well as she could between huge mouthfuls of rhubarb tart, which she was
discussing with her healthy school-girl's appetite. "It was a bit
strange at first, but I chummed up to one of the girls to-day, so I feel
quite at home."
"Really, Monica," expostulated her grandmother, "you must not use such
expressions; you quite shock me. I do hope they will not allow you to
speak improperly at this school." And she sighed voluminously.
"That isn't slang, really, grandmother; everybody says chum nowadays,"
was Monica's conciliatory reply. "At least, all young people do."
"I do hope you won't grow unladylike, I'm sure. It is doubtful if it was
a wise step to send you to such a large school, I am afraid."
"Don't fidget, grandmother," said her grandchild soothingly. "I daresay
I shall turn out all right in the end." And she added, mentally: "At
any rate, dad, I won't disappoint _you_ if I can help it."
"Well, what about this girl you've made friends with?" continued the old
lady helplessly; "who is she?"
"One of Dr. Franklyn's daughters," began Monica, but Mrs. Beauchamp
interrupted her.
"Oh! I'm glad you had the sense to choose a professional man's child.
Although I don't know much of Dr. Franklyn, I think he is a very
respectable medical man. But was there no girl in your own station,
Monica, who would have been more suited as a companion for you?"
"I'm sure I didn't give a thought to what her father was," said Monica
frankly. "I shouldn't have cared much if he had been a chimney sweep.
I've taken a great fancy to Olive Franklyn, and she seemed friendly, so
we have agreed to be chums."
"Well, I hope you have not been rash. I must make enquiries about these
Franklyns before I can allow you to become further acquainted."
Monica muttered something under her breath, which sounded suspiciously
like "What rubbish!" but the look on her grandmother's stern face warned
her to be careful, if she would keep her friend.
"I thought Mr. Bertram said the Osmington clergy had daughters at the
High School," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp after a pause; "would not one of
them have done?"
"I think there's only Amethyst Drury in our form," was the scornful
reply, "and I'm sure she's a little prig. She's great friends with
Olive's twin sister Elsa, who is just such another as herself, I should
think."
Her grandmother inferred from that remark that Monica had evidently
chosen a kindred spirit, and she dreaded what might be in store, in the
way of added unruliness. But she refrained from saying what was in her
mind, and went on to enquire about lessons, and so forth.
Monica gave a very good description of all she had done, with the
exception of the caricature episode, and having somewhat ingratiated
herself with her grandmother, by repeating a few words of praise that
had been bestowed upon her German exercise, she thought it a good
opportunity to ask a favour.
"Oh! grandmamma," she said coaxingly, "don't you think I might go
without Barnes? It seems so silly for a great girl like me to be
obliged to have a maid to walk with me. The girls say nasty things
about it, too," she added ruefully.
"I have been considering the matter, Monica," said Mrs. Beauchamp, as
she rose from the table, "but I have not decided yet what I shall do."
"Can't I go by myself, grandmother? I'm sure you might trust me."
"I am not so sure, Monica," was the cold rejoinder. "I do not approve of
young ladies tearing here, there, and everywhere by themselves, though
it may be all very well for girls of the middle classes. I shall
probably get a small governess cart, and Richards will drive you in and
out."
A drive with the sedate old coachman who had been years in Mrs.
Beauchamp's service, and who occasionally "spoke his mind to Miss
Monica," was scarcely any improvement on walking with Barnes. But, at
any rate, there would be no reason for the girls to ridicule her then.
So she made no demur.
"Now, Monica, go to the schoolroom and do some of your lessons, and be
ready at half-past-three to accompany me to The Knoll. Put on your
cream serge frock, and make yourself as neat-looking as you possibly
can, for Mrs. St. Quintin is very particular."
Monica was not over-pleased at the prospect of a longish drive, and
drawing-room tea to follow, but even that was preferable to remaining at
home alone. So she prepared to do as she was told, and behaved in so
exemplary a manner during the rest of the day that Mrs. Beauchamp began
to have great hopes from the new educational arrangements.
