For those of you unfamiliar with volleyball: a dig is a shot played when the ball is coming at quite a low angle, and is played by hitting it from underneath with the wrists to launch it back into the air. All the other shots are pretty much what they sound like. Each team is only allowed three touches of the ball before it must go back to the other side of the court or they forfeit the point and the same player is not allowed to hit the ball twice consecutively. If the ball bounces in on your side of the court you lose the point. If anything needs clarifying, tell me.

The Trials

It took a while, but at last Isobel reached a decision as to what she would wear to confront Dr Clarkson in a volleyball-centred environment. Or, more appropriately, Mrs Hughes and Sybil, who were marginally better versed in the sporting fashions, had chosen for her. After much doing up of buttons and scraping back of hair, she finally inspected herself in the mirror in Sybil's room. It was safe to say that she was probably wearing the oddest assortment of clothes she had ever had on in her life.

In the end, she had borrowed a tennis skirt from Mrs Hughes, there hadn't been much chance of her fitting into any of the one's the girls owned. Precisely what the housekeeper was doing with a tennis skirt of her own was rather beyond Isobel, but a seen as it was a good fit she decided she didn't need to know; once she had been offered the hurried and unconvincing explanation that it had been bought on a whim.

"Do I look alright?" she asked, for about the fourth time.

Sybil, lying idly on her bed, having already got dressed, lifted her head to look rather incredulously at her cousin.

"No worse than you did when you last asked," she replied rather pointedly, "All of five minutes ago."

"I don't want to look a fool," Isobel impressed upon her, patting her own hair down though it was already lying flat, "As I remember we're doing this to prove that we're as capable as any man is, and it'll make a good start if we turn up looking like something from the gaiety!"

Sybil laughed, and Mrs Hughes, coming back in just in time to catch the end of this exclamation, seemed to roll her eyes. Isobel, turned back to the mirror once more.

"Where did you find this blouse, Mrs Hughes?" she wanted to know, "I've never seen one with a collar like this before. I do rather like it, I didn't know they made them like this."

"They don't," Mrs Hughes told her, "Not for women, anyway. It's his Lordship's."

This seemed to amuse Sybil even further. Probably, Isobel thought, because she herself looked somewhat horrified, and not without reason: she had been under the impression that they had been going to show the men of the village that they could match them at the sports they played, she hadn't realised that this challenge extended to their clothes as well!

"Don't worry," the housekeeper assured her, "He'll never know."

Sybil was watching her cousin with a raised eyebrow, and her head at a jaunty angle.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" she enquired levelly.

This rallied Isobel somewhat: she wasn't the type to have second thoughts at all. The fact that in this case she might not even have got as far as first thoughts was immaterial. She pushed back her shoulders defiantly.

"No," shoe told them both firmly, "Not in the least. Come on," she added to them, "We had better get going or we'll be late."

Sybil got up off the bed.

"You'll have a marvellous time once you're there," Mrs Hughes told her kindly, "Just don't be nervous: you're there to prove a point."

"Are you going to come with us?" Sybil asked her, "You'd be welcome to, after all, it's your afternoon off, isn't it?"

"Yes, I think I might," Mrs Hughes replied, "But only to watch, though."

…...

Isobel had been right, it did seem as she and Sybil arrived in the village hall that Dr Clarkson had been ready for the chance that they might appear. There was almost an air of excitement in the air, of speculation. She clearly saw the corner of Matthew's mouth twitch disagreeably as they walked in. Irritated by this- by now, she'd have thought the boy would have realised that she meant exactly what she said- she set her jaw a little more firmly and raised her chin a little bit. She saw him frown, and then disappear behind Molesley; who it seemed was running on the spot in preparation. Sybil, meanwhile, was talking to the esteemed team manager.

"Certainly, I understand, m'Lady," he replied, though still looking a little put out at their sheer nerve in just being there, "And of course, I will consider you for the team. I don't see that it should be a problem."

"Good," Sybil answered politely, but not without a hint of curtness. Isobel nodded briskly to the doctor and he, a little disconcerted, nodded back before turning around to blow his whistle and address the group at large.

Sybil shot a triumphant look at her cousin in the light of the success of this exchange with the doctor and received one in return. Their militancy was paying off!

…...

The first activity set was, in theory, simple. Once they had been instructed in the main shots that could be played they were given one volleyball between two and told practice keeping a rally going for as long as possible. This had been going marvellously when they had only been using the volley shot, in fact it had almost appeared as if they were impressing Dr Clarkson with their control and- much to Isobel's great delight- agility. That was all very well until Isobel discovered her proficiency at the dig. It was rather astonishing just how high she managed to wallop the ball with just the movement of her arms. "Height", Dr Clarkson had told them, was a volleyball player's watchword and so Isobel decided to capitalise on this God-given aptitude she obviously had and put all of her might into it. Unfortunately, on her next attempt she dislodged a good deal of plaster from the ceiling.

