A Day of Reckoning
Gwen went to school next morning in the jauntiest of spirits. She was
satisfied with the part she had played both in organizing the fête and
in helping to make it a success, and she fully expected approval from
headquarters.
"This will set me all right with Miss Roscoe now," she thought.
"She'll quite forgive me that business about Dick and the sweets on
the strength of a 'Rodenhurst Cot'. I think I've scored considerably."
When at eleven o'clock, therefore, Gwen received a summons from the
Principal, she was not at all dismayed, and presented herself in the
study with a smiling face. To her surprise, however, she was hardly
welcomed with the enthusiasm she expected. Miss Roscoe looked grave
and annoyed, and greeted her more as if she were a culprit than a
praiseworthy collector of money.
"Sit down, Gwen," she said coldly, motioning her pupil to a chair near
her desk. "You can unlock your satchel and go over your accounts with
me; then there is another matter that I wish to talk to you about
afterwards."
Feeling decidedly chilled, Gwen produced her key. Miss Roscoe emptied
the contents of the bag on to a tray, and proceeded to count the
various coins. She reckoned them twice over, frowned, consulted a
paper, then turned to Gwen.
"See how much you make it!" she said abruptly.
Gwen carefully went over the piles of half-crowns, florins, shillings,
and sixpences, and added them together.
"I get thirteen pounds seven and six," was her conclusion.
"So do I, so we must both be correct," returned Miss Roscoe. "Now the
checks that Moira Thompson received at the second gate register
thirteen pounds seventeen shillings. How is it you are nine and
sixpence short?"
"Am I that much short?" cried Gwen. "It can't possibly be!"
"Look for yourself," said Miss Roscoe. "The checks are all numbered.
There are two hundred and fifty-one shilling admissions and fifty-two
sixpenny ones. Examine the numbers on the rolls of checks left in your
satchel; you will see they begin at Nos. 252 and 53. That means that
you certainly issued 251 checks at a shilling and 52 at sixpence. The
right amount ought to have been in your bag."
"Is there nothing left stuck in the corners?" asked Gwen, utterly
dumbfounded at the defalcation.
"Nothing whatever. Look and satisfy yourself."
Gwen seized the satchel, and almost turned it inside out in her
eagerness, but there was no remaining coin to be found.
"Did you give any people checks without receiving the money in
return?" enquired Miss Roscoe.
"No, certainly not. I was most particular. I didn't let anybody in
without paying. If they had no tickets I sold them checks. I don't see
how I can be all that amount wrong."
"Unfortunately both our reckonings show the same deficit. What I want
to know, Gwen, is what has become of this missing nine and sixpence?"
"I can't imagine."
"But it is your duty to account for it. You alone are responsible; and
it is my duty to enquire where it has gone."
"Miss Roscoe! You surely don't think I've pocketed it?" broke out
Gwen, the drift of the Principal's remarks suddenly dawning upon her.
"I say nothing except that it is a very strange circumstance that you
cannot produce it. Was the satchel in your own possession the whole of
the afternoon?"
"Yes--at least--yes, it was!" stammered Gwen, looking very red and
confused. The remembrance had just struck her that she had allowed
Lesbia to take some change from her bag, and at the same instant
Lesbia's extraordinary behaviour of the evening before flashed across
her mind. Could there possibly be any connection between the two
incidents? The idea was so horrible that she blushed at entertaining
it even for a moment.
Miss Roscoe glanced at her keenly.
"Do you assume the full responsibility for this?" she asked in a
strained voice.
"Absolutely. Nobody except myself had anything to do with the gate
money."
The Principal's face, which had been grave before, took a yet sterner
expression.
"I am sorry, Gwen. Very sorry and most concerned. I thought I could
have trusted you entirely. It pains me beyond measure to find you have
betrayed my confidence."
"But I didn't take that nine and six! I didn't, indeed! I don't know
where it has gone; but I haven't got it! How can you accuse me of such
a dreadful thing?" blurted out Gwen indignantly.
"You can't deny the deficit," returned Miss Roscoe icily. "There is
the evidence of the checks and the cash to prove it. As you are not
able to account for it, I can only draw my own conclusions. As it
happens, I was this very morning made aware of the reason which must
have prompted your most dishonourable act."