By the end of the week the governess cart was procured, and Monica was
freed from Barnes's espionage. The girls were quick to see the fresh
arrangement, and Lily Howell, who had been the one to talk about the
nursemaid, was furiously jealous of the smart little turn-out. Her
father, a retired soap-manufacturer, was extremely wealthy, and his only
and much spoiled child was most extravagantly dressed; indeed, she had
everything for which she expressed a wish. But for some unaccountable
reason he would not go in for "hoss-flesh," as he called it, preferring
to hire a landau from the livery stables when Mrs. Howell wished to
drive; so that Lily's pet ambition, which was to drive herself, was not
realised. A bicycle she might, and did, have, but she had tired of
that, because it was such a "fag"; so that she was dreadfully annoyed
when the new girl, with the uppish ways, passed her on her way to the
High School, seated in just such a trap as her soul coveted. She made
up her mind to vent her spite somehow upon Monica, who took absolutely
no notice of her at all, while she was as "thick as thieves" with that
Franklyn girl, whose father was as poor as a church mouse.
Now Lily was a sly, deceitful sort of girl, and was by no means a
favourite with the others; but she was in the habit of spending money
freely, simply because she wanted to show off; so that some of the more
greedy girls made a sort of queen of her, and flattered her tremendously
on account of the chocolate, and other good things, which she showered
upon them. She was so lazy and indolent that she would have been
continually getting into trouble with the governesses, had it not been
for her little coterie, who managed, by one trick and another, to shield
her from exposure; and somehow she managed to pass muster.
On the morning in question she nursed her jealousy of Monica until
recreation time came round, and then she found a splendid opportunity,
as she thought, of "paying her out."
The usual visit to the housekeeper's room, where the girls could buy
various biscuits, and get milk, if they liked, for lunch, having been
paid, some of the Fourth Form girls hurried off to secure one of the two
asphalted tennis courts, Monica and Olive being among the number. But
when they arrived on the scene, it was only to find that the Fifth Form
had appropriated them both, and were practising with a view to a
tournament which was to take place between the girls of the Osmington
and another High School later on.
"Oh, I say! it's too bad of you girls to take both courts," cried Olive
breathlessly.
"First come, first served, my dear," replied one of the elder girls
condescendingly, as she returned a serve gaily, but so carelessly, that
the ball was netted, and her partner groaned, as the umpire scored
"forty--love."
"Well, let's have a game of fives, Monica," suggested Olive, as they
left the tennis players. But, alas! the fives courts were all filled by
then, so there was no amusement left but to saunter about the large
playground arm-in-arm, as several of the others were doing, some, like
themselves, in couples, and some in school-girl fashion, in strings of
four, or even five.
"What do you do on Saturdays, Olive?" said Monica, as they left the
tennis players behind them, and strolled round the quieter part of the
playground, that nearest to Miss Buckingham's house.
"Oh! all sorts of things. In the summer we have picnics in Disbrowe
woods, and sometimes on the river, when my brothers are home."
"You never told me you had any brothers but Pat," said Monica, in
surprise. "Are they older than you?"
"Haven't I? Why, yes--Roger, that's the one at St. Adrian's Hospital,
is twenty-two, and Dick is seventeen. He's with an uncle of ours who is
an auctioneer. They'll both be home in August, and we can have some
lovely picnics then, if Mrs. Beauchamp will let you come."
"I expect I shall have to go to the seaside with her again, like we did
last year," was Monica's gloomy reply. "She always goes to Sandyshore
for a whole month, because it's quiet and restful, she says. It's a
hateful little place, _I_ think--no niggers, or band, or anything to
amuse you all day long. I do wish we needn't go there this year."
"Oh, dear," sighed Olive lugubriously, "I wish I had half a chance of a
month by the dear, darling sea! We are so dreadfully poor that father
can never afford a holiday at the seaside for us. At least, we haven't
been for years, though we did have a fortnight once, when Elsa and I
were about eight or nine, but it is so long ago I can hardly remember
it."
"Wouldn't it be awfully jolly if grandmother would let you come with
us?" said Monica eagerly.
"If pigs might fly!" was her friend's merry response, as the bell
clanging out warned them that "rec." was over.
"Olive Franklyn, I want you a minute."
The girl turned round at the sound of her name, and saw Lily Howell
beckoning to her mysteriously from a little distance.
"Whatever does she want? I suppose I must go and see," said Olive, as
she slipped her arm out of her companion's. "I'll catch you up in half
a minute, Monica."
"All right; I'm glad she doesn't want me. I can't bear that girl."
"Nor I."
Monica went leisurely round the corner towards the entrance the girls
generally used; several of them, hurrying past, advised her not to be
late.