Sybil was delighted with this progress, and Isobel was able to ignore the downpour of minute pieces of plaster for a moment before she found herself being accosted by the good doctor, trying to correct her movement.

"Go from the knees," he instructed her, "Not the elbows. It will be so much more controlled then."

Isobel was about to reply rather snappishly that, at her age, the knees were not something to set too much store in, but remembered that she was here to prove her competence; and so grudgingly went to it without complaint. It was true though, in this last half an hour, her knees had been unaccountably given to giving way, and she was not quite sure why.

"Come here."

Before she knew what was happening, Dr Clarkson had taken hold of her wrist. She was in the midst of wondering what on earth he was playing at- with some quite frankly astonishing results- when the reality struck that he was correcting her hand position. Her knees seemed to deem that this would be an appropriate time to buckle, again.

"That's right," he told her, apparently thinking that she was practising digging from the knees, "Just like that. Throw the ball to Mrs Crawley, and give it another try."

It was true, this time when Isobel hit the ball it rose in a much more orderly fashion and not quite as high as before. Unfortunately, this time when it rose it hit the lamp hanging from the ceiling; which quivered alarmingly. Isobel did not miss the vague hints of wonderment mixed with despair in the good doctor's eyes.

…...

The next phase of the trial was to play in a game. A court was set up in the middle of the hall and the players divided into three teams. Isobel and Sybil had the good fortune to find themselves on the same team, and the slightly less good fortune to find themselves on Matthew's; who was looking mildly disapproving every time his mother caught his eye. They were shortly joined by Molesley, Dr Clarkson and Branson- who they had not noticed up until then but who assured them he was all in favour of "this sort of thing".

Their team was going to play first, and they took to the court with a vague spirit of optimism. What with Isobel's mastery of the dig, Sybil's rather astonishingly good serve, Dr Clarkson's expertise and Matthew's height, they thought they stood a decent chance at least. They had not yet had the chance to practice the smash, but, Sybil said, they were sure to get the hang of it. They decided to put three people at the front of the court and three at the back, and Sybil took the place for the first serve.

Indeed, once Sybil had had her allocated three serves, they were three points in the lead without anyone else having to lift a finger. Then, the serve went to the other team.

"Right now, everyone, get ready," Dr Clarkson told them, "You don't know where this is going to go to."

Isobel looked across the court, to discover somewhat to her horror that the server was Thomas the footman. Goodness, she thought, that dreadful O'Brien woman will never live this down once she gets to hear about it.

Thomas served the ball cleanly over the net and towards the centre of the court. It was probably well within the reach of all six of them, but each seemed to assume that someone else would pick it up and the ball dropped onto the floor of the court.

"Communication!" Dr Clarkson reminded them.

"3-1," Thomas announced as he picked the ball up for his next serve.

This time, the soared clearly towards Sybil, who from the back of the court, volleyed it, but straight down into the floor in front of her.

"I'm sorry," she told them all, "I couldn't decided whether it should have been a dig or a volley."

"Never mind," Matthew told her, "Just get out of the way next time you do that, so someone else can get it. Mother, if Sybil volleys it from the back again, be ready to jump in and wallop it back at them."

Clearly, Matthew had forgotten all of his qualms about her age.

"3-2," called Thomas.

The competitive spirit was beginning to show in Dr Clarkson, Isobel noted; a muscle twitched in his jaw as he got ready for the next shot. This time, it was served to him, and, with irritating precision and control, he comfortably dug it into the air. Next, Molesley volleyed it straight up to the net. And Isobel now realised that this was when a smash would be used, and she promptly walloped it over the net and down towards the centre of the court, straight at Thomas' feet.

"Look out, Mrs Hughes!"

The shot had ricocheted of the ground at such speed that it down headed towards where the housekeeper was perched on a bench watching. She ducked quickly out of its way, impressively managing to stay on the bench.

It was undeniable that the team from then on came to see Isobel in a new light.

…...

The next day, Isobel and Sybil were none too interested in hiding their haste as they walked through the village to inspect the noticeboard outside the village hall. The notice was certainly economic with detail; simply stating that the match would be on the following Tuesday evening at the village hall and six names were listed below.

R. Clarkson

T. Branson

T. Barrow

M. Crawley

S. Crawley

I. Crawley

There was a note below.

A. Molesley and E. Hughes to attend as reserves and to help with first aid &c.

"What on earth does Dr Clarkson need a first aider there for?" Sybil wanted to know, "He is a doctor, after all!"

Isobel, however, was looking at the first part of the sentence.

"As reserves?" she repeated, "Goodness, he must have thought everyone else was really appalling, she didn't even play and she's near enough got on the team!

"Perhaps he was impressed by the speed with which she got out of the way of all of your shots," Sybil pointed out, "Why ever he's put her on there, we're probably going to have a lot of explaining to do when we next see her."

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