by Unknown
‘Who?’ asked Enid.
‘Mildred, of course,’ said Maud. ‘I just know there’s something funny going on. She’s hiding something in her cat basket and pretending she isn’t.’
‘Perhaps you imagined it,’ said Enid hopefully.
‘Imagined what?’ called Mildred, who had dashed up the stairs behind them.
‘Um – I imagined that I saw Ethel being nice to one of the first-years,’ laughed Maud.
‘That wouldn’t surprise me actually,’ said Mildred. ‘I met her on the way in and she was really nice.’
‘Perhaps she’s been on a “niceness course”,’ suggested Enid. ‘She always takes about three hundred courses during the hols.’
They all giggled as they trooped into the art room, which was Mildred’s favourite room in the school. There was a row of hooks from which hung dozens of overalls and the girls took one each and struggled into them before they sat down. The room was very large, with stone walls and slit windows, exactly like all the other rooms in the school, with a wooden picture rail all the way around so that framed pictures and the pupils’ drawings and paintings could be displayed, and a double sink with draining boards along one wall. At the far end was an empty space for the girls to work on sculptures. The rest of the room was full of tables and chairs. The teacher’s desk was on a raised wooden platform with two steps up to it and sitting at the desk was Miss Mould, the new teacher.
Miss Mould looked surprisingly normal for a teacher at Miss Cackle’s Academy. She had short mousy hair, parted in the centre and pulled into a ponytail at her neck, where it was secured by a black velvet bow. Her black skirt was topped by a grey twinset and a neat row of black pearls. Her voice was soft and kindly a welcome change from Miss Hardbroom’s crisp way of speaking and certainly a great relief after the extremely weird Miss Granite, who had caused such chaos the term before.
Mildred felt a tiny flicker of disappointment that Miss Mould wasn’t more arty-looking, but apart from that she seemed quite pleasant.
‘Good morning, Form Three,’ said Miss Mould with a shy smile.
‘Good morning, Miss Mould,’ chorused the girls, who were now standing behind their tables.
‘You may sit,’ said Miss Mould. ‘I was slightly dismayed,’ she continued, ‘to find that there is hardly any equipment for pottery at Miss Cackle’s Academy. Ceramics is my favourite subject and I was looking forward to passing on my skills to you all. I think art has been a little basic here until now, but Miss Cackle has promised me a second room with enough potters’ wheels for everyone and a kiln if we can show a real aptitude for the subject this term. So, let’s try and make master craftsmen – or should I say women! – of you all. What do you say, girls?’
It was not the sort of school where anyone dared to shout ‘YESSSS!’, so Form Three just smiled and mumbled in agreement.
‘Right,’ said Miss Mould with enthusiasm, heaving a huge sack of wet clay from behind the desk. ‘I want you all to take a lump of clay – enough to hold in both hands – back to your desks. Dig your fingers in and scoop it out. Don’t be afraid of the clay, girls! Feel the squishiness of it, get it under your nails. That’s it, scoop it out, knead it. Bring that clay to life! Become one with the clay!’
The girls exchanged amused glances at the flowery language as they formed a queue and then each pulled themselves a dollop of clay which they took back to their tables. Meanwhile, Miss Mould had distributed bowls of water to each table so that they could keep their work damp to avoid the clay drying out. There was a wooden board, a set of sculpting tools and a rolling pin, neatly laid out at each place.
Miss Mould showed them how to make coil pots, which involved rolling out thin sausages of clay and stacking them on top of each other. They could then smooth the coils into each other to make a substantial pot.
Mildred felt almost hysterical with hope about the way her new term was progressing. First of all, she had a superb project with which to amaze Miss Hardbroom that afternoon. Then there was Ethel being so friendly on the way to school – she hadn’t once sneered about Tabby or about Mildred dropping her bag, and had even helped to pick everything up. Now there was a new teacher for a subject that Mildred enjoyed and was actually good at. By the end of the day she might have gold stars all over her personal chart and be in line for a merit badge at the end of the week. With joy in her heart, Mildred plunged her fingers into the squelchy lump and became one with the clay.
