Pegasi and Prefects (20 page)

It’s not that I’ve ever intended to act on my guilty impulses. It is an unnecessary warning. Nevertheless, I feel a cold fear in the pit of my stomach that doesn’t leave me for a very long time.

“You really are the most unmitigated little idiot, Charley Forest.” Cecily glares at me as we walk slowly back across the courtyard from the East Wing, where we’ve been having Geography. “You deserve a good spanking with the back of my hairbrush.”

I can’t really argue the point. I know I have behaved inexcusably. I’ve been dreading telling Cecily what a mess I have made of things, when I have been trying so hard to back her up. Well, except for the whole thing where I was helping to hide an injured pegasus filly, I suppose. That possibly wasn’t the most prefect-like behaviour.

“Whatever possessed you to take a swipe at that Diana brat?” Esther asks curiously. “Not that I haven’t been tempted myself, although I’d prefer to pull all that permanent wave from her head and scratch her eyes out, personally. It’s just that it doesn’t seem your dark-and-stoic style.”

My cheeks flush. “I was bored with her spite,” I say, trying to be firm enough to discourage further questions.

They take the hint. Cecily sighs. “We have an away match next week, too. Oh, well, Elinor will like a chance to move off the reserve, and I’ll take care of the chicks for you. I quite miss being Games Captain.” She pats my arm and I realise I’m forgiven for letting her and the school down, just like that. Dearest Cecily. I put my hand over hers in mute gratitude.

She tosses me a grin and heads off to lend a sympathetic ear to the school orchestra, a mission that takes a better and more generous kind of prefect than me.

Neither Esther nor myself have any fixed plans, so we loiter about in the courtyard a little. It’s a beautiful evening; early rain has freshened the air but there’s a cool, clear grey light from the emerging sun, and the roses are a riot of rose-hips. We lean against the wall in a secluded part of the garden in companionable silence. It’s a nice spot, both out of sight of anyone hurrying around and, more importantly, out of sight of any lower form misdemeanours that I might otherwise feel duty-bound to do something about. I can hear the noise of lower formers who have set up a scratch match on the fields, a hockey game that, for once, I don’t have to be at. The happy shouts seem to set a seal on the peace and contentment that is finally returning after my unpleasant interview with Miss Carroll.

“I don’t know why you and Cecily are so decent to me,” I say, abruptly. “I know this School Banner means everything to Cecily and my idiocy isn’t helping matters. You’re both—well, you’re both trumps, that’s all.”

“Such soppiness, from our down-to-earth Games Captain, no less!” Esther gives me her odd smile. “Better not let the Third hear you, or they’ll lose all respect for you. Uncivilised lot of hooligans, our Third. And I try so hard to be a refining influence on them.” She sighs theatrically.

I grin affectionately at her. “I can be allowed a few lapses of soppiness, with friends like you and Cecily.”

I’m expecting a grin back in return, and some off-hand joking remark. Instead Esther’s smile fades and her expression becomes uncharacteristically serious.

She moves in just a step, so that instead of leaning beside me she is facing toward me, one hand on the wall next to my head, her face unusually close to mine.

“I could be a lot soppier than that about you, if you wanted me to, my Charles.” Her tone is light, but the mocking look is entirely absent from her black eyes. “I sometimes wonder if you quite realise that.”

I freeze, like a beast found by hunters and hoping that, if they just stay still enough, the threat will pass, and half hoping it won’t, just to end their dread. It strikes me forcibly just how beautiful Esther is, with her bronze hair and warm skin and those long dark eyes. My heart is hammering, and the confusion that she has been causing me since the beginning of term resurges in full swell.

We stand there for—I don’t know how long. A few seconds. Minutes. Esther’s black eyes are watching my face in a curiously unhurried, interested way, as if she’s looking straight through my eyes into things I can’t see or understand myself. She doesn’t seem inclined to do or say anything other than wait for me to respond. I know the situation is impossible, and I should do something, push Esther away, say something laughing and witty, and return things to normal. I’ve never been good at passing things off lightly. I wish I was Cecily. I’d give anything to know what Esther was thinking and feeling. I am terrified that if I make the wrong move, then—what? I’m not even sure what is making me so afraid.

