by Anne Digby
Nevertheless, she hurried out of the building and made her way to Patrick’s favourite spot. He loved to come here, near the shrubbery, and bang tennis balls against the wall, over and over again. Julian had a point. He might have left the racket behind last time.
She ran up and down, looking for it. She even hunted round the corner. But there was no sign of it.
She stared towards the bushes. Was it possible that Patrick had used it to search for a ball? The holly, for example, was very prickly. It was easier to part the leaves with one’s racket than use one’s hands.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear children coming outside, calling to one another despondently.
‘It’s no use! It’s definitely not in the building!’
‘He must have left it outside somewhere. Let’s look round the field!’
If Patrick had used the racket to find a ball, reasoned Elizabeth, perhaps something had distracted him. A school bell, even. He might have placed the racket on the ground, rushed off to lessons and then forgotten where he had left it. Well, it was a faint possibility.
She started to comb through the bushes, diligently.
There was still no sign of it.
She came out of the shrubbery, sucking her hand where the holly had pricked her. She stared across the school field towards the tennis-courts. The team from Woodville School had arrived. They were filing on to the court, carrying their tennis rackets. The fifteen minutes was up!
She saw Patrick, in his tennis whites. He was waiting by the entrance to the tennis-courts. He was staring at the ground, the picture of dejection. Elizabeth’s heart went out to him. She could hear Julian shouting from a window somewhere—
‘It’s no use, Patrick. We can’t find it. I’ll bring my racket out for you. I’m just coming.’
Elizabeth slowly began to circle the school buildings. Rather than go across to watch the match, her eyes searched out every nook and cranny. This was beginning to look very suspicious.
‘I was cross with Patrick for talking to me like that,’ she thought. ‘But, in one way, he was right. Somebody has played a horrid joke on him. Somebody’s taken his racket and hidden it somewhere. It’s the only explanation. Otherwise, surely, one of us would have found it by now? Oh, poor Patrick!’
If only she could find it for him, thought Elizabeth, urgently. Her eyes scanned the big yard at the back of the school kitchens. It was out of bounds, but she crept in and searched around, even peering into some of the dustbins. Where would somebody hide a tennis racket? Not in a dustbin, surely? She was being silly. Where else? She walked through the yard and out into the back drive. She was standing by some parked cars. The Woodville minibus was parked round here, too.
There were garages beyond, most of them open.
‘That might be a good place to hide a tennis racket,’ decided Elizabeth. ‘In one of the teacher’s garages. No one would dream of looking in there. Besides, we’re not allowed round here.’
Should she go and search them? The situation was desperate.
She looked left and right. There was nobody about. She started to tiptoe past the back of the nearest car. It was Miss Best’s car, a rather old-fashioned blue saloon, with shining paintwork and chrome. Miss Best’s car always looked immaculate.
‘That’s funny. She hasn’t closed her boot properly!’ Elizabeth realized. It was open several inches. She found it hard to imagine the joint headmistress being so careless. She would be leaving the car lights on next. ‘I’d better close it for her.’
The little girl took hold of the chrome handle and tried to close the lid of the boot. It would not shut. There was something in the way. She opened the boot wider to see what the obstruction was—
It was a tennis racket.
She pulled it out and looked at it in amazement.
‘It’s Patrick’s!’ she gasped. ‘How extraordinary.’
Somebody had tried to hide it in the boot of Miss Best’s car.
‘Well, they haven’t succeeded!’ she realized, joyfully.
Elizabeth slammed shut the boot. The noise brought Cook to the back door. ‘What’s Elizabeth doing here?’ she wondered. ‘I hope she’s not being the Naughtiest Girl again.’
But Elizabeth had fled. With Patrick’s racket in her hand, she ran all the way to the tennis-courts, her heart beating fast with excitement and triumph.
