A DAME'S SCHOOL.
The Hollies, Teddington, was situated in a quiet road off the main
street. A wooden gate, varnished and grained, displayed a brass plate
with Mrs. Bickersteth's name engraved upon it, while that of the house
was lettered in black on one of the stucco gate-posts, and perhaps
justified by the few evergreens which grew within. A low wall was
topped by a sort of balustrade, likewise stuccoed, and behind this wall
stood half-a-dozen cropped and yellowing limes.
The house itself was hardly what Harry had expected so far from town.
He seemed to have passed it daily for the last four months, for it was
the plain, tall, semi-detached, "desirable" and even "commodious
residence," which abounds both in Kensington and Camden Town, in the
groves of St. John's Wood and on the heights of Notting Hill. A flight
of exceedingly clean steps led up to a ponderous front door with a
mighty knocker; on the right were two long windows which evidently
stretched to the floor, for a wire screen protected the lower part of
each; and above these screens, late on the Friday afternoon, some eight
or nine rather dismal little faces were pressed to watch the arrival of
the new master.
The cabman carried the luggage up the steps and was duly overpaid. The
servant shut the great door with a bang--it was a door that would not
shut without one--and Harry Ringrose had gone to school again at
one-and-twenty.
He was shown into a very nice drawing-room--the kind of drawing-room to
reassure an anxious parent--and here for a minute he was alone. Through
a thin wall came a youthful buzz, and Harry distinctly heard, "I wonder
if he's strict?" He also heard an irritable, weak, feminine voice
exclaiming: "Be silent--be silent--or you shall all have fifty lines!"
Then the door opened, and he was shaking hands with Mrs. Bickersteth.
The lady was short, stout, and rather more than elderly, yet with a
fresh-coloured face as free from wrinkles as it was full of character,
and yellow hair which age seemed powerless to bleach. Her manner was
not without kindness or distinction, but neither quality was quite so
noticeable as when Harry had seen her at the agents' in her mantle and
bonnet. Indeed the fresh cheeks had a heightened tinge, and the light
eyes a brightness, which Harry Ringrose was destined to know better as
the visible signs of Mrs. Bickersteth's displeasure.
"We are a little late," began the schoolmistress (who had this way of
speaking to the boys, and who early discovered a propensity to treat
Harry as one of them): "we are a little later than I expected, Mr.
Ringrose. Now that we have come, however, we will say no more about
it."
And the lady gave a perfunctory little laugh, meant to sound indulgent,
but Harry had a true ear for such things, and he made his apologies a
little stiffly. If Mrs. Bickersteth had named an hour he would have
made it his business to be there by that hour; as she had but said the
afternoon, he had presumed that five o'clock would be time enough. Mrs.
Bickersteth replied that she called five o'clock the evening, with a
playfully magnanimous smile which convinced Harry even less than her
laugh: he had a presentiment of the temper which it masked.
"But pray let us say no more about it," cried the lady once more. "I
only thought that it would be a good opportunity for you to get to know
the little men. I am glad to say that all the boarders have arrived;
they are now, as I daresay you hear, in the next room with the other
governess. Dear me, what am I saying! You see, Mr. Ringrose, I have
always had two governesses in the house hitherto. Mr. Scrafton, who
comes every morning (except Saturday) to teach the elder boys, has been
our only regular master for many years, though a drill-sergeant also
comes twice a week from the barracks at Hampton Court. But in taking a
master into my house, in place of one of the governesses, I am trying
an experiment which I feel sure we will do our best to justify."
Harry replied as suitably as possible, but made more than one mental
note. His engagement had not been termed an experiment at their
previous interview. Neither had he heard the name of Mr. Scrafton until
this moment.
"I hear the servant taking your portmanteau upstairs," continued Mrs.
Bickersteth, "and presently I shall show you your room, as I am going
to ask you to oblige me by always wearing slippers in the house. The
day-boys change their boots the moment they arrive. Before we go
upstairs, however, there is one matter about which I should like to
speak. We have a delicate little fellow here whose name is Woodman, and
whose parents--very superior, rich people--live down in Devonshire, and
trust the little man entirely to my care. He is really much better here
than he is at home; still he has to have a fire in his room throughout
the winter, and consequently he cannot sleep with the other boys.
Hitherto one of the governesses has slept in his room, but now I am
going to take the opportunity of putting you there, as I am sorry to
say he is a boy who requires firmness as well as care. If you will
accompany me upstairs I will now show you the room."
It was at the end of a passage at the top of the house, and a very nice
room Harry thought it. The beds were in opposite corners, a screen
round the smaller one, and the space between at present taken up with
Harry's portmanteau and the boy's boxes, which were already partially
unpacked. A fire burnt in the grate; a number of texts were tacked to
the walls. Harry was still looking about him when Mrs. Bickersteth made
a dive into one of the little boy's open boxes and came up with a
gaily-bound volume in each hand.
"More story-books!" cried she. "I have a good mind to confiscate them.
I do not approve of the number of books his parents encourage him to
read. If you ever catch him reading up here, Mr. Ringrose, I must ask
you to report the matter instantly to me, as I regret to say that he
has given trouble of that kind before."
Harry bowed obedience.
"Little Woodman," continued the schoolmistress, "though sharp enough
when he likes, is, I am sorry to say, one of our most indolent boys. He
would read all day if we would let him. However, he is going to Mr.
Scrafton this term, so he will have to exert himself at last! And now,
if you like your room, Mr. Ringrose, I will leave you to put on your
slippers, and will take you into the schoolroom when you come
downstairs."
The schoolroom was long and bare, but unconventional in that a long
dining-table did away with desks, and the boys appeared to be shaking
off their depression when Harry and his employer entered five minutes
later. They were making a noise through which the same angry but
ineffectual voice could be heard threatening a hundred lines all round
as the door was thrown open. The noise ceased that moment. The
governess rose in an apologetic manner; while all the boys wore guilty
faces, but one who was buried in a book, sitting hunched up on the
floor. Like most irascible persons, however, the schoolmistress had her
moments of conspicuous good-temper, and this was one.
"These are the little men," said she. "Children, this is your new
master. Miss Maudsley--Mr. Ringrose."
And Harry found himself bowing to the lady with the voice, a lady of
any age, but no outward individuality; even as he did so, however, Mrs.
Bickersteth beckoned to the governess; and in another moment Harry was
alone with the boys.
The new master had never felt quite so shy or so self-conscious as he
did during the next few minutes; it was ten times worse than going to
school as a new boy. The fellows stood about him, staring frankly, and
one in the background whispered something to another, who told him to
shut up in a loud voice. Harry seated himself on the edge of the table,
swung a leg, stuck his hands in his pockets (where they twitched) and
asked the other boys their names.
"James Wren," said the biggest, who looked twelve or thirteen, and was
thickly freckled.
"Ernest Wren," said a smaller boy with more freckles.
"Robertson."
"Murray."
"Gifford."
"Simes."
"Perkins."
"Stanley."
"And that fellow on the floor?"
"Woodman," said James Wren. "I say, Woodman, don't you hear? Can't you
get up when you're spoken to?"
Woodman shut his book, keeping, however, a finger in the place, and got
up awkwardly. He was one of the smallest of the boys, but he wore long
trousers, and beneath them irons which jingled as he came forward with
a shambling waddle. He had a queer little face, dark eyes and the
lightest of hair; and he blushed a little as, alone among the boys, but
clearly unconscious of the fact, he proceeded to shake hands with the
new master.
"So you are Woodman?" said Harry.
"Yes, sir," said the boy. "Have you come instead of Mr. Scrafton, sir?"
"No, I have come as well."
At this there were groans, of which Harry thought it best to take no
notice. He observed, however, that Woodman was not among the groaners,
and to get upon safe ground he asked him what the book was.
"One of Ballantyne's, sir. It's magnificent!" And the dark eyes glowed
like coals in what was again a very pale face.
"_The Red Eric_," said Harry, glancing at the book. "I remember it
well. You're in an exciting place, eh?"
"Yes, sir: the mutiny, sir."
"Then don't let me stop you--run along!" said Harry, smiling; and
Woodman was back on the floor and aboard his whaler before the new
master realised that this was hardly the way in which he had been
instructed to treat the boy who was always reading.
But he went on chatting with the others, and in quite a few minutes he
felt that, as between the boys and himself, all would be plain sailing.
They were nice enough boys--one or two a little awkward--one or two
vocally unacquainted with the first vowel--but all of them disposed to
welcome a man (Harry thought) after the exclusive authority of resident
ladies. Traces of a demoralising rule were not long in asserting
themselves, as when Robertson gave Simes a sly kick, and Simes started
off roaring to tell Mrs. Bickersteth, only to be hauled back by Harry
and given to understand (evidently for the first time) that only little
girls told tales. The bigger boys seemed to breathe again when he said
so. Then they all stood at one of the windows in the failing light, and
Harry talked cricket to them, and even mentioned his travels, whereat
they clamoured for adventures; but the new master was not such a fool
as to play all his best cards first. They were still at the window when
the gate opened and in walked a squat silk-hatted gentleman with a
yellow beard and an evening paper.
"Here comes old Lennie!" exclaimed Gifford, who was the one with the
most to say for himself.
"Who?" said Harry.
"Lennie Bickersteth, sir--short for Leonard," replied Gifford, while
the other boys laughed.
"But you mustn't speak of him like that," said Harry severely.
"Oh, yes, I must!" cried Gifford, excited by the laughter. "We all call
him Lennie, and Reggie Reggie, and Baby Baby; don't we, you fellows?
Bicky likes us to--it makes it more like home."
"Well," said Harry, "I know what Mrs. Bickersteth would _not_ like, and
if you say _that_ again I shall smack your head."
Which so discomfited and subdued the excitable Gifford that Harry liked
him immensely from that moment, and not the less when he discovered
that the boy's incredible information was perfectly correct.
Mrs. Bickersteth was a widow lady with three grown-up children, whom
she insisted on the boys addressing, not merely by their Christian
names, but by familiar abbreviations of the same. Leonard and Reginald
were City men who went out every morning with a bang of the big front
door, and came home in the evening with a rattle of their latch-keys.
Both were short and stout like their mother, with beards as yellow as
her hair, while Leonard, the elder, was really middle-aged; but it was
against the rules for the boys to address or refer to them as anything
but Lennie and Reggie, and only the governess and Harry were permitted
to say "Mr. Bickersteth." As for the baby of the family, who was Baby
still to all her world, she was certainly some years younger; and the
name was more appropriate in her case, since she wore the family hair
down to eyes of infantile blue, and had the kind of giggle which seldom
survives the nursery. She knew no more about boys than any other lady
in the house, but was a patently genuine and good-hearted girl, and
deservedly popular in the school.
When Harry went to bed that night he smelt the smoke of a candle,
though he carried his own in his hand. Woodman was apparently fast
asleep, but, on being questioned, he won Harry's heart by confessing
without hesitation or excuse. He had _The Red Eric_ and a candle-end
under his pillow, and the wax was still soft when he gave them up.
Harry sat on the side of his bed and duly lectured him on the
disobedience and the danger of the detected crime, while the criminal
lay with his great eyes wide open, and his hair almost as white as the
pillow beneath it. When he had done the small boy said--
"If they had spoken to me like that, sir, last time, sir, I never
should have done it again."
"You shouldn't have done it in any case," said Harry. "You've got to
promise me that it's the last time."
"It's so hard to go asleep the first night of the term, sir," sighed
Woodman. "You keep thinking of this time yesterday and this time last
week, sir."
Harry's eye was on the little irons lying on top of the little heap of
clothes, but he put on the firmest face he could.
"That's the same for all," he said. "How do you know I don't feel like
that myself? Now, you've got to give me your word that you won't ever
do this again!"
"But suppose they say what they said before, sir?"
"Give me your word," said Harry.
"Very well, sir, I never will."
"Then I give you mine, Woodman, to say nothing about this; but mind--I
expect you to keep yours."
The great eyes grew greater, and then very bright. "I'll promise not to
open another book this term, sir--if you like, sir," the little boy
cried. But Harry told him that was nonsense and to go to sleep, and
turned in himself glowing with new ideas. If he could but influence
these small boys as Innes had influenced him! The thought kept him
awake far into his first night at Teddington. His life there had begun
more happily than he could have dared to hope.
Morning brought the day-boys and work which was indeed within even
Harry's capacity. It consisted principally in "hearing" lessons set by
Mrs. Bickersteth; and it revealed the educational system in vogue in
that lady's school. It was the system of question and answer, the
question read from a book by the teacher, the answer repeated by rote
by the boy, and on no condition to be explained or enlarged upon by
extemporary word of mouth. Harry fell into this error, but was promptly
and publicly checked by the head-mistress, with whom some of the elder
boys were studying English history (from the point of view of Mrs.
Markham and her domestic circle) at the other end of the baize-covered
dining-table.
"It is quite unnecessary for you to enter into explanations, Mr.
Ringrose," said Mrs. Bickersteth down the length of the table. "I have
used _Little Steps_ for very many years, and I am sure that it explains
itself, in a way that little people can understand, better than you can
explain it. Where it does not go into particulars, _Little Arthur_
does; so no impromptu explanations, I beg."
Whereafter Harry received the answers to the questions in _Little Steps
to Great Events_ without comment, and was equally careful to take no
explanatory liberties with _Mangnall's Questions_ or with the _Child's
Guide to Knowledge_ when these works came under his nose in due course.
Saturday was, of course, a half-holiday; nor could the term yet be said
to have begun in earnest. It appeared there were some weekly boarders
who would only return on the Monday, while Mr. Scrafton also was not
due until that day. Meanwhile an event occurred on the Saturday
afternoon which quite took the new master's mind off the boys who were
beginning to fill it so pleasantly: an event which perplexed and
distracted him on the very threshold of this new life, and yet one with
a deeper and more sinister significance than even Harry Ringrose
supposed.