A SHOCK
A string of vehicles were drawn up outside Sowergate Station—there were
three taxis, two rather dilapidated horse cabs, the station bus, and
four bath chairs. There was a wild rush for these last by the girls in
the know, and when they were secured the fortunate ones set off in a
race for the school, the chair-man who arrived first being promised
double fare.
Dorothy, with Hazel, Margaret, the two Goatbys, and little Muriel Adams
were squeezed into a taxi, and the luggage was taken up on a lorry. The
girls were a tight fit, as Daisy Goatby was an out-size in girls;
however, the distance was short, so crowding did not matter. They all
cheered loudly when they passed the labouring chair-men, who were making
very good way indeed, until one unlucky fellow, in trying to pass
another, tipped his chair over in the ditch and spilled the passenger,
though, luckily, without doing any damage.
Dorothy felt rather sore because Tom had gone off without even saying
good-bye, but she was too proud to let the others know she was hurt.
There was such a bustle and commotion on the platform and in the station
that no one would notice the omission but herself. It was quite possible
that Tom had forgotten that he had not said good-bye to his sister, and
she strove to forget it herself.
There were no conveyances for the boys. Their school was so close to the
station, they had only to race across the rails, and then over the road
leading up to Beckworth Camp, and the school gates were in front of
them. But it was nearly a mile up the steep little Sowergate valley to
the funny old house under the hill where the girls had their school.
Dorothy thought she had never seen such a queer medley of buildings as
the Compton School for girls. It was built round in a half-circle under
the hill, and at first sight seemed to consist chiefly of
conservatories; but that was because most of the rooms opened on to a
conservatory which ran the whole length of the house, and served as a
useful way of getting from room to room. The place was very big, and
very rambling; it had lovely grounds, and the sixty girls were lodged in
the extreme of comfort and airy spaciousness.
Dorothy was received by Miss Arden, the Head, and by her handed over to
the matron, who allotted her a cubicle in No. 2 dormitory, in company
with Hazel, Margaret, and seven other girls. It was half-past five by
this time, and matron said dinner was at six o’clock: it was to be at
this time to-day, as most of the girls had been travelling, and had had
no proper meal since breakfast. By the time dinner was over the luggage
would have arrived, and there would be unpacking to be done.
Dorothy was thankful to drop the curtains of her cubicle, and to find
herself alone for a few minutes, it had been such a wildly exciting sort
of arrival. Even as she sank down for a moment on the chair by the side
of her bed a great burst of cheering broke out, and she looked out of
the window to see that the first bath chair had turned in past the lodge
gate, and was being uproariously welcomed by a group of girls who were
lingering on the step of the hall door for that purpose.
She had to burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight the chair-man
presented, decked out with coloured paper streamers round his hat and a
huge rosette pinned to his coat. He was panting with his exertions,
while his fare, still seated in the chair, was haranguing them all on
her splendid victory, when two other chairs came in at the gate, and
were presently followed by the last, which had been overturned.
There was only time for a wash and brush-up; then, as the gong sounded,
streams of girls from various parts of the house poured in the direction
of the dining-hall. They streamed along the conservatory that was so gay
with all sorts of flowers, and turned into the dining-hall to meet
another stream of girls coming from dormitories No. 4 and No. 5, which
were reached by a different stairway.
Dorothy was with the girls coming through the conservatory, she was
looking at the flowers as she was hurried along, and she was thinking
what a lovely place it was. There seemed to be a great crowd of girls in
the dining-hall, and because it was the first meal of term, they were a
little longer getting to their places. The various form-mistresses were
busy drafting them each to the right table, and Dorothy had a sense of
whirling confusion wrapping her round, making all things unreal, while
her vision was blurred, and the sound of voices seemed to come from ever
so far away. Then the sensation passed. She was herself again, she was
standing on one side of Hazel Dring, while Margaret stood on the other,
and she lifted her eyes to look at her opposite neighbour.
A shiver of very real dismay shook her then, for in the tall girl
confronting her across the table she recognized the girl who had stolen
the jumper in the showroom of the London shop.
Oh, it surely, surely could not be the same! Dorothy stared at her
wide-eyed and bewildered. Her gaze was so persistent and unwinking that
presently the girl looked at her in annoyance, saying curtly,—
“What are you staring at? Have you found a black mark on my face?”
Dorothy flushed. “I beg your pardon, I was thinking I had seen you
before.” She stammered a little as she spoke, wondering what answer she
would make if the girl should ask her where she had seen her.
“That is hardly likely, I should think,” answered the girl. Then, as if
with intent to be rude, she said coldly, “I have no acquaintance with
any of the scholarship girls.”
Dorothy gasped as if some one had shot a bowl of cold water in her face;
she was fairly amazed at the rudeness and audacity of the girl, and she
subsided into silence, while Hazel said crisply,—
“Dorothy Sedgewick is not a scholarship girl, and until after the
examination to-morrow morning we do not even know whether she is a dunce
or not, so you need not regard her as a possible rival until then.”
“I am not afraid of rivals,” said the girl with superb indifference; and
Dorothy caught her breath in a little strangled gasp as she wondered
what would happen if she were to announce across the table that she had
seen this proud girl steal a silk jumper from the showrooms of Messrs.
Sharman and Song only a few hours before.
Just then a girl lower down the table leaned forward and said, “I did
not see you at Redhill this morning, Rhoda; which way did you come?”
The girl who had snubbed Dorothy turned with a smile to answer the
question. “I came up to town with Aunt Kate, who was going to do some
shopping, and then I came on from Victoria.”
Dorothy’s gaze was fixed on the girl again: it was just as if she could
not take her eyes away from her; and Rhoda, turning again, as if drawn
by some secret spell, flushed an angry red right up to the roots of her
hair. But she did not speak to Dorothy—did not appear to see her even;
and the meal went on its way to the end, while the girls chattered to
each other and to the mistresses.
“Who was that girl sitting opposite who was so very rude?” asked
Dorothy, finding herself alone for a minute with Margaret when dinner
had come to an end.
“That was Rhoda Fleming,” answered Margaret; then she asked, “Whatever
did you say to her to put her in such an awful wax?”
“I only said that I thought I had seen her before,” said Dorothy slowly.
“And had you?” asked Margaret, opening her eyes rather widely, for there
did not seem anything in that for Rhoda to have taken umbrage about.
“I may have been mistaken.” Dorothy was on her guard now. She might have
told Rhoda where she had seen her, had they been alone; but to mention
the matter to any one else was unthinkable—it would be like uttering a
libel.
“You succeeded in getting her goat up pretty considerably,” said
Margaret with a little laugh. “You may always know that Rhoda is pretty
thoroughly roused when she mentions scholarship girls—they are to her
what a red rag is to a bull. I am a scholarship girl myself, and I have
had to feel the lash of her tongue very often.”
“But why?” Dorothy’s tone was frankly amazed. “It is surely a great
honour to be a scholarship girl—to have won the way here for yourself;
I only wish I had been able to do it.”
“Oh yes, the cleverness part is all right, although very often it is not
so much cleverness as adaptability, or luck pure and simple,” said
Margaret, who hesitated a minute; and then, as if summoning her courage
by an effort, went on, “You see, the scholarship girls often come up
from the elementary schools. I did myself: it was my only chance of
getting here, for my mother is a widow, and poor; she keeps a
boarding-house in Ilkestone. I am telling you this straight off; it is
only fair that you should know. Seeing me with Hazel Dring, you might
think our social positions were equal, or at least not so far apart as
they really are. Hazel’s people are rich. She has never in all her life
had to come within nodding distance of poverty, or even of narrow means.
But she chose me for her chum, and we never trouble about the difference
in our positions.”
“Of course not; why should you?” Dorothy’s tone was friendly—she had
even slipped her arm round Margaret’s waist—and was shocked to see how
the girl shrank and shivered as she made her proud little statement of
her position. “If you will let me be your friend too, I shall be very
pleased and proud. My father is a doctor, and he has to work very hard
indeed to feed, clothe, and educate his six children, so there is
certainly not much difference between you and me, whatever there may be
between you and Hazel. But I am so surprised to find that your home is
in Ilkestone—why, that is quite close, the next station on from Claydon
Junction—and yet you came from London with Hazel.”
“I have spent all the vac at Watley with Hazel. I was not very well last
term,” explained Margaret. “Mother is always so busy, too, during the
long hols that I am something of an embarrassment at home; so it was an
all-round benefit for me to be away with Hazel.”
“I see.” Dorothy’s arm tightened a little round the slender figure of
Margaret as she asked, “Then we are to be chums? I don’t want to come
between Hazel and you, of course.”
“You would not,” said Margaret, glowing into actual beauty by reason of
her happy confidence in her friend. “Hazel and I have plenty of room in
our hearts for other friends, and even for chums. I felt you were going
to be friendly, that is why I screwed my courage to make a clean breast
about myself.”
“That was quite unnecessary where I am concerned, I can assure you.”
Dorothy spoke earnestly and with conviction; then she asked a little
uneasily, “Do you expect that Rhoda Fleming will be in our dorm?”
“No,” replied Margaret. “I am sure she will not. She will be in No. 1;
it is the same size as ours, but there are better views from the
windows. She was there last term, and will be certain to go back to her
old place. She said she was going to leave, so we are surprised to find
that she has come back for another year. Here comes matron; that means
we have to go and get busy with unpacking.”
It was later that same evening, and Dorothy was standing at the window
of the corridor outside the door of the dorm watching the moon making a
track of silver on the distant sea, when suddenly a tall girl glided up
to her out of the shadows, and gripping her by the arm, said harshly,—
“Pray, where was it that you thought you had seen me before?”
The girl was Rhoda Fleming, and Dorothy could not repress a slight
shiver of fear at the malice of her tone.
“I did not think; I knew,” she answered quietly, and she was quite
surprised to hear how unafraid her voice sounded.
“Well, where was it?” Rhoda fairly hissed out her question, and Dorothy
shivered again, but she answered calmly enough, “It was in the showrooms
of Messrs. Sharman and Song, a little before one o’clock to-day.”
The clutch on her arm became a vicious pinch, as Rhoda said in strident
tones, “You are wrong, then, for I have not been near the shop to-day;
in fact, I have never been there.”
“Very well, that settles it, of course,” said Dorothy quietly. “Please
let my arm go, you are hurting me.”
“Rats! Is your skin too tender to be touched?” Rhoda’s tone was vibrant
with scorn, but her fingers relaxed their grip as she went on, “Well,
what was I doing when you saw me there?”
“That cannot possibly concern you, seeing that you state you were not
there,” said Dorothy calmly, and then she moved away to join some girls
who had come out from No. 2 dorm, and were on their way downstairs for
prayers. She was feeling that the less she had to do with Rhoda Fleming
the better it would be for her happiness and comfort at the Compton
Schools. But how to avoid her without seeming to do so would be the
problem, and she went her way down with the others, wearing a very sober
face indeed.