Second Form at Malory Towers (15 page)

“Daphne isn't your friend.” said Gwendoline, a flare of jealousy coming up in her again.

“She is,” said Mary-Lou, with such certainty that Gwendoline was annoyed.

“Baby!” said Gwendoline, scornfully. “You're too silly even to see that Daphne only uses you because you can help her with her French. That's the only reason she puts up with you hanging round her. She's told me so.”

Mary-Lou stood looking at Gwendoline, the parcel in her hand. She felt suddenly very miserable. “It's not true,” she said. “You're making it up.”

“It
is
true!” said Gwendoline, spitefully. “I ten you Daphne has said so herself to me heaps of times. What would a girl like Daphne want with a mouse like you! You're just useful to her, that's all, and if you weren't so jolly conceited you'd know it without being told!”

Mary-Lou felt as if it must be true. Gwendoline would never say such a thing so emphatically if it wasn't. She picked up the parcel, her mouth quivering, and turned to go.

“Mary-Lou! You don't mean to say you're going to bother with that parcel after what I've just told you!” called Gwendoline, in surprise. “Don't be an idiot.”

“I'm taking it for Daphne because I'm
her
friend!” answered Mary-Lou, in a shaky voice. “She may not be mine, but if I'm hers in still be willing to do things for her.”

“Stupid little donkey!” said Gwendoline to herself, and began to slam books back on to shelves and to make a terrific cloud of dust with the blackboard duster.

She didn't tell Daphne that Mary-Lou had gone off into the darkness with her parcel She was feeling rather ashamed of having been so outspoken. Daphne might not like it. But after all it was nearly the end of the term, and there would be now no need for Mary-Lou to help Daphne. She would probably be glad to be rid of Mary-Lou when she no longer needed her help with her French.

Half-past seven came and the supper-bell rang. Girls poured out of the different rooms and went clattering down to the dining room. “Oooh! Coffee tonight for a change! And jammy buns and rolls and potted meat!”

They all sat down and helped themselves, whilst Miss Parker poured out big cups of coffee. She glanced round the table. “Two empty chairs! Who's missing? Oh, Ellen, of course. Who's the other?”

“Mary-Lou,” said Sally. “I saw her just after prep. She'll be along in a minute. Miss Parker.”

But five minutes, ten minutes went by and there was no sign of Mary-Lou. Miss Parker frowned.

“Surely she must have heard the bell. See if you can find her, Sally.”

Sally sped off and came back to report that Mary-Lou was nowhere to be found. By this time Gwendoline was in a great dilemma. She and she only knew where Mary-Lou was. If she told, she would get Mary-Lou into trouble. Surely she would be back soon? Maybe she had had to wait at the post-office.

Then she suddenly remembered something. The post-office shut at seven! It wouldn't be any use Mary-Lou trying to post a parcel there, because it would be shut. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Then what had happened to Mary Lou?

A cold hand seemed to creep round Gwendoline's heart and almost stop her breathing. Suppose—suppose that the wind had blown little Mary-Lou over the cuff? Suppose that even now she was lying on the rocks, dead or badly hurt! The thought was so terrible that Gwendoline couldn't swallow her morsel of bun and half-choked.

Daphne thumped her on the back. Gwendoline spoke to her in a low, urgent voice.

“Daphne! I must tell you something as soon after supper as possible. Come into one of the practice-rooms where we shall be alone.”

Daphne looked alarmed. She nodded. When supper was finished she led the way to one of the deserted practice-rooms and switched on the light. “What's the matter?” she asked Gwendoline. “You look like a”

“It's Mary-Lou. I know where she went,” said Gwendoline.

“Well, why on earth didn't you tell Miss Parker then?” asked Daphne, crossly. “What is the matter Gwen?”

“Daphne, she took your precious parcel to the post just after seven o'clock,” said Gwendoline. “She took the coast road. Do you think anything's happened to her?”

Daphne took this in slowly. Took my parcel to the post? Whatever for? At this time of night, too.”

“She went all soppy and said that although it meant her going out in the dark and the wind, she'd do it because you were her friend,” said Gwendoline.

“Why didn't you stop her, you idiot?” demanded Daphne.

