THE SCHOLARSHIP: TROUBLE IS BREWING.
Over some of the girls of the Great Shirley School there passed that
morning a curious wave of excitement. Those girls who had joined
Kathleen's society were almost now more or less in a state of tension.
Once a week they were to meet in the quarry; once a week, whatever the
weather, in the dead of night, they were to meet in this sequestered
spot. They knew well that if they were discovered they would run a very
great chance of being expelled from the school; for although they were
day scholars, yet integrity of conduct was essential to their
maintaining their place in that great school which gave them so liberal
an education, in some cases without any fees, in all other cases with
very small ones. One of the great ideas of the school was to encourage
brave actions, unselfish deeds, nobility of mind. Those girls who
possessed any talent or any specially strong characteristic had every
chance offered to them in the Great Shirley School; their futures were
more or less assured, for the governors of the school had powers to give
grants to the clever girls, to award scholarships for which all might
compete, and to encourage industry, honesty, and charitable ideas as far
as possible.
Kathleen, when she entered the school and started her society, had not
the slightest idea that, while she was trying to help the foundationers,
she was really leading them into very grave mischief. But several of the
foundationers themselves knew this; nevertheless the fun of the whole
thing, the particular fascination which Kathleen herself exercised over
her followers, kept them her undeniable slaves, and not for the world
would any of them have left her now that they had sworn fealty to her
cause. So Kathleen had thought when she left the house that morning; but
as she entered the school she knew that one girl, and that the girl whom
she most cared for, had decided to choose the thorny path which led far
from Kathleen and her company.
"In addition to everything else, she is quite mean," thought the little
girl, and during that morning's lessons she occupied herself far more in
flashing angry glances in the direction of Ruth one minute, and at
Cassandra the next, than in attending to what she was about. Kathleen
had been given much by Nature. Her father was a very rich man; she had
been brought up with great freedom, but also with certain bold liberal
ideas as regards the best in life and conduct. She was a very beautiful
girl, and she was warm-hearted and amiable. As for her talents, she had
a certain charm which does more for a woman than any amount of ordinary
ability; and she had a passionate and great love for music. Kathleen's
musical genius was already spoken of with much approbation by the rest
of the school. The girls used to ask her to improvise. Kathleen could
improvise in almost any style, in almost any fashion. She could make the
piano sob with her heart-rendering notes; and again she could bring
forth music clear and fairy-like. Again she would lead the tender and
solemn strains of the march; and again she would dance over the keys so
lightly, so ravishingly, that the girls kept time with their feet to her
notes. The music mistress was anxious that Kathleen should try for a
musical scholarship, and she had some ideas of doing so herself. But
to-day she felt cross, and even her music was at fault.
"I can't do it," she said, looking Miss Spicer full in the face. "It
means such drudgery, and I don't believe I'd play a bit better if I
did."
"That is certainly not the case, Kathleen," said Miss Spicer. "Knowledge
must be of assistance. You have great talent; if you add to that real
musical knowledge you can do almost anything."
"But I don't think I much care to. I can play on the piano to imitate
any birds that ever sung at home, and father loves that. I can play all
the dead-marches to make mother cry, and I can play--oh, such dance
music for Aunt Katie O'Flynn! It doesn't matter that I should know more,
does it?"
"I can't agree with you. It would be a very great pleasure to me if I
saw you presented with a musical scholarship."
"Would it?" said Kathleen, glancing at the thin and careworn face of the
music teacher.
"You don't know what it would mean to me," answered Miss Spicer. "It is
seldom that one has the pleasure of teaching real talent, and I can't
say how refreshing it is to me to hear you play as you do. But I want
you to improve; I want you to be a credit to me."
"I'd like to please you, of course," said Kathleen. She spoke gently,
and then she added: "But there is only one piano at the Tennants', and
that is in the drawing-room, and Alice or the boys or Mrs. Tennant are
always there. I have not many opportunities to practice."
"I live in the same terrace," said Miss Spicer eagerly, "and my piano is
hardly ever used. If you only would come and make use of it. There is a
fire in my sitting-room, and you could come at any hour whenever you
have a fancy. Will you? It would be a great pleasure to me."
