Alice-Miranda Takes the Stage

by Jacqueline Harvey

  “Indeed.” Miss Grimm drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. She couldn’t agree with Millie more, but it wasn’t appropriate for her to say so. She caught Millie looking up at her sheepishly. “Was there anything else?” Miss Grimm asked.

  “Yes. Sloane made fun of my mother when Alice-Miranda said she was a vet, and then she asked if my father was a lion tamer, and that’s when I blurted out that at least my dad wasn’t a television vacuum-cleaner salesman.” Millie hung her head.

  “And is that Sloane’s father’s job?” Miss Grimm asked.

  “Yes, I think so. Wally said that he’d seen a man called Smedley Sykes selling vacuum cleaners on the home shopping channel.”

  “I see.” Miss Grimm was beginning to get a clearer picture. “Well, it sounds to me, Millie, like you’ve realized your mistake. I think perhaps you could spend a couple of afternoons helping Wally with the mucking out down at the stables. And you can apologize to Sloane, if she ever bothers to arrive,” Miss Grimm instructed.

  “You mean I can keep my part in the play?” Millie looked up at Miss Grimm.

  “Yes, of course.” Ophelia nodded. “That was never in doubt.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Grimm!” Millie launched herself at the headmistress and gave her a hug.

  “Steady on there, Millicent.” Miss Grimm smiled. “I see you’re taking your cues from your roommate these days.”

  Millie let go of Miss Grimm and sat back down on the couch.

  By now, the clock on the wall indicated that it was ten past seven. There was a loud rumpus in Mrs. Derby’s office and a knock on the study door. Miss Grimm went to open it.

  “You’re late, Sloane.” The headmistress was stern.

  Sloane made no apology. “I couldn’t get my hair dryer to work.”

  “Sit there.” Miss Grimm pointed at the couch next to Millie. “You’re a very brave girl, Sloane Sykes.”

  “Thank you, Miss Grimm,” Sloane replied. “I’ve been subjected to the most awful bullying.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” Ophelia took up her position on the chair opposite. “You obviously don’t believe in punctuality. Is that correct?”

  Sloane had to think. Punctuality. Was that the same as punctuation? She couldn’t remember.

  “Yes, I do, Miss Grimm. I always use full stops and capital letters,” Sloane replied at last.

  Millie had to clamp her hand over her mouth for fear of bursting out laughing.

  “Sloane, Millie has something she’d like to say to you.” Miss Grimm chose at this stage to overlook Sloane’s ignorance. But it had given her a plan that would be most satisfactory.

  Sloane looked at Millie with an air of righteous indignation.

  “I’m sorry that I insulted you, Sloane, by laughing about your mother and saying that your father had a silly job.” Millie blinked.

  “And?” Sloane glared.

  “And what?” Millie was puzzled.

  “And what are you going to do about it?” Sloane insisted. “Like, are you going to do my house chores for a week or carry my books or something?”

  “She most certainly will not, Sloane Sykes.” Miss Grimm’s temper was beginning to fray. “Now, young lady, what do you have to say to Millie?”

  Sloane shook her head. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything. She started it and it was her fault she ended up with pudding on her head,” she spat.

  Ophelia’s temperature was rising.

  “I don’t think so, Sloane. There are two sides to every story, and unless I hear an apology, heartfelt, from you in the next ten seconds, I will be handing your role in the school play to … Wally Whitstable, for all I care!” Miss Grimm roared.

  Sloane’s mouth gaped open.

  “Ten, nine …” Miss Grimm began counting. She’d reached two when Sloane finally found her voice. “Sorry, Millie,” she seethed.

  “Sorry for what?” Miss Grimm was secretly enjoying this a little.

  “Sorry for tipping that goo on your head,” Sloane added.

  “Well, it was an apology, but I have to say I don’t much believe you, Sloane.” Miss Grimm shook her head. “This is not the first time your lack of manners has been brought to my attention. You can keep your part in the play for now, but if I hear one word, one single word, that says you have been less than kind or gracious or caring to anyone at this school, Wally will have that script in his hand before you have time to say ‘mirror, mirror.’ Do you understand me?” Miss Grimm stared at Sloane.