"What do you mean?" cried Gwen with a choke in her voice.
For answer Miss Roscoe handed her a folded piece of paper. She opened
it nervously. It was a bill from Messrs. Parker & Sons, Glass and
China Merchants, to Miss Gwen Gascoyne, for ten shillings "to account
rendered", and written at the bottom were the words: "Your immediate
settlement will oblige". It seemed such a bolt from the blue that Gwen
turned all colours, and her hand trembled till she nearly dropped the
paper.
"Ah, you may well look conscious, Gwen! I have just learnt the full
history of this most deceitful business. I have had a letter from
Mrs. Goodwin, telling me that her daughter had confessed her share of
it, and as another bill for the broken china had arrived for you,
directed under cover to Netta, she considered it best to forward it on
to me, with an account of what had occurred, as it was only right that
I should know about it. She is most pained that her daughter should
have been even slightly implicated in such an affair, and Netta
herself seems truly to regret countenancing the deception and
screening you. I had a talk with her before school this morning. I
cannot exonerate her, but she is at least sorry for her conduct. With
this knowledge of your debt, Gwen, and your reasons for concealing it,
of course I realize plainly enough why you have been foolish and
wicked enough to take some of the gate money. No doubt you yielded to
a desperate temptation; you had much better make a clean breast of
it."
Gwen was trembling so greatly that she could hardly utter a reply.
Several times her white lips framed the words before she gasped out:
"I did break the china, and I owe the ten shillings for it, but I
never took a penny from the satchel. I may be naughty, but I'm no
thief!"
Miss Roscoe shook her head sadly.
"What's the use of persisting in denying a fact that's absolutely
palpable?"
"But I didn't! Oh, I didn't!"
"It's little use arguing the matter at present, Gwen, if you take up
this stubborn attitude. If you think things over, you will see it is
much better to confess. I have probably startled you by springing the
news upon you that I was aware of your substitution of my china tea
service. When you are calmer you will be more ready to acknowledge
what you have done. Go to the little music room at the head of the
stairs--it is not in use this morning--and stay there until I come or
send for you. Reflect seriously upon what I have said, and make up
your mind to be brave enough to tell me everything."
With feet like lead, and a head that throbbed and burned, Gwen walked
upstairs. The little music room was unoccupied. It only contained a
piano, a stool, and a chair, and on the last-named piece of furniture
she sank down wearily. Her thoughts flew so rapidly through her brain
that she could scarcely regulate them. She felt as if a net had been
spread for her, and had entangled her unawares. First and foremost was
the sense that Netta had betrayed her. Netta, who had promised at all
costs to keep her secret, had basely revealed it. She saw how cleverly
her old chum had managed to whitewash herself by making a confession
and feigning penitence, and how much darker this act caused Gwen's own
share in the matter to appear by comparison. Naturally Miss Roscoe
viewed Netta as the one with the tender conscience, and Gwen as the
unrepentant sinner.
"Why didn't I tell her myself that day I meant to, and got as far as
the study?" wailed the unfortunate culprit. "Then I should have been
spared all this!"
Why, indeed? How many of us mourn over our past follies and
cowardices, bitterly regretting the wasted moment or the lost
opportunity? Gwen's fault was indeed being visited heavily upon her
shoulders. She had sown the wind and reaped the whirlwind. She felt
keen resentment against Netta. It was a dastardly trick to have played
upon her. Netta might at least have warned her that the bill was to be
sent on to Miss Roscoe--then she could have been prepared for the
worst. It was surely mere spite on the part of her friend, who, having
quarrelled with her, was anxious to find some means of annoying her.
Netta had been jealous of her new-found appreciation in the Form, and
had taken this opportunity of trying to humble her. The deficit in the
gate fund filled Gwen with surprise. There seemed only one way of
accounting for it, and that was so painful that she shrank from facing
it. Lesbia had taken change out of the satchel, and that same evening
Lesbia had acknowledged the possession of ten shillings, but had
refused to reveal how she came by the money.
Gwen groaned as she remembered her sister's conscious looks and
evasive replies. Could it actually be possible that Lesbia had
abstracted this money? She was rather silly, flighty, and
irresponsible, but she had always been truthful and honourable. No, it
was surely absolutely foreign to her character! Then where had she
obtained half a guinea to buy a new tennis racket? And what was the
reason of her extreme embarrassment? Gwen abandoned the question in
despair.