"You are very kind. Yes, I will come."
Kathleen bent towards the music mistress and, somewhat to that lady's
astonishment, printed a kiss on her forehead. The kiss went right down
into Miss Spicer's somewhat frozen heart.
Immediately after school that day Cassandra held out her hand to Ruth.
Ruth went up to her gravely.
"Well, Ruth," she said, "have you decided? I hope you have. You told me
you would let me know to-day."
"I have, Cassandra," said Ruth.
Kathleen, who was standing not far away, suddenly darted forward and
stood within a foot of the two girls.
"Have you really decided, Ruth?" she said. Her tone was imperious. Ruth
felt her gentle heart beat high. She turned and looked with dignity
first at Kathleen and then at Cassandra.
"I will join you, Cassandra," she said.--"Kathleen, I told you this
morning what my decision was."
"And I hate you!" said Kathleen. She tossed her head and walked away.
Cassandra waited until she was out of hearing.
"You look very pale, dear Ruth," she said. "Come home with me, won't
you?"
Ruth did not speak. Cassandra laid her hand on her arm.
"Why, you are trembling," she said. "What has that horrid girl done to
you?"
"Nothing--nothing."
"But she has."
"Please, Cassie, she is not horrid."
"Oh, well, we won't discuss her. She is not my sort. Won't you come and
have lunch with me, and we can arrange everything? You are going to take
advantage of mother's offer?"
"I can't help myself. It is much too good to be refused. It means--I
can't tell you what it means to me, Cassie. If I can only get a
scholarship I shall be able to help grandfather. And yet--I must tell
you the truth--I was very nearly declining it."
"I don't think I should ever have spoken to you again if you had."
"Even so, I was very nearly declining it; for you know I could not have
accepted your offer and been friends with Kathleen O'Hara in the way she
wants me to be. Now I am very fond of Kathleen, and if I could please
myself I would retain her friendship. But you know, grandfather has lost
some more money. He heard about it two nights ago, and that made me make
up my mind. Of course I love you, Cassie. I have loved you ever since I
came to the school. You have been so very, very kind to me. But had I
the choice I would have stayed with Kathleen."
"Well, it is all a mystery to me," said Cassandra. "I don't like
Kathleen; I will frankly say so. I don't think she has a good influence
in the school. That sort of very rich popular girl always makes
mischief. It is far better for the school not to have anybody like her
in its midst. She has the power of attracting people, but she has also
the power of making enemies. It is my opinion she will get into very
serious trouble before she leaves Great Shirley School. I shall be sorry
for her, of course."
"But what do you mean? What sort of trouble can she get into?"
"There are whispers about her that I don't quite understand. But if it
were known that she does lead other girls astray, she would be had up
before the governors, and then she would not find herself in a very
pleasant position."
Ruth did not say anything. Her face turned white. Cassandra glanced at
her, uttered a quick sigh, and resumed:
"Whether you like it or not, I am glad you are out of the whole thing. I
should hate you to get into trouble. You are so clever, and so different
from the others, that you are certain to succeed. And now let us hurry
home. I must tell you all about our scheme. You must come to me every
day; Miss Renshaw will be with us each evening from six to seven. Oh!
you don't know how happy you are making me."
Ruth smiled and tried to look cheerful.
Mrs. Weldon came out to meet the two girls as they entered the pretty
little cottage. Her face was smiling.
"Ah, Cassandra!" she said, "now you will be happy."
"Yes; Ruth has accepted our offer."
"Indeed I have, Mrs. Weldon," said Ruth; "and I scarcely know how to
thank you."
"Come in, dear, and have some dinner.--Cassandra, I have just heard
from Miss Renshaw, and she is coming this afternoon.--You can either
stay, Ruth, when dinner is over, or come back again."
"I will come back," said Ruth. "Granny is not very well, and I ought not
to have left her, even to have dinner here; but I couldn't help myself."
Cassandra brought her friend into the house. They had a pleasant meal
together, and Ruth tried to forget that she had absolutely quarrelled
with Kathleen, and that Kathleen's heart was half-broken on her account.
But Kathleen herself was determined not to give way to any real feelings
of misery on account of Ruth's desertion.
"I have no time to think about it," she said to herself.
