Sent to Coventry
Though Honor had seen nobody, either in leaving or re-entering St.
Chad's, her morning adventure had not been so entirely unobserved as
she imagined. Vivian Holmes, who was a light sleeper, had awakened by
the unfortunate creak that had been made by the stairs. Always mindful
of her duties as monitress, she had jumped up and cautiously opened her
door, and was just in time to peep over the banisters and catch a
glimpse of Honor's back disappearing down the hall. She hurriedly
returned to put on her dressing-gown and bedroom slippers, then
followed as rapidly as she could. When she arrived downstairs, she
found the French window leading into the garden open; but Honor was
well round the corner, and running fast towards the cricket field.
Vivian was very much disturbed and distressed. She scarcely knew what
she ought to do. She ventured a little way into the grounds, but not a
trace of any truant was to be seen, so she thought it useless to search
far. One of the girls must have gone out; on that point she was
absolutely certain.
"I'm almost positive it was Honor Fitzgerald," she said to herself. "It
looked exactly like her, although I only saw her back for a moment."
Vivian was extremely conscientious, and felt personally responsible for
all under her charge at St. Chad's. She was apt to err on the side of
severity, but she honestly strove to do her duty, and to see that the
rules were duly kept. In this case, however, she was in a difficulty.
There was no rule to prevent a girl getting up early and going into the
garden, because it had never occurred to Miss Maitland that anyone
would wish to rise before the usual dressing-bell. Vivian knew that
Honor had been accustomed to much liberty in her Irish home, and that
she greatly chafed against the constraints of school life. What was
more probable than that, waking at dawn, she had longed for a breath of
the cool morning air, and was taking a stroll round the grounds?
"She may have a headache, or have slept badly," thought the monitress,
with an endeavour to be charitable. "These hot nights are very trying,
even with both one's bedroom windows wide open."
After all, it was not a very desperate offence, and there seemed no
need to report it to Miss Maitland. Vivian determined to listen for
Honor's footsteps and catch her on the stairs as she came back, or, at
any rate, to tax her with the affair later during the day, and point
out that in future such early rambles could not be allowed. In the
meantime, she went back to bed, and, in spite of her resolution to
intercept the returning wanderer, fell asleep again, and heard nothing
until the bell rang at a quarter to seven. In the busy whirl of
occupations that followed, there was no opportunity for any private
conversation with Honor, either before or after morning school; and
immediately dinner was over, all the Chaddites rushed off to watch a
croquet tournament between mistresses and monitresses, in which Vivian
herself was taking part. The day, therefore, passed exactly as usual,
and it was not until after tea, when the girls were just going to
preparation, that anything particular occurred.
At precisely half-past four o'clock Janie Henderson chanced to be
walking down the passage when she saw the door of Miss Maitland's study
suddenly open, and Vivian Holmes come out, looking so greatly agitated
and upset that Janie stopped in amazement.
"Why, what's the matter?" she exclaimed, for she was on sufficiently
friendly terms with the monitress to venture the enquiry.
"A great deal's the matter!" replied Vivian. "The worst thing that has
ever happened at St. Chad's, or in the whole College. I'd give all I
possess in the world to have nothing to do with it! I wish I weren't
monitress! Where's Honor Fitzgerald? I have to find her."
"She's practising," said Janie. "Shall I fetch her?"
"Look here!" returned Vivian. "Honor sleeps in your room; did you hear
her get up very early this morning and go out?"
Janie's tell-tale face betrayed her at once, though she would not have
attempted to deny the fact, in any case.
"Then I'm sorry, but you'll have to come to Miss Maitland too," said
Vivian. "It's a hateful business altogether, and after our splendid
record at St. Chad's, and the way we have all tried so hard to keep up
the standard, it hurts me more than I can tell you. I can't bear to get
Honor Fitzgerald into trouble! I simply couldn't have believed it of
her, though I'm afraid it's only too plain. She's been very naughty
sometimes, but she always seemed extremely straightforward, and I never
dreamt she could be capable of an affair like this. We shall have to
tell the exact truth, Janie; there's nothing else for it, and she must
clear herself as best she can. I'm afraid she's bound to be expelled.
It's a terrible disgrace to the house. Yes, go and fetch her now; the
sooner we get it over the better."
Janie walked down the passage in the utmost perplexity. She could not
account for Vivian's excited diatribe. What had Honor done to bring
disgrace upon St. Chad's? It was, of course, a very irregular thing to
run away at daybreak to meet her brother, but it was no worse than many
of her other scrapes, and did not seem an offence of sufficient gravity
to warrant such an extreme measure as expulsion from the school.
"Vivian is always hard on Honor," thought Janie. "Perhaps, after all,
she's making an unnecessary fuss, and it won't turn out to be so
dreadful as she says. Tell the truth! Of course I shall do so; Vivian
needn't remind me of that!"
Janie called her friend as quietly as possible from the piano. There
were several other girls in the room, and she did not wish them to know
anything about the affair. She only whispered therefore that Honor was
wanted in Miss Maitland's study at once, and did not add any
explanation, thinking it better not to mention Vivian's remarks, as she
had not understood them herself. Honor put her music away calmly
enough, and closed the piano. She knew that the summons must have
reference to her morning adventure, and anticipated a scolding; but it
was not the first she had received at St. Chad's, and she thought the
punishment would probably not exceed two hundred lines, or, perhaps, a
few pages of poetry to be learnt by heart.
The two girls hurried to the study, and, after knocking at the door,
entered in response to Miss Maitland's "Come in". The house-mistress
was seated at her writing-table, talking to Vivian, and turned round at
their approach. She looked worried, and had a sterner expression on her
face than they had ever seen there before.
"Honor Fitzgerald," she began, "I have sent for you because a very
unpleasant thing has occurred, which I hope you may be able to explain
to me. Last evening I was sitting writing at this table, and laid a
sovereign down just at this corner. I was called away, and left the
room for about ten minutes, or a quarter of an hour. When I returned, I
found to my astonishment that the money was gone. I searched
everywhere, and it had certainly not fallen on to the floor, nor was it
amongst my papers; so I can only conclude that someone must have come
in and taken it. I have made careful enquiries as to who was seen near
my study last night, and I hear that you climbed up the lime tree and
entered the room by the window shortly before nine o'clock. Is that
so?"
"Yes, Miss Maitland," replied Honor, without any hesitation. "I did
come in, but I only stayed a minute. I didn't go near the table, and I
didn't see the sovereign. If I had, I certainly shouldn't have touched
it."
Miss Maitland sighed.
"I was afraid you would say that, Honor! My dear child, it would be
better to tell me the truth, and confess at once. We have the clearest
proof that you, and only you, must have taken it, so it is no use
denying it any more."
"I should like to know what proof you mean, Miss Maitland?" said Honor,
in a strained voice.
"This letter," replied the mistress, producing Dermot's note. "It was
found on your bedroom floor this morning by the upper housemaid, who
brought it at once to me. It was given you, I find, by one of the under
servants, who much regrets now that she was persuaded to deliver it
secretly. It shows me, of course, your motive for taking the money."
"But I did not take it!" said Honor. "I said before that I didn't see
it, and I mean it."
For answer Miss Maitland turned to Janie.
"Janie Henderson, did Honor Fitzgerald leave her bedroom before five
o'clock this morning?"
Poor Janie whispered, "Yes", though the word almost choked her. That
she, of all people, must be a witness against her friend seemed too
cruel to be endured.
"Did Honor mention to you where she was going?"
"To the bathing cove."
"And her errand?"
"To meet her brother."
"Did she say that she meant to take him the money he needed?"
"I believe--yes--I remember she did," stammered Janie, almost
bewildered by this cross-questioning.
"Did she seem to you in any way conscious that she was doing wrong?"
Janie paused. She recalled only too plainly Honor's words: "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".
"I am waiting for your answer, Janie."
"I--I--think she seemed--sorry!"
"Did she mention to you where the money came from that she was taking
to her brother?"
"No, she said nothing about it."
"That will do for the present, Janie. Now, Vivian, I wish you to tell
me if you saw Honor Fitzgerald go along the hall early this morning?"
"It looked like Honor; I could be nearly certain," faltered Vivian,
rather hesitatingly.
"It was, so you needn't mind saying so!" interrupted Honor, who had
been listening attentively to this evidence. "I admit that I went out,
and ran down to the beach, and met Dermot. I never wanted to deny that.
But I certainly didn't even see the sovereign, much less take it."
"Let us have the truth, Honor," urged Miss Maitland. "I believe that
you yielded to a sudden temptation, and I am very sorry for you, since
I think you did it entirely for your brother's sake. If you will
confess now, I will promise to deal leniently with you."
"I can't confess what I haven't done," said Honor. She had turned very
white, but she did not flinch in the least.
"Nevertheless, you handed money to your brother on the shore?"
"Yes. I gave him a sovereign, but it was my own, and not yours."
"Honor! Honor! It is no use holding to such a palpably false story.
Where could you get a sovereign? You banked your pocket-money with me
at the beginning of the term, like the rest of the girls; it was only a
small amount, and you have spent it weekly."
"I had a sovereign, all the same," answered Honor. "It was a Queen
Victoria's Jubilee one, with a hole in it, which my uncle had given me.
I wore it as a locket, and kept it inside my green work-box. Last night
I took it off the chain. That was the piece of money I gave to Dermot."
"Did Honor ever show you this locket?" asked Miss Maitland, turning to
Janie.
The latter shook her head sadly. How she wished that she could have
replied in the affirmative!
"Then the only way in which your words can be proved, Honor, is to
trace your sovereign. Possibly your brother has not parted with it; or
we could find the man to whom he paid it. A Jubilee gold coin with a
hole in it is so uncommon that it could easily be identified. I am
personally acquainted with Dr. Winterton, so there will be no
difficulty in calling and asking his co-operation in the matter."
"Oh, don't ask Dr. Winterton--please don't!" implored Honor in much
agitation. "I'd rather leave things as they are than that!"
Terrible as was the indictment against her, she felt she would not
clear herself at her brother's expense. To allow Miss Maitland to call
at Orley Grange would expose Dermot's peccadillo to his headmaster, and
involve him in as serious a trouble as her own. If one or other must be
expelled, she would rather it were herself. She, of the two, had less
to fear from her father's anger; and, besides, there was a further
reason. Dermot was destined for the Navy, and was very shortly to take
the entrance examination for a cadetship; were he expelled from his
training school, he would be prohibited from competing, and by another
year he would be above the required age, and therefore no longer
eligible as a candidate. To put any hindrance in the way of his success
might ruin his whole future career. At all costs she must shield him,
come what might.
"Then you wish me not to pursue the enquiry, Honor?" continued Miss
Maitland. "Remember, it is the only way of clearing up this most
unfortunate affair."
"I can't help it! The sovereign mustn't be traced. It was my own, all
the same. Indeed I am telling the truth!" blurted out Honor, in great
distress.
"I am sorry I cannot believe you," returned Miss Maitland coldly. "I
thought better of you than this. You have given much trouble during
your term here, but I considered you at least to be strictly
honourable. I am most bitterly disappointed, and even now I will offer
you a last chance. I perhaps took you by surprise, and you were not
prepared to acknowledge what you had done. I will let you think the
matter over until to-morrow morning. If you come to me then, before
chapel, and confess the truth, I will forgive you; but if you still
persist in denying it, I shall be forced, though sorely against my
will, to take sterner measures. For the credit of our house and of our
school, we cannot allow such things to happen at St. Chad's."
"I have told you the truth now, Miss Maitland," answered Honor, with a
certain dignity in her manner. "I can only say the same to-morrow and
every day. I don't know who has taken your money. I may do naughty
things sometimes (indeed, I often do), but if you knew us Fitzgeralds
at home I think you would scarcely have accused me of this."
Honor walked into preparation outwardly calm, but inwardly she nursed a
burning volcano. She had great pride of race, and had often gloried in
the honourable name which she bore. That a Fitzgerald should be
suspected of so despicable a crime as stealing a sovereign seemed
little short of an affront to her whole family. It was a blot on their
good repute such as had never been placed there before. In days gone by
her ancestors had fought duels for far less insults; now, however, she
was obliged to submit to that horrible charge without making any
attempt to defend herself. The one means of proving her innocence was
closed to her. For Dermot's sake she must endure to be thought a thief!
Yes, a thief! She repeated the word under her breath, and the very
sound of it seemed to sting her. A Fitzgerald a thief! Oh, it was
impossible to bear the reproach! Surely even Dermot's future could not
compel her to such a sacrifice? Yes, it must and should. She knew it
was the dream of his life to become a Naval cadet, and that her father
and mother also cherished hopes for their youngest son's success. She
seemed, like the Argonauts of yore, "'twixt Scylla and Charybdis".
Which was the worse she could hardly decide, for Dermot to miss his
examination, or for herself to be sent home under the slur of such a
false accusation. Both seemed equally bad, but she reasoned that the
former would involve more disastrous consequences, and, therefore, was
the greater evil of the two.
She sat with her French grammar before her, mechanically looking at the
pages; but her thoughts were so busy that she did not take in a single
word of what she was reading, and would scarcely have known, if asked,
whether she was studying French or geometry. What must she do? Some
answer must be given to Miss Maitland to-morrow morning, and only one
was possible. At all costs she would persist in her determination not
to allow the affair to be mentioned to Dr. Winterton.
Janie, meanwhile, was in a hardly less disturbed state of mind. Never
for a moment was her faith in her friend shaken. The mass of evidence
was certainly strong, but it did not convince her. She knew Honor too
well for that, and would have taken her word against all the world.
Though she could not understand the particular reason for screening
Dermot at such an enormous cost, she appreciated the fact that Honor
was prepared to brave anything sooner than allow enquiries to be made
at Orley Grange.
"It's that that looks so bad," thought Janie. "Of course, Miss Maitland
thinks she made up the tale about her own sovereign, as she seems so
afraid of having to produce the proof. Oh, dear, what a terrible tangle
it all is! I wish that Honor had trusted me more at the very beginning,
when she first received the letter. She didn't even want to let me know
she was stealing out to meet her brother, only I happened to wake. I
was so taken by surprise I didn't say half what I should have liked! If
I could have persuaded her last night to go and tell Miss Maitland, she
couldn't have been suspected. It's too late now, unfortunately, and I
can't imagine how the affair will end."
Vain regrets were futile, so Janie with an effort concentrated her mind
upon her lessons, and the two hours of study dragged slowly to a close.
The evening was wet, and it was impossible to go into the garden,
therefore all filed into the recreation room, with the sole exception
of Honor, who lingered behind, putting away her books. Ill tidings fly
apace, and within two minutes of the close of preparation every girl in
the house had heard that Honor Fitzgerald had taken a sovereign from
Miss Maitland's room, and refused to "own up". The news made the
greatest sensation. Such a thing had not occurred before in the annals
of the College. It seemed a stain on St. Chad's that could never be
wiped out, and for which no amount of tennis shields, champion cups, or
other triumphs would ever compensate. How could the Chaddites hold up
their heads again? They, who had ranked in reputation next to the
School House, would now sink to a lower level than St. Bride's! A hush
fell over the whole community, as if some dreadful calamity had taken
place. The girls stood in little groups, whispering excitedly;
consternation and dismay were on all faces, for the honour of the house
appeared a personal question to each. Maisie Talbot suddenly voiced the
universal verdict.
"Anyone who's capable of bringing this disgrace upon us deserves to be
sent to Coventry, and cut dead!" she announced, loudly enough to be
heard by everybody.
There was a common murmur of assent, which stopped instantly, however,
for the object of their opprobrium walked into the room. As she entered
the door, Honor became aware of the hostile feeling against her. All
eyes were turned in her direction, but there was recognition or welcome
in none. It was a terrible thing to meet the cool stare of nearly forty
companions, and feel herself thus pilloried for general contempt, yet
not for a moment did she flinch. White to the lips, but with her head
held up in silent self-justification, she moved slowly down the room,
running the gauntlet of public disdain. Did I say all had abandoned
her? No, there was one who remained faithful, one who was, not merely a
fair-weather friend, but ready to believe in her and stand by her
through the severest ordeal. Janie, the shyest girl at St. Chad's, who
never as a rule raised her voice to venture an opinion or a criticism
on any subject, came boldly to the rescue now. Stepping across to
Honor, she took her firmly by the arm; then, almost as white and
haggard as her friend, she turned and faced the rest.
"I think you will be very sorry for this afterwards," she began, in a
voice that astonished even herself by its assurance. "It is not right
to convict anybody without a trial, and Honor has not yet been proved
guilty. I'm absolutely certain she is innocent, and that in time she'll
be able to establish her good name. We've known her for a whole term
now at St. Chad's, and she has gained a reputation for being perfectly
truthful and 'square'. The charge against her is so entirely opposite
to her character that I wonder anyone can credit it."
"Let her clear herself, then!" replied Maisie Talbot. "It ought to be
easy enough, if she is really innocent. In the meantime, the honour of
St. Chad's is being trailed through the dust!"
Excited comments and indignant accord greeted these words. All
evidently were in agreement with Maisie, and determined to blackball
Honor as a vindication of their zeal for the credit of their house. The
supper-bell fortunately put an end to the unpleasant scene, and nobody
was surprised when Honor, instead of walking into the dining-hall with
the others, marched straight upstairs to her cubicle. Miss Maitland
noticed her empty place at table, but made no remark. Perhaps, like the
girls, she felt her absence to be a relief.
When Janie went to No. 8 at nine o'clock she found her friend already
in bed, and feigning sleep with such persistence that she evidently did
not wish to be disturbed. Always tactful and thoughtful, Janie drew the
curtain again without attempting any conversation. She knew that
Honor's heart must be too full for speech, and that the truest kindness
was to leave her alone.