A TIME OF DANGER
Fanny was left alone with Dickie. It was really awful to be quite alone
in a room where a spider nearly the size of an egg had concealed
himself. If Dickie would only come out and show himself Fanny thought
she could fight him; but he was at once big enough to bite and terrify
her up to the point of danger, and small enough effectually to hide his
presence. Fanny was really nervous; all the events of the day had
conspired to make her so. She, who, as a rule, knew nothing whatever
about nerves, was oppressed by them now. There had been the meeting of
the Specialities; there had been the blunt refusal to make Sibyl one of
their number. Then there was the appalling fact that she (Fanny) was
turned out of her bedroom. There was also the unpleasantness of Sibyl's
insurrection; and last, but not least, a spider had been put into her
bed by those wicked girls.
Oh, what horrors all the Vivians were! What turmoil they had created in
the hitherto orderly, happy school! "No wonder I hate them!" thought
Fanny. "Well, I can't sleep here--that's plain." She stood by the fire.
The fire began to get low; the hour waxed late. There was no sound
whatever in the house. Betty's beautiful room was in a distant wing. The
doctors might consult in the adjoining room that used to be Fanny's as
much as they pleased, but not one sound of their voices or footsteps
could reach the girl. The other schoolgirls had gone to bed. They were
all anxious, all more or less unhappy; but, compared to Fanny, they were
blessed with sweet peace, and could slumber without any sense of
reproach.
Fanny found herself turning cold. She was also hungry. She looked at the
clock on the mantelpiece; the hour was past midnight. As a rule, she was
in bed and sound asleep long before this time. Her cold and hunger made
her look at the fire; it was getting low.
Mrs. Haddo was so determined to give the girls of her school every
possible comfort that she never allowed them to feel cold in the house.
The passages were therefore heated in winter-time with steam, and each
bedroom had its own cheery fire. The governesses were treated almost
better than the pupils. But then people were not expected to sit up all
night.
Fanny opened the coal-hod, intending to put fresh coals on the dying
fire; but, to her distress, found that the hod was empty. This happened
to be a mistake on the part of the housemaid who had charge of this
special room.
Fanny felt herself growing colder and colder, and yet she dared not go
to bed. She had turned on all the electric lights, and the room itself
was bright as day. Suddenly she heard the sound of wheels crunching on
the gravel outside. She rushed to the window, and was relieved to
observe that the doctor's carriage was bowling down the avenue. The
doctors had therefore gone. Miss Symes would come to bed very soon now.
Perhaps Miss Symes would know how to catch Dickie. Anyhow, Fanny would
not be alone. She crouched in her chair near the dying embers of the
fire. The minutes ticked slowly on until at last it was a quarter to one
o'clock. Then Miss Symes opened the door and came in. She hardly noticed
the fact that Fanny was up, and the further fact that her fire was
nothing but embers did not affect her in the very least. Her eyes were
very bright, and there were red spots on each cheek. The expression on
her face brought Fanny to the momentary consciousness that they were all
in a house where the great Angel of Death might enter at any moment.
Miss Symes sat down on the nearest chair, folded her hands on her lap,
and looked at Fanny. "Well," she said, "have you nothing to ask me?"
"I am a very miserable girl!" said Fanny. "To begin with, I am hungry,
for I scarcely ate any supper to-night; I did not care for the food
provided by the Specialities. Hours and hours have passed by, and I
could not go to bed."
"And why not, Fanny?" asked Miss Symes. "Why did you stay up against the
rules? And why do you think of yourself in a moment like the present?"
"I am sorry," said Fanny; "but one must always think of one's self--at
least, I am afraid _I_ must. Not that I mean to be selfish," she added,
seeing a look of consternation spread over Miss Symes's face. "The fact
is this, St. Cecilia, I have had the most horrible fright. Those ghastly
little creatures the twins--the Vivian twins--brought a most enormous
spider into your room, hid it in the center of my bed, and then ran away
again. I never saw such a monster! I was afraid to go near the creature
at first; and when I did it looked at me--yes, absolutely looked at me!
I turned cold with horror. Then, before I could find my voice, it began
to run--and towards me! Oh, St. Cecilia, I screamed! I did. Susie and
Olive heard me, and came to the rescue. Of course they knew that the
spider was Dickie, that horrid reptile those girls brought from
Scotland. He has hidden himself somewhere in the room. The twins
themselves said that his bite was dangerous, so I am quite afraid to go
to bed; I am, really."
"Come, Fanny, don't talk nonsense!" said Miss Symes. "The poor little
twins are to be excused to-night, for they are really beside themselves.
I have just left the poor little children, and Martha West is going to
spend the night with them. Martha is a splendid creature!"
"I cannot possibly go to bed, Miss Symes."
