the entire school was in quarantine until further notice; and its
inmates must content themselves in consequence with the school
boundaries, unless taken for crocodile walks by a mistress. On
Saturday afternoon, as there was no match, there was to be a picnic
tea on that part of the shore reserved for Seascape House.
"A regular school-treat!" said Peter scornfully, her temper ruffled
by a private interview with Miss Cockran, in which she had obtained
no more than leave to write a note to her cousins explaining that she
would be unable to go and see them.
"Why it's just a bribe to get us to be good little girls, and yet
when we sit down to tea there will only be bread and butter mixed
with sand and seaweed instead of eating it at tables like ordinary
Christians."
The rest of the school was more resigned. After all, the shore was
quite an interesting place, with rocks and pools and shells to occupy
the attention, and a meal out of doors, even mixed with sand and
seaweed, had its exciting side. Saturday, too, proved a perfect day,
so calm and sunshiny that bathing prefects did not feel bound to send
everyone out of the water after a three minutes' dip.
Sally swam well, just as she excelled in other sports; but she found
it dull enough bathing alone, for, as usual, she was sent to
Coventry, except for blustering threats of putting her under the
water and keeping her there. These latter, of course, came from her
enemies of the Fourth, led by Olive Parker.
"Let us drown the little beast," she shouted. "Here, you others, get
in a ring and don't let it escape while Susy and I wash its face for
it."
Without waiting for the attack, Sally plunged under water, and
gripping Susy, who was the biggest of her tormentors, by the ankle
pulled her after her. The next minute she was the centre of a
struggling group of excited girls, who shot water over her in
handfuls as she came gasping to the surface, and tried to push her
down again.
"Stop it! Do you hear, kids, stop it! or I shall call Edith Seymour."
Even with this threat, it was not until she had ducked Olive Parker
and shaken her that Violet Tremson succeeded in restoring some
measure of order.
"You are to leave Sally alone, you little beasts, see!"
"Well, you ducked me," said Olive Parker sulkily.
"I didn't make a plan of it as if I were plotting a dirty
assassination. Five to one, aren't you, and all bigger than your
victim?"
Olive glared, but the rest of her friends had scattered, evidently
somewhat conscience-stricken; and she herself, looking back on it,
did not feel so proud of her idea as when she had first suggested it.
"I was only fooling," she said, and her furtive glance at Sally might
have been construed into an apology. She was obviously ashamed.
"I have never seen you not being a fool," flew to her victim's lips,
and as the words were uttered all hopes of reconciliation vanished.
"Next time I get the chance of doing you in, there will be no fooling
about it, I promise you," shouted the other angrily, as she splashed
off to join her fellows, leaving Sally and Violet Tremson alone, the
former up to her shoulders in water.
"Why do you say those things?" asked the elder girl; "they may be
smart and to the point, but they are so ... so hopeless for getting
on, I mean, and making friends ... having a good time here, you know.
Olive isn't at all a bad sort if you wouldn't always tread on her
toes so heavily. She is older than you, remember."
"Yes, but she is junior to me in school, and at any rate she went for
me first. I didn't attack her ... fact is I didn't want to have
anything to say to that lot."
"She meant just now that she was sorry, Sally, and then you went and
spoilt it all by saying what you did."
"I shall say what I like. I didn't ask you to rescue me, did I?"
This time Sally really despised herself for her rudeness. It had
been decent of Violet to save her, but she was feeling sore over the
cancelled cricket-match and all her vanished dreams of notoriety.
That was why the words slipped out, and before she could mutter
"Sorry!" Violet had answered with an aggravating sound of laughter
in her voice:
"No! You didn't ask. You were mostly under water. Hardly in a
position to do so, were you?"
"Then get out and go where someone does want you!"
In sudden flaming fury the younger girl scooped up a handful of water
and flung it in her companion's face. Then she dived through a
smoothly-rolling wave and came up a few yards off. Let Violet
Tremson chase her and duck her if she liked; it would be no disgrace
from someone so much taller. Violet, however, did nothing of the
sort, but merely swam away leisurely towards a group of seniors
gathered round a projecting rock.
CHAPTER THE FIFTH
SALLY IS TAKEN UP
Tea was eaten picnic fashion on the beach, at four o'clock, and Sally
wandered away with hers to a flat ledge of rocks, half-way up the
cliff. Above her head were the two large, almost circular openings,
known as the "Portholes."
Glorious hiding-places, these caves looked; but the rock descended
sheer, some six feet below them, and beneath this again was a slope
of broken shale and sand that offered no sure foothold, even to the
most intrepid climber. The slope was surrounded by a barbed-wire
fence, with a notice affixed, forbidding anyone to try to pass it.
Sally, as she earnestly studied the lie of the land, wished that she
could think of some rapid way of mounting to the caves: it would
cause a new sensation, and bring her once more into the limelight
that she craved. Something of this desire was evident in her
expression, for a derisive voice demanded suddenly, "Going to jump up
there, or fly?"
It was Mabel Gosson, of the Lower Fifth; rather a stupid giggler, but
a kind-hearted girl, and a friend of the daring Peter.
"No--hardly--but I could easily climb inside, if I were let down on a
rope from the top. It's no distance."
Her tone was so earnest that Mabel ceased to jeer, and even looked a
trifle alarmed.
"Look here, kid, don't go trying any fool games like you did on the
train. Take my word for it, that the only entrance to those caves is
from Borley Chine."
"That's nearly a mile along the coast?"
"Not quite, but out of bounds, at any rate. The Chine used to be a
smuggling bay, you know, and it is said there are some kegs of brandy
stored under Old Cocaine's study, and that she has a private
staircase down to them, concealed in her cupboard." Mabel giggled as
she spoke.
"You mean there are rooms underground, all the way from the Chine up
here?"
"Passages with ledges, more likely--I don't know. We have never been
allowed to go there since a boy is supposed to have got walled up
there, some years ago, by falling rock, and lost. He was wanted by
the police, so I expect myself that he went to America instead."
"It would be rather interesting to unearth the skeleton."
"Beastly," said Mabel, shivering a little. "You are an unpleasant
child."
It suddenly occurred to her that it was really beneath her dignity to
chatter with a new kid in this familiar way; but to hold her tongue
was almost beyond Mabel Gosson's power, if she could find a listener.
"Well, I suppose you mean to start hunting at once?" she sneered,
with a sudden assumption of superiority, and prepared to walk off.
"Why not?"
"To-day?"
Sally shrugged. She was playing her usual game of creating a
sensation; but her coolness was a trifle overdone, and the other girl
sniggered mockingly.
"Peter," she called, "Peter, just come and listen to this. You will
die of laughing."
Sally's heart beat fast, as Trina Morrison rose languidly and
strolled over towards them. At last, this almost grown-up girl, whom
she was determined to make her friend, had been induced to notice
her; but the acknowledgment, when it came, was scarcely flattering.
"Oh! it's only the Cocky-doodle. What is she crowing for now? Made
the sun rise, eh? I'm sure I don't want to talk to her."
Unexpected tears sprang to Sally's eyes as her romantic day-dreams
were shattered.
"I--I didn't ask you to come," she said, with more humility, however,
than defiance in her voice; and Peter threw back her head and laughed:
"No--or I guess I shouldn't have arrived. What is it, Mabs?"
"Why, the young ass over there says she is going to climb into the
Portholes to-day."
"Oh, she says that, does she? Little liar--her name ought to be
Matilda."
Now Mabel Gosson's version had not been exactly what Sally said, but
wounded pride made her forget this.
"I am not afraid," she returned hotly.
"Oh, nor are we, for you, so don't hesitate to begin on our account.
If you slip, and fall in a jammy mass, the school will hardly mourn
or order funeral wreaths out of its pocket money--eh, Mabs?"
Mabel Gosson giggled. Peter often had a cruel tongue, and her
slower-witted friend was afraid of it.
"She wouldn't be such an ass as to go," she said uncomfortably.
Sally glared. "I am going to get into those caves, all the same,"
she said; "so you needn't be so beastly superior."
"Climb on, MacDuff, and we will 'wait and see'--a case of pride and
the fall, I prophesy."
Peter seated herself on the ledge of rock as she spoke, and picking
up the remains of Sally's unfinished tea, munched it calmly, while
Mabel sank down giggling by her side.
"Buck up, kid," she said. "Hop it, or fly; I bet you stick on the
barbed wire and have to be plucked off by a prefect."
"I am not going to get in by climbing, you see."
At this there was derisive laughter from Peter, and Sally, in one of
her sudden furies, caught her by the shoulder, and shook her.
"I won't kill myself just to amuse you, so there--but there is
another way into the caves, and I mean to find it."
Trina Morrison was on her feet now. At first she had looked amazed
and furious at the onslaught; but then, to Mabel's surprise, she
merely smiled and freed herself.
"It will be out of bounds, you know," she said, in her usual drawl;
and Sally nodded.
"You mean I shall be expelled, if I'm caught--Much I care! I loathe
this place, and wouldn't be sorry if I never saw a single soul in it
again."
"Quite so! Then you intend to commit educational suicide by trotting
off to Borley Chine--do you?"
"That's my business."
"Admitted--but take a word of advice. Don't do anything so dull as
to explore caves. If you must run risks in order to crow about them
afterwards, just trot into Parchester, and buy me some chocolates."
Sally's breath came in a choke; her temper vanished.
"I--why, of course I will, with pleasure, if you will only ask me
decently; and I have money of my own too."
She almost whispered the words; and in her eyes was
entreaty--something of the look of a dog, accustomed to kicks, who
would give his world for a little kindness.
Trina Morrison studied her for a few seconds, beneath narrowed lids,
then she laughed, but this time without jeering. She had a very
pretty laugh.
"Bless us! If the kid hasn't got a soft side, like a hedgehog
unrolled," she exclaimed. And then to Sally, "Of course I will ask
you decently, I might even give you a kiss, if you chose the
chocolates I like."
Sally went very red. "I hate kissing," she muttered; "but I'll go.
Which do you like--soft? Or hard, with nuts?"
Mabel, who had been watching the pair in amazement, now interposed,
"Oh, Peter! You oughtn't to send her. She is only a new kid."
"Shut up," said Sally. Then to Trina Morrison, "Well, I'm off. No
one will miss me till supper, and that's not till eight. Anyhow, I
don't care if they do see me."
The elder girl smiled, catching her by the wrist, as she turned to go.
"A wrinkle from an old hand at the game you are playing," she said.
"Leave your school hat-band behind the first hedge."
Sally nodded. "I shan't take it--I brought a cap of my own from
home, just for this kind of occasion," she said, airily; and then,
kissing her hand to the dismayed Mabel Gosson as she called out
"Good-by-ee," she clambered over the rocks towards the steps.
In the school garden she met no one, though she could hear the
mistresses having tea and playing tennis on the other side of the big
hedge. Servants were moving in the house, but no one saw her as she
crossed hall, ran up the stairs and down the corridor to her own
room--No. 9.
It was empty, for the girls were forbidden to enter their dormitories
during the daytime; and Sally knew that if she were caught, all
chance, even of starting on her adventure, would be at an end.
Feverishly she hunted through her chest of drawers for her purse,
jumping guiltily, as though she were committing a theft, when a clock
in the hall clanged five. Some coppers tumbled out on to the floor
as she pulled the purse towards her, and Sally had only just time to
gather them up in her hand when she heard footsteps coming leisurely
down the passage.
Where could she hide? Not under one of the five iron bedsteads,
that, without valances, and with the curtains of the cubicles well
pulled back, left the floor fully exposed to view. The only other
chance was the cupboard behind her, hung thick with dressing-gowns
and coats; and into this Sally forced her way, kneeling doubled up,
successfully concealed for the moment, it is true, but a prey to
cramp, and almost suffocated by her shelter.
The someone whose footsteps she had heard entered the room, tip-toed
across the floor, and stood listening; then moved a bed, and half
opened a window.
"It's the Matron, bother her!" muttered Sally angrily.
This Matron was already one of her chief enemies at Seascape House;
for tidiness, with Mrs. Brendan to spoil her daughters by clearing up
their rooms after them, had not been enforced at home: and at school
it was one of the few things in which Sally did not seek to excel.
"I thought putting things in order was your business, not ours," she
had said rudely, when first called to account for a bed heaped with
odds and ends of ties, handkerchiefs and gloves; and Miss Budd's
heavy figure had heaved with indignation, while her cheeks purpled at
this piece of impudence.
"Any more disobedience or rudeness, and I report you at once to Miss
Cockran," she had said with finality; and Sally guessed that now that
moment had come. She did not look forward to the interview, for Old
Cocaine, though small and pinched, had penetrating grey eyes, which
she did not care to meet, unless there were some big piece of
mischief that she could brazen out, and so, perhaps, arouse
astonishment or interest in their depths, instead of pity or contempt.
Very carefully she shifted her position, and tried to part the coats
and dressing-gowns, so as to give herself a little air, and view the
room. Unfortunately, in doing so, she forgot the coppers clasped in
her hand: as she caught at the coat in front of her, they fell in all
directions; one or two inside the cupboard, but the rest on the floor
outside. It seemed to Sally weeks before the last halfpenny struck a
wall, and subsided noisily under a chest of drawers.
"So that's over--and the fat hag has caught me finely," she told
herself, and pushing the clothes aside, stepped out with a sullen
frown, into the room.
CHAPTER THE SIXTH
AN ESCAPADE
"My good child, are you trying to play hide-and-seek? And if so,
whom with? You will never get to Parchester at this rate." It was
Trina Morrison's drawl, and with a gasp of relief, Sally realised
that she was the intruder.
"I--I--made sure that you were Matron," she said limply.
"We may both thank our stars that I am not; but on this occasion I
will let that insult pass. Tell me--were you really intending to go
into town, or only bluffing?"
"I was going, of course--I mean, I am going. You see, I have a
ten-shilling note Mother gave me before I left, besides my pocket
money. I will buy you some really decent chocolates."
"Nice kid!"
Peter's voice was at its softest, and her hand, laid lightly on the
other's shoulder, became a caress.
"I am not going to try and stop you, but--
"It's no use trying to stop me--I told you."
"Well, let me make a suggestion, then--it is this. Why shouldn't I
come too?"
Sally clasped her hands tight, and her eyes shone.
"Together, we might astonish the school," she said solemnly. "I have
always felt it, and longed to know you."
Trina Morrison laughed. "Quaint kid, would that be a great deed?"
she asked. Her twinkle, and the derision in her tone, pricked the
bubble of Sally's vanity, making her all at once feel very young and
silly.
"Why are you going, then?" she demanded a little sullenly, and again
the other laughed.
"Not to astonish the school; that's certain. Why, my dear young ass,
don't you realise that if we are expelled we shall not be allowed to
contaminate the rest of Seascape House, even as a ten minutes'
variety show?"
Sally glowered, as her vision of creating a super-sensation in the
hall or class-room faded.
"Anyhow, I'm going..." she began.
"Well, for goodness' sake get a move on, then, and don't argue about
the why or wherefore. Isn't it enough to want to do a thing to make
it worth while? We had better separate, I think, and meet at the
third elm by the corner of the road, opposite Marston's cottage. I
shall go by my own private road, and wait five minutes, to see if
you've been caught or not..."
Sally nodded. "Right oh!" she said carelessly. "I shall be there."
But beneath her studied lack of enthusiasm was a joy she had not felt
since she left home. Once again she had triumphed, and the only girl
whom she admired out of this horrible school had chosen her for a
friend. Fortified by the idea of this companionship, she left the
dormitory boldly, and ran downstairs, concealing herself behind the
large hall door just before Miss Cockran swept through it from the
front drive.
After this, hours passed, it seemed, though in reality it could only
have been a few minutes, while the Head-mistress sorted her letters
from amongst the newly-arrived post on the table, and disappeared,
reading them as she went.
Sally made a face at her vanishing back, fled across the hall, as she
heard Miss Rogers' voice in the garden, entered the dining-room, at
this time deserted, dropped out of one of the open windows on to a
flower-bed, and took refuge in the shrubbery across the nearest path.
To negotiate the grounds after this was simple--merely a doubling
backward and forward to shelter her movements with bushes and
undergrowth--and then a bold walk out through the gates on to the
high road.
Trina Morrison was seated in a dry ditch, leaning against an elm, at
the corner of the road, opposite a thatched cottage.
"I was just giving you up," she drawled, looking at her wrist watch.
"I made certain Matron had got you this time."
"Not she.... I dodged Old Cocaine too, and Proggins ... you would
have laughed."
And Sally launched at once into her favourite subject of her own
prowess; but only to break off angrily, as she noticed Peter yawn and
pause to pick some ferns.
"Why, you are not listening!"
"I am not amused.... Like Queen Victoria, we never listen when we
are not amused--I didn't know you were such a kid."
"I am not a kid--in brains, I mean. Why, I am top of the
Remove--easily, too. I shall be in your form next term."
"You might become top of that, and still be a boresome child."
Sally stared at her blankly, and the retort "What rot!" died on her
lips. Perhaps Trina Morrison was right. Sally knew that she was
nearly bottom of the Lower Fifth, and yet, compared with Cecilia, who
was grown up, she was a woman of the world.
"How am I such a kid?" she mumbled at last; and there was real
humility in the question.
"You boast like a five-year-old--and do nothing but talk about
yourself, when, Heaven knows, the world is full of more interesting
subjects. Then you have no self-control, but if any one laughs at
you, your temper blows up like a powder magazine."
The directness of this attack, and the cool indifference with which
it was delivered, left the younger girl dumbfounded. Cecilia had
often levelled the same accusations, but they had never before struck
Sally's inner consciousness with any conviction of truth.
"You ... you aren't being fair to me," she muttered; and then
relapsed into complete silence, as she realised Trina Morrison did
not care in the least if she were fair or not--nor whether her words
hurt her listener. Quite unconcerned as to the effect of her speech,
she strolled along with her hands in her pockets, until they came to
some cross roads, when she took a turning to the right.
Sally caught her arm, and pointed to the sign-post.
"Why, Peter, look, it says straight on to Parchester,"
"Well, I'm not going to Parchester, you see."
"Then where are we going? I don't understand."
"I happen to be going to call on my cousins at Springley Manor. They
asked me to tea to-day."
She may have laid a slight emphasis on the "I"; Sally, at any rate,
found herself flushing, as though she had been guilty of thrusting
her company where it was not wanted.
"I had better leave you, then," she said gruffly. "My way is in the
other direction." She turned back, with her shoulders rather humped,
and her mouth curved in sulky lines. This friendship was not
developing as she had hoped.
The next instant a hand rested on hers, and she heard the soft
drawling voice she found so full of attraction.
"Silly kid," it said. "Why, of course, you are coming with me. We
will wangle some chocolates out of my cousins, instead of stealing
your ten shillings."
After this, the walk was bliss for the younger girl, though she found
it hard work to refrain from boasting or talking about herself. One
thing she did relate, and that was the story of the goat that she had
tied up in the parish schoolroom.
Trina Morrison shouted with laughter: indeed, they were both making
so merry over the recital that a car, following them up the side road
that had now become a mere country lane, nearly ran them down.
"Why the dickens can't you two girls look where you are going?"
shouted an angry male voice, and then broke off abruptly, while the
car, which had slowed down, stopped.
"My stars! If it isn't Trina. I understood from the mater that you
were laid low, fair cousin--veiled in spots, in fact."
"Not yet; so I decided to look you all up as I got bored with playing
at Margate, or Blackpool, on the shore this afternoon. You are just
in time to give me a lift, Austin."
"With pleasure."
He opened the door beside him, and then looked hesitatingly at Sally.
"Who is the kid?" he whispered. "Where does she come in?"
"Why, behind, of course; that is, if she is not afraid of your
driving. Let me introduce Miss Sally Brendan--my cousin, Austin
Ferrars, who has nearly killed us. Sally was trudging into
Parchester to buy me some chocolates, so I brought her here instead,
as I know you always have a supply."
"One of your slaves, eh?" he half-whispered, lifting his eyebrows and
smiling; and Sally, who overheard him, found her heart beating fast,
as she listened for Trina's answer. Yesterday she would have been
furious at the insinuation, but now she waited for an
acknowledgement, even, of her existence.
The answer was, as usual, unexpected.
"No--not my slave--merely a friend," Peter said smoothly. Then, "Do
get in quick, kid--we shall only have about half-an-hour we can stop,
as it is."
It seemed to Sally that the car flew over the ground, and soon they
were the centre of a group of people drawn from the neighbouring
tennis court by the honk of the motor as it slowed up in front of a
low ivy-covered house. On all sides there were exclamations of
astonishment, and some mild scoldings from an elderly lady, whom
Trina called "Aunt Edith."
"Why, child, I don't understand this. I only got a note this morning
saying that you were unable to come."
"That was dictated by Miss Cockran. This is my own answer."
There was a roar of laughter from the younger members of the party at
this impudent assurance; but Aunt Edith shook her head.
"I am always glad to see you, Trina, as you know; but I don't always
approve of your behaviour," she said, with some severity--on which
her niece put her arms round her and kissed her.
"Love me, even if you don't approve of me," she said lightly, and
then to Austin--"What about some chocolates?"
She disappeared after him into the house; and Sally, who had
dismounted from the car, was left standing forlornly in the drive,
until an old gentleman took pity on her and suggested that she might
like some tea.
She agreed, and was soon seated near the tennis court, enjoying iced
cake and strawberries and cream.
"So you are a pair of runaways?" said the old gentleman at last,
fixing his pince-nez, and staring down at the girl beside him.
"Yes--you see it's so dull at school. Peter, that is Trina, you
know, had been growing bored stiff this term, and I'm just the same."
"H'm! Trina is a very wild girl, I'm afraid."