"If she really did take it, I must shield her at any cost," she
decided. "She'd get into such frightful trouble, and scolding Lesbia
is like breaking a butterfly. I can bear things better than she can.
But--oh, dear! What am I to say to Dad if he asks me? I can stand
Miss Roscoe's wrath, but I can't face making Dad look sorry."
The Principal left Gwen until one o'clock to reflect upon her sins,
then summoned her again to the study, and urged her in strong terms to
confess.
"I will forgive you if you only acknowledge it, but if you persist in
denying it, I shall have to go more deeply into the matter," she said
sternly. "I cannot allow such things to happen at Rodenhurst. It is a
very grave fault, Gwen. Do you wish me to send for your father?"
"No, no!" cried Gwen hastily.
"Then will you confess?"
"I can't! I didn't do it! Oh, I don't understand!" responded Gwen,
torn in two between the desire to defend herself and the fear of
involving Lesbia. She did not dare to tell Miss Roscoe that her sister
had taken change from the satchel, yet by that circumstance only could
she account for the loss.
"Miss Douglas is as distressed as I am," continued the Principal. "I
was obliged to tell her, in order to explain your absence from your
classes. Here she comes now. Perhaps she will be able to persuade you
better than I."
"Oh, Miss Roscoe," exclaimed Miss Douglas, entering the study with a
hurried step and a heightened colour, "I have just made the most
astounding discovery! I happened to look in my purse, and to my
amazement and consternation I found half a sovereign which certainly
ought not to be there. I am sure I know how I came by it. Yesterday,
just before I went into the house to dress the girls who were to sing
the Elizabethan madrigal, I bought a box of sweets from Lesbia
Gascoyne. I gave her a two-shilling piece, and as she had no
sixpences, she ran to Gwen to ask change for my florin. She came
hurrying back, and handed me, as we both imagined, three sixpences. I
put them in my purse without looking at them. Now I am quite sure that
one of these supposed sixpences must in reality have been half a
sovereign, given by mistake. I undoubtedly had no ten-shilling piece
in my purse. The difference of giving half a sovereign in lieu of
sixpence would be exactly the nine-and-six that was missing from
Gwen's satchel. Let us exchange the two coins, and the deficit will be
made up."
It was such a natural, simple, and self-evident explanation of the
situation that its truth could not be doubted. Miss Roscoe heaved a
sigh of intense relief.
"I am grateful to you beyond words, Miss Douglas," she returned.
"Gwen, I am most delighted that your honour is cleared, and regret I
harboured so unjust a suspicion against you. I confess it was the
affair of the broken china that prejudiced me in your disfavour. It
supplied so strong a motive. Why didn't you come and tell me about
that right away when if happened instead of trying to settle it in
such a crooked fashion? It wasn't straight and square, was it? Have I
heard the whole story?"
Gwen, who had not shed a tear before, was crying bitterly now. Miss
Roscoe's present kindly tone hurt more than her former severity.
Almost in spite of herself the girl began to blurt put her version of
how she had accidentally broken the tea service, had intended to pay
for it at once, and how Emma had absconded with the money. The
housemaid's part in the drama was news to Miss Roscoe, and she
hastened to ask for particulars.
"This must be investigated immediately," she declared. "I shall send
for Emma Dalton this afternoon. I happen to know that she has a place
as parlour-maid at a house not far away. If I had heard of this I
could not have given her a character. Indeed she deserves to be
prosecuted for theft. I must write a note to her present mistress."
Miss Roscoe never let the grass grow under her feet. In this case she
acted with her usual promptitude, and by two o'clock Emma, in much
alarm, and weeping like a waterspout, was ushered into the study and
confronted with Gwen and Netta, who were both summoned for the
occasion.
"Now, Emma, this is a serious charge. Have you anything to say for
yourself?" enquired Miss Roscoe, seating herself at her desk with the
air of a magistrate about to try a case.
"I didn't pay the money at Parker's, and I don't deny it," sobbed
Emma. "I meant to, but I saw a coat and skirt I wanted, so I thought
I'd borrow it, and the bill might just wait for a bit. I've intended
to go and settle every month when I got my wages, but it's never
seemed the right time. I didn't know Parker's were pressing for it.
