Read Online Pegasi and Prefects by Eleanor Beresford - Free Book Online
Authors: Eleanor Beresford
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Not that we’re particularly close friends, but with Rosalind taking up space in my study Frances should have a desk to spare.
The door is closed when I arrive and no one answers my Frances must be at her Guides meeting. She’s quite cracked on Guides. Somehow, I don’t like the thought of letting myself in and settling down in Frances and Rosalind’s study without permission, even though Frances isn’t the sort to mind. It might be awkward if Rosalind came back, especially after that little scene.
Esther, too, is probably alone. I hesitate. Somehow, Esther is the last person I want to talk to right now.
Instead, I knock on the door of the study Cecily and Gladys share. “Mind if I work here a bit? Rather a nasty atmosphere in my study.”
Gladys snorts in understanding. She has no time for Diana and Valerie. Cecily gives me one sharp look, then smiles and nods. That’s the ripping thing about her; she can sense what you’re feeling, but she never pries, just lets you be. She goes back to reading her letter from home to Gladys.
Despite Esther’s predictions, the two of them seem to be quite cosy together in their study. There had been one terrible flareup early on when Cecily had wanted Gladys to leave the room because a third former had come quaking to her Head Girl for advice and Gladys had objected to being cast out. Esther, telling me about it, insisted that the new mark on the rug was Gladys losing control of her Firewielding out of temper. Whether that was true or not, Gladys had learned that, for all Cecily’s air of being a dear Little Mother, she is about as easy to bully as a mother dragon.
After that one flareup, literal or not, peace had reigned, and the two seem to have become fast friends. It makes me a little lonely. Certainly, even though I’ve been ordered to do the same with my own study mate, it’s not happening. I comfort myself with the fact that Esther and Valerie are also still to become bosom pals, so I’m not the only one failing at getting along in my study.
I curl up and try to work, letting Cecily’s pleasant colonial accent soothe me. Her brothers have written her a letter in turns, and they are talented at what Cecily calls “yarning”, making Gladys and I chuckle with their ridiculous tales of snakes and adventures. I can hear the loneliness in her voice, though; she doesn’t speak much of it, but I know it’s not just her brothers she misses, but the place she comes from, so far across the seas. I miss my brothers and sisters too, and I love my home, but I don’t have the same strong sense of place.
So there’s absolutely no reason that the longing in my friend’s voice sets off an unfocused wave of longing and loss in my own heart.
Sixth form life is supposed to prepare us for grownup life. Part of that is getting used to dressing for dinner in the Head’s dining room, followed by dancing. It’s not every night, thank goodness, just once a week, with School House taking Saturdays, another sign of our privilege. The dancing is expected to be a little more formal than the giggling and tugging each other around in the gym that we’ve done formerly.
Some of the girls, like Valerie, are gleeful at the prospect of showing off their evening frocks and begin primping long before it seems necessary to dress. I’m far less sure about the fun of dressing up to exchange stilted small talk under Miss Carroll’s eye.
At least my dress is nice. Mother picked out something for me in a dark chocolate heavy stuff that makes my eyes look more brown than green, very simply cut without any fuss or frippery. I have to admit it makes me feel queerly grownup, having all that long fabric swirling around nylon clad legs. I’m not so sure I like the way it’s clinging to my upper body. I feel ridiculously exposed, more, for some reason, than I do in a bathing costume, which I’ve worn without embarrassment in front of the other girls a hundred times.
The girls around me are
The door is closed when I arrive and no one answers my Frances must be at her Guides meeting. She’s quite cracked on Guides. Somehow, I don’t like the thought of letting myself in and settling down in Frances and Rosalind’s study without permission, even though Frances isn’t the sort to mind. It might be awkward if Rosalind came back, especially after that little scene.
Esther, too, is probably alone. I hesitate. Somehow, Esther is the last person I want to talk to right now.
Instead, I knock on the door of the study Cecily and Gladys share. “Mind if I work here a bit? Rather a nasty atmosphere in my study.”
Gladys snorts in understanding. She has no time for Diana and Valerie. Cecily gives me one sharp look, then smiles and nods. That’s the ripping thing about her; she can sense what you’re feeling, but she never pries, just lets you be. She goes back to reading her letter from home to Gladys.
Despite Esther’s predictions, the two of them seem to be quite cosy together in their study. There had been one terrible flareup early on when Cecily had wanted Gladys to leave the room because a third former had come quaking to her Head Girl for advice and Gladys had objected to being cast out. Esther, telling me about it, insisted that the new mark on the rug was Gladys losing control of her Firewielding out of temper. Whether that was true or not, Gladys had learned that, for all Cecily’s air of being a dear Little Mother, she is about as easy to bully as a mother dragon.
After that one flareup, literal or not, peace had reigned, and the two seem to have become fast friends. It makes me a little lonely. Certainly, even though I’ve been ordered to do the same with my own study mate, it’s not happening. I comfort myself with the fact that Esther and Valerie are also still to become bosom pals, so I’m not the only one failing at getting along in my study.
I curl up and try to work, letting Cecily’s pleasant colonial accent soothe me. Her brothers have written her a letter in turns, and they are talented at what Cecily calls “yarning”, making Gladys and I chuckle with their ridiculous tales of snakes and adventures. I can hear the loneliness in her voice, though; she doesn’t speak much of it, but I know it’s not just her brothers she misses, but the place she comes from, so far across the seas. I miss my brothers and sisters too, and I love my home, but I don’t have the same strong sense of place.
So there’s absolutely no reason that the longing in my friend’s voice sets off an unfocused wave of longing and loss in my own heart.
Sixth form life is supposed to prepare us for grownup life. Part of that is getting used to dressing for dinner in the Head’s dining room, followed by dancing. It’s not every night, thank goodness, just once a week, with School House taking Saturdays, another sign of our privilege. The dancing is expected to be a little more formal than the giggling and tugging each other around in the gym that we’ve done formerly.
Some of the girls, like Valerie, are gleeful at the prospect of showing off their evening frocks and begin primping long before it seems necessary to dress. I’m far less sure about the fun of dressing up to exchange stilted small talk under Miss Carroll’s eye.
At least my dress is nice. Mother picked out something for me in a dark chocolate heavy stuff that makes my eyes look more brown than green, very simply cut without any fuss or frippery. I have to admit it makes me feel queerly grownup, having all that long fabric swirling around nylon clad legs. I’m not so sure I like the way it’s clinging to my upper body. I feel ridiculously exposed, more, for some reason, than I do in a bathing costume, which I’ve worn without embarrassment in front of the other girls a hundred times.
The girls around me are
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