  “Yes,” Sloane replied.

  “Yes, what?” Miss Grimm demanded.

  “Yes, Miss Grimm.”

  “Better.” Miss Grimm stood up. “Off you go now, Millie. Just report to Wally this afternoon and I’m sure he’ll find you some jobs to do.”

  Sloane stood up to follow her.

  “Where are you going, young lady?” Miss Grimm asked.

  “Breakfast,” Sloane replied. She wasn’t a very fast learner.

  “I don’t think so,” Miss Grimm said. “I’ll have some porridge sent up for you. You have work to do.”

  “What work?” Sloane huffed.

  “Well, for a start, I think we’ll spend some time on the dictionary. At your age, you should definitely know the difference between punctuality and punctuation. I suspect copying out the entire P section of this will help.” Miss Grimm pulled an enormous leather-bound Oxford dictionary from her bookcase. “You will report to my study every morning at seven and will remain here until lessons commence at half past eight, for as long as it takes.”

  “But that’s child abuse!” Sloane wailed.

  “Oh no, my dear girl.” Miss Grimm shook her head. “Think of it as extra tutoring, for free, and with the headmistress, no less. Now, why don’t you sit yourself down over there.” Ophelia pointed at the writing desk opposite her own. “I’ll bring you some paper and a pen.”

  Sloane appeared to be on her best behavior for the rest of the week. She attended her morning lessons with Miss Grimm and, despite looking like she’d sucked on a lemon, didn’t complain at all—well, not to the other girls or teachers. She saved it all for her mother, who decided that her plan to bring Fayle unstuck was not only brilliant, it would also save her darling daughter from the clutches of the evil Miss Grimm.

  During rehearsals, Sloane spent as much time with Lucas as she could.

  “You’re a brilliant Woodcutter,” she complimented him.

  “Thanks.” Lucas didn’t quite know what to make of his roommate’s sister. Sep said that she was shallower than a kiddie wading pool, but she seemed okay.

  “So, have you had a lot of tests lately?” she asked.

  “We have a maths test every Tuesday. And there was a science exam yesterday,” Lucas explained.

  Sloane’s brain was ticking. She needed to get her hands on a set of test papers.

  “What’s your maths teacher like?” She batted her eyes at Lucas.

  “Really smart,” Lucas replied, “but mad as a hatter. He’s always forgetting things and bringing the wrong books, and I think last week he couldn’t find our test papers.”

  “Oh really? He does sound a bit crazy.” She smiled. “So on Tuesdays you have a test? That means you had it this morning.”

  “Yes.” Lucas nodded. “I probably should be doing my homework between scenes. Sorry, it’s just that we have quite a few assignments.”

  “I’ve got a much better idea.” Sloane grinned like a fox in a henhouse. “Why don’t you show me around a bit? Miss Reedy said that we won’t be needed for at least another thirty minutes.”

  “I really should stay here and go over some grammar.” Lucas picked up a textbook from the bag at his feet.

  “Oh, but I’d really love to have a look around, and Sep won’t take me,” Sloane pouted.

  Lucas didn’t want to leave the auditorium at all. But he’d also heard about Sloane’s legendary tantrums, and the thought of her causing a scene was worse. “Okay, but it has to be quick,” he agreed.


  “Fine by me. Why don’t you show me your classrooms?” Sloane purred.

  Jacinta looked up from her position on the stage to see Sloane loop her arm through Lucas’s and the pair head out of the theater. Her heart felt like a pounding lump of rock in her chest. The blinding lights didn’t allow her to see that just as quickly as Sloane had grabbed him, Lucas had managed to pull his arm away, pretending he had an itchy nose.

  Lucas showed Sloane around the classrooms in the main building. She seemed particularly keen to see where they had maths and science, which he thought a little strange, given that Septimus said she was not keen on academic studies at all.