Her mouth is so close that I can feel her breath on my lips.

I suppose I would have stood there until Esther became bored and said or did something herself, but an indrawn breath behind Esther’s shoulder catches my attention.

“Well, we’ve found your precious Charley. I suppose you still want me to apologise for my unfair accusations?” Diana’s tone is smugly triumphant.

The blood rushes hot into my face, flooding me with visible guilt. I manage to turn my head just enough to see the two of them, Diana with the pleased look of Meggs when he’s provoked one of Mother’s dragonlings to flame at him and he knows the creature will get in trouble. Rosalind stands slightly behind her, arms down at her side, and doesn’t say anything at all. I find that I’m waiting, drowning, for her to say something, or turn away in disgust and anger, or do anything at all. Instead she just stands there, eyes unusually dark in her white face under her pale hair, watching me with a strangely expectant expression.

It’s Esther who steps smoothly away from me and breaks—not the embrace, because we’re not embracing. Whatever it is.

“You really are a beast, Diana,” she says, coolly. “Well, go on. Charley is waiting for your apology.”

“Apologise to her? I should go straight to Miss Carroll!”

“Run along and tell her all about it, then. I don’t know what you imagined you saw, but Miss Carroll tends to have short shrift for anyone who comes sneaking to her with vile made-up stories. Eavesdroppers never get the full story.” Esther is at her most creamy and smooth, the puckish smile back on her lips.

“Vile?” Diana is shaking. “You are the vile one—both of you. You shouldn’t be allowed at a school like this. You disgusting—”

“Shut up!” Rosalind’s voice is high and loud, as it was when she was disputing Miss Evans. “Stop it, both of you. I can’t bear it.” Her eyes, always overly big behind her glasses in that pointed little face, are inhumanly huge. “They weren’t doing a thing. Charley, I’m sorry. I’ve been an idiot.” She turns on her heel and strides away.

Esther doesn’t turn her head, keeping all her attention focused on Diana. “If you take one step after her, Diana Struthers, I will box your ears until you howl for mercy. We’ve all had enough of you poisoning that nice little thing’s mind.”

“You won’t! I won’t be hit by two of you on the same day! Everyone at this school thinks you’re so wonderful, but you’re bullies—and worse, much worse. When I tell everyone…”

“Just try it,” Esther invites her. “You’re right, you know. Everyone at this school does think we’re wonderful. While you, if they only knew, are a dishonourable outsider who fools them with Charms and Glamours. You speak one word against Charley or myself, and we’ll leave it up to the girls to decide which of us is worse. You’ll see how much your magic matters then.”

Diana catches a sob in her throat, and I feel abruptly sorry for her. After all, she’s right, really. We hadn’t been doing anything, but Diana is right, all the same.

She turns and hurries off, in the other direction to Rosalind.

“That settles her,” Esther says, with satisfaction. “Why, Charley. There’s no need for waterworks, old thing.”

She wraps her arms around me. This time it doesn’t feel dangerous, just comforting, and I sob into her hair a little. The strain of the last moments, the sight of Rosalind’s white face and her disgust, make me shake.

Esther rubs the back of my head for a while, tugging gently on my curls. Her sigh tickles my ear.

“Go on, Charles darling. Go talk to her.”

“Why should I? She hates me.”

“Not Diana, idiot. Your fairy with the pointy ears.” She pushes me back a little and gives me a wry smile, somehow more honest than her mocking smile. “I’m sorry, Charles. I was completely out of order. I quite see that my fascinations are in vain. You obviously prefer something more in the line of a weak and clinging vine.”

“Rosalind’s not weak.” My voice is muffled in my handkerchief.

“Well, you’d know better than me. Go on, my love. Do what you can to salvage things. I’ll take care of our Diana. I won’t let you suffer because I never know when to stop with a joke.” She gives me a small push. “If you like, I’ll track Rosalind down afterwards and tell her it was all my fault, which is quite true. You really are a devastating changeling, though.”

