A Stolen Meeting
Honor had hurried with the other girls from the garden, laughing and
joking as she went, and was almost in the act of running into the house
when quite unexpectedly something happened, something utterly amazing
and out of the common, and which was to be fraught with entirely
unlooked-for consequences. As she put her foot on the first of the
steps that led to the side door a figure moved silently from under the
shade of a lilac bush close by, and, tapping her upon the arm, drew her
aside with a whispered "Sh-sh!"
Honor suppressed an exclamation of astonishment, and, peering through
the dusk to see who thus accosted her, recognized Annie, an
under-housemaid who had only lately come to St. Chad's.
"I've been waiting to catch you alone, miss," whispered the girl, "and
a difficult matter it's been too. I didn't dare speak to you before the
other young ladies. I'm to give you this letter, safe into your own
hand. I'd never have done it if I hadn't promised so faithful--it's
almost as much as my place is worth!"
"What is it? Who sent it?" asked Honor, taking the note.
"It's from one of the young gentlemen at Orley Grange, and I was to be
sure you got it secretly. Put it in your pocket, miss, and run indoors!
I must be off to the kitchen," and without another word Annie turned
and fled, as if relieved to have accomplished her errand. Full of
curiosity, Honor entered the house. The clock had not yet struck nine,
so, seeing that the light was on in the dressing-room, she peeped
inside. Fortunately, nobody was there, and she was able to go in and
read her letter free from all observation. Its contents appeared to
occasion her no little perplexity and dismay, for she knitted her brows
and shook her head as she replaced the envelope in her pocket. She
went, however, to the recreation room, where the rest of the girls were
assembled waiting for the bell that always rang to proclaim bedtime;
but she was in such an absent and abstracted frame of mind that several
of her friends noticed and remarked upon it.
"What's wrong with Paddy?" asked Lettice. "She's shut up suddenly, like
an oyster. I can't get a word out of her."
"I can't imagine," said Pauline. "I spoke to her just now, and she
didn't seem to hear me."
"It's most unlike her," commented Ruth. "She generally goes to bed with
so many jokes and parting shots."
To-night Honor walked upstairs with unwonted staidness and gravity. She
went quietly into her cubicle and drew the curtain, and answered so
briefly when her room-mate spoke to her that the latter was almost
offended.
"Perhaps she's only tired though," thought Janie charitably. "This hot
weather is enough to wear anybody out. I don't always care to talk
myself."
Janie was certainly not a girl to push conversation where it was
evidently not wanted, so the pair undressed in absolute silence. From
Honor's cubicle came sounds that suggested that its occupant was
fumbling with a key and unlocking a box, but as she did not volunteer
any explanation, her room-mate made no comments. When Vivian arrived at
half-past nine to switch out the light, both girls were in bed.
Next morning Janie woke suddenly just as the grey dawn was growing
strong enough to show faintly the various objects that were in the
room. Some unusual noise had disturbed her, and she lay listening
intently. She could hear stealthy movements in the next cubicle, and
wondering what her friend was doing, she popped out of bed and peeped
round the curtain. There was Honor, fully dressed, and in the act of
putting on her hat.
"What's the matter?" asked Janie anxiously. "Honor! where are you
going?"
"I hoped I shouldn't waken you," replied Honor in a whisper. "Hush!
Don't talk loud, because with all the windows so wide open the girls in
No. 6 can hear quite plainly when we speak in this room."
"All right. But do tell me why you're getting up at this extraordinary
hour?" said Janie, in a subdued tone.
"I'm in a dreadful fix! I must meet Dermot down on the beach soon after
five o'clock."
"Meet Dermot! Your brother? But why?"
"He's in such a scrape, and I have to get him out of it."
"How do you know?"
"One of the servants slipped this note into my hand last night, as we
came in from the garden. You can read it if you like."
Janie took the letter, which was written in a scrawling, boyish hand on
a piece of paper apparently torn out of an exercise-book. It ran thus:--
"ORLEY GRANGE,
"_Tuesday_.