"But you really must turn in. We don't want to have more illnesses in
the house than we can help; so, my dear Fanny, get between the sheets
and go to sleep."
"And you really think that Dickie won't hurt me?"
"Of course not; and you surely can take care of yourself. If you are
nervous you can keep one of the electric lights on. Now, do go to bed. I
am going to change into a warm dressing-gown, for I want to help the
nurse in Betty's room."
"And how is Betty?" asked Fanny in a low tone. "Why is there such a
frightful fuss about her? Is she so very ill?"
"Yes, Fanny; your cousin, Betty Vivian, is dangerously ill. No one can
quite account for what is wrong; but that her brain is affected there is
not the slightest doubt, and the doctor from London says that unless she
gets relief soon he fears very much for the result. The child is
suffering from a very severe shock, and to-morrow Mrs. Haddo intends to
make most urgent inquiries as to the nature of what went wrong. But I
needn't talk to you any longer about her now. Go to bed and to sleep."
While Miss Symes was speaking she was changing her morning-dress and
putting on a very warm woolen dressing-gown. The next minute she had
left the room without taking any further notice of Fanny. Fanny,
terrified, cold, afraid to undress, but unable from sheer sleepiness to
stay up any longer, got between the sheets and soon dropped into
undisturbed slumber. If Dickie watched her in the distance he left her
alone. There were worse enemies waiting to spy on poor Fanny than even
Dickie.
In a school like Haddo Court dangerous illness must affect each member
of the large and as a rule deeply attached family. Betty Vivian had come
like a bright meteor into the midst of the school. She had delighted
her companions; she had fascinated them; she had drawn forth love. She
could do what no other girl had ever done in the school. No one supposed
Betty to be free from faults, but every one also knew that her faults
were exceeded by her virtues. She was loved because she was lovable. The
only one who really hated her was her cousin Fanny.
Now, Fanny knew well that inquiries would be made; for the favorite must
not be ill if anything could be done to save her, nor must a stone be
left unturned to effect her recovery.
Fanny awoke the next morning with a genuine headache, fearing she knew
not what. The great gong which always awoke the school was not sounded
that day; but a servant came in and brought Fanny's hot water, waking
her at the same time. Fanny rubbed her eyes, tried to recall where she
was, and then asked the woman how Miss Vivian was.
"I don't know, miss. It's a little late, but if you are quick you'll be
down in hall at the usual time."
Fanny felt that she hated the woman. As she dressed, however, she forgot
all about her, so intensely anxious was she to recover the packet from
its hiding-place in her own bedroom. She wondered much if she could
accomplish this, and presently, prompted by the motto, "Nothing venture,
nothing win," tidied her dress, smoothed back her hair, washed her face,
tried to look as she might have looked on an ordinary morning, and
finding that she had quite ten minutes to spare before she must appear
in hall, ran swiftly in the direction of her own room.
She was sufficiently early to know that there was very little chance of
her meeting another girl en route, and even if she did she could easily
explain that she was going to her room to fetch some article of wardrobe
which had been forgotten.
She reached the room. The door was shut. Very softly she turned the
handle; it yielded to her pressure, and she went in.
The nurse turned at once to confront her. "You mustn't come in here,
miss."
"I just want to fetch something from one of my drawers; I won't make the
slightest noise," said Fanny. "Please let me in."
Sister Helen said nothing further. Fanny softly opened one of the
drawers. She knew the exact spot where the packet lay hidden. A moment
later she had folded it up in some of her under-linen and conveyed it
outside the room without Sister Helen suspecting anything. As soon as
she found herself in the corridor she removed the packet from its
wrappings and slipped it into her inner pocket. It must stay on her
person for the present, for in no other place could it possibly be safe.
When she regained Miss Symes's room she found that lady already there.
She was making her toilet.
"Why, Fanny," she said, "what have you been doing? You haven't, surely,
been to your own room! Did Sister Helen let you in?"
"She didn't want to; but I required some--some handkerchiefs and things
of that sort," said Fanny.
"Well, you haven't brought any handkerchiefs," said Miss Symes. "You
have only brought a couple of night-dresses."
"Sister Helen rather frightened me, and I just took these and ran away,"
answered the girl. Then she added, lowering her voice, "How is Betty
to-day?"
"You will hear all about Betty downstairs. It is time for you to go into
the hall. Don't keep me, Fanny."
Fanny, only too delighted, left the room. Now she was safe. The worst of
all could not happen to her. When she reached the great central hall,
where the girls usually met for a few minutes before breakfast, she
immediately joined a large circle of girls of the upper school. They
were talking about Betty. Among the group was Sibyl Ray. Sibyl was
crying, and when Fanny appeared she turned abruptly aside as though she
did not wish to be seen. Fanny, who had been almost jubilant at having
secured the packet, felt a new sense of horror at Sibyl's tears. Sibyl
was the sort of girl to be very easily affected.
