The Top Secret Diary of Davina Dupree Read online

  They might have gone on talking for longer if I hadn’t dropped my brush and water pot in shock at that point. They came storming out of the cupboard to see who was there. It’s not my fault, you don’t expect to hear your teachers talking about ‘alive not dead’ in a lesson, do you? Arabella saved our skins by breaking in to a loud and convincing hum. She’d cheered up a lot during maths yesterday morning, because we’d been given a test to see what standard we all were and she got the highest mark in the class. She’s been much smilier and talkative ever since, which is a relief, I can tell you. When Miss Croaka and Miss Pike, or Little and Large as I like to think of them, came bombing round corner, I gave them a fake grin and started humming too. They stared at us for a minute or two with faces as angry as thunder clouds, obviously trying to work out if we’d heard anything, but we kept up our tunes and in the end they went away. Phew.com.

  Arabella and I talked it over for ages yesterday evening before watching a hilarious film about talking dogs on our gigantic TV. We got all wrapped up in our fluffy duvets and drank hot chocolate with marshmallows in it! Totally delish. It’s not such a hard life at boarding school actually, although I do still miss Carrie.

  Anyway, basically, we both think that Croaka and Pike are highly suspect and we’ve decided to keep an eye on them by doing some serious detective work. I mean, what on earth were they going on about? Blast off? Reap the rewards? The feeding? Alive not dead? The Key? For goodness sake, something is so not right about that pair.

  Arabella suggested we try and find the key that they were talking about, because it might give us a clue as to what they are up to. I was quite impressed with her for that. After all, if they are up to something really bad, the school ought to know. The only trouble is, Miss Pike said it’s in her bedroom and all the staff have rooms in the south wing of the school, where pupils are strictly not allowed.

  I have to go now Diary, because Mrs Fairchild - the headmistress - is going to give a talk to all us new girls in the hall.

  Thursday, 5th September

  Hi Diary,

  Mrs Fairchild is such a lamb! She actually looks like one, with her snowy white hair all curled into ringlets against her head. Also, she has the sweetest nature. I thought she looked so tiny, standing up there on the big stage, a little white dot on a sea of polished wood, smiling away like a little child and welcoming us new arrivals to the school. I’m not sure how old she is, maybe sixty five or seventy, so she’s doing really well for her age. But to be honest she did start laughing at a few random things and at one point she started singing and twirling around on the stage and none of us really knew what she was doing, but I thought that was rather sweet anyway.

  Clarice and Cleo didn’t though. They’re mean girls and kept sniggering whenever Mrs Fairchild said something a bit odd, which really annoyed me and Arabella, so we poked them in the back to make them shut up. But then Clarice turn round, flicking her long blonde hair in my face and said, ‘Oh look Cleo, it’s the nerds,’ and Cleo giggled and pulled a face at us. I mean honestly, how rude! It’s not our fault that we do more work than them and get better marks, is it? If there was a ‘staring in the mirror’ class, Clarice and Cleo would be top of it, I’m sure. I think I’m going to suggest to Arabella that we stay out of their way from now on, because they’re clearly badnews.com.

  A letter arrived from Carrie today, so I wrote back at once, telling her all about Arabella, our room (I didn’t mention the television), Clarice and Cleo and Mrs Fairchild. She said she’s missing me a lot and that her arthritis is hurting her wrists and knees badly. She’s going to come and see me in a couple of weeks, whoopee!

  I’m going to meet Arabella in the lunch hall now, Diary. She says she has an idea about how we can get in to Miss Pike’s room without being caught and she’s going to tell me about it over our smoked salmon and olive multigrain pitta breads.

  Saturday, 7th Septmber

  Oh dear, Diary,

  We have to put Arabella’s cunning plan in to action this afternoon and I’m REALLY, REALLY NERVOUS! She explained it all to me yesterday in the lunch hall – which has canaries in gold cages hanging from the ceiling by the way, they make one big racket while we’re eating - and although it is a brilliant plan, I’m REALLY worried in case something goes wrong.