“I did try,” said Gwendoline. “I even told her that you were
not
her friend—you only found her useful for helping you with your French, as you've often and often told me. Daphne—and you'd think that would stop anyone from going off into the dark on a windy night, wouldn't you, to post a silly parcel?”

“And didn't it stop her?” said Daphne, in a queer sort of voice.

“No. She just said that she would take it for you because she was your friend,” said Gwendoline, rather scornfully. “She said you might not be her friend, but she was yours, and she'd still be willing to do things for you.”

Gwendoline was amazed to see tears suddenly glisten in Daphne's eyes. Daphne never cried! “What's up?” said Gwendoline in surprise.

“Nothing that you'd understand,” said Daphne, blinking the tears away savagely. “Good heavens! Fancy going out on a night like this and taking the coast road—just because she wanted to take that parcel for me. And the post-office would be shut too! Poor little Mary-Lou! What can have happened to her?”

“Has she fallen over the cliff, do you think?” asked Gwendoline.

Daphne went very white. “No—no, don't say that!” she said. “You can't think how awful that would be. I'd never, never forgive myself!”

“It wouldn't be your fault if she did,” said Gwendoline, surprised at this outburst.

“It would, it would! You don't understand!” cried Daphne. “Oh, poor kind little Mary-Lou! And you sent her out thinking I didn't like her—that I only just used her! I do like her. I like her ten tunes better than I like you! She's kind and generous and unselfish. I know I did use her at first, and welcomed her just because she could help me—but I couldn't help getting fond of her. She just gives everything and asks nothing!”

“But—you told me heaps of times you only put up with her because she was useful,” stammered Gwendoline, completely taken aback by all this, and looking very crestfallen indeed.

“I know I did! I was beastly. It was the easiest thing to do, to keep you from bothering me and nagging me about Mary-Lou. Oh, I shall never, never get over it if anything has happened! I'm going after her. I'm going to see if I can find her!”

“You can't!” cried Gwendoline, in horror. “Hark at the wind! It's worse than ever!”

“If Mary-Lou can go out into that wind to post a stupid parcel for me, surely
I
can go out into it to find her!” said Daphne, and a look came into her pretty, pale face that Gwendoline had never seen before—a sturdy, determined look that gave her face unexpected character.

“But, Daphne,” protested Gwendoline, feebly, and then stopped. Daphne had gone out of the little music-room like a whirlwind. She ran up to the dormy and got her mackintosh and sou-wester. She tore down to the cloakroom and put on her Wellingtons. Nobody saw her. Then out she went into the night, flashing on her torch to see her way.

It was a wild night, and the wind howled round fiercely. It took Daphne's breath away as she made her way to the coast road up on the cliff. Whatever would it be like there! She would be almost blown away.

She flashed her torch here and there. There was nothing to be seen but a few bent bushes, dripping with rain.

She went a little further and began to call loudly and desperately.

“Mary-Lou! Mary-LOU! Where are you?”

The wind tore her words out of her mouth and flung them over the cliff. She called again, putting her hands up to her mouth: “Mary-Lou! MARY-LOU I MARY-LOU!”

And surely that was a faint call in answer. “Here! Here! Help me!”

Daphne stood quite still and listened. The cry came again on the wind, very faint. “Here! Here!”

It seemed to come from somewhere in front. Daphne struggled on against the wind, and then came to a place where the cliff edge swung inwards. She followed the edge round cautiously, not daring to go too near, for the wind was so strong. Still, it seemed to be dying down a little now.

She suddenly heard Mary-Lou's voice much nearer. “Help! Help!”

Daphne was afraid of being blown over the cliff if she went too near the edge. But the voice seemed to come from the edge somewhere. Daphne sat down on the wet ground, feeling that the wind would not then have so much power over her and began to edge herself forward, holding on the tufts of grass when she could.

She came to where the cliff had crumbled away a little, and made a series of ledges, going steeply down to the sea. She crawled to this place, lay flat down and shone her light over the broken cliff.

And there, a few feet below, was poor Mary-Lou, clinging for dear life to a ledge, her white face upturned to the glare of the torch.

“Help!” she called again, feebly, seeing the torch. “Oh help me! I can't hold on much longer!”

