Pegasi and Prefects (15 page)

I know I can’t drag the rest out of her, not if it is upsetting her like this. I also know, with sick, terrified pain, that I don’t need to. Rosalind’s inability to say just what Diana has said, or implied, makes it clear that I’m right to guess what Diana has been suggesting about me.

“I’m sorry, Rosalind. I didn’t want to upset you.”

She smiles at me through her tears. “Please, let’s leave it?” she asks, hope in the sweet lift of the corner of her lips. “I don’t believe that anything you could do would be wrong, so it doesn’t matter.”

Perhaps Rosalind can’t say outright the “anything” she is thinking of because it is just too terrible a thing to think or say about me and she is too pure-natured and loyal to think it of someone she has accepted as a friend. Perhaps, too, she doesn’t have the words for it any more than I do, or much understanding beyond the instinct that it is terrible and wrong.

The worst of it, the absolute hell of it, is that anything Diana can imply is true, and in my honest moments I know it. I’ve never actually done anything in the slightest wrong that could be held against me. But I hated it when Roy kissed me, and dissolved into a mess when I thought Esther might. The signs are there, for anyone worldly enough to read them. Most damning of all, I’ve spent the secret sleepless moments of my life letting myself imagine what it would feel like to stroke Rosalind’s soft silvery waves of hair, to touch her cheek. I had wanted, so desperately, in the spare room bed at Miss Roberts’, to hold her close and kiss her lips. If I could, if everything in the world was different, I would still do it, right this moment. Anything ugly, anything shaming and unnatural that Diana’s poisonous tongue has implied about me, is in all justice anything but unfair. I’ve been so careful, so very good, never making a wrong step—and Diana has pried into my secret heart and tried to use it to destroy my fragile new friendship with this girl.

I drop Rosalind’s arm. “Stay here,” I order, curtly, hating myself for my tone.

I storm off after Diana, catching her arm. “Give me a moment, Diana.”

"What do you want with me?" She eyes me with disfavour. "As if you didn't already spend all your free time tagging along where you're not wanted. I may have to put up with you, but I don’t have to entertain you."

"Why wouldn't I be wanted?" My hand is curved around Diana's slender upper arm, and I tighten it just enough to discourage her from trying to pull away and walk off. She is looking a little scared and I feel a stab of compunction. Bullying goes against my nature. "What precisely have you been telling Rosalind about me behind my back, Diana? And about the others?"

I regret it as soon as I say it. It would be unbearable to have the truth about me spilled out in ugly openness on the village street. To be forced to lie and deny it, or let it stand and give Diana power over me.

I need not have worried. Diana doesn’t have enough honour or courage to say openly to my face what she has suggested behind my back. It might make her look bad, to even know about such things.

"I've said nothing that's not the perfect truth." She lifts her chin defiantly, although her free hand is fiddling with her tie.

"And put as mean a spin on it as possible," I say contemptuously. "Very well. Say what you like about the others—although you're an utter disgusting beast to make your own friend so mistrustful of the girls she has to live with—and I'll say what I like about them too. I’ll tell her the truth, that they are good, dear girls and you are simply jealous and possessive. We'll see who Rosalind trusts more."

I catch a triumphant lift in the corner of Diana's full mouth before she manages to control it, and my disgust doubles. Diana knows perfectly well that I can no more use a Glamour to influence someone than I can fly without Ember, and she trusts that her Gift will win out. She’s no better than a charlatan fortune teller, using cheap Charms to twist others, and to keep a vulnerable girl like Rosalind afraid and lonely and dependent on her. I dislike her so much that it takes all my self-control not to take her by those elegant shoulders and shake her.

"I’ll tell you this for free, Diana Struthers. Say one more nasty, vicious word against me to Rosalind, and I might just forget how I feel about sneaking and gossiping, and start telling her a few tales of my own about her angelic Diana. Do you think she’ll be happy when she knows you are using magic to keep her lonely and afraid of everyone? To convince her you’re wonderful so that you get to meet her grand family? To make people think your ears as as pointed as hers? I might just write to her mother, as well. We'll see if a lying, treacherous snob who uses her Gift to manipulate others is a suitable friend for a girl like Rosalind Hastings, shall we?"