  Basically, after lunch today, everyone in the whole school – INCLUDING THE TEACHERS - are going to have their picture taken. It’s going to be one of those enormous, long, group photographs. We have to be down by the hanging garden next to the tropical fish pond, at two o’clock sharp, just after lunch. Some men from a photo company have already arrived to build a massive stand that they are going to position all the girls and the teachers on. Arabella and I saw them putting it up while we walked back to school after feeding our baby chicks on the school farm. Each girl from Sapphires, Rubies and Emeralds has been given one of the new hatchlings to look after. Can you imagine? What a treat! Mine is sooo sweet and I’ve named her Lemony because, you’ve guessed it, she’s the colour of a pale lemon. I hope I can still look after her when she’s a hen.

  Anyway, Arabella’s brilliant and scary plan is that just as everyone is being positioned for the school photo, she’s going to come over all weak and sickly. We’ll ask to be excused, (I’ll have to make sure I go too, to “look after her”), then when we’re back in the school and sure no one’s watching we’ll rush over to the south wing and have a quick nosy around Miss Pike’s room. The good thing is that none of the teachers or pupils are ever allowed to lock their rooms – it’s a fire hazard, apparently - so what could possibly go wrong? Aggghhh!

  I’ll report back later, Diary, if I haven’t been caught and expelled by then that is…

  Saturday, 7th September (Midnight)

  Diary!

  I can’t quite believe it, but we actually got away with it, (by the skin of our teeth), and it’s a good thing too, after what we discovered.

  Today, after we’d had lunch, (I could only manage a small pumpkin seed roll because I was so nervous), Arabella and I went down to the hanging garden with everybody else. It’s really beautiful there, with crimson, gold, violet and pure white flowers drooping out of lots of hanging baskets that are attached to a high overhead frame. The garden smells how Turkish Delight sweets taste: totally scrummy. There’s a blanket of grass underneath the hanging baskets where all of us first years sat, with Mrs Honeysuckle taking the register, waiting to be directed on to the enormous stand. All the other years in the school had their own special waiting areas.

  Arabella, (who I’m now best friends with, by the way), had made a big show of feeling ill over lunch, so that everyone around us heard her moaning and groaning about wanting to be sick. She was so funny that I had to try hard not to laugh. I kept saying, ‘Oh you poor thing’, stroking her hair every time she collapsed dramatically across the lunch table. Melody, who was sitting with us, looked shocked and offered to fetch Matron from the Infirmary – a small hospital wing where we go if we’re sick – but Arabella said not to worry - she was sure she’d feel better soon.

  Clarice and Cleo, who were sitting on a table next to ours, looked beyond disgusted. It was completely fab! After listening to Arabella making nearly sick noises for the tenth time, they got up and flounced off, with Clarice saying loudly over her shoulder that she didn’t want to “catch a filthy plague from a swotty nerd”. I hope she hits herself in the face with her hairbrush, mean creature.

  By the time the men were in the process of positioning us on the different levels of their complicated stand in height order, Arabella handily took a turn for the worse and half collapsed, saying she thought she was really going to be sick this time. I took up my acting roll and - with my heart beating so fast I could hear it in my ears - said loudly, ‘Come on you poor thing, I’d better take you to the Infirmary. Stand back everyone, we’re coming through.’ I don’t think I should ever be an actress because I sounded quite wooden but no one seemed to bat an eyelid.

  We�
�d made sure that Croaka and Pike definitely were away from the south wing - we’d seen them standing silently together, giving off their weird, laser like stare, at the back of a group of teachers. Even the domestic staff were there, with the French chefs and waiters looking very dashing in their aprons and hats.

  Once we were through the grand back door of the school, we raced down the corridor, turned right, raced down another corridor, skidded round the corner and came face to face with a sign that said, “SOUTH WING. TEACHER’S QUARTERS. STRICTLY NO ENTRY TO PUPILS”. We checked over our shoulders, took deep breaths and walked past the sign.

  I now know that the teachers’ rooms are all off softly lit corridors where twinkly music plays from hidden speakers. Veryposh.com. We soon saw we’d hit a problem when we realised that all thirty three of the teachers’ doors look the same – none have name tags or anything on them. At that point, I honestly had no idea how we were going to find Miss Pike’s room quickly and for a moment it looked like our plan was doomed.