Oh, dear, I've been a bad girl!"
"You have indeed," said Miss Roscoe. "It was wrong of Miss Gascoyne
to ask you to help her to deceive me, but worse for you to defraud
her."
"It wasn't Miss Gascoyne that suggested sending back the broken china
to Parker's and saying nothing about it; it was Miss Goodwin,"
declared Emma, pointing at Netta. "She planned the whole thing! Yes, I
can tell you she did. She's a deeper one than the other. It was half
her fault, I'll be bound!"
Netta's face was a study, especially as Miss Roscoe looked at her
keenly, though she made no remark.
"I've brought the money with me," continued Emma, still sobbing, "if
Miss Gascoyne will please take it and forgive me."
"You don't deserve any consideration, Emma," said Miss Roscoe.
"For the sake of my mother!" pleaded Emma. "Oh, don't prosecute me! It
would brand me for life!"
"Don't send her to prison, please!" interposed Gwen.
"Well, we don't want to be too hard on you and ruin your life. Let it
be a warning to you to be honest in future. I am sure Miss Gascoyne
has no wish to prosecute you. I shall be obliged to let your mistress
know about this, however. I gave you so good a character to her, that
it is not fair she should remain in ignorance of so serious a slip.
She must be the judge whether she keeps you in her service or not."
"I'll go home to my mother and work at dressmaking," snivelled Emma as
she prepared to depart. "Here's the money, Miss Gascoyne; I'm sorry I
took it, and thank you kindly for not prosecuting."
Netta fled from the study the moment Miss Roscoe gave her leave to go.
She was anxious not to have to speak to Gwen, for she knew she had not
behaved well towards her. Emma's unexpected accusation had given
rather an awkward turn to the affair, and she had hardly come out of
it with the credit she expected. Gwen lingered behind. She felt she
could not leave without offering the apology which for seven long
months she had wished to make.
"Please, Miss Roscoe, I'm most dreadfully sorry about all this. I know
I ought to have come and told you at once when I knocked over the box
of china," she blurted out abruptly. "I've been miserable the whole
time about it."
"Well, Gwen, it's a lesson to keep square, isn't it? One little step
from the straight road often sends us farther out of our way than we
have any intention of going. I don't think you will descend to
anything so underhand again, will you?"
"Never in all my life!" protested Gwen with energy.
"Then we'll say no more about it."
The news that Gwen had been suspected of appropriating some of the
gate money had leaked out, as news always leaks out, and was received
with great indignation by the rest of the Fifth.
"Gwen Gascoyne simply isn't capable of doing such an abominable
thing!" declared Elspeth Frazer.
"No. Gwen's gauche and brusque, but she's unimpeachable," agreed Hilda
Browne.
"I'd rather suspect myself!" said Charlotte Perry.
Much satisfaction was expressed in the Form when the report of the
mistake in Miss Douglas's change was circulated, and Gwen's complete
acquittal secured. Everybody congratulated her heartily when she
returned to the classroom.
"You're the heroine of the hour," said Louise Mawson. "It was an
uncommonly disagreeable thing to happen. But in a bag full of change
it's very easy to confuse a half-sovereign and a sixpence. By the by,
has Miss Roscoe added up all the accounts yet? How much have we made?"
"One hundred and fifty-three pounds altogether," replied Gwen. "We got
a hundred and nine pounds by collecting, and the gymkhana has made
forty-four."
"Hooray! Then the cot is an accomplished fact."
"We shall all have to pay a visit to the Convalescent Home and see it,
as soon as the name is painted up over it," said Hilda Browne.
"Won't it look scrumptious to see 'Rodenhurst Cot' in black and
white?" chuckled Charlotte Perry.
"We shall have to publish reports of our special convalescents in
every number of the school magazine," suggested Iris Watson. "It will
be so interesting to read about them."