Patrick and his partner were at the far end of the first court, having a few practice strokes against the opposing pair from Woodville School. The match was due to start in two minutes’ time. Patrick looked a picture of misery as he fluffed a stroke with the borrowed racket. He was by now totally convinced that Elizabeth had hidden his own. Then he heard her voice.
‘Patrick!’ she shouted, through the wire netting. She was jumping up and down, waving the racket. ‘I’ve found it!’
He raced off the court and came to meet her at the gate. Everybody was watching them.
‘Oh, Patrick, isn’t it lucky that I’ve found it in the nick of time?’ she began, with a bright smile.
‘Very funny, ha, ha. What a coincidence!’ he hissed angrily.
He flung Julian’s racket down at her feet and snatched his own. His face was like a thundercloud. The last few minutes had been the most miserable of his life. They had been almost unendurable.
‘It’s not amusing, Elizabeth,’ he mouthed at her. ‘I think you’re beastly. I think this is the meanest trick I’ve ever come across.’
Elizabeth recoiled. She was speechless.
At that moment, atop the high green umpire’s chair, Mr Warlow clapped his hands loudly.
‘Time, please!’ he called. ‘Woodville won the toss and have chosen to serve. Back on court Patrick, please. Let the match begin.’
Elizabeth slowly picked up Julian’s racket and walked over to join the other first formers. Belinda and Kathleen had saved her a place on the big grassy bank that overlooked the courts. They slapped her on the back. So did Julian. He took possession of his racket with a wry smile.
‘I don’t think I’ll lend it to him again in a hurry.’
‘Where ever did you find it?’ whispered Kathleen.
‘In the boot of Miss Best’s car,’ replied Elizabeth, dully.
Belinda giggled out loud.
‘The Beast’s car boot? I don’t believe it!’
Sitting just in front of them, Arabella turned her fair head scornfully.
‘Don’t tell fibs, Elizabeth Allen.’
‘But it was in the boot of Miss Best’s car,’ Elizabeth hissed, fiercely. ‘It was, it was. I looked inside and there it was!’
‘You just happened to be passing the Beast’s car and decided to look inside the boot?’ asked Rosemary, in disbelief. She was sitting next to Arabella. ‘You must have known it was there— You must have!’
‘Seeing you’d hidden it there yourself!’ suggested Arabella. She spoke primly. ‘I think it was really mean to play a trick. And it’s even meaner to pretend you didn’t, now you feel scared. Now you see how serious it was. You had half the school looking for that racket! If Patrick plays badly, it will be your fault, Elizabeth.’
‘How dare you say that!’ gasped Elizabeth.
‘Please be quiet, children!’ said Miss Ranger, their class teacher, who had just arrived to watch the match. ‘You must not talk while play is in progress.’
Arabella studiously turned her well-groomed head away from Elizabeth and focused all her attention on the game. She clapped loudly every time Patrick won a point.
Far from playing badly, Patrick played a brilliant match. With his precious racket safely back in his hands, all his confidence returned. But there was something else. He was fired up with anger at the joke that he believed had been played on him. He turned all that anger into hard, fierce strokes,
beating the pair on the other side of the net time after time. He would show Elizabeth Allen a thing or two! She would see what a fine player he was, not someone only fit to have tricks played upon them.
Elizabeth hardly noticed how well Patrick was doing. For it was her turn to feel miserable now. She sat through the match in a blur. She was seething with anger toward Patrick. For Arabella, with her sarcastic comments, she had only contempt.
Soon the match was over. Whyteleafe’s second pair had won by two sets to love! On the court, Patrick was elated. Eileen, his partner, was handing round one of the school biscuit tins. She was hospitality monitor for the day. At Whyteleafe, a different person was chosen to be hospitality monitor at every match. They were given the job of baking sweets, or biscuits, or little cakes, in the days before the match, to offer to all the players afterwards. Patrick was tucking into Eileen’s fudge with relish.
He glimpsed the forlorn figure sitting on the bank. For the first time, he wondered if he could possibly have misjudged Elizabeth. It would be terrible if her ‘find’ had been genuine. He must ask the others about it.
