THE NIGHT THAT FOLLOWED
It was long past the hour when, on ordinary nights, Oak Knowe would
have been in darkness, relieved only by a glimmer here and there, at
the head of some stairway, and in absolute stillness.
But the Hallowe'en party had made everything give way and the servants
were up late, putting the great Assembly Hall into the spotless order
required for the routine of the next day.
Nut shells and scattered pop corn, apple-skins that had been tossed
over the merrymakers' shoulders to see what initial might be formed,
broken masks that had been discarded, fragments of the flimsy
costumes, splashes of spilled cider, scattered crumbs and misplaced
furniture, made Dawkins and her aids lift hands in dismay as, armed
with brooms and scrubbing brushes they came to "clear up."
"Clear up, indeed! Never was such a mess as this since ever I set foot
at Oak Knowe. After the sweepin' the scrubbin'; and after the
scrubbin' the polishin', and the chair fetchin' and--my heart! 'Tis
the dear bit lassie she is, but may I be further afore Dorothy Dixie
gets up another Hallowe'en prank!" grumbled Dawkins, yet with a tender
smile on her lips, remembering the thousand and one trifles which the
willing girl had done for her.
For Dawkins was growing old. Under her maid's cap the hair was thin
and gray, and stooping to pick up things the girls had carelessly
thrown down was no longer an easy task.
The rules against carelessness were stringent enough and fairly well
obeyed, yet among three hundred lively girls some rules were bound to
be ignored. But from the first, as soon as she understood them,
Dorothy had been obedient to all these rules; and it was Dawkins's
pride, when showing visitors through the building to point to Dolly's
cubicle as a model. Here was never an article left out of place;
because not only school regulations but real affection for the maid,
who had been her first friend at Oak Knowe, made Dorothy "take care."
Then busy at their tasks, the workers talked of the evening's events
and laughingly recalled the incident of the goat, which they had
witnessed from the upper gallery; a place prepared for them by the
good Bishop's orders, that nobody at his great school should be
prohibited from enjoying a sight of the pupils' frequent
entertainments.
"But sure, 'tis that lad, Jack, which frets me as one not belongin' to
Oak Knowe," said Dora, with conviction.
"Not belonging? Why, woman alive, he's been here longer nor yourself.
'Twas his mother that's gone, was cook here before the _chef_ and pity
for his orphaned state the reason he's stayed since. But I own ye,
he's not been bettered by his summers off, when the school's not
keepin' and him let work for any farmer round. I note he's a bit more
prankish an' disobliging, every fall when he comes back. For some
curious reason--I can't dream what--he's been terrible chummy with
Miss Gwendolyn. Don't that beat all?" said Dawkins whirling her brush.
"I don't know--I don't really know as 'tis. He's forever drawing
pictures round of every created thing, and she's come across him doin'
it. She's that crazy for drawing herself that she's likely took an
int'rest in him. I heard her puttin' notions in his head, once,
tellin' him how 't some the greatest painters ever lived had been born
just peasants like him."
"Huh! Was that what made him so top-lofty and up-steppin'? When I told
him he didn't half clean the young ladies' shoes, tossin' his head
like the simpleton he is, and saucin' back as how he wouldn't be a
boot-boy all his life. I'd find out one these days whom I'd been
tongue-lashin' so long and'd be ashamed to look him in the face. Huh!"
added another maid.
"Well, why bother with such as him, when we've all this to finish, and
me to go yet to my dormitory to see if all's right with my young
ladies," answered Dawkins and silence fell, till the task was done and
the great room in the perfect order required for the morning.
Then away to her task above hurried good Dawkins and coming to
Dorothy's cubicle found its bed still untouched and its light brightly
burning. The maid stared and gasped. What did this mean? Had harm
befallen her favorite?
Then she smiled at her own fears. Of course, Dorothy was in the room
with little Grace, where the cot once prepared for her still remained
because the child had so begged; in "hopes I'll be sick some more and
Dolly'll come again." So Dawkins turned off the light and hurried to
her reclining chair in the outer hall, where she usually spent the
hours of her watch.
