She knew she had made great progress since last week but would it be enough? She was longing to ask Mr Lewis about the Leavers’ Concert.

  ‘A marked improvement, Elizabeth,’ the music master told her, when the lesson was over. ‘I can see you have worked very hard this week, to make up for lost time. I’m very pleased with you.’

  Elizabeth rose from the piano. As she packed her music away, her throat had suddenly gone dry. This, surely, was the right moment to find out what she wanted to know?

  ‘Please, Mr Lewis—’ she began, nervously.

  ‘Yes, Elizabeth?’

  ‘I just wondered if . . . if you’d decided yet . . . about the Leavers’ Concert. I mean, who’s going to play for the first form? It’s not very long now, is it—’

  ‘It certainly isn’t!’ he chuckled.

  He stroked his beard thoughtfully before replying.

  Elizabeth held her breath.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The rivals

  ‘I CAN quite see that you would like to know, Elizabeth,’ the music master said kindly. ‘But the fact is, I seem to have a difficult decision on my hands this year. I expect young Arabella has told you that she would like to be picked for the concert, too?’

  Of course, Arabella had told her no such thing. Fearing that her expression might give her feelings away, Elizabeth just mumbled and stared at the floor.

  She waited to hear what Mr Lewis would say next.

  ‘I want to leave it as long as possible before I make up my mind, Elizabeth,’ he went on. ‘Apart from anything else, it seems only fair to give you more time to make up lost ground . . .’

  Elizabeth’s hopes rose. Only to be partly dashed again.

  ‘I must warn you though that I can’t make any promises. Arabella has made remarkable progress lately. Quite remarkable. Our lessons together are becoming a real pleasure. One of the great satisfactions of teaching, Elizabeth, is when a pupil at last starts to respond. I must say I am very much looking forward to taking Arabella forward from here . . .’ He quickly cleared his throat, suddenly aware that he had been speaking his innermost thoughts out loud. ‘As well as you yourself, Elizabeth, of course. And all the other boys and girls I teach.’

  In spite of the pain she was suffering herself, Elizabeth’s warm heart went out to the music master. Poor Mr Lewis! After this term, Arabella would lose all interest in the piano as suddenly as she had found it! It would be so sad for him.

  ‘So what I am proposing to do is to leave it until the last moment,’ he explained. ‘I shall have both of you in together, some time towards the end of next week. By then you will both have had your final piano lessons of the term. You will each play your new piece and then we will decide. We can’t leave it any later than that!’ He chuckled. ‘The programmes will need to be run off that weekend, so I will have to make my mind up, won’t I?’

  Elizabeth nodded eagerly. Her hopes were rising again.

  Mr Lewis walked across, opened the door and showed her out. His next pupil was waiting patiently in the corridor.

  ‘I’ll see you for your final lesson next week, then. Keep it up, Elizabeth!’

  ‘I shall, Mr Lewis,’ she responded firmly.

  Elizabeth went on her way, her heart pattering.

  All was not lost. Time was on her side. Arabella had been so cocksure, so certain that she was teacher’s pet and that she had everything in the bag. But it wasn’t like that, at all. Mr Lewis was very fair. He obviously thought that they were evenly matched. He said it was going to be a difficult decision. He was leaving the decision as long as he possibly could – until the week before the concert, in fact. Until just one week before the last day of term!

  In the meantime, she had been given another week and a half to improve her play
ing of Greensleeves. In today’s lesson, Mr Lewis had helped her to iron out some problems with the tricky part in the middle. There would be one more lesson, next week, to sort out any last-minute difficulties. To add the finishing touches. After that, Arabella had better watch out!

  The following day, Arabella had her own weekly lesson. Mr Lewis explained the position to her. After the lesson, she came straight into tea. Elizabeth noticed she looked distinctly bad-tempered. This made her feel cheerful. She remembered the fable of the tortoise and the hare. Well, Arabella had hared ahead of her but now she, the tortoise, had every chance to overtake her.

  And that she was determined to do.

  In the days that followed, Arabella’s hopes of keeping her ambition a secret were quickly dashed. Some of the first form soon began to notice that both Arabella and Elizabeth vanished away to play the piano in every spare moment. Patrick heard them on the upstairs landing one evening, fighting over the piano. He spread the news around the common room.

  ‘The stupid way girls behave!’ he said. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have come to a school with girls in it.’

  Privately he was very put out that he had twice asked Elizabeth to give him a game of tennis. Twice she had made up some feeble excuse.

  ‘If you must know,’ said Rosemary, unable to hold her tongue any longer, ‘it’s all because Elizabeth knows that Arabella’s going to be picked for the Leavers’ Concert this year and she’s jealous.’

  ‘You wish,’ said Julian sarcastically.

  Before long, the whole class knew that the two girls were engaged in bitter rivalry for the place on the concert platform. They seemed to have swept all else aside!

  It was true that the teachers were no longer giving out prep. But they were leaving it to the children’s good sense to revise for the summer exams. These always took place in the last week of term. And neither Arabella nor Elizabeth were ever seen doing private study. They just seemed to be in the grips of their ‘piano craze’, as Belinda called it.