CHAPTER FOUR
or a while there was very little sound as everyone concentrated on their task. First of all they rolled the clay fat with little rolling pins, then they cut clay bases for the coils to sit on.
‘It’s just like cookery,’ said Enid.
Next they set about making their rolls of clay. Mildred made hers especially thin and laid them out in neat rows, deliberately grading them in length so that she could narrow them on the way up the pot to make an interesting shape.
Miss Mould wandered among the tables, keeping an eye on proceedings. She stopped and looked over Mildred’s shoulder.
‘What is your name?’ she asked.
‘Mildred Hubble,’ replied Mildred nervously.
‘Have you done this before?’ asked Miss Mould.
‘No, Miss Mould,’ said Mildred. ‘But I have made lots of things out of shoeboxes and cotton reels. I do like making things.’
Miss Mould wandered around the rest of the class, giving the odd word of encouragement and examining the girls’ progress. After a while, she stepped back on to the platform and clapped her hands.
‘Listen a moment, girls,’ she said. ‘I’d like you all to go and take a look at Mildred Hubble’s work. She seems to be a real natural at pottery and you could all benefit from seeing how neatly she has arranged and graded her coils.’
Mildred blushed with delight and Maud nudged her proudly under the table.
‘Unfortunately,’ continued Miss Mould, ‘some of you are positively unnatural when it comes to clay – that girl at the back, for instance. What is your name?’
Ethel realized with horror that Miss Mould was gesturing in her direction. She glanced sideways, hoping it might be her friend Drusilla, who was sitting next to her. In fact, Drusilla couldn’t believe it either and pointed at her own chest, mouthing ‘Me?’
‘No, dear,’ said Miss Mould. ‘That girl next to you with the ponytail and the black hair ribbon. What is your name?’
Ethel stood up, seething inwardly. ‘Ethel Hallow,’ she said clearly, with a defiant toss of the ponytail.
‘Ethel,’ said Miss Mould, ‘your coils look as if they’ve been made by a three-year-old. They’re much too short and too fat – your pot would be only two centimetres in diameter if, in fact, you could get the coils to bend without cracking. Perhaps Mildred could change places with the girl next to you and give you a hand. In fact, change places now, then the class can file past and see the two examples next to each other.’
Mildred and Drusilla changed places, carefully lifting their boards containing the rolls of clay and the remaining clay lump. Ethel was sending out an invisible, almost electric, current of rage as Mildred took the place next to her and everyone began fling past.
‘Sorry, Ethel,’ mumbled Mildred, not wishing to ruin their good start. ‘Your coils aren’t that bad, they’re just a bit short.’
‘Shut up, Mildred Hubble!’ snapped Ethel under her breath. ‘I don’t need you to teach me anything.’
‘Sorry,’ said Mildred in an even smaller voice.
Form Three settled down again and Mildred tried to forget Ethel, vibrating with rage next to her, as she began arranging the coils one by one on top of each other.
Ethel suddenly leaned across. ‘Sorry, Mildred,’ she said, much to Mildred’s surprise. ‘I didn’t mean to bite your head off. Look – are these a bit better? I’ve tried to make them thinner – like yours.’
Mildred gave a nervous smile.
‘They’re much better,’ she said, gratef
ul that Ethel had pulled herself together.
‘Could you cut the ends like yours,’ said Ethel, ‘so they’re just a bit smaller each time? Mine get sort of squashed when I try to do them.’
‘Of course,’ said Mildred, a wave of relief sweeping over her that Ethel had not nosedived into a full-blown feud, as she usually did if the tiniest thing upset her.
‘Let’s change places for a mo,’ said Ethel. ‘I can study the way you’re building up your coils while you grade my ends for me.’
‘OK,’ said Mildred. ‘Move up then.’
Ethel sat gazing intently at Mildred’s pot. She picked up the four remaining coils, passing them very carefully through her fingers, then delicately held the half-completed pot in both hands.
‘I think I’ve got the hang of it now,’ she said.
‘That’s great,’ said Mildred. ‘I’ve graded your coils for you.’
They changed places again and Ethel put a friendly hand on Mildred’s shoulder. ‘You really are good, Milly,’ she said. ‘Your pot will make everyone sit up and take notice, just you wait and see.’