  Sloane lingered outside one of the rooms. “Can we go in?”

  “I don’t think we should.” Lucas was keen to get back to the drama theater.

  “Is there an alarm or something?” Sloane peered through the glass at the top of the door.

  “No, it’s just that the teachers don’t really like us being in there when we don’t have lessons,” Lucas replied.

  “All right,” Sloane agreed. “Let’s go back. This is boring.”

  Lucas was relieved. The pair walked along the corridor.

  “Is there a ladies’ loo around here anywhere?” Sloane asked.

  “Um, I think it’s back there, past the foyer.” Lucas sighed. He didn’t particularly want to wait for her.

  “It’s okay.” Sloane smiled. “Why don’t you go back and I’ll join you shortly.”

  Lucas couldn’t help himself and returned her smile. Maybe she wasn’t really that painful after all.

  “I’ll see you in a bit,” said Lucas.

  Sloane turned and walked back toward the foyer. She waited until Lucas disappeared around the corner before rushing to the room where he’d said they had their maths lessons. The door was unlocked.

  On the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, atop a towering pile of papers, Sloane found exactly what she was after. The Weekly Quiz. Trouble was, she didn’t have time to sit and change the papers now. She’d have to do that later in the privacy of her own room—perhaps when Jacinta was at the gym training. She leafed through the stack and gathered up the tests from today. Fortunately, the professor was every bit as disorganized as she had hoped—his desk looked like an explosion in a paper factory. Sloane spent a couple of minutes rearranging papers from one side to the other—hopefully, by the time she had made the changes and returned the tests, the silly old man would be none the wiser. Sloane stuffed the papers into her backpack.

  She smiled smugly. This was as easy as falling off a log.

  On Friday morning, Septimus Sykes and Lucas Nixon headed off to their maths lesson. Their teacher, Professor Pluss, welcomed the class with a smile that stretched from one side of his red face to the other. The boys couldn’t remember ever seeing him look so happy.

  “Greetings and salutations, lads.” The professor moved to the front of the room. He walked over to his desk, where he put his hand on top of the pile of papers. “Today is a momentous day in the history of this fine school,” he began.

  “What’s he talking about?” Lucas turned and whispered to Sep.

  “Beats me,” Sep replied.

  “Today you have made me the proudest old prof on the planet. You see, boys, for the first time, certainly since I have been the mathematics master at this outstanding institution, which is over twenty years, every single member of this class has scored one hundred percent on the weekly quiz.”

  The boys smiled and laughed and congratulated themselves and one another.

  “Quiet down, please. You must have all thought long and hard about your answers. By gosh, there was a good deal of crossing out, but even you, old Figgy”—Professor Pluss grinned at the oafish lad in the back row—“you must have been listening all that time I thought you were gazing longingly at the football field.”

  Lucas was puzzled. Figgy hadn’t scored above fifty percent on the past four tests. And there were a couple of really tricky problems he was sure he’d messed up too.

  Professor Pluss handed the papers back, then turned to the board and began to explain, in great detail and without time for any questions, how to find the circumference of a circle.

  Sep put his paper to the side of his desk. Lucas leafed through his. It looked like his writing, but there was an answer he couldn’t remember filling in. In fact, now that he was looking at it again, he was fairly certain he’d left that section blank.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Lucas put up his hand and waited for the old man to turn around.

  “What is it, Nixon?” The professor peered over the round spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

  “Sir, I don’t think this is all my work.” Lucas held the test paper aloft.

  Some of the other boys began to make similar noises.

  “Nonsense, Nixon, you’re not giving yourself enough credit there.” The professor turned back to the board.

  “But, sir, I’m pretty sure I left this answer blank,” Lucas offered.

  “Is there an answer there now?” The professor spoke with his back turned to the boys.

  “Well, yes, sir,” Lucas tried again.

  “So you didn’t leave it blank. Tell me, Nixon.” The professor spun back around to face the group. “Tell me, what did you do at eleven minutes past two yesterday afternoon?”