But no sooner had she settled herself there than all her uneasiness
returned. Twisting and turning on her cushions she fretted:
"I don't see what's got into this chair, the night! Seems if I can't
get a comfortable spot in it anywhere. Maybe, it's 'cause I'm extra
tired. Hallowe'en pranks are fun for the time but there's a deal hard
work goes along with 'em. Or any other company fixings, for that
matter. I wonder was the little Grace scared again, by that ridic'lous
goat? Is that why Dorothy went with her? Where'd the beast come from,
anyway? And who invited it to the masquerade? Not the good Bishop,
I'll be bound. Now, what does make me so uneasy! Sure there's nought
wrong with dear little Dixie. How could there be under this safe
roof?"
But the longer Dawkins pondered the matter the more restless she grew;
till, at last, she felt she must satisfy her mind, even at the cost of
disturbing the Lady Principal; and a moment later tapped at her door,
asking softly:
"Are you awake, Miss Muriel? It's Dawkins."
"Yes, Dawkins, come in. I've not been able to sleep yet. I suppose the
evening's care and excitement has tired me too much. What is it you
want? Anything wrong in the dormitory?"
"Well, not to say wrong--or so I hope. I just stepped here to ask is
Miss Dorothy Calvert staying the night?"
"Staying with Grace? No, indeed, the child has been asleep for hours:
perfectly satisfied now that I and so many others have seen the
apparition she had, and so proved her the truthful little creature
she'd always been."
That seemed a very long answer to impatient Dawkins and she clipped it
short by asking:
"Then, Ma'am, where do you suppose she is?"
"What? Do you mean that she isn't in her own place?"
"No, Ma'am, nor sign of her; and it's terr'ble strange, 'pears to me.
I don't like the look of it, Ma'am, I do not."
"Pooh! don't make a mystery out of it, my good woman!" replied Miss
Tross-Kingdon, yet with a curious flutter in her usually stern voice.
Then she considered the matter for a moment, finally directing:
"Go to the hospital wing and ask if she's there with Gwendolyn. She's
been so sorry for the girl and I noticed her slipping out of Assembly
with a plate full of the things Mr. Gilpin brought. I don't remember
her coming back, but she was certainly absent when her violin was
asked for. Doubtless, you'll find her there, but be careful not to
rouse any of the young ladies. Then come back and report."
Dawkins tip-toed away, glad that she had told her anxiety to her
mistress. But she was back from her errand before it seemed possible
she could be, her face white and her limbs trembling with fear of--she
knew not what!
"If it was any girl but her, Ma'am! That keeps the rules better nor
any other here!"
"Hush, good Dawkins. She's all right somewhere, as we shall soon
discover. We'll go below and look in all the rooms, in case she might
be ill, or locked in some of them."
"Yes, yes, Ma'am, we'll look. Ill she might really be after all them
nuts an' trash, but locked in she can't be, since never a lock is
turned in this whole house. Sure the Bishop wouldn't so permit, seeing
that if it fired any time them that was locked up could not so easy
get out. And me the last one down, to leave all in the good order you
like."
"Step softly still, Dawkins. It would take very little to start a
panic among our many girls should they hear that anything was amiss."
Each took a candle from the rack in the hall and by the soft light of
these began their search below, not daring to flash on the electric
lights whose brilliance might possibly arouse the sleepers in the
house. Dawkins observed that the Lady Principal, walking ahead, was
shaking, either with cold or nervousness, and, as for herself, her
teeth were fairly chattering.
Of course their search proved useless. Nowhere in any of those first
floor rooms was any trace of the missing girl. Even closets were
examined while Dawkins peered behind the furniture and curtains, her
heart growing heavier each moment.
Neither mistress nor maid spoke now, though the former led the way
upwards again and silently inspected the dormitories on each floor.
Also, she looked into each private room of the older and wealthier
pupils, but the result was the same--Dorothy had as completely
disappeared as if she had been bodily swallowed up.
Then the aid of the other maids and, even of a few teachers was
secured, although that the school work might go on regularly the next
day, not many of these latter were disturbed.
At daybreak, when the servants began to gather in the great kitchen,
each to begin his daily tasks, the Lady Principal surprised them by
her appearance among them. In the briefest and quietest manner
possible she told them what had happened and begged their help in the
search.
