March 2004
Rating: PG
Malory Towers was written
by Enid Blyton.
This is saffic – in other words, it contains women
in romantic relationships with each other.
This story also deals with additional “canon” created in the Malory Towers roleplay on
LiveJournal.com, and was written as a birthday present for Kanna
Ophelia.
A Letter, Marked “Private”
By Sängerin
My dearest Charlotte,
I haven’t written to you in far too long, and you shan’t get anything sensible
from me in this epistle. My mind is in a complete whirl - what a week we have
just had! Schoolgirls really can get the most incredible ideas into their
heads. It wouldn’t matter nearly as much if they didn’t insist on acting upon
them! Just imagine what my Fifth formers have been up to. You never shall so I
simply must tell you. (And yes, this will be one of those "for two pins
I'd retire a happy woman, and never be a headmistress again" letters. They
are far too frequent at the moment, at least for my bank's comfort!)
These are girls of sixteen or seventeen, most of them. I’ve told you many
stories about this group over the years, but to remind you: They’ve finished
their School Certificate, or most of them have. Two -- you remember, it was Alica and Gwen -- failed last year; Alicia because of
illness, and Gwen because of her own foolishness. We decided to let them stay
with their form and retake the exams with the Upper Fourth at the end of this
year. A term and a half on from the decision, I’m still of two minds. Both
girls have settled well into the extra coaching we decided to mandate, but I do
hope that this latest situation doesn’t upset Alicia. Nothing will shake Gwendoline out of her belief that the world revolves around
her. But Alicia -- I suspect that these latest events may undo a lot of the
good work she's done of late.
That was a major diversion, wasn’t it? It’s only in my letters to you, my dear,
that I allow myself to become so scatterbrained. Thoughts of you distract
me so.
I was trying to explain how out-of-character this latest escapade is for my
Fifth formers, these girls I've seen grow through the ranks of the school. They
are a fascinating group, and I've thought so ever since I met each of them on
the first day they we with us. And they have certainly fulfilled expectations
until now. For example, last term they were in charge of the end-of-term
entertainments, and would you believe, they produced a pantomime. They didn’t
use an existing script: nothing so straight-forward
for these young ladies. No -- two of them wrote the words for the entire show,
and another composed all the music. They put together a top-quality production
and we all felt -- the staff, I mean -- that these girls were beginning to grow
up. This past week has put paid to those assumptions.
It all began with Irene. Her musical ability really is something out of the
ordinary. She was the composer of their pantomime last term, and while you
might expect the tunes written by a schoolgirl to be, well ... schoolgirlish
... hers were an absolute delight! Her parents, needless to
say, were greatly impressed, enough to arrange for an audition for Irene at a
specialised music school. We all expected that this would be Irene’s
final term with us, and that we would soon be going in to London to hear her
first symphony performed at the Albert Hall.
Well, the audition came off two weeks ago, and Irene did the unthinkable, poor
girl. She must have had a severe attack of nerves, for from all reports she
failed the audition very badly indeed. I’ve known Irene since she was a first
former, and while she is one of the most scatterbrained creatures on this earth
(as is the way of things, her special friend Belinda is another of them.)
However, in all these years I have never known Irene to lose her head when it
is supposed to be focused on music. In this instance, she lost her head
completely, and her chance to attend this specialist school that would do her
music a world of good.
The poor girl was understandably crushed, and in an attempt to cheer her up,
the form’s co-Head Girls (at that stage, Darrell Rivers and that monkey Alicia
Johns) convinced her to come to me for permission for the form to go off for a
picnic. There’s a field nearby where our Seniors often
go for such events, and with certain restrictions, I permitted the outing. And
oh, Charlotte, how I wish I hadn’t!
I’ve had to piece together what happened on the picnic from some very difficult
interviews with shamefaced girls. Bat as far as I can discover, the picnic went
along perfectly well until after the girls had eaten. The Head Girls insisted
on the whole group resting after their meal. After this, they got out the
sporting equipment they had brought with them. Lacrosse sticks, mostly, as it’s
a better game to play on uneven ground, if play on uneven ground one must. But
of course, my sports-mad darling, you know all these technicalities. I must
ask, however -- have you ever had a ball smash into your eye? Poor Irene -- and
I seem always to using that descriptor, but she’s been having an awful time --
was the one who caught a stray ball in the eye, and she’s sitting up in the San
right now with an eye-patch over one eye, and suffering doubts over her
eyesight in addition to the doubts over her future musical career. It was Moira
Linton, a former Head Girl both last year and this term (and that story is a
whole different kettle of fish I simply don’t intend to go into in this
letter), who flung the bull. Moira’s a difficult young woman, something of a
fish-out-of-water among the Fifth. She doesn’t show unnecessary emotion (or, at
times, necessary emotion), but I suspect she really is quite upset about the
injury to Irene. She simply doesn’t show it to anyone.