When she returned to the house she found a telegram waiting for her. She
tore it open. It was from Aunt Katie O'Flynn:
"I have arrived. Come and have dinner with me to-night at the Métropole,
and bring any friend you like."
"What a lark!" thought Kathleen. "And what a chance for Ruth if only she
had been different! Oh, dear! I suppose I must ask Alice to come with
me."
"Whom is your telegram from, dear?" asked Mrs. Tennant, coming up to her
at that moment.
Alice was standing in the dining-room devouring a book of Greek history.
She held it close to her eyes, which were rather short-sighted.
"It's from Aunt Katie O'Flynn. She has come, the darling!" said
Kathleen. "She wants me to go to London to dine with her to-night. Of
course I'll go.--- You will come with me, won't you, Alice? She says I
am to bring some one."
"No, I can't come," said Alice; "and for that matter no more can you.
It takes quite thirty-five minutes to get to Charing Cross, and then you
have to get to the Métropole. We girls are not allowed to go to London
by ourselves."
"As if that mattered."
"It matters to me, if it does not to you. Anyhow, here is a note for
you. It is from Miss Ravenscroft, our head-mistress. I rather fancy that
will decide matters."
Kathleen tore open the note which Alice had handed to her. She read the
following words:
"DEAR MISS O'HARA,--I should be glad if you would come round
to see me at six o'clock this evening. I have something of
importance to say to you."
"What can she mean?" said Kathleen. "I scarcely know Miss Ravenscroft. I
just spoke to her the first day I went to the school."
"She has asked me too. What can it be about?" said Alice.
"Then you can take a message from me; I am not going," said Kathleen.
"What?" cried Alice. "I don't think even you will dare to defy the
head-mistress. Why, my dear Kathleen, you will never get over it. This
is madness.--Mother, do speak to her."
"What is it, dear?" said Mrs. Tennant, coming forward.
Alice explained.
"And Kathleen says she won't go?"
"Of course I won't go, dear Mrs. Tennant. On the contrary, you and I
will go together to see Aunt Katie O'Flynn. She is my aunt, and I
wouldn't slight her for all the world. She'd never forgive me.--You can
tell Miss Ravenscroft, Alice, that my aunt has come to see me, and that
I have been obliged to go to town. You can manage it quite easily."
Kathleen did not wait for any further discussion, but ran out of the
room.
"I do wish, mother, you'd try and persuade her," said Alice. "I am sure,
whatever her father may be, he can't want her to come to school here to
get into endless scrapes. There is some mystery afoot, and Miss
Ravenscroft has got wind of it. I know she has, because I have heard it
from one or two of the girls."
"But what mystery? What can you mean?" said Mrs. Tennant.
"I don't know myself," said Alice, "but it has something to do with
Kathleen and a curious influence she has over the foundation girls. I
know Kathleen isn't popular with the mistresses."
"That puzzles me," said Mrs. Tennant, "for I never met a more charming
girl."
"I know you think so; but, you see, mere charm of manner doesn't go down
in a great school like ours. Of course I am sorry for her, and I quite
understand that she doesn't want to disappoint her aunt, but she ought
to come with me; she ought, mother. I haven't the slightest influence
over her, but you have. I don't think she would willingly do anything to
annoy you."
"Well, I will see what I can do. She is a wayward child. I am sorry that
Miss Ravenscroft expects her to go to see her to-day, as she is so
devoted to her aunt and would enjoy seeing her."
Mrs. Tennant left the room, and Alice went steadily on with her
preparations. She wondered why her mother did not come back. Presently
she looked at the clock. It wanted a quarter to six.
"Dear me! I must go upstairs now and fetch Kathleen. She will have to
tidy herself, and I must try to persuade her not to put on anything
_outre_," thought Alice.
She rushed upstairs. She opened the bedroom door. The bedroom was empty.
"Where can she be?" thought Alice.
There were signs of Kathleen's late presence in the shape of a tie flung
on the bed, a hat tossed by its side, an open drawer revealing brushes
and combs, laces and colored ties, and no end of gloves, handkerchiefs,
&c.; but not the girl herself.