CHAPTER FIVE
iss Mould looked up from her desk.
‘Whoever is making that noise,’ she said sharply, ‘would they please stop it.’
The hum of conversation had dwindled to a standstill as the pupils had begun concentrating in earnest. Now everyone looked around as they tuned into the noise that Miss Mould had mentioned. She was right. There was a definite noise, which came in a burst every few seconds, then stopped abruptly. It sounded as if somebody had hidden a maraca from the school orchestra cupboard and was shaking it under a table. The noise stopped. Everyone strained their ears, but it didn’t happen again.
‘Thank you,’ said Miss Mould crisply.
Mystifed, the girls went back to their coils, all except Mildred, who felt distinctly uneasy as the strange rattling noise seemed to be coming directly from her table. She dropped her smoothing tool on purpose and bent down to pick it up so that she could check beneath the table, but there was nothing there except a piece of ancient chewing gum. The noise started again and this time it seemed to be directly above her. It went on for longer, becoming insistent, almost angry, and as Mildred raised her head there was a piercing scream from Ethel. Mildred cracked her head on the table as she jumped up and found herself face to face with the most terrifying sight she had ever seen. The coil pot was no longer a neat pile of damp clay coils. It was a rattlesnake, quivering its awful tail as a warning, its head pulled back as if to strike. Crouched behind the table was Ethel, white as a sheet, her mouth still open as her scream died away. The other four clay coils had turned into four smaller rattlesnakes, growing larger by the minute. They all slithered to the edge of the table and arranged themselves in a hissing, spitting row, lunging forward every so often and striking the air.
As soon as the girls saw what was happening on Mildred and Ethel’s table, there was pandemonium.
‘Quickly, girls!’ yelled Miss Mould, who could scarcely believe her eyes. ‘Move!’
Everyone stampeded for the door, all except Ethel, who stopped as soon as she had two tables between herself and the ghastly sight of the writhing rattlesnakes. ‘I think I can help, Miss Mould,’ she called across the room. ‘I’m sure I can remember a spell to get rid of them.’
‘No, Ethel!’ called Miss Mould, frantically beckoning Ethel towards her. ‘You mustn’t put yourself in any danger!’
‘I’ll just try, Miss Mould,’ called Ethel. ‘They can’t be allowed to escape.’
Ethel turned and faced the snakes across the tables. She raised her arms high above her head to keep her hands as far away as possible, flexing her fingers towards them and murmuring a spell very softly in a pulsing tone. There was a zigzag flash, followed by a loud crack and smoke which smelled like gunpowder. As the smoke began to clear, the image of the snakes hung for a few seconds in the air, then disintegrated and vaporized so that nothing was left of them at all.
At Ethel and Mildred’s table, Ethel’s clay coils were where she had left them, but Mildred’s half-made pot and the remaining coils were blown apart in jagged lumps, with bits of clay spattered up the walls and all over Mildred’s chair.
Miss Mould stood gaping by the door. Most of the pupils were already in the corridor, but they all craned their necks around Miss Mould to see into the art room. Apart from Ethel, Mildred was the only other pupil still there, near the doorway.
Ethel turned around with a beaming smile. ‘Just as well I studied that one for fun during the hols,’ she said triumphantly. ‘It’s all right, Miss Mould – it was only a simple blasting spell called Smithereens. They won’t come back now.’
Miss Mould ushered Form Three back into the room and gathered them together in the sculpture space while she examined the table to make sure it was safe. Mildred was shocked to the core. It was her pot that had done this and she had absolutely no idea why.
On cue, Miss Hardbroom was suddenly standing in the doorway.
‘Oh, Miss Hardbroom!’ exclaimed Miss Mould. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Mildred Hubble’s coil pot suddenly turned into a nest of snakes and if Ethel hadn’t been quick off the mark I fear there would have been a very serious incident indeed.’
Miss Hardbroom fixed Mildred with her laser-beam glare.
‘Mildred Hubble,’ she said, icily calm. ‘Why is this no surprise to me?’