"I'm just coming," she said, and turned back to look for Olive. There
was no one in sight now, except a girl called Maggie Masters, who came
flying round the corner in great haste.
"Olive Franklyn told me, if I saw you, to ask you to go back to the
tennis courts a minute. It is something particular."
If Monica had been a little more up to school-girls' tricks she would
have scented something wrong in the way the girl delivered her message,
and then rushed into school. As it was, she hastened back to the tennis
courts, only to find the place absolutely deserted, and no trace of
Olive anywhere! Feeling sure there was some mischief afloat, Monica
retraced her steps hurriedly, determined to find out the originator of
the trick. But alas! when she reached the school door it was bolted
from within, and rattle at the handle as she would, no one appeared to
open it. Growing more angry every minute, she rushed round the
playground to the other entrance, only to find that fastened likewise!
Scarcely knowing what to do, Monica was just about to pull the
door-bell, when she remembered that the Fourth Form windows were
accessible to the playground. She hurried across the small plot of
grass, nicknamed "The Square," and by dint of standing on tiptoe could
just see into the classroom.
All the girls had taken their places, with the exception of Olive, who
was vainly endeavouring to make Fraeulein Wespe understand that Monica
Beauchamp must have got shut out. But Fraeulein, who was a very fresh
importation from Germany, either could not, or would not understand, so
she merely motioned to Olive to take her place, while she ejaculated
"Ach, so!" and smiled benignantly.
A hurried glance round the room revealed to Monica that she had been the
victim of a practical joke, for Lily Howell and Maggie Masters, who were
seated at a desk just under the open window, were engaged in a whispered
conversation about her non-appearance while Fraeulein's attention was
being taken up with Olive.
"We've put a spoke in her ladyship's wheel, now," whispered Lily, an
ugly sneer upon her thin lips.
"Nasty, uppish thing to look down on you, dear!" purred Maggie, who had
vivid remembrances of the delicious milk-chocolate she had just been
enjoying at Lily's expense.
"I'll be even with them yet," remarked Monica mentally, as she moved to
the next window, from which the two conspirators would be unable to see
her. Here she rapped loudly on the pane, to attract Fraeulein's
attention. That lady was, of course, astonished beyond anything to see
one of the pupils still out in the playground, and she began to question
volubly in German as to the cause of such behaviour, leaving her desk,
as she did so, and walking over to the window.
Now it so happened that Monica was not a bad German scholar, for her
age, one of her long-suffering governesses having insisted upon German
conversations, and Monica had picked up a very fair smattering of the
language during her six months' reign. Therefore she made it
sufficiently intelligible to Fraeulein that she had been the victim of a
practical joke for that worthy to express pity for the girl who would
evidently be one of her best pupils, and, in broken English, she bade
some one go and unfasten the passage door.
Olive, of course, was the first to run and do her bidding, and in the
second or two they were together Monica learnt that Olive had been
decoyed into entering the school by the other door, under some pretext
or other, Lily Howell having assured her that she had seen Monica go in
the usual way a minute before. Neither of the girls could think of any
reason for the trick, except that Olive thought it was "just like Lily
Howell."
"She'll hear more about it one of these days," said Monica
sententiously, as she entered the classroom, with her haughtiest air,
and took her place, without deigning even to glance at the conspirators,
who were burning with curiosity to know just how much Fraeulein had been
told, and whether any exposure would follow. But as no further notice
was taken of the affair, probably on account of Fraeulein Wespe's
ignorance of rules, Lily Howell began to feel that her little manoeuvre
to get the new girl into disgrace had fallen rather flat!
*CHAPTER VI.*
*"HE WEREN'T CALLED 'SEIZE-'ER' FOR NOTHIN'!"*
The following day was Saturday, and therefore a whole holiday. Monica,
who had grown quite accustomed to the new life among companions of her
own age, felt quite dismal when she rose in the morning, and remembered
there were two long, long days to be got through before she could expect
to see any of them again. She fully intended asking her grandmother if
Olive might come to Carson Rise (as Mrs. Beauchamp's residence was
called) to tea, at least, if not to spend the greater part of the day.
But Olive had told her of the previous arrangement that she and Elsa
should go to the vicarage (an invitation, by the way, which she now
wished she had not been so eager to accept!), so that Monica was
compelled to give up her plans for that week.