As Fanny came near she heard Susie Rushworth say to Sibyl, "Yes, it is
true; Betty has lost something, and if she doesn't find it she will--the
doctor, the great London doctor, says that she will--die."
Sibyl gave another great, choking sob.
Fanny took her arm. "Sibyl," she said, "don't you want to come for a
walk with me during recess this morning?"
"Oh, I don't know, Fanny!" said poor Sibyl, raising her eyes, streaming
with tears, to Fanny's face.
"Well, I want you," said Fanny. Then she added in a low tone, "Don't
forget Brighton and Aunt Amelia, and the excellent time you will have,
and the positive certainty that before a year is up you will be a
Speciality. Don't lose all these things for the sake of a little
sentiment. Understand, too, that doctors are often wrong about people.
It is ridiculous to suppose that a strong, hearty girl like Betty Vivian
should have her life in danger because you happened to find----"
"Oh, don't!" said Sibyl. "I--I _can't_ bear it! I saw Sylvia and Hetty
last night. I can't bear it!"
"You are a little goose, Sibyl! It's my opinion you are not well. You
must cling to me, dear, and I will pull you through--see if I don't."
As Fanny took her usual place at the breakfast-table Susie Rushworth
said to her, "You really are kind to that poor little Sibyl, Fan. After
all, we must have been a little hard on her last night. She certainly
shows the greatest distress and affection for poor dear Betty."
"I said she was a nice child. I shouldn't be likely to propose her for
the club if she were not," said Fanny.
Susie said nothing more. All the girls were dull, grave, distressed. The
twins were nowhere to be seen. Betty's sweet face, Betty's sparkling
eyes, Betty's gay laugh, were conspicuous by their absence. Miss Symes
did not appear at all.
When breakfast was over, and the brief morning prayers had been gone
through by Mr. Fairfax--for these prayers were not said in the
chapel--Mrs. Haddo rose and faced the school. "Girls," she said, "I wish
to let you all know that one of your number--one exceedingly dear to us
all--is lying now at the point of death. Whether God will spare her or
not depends altogether on her mind being given a certain measure of
relief. I need not tell you her name, for you all know it, and I believe
you are all extremely grieved at what has occurred. It is impossible for
any of you to help her at this moment except by being extra quiet, and
by praying to God to be good to her and her two little sisters. I
propose, therefore, to make a complete alteration in the arrangements of
to-day. I am going to send the whole of the upper school--with the
exception of the members of the Speciality Club--to London by train. Two
of the teachers, Mademoiselle and Miss Oxley, will accompany you. You
will all be driven to the station, and win return to-night--having, I
hope, enjoyed a pleasant day. By that time there may be good news to
greet you. No lessons to-day for any of the upper school; so, girls, go
at once and get ready."
All the girls began now to leave the great hall, with the exception of
the Specialities and Sibyl Ray.
"Go, Sibyl!" said Fanny. "What are you lingering for?"
"Yes, Sibyl, be quick; don't delay!" said Mrs. Haddo, speaking rather
sharply. "You will all be back in time to-night to hear the latest
report of dear Betty, and we trust we may have good news to tell you."
Sibyl went with extreme slowness and extreme unwillingness. But for the
fact that Fanny kept her eye fixed on Sibyl she might have refused to
budge. As it was, she left the hall; and a very few minutes later
wagonettes and motors appeared in view, and the girls of the upper
school drove to the railway station.
As Fanny saw Sibyl driving off with the others she became conscious of a
new sense of relief. She had been so anxious with regard to Sibyl that
she had not had time to wonder why the Specialities were not included in
the entertainment. Now, however, her thoughts were turned into a
different channel.
Susie Rushworth came up to Fanny. "Fanny," she said, "you and I, and the
Bertrams, and Olive, and Margaret, and Martha are all to go immediately
to Mrs. Haddo's private sitting-room."
"What for?" asked Fanny.
"I expect that she will explain. We are to go, and at once."
Fanny did not dare to say any more. They all went slowly together in the
direction of that beautiful room where Mrs. Haddo, usually so bright, so
cheery, so full of enthusiasm, invited her young pupils to meet her. But
there was no smile of welcome on that lady's fine face on the present
occasion. She did not even shake hands with the girls as they
approached. All she did was to ask them to sit down.
Fanny took her place between Olive and one of the Bertrams. She could
not help noticing a great change in their manner towards her. As a rule
she was a prime favorite, and to sit next Fanny Crawford was considered
a very rare honor. On this occasion, however, the girls rather edged
away from Fanny.
