Part 6 (2/2)

”Now,” I said, whipping around and trying to build some fear into them, ”that jacket will be found and reported to the headmistress. You can't take the evidence from me and destroy it, for the cellar is off limits to all of you.”

Pru Carraway yawned. The other five girls followed suit.

”I hope they dismiss each and every one of you for willful destruction of property that didn't belong to you!”

”You sound like a lawyer,” moaned Faith Morgantile. ”You scare us, really you do. What does a wet jacket prove? Nothing but your own carelessness for being dumb enough to wash it in hot water.”

I suspected as I stood there in that bathroom that no matter what I said they would not accept blame for what they had done. Then the sweet, pretty face of Miss Marianne Deale flashed behind my eyes, and her soft voice came to whisper in my ears: ”It is better to champion a losing cause that you believe in than to keep your silence and risk nothing. You can never tell what effect your argument will have later on.”

”Right now I am going to the office of Mrs. Mallory,” I stated with fire. ”I am going to show her the tears in my brand-new sweaters, and I am going to tell her about the jacket you just ruined.”

”You can't prove anything,” said a small, plain girl named Amy Luckett, her hands moving in an agitated, betraying way. ”You could have snagged your own sweaters, accidentally ruined your own jacket.”

”Mrs. Mallory saw me wearing the jacket Monday morning, so at least she will know its former condition. And when it is found in the wet towel basket, that will also prove what you've done.”

”You talk like a second-rate lawyer,” sneered Pru Carraway. ”The faculty here can't touch us. Two years ago we told our parents not to continue donating cash gifts to this school, which would go under without them. They didn't even appreciate all the money we saved them when we stopped wearing those c.r.a.ppy French schoolgirl uniforms. We always win when we unite and fight. We have our parents behind us. Our rich, rich parents. Our influential, political parents. You have no friends here. You are not one of us. No one will believe what you say. Mrs. Mallory will look down her nose at you and think you mean-spirited and spiteful because she knows we will never make you one of us. She will believe you damaged your clothes yourself, just so you could put the blame on us.”

What she said made s.h.i.+vers race up and down my spine! Could anyone believe such a thing? I wasn't wise or experienced in the ways of the world. I hadn't been to school in Switzerland, and learned how to handle a situation like this. Still, I had to believe they were bluffing, and I had to bluff as well. ”We'll see,” I said, turning and leaving the bathroom.

With my arms full of ruined sweaters, I entered the dean's office. Mrs. Mallory looked up with annoyance clearly written on her round face. ”Aren't you supposed to be in your social studies cla.s.s, Miss Casteel?”

I dropped the sweaters on the floor, then picked up what had been a lovely blue one, and held it high for her to see. A finis.h.i.+ng thread had been pulled so the neckline was half raveled. ”I have never worn this sweater, Mrs. Mallory, and yet it is full of holes and raveling.”

She frowned. ”You really should take better care of your clothes. I hate to see money thrown away on ungrateful children.”

”I take very good care of my clothes. This sweater was neatly folded in my second dresser drawer, along with others that are also falling apart because threads have been pulled or cut.”

For the longest time she was silent. One by one I displayed the sweaters. ”The jacket you commented on Monday morning when I checked in was soaked in hot water while I was in my morning cla.s.ses today.

Her red lips pursed. She adjusted the halfgla.s.ses she wore on the tip of her nose. ”Are you making accusations, Miss Casteel?”

”Yes. I am not liked here because I am different.”

”If you want to be liked, Miss Casteel, you don't tattle on schoolmates who play tricks on all the new girls.”

”This is more than a trick!” I cried, dismayed by her indifference. ”My clothes were ruined!”

”Oh, come now, you make too much out of what appears to me just careless packing. Sweaters catch in zippers, in luggage locks. You tug to pull them free and holes appear, and threads ravel.”

”And the jacket, that accidentally fell into a tub of hot water, on its own?”

”I don't see a jacket. If you had further evidence, why didn't you bring it with you?”

”I dropped it down the wet towel chute. You can find it in the laundry room.”

”There's a sign above that chute. All wet washable clothes are to-be put into the smaller chute.”

”Mrs. Mallory, it was a plaid jacket! It could stain someone's clothing.”

”Exactly what I mean. It could also stain white towels and washcloths.”

My lips began to tremble. ”I had to put it somewhere so the girls who did it couldn't hide the evidence and say it never happened.”

She fingered the pretty blue sweater, looking thoughtful. ”Why don't you take these sweaters and try to mend them with needle and thread? I have to confess, I really don't want to find your wet jacket. If I do, that means I will have to take action and question all the girls. Things like this have happened before. If we side with you, will that help you to be accepted here? I'm sure your guardian will buy you new sweaters.”

”You mean I should let them go unpunished?”

”No, not exactly. Just handle this yourself, without our aid.” She smiled at me in a tight way. ”You must remember, Miss Casteel, though they want you to think you are scorned and beneath their contempt, there isn't a girl here who is more envied. You are very lovely and have a touching freshness that is rare. You seem like someone from a hundred years ago, shy and proud and much too sensitive and vulnerable. Those girls see what I see, what everyone here sees, and you frighten them. You make them uncertain about what they are, and what their values are. And, you are also the ward of Tony Tatterton, a very admired and successful man. You live in one of the finest old homes in America. I realize you have a past that has scarred you, but don't let it wound you permanently. You have the potential to become anything you set your mind to be. Don't let silly schoolgirl pranks ruin what can be the best learning years of your life. Now, I can tell from your expression that you are outraged and want some sort of revenge or recompense for the clothes you have lost. But aren't clothes relatively unimportant to you? Won't they be replaced? Did those girls ruin something of real value you might have hidden in your room?”