"DEAR HONOR,
"I am in the most awful row, and if I can't get a sovereign by
to-morrow morning I shall be done for. I owe it to Blake. I haven't
time to tell you the whole affair, but I have been an absolute
idiot. Blake wants the money, and he's a mean sneak. He says if I
don't pay up he'll let on about something that I'm trying to keep
dark. He really means it, too, and if it gets to the Head's ears I
shall be expelled. Can you possibly lend me anything? I'd have
written to the Mater, but I hear she has one of her bad attacks, so
it wouldn't do to upset her. As for the governor, he'd be furious
if he knew. He told me last term that if I ran into debt I needn't
trust to him to get me out of it, for he wouldn't stir a finger to
help me, and would give me a thrashing for my pains. He must not
know on any account. It is of no use writing to Brian or the
others, because it is so near the end of the term they're sure to
have no money left. Have you spent all yours? I am going to get up
before five o'clock to-morrow and climb out through the dormitory
window, and go along the shore to the beach below Chessington, just
by your bathing-place. Can you manage to do the same, and bring me
any cash you can gather? Perhaps Blake might take something on
account, if you haven't the whole. The janitor has promised to go
with this letter to St. Chad's; he says he thinks he can get it
smuggled in through his niece, who is a servant there. But he won't
have time to wait for an answer, so the only way to give me the
money is to meet me on the shore. I am awfully sorry to have to ask
you to do this, but it is the one chance I have left, and if you
knew what a hole I am in I think you would be sorry for me. I must
stop now. The bell is ringing.
"Your loving brother,
"DERMOT."
"Oh, Honor! Are you going?"
"Of course I am. I wouldn't fail Dermot at such a pinch. Luckily I have
the money too. I shall let myself out by the dressing-room window, and
climb over the fence at the end of the cricket field. It won't take
very long. I shall be back before any of the servants are stirring."
"But it's such a frightfully risky thing! Suppose you were caught,
you'd certainly get into a scrape."
"I shall have to take the risk. Dermot will get into a far worse scrape
if I don't go. I couldn't bear to think of him waiting for me on the
shore, and finding I never came. Hush, Janie! Please don't ask me any
more. I've made up my mind."
Honor had put on her tennis shoes, and now stole very softly out of the
room and down the passage. Janie went to bed again, though certainly
not to sleep. She heard the stairs creak, and wondered if anyone else
were awake in the house, and would notice the compromising sound.
"Oh, dear! What is to be done?" she thought anxiously. "It's fearfully
naughty of Honor, yet I sympathize with her wanting to help Dermot. I
believe I should have gone myself, if I'd had a brother of my own in
trouble. Major Fitzgerald must be a very stern man; they both seem too
frightened of him to tell anything, and their poor mother is so ill she
mustn't be disturbed. I'm sorry for Honor. I hope she won't be long
away; I shall be wretched till she comes back. Somebody might see her
from a window, even if no one hears her in the passage, and then--I
don't like to think of the consequences!"
Honor was indeed determined to do her utmost for Dermot. Of all her
five brothers, he was the dearest. Rather younger than herself, he had
been her inseparable companion in nursery days, when the pair had
shared everything, from sweets to scoldings, with strictest
impartiality. Honor had never forgotten the terrible parting when her
father had decreed that Dermot was old enough to go to school--how she
had cried herself sick, and how absolutely lonely and deserted the
Castle had seemed when she was obliged to wander about and amuse
herself alone. She had grown accustomed in time to solitary rambles,
but she had always looked forward to her brother's return with keenest
anticipation, and regretted bitterly that holidays were so short.
That Dermot was in trouble and wanted her was now the one thought
uppermost in her mind, and rules were entirely ignored in her desire to
see him and speak with him. Though she was determined to carry out her
project she knew, however, that it was a most unorthodox and
unwarrantable proceeding to leave St. Chad's at such an hour, and on
such an errand, and she had no desire to be caught and prevented from
going.
She stole along the landing, therefore, as softly as possible, pausing
every now and then to listen if all were quiet. The whole house seemed
to be sound asleep, and not a door opened as she passed. Once down the
stairs and in the hall she felt safer, and hurrying quickly into the
dressing-room, she easily unbolted a French window that led into the
garden.
Was that a step on the stairs? Honor was not sure. She dared not go
back to ascertain, but, rushing outside, fled as fast as she could
round the corner in the direction of the cricket pitch.
"Whoever it was will find the bird flown," she said to herself.
"Perhaps I was mistaken, though, and only imagined I heard somebody."
A glance at the little watch pinned to her blouse told her that she had
not much time to lose. She did not wish to keep Dermot waiting, for she
knew he would be in a fever of anxiety until she made her appearance.
"I hope he has managed to get off safely," she thought. "It must be
more difficult to leave a large dormitory than a small bedroom; still,
I don't suppose any of the other boys would try to stop him, or would
tell afterwards."
She had now reached the playing-fields, and she climbed over the fence
that separated them from a neighbouring pasture. A few hundred yards,
and a stile brought her to a path along the cliffs that led to the
bathing-place.