Diana's spite, or maybe some shred of genuine affection for her friend, overcomes her cowardice for a moment.

"I’m a far more suitable friend than a tomboy without a brain beyond the hockey pitch. That’s not the worst that can be said of you, and you know it. You know I’m the only one who sees you for what you truly are. And you know perfectly well that you are the most unsuitable friend for a well brought up girl that you can be, and I intend to protect Rosalind from you and your bad influence." My grasp relaxes for a moment in shock and she pulls free to deliver her parting blow. "If you're so far above caring about her position and her family, then why do you care so much what she thinks in any case? She’s not exactly the type of
friend
you usually have. Do you hope to win valuable connections for your family to sell their horrible monsters to?"

It’s so ridiculous that she could suspect that, so far from the real trouble of the situation, that I laugh, in confusion rather than amusement.

“Go on, laugh.” Diana turns and addresses someone behind my right shoulder. “I suppose you heard all that—all those lies. I’m glad you can finally see what your precious Charley is like.”

Rosalind, naturally, hasn’t stayed behind like she was told. Why should she? She’s not, I realise belatedly, a tamed fabled beast or a junior, to follow my orders instead of choosing her own course. She’s standing right behind us, watching quietly, tracks of tears still visible on her face.

“Was she really lying, Diana? I’ve often wondered if you used Glamours on me,” she says, as simply as if she’s saying something not very surprising. Our faces must reflect our astonishment, because she colours a little. “You seem too pretty to be true,” she offers as an explanation. “Prettier than anyone
really
is. Like an actress on stage. Of course, it could be real, so I didn’t like to suggest otherwise.” Her voice trails off. “Anyway, I don’t think Charley tells lies. Not unless it’s really important, I mean.”

Diana stares at her blank-faced, and Rosalind shrugs.

“I’d prefer you not to use magic on me, you know.” She looks nervous, but determined. “You don’t need to. You were so kind to me when I first arrived and we were both new. That’s enough to make me your friend. It always was.”

Diana looks blackly at us both. In that moment, I’m not sure which of us of the two of us she hates most.

“It’s all ridiculous nonsense,” she snaps. “We’ll talk later, in private. And you—I won’t let you get away with acting like this, Charlotte Forest.” She turns on her heel and strides along the High Street, ignoring the shops, her perfect waves of auburn hair swinging in indignation.

“We should stop her,” Rosalind says, uncertainly. “She shouldn’t be in town on her own. If she was caught she’d be in trouble.”

“Let some other prefect bother,” I say. The last thing I want to worry about is Diana. “Rosalind, how much did you overhear?”

She shakes her head, plaits swinging violently, to forestall any discussion. “I can’t stand scenes. I just want to forget it happened. You’ve upset Diana a little, that’s all. She’ll cool off and we’ll be friends again.”

“But—Diana is using—you heard. . .” I can’t believe that, now it’s out in the open, Rosalind doesn’t seem to care what Diana’s doing.

She shakes her head again, more gently this time. “It doesn’t matter. Not the way you think it does. Perhaps she’s using Charms and Glamours because she isn’t sure of herself and wants to make people like her. She’s still been kind to me. And maybe it’s not her fault that she sees the worst in people. I don’t even know what school she went to last, and she won’t talk about it. We don’t know what’s happened to her to make her wary of people. I do wish, though, that she wouldn’t do it to me.”

“You’re very good, you know that?” I say at last.

Rosalind removes her spectacles and polishes them on her blazer sleeve. “No, I’m truly not, believe me. I just know that sometimes you simply need people to be kind, whatever you’ve done.” She bites her lip, then replaces her glasses in a sudden brisk moment. “Whatever mistakes you’ve made.”

“What about us?” I ask, the fear still there.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you still want to be friends, after that frightful scene?”

“Of course I do!” She laughs, a little embarrassed at the strength of her own response. “I wish you and Diana could be better friends. But who else do I have who can tell me more about dragonling breeding patterns than I could find in any book? Please promise to stay my friend, Charley.”