Whether it was that she missed the wholesome control of school _regime_,
or whether, to use a common phrase, "she got out of bed the wrong side"
that Saturday morning, it would be difficult to say; but at any rate,
things went very much wrong.
To begin with, Mrs. Beauchamp was confined to her bed with a feverish
cold, and Barnes came down at breakfast time to say "would Miss Monica
please have her breakfast, and then amuse herself as quietly as
possible, so that grandmother could get a little sleep, as she had had a
very restless night."
Now Monica was not really an unfeeling girl, but being abnormally
healthy and vigorous herself, she had scant sympathy with ailing people,
and was of opinion that her grandmother coddled herself frightfully.
Added to this, she knew that Mrs. Beauchamp had intended driving into
Osmington that day, to call on some friends who would be likely to be
able to tell her more about the Franklyns, and whether Monica might
safely be allowed to mix with them. Now, with this cold, the drive would
be impossible, and perhaps several days would elapse before she would
get full permission to make a friend of Olive. It certainly _was_
vexing; it almost seemed to the disappointed girl as if her grandmother
had caught cold on purpose; and Olive had hinted only the day before
that perhaps Mrs. Beauchamp would let Monica come to tea, one day, with
them, and the lonely girl was longing to have her first glimpse of real
home life, and make the acquaintance of the "Pickle," and see the girls'
"den."
And, in her chagrin, Monica, with a hasty movement, pushed the hot water
jug roughly out of her way, as she reached after the butter dish, with
the result that the silver cream jug, which she had carelessly placed
near the edge of the table, tipped over, and spilling its contents on
the handsome felt carpet, fell with sufficient force to bend the handle,
and to make a very nasty dent in its pretty fluted side.
"Oh, horrors!" ejaculated Monica, "there _will_ be a row!" and she
endeavoured to mop up the cream with her serviette, and tried what she
could do with the jug.
"I suppose I must ring for Harriet," she muttered, in despair, as the
carpet seemed to get worse under her treatment and the jug certainly no
better!
Her hasty ring brought the parlourmaid quickly on the scene, and that
worthy held up her hands in horror at the dreadful state of the carpet.
"Oh! Miss Monica," she gasped, "whatever will your grandma say? The
carpet will be ruined, you may depend. There'll be a nasty looking
stain, however much we get it out. That's the worst of these felts,"
and she hastened away, to return in a moment with cloths and hot water
and various remedies for the mishap.
Harriet went down on her knees and applied them vigorously, but an ugly
dark patch remained, and, as she seemed to take great pleasure in
reminding poor Monica, "it always would." She turned her attention to
the cream jug next, but, of course, could do nothing to remove the dent,
or straighten the twisted handle.
"Oh, my!" she said; "your grandma will be vexed, Miss Monica, so
partikler as she always is about the silver things, on account of their
anticwitty, as she calls it. Well, well!"
Poor Monica! How she ached to box the ears of this Job's comforter; and
it is to be feared the only motive that she had in refraining from doing
so, was that she considered it _infra dig._ of a lady to strike a
menial! She had not learnt the lesson "that he that ruleth his spirit
is better than he that taketh a city." So, merely shrugging her
shoulders, she said not one syllable to the retreating parlourmaid, as
she departed with her cloths, and the final remark "that it _was_
unfortunate, the missis laid up, and all."
Monica finished her interrupted meal in gloomy silence, meditating upon
the scene that would be enacted later on, when her grandmother was made
aware of the mishap.
Having made a bad start, unfortunately Monica thought it didn't much
matter now if she got into more trouble. So after lounging about in the
schoolroom for half an hour, and finding nothing to amuse herself with,
she decided upon a visit to the stables.
She knew very well that in going there she was acting in defiance of her
grandmother's expressed wish; but the spirit of insubordination had
seized hold of Monica, and she felt absolutely reckless. Old Richards
was nowhere to be seen, so she proceeded to enjoy herself thoroughly, by
visiting "Belle" and "Beauty," the handsome pair of greys in their loose
boxes, and then passed on to inspect the new pony "Caesar," who was
fastened in his stall.
She had just leaned over the door, the upper half of which was open,
when she espied Tom, the stable-boy, in the harness-room beyond, busy
over polishing the harness, and humming a tune.