At four o'clock, by Winnie's express permission, Gwen went to Parker &
Sons and made a final settlement of their account. The relief of being
free from her load of debt was very great, and she came out of the
shop happier than she had been since the day she first entered it. As
Emma had refunded the one pound two and sixpence in full, Gwen had
twelve and sixpence in hand, and, in consequence, felt rich beyond the
dreams of avarice. The vision of a new tennis racket began to dawn on
her horizon. That evening she managed to cajole Father for a short
stroll on the moor. It was seldom she could secure such a
_tête-à-tête_ walk, but she was longing so much to unburden her mind
that she gave him no peace until she had got him all to herself. Once
they were seated on the heather, with the wold behind and the sea in
front, Gwen began to pour out the story in her usual abrupt, jerky
fashion, not omitting the matter of the prize essay which she had sold
to Netta.
"Why didn't you tell me all this before, Gwen?" asked Mr. Gascoyne
when she had finished.
"Because--oh, Dad, I thought it would worry you! Beatrice said you
were so dreadfully hard up."
"It would have worried me far more to feel that you owed money. How
much did Netta Goodwin lend you?"
"A sovereign."
"Then I will make up your twelve and six to twenty shillings, and you
shall pay her back. I don't like that transaction about the essay at
all."
"Netta doesn't deserve it!" exclaimed Gwen.
"I dare say not, but your conscience demands it. Honour forbids you to
expose Netta, but the affair was so discreditable that I want your
part at least to be set straight. That sovereign was ill-gotten gains,
Gwen!"
"Oh, Dad! Are you very angry with me?"
"No, not angry, but I wish you'd trusted me. The whole business,
childie, hasn't been on the square."
"I knew it wasn't, all the time," confessed Gwen, scrubbing her eyes.
"But--oh, Dad, it was so hard! Why do such hard places come into one's
life?"
"To give one the opportunity to get strong. If everything were always
pleasant and smooth and easy, we should be poor sort of creatures in
the end, with no character worth having. I feel that every day myself,
and give thanks for the hard things, and I've had my share of them."
Gwen looked at Father, and a sudden perception of his meaning swept
over her. Young as she was, she knew something of the struggles and
disappointments, the lack of appreciation, the mistrust, the
misconstructions, the slights which had met him in his parish work,
and the burden of poverty which he carried so bravely and
uncomplainingly--somewhat, too, perhaps, she divined of the hopes he
had left behind. Her own little struggles faded into nothingness in
the shadow of his.
"Yes, you've had a hard life, Dad," she repeated slowly.
"Sentry duty. That's all! A hard life is the soldier's post of
honour," said Father.
He looked far out over the sea as he spoke, and it almost seemed to
Gwen as if his face shone.
There was still one point which Gwen was anxious to elucidate, and
that was the reason of Lesbia's peculiar conduct in the orchard on the
evening of the gymkhana, and where she had obtained the ten and
sixpence of which she had spoken. Lesbia seemed very unwilling to
discuss the subject, but when the two girls were in their bedroom that
night, Gwen held her to the point.
"Oh, Gwen, you've got me in a corner!" protested Lesbia. "I didn't
mean to tell a soul about it, except Kitty Macpherson! Well, if you
must know, this is what happened. One day Kitty brought a copy of _The
Gentlewoman's World_ to school. It had a beauty competition in it, and
she urged me to try my luck, so I sent up my photo--that one which
Aunt Violet had taken of me when I was staying at Greylands. It
actually won a prize, and the magazine sent me a postal order for ten
and sixpence. I didn't dare to tell any of you at home, because I knew
you'd all think me so terribly vain and conceited. Beatrice is
fearfully down on me for that kind of thing, and I knew the boys would
tease, and call me 'Proudie' and 'Madam Conceit'."
Gwen laughed long and heartily. She did not tell her little sister of
the unjust suspicion she had for a short time harboured against her.
The whole affair was so exactly like Lesbia, from the competing for a
beauty prize to the careless taking of wrong change.
"How will you explain your new tennis racket?" she enquired. "Beatrice
will ask where you got the money to buy it."
"I never thought of that. I suppose I shall have to confess, then, and
be labelled 'Miss Vanity'," sighed Lesbia. "It's a ripping racket,
Gwen. It's exactly the same that Kitty Macpherson has. I'll lend it to
you whenever you want it. Are you cross with me for not telling you
before?"
"No, dear; it wasn't such a fearful crime after all," returned Gwen,
half sighing, for Lesbia's secret seemed so much more innocent a one
than her own had been.