Mrs. Haddo seated herself near the fire. Then she turned and spoke to
Margaret Grant. "Margaret," she said, "I ask you, in the name of the
other members of your club, to give me full and exact particulars with
regard to your expulsion of Betty Vivian. I must know, and fully, why
Betty was expelled. Pause a minute before you speak, dear. For long
years I have allowed this club to exist in the school, believing much in
its good influence--in its power to ennoble and raise the impressionable
character of a young girl. I have not interfered with it; on the
contrary, I have been proud of it. To each girl who became a Speciality
I immediately granted certain privileges, knowing well that no girl
would be lightly admitted to a club with so high an aim and so noble a
standard.
"When Betty first came I perceived at once that she was fearless, very
affectionate, and possessed a strong, pronounced, willful character; I
saw, in short, that she was worth winning and loving. I liked her
sisters also; but Betty was superior to her sisters. I departed from
several established customs when I admitted the Vivians to this school,
and I will own that I had my qualms of conscience notwithstanding the
fact that my old friend Sir John Crawford was so anxious for me to have
them here. Nevertheless, when first I saw Betty I knew that he was right
and I was wrong. That such a girl might stir up deep interest, and
perhaps even bring sorrow into the school, I knew was within the bounds
of probability; but I did not think it possible that she could ever
disgrace it. I own I was a little surprised when I was told that so new
a girl was made a member of your club; but as you, Margaret, were
secretary, and as Susie Rushworth and my dear friend Fanny were members,
I naturally had not a word to say, and only admired your discernment in
reading aright that young character.
"Then there came the news--the terrible news--that Betty was expelled;
and since then there has been confusion, sorrow, and now this most
alarming illness. The girl is dying of a broken heart. She has lost
something that she treasures. Margaret, the rules of the club must give
place to the greater rules of the school; and I demand a full
explanation from you of the exact reason why Betty Vivian is no longer a
member of the Specialities."
Margaret looked round at the other members. All their faces were white.
No one spoke for a minute.
Then Fanny rose and said, "Is it fair, for Betty's sake, that we should
break our own rules? The reason of her being no longer a member is at
present known only to the rest of us. Is it right that it should be made
public property?"
"It must be made _my_ property, Fanny Crawford; and I do not ask you,
much as I esteem your father's friendship, to dictate to me in this
matter."
Fanny sat down again. She felt the little packet in her pocket. That, at
least, was secure; that, at least, would not rise up and betray her.
Margaret gave a very simple explanation of the reason why Betty could
not remain in the club. She said that Betty had taken the rules and
studied them carefully; had most faithfully promised to obey them; and
then, a fortnight later, had stood up and stated that she had broken
Rule No. I., for she had a secret which she had not divulged to the
other members.
"And that secret, Margaret?" asked Mrs. Haddo.
"She had, she said, a packet--a sealed packet of great value--that she
did not wish any one in the school to know about. It had been given to
her by one she loved. She was extremely reticent about it, and seemed to
be in great trouble. She explained why she had not spoken of it at first
by saying that she did not think that the secret concerned any one in
the school, but since she had joined the club she had felt that she
ought to tell. We asked her all the questions we could; and she
certainly gave us to understand that the packet was hers by right, but
that, rather than give it up, she had told an untruth about it to
Fanny's father, Sir John Crawford. We were very much stunned and
distressed at her revelation, and we begged of her to go with the story
to you, and also to put the packet in your charge, and tell you what she
had already told us. This she emphatically refused to do, saying that
she would never give the packet up under any conditions whatever. We had
a special meeting of the club on the following night, when we again
asked Betty what she meant to do. She said her intention was to keep
firmly to her resolve that she would never give up the packet nor tell
where she had hidden it. We then felt it to be our bounden duty to ask
her to withdraw from the club. She did so. I think that is all."
"Only," said Mrs. Haddo, speaking in a voice of great distress, "that
the poor, unhappy child seems to have lost the packet--which contained
nobody knows what, but some treasure which she prized--and that the loss
and the shock together are affecting her life to the point of danger.
Girls, do any of you know--have you any clue whatsoever to--where the
packet is now? Please remember, dear girls, that Betty's life--that
beautiful, vivid young life--depends on that packet being restored.
Don't keep it a secret if you have any clue whatsoever to give me, for I
am miserable about this whole thing."
"Indeed we wouldn't keep it a secret," said Margaret. "How could we?
We'd give all the world to find it for her. Who can have taken it?"
"Some one has, beyond doubt," said Mrs. Haddo. "Children, this is a
terrible day for me. I have tried to be kind to you all. Won't you help
me now in my sorrow?"
The girls crowded round her, some of them kneeling by her side, some of
them venturing to kiss her hand; but from every pair of lips came the
same words, "We know nothing of the packet." Even Fanny, who kept it in
her pocket, and who heartily wished that it was lying at the bottom of
the sea, repeated the same words as her companions.