"She really is a great trial," thought Alice. "I suppose she has gone
with mother to town. I wonder mother yields to her. Kathleen will get
into a serious scrape at the school, that's certain."
Alice went to her own part of the room, which was full of order and
method. She opened a drawer, substituted a clean collar for the one she
had been wearing during the day, brushed out her satin-brown hair
neatly, put on her sailor-hat and a small black coat, snatched up a pair
of gloves, and ran downstairs. On the way she met Mrs. Tennant.
"Oh, mother," cried the girl, "where is Kathleen? I didn't find her in
her room, and I wondered what had become of her."
"Where is she?" said Mrs. Tennant. "I thought she was going with you. I
had a long talk with her. She did not say much, but she seemed quite
gentle and not at all cross. I kissed her and said that I would go with
her to London to see her aunt to-morrow, or that she might ask Miss
O'Flynn here."
"I am sorry you did that, mother."
"Well, darling, it seemed the only thing to do; and the child took it
very well. Isn't she going with you? She said she wouldn't be at all
long getting ready."
"She is not in her room, mother. I can't imagine what has happened to
her."
Mrs. Tennant ran upstairs in some alarm. Kathleen had certainly flown.
The disordered state of the room gave evidence of this; and then on a
nearer view Mrs. Tennant found a tiny piece of paper pinned in
conventional fashion to the pin-cushion. She took it up and read:
"Gone to London to Aunt Katie O'Flynn."
"Well, she is a naughty girl. How troublesome! I must follow her, of
course," said Mrs. Tennant. "Really this is provoking."
"Oh, mother, it isn't worth while fretting about her. She is quite
hopeless," said Alice. "But there! I must make the best of it to Miss
Ravenscroft, only I am sure she will be very angry with Kathleen."
Alice flew to the school. She was met by a teacher, who asked her where
she was going.
"To see Miss Ravenscroft," replied Alice. "I had a note asking me to
call at six o'clock. Do you know anything about it, Miss Purcell?"
"Perhaps she wants to question you about Miss O'Hara. There is some
commotion in the school in connection with her. She seems to be
displeasing some of those in authority."
"Kathleen had a note too, asking her to call."
"Then it must be about her. But where is she? Isn't she going with
you?"
Alice threw up her hands.
"Don't ask me," she said; "perhaps the less I say the better. I am late
as it is. I won't keep you now, Miss Purcell."
Alice ran the rest of the way. She entered the great school, and knocked
at the front entrance. This door was never opened except to the
head-mistress and her visitors. After a time an elderly servant answered
her summons.
"I am Alice Tennant," said the young girl, "and I have come at Miss
Ravenscroft's request to see her."
"Oh yes, miss, certainly. She said she was expecting two young ladies."
"Well, I am one of them. Can you let her know?"
"Step in here, miss."
Alice was shown into a small waiting-room. A moment later the servant
returned.
"Will you follow me, miss?" she said.
They went down a passage and entered a brightly and cheerfully furnished
sitting-room. There was a fire in the grate, and electric light made all
things as bright as day. A tall lady with jet-black hair combed back
from a massive forehead, and beautifully dressed in long, clinging
garments of deep purple, stood on the hearth. Round her neck was a
collar of old Mechlin lace; she wore cuffs of the same with ruffles at
the wrist. Her hands were small and white. She had one massive diamond
ring on the third finger. This lady was the great Miss Ravenscroft, the
head of the school, one of the most persuasive, most fascinating, and
most influential teachers in the whole realm of girlhood. Her opinion
was asked by anxious mothers and fathers and guardians. The girls whom
she took into her own house and helped with her own counsel were thought
the luckiest in England. Even Alice, who was reckoned a good girl as
good girls go, had never before come in personal contact with Miss
Ravenscroft. The head-mistress superintended the management of every
girl in the school, but she did not show herself except when she read
prayers in her deep musical voice morning after morning, or when
something very special occurred. Miss Ravenscroft did not smile when
Alice appeared, nor did she hold out her hand. She bowed very slightly
and then dropped into a chair, and pointed to another for the girl to
take.
"You are Alice Tennant?"
"Yes, madam."
"You are in the upper fifth?"
"Yes," said Alice again.