But she was unprepared for the result. A housemaid threw up her hands
in wild excitement, crying: "'Tis ten long years I've served Oak Knowe
but my day is past! Her that went some syne was the wise one. I'll not
tarry longer to risk the health o' me soul in a house that's haunted
by imps!"
"Nor me! Him that's snatched off to his wicked place the sweet, purty
gell, of the willin' word an' friendly smile, 'll no long spare such
as me! A fine collectin' ground for the Evil One is so big a school
as this. I'm leavin' the dustin' to such as can do it, but I'm off,
Ma'am, and better times for ye, I'm sure!" cried another superstitious
creature.
This was plain mutiny. For a moment the lady's heart sank at the
prospect before her, for the panic would spread if not instantly
quelled, and there were three hundred hungry girls awaiting
breakfast--and breakfast but one feature of the case. Should these
servants leave, to spread their untrue tales, new ones would be almost
impossible to obtain. Then, summoning her authority, she demanded:
"Silence and attention from all of you. I shall telephone for the
constabulary, and any person who leaves Oak Knowe before Miss Calvert
is found will leave it for the lock-up. The housemaids are excused
from ordinary duties and are to assist the _chef_ in preparing
breakfast. The rest of you, who have retained your common sense, are
to spread yourselves about the house and grounds, and through every
outbuilding till some one of you shall find the girl you all have
loved. Leave before then? I am ashamed of your hard hearts."
With stately dignity the mistress left the kitchen and a much subdued
force of helpers behind her. That threat of "the constabulary" was an
argument not to be defied.
"Worst of it is, she meant it. Lady Principal never says a thing she
doesn't mean. So--Well, I suppose I'll have to stay, then, for who
wants to get took up? But it's hard on a workin' woman 't she can't do
as she likes," muttered the first deserter and set about her duties.
Also, as did she so did the others.
Meanwhile how had the night passed with the imprisoned Dorothy? At
first with greater anger than fear; anger against the unknown person
who had shut that door upon her. Then she thought:
"But of course he didn't know, whoever it was. I'm sure it was a man
or boy, afraid, maybe, to make a noise account of its being late. Yet
what a fix I'm in! Nobody will know or come to let me out till Dawkins
goes her rounds and that'll be very, very late, on account of her
clearing up the mess we made down in Assembly. My! what a fine time we
had! And how perfectly grand that Gwendolyn and I should be friends at
last. She kissed me. Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard kissed me! It's worth
even being shut up here alone, behind that spring-locked door, just to
be friends. I'm so sleepy. I wish I could find something to put around
me and I'd lie right down on this floor and take a nap till somebody
lets me out."
Then she remembered that once she had heard Dawkins telling another
maid that there were "plenty more blankets in the old drying-room if
her 'beds' needed 'em;" and maybe she could find some if she tried.
"This is the very darkest place could ever be, seems if! ouch! that
hurt!" said the prisoner aloud, to bolster her own courage, and as she
stumbled against a trunk that bruised her ankle. "I'll take more
care."
So she did: reasoning that people generally piled things against a
wall, that is, in such a place, for greater convenience. With
outstretched hands she felt her way and at last was rewarded by
finding the blankets she sought. Here, too, were folded several cots,
that were needed at times, like Commencement, when many strangers were
at Oak Knowe. But she didn't trouble to set up one of these, even if
she could have done so in that gloom. But a blanket she could manage,
and beside the cots she could feel a heap of them. In a very few
minutes she had pulled down several of these and spread them on the
floor; and a little later had wrapped them about her and was sound
asleep--"as a bug in a rug, like Dawkins says," her last, untroubled
thought. So, though a prisoner, for many hours she slumbered
peacefully.
Down in the breakfast-room matters went on as usual. Or if many of the
girls and a few of the pupils seemed unduly sleepy, that was natural
enough, considering the frivolities and late hours of the night
before.
Even the Lady Principal, sitting calmly in her accustomed place,
looked very pale and tired; and Winifred, observing this, whispered to
her neighbor:
"I don't believe we'll get another party very soon. Just look at Miss
Tross-Kingdon. She's as white as a ghost and so nervous she can hardly
sit still. I never saw her that way before. The way she keeps glancing
toward the doors, half-scared every time she hears a noise, is queer.