Dermot was first at the tryst. Even before Honor began to descend the
flight of steps she caught sight of his familiar figure on the beach
below. He was pacing impatiently up and down, glancing first one way
and then another, until at length he happened to look upwards in the
right direction, and saw her. He waved his hat, and came eagerly along
the shingle to meet her.
"All right, Dermot! I've brought you the sovereign!" she cried, anxious
to relieve his mind at once.
"Really? Oh, I say, Sis, it is good of you!"
There was no long line of grinning schoolboys to jeer, nor sedate
Chaddites to disapprove, so Honor hugged her brother this time to her
heart's content. It seemed so delightful to see him again that she
almost forgot for the moment upon what errand she had come, only
realizing that he was there, and that she had him all to herself. The
remembrance of his trouble, however, quickly returned to her.
"Come and tell me everything," she said, drawing him towards the
bathing-hut. "We can sit on these steps and talk."
"I was rather doubtful whether my letter had reached you," began
Dermot; "I'd to settle with the janitor, and at first he said that the
College was so strictly kept, it would be quite impossible. Afterwards
he gave way and said he'd try, but I couldn't see him again to ask if
he'd really managed the affair; I had just to come to the cove on
chance. I can tell you I was glad when I saw you coming down the rocks.
Oh, Honor, I've got myself into the most awful mess!"
"How is it? I don't understand. Who is this Blake?"
"He has a place in Dunscar, a kind of second-rate veterinary surgeon's
business; and he sells dogs, and rats, and rabbits, and even does a
little mole-catching, I believe--rather a low-class sporting chap, in
fact. Roper took me to the kennels one day, to see a spaniel. Some of
our fellows keep dogs there, and Blake looks after them. Well, I liked
the spaniel; it was a perfect beauty! Roper said Blake only wanted ten
shillings for it, and it was an absolute bargain. He advised me to buy
it and keep it at the kennels. I'd run through all my cash by then, but
Blake said I could go on tick if I cared; and I thought it was a pity
to miss the chance, because if I didn't have the dog, Jarrow was going
to take him."
"I suppose you mayn't keep dogs at school?" said Honor.
"Rather not! You'd have liked this one, Honor! His name was Terry, and
he was as jolly as poor old Doss used to be. He got to know me
directly, and he'd come jumping and trying to lick my face. He was
clever, too; he could do all kinds of tricks--trust for a biscuit, and
lie down and die, and give three barks for the King. I grew so fond of
him, and I meant to take him home with me in the holidays. Well, I
hadn't been able to go to the kennels for several days, and when at
last I managed to run down there Blake told me that Terry was dead and
buried. He looked so shifty when he said it that I had my suspicions at
once. I don't believe Terry died at all; I'm sure Blake sold him to
somebody else, who has taken him away."
"Oh, what a shame!" exclaimed Honor.
"It's just like the fellow, though--he's an atrocious cad! Of course, I
couldn't prove anything. I could only say that Terry had looked all
right when last I saw him, and it seemed a queer thing for him to pop
off so suddenly; but then Blake rounded on me with all sorts of medical
terms, and said he'd made a post-mortem examination, and could give me
a written certificate. As if that would have been of any use! Well, the
long and short of it was, we had a quarrel, and Blake turned nasty. He
said he wanted the money I owed him for the dog, and he gave me an
immense bill for its keep. It was quite ridiculous; he made out it had
eaten pounds and pounds of Spratt's biscuits every week, and that he'd
bought fresh meat for it too. I'm sure he hadn't! I disputed every
item; but he said if I wasn't satisfied I could refer the matter to the
Head. The whole affair came to exactly a sovereign. I couldn't possibly
pay it--I hadn't more than a few shillings left in the world. I tried
to get him to give me tick for a little longer, but he was as surly as
a bear, and threatened that if I didn't turn up with the money by
Wednesday, he'd send in the bill to the Head."
"I suppose that would mean a big row?"
"Simply terrific! You see, the kennels are out of bounds; besides
which, we've all been warned we're to have nothing to do with Blake.
The Head said he was a rascal, and any fellow who went to his place
would do so at the risk of expulsion. I was an idiot to let myself get
mixed up in such a business, but Roper, and Graveson, and several
others had dogs, and I was so taken with that black spaniel! I thought
and schemed how I could find a way out of it. I didn't dare to write
home to the Mater: if she's well enough to read her own letters, she'd
be in quite a nervous state of mind about it; and if she's ill, then
the governor will open them all for her, and you know what he'd say!"
"It would be as bad as when I bought Firefly," replied Honor. "He was
most fearfully angry that time."
"And he'd be harder on me than on you, because you're a girl. He
couldn't thrash you, however much he might scold you. I've had a little
experience of his hunting-crop before, and it's not exactly pleasant."
"Yes, I remember--when you took the cartridges out of his gun
cupboard."
"Well, I say, Honor, I mustn't stay here too long; I've got to be back
before anyone's about the place, you know."
"Did you get off all right?"
"Oh, yes! I dropped out of the dormitory window on to a piece of roof
near, and let myself down by the spout. It was quite simple."
"How about climbing up again?"
"Easy as A B C."
"Well, here's the pound, at any rate."
"Thanks immensely! How is it you're so flush of cash?"
"I'm not. I've hardly any of my pocket-money left. This is my Jubilee
sovereign."
"Not the one Uncle Murtagh gave you?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Honor, I am sorry! I scarcely like to take it."
"Don't be absurd! You must!"
"But you had the thing as a locket, and vowed you'd never part with
it."
"It can't be helped. Vows are sometimes better broken. Uncle Murtagh
told me to keep it until I happened to want it very badly, and I'm sure
we need it to-day."
"Well, I do, at any rate, though it seems rather a swindle to
commandeer your particular, pet treasure. I'll have to borrow it now,
I'm afraid; but I'll get you another some time, I promise you
faithfully."
"I don't care in the least, so long as you get out of this scrape,"
protested Honor.
The sun was already so high that its bright rays, reflected in a little
pool near their feet, warned the pair that it was no longer safe to
delay their parting.
"It's a quarter to six!" exclaimed Dermot, looking at his watch. "I
must absolutely fly. I'll run all the way to Dunscar. I hope you'll get
back quite safely into the College. You were a perfect trump to come.
Good-bye; I'm off!"
Honor stood watching him until he had disappeared round the rocks at
the end of the cove, then half-regretfully she climbed up the steps
again on to the headland. She returned to St. Chad's the same way as
she had come, walking across the pasture and climbing the fence of the
cricket ground. She found the French window in the dressing-room still
ajar, and bolted it on the inside before she went upstairs. All was
still quite quiet in the hall and on the landing, and she was able to
regain her room without any alarms.
Janie looked up nervously as the door opened. She had been lying awake,
suffering far more anxiety on her friend's behalf than Honor had
experienced for herself, and she gave a sigh of intense relief on
hearing that the interview was successfully accomplished.
"I've been thinking it over," she said, "and I really believe it would
have been much the best to go straight to Miss Maitland and tell her
about it. She's very kind and sympathetic; perhaps she would have let
you meet Dermot, and then you could have gone openly, and without all
this dreadful stealing up and down stairs."
"I daren't risk it," replied Honor. "Suppose she had said 'No'? I
should have been far worse off than if I hadn't asked. Besides which,
she might have insisted upon telling Dr. Winterton. That's quite within
the bounds of possibility; and then I should have given poor old Dermot
away."
"On the whole, wouldn't it be more satisfactory for Dr. Winterton to
know?"
"Janie! How can you suggest such a thing?"
"Well, if, as you say, this man Blake is a scamp, and has really sold
the dog, it ought to be enquired into. If it were all exposed, perhaps
he would be obliged to leave Dunscar and go to some other place, and
that would be much better for the boys at the Grange."
"But in the meantime Dermot would be the scapegoat."
"I don't believe Dr. Winterton would expel him, if he went and owned up
himself. He'd be rather angry, I dare say, but then the thing would be
over, and there'd be no more fear of being found out. If Blake is such
a dishonest man, he may send in the same bill again."
"Dermot said he should make him give a receipt for the money. No,
Janie! You don't quite grasp the case. You've no brothers of your own,
so how can you understand boys?"
"Then couldn't you have asked your father?" pleaded Janie desperately.
"It seems--please don't be offended!--not quite straight to be
suppressing the whole affair like this."
"You don't know my father, or you wouldn't suggest it. He can be very
stern, particularly with the boys. They always say he's more of a
martinet at home than ever he was in the Army. Yes, I know you tell
your mother everything, but mothers are much more lenient than fathers.
I'd tell mine, if she weren't ill. It's no use arguing, Janie! I'm
sorry if it isn't all on the square, but Dermot was in a very tight
place, and I felt bound to help him, even if I had to do something
rather wrong."