Daphne was horrified. She could see that if Mary-Lou did leave go she would hurtle down to the rocks a long way below. Her heart went cold at the thought. What could she do?

I'm here, Mary-Lou” she called. “Hold on. I'll fetch help.”

“Oh—Daphne! Is it you! Don't go away, Daphne, I shall fall in a minute. Can't you do something?”

Daphne looked down at Mary-Lou. She felt that it would not be the slightest use leaving her and going for help for it was clear that Mary-Lou might leave go at any moment. No, she must think of something else and do it at once.

She thought of her mackintosh belt, and her tunic belt. If she tied those both together and let them down, Mary-Lou might hold them and drag herself up. But would they reach?

She undid her mackintosh belt and took off her tunic belt with fingers that fumbled exasperatingly. All the time she kept up a comforting flow of words to Mary-Lou.

“I'll save you, don't you worry! I'll soon have you up here I I'm making a rope with my belts and I'll let it down. Hold on, Mary-Lou, hold on, and I'll soon save you!”

Mary-Lou was comforted and held on. She had been so frightened when the gale took her and rolled her over and over to the edge of the cliff. How she had managed to hold on to the tufts of grass she didn't know. It had seemed ages and ages till she heard Daphne's voice. Now Daphne was here and would rescue her. Whatever Gwendoline had said, Daphne was her friend!

Daphne lay down flat again. She found a stout gorse bush behind her and she pushed her legs under it till her feet found the sturdy root-stem growing out of the ground. Heedless of scratches and pricks, she wound her two feet firmly round the stem, so that she bad a good hold with her legs and would not be likely to be pulled over the cliff by Mary-Lou.

A frantic voice suddenly came up to her. “Daphne! This tuft of grass is giving way! I shall fall! Quick, quick!”

Daphne hurriedly let down the rough rope, made of her two belts. Mary-Lou caught at it and looped the end firmly round her wrists. Daphne felt the pull at once.

“Are you all right?” she called, anxiously. “You won't fall now, will you? “

“No. I don't think so. My feet have got quite a firm hold,” called back Mary-Lou, much reassured by the belt round her wrists. “I shan't pull you over, shall I, Daphne?”

“No. But I don't think I'm strong enough to pull you up!” said Daphne, in despair. “And the belts might break and let you fall. I don't see that we can do anything but just hang on to each other till somebody finds us.”

“Oh, poor Daphne! This is awful for you,” came back Mary-Lou's voice. “I wish I'd never thought of taking that parcel.”

“It was kind of you,” said Daphne, not knowing how to get the words out. “But you're always kind, Mary-Lou. And Mary-Lou, I'm your friend. You know that, don't you? Gwen told me the beastly things she said. They're not true. I think the world of you, I do really. I've never been fond of anyone before.”

“Oh, I knew Gwen told me untruths, as soon as I heard your voice and knew you'd come to look for me,” said Mary-Lou out of the darkness. “I think you're a heroine. Daphne.”

“I'm not,” said Daphne. “I'm a beastly person. You simply don't know how beastly.”

“This is a funny conversation to be having on a cliff-side in a stormy night, isn't it?” said Mary-Lou, trying to sound cheerful. “Oh dear—I am so sorry to have caused all this trouble. Daphne, when will people come to look for us?”

“Well, only Gwen knows I've come out,” said Daphne. “If I don't come back soon, surely she will tell Nosey Parker, and they'll send out to look for us. I do hope she'll have the sense to tell someone.”

Gwendoline had. She had felt very worried indeed about first Mary-Lou and now Daphne. When Daphne had not come back after half an hour, Gwendoline had gone to Miss Parker. She told her where Mary-Lou had gone and that Daphne had gone to look for her.

“What! Out on the coast road at night! In this weather! What madness!” cried Miss Parker, and rushed off to Miss Grayling at once.

In two or three minutes a search party was out with lanterns, ropes and flasks of hot cocoa. It was not long before the two girls were found. Miss Grayling gave an agonized exclamation as she saw them. “They might both have been killed!”

Daphne's arms were almost numb with strain when the search party came up. They saw her lying flat on the ground, her legs curled tightly round the stem of the prickly bush, holding the two belts down the cliff-side—and there, at the other end, holding on for dear life, was Mary-Lou, the sea pounding away far below her.