“I promise.” I laugh a little, too, in relief.

By common unspoken consent we turn back to the school. Neither of us, I suspect, feels much like shopping or currant buns. We don’t talk much as we walk back. I’m busy with my own thoughts. I feel distinctly shaken, as if the nasty conversation with Diana is a bad fall that’s jolted my bones all wrong.

All I can hold on to is that I haven’t lost Rosalind. She’s still my friend, even if only because of the same blind loyalty that makes her stick to Diana even when she knows she’s being tricked and deluded. I have to be careful, very careful, not to make Diana’s vile gossip seem real, or I’ll have wasted my reprieve.

Even blind loyalty like Rosalind’s can only go so far.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HALF TERM

My brother Harry’s answer arrives only two days before half term, by which time both Rosalind and myself are in a welter of anguished anticipation. Sunflame, fully recovered, is often circling above the cliffs when we arrive, coming to meet us as soon as our minds brush. I can’t hide how worried this makes me, and I know Rosalind feels the same. The alicorn is far too visible, too obviously willing to stray into human environs. I’m just waiting for the dreadful day she tries to follow Rosalind home. Even now, she is the colour of sunset, gold and red shot through with the faint blues and emeralds of a dying day, glowing against the dull pearl of the sky. Surely, surely sometime soon, someone will notice her and realise she isn’t a fleeting rainbow.

All we can hope is that if she’s seen, it will be by picnickers and day trippers who won’t think to tell anyone who could do anything about her. I’m devoutly thankful the weather is worsening. If it was summer, with Cornwall’s beaches brimming with holidaymakers, I wouldn’t give tuppence for her chances.

I read the letter when I find it on my plate at breakfast, which is a terrible chance to take. I simply can’t wait until I am alone to open it.

It’s short and to the point. If we take Harry to find the alicorn, he’ll take care of it. Rosalind will have her precious baby, he adds ironically. It’s possible, on reflection, that I’d pitched her attachment to the filly rather strong. Not that I was being at all misleading.

I barely choke my way through breakfast. I know my manner is over-bright and distracted. Cecily watches me with slightly raised eyebrows and wrinkled brow. I can’t worry about a Sensitive friend right now, though. As soon as Miss Carroll indicates that we can leave the table, I am on my feet, grabbing Rosalind’s hand and pulling her out of the dining room, down the corridor and into an empty classroom.

“Why, Charley, whatever is the matter?”

“Read this.” I thrust the letter at her.

As she skims it, I am suddenly, uncomfortably aware that the is the first time we have been alone together at school since the dreadful scene with Diana. I have time, as Rosalind takes in what Harry has written, to regret taking her hand. I can’t remember if Diana had scowled at our linked hands or if it’s simply my guilty imagination. I’ve been very careful to keep our friendship casual and distant, and now I’ve dragged Rosalind off by the hand to an empty classroom.

The atmosphere has been more settled than I expected, after the ill-fated walk to town. As Rosalind had confidently expected, Diana relented toward her very quickly. Even with me, she keeps up a brittle courtesy, especially in front of Rosalind. For all that, I’m not exactly dying for Diana’s company, and I’ve gone back to going to Cecily or Esther’s studies of an evening. It’s really only when riding that I have Rosalind to myself, and it’s hard to have intimate conversations when one of you is galloping and the other flying above her head.

One thing that gives me a certain degree of pleasure, is that Rosalind seems to be doing far less of Diana’s chores and prep than before. I’ve even heard her say, with surprising firmness, that she is quite busy enough with work of her own. I secretly hope that it means that Rosalind has realised that Diana wants to be in Rosalind’s good graces more than Rosalind needs to be in hers.

After all, Rosalind has another friend now. I watch her draw in her breath with delight and hope as she reads the letter.

“What is he planning?”

“I don’t quite know.” The light on her face dims a little, and I hasten to reassure. “If Harry says he’ll do something, he’ll find a way. He’s never let me down. Not even when I was a tiny moppet. He’ll see us through.”