A cheer suddenly went up. Whyteleafe’s first team pair had won their match as well. Eileen quickly hurried over with the tin, to offer more fudge around. Both matches were over. Whyteleafe had won the fixture.
The news about Patrick’s racket had quickly spread. Arabella was claiming that Elizabeth must be telling stories. She was pretending she had found the racket in the Beast’s car boot! It was all too far-fetched. Elizabeth had been sulky after Patrick teased her about not being a monitor. She must have decided to get her own back, more likely. The whole thing had got out of hand, so now she was trying to wriggle out of it . . .
Noting the funny looks, Elizabeth’s anger deepened.
‘Don’t worry. We believe you,’ said Kathleen, sweetly.
But Elizabeth was scrambling to her feet. She had no intention of sitting round watching Arabella stir up mischief. She was even talking to Patrick now, as he came off court. She thought of the tremendous effort she had made to find his tennis racket for him. She had pricked herself. It was outrageous!
She strode away, heading back to school.
Julian caught up with her by the main doors. He grasped her arm.
‘Elizabeth!’ He grinned. ‘Don’t get in a huff. You must admit it sounds a tall story, about the car boot. If you and I weren’t such good friends, I’m not sure I’d believe you myself.’
‘Thanks!’
‘You know what Arabella’s like. I don’t know why she has to stir things up so,’ he said, becoming serious for once. ‘I’m not sure anyone’s taking her seriously.’
‘Some of them are.’
‘Only the silly ones.’
‘Patrick thinks I hid his racket. He will be quite sure of it now.’
‘Well, then, he’s silly, too. What a chap to have as a cousin. He’s an embarrassment sometimes. I’m beginning to wish all over again that he’d never come to Whyteleafe. I was beginning to enjoy myself.’
‘I hate him!’ exclaimed Elizabeth.
Julian let go of Elizabeth’s arm, put his hands in his pockets and frowned to himself. He turned over a small stone with the toe of his shoe. Then he looked her in the eye.
‘The simple fact is, Elizabeth, that as you did not hide Patrick’s racket in the boot of the Beast’s car, somebody else did. But who? And why? I think we should go straight round to the car and have a hunt around. We need to look for clues.’
‘I can’t be bothered!’ said Elizabeth, sulkily. ‘If someone hates Patrick, it’s no more than he deserves. Why should I care!’
‘Except it would put you in the clear,’ said Julian, calmly.
‘I am in the clear!’ exclaimed Elizabeth. ‘I don’t have to prove myself to people like Arabella and Patrick. My real friends know I wouldn’t play such a silly, mean trick and that’s good enough for me.’
At that moment some first formers appeared, Arabella amongst them.
Elizabeth turned her back on them and walked away.
She was tired of all this. She did not particularly want to see the rest of her classmates at the moment. Let them chatter away amongst themselves as much as they wished. She would go and do some gardening and enjoy some peace and quiet. She would go to the school gardens and find her dear John Terry and ask him to give her some jobs to do.
But, when she got there, there was no sign of him anywhere.
CHAPTER SIX
Julian looks for clues
ELIZABETH WAS puzzled. She had never known John to be anywhere else but the school gardens on a fine Saturday afternoon. As well as the vegetable gardens, she looked for him in all the usual places: the greenhouses, the tool shed, the potting shed and round by the compost heap. He was nowhere to be found.
After looking for him all over she took a glance at his prize lettuces. They had grown some more and were hearting out nicely. She walked down the two rows, checking the bowls of milk. A few slugs had become trapped in them but there was plenty of room for more. At present, the soil having dried out well, the slimy black creatures had gone to ground. It would need another spell of wet weather to bring them out again in force. At the end of one row, a single dandelion was growing rather closer than it should to a cos lettuce. Elizabeth bent down to pull it out, then suddenly remembered.