  We were walking up and down the first teachers’ corridor, (there are six altogether) checking each door again and again like headless chickens, when I noticed a silvery outline of something glowing from the door nearest me. I stopped to look and saw that it was actually the exact shape of Mr Drumlin the history teacher, complete with his sticking out paunch. Thank goodness we’d a history lesson for the first time yesterday or I wouldn’t have recognised him! Someone very clever must have painted it on with shining paint. Cunning.com.

  ‘Brilliant!’ Arabella whispered. ‘Trust this school to do this rather than have common old name tags. All we have to do now is find the glowing outline of Miss Pike, get in to her room and find the key before the teachers start coming back from the photo.’

  ‘Oh, is that all?’ I whispered with wide eyes and she grinned. In a spilt second, we were off, working our way along opposite sides of every corridor, stopping to stare closely at each door in turn.

  Arabella found Miss Pike’s door down the sixth corridor we trawled along. Her door was next to the one that had the giant outline of Miss Croaka on it, which was so large, both feet and half the head had been left off. A very strange shape for a woman, I thought. Miss Pike’s outline, on the other hand, was so small it only took up half the door. What an ODD PAIR! I stood on guard while Arabella knocked softly, just in case. No one answered, so she opened the door.

  As expected, the place was empty. It turns out that the teachers don’t just have one bedroom, they have a set of rooms – an apartment really – including a lounge, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. Lucky things. Arabella set off across the thick carpet towards the open bedroom door. I stood in the doorway, constantly checking the corridor for unexpected teachers, my head swivelling like an excited dog’s on a car journey. I listened to her rummaging through the top drawer in the bedroom for what seemed like an hour but was probably only five minutes.

  Then she shouted, ‘Wowzers, you’re never going to believe this!’

  ‘Shhh,’ I replied. ‘Tell me later. Just please hurry up.’

  A few more rummaging sounds then, ‘Right, I’ve got it,’ she called. ‘It’s an old rusty key with a tag attached with “Bunker 37” written on it. Remember the number and we’ll find out what it means. It could be our next clue to what that pair are up to. ’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I whispered.

  Then, Bam! A door down the next corridor crashed open and I heard a voice getting nearer and nearer. A loud, growly voice, to be precise. My knees gave way on the spot.

  ‘Arabella,’ I called under my breath. ‘I think Little and Large are coming!’

  She sprinted back from the bedroom at once and without thinking we dived out of the door, across the hallway and barged in to the apartment opposite which was also empty, shutting the door quickly. Seconds later, Pike and Croaka’s voices arrived outside the room we were in. (Which turned out to belong to Mrs Turvy the music teacher and had piles of musical instruments all over the floor. I tripped over a double bass and hurt my knee.) I wondered if they’d spotted the door closing. Maybe they heard us…maybe we weren’t quiet enough. We held our breaths and waited…

  ‘Stupid school,’ Croaka grumbled in her deep voice, as we heard a door handle turn. ‘What a waste of time. All that fuss and nonsense about a bloomin’ photo. I can’t believe mad old Fairchild expected the teachers to stick around afterwards to entertain the imbeciles before tea. Surely the girls can do something by themselves without bein’ spoon fed every step of the way. ’

  ‘I know how you feel, Chris,’ piped back Pike. ‘I’ve had enough of these spoilt brats too, but like you said the other day, we just have to be patient. It’ll be worth it in the end. The important thing is, I don’t think anyone noticed us slip away.’

  ‘Listen, Jacinta, I’ve been thinkin’. We’ve only got five and a half weeks left here and by the time blast off arrives, we need to know that map off by heart, back to front and inside out.’ Croaka dropped her voice. ‘We can’t afford to make any mistakes this time.’

  ‘You’d better come in and we’ll take another look at it then,’ Pike squeaked back. We heard a door close, then there was silence. I stared at Arabella. She looked about as shocked as I felt.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I whispered. Arabella nodded. We let ourselves out, then tiptoed off as quickly and quietly as possible.

  We’d just passed the sign that said, “SOUTH WING. TEACHER’S QUARTERS. STRICTLY NO ENTRY TO PUPILS”, when Cleo and Clarice rounded the corner.

  ‘Ooh, are the nerds being naughty?’ Cleo giggled. ‘I thought you’d both gone to the infirmary. Or did you just want to get out of the photo?’

  ‘I don’t blame you if you did.’ Clarice sniggered. ‘After all, who’d want to buy a photo with your ugly mugs ruining it?’ They high fived each other then carried on trotting down the corridor towards the first year’s common room, no doubt to insult more people. Arabella made a rude sign after them.

  ‘Bad-mannered bullies,’ I said loudly.

  ‘Just forget about them. They’re not worth even thinking about.’ Arabella said, but she did look rather upset.

  Anyway Diary, it’s now midnight and we’ve been lying in our beds discussing what happened all evening and I can’t BELIEVE what Arabella just told me she found in Pike’s drawer next to the key. But I’m too tired to write about it now so I’m going to sleep, more tomorrow. Remember “Bunker 37” for me, Diary. Good night. ZZzzzzzzzzzz.

  Monday, 9th September

  Greetings, Diary,

  Just got back from our first whole school assembly. All three hundred and ten of us were seated in the sort of reclining armchairs you find in the first class sections on planes. There were trays attached to each chair, with fizzy limeade and biscuits waiting for each of us! Totallyamazing.com. The lecture theatre, where all assembles take place, looks like a huge wooden cave, with a platform at the front, where Mrs Fairchild stands. (And twirls and dances, as the mood takes her). The reclining armchairs are all at different levels so us girls can see the platform at the same time.

  I had a good look at all the older girls dotted around me. It’s the first time I’ve seen them all together because usually they’re floating around Egmont looking superior and busy in groups of five or six, clutching flowery folders and talking importantly. Not like us first years who still don’t really know where everything is and get lost half the time.

  I said hello to the serious looking girl sitting in the armchair next to mine. She had frizzy, mousy brown hair, wore glasses and turned out to be Suzie Bagshaw from the third year. She asked if I was enjoying being at Egmont and I said I was, but I was a bit disappointed with the art teaching because the teachers didn’t seem very good and it was my favourite subject.

  Funnily enough, Suzie told me that until very recently, two DIFFERENT art teachers, Miss Cherry and Miss Wise, had taught together at the school. She said they were both BRILLIANT artists. One day, Mrs Fairchild had woken up to find hand
written letters of resignation from both of them and they were never seen again. The whole school had been shocked and upset. Then Pike and Croaka just happened to turn up and walk straight in to the empty art teachers jobs. Suzie said no one liked them but then we had to stop talking because Mrs Fairchild started to sing.

  When we’re all together like that we look like rows of candy in our pink, purple and white uniforms. The oldest girls look so grown up, because after the fifth year, you’re allowed to wear pink, purple and white business suits if you want. Until then we have to wear a white, frilly blouse, a pink hipster skirt with a silver belt encrusted with three diamonds, a purple cardigan with the school logo sewn on to it, (a hand holding the most precious stones in the world), an optional pink shawl and purple, wedged shoes with white knee length socks. It’s much better than my old uniform, which was mud brown and sludge green colours.

  After she’d finished her song and read out a few notices, Mrs Fairchild announced (while doing a slow waltz), that the first year nominations for two head of year prefects were now open. She said we would not be allowed to vote for ourselves, but anyone who wants to stand can start a friendly campaign to prove to the rest of the first year how trustworthy, kind and deserving of support they are. Voting will take place just before the annual Egmont Art Show that will be held on 16th October, just before school breaks up for a week’s holiday. I saw Clarice and Cleo nudging each other and grinning, but I can safely say they WILL NOT be getting my vote if they stand. No way.com.

  Right, I have to go now Diary, as Arabella and I are taking our favourite ponies Whiskey and Hurricane out for a slow trot so we can chat in private. Mine is Hurricane because he’s not like his name, he is actually slow and relaxed. That’smysortofpony.com.

  Tuesday, 10th September

  Hiya Diary,

  Right. Yesterday on our bumpy pony ride, Arabella and I talked over everything suspicious we’ve heard Pike and Croaka say. The naughty twins, Moira and Lynne, were out galloping madly around the paddock on their stallions, and they asked if we wanted to join them on a hack. It would have been fun as the twins are like a comedy double act – they often have our class, Sapphires, in complete stitches with their impressions of teachers - but we made our excuses as we needed to chat privately.