‘I-I-I,’ was all Mildred could manage. ‘I – it – I don’t – it wasn’t – I never –’
‘Stop wittering, Mildred!’ barked Miss Hardbroom. ‘I suppose this is your idea of livening things up a bit, putting your classmates in mortal danger. What on earth were you thinking of? Thank goodness Ethel has such school spirit. It was extremely brave of you, Ethel, to take on – what were they, Miss Mould?’
‘Five rattlesnakes, Miss Hardbroom,’ said Miss Mould faintly.
‘Five rattlesnakes!’ exclaimed Miss Hardbroom. ‘This is worse than I thought. Obviously pottery is a subject fraught with danger for everyone else while you are in the class, Mildred! You’d better have extra lessons on classroom etiquette with me for the rest of term or Miss Mould will find herself in charge of a zoo. Go to your room for the rest of the lesson, while I help to get this class back to some semblance of normality.’
Mildred stood transfixed, still shocked.
‘Now!’ ordered Miss Hardbroom.
Mildred turned and barged past her classmates, catching a fleeting glimpse of the horrified faces of Maud and Enid as she raced away from all the commotion and out into the cool stone corridor.
CHAPTER SIX
abby, who was asleep on Mildred’s pillow, was nearly flattened as Mildred hurled herself on to her narrow iron bedstead, sobbing as if her heart would break. Tabby had jumped out of the way on to the window sill, but he soon realized that his mistress was upset and busied himself twining around her head, leaning against her, chirruping and purring, and eventually giving up and sitting squarely on her back, purring like a car engine.
She had been so happy for once – everything had got off to such a good start and for the first time ever a new teacher had singled her out as brilliant in front of everyone. She’d even praised her above Ethel. Ethel! Mildred raised herself up on her elbows and Tabby slid down her back and rolled off on to the bedcover.
‘It was Ethel, Tab,’ said Mildred, sitting up and knuckling her eyes. ‘Ethel did it, when she asked to hold my pot and feel all the coils. She was casting a spell on them. I might have known Ethel wouldn’t have truly been interested in anything I’d done. Oh, Tabby, it wasn’t my fault Miss Mould liked my work better – and now everyone thinks it was me who conjured up those awful snakes.’
Mildred took off her overall, got into the bed and pulled the covers right up to her eyes. Tabby was very pleased about this and nestled into the pillow around the top of her head. She wished she had managed to sort out a speaking spell for larger animals, then Tabby could have actually held a co
nversation with her. On the other hand, it would have been terrible when it ended forever after two weeks and, come to think of it, he virtually did speak to her with all his nudging and purring. He had the most soothing purr, loud and constant, a sort of massage for the mind.
She tried concentrating on the positive aspects of her situation – not that she could think of many. It was sort of positive that she hadn’t been expelled on the spot; it was very positive that potions was the first lesson after lunch, so she had the perfect chance to redeem herself when Miss Hardbroom asked them to present their holiday projects. She glanced across at the blue folder lying proudly on top of her pile of school books.
‘A t least I’ve still got you,’ she said to herself, blowing a kiss across the room.
Someone tapped lightly on the door. Mildred didn’t answer, afraid it might be Ethel come to gloat.
‘Mildred?’ She heard Maud’s voice. ‘Are you in there? It’s me – and Enid. Can we come in?’
Mildred climbed out of the bed and opened the door.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’m surprised you’re brave enough to come anywhere near me. I don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I tell you it was Ethel.’
‘What on earth happened?’ asked Enid. ‘How do you know it was Ethel?’
‘Well, it certainly wasn’t me,’ said Mildred. ‘Didn’t you notice how furious Ethel was when Miss Mould liked my stuff better than hers?’
‘Not really,’ said Enid.
‘I thought she took it rather well,’ said Maud. ‘When I looked across, she was chatting to you and examining your stuff. I thought Drusilla took it worse than she did.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Mildred, ‘that was all just a cover-up. She was really putting a spell on my pot, though I must admit, from the look on her face, I don’t think she knew they were going to be deadly snakes. Perhaps she thought they’d be fake ones or something. Anyway, here I go again. First morning and everything’s gone pear-shaped.’