She straightened up quickly. She had almost forgotten. She must do nothing to help John’s plants before the competition for the cup, in two weeks’ time. No, not even pull out a single weed! It was against the rules. She was proud to be the only person in the whole school who knew John’s exciting secret.
‘Peter! Sophie! Have you seen John?’ she called, as two junior class pupils appeared, carrying little forks and trowels.
‘No,’ replied Peter. ‘Thomas is in charge today.’
‘We’re going to help put new straw round the tomato plants,’ explained Sophie. ‘The old straw got all wet. But first we’re going to weed round the peas.’
The senior boy appeared then with the wheelbarrow laden with straw.
‘That’s the trouble when it’s been wet,’ laughed Thomas. ‘It brings on the weeds faster than the things you’re really trying to grow, don’t you think, Elizabeth?’
‘Yes.’ Not to mention slugs and snails and other undesirables, Elizabeth thought. ‘But, Thomas, what’s happened to John today? I’ve been looking for him everywhere.’
‘Haven’t you heard?’
The big boy stood the wheelbarrow down and walked over to her.
‘He’s stuck away in the san, poor chap. He’s got German measles or scarletina or something, I’ve forgotten what. But it’s very infectious! He’s in a room on his own. Nobody’s allowed to go anywhere near him, in case the whole school catches it.’
‘Oh, poor John,’ Elizabeth gasped.
‘It’s all right, it’s nothing serious. He’ll be completely better in a week or ten days. Then Matron will let him out!’
Elizabeth digested the dramatic news. She remembered how tired John had looked the other evening; it must have been because the illness was coming on.
‘Until he’s let out of San, I’m in charge of the school gardens,’ said Thomas proudly. ‘And by the way, John gave Matron a message to give me. Nobody is to go near his private patch or touch any of his plants. Strictly forbidden.’
Elizabeth nodded. She knew the reason for that!
Her mind had already turned back to John’s lettuces. She glanced at the sky, feeling anxious. A week or ten days! That was such a long time. Supposing it got very wet again and more slugs appeared and needed to be attended to? Or supposing there was a heat wave, with long, hot days and the plants became parched and needed to be watered?
It did not bear thinking about.
‘Have you come down to help?�
� Thomas was asking. ‘Would you like to weed some peas, with Sophie and Peter?’
‘Oh, please come and help us, Elizabeth,’ said Sophie, running over and taking her hand. ‘Look how many weeds have grown!’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘I’ll enjoy that, Sophie!’
After an hour’s gardening, Elizabeth felt much better. There was something deeply relaxing about working with the soil, in the gentle sunshine, the sights and sounds and smells of nature all around. It was impossible to feel anxious for long as one listened to the doves cooing in the dovecote, the bees buzzing round the wallflowers.
The following day at breakfast she was pleased to see through the windows that it was another mild day. Would the weather continue like this for the next ten days? With gentle sunshine and just the occasional sharp shower, John’s plants would be perfectly safe. Nature would take care of them for him, while he was locked away in the San.
That afternoon she went out riding with Julian again.
‘I did go and look for clues yesterday, Elizabeth,’ he told her airily. ‘After you went off. I wandered over and had a good hunt round the Beast’s car.’
They both reined in their ponies.
‘Oh? Did you find anything?’
‘Just this old crisp packet, blowing about under the car.’ He produced a crumpled bag from the pocket of his jeans. It had stars and stripes on it and a picture of Uncle Sam. ‘It’s an American brand, Southern Favorits. Never heard of them, have you?’
Elizabeth glanced at the packet and shook her head.
‘It could have blown over from the school dustbins. It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘True,’ agreed Julian. He grinned. ‘I’ve had a thought, though. Do you think the culprit could have been Roger Brown? Trying to upset Patrick, so he could get his place in the second team back?’
Elizabeth frowned and thought about the big, gentle senior boy. She simply could not imagine him creeping around and hiding Patrick’s racket.