"Mornin', miss," he grinned, as he touched his ragged cap with delight,
and went on with his work with extra briskness. He was a bright little
chap of fourteen, only recently introduced into the Carson Rise stables,
and he appreciated to the full the magnificent opportunity of "getting
on" that the situation afforded.
For Tom White meant to "get on" to the very best of his ability; and
even Richards, who was rather grudging of praise, could find no fault in
the little lad, who was as willing as willing could be, and took the
greatest possible pains over all his jobs.
"Is the new pony all right, Tom?" queried Monica, as she stood looking
admiringly at Caesar, as he pawed the ground impatiently, and tossed his
silky brown mane. "Will he let me pat him?"
"Better not, miss," suggested Tom, with an elderly air, which sat
comically upon his young shoulders. "Mr. Richards, he said this mornin'
that he thought he were a bit of a tartar, miss." And Tom put down a
piece of harness with evident pride in the high state of polish which
his efforts had produced. He was just going to attack another
vigorously, when Monica bade him come and unfasten the pony, so that she
could see his head better.
"Please, miss, I'd rather not." And Tom came slowly out of the
harness-room, but made no effort to do as Monica said.
"Why not, pray? You surely aren't afraid he'll bite you?" said Monica
sharply. She had an intense scorn for those who were afraid. "You'll
never be any good for a coachman if you're afraid of a _pony_." And her
proud young face expressed disgust.
"Please, miss, 'tisn't that a bit," said the boy, his big grey eyes
upraised to hers pleadingly; for he was devoted to Miss Monica. "I
ain't a mite afraid of 'im, but Mr. Richards 'e said, said 'e: 'Now,
Tom, you leave that there pony alone,' says 'e. 'If 'e don't bite, if
'e gits a chance, my name ain't Richards. You may depend,' says 'e, ''e
weren't called "Seize-'er" for nothin'.'"
"Nonsense!" said Monica, scornfully, although she was tickled with the
man's unconscious pun. "You wouldn't bite me, would you, old boy?" she
added to the little chestnut, who eyed her rather maliciously as she
entered the stall, and put out her hand to rub his soft brown nose.
"Oh, don't, miss, please don't!" cried the little stable-boy, as he
tried to snatch her hand away. But even as he spoke the pony made a grab
at the girlish fingers, and Monica realised too late that she would have
been wiser to pay attention to the boy's warning, for her hand ached
terribly, and there were ugly tooth marks on the palm and one or two
fingers.
"You little wretch! You horrid little vixen!" she cried, in pain and
anger, as she bound her hand, fortunately the left one, in her
handkerchief, and tried to still the throbbing.
The pony, quiet enough now, appeared to take no notice of the epithets
she poured out upon him, and Tom stood helplessly by, his very soul in
his liquid grey eyes, wishing with all his heart, poor little chap, that
it had happened to him instead of to his adored young lady.
"Please, miss," he suggested timidly, "'adn't you better go indoors, and
get something to do your 'and good. Shall I run round to the kitchen
and tell 'em?"
Monica blessed the warm-hearted little lad for his evident desire to
make matters a little easier for her indoors, and gladly assented to his
plan.
She was thankful when she reached the house that she was saved the
effort of telling what had happened, for she felt a curious sensation
all over her, and was seized with a desire to fall into the first chair
she came to. Surely she was not going to faint? Monica Beauchamp had
never been known to have nerves before!
"Mercy on us, Miss Monica, you do look bad!" cried the kindly old cook,
as she called to one of the maids for a glass of water, and sent another
for the vinegar bottle. "La, what a nasty grip the little beast give
you!" she added, as the handkerchief fell off, and revealed the extent
of the damage. "Get a bowl of warm water, Mary Ann, quick!" And in
another minute she was gently bathing the injured hand in the water, to
which she had added a little Condy's fluid.
"Is that better, miss?" she asked, with kindly sympathy, glad to notice
that the colour was returning to Monica's cheeks. She was, perhaps, the
only one of all the servants who had any affection for the girl whose
coming had upset the even tenor of the quiet household, and whose pranks
gave them so much extra trouble.
"Oh! yes, thanks, cook, it doesn't ache quite so horribly now," she
said, with a sigh of relief, as the woman bound the hand up in some soft
old linen, and Monica prepared to leave the kitchen regions. But when
she let her hand fall for a moment, a stifled groan escaped her lips,
and she raised it quickly.