But the events of the picnic didn’t end there by any means. When Irene was
hurt, naturally all the girls flocked over to her. Except for
two. I’m not accusing anyone of collusion (Moira may be a little hard,
but she is as straight as a rod in matters of honour), but while everyone else
was concerned about Irene, two of the girls slipped away. I don’t need to tell
you which two. Now, I know you adore our wicked Bill -- or at least what I’ve
told you of her -- but after the terrible trouble she and her Clarissa were in
earlier in the term, I thought she'd be more circumspect. And don’t look at me
like that! They’re far too young to form such serious attachments, and even if
they were, do you want me to lose my job and my reputation?
On second thoughts, don’t answer that question!
The girls had their horses with them -- both completely horse mad, which is, of
course, why you think so much of them. And I raked Evelyn Potts over the coals
for allowing them to bring their horses, for who knows how far they went. They
didn’t come back that night, and what made it worse is that none of those imps
reported it! It wasn’t until young Daphne disappeared the next morning that
Darrell and Alicia saw fit to report to me. Well, what could I do? I contacted
the girls’ parents -- quaking in my shoes when I was speaking to Clarissa’s
titled father, mind you. We sent out search parties, and I told Miss Rivers and
Miss Johns exactly what I thought of them. Poor things.
They looked like worn out rags when they left my office, and more so this
afternoon when I told them that they had lost their Head Girl-ships. This form
is now embarking on the final third of the term with its third Head Girl, and
this time it's Catherine Grey. I had no choice,
Charlotte, really I hadn't. For it didn't stop with the disappearance of Bill,
Clarissa and Daphne.
Given three sets of worried parents -- actually, only two: even faced with the
disappearance of their only daughter, the Robinson’s seemed quite distracted. I
hope nothing is wrong at home -- what do you think I needed least? Exactly. The next morning, Mary-Lou was missing as well. By
this time I was at my wits end.
They're all back safely, or nearly so. Clarissa is in San -- the child's constitution
is still weak, and she is paying for her escapade well and truly. As for the
others, we'll institute the official punishments of course (I hesitate to tell
you that a reorganisation of the dorms is one of them, for I know you'll
frown at me. But it's necessary), but much of the discipline will, as always
come from the girls themselves. I'm already seeing the signs of it, although
Cynthia James is tearing her hair out over her flock at the moment, and insists
alternately that I'm being too harsh and too lenient. It's chaos among the
girls at the moment, but I've seen situations like this before. It may take a
while, but it will sort itself out in the end.
The undercurrents among these children really are beyond belief. Quite apart
from Wilhelmina and Clarissa, who seem determined to send me prematurely grey,
Alicia and Betty haven’t spoken to each other since Half Term,
and this after a sustained campaign to finally shift them to the same Tower.
Then there’s poor Moira. She’s as upright and honest as the day is long, but
far too concerned with appearances. Not the way Daphne or Gwen are, but the
appearance of the form. She puts that above everything else, and although as
Headmistress I ought to applaud her approach, I can see it making her life more
difficult. And now she’s attracted the notice of one of the second formers,
Alicia’s young cousin June. If I thought Alicia or her mother were mischief
makers, young June has them in spades. And yet, like most of these girls, she
can be terribly refreshing at times. But only in small doses.
Moira must get weary of her.
Oh, there are times I wish I was this young again. It’s those times I can
understand, in a way, how Wilhelmina and Clarissa act. I remember when we were
like them. Of course, we were at college, and things were different. I’ll find
out soon enough what those two dreadful girls were up to soon enough. I suspect
they decided to go off together, but they should never have stayed out all
night. Of course, they should never have gone off alone: they know we’re
keeping an eye on them. And then there’s Daphne and Mary-Lou no doubt. Come to
think of it, there’s been queer things happen between
them before... But those are thoughts for another time.
This letter has been terribly prosaic, Charlotte, my dear. I hope it has
brought you a little amusement, but I must say I believe simply writing it has
helped me a great deal.
Despite the fact that this is decidedly not a billet-doux, never doubt
how much I love you. I wish I were with you, rather than writing to you. Every
day between now and the end of term will seem an age, until we are together
again. I want to be able to take your face in my hands and looks into your
beautiful eyes. It is only the thought of you that keeps me going, day by day,
throughout all this foolish, terrible mess.
Until I hold you in my arms,
Your loving Millicent.