  Lucas thought for a moment and wondered if this was some kind of trick question. “I was in science class,” he replied.

  “Yes, but what exactly were you doing at eleven minutes past two? Were you listening or speaking or marveling at the laws of gravity or the fact that we live on a spinning lump of rock in the middle of the universe?” the professor continued.

  “I can’t remember, sir.” Lucas wasn’t sure where this was heading.

  “There you have it. Proof.” The professor turned back to the board.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Proof of what, exactly?” Lucas was feeling more and more confused by the second.

  “My dear boy. Proof that you could well have written an answer on that page.” He marched toward Lucas and picked up his paper. “And you probably forgot. We all forget things. In fact, we will forget far more than we ever remember. Did you know that statistically …” The professor was about to start one of his long lectures.

  Lucas decided it was better to be quiet and leave things alone. But something wasn’t right. The boys at Fayle didn’t need to cheat. By and large, they were a smart enough bunch. They studied pretty hard too—it was just the way things were there. So why would anyone want to cheat just so the whole class scored one hundred percent?

  “Why would anyone cheat for us?” Lucas asked Sep when they were on their way to English class.

  “I don’t know.” Sep shook his head. “Make the old prof feel like a hero?”

  “Yeah, maybe.” The boys reached the entrance foyer. The classrooms in McGlintock Manor ran east and west, with science and maths on the west and English, history and geography on the eastern side. A magnificent staircase stood in the center of the building’s entrance hall, rising one flight before splitting left and right. On the right-hand wall were portraits of Frederick Erasmus Fayle, the school’s founder, and his successors. There were two more Fayles, and another man, before the picture of the current headmaster, Professor Winterbottom, whose portrait must have been painted early in his tenure, as his beaming face was wrinkle free. On the opposite wall in a large gilt frame, the Fayle School Charter was in full view for all to see.

  “Oh, blast.” Sep grimaced as they were about to climb the stairs.

  “What’s the matter?” Lucas asked.

  “I forgot my assignment. It’s in my locker. Will you wait? I won’t be a minute.” Sep handed Lucas his pile of books and sprinted back down the corridor.

  Lucas set the tower of texts down on a high-backed chair that resembled a throne. He walked over to the charter and read from the top. He smiled at the school’s motto—it was pretty funny, after all, to name a school Fayle.
But it wasn’t until he reached the bottom, clauses twenty-nine and thirty, that alarm bells began to ring. Lucas had an uncomfortable feeling that perhaps cheating had been happening for quite a while—but this time, the culprit had got rather carried away with themselves.

  Sep returned and the two lads had to run to get to class before the bell. Lucas would have to wait to share his suspicions with his friend.

  September Sykes could not have been prouder when Sloane told her what she’d done.

  “Oh yes,” she gloated to her mother, “it won’t be long now before the word gets out that more than twenty-five percent of boys have failed at Fayle. But it took loads of work, so you’d better thank me for it, Mummy,” she hissed. “And I almost got caught taking the papers back.” Sloane was whispering into the telephone. Although she thought she was alone in the common room, she never knew when someone might come in and overhear her conversation. “How’s Granny?”

  September attempted to sound sad. “Not doing too well, I’m afraid. I went to see her yesterday afternoon and she looked rather peaky indeed. She seemed quite upset, poor old dear. But she did sign some very important documents for me. Have you heard of something called a power of attorney?”

  She neglected to tell Sloane that the reason Henrietta had become so upset was that September had all but revealed her dastardly plan. She had told her about the suitcase, and that it was just so unfortunate that they’d found it but now it was gone again. Vanished out of sight. Poof—like magic. September thought the old bag might up and die right then and there, but her heart held out, and it was only when her stepdaughter-in-law promised another visit that Henrietta’s face reddened and she looked set for another stroke.

  “What shall we do with all that money?” September gloated, rubbing her manicured hands together.

  “For a start, Mummy, I think we should go somewhere sunny—for good.” Sloane smiled at the thought of her and her mother in their matching bikinis, lying in the sun with a butler attending to their every need.