Oh, oh! I hadn't thought of that! In the bottom of my hamper I had hidden a heavy box containing the silver-framed portraits of Keith and Our Jane! I had to check the moment I was back there to see if they had been taken or destroyed!

I started to leave, then I turned and met the stern but sympathetic eyes of Mrs. Mallory. ”I think you owe me something, Mrs. Mallory, for keeping my silence--and peace in this school.”

Her eyes went guarded. ”Yes, tell me what you think I owe.”

”There is going to be a dance this Thursday evening, with the boys from Broadmire Hall. I know I haven't won enough credits in the time I've been here to deserve an invitation to that dance, but I want to go.”

For the longest time she stared at me, her eyelids half-lowered, and then she smiled, her eyes amused. ”Why, that's a small thing to ask. Just see that you don't embarra.s.s the school.”

The portraits of my two little ones were safe. I put them back until Friday when I would take them to Troy, so he could turn them over to the detectives he'd promised he'd hire to find my younger sister and brother.

I thought of Tom, who had always been my champion. I knew what he'd want me to do now that I had things going my way: ”Don't rock the boat,” he'd say.

Maybe it was having Farthinggale Manor for my home, with Tony as my guardian, with Jillian for a grandmother, even a reluctant one, and Troy for my friend that gave me more audacity than common sense should have allowed. For I was going to rock the boat. Come h.e.l.l or high water, I wasn't going to let those girls get the best of me! I glanced in the nearest mirror and saw very little of the old Heaven Leigh Casteel in the image of a girl with shoulder-length, smartly styled dark hair that gleamed. But what to do? Already I knew Mrs. Mallory wasn't likely to do anything to risk her cash donations.

I fell p.r.o.ne upon the bed, hanging my head over the side, and began to brush my hair up and over, so it fell like a dark shawl around my face, closing out the brightness of the three lamps. I heard the chimes in the bell tower beginning the evening melodies of patriotic songs flavored with faith in G.o.d. And my brushstrokes caught the timing as I stroked, stroked, stroked, as I plotted and planned how to get even with those six girls who had obviously waited in the bathroom, knowing just what I'd do with a dripping wet jacket that would ruin new green carpeting and earn for me several demerits.

Back in Winnerrow I'd cringed and cowered in my shabby, ill-fitting clothes and scuffed, worn-out, secondhand shoes, feeling too weak from perpetual hunger to fight back effectively. I felt too humiliated and ashamed of who I was, a sc.u.mbag Casteel, to find the right methods of proving my individuality and merits. But now, things were different. I had storebought courage, despite my ruined sweaters and jacket. I was still too well outfitted to cringe and cower like a Casteel.

And as I brushed and brushed, forgetting to count, an idea was born. The perfect way to have my own revenge . . . and we'd see who won this game in the end. Boston boys were basically the same as boys all over the world. They drifted like bees to the prettiest, sweetest-smelling flower. And I knew I could be that.

Eight The Dance .

THAT VERY TUESDAY EVENING, WHEN ALL THE OTHER girls in my wing were obviously trying not to whoop it up too noisily, I heard my name mentioned several times, and always laughter followed. It made me uneasy to know I was the brunt of so many jokes. Still, I had a friend that I could call. Locking my door first, I put in a call to Troy. His telephone in the cottage rang and rang, giving me nagging fears that he wasn't there, and I didn't know where else to reach him. Then he answered, sounding very busy. And if his voice hadn't warmed when he knew who it was, I would never have requested what I did. ”You want me to go into your closets and choose the party dress that will best make a sensation? Heaven, do you have several?”

”Oh, yes, Troy. Tony had me try on at least ten, and though he'd intended to buy me only two, he ended up with four. I didn't bring any with me, thinking it would be a long time before I earned enough merits to be invited to one of their dances-- but here I am, invited.”

He kind of groaned. ”Sure, I'll do what you ask, but I don't know much about what a fifteen-year-old girl should wear to one of those school functions.”

True to his word, late that very evening, while I hid in shadows of the front parlor and waited, and all the other girls slept, Troy eased his car into the drive of Winterhaven, and I slipped out the front door to meet him. Behind me the front door was kept from closing tight and locking by a thin book I had inserted.

”I am so sorry to cause you this trouble, Troy,” I whispered, slipping into the front seat beside him. I couldn't help moving close enough to put my cold lips on his cheek. ”Thank you! I'm ever so grateful to have a good friend like you. I realize you must think me a terrible pest and nuisance, calling you up so late. I know you have a thousand better things to do, but I need this dress, I really do!”

”Hey,” he objected, seemingly embarra.s.sed with my overdone apologies, ”don't be too grateful. I really had nothing better to do.” He moved a bit farther from me, and this put him very close to the driver's door--causing me to move back toward the pa.s.senger door, and not crowd him. ”I found the four dresses you spoke of and tried to decide between them. However, all of them were so pretty, I couldn't decide. So I brought all four, and you can make the choice.”

”You had no preference?” I asked, very disappointed, for I'd depended on his being male and wise about what men liked best. ”Troy, surely you must like one better than the others.”

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