I wonder if she's expecting somebody!"
"Likely somebody's late and she's waiting to say: 'Miss'--whoever it
is--'your excuse, please?' I wonder who 'twill be! and say, look at
the Aldrich ten--can you see Dorothy?"
Winifred glanced around and answered, with real surprise: "Why, she's
absent! If it were I nobody'd be astonished, 'cause I always have the
same excuse: 'Overslept.' But Dolly? Oh! I hope she isn't sick!"
And immediately the meal was over, Winifred hurried to the Lady
Principal and asked:
"Please, Miss Muriel, can you tell me, is Dorothy Calvert ill?"
"Excuse me, Winifred, I am extremely busy," returned Miss
Tross-Kingdon, and hurried away as if she were afraid of being
questioned further.
Naturally, Winifred was surprised, for despite her sternness the Lady
Principal was invariably courteous; and putting "two and two together"
she decided that Dorothy was in trouble of some sort and began a
systematic inquiry of all she met concerning her. But nobody had seen
the girl or knew anything about her; yet the questioner's anxiety
promptly influenced others and by the time school session was called
there was a wide-spread belief that some dreadful thing had befallen
the southerner, and small attention was paid to lessons.
It was not until the middle of the morning that Jack-boot-boy appeared
in the kitchen, from his room in an outside building, where the men
servants slept. He was greeted by reproofs for his tardiness and the
news of Dorothy's disappearance.
"Lost? Lost, you say? How can she be right here in this house? Why, I
saw her around all evening. It was her own party, wasn't it? or hers
was the first notion of it. Huh! That's the queerest! S'pose the
faculty'll offer a reward? Jiminy cricket! Wish they would! I bet I'd
find her. Why, sir, I'd make a first rate detective, I would. I've
been readin' up on that thing an' I don't know but it would pay me
better'n paintin', even if I am a 'born artist,' as Miss Gwendolyn
says."
"Born nincompoop! That's what you are, and the all-conceitedest
lazybones 't ever trod shoe leather! Dragging out of bed this time o'
day, and not a shoe cleaned--in my dormitory, anyway!" retorted
Dawkins, in disgust.
"Huh! old woman, what's the matter with you? And why ain't you _in_
bed, 'stead of out of it? I thought all you night-owls went to bed
when the rest of us got up. You need sleep, you do, for I never knowed
you crosser'n you be now--which is sayin' consid'able!"
Dawkins was cross, there was no denying that, for her nerves were
sadly shaken by her fears for the girl she had learned to love so
dearly.
"You get about your business, boy, at once; without tarryin' to pass
remarks upon your betters;" and she made a vicious dash toward him as
if to strike him. He knew this was only pretence, and sidled toward
her, mockingly, then, as she raised her hand again--this time with
more decision--he cowered aside and made a rush out of the kitchen.
"Well, that's odd! The first time I ever knew that boy to turn down
his breakfast!" remarked the _chef_, pointing to a heaped up plate at
the back of the range. "Well, I shan't keep it any longer. He'll have
the better appetite for dinner, ha, ha!"
Jack's unusual indifference to good food was due to a sound he had
overheard. It came from somewhere above and passed unnoticed by all
but him, but set him running to a distant stairway which led from "the
old laundry" to the drying-loft above: and a sigh of satisfaction
escaped him as he saw that the door of this was shut.
"Lucky for me, that is! I was afraid they'd been looking here for that
Calvert girl, but they haven't, 'cause the lock ain't broke and the
key's in my pocket," said he, in a habit he had of talking to himself.
The noise beyond the door increased, and worried him, and he hurriedly
sought the key where he usually carried it. The door could be, and had
been, closed by a spring, but it needed that key to open it, as he had
boastingly remembered. Unhappy lad! In not one of his many and ragged
pockets could that key now be found! While in the great room beyond
the noise grew loud, and louder, with each passing second and surely
would soon be heard by all the house. Under the circumstances nobody
would hesitate to break that hateful lock to learn the racket's cause;
yet what would happen to him when this was discovered?
What, indeed! Yet, strangely enough, in all his trepidation there was
no thought of Dorothy.