THE IMