Fairies and Felicitations (Scholars and Sorcery) by Eleanor Beresford Page A

marvellous at cricket.”
    Kitty, again, ignores me. Sometimes I wonder why I consider her my friend at all. “Beastly hypocrite.” Before I realise that it’s not me the insult is flung at, and certainly before I can stop her, her hand flutters briefly in Cecily’s direction.
    “Kitty!” I hiss, as Cecily slips on a patch of ice that I was certain had not been there a second ago, falling ungracefully on her rather broad posterior.  
    Cecily’s other great friend, Charley, rushes forward to help her to her feet with her usual gallantry, soothing and petting. Neither look our way. Esther, however, brushing splattered mud off her own stockings, glances over her shoulder in a rather sharp way that I don’t quite like. When Cecily is on her feet again, Esther rises on her tiptoes—she’s quite petite, although not as little and kittenish as my friend—and whispers something in Cecily’s ear.
    I can see the grim set of Cecily’s usually good-natured mouth from all the way over here. She’s soaked with icy mud from head to toe.
    “Shall we head over to the rose courtyard?” I ask, hurriedly.
    Kitty looks at me as if I’ve proposed flying to the moon. “At this time of year? Are you quite mad, or do you want to go brownie hunting in the dead sticks? We haven’t even washed and changed.”
    “I really think we should leave,” I say, but it’s too late.
    “Hi! Emmeline!”
    Kitty detests being called Emmeline. She pointedly looks across the fields rather than at Cecily.
    “A little bird tells me you’re pining for the freezing highlands of Scotland. I figure a lap or two of the hockey fields before you go in to your bath might get a longing for chilblains out of your system.” Cecily wheels around and links arms with her friends.
    Kitty lifts big, round, pleading eyes to me. “I say, Anne…”
    “No fear. Not on your sweet life. Enjoy your run,” I say firmly, and head back into the warm school.

    Kitty seems to have come out of her sulks by bedtime, thank heavens. She’s sitting on bed, already in her pyjamas, her hands clasped angelically on her lap, when I come into the dorm after free time. When I ask her how the laps went, she just smiles at me in her feline way.
    “Oh, fine, lass,” she says, going all Scottish on me. “I really don’t mind the cold, you know, and it’s not simply my Gift. Perhaps Cecily is right about freezing highlands.”
    I shrug, feeling a tad suspicious again. Kitty’s people, or rather her father and herself, genuinely are the owners of a castle in the freezing Highlands, but they can’t afford the coal to keep it open except for the shooting. I’ve never seen it myself, despite an invitation, because stomping around in the mud watching people with pointy ears killing golden geese isn’t really my idea of fun. Most of the year, Kitty’s father lives in a cosy flat in Edinburgh where, if Kitty is to be believed, he has perfected avoiding his bills and forgetting to pay his rent. If he’s anything like his daughter, it’s probably true. Kitty spends most of her holidays in Cornwall with me.  
    In my bitter moments, I wonder if the convenience of that is the true reason for our friendship. It’s close to school, and the bathing is good.
    “It’s awfully sporting of you to take that tack,” I say, eyeing her warily.
    “Oh, why not be sporting? After all, poor dear Cecily has to have her meagre pleasures. It’s not like tennis, which is at least socially useful. There are definite advantages to looking graceful in a white dress, I’m the last person to deny it. All Cecily has is hockey, and she might as well throw her weight around as Games Captain while she has the chance. No one plays hockey after school but desperately hearty overgrown schoolgirl types.”
    “My sister plays for England,” I say, coldly.
    “There, you see?” She glimmers up at me.  
    “Do you know what I think?” I say, my temper flaring a little. “I think you’re just sick