I hesitate, muddled and grateful and sad all at once. “You’re so dreadfully pretty,” I say, bluntly and inadequately. “The prettiest girl in the school.”

Esther laughs. “So chivalrous, as always. I’ll take that to my grave. Go on, before I change my mind and do something we’ll both regret!” She pushes me again, harder this time, and I go in search of Rosalind.

CHAPTER NINE

FRIENDS FOREVER

I finally run Rosalind to ground in her study. She’s curled in an armchair, pale and dry-eyed and obviously distressed, with a solicitous Frances trying to get her to drink a cup of cocoa and chattering comfortingly to her.

Frances comes to me in relief. “Oh, good, Charley! Something’s happened to upset Rosalind, and I don’t know what to do,” she says in a stage whisper. She obviously doesn’t notice my own red eyes. So funny… I prided myself on not crying, until this term. “She might be ill. Can’t you get her to talk to you?”

“May I talk to you, Rosalind?” I ask, gently and unsure of myself.

She doesn’t look up, but she nods, slowly. I turn imploringly to Frances, who smiles brightly.

“I just want to go have a word with Miss Carmel about these Latin exercises. Take your time and have a nice little chat.”

I reach out and squeeze her arm as she passes. I’ve always thought of Frances White as a kind of helpful shadow of Gladys, fussing happily around her, never really as her own person. She is, I realise gratefully, rather nice, in her nursery-governess way. Certainly nice enough to vanish when she’s not wanted.

When the door closes behind her, I step awkwardly forward. I’ve done what Esther said and I’ve asked Rosalind to talk to me. Deciding what to say to her is another matter entirely.

“Rosalind?” I should tell her that what she saw wasn’t what she thought, that I’m not like that, that’s she’s safe with me, but the lies are too much and they die on my tongue. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t like scenes. They upset me.” Her voice is small and tight and I can feel our friendship crumbling in front of us. The future is very clear, a future of Rosalind withdrawing from me and becoming as wary of me as she is of the other girls, more so, and it hurts so much that I can feel desperation pulling through me like a knife.

I fall to my knees by her chair and take her hands, trying somehow to hold onto her with the touch, before I even realise that touching her right now might be a really bad idea. I wait for her to pull away in disgust. Instead she finally meets my gaze, with unhappy eyes.

“You’re very kind to me, Charley,” she says.

“What?” It’s not what I expected her to say after I let her down in some way that I’m not even sure about.

“You’ve been very kind always. Taking me riding, helping me with Sunflame. You’ve been sweet. But I knew, when it came down to it, that you couldn’t be my friend. Not really my friend. Not like you are with Cecily and—and Esther.”

“What?” I say again, blankly. “I don’t understand.”

She smiles at me. “It was nice of you to pay a new girl attention and all that, and I’m grateful. After all, you’re so popular.”

I find myself wanting to argue with her. I am, and always have been, an oddity in the school, a graceless tomboy whose only talents involve beasts and not people and who never really fit in. Of course, I’m Games Captain. A position that, if I’m being honest with myself, probably matters more to the school at large than Head Girl. All right. So I have some influence. I’ve simply never thought of it that way before. Taken off-guard by finding out that I’m somehow a leader in the school, it takes a moment for the full meaning of what she said to sink in.

“You’re jealous of Esther.”

Rosalind flushes. “It’s ridiculous. I always knew that she’s your real friend. You must think I’m an idiot, to be upset and jealous like this.”

“I thought. . .” My voice tails off. I can’t really tell her that it had never occurred to me that Esther could possibly be the problem. I had been so afraid that Rosalind would be shocked and disgusted and want nothing more to do with me, that her innocence would be repulsed at the sight of Esther and myself doing… whatever it was that we were doing. I hadn’t considered that she was in fact so entirely innocent that she wouldn’t see anything but two close friends, talking intimately, and feel left out. “You mean you’re upset because you think I like Esther more than you.”

She tries to tug her hands from my grasp. Only my steadfast hold keeps them in mine. Instead, she turns her head aside in shamed distress. “I know I’m being silly and childish.”