"I have had very good reports of you from Miss Purcell and Miss Dove and
others; you will probably be in the sixth next year."
"I hope so; it will be a very great delight to me."
Alice trembled and colored, looked down, and then looked up again. Miss
Ravenscroft was regarding her with kindly eyes. Hers was a sort of
veiled face; she seldom gave way to her feelings. Part of her power lay
in her potential attitudes, in the possibilities which she seldom,
except on very rare occasions, exhibited to their fullest extent. Alice
felt that she had only approached the extreme edge of Miss Ravenscroft's
nature. Miss Ravenscroft was silent for a minute; then she said gently:
"And your friend, Kathleen O'Hara? I wrote to her also. Why isn't she
here?"
"I am very sorry indeed," said Alice; "it isn't my fault."
"We won't talk of faults, if you please, Alice Tennant. I asked you why
your friend isn't here."
"I must explain. She isn't my friend. She lives with mother--I mean she
boards with mother."
"Why isn't she here?"
"She got your letter. I suppose she didn't understand; she is so new to
schools. She is not coming."
"Not coming? But I commanded."
"I know, I tried to explain, but she is new to school and--and spoilt."
"She must be."
Miss Ravenscroft was silent for a minute.
"We will defer the subject of Kathleen O'Hara until I have the pleasure
of speaking to her," she said then. "But now, as you are here, I should
like to ask you a few questions."
"Yes."
"What you say, Alice Tennant, will not be--I speak in judicial
phrase"--here Miss Ravenscroft gave vent to a faint smile--"used against
you. I should like to have what information you can give me. There is a
disturbing element in this school. Do you know anything about it?"
"Nothing absolutely."
"But you agree with me that there is a disturbing element?"
"I am afraid I do."
"It has been traced to Kathleen O'Hara."
Alice was silent.
"It is influencing a number of girls who can be very easily impressed,
and who form a very important part of this school. Special arrangements
were made more than a hundred years ago by the founders of the school
that they should receive an education in every way calculated to help
them in life; the influence to which I allude undermines these good
things. It must therefore be put a stop to, and the first way to put a
stop to anything of the sort is to discover all about it. It is
necessary that I should know all that is to be known with regard to the
unruly condition of the foundationers of the Great Shirley School. The
person who can doubtless tell me most is Kathleen O'Hara. The mere fact
of her defying my authority and refusing to come to see me when she is
summoned, shows that she is insubordinate as far as this school is
concerned."
Alice sat very still.
"She has not chosen to appear, and I wish to take quick and instant
steps. Can you help me?"
"I could," said Alice--"that is, of course, I live in the same house
with her--but I would much rather not."
"You will in no way be blamed, but it is absolutely essential that you
should give me your assistance. I am authorized to ask for it. I shall
see Kathleen O'Hara, but from what you say, and from what I have heard,
I am greatly shocked to have to say it, but I think it possible that she
may not be induced to tell the exact truth. If, therefore, you notice
anything--if anything is brought to your ears which I ought to know--you
must come to me at once. Do not suppose that I want you to be a spy in
this matter, but what is troubling the school must be discovered, and
within the next few days. Now you understand. Remember that what I have
said to you is said in the interest of the school, and absolutely behind
closed doors. You are not to repeat it to anybody. You can go now,
Alice Tennant. Personally I am pleased with you. I like your manner; I
hear good accounts of your attention to lessons. In pleasing me you will
please the governors of the school, and doubtless be able to help
yourself and your mother, a most worthy lady, in the long run."
"I am very much obliged to you," said Alice. "You have spoken kind words
to me; but what you have set me to do is not at all to my taste. It
seems scarcely fair, for I must say that I don't like Kathleen. She and
I have never got on. It seems scarcely fair that I should be the one to
run her to earth."
"The fairness or the unfairness of the question is not now to be
discussed," said Miss Ravenscroft.
She rose as she spoke.
"You are unfortunately in the position of her most intimate friend," she
continued, "for you and she live in the same house. Regard what you have
to do as an unpleasant duty, and don't consider yourself in any way
responsible for being forced into the position which one would not, as a
rule, advocate. The simplest plan is to get the girl herself to make a
full confession to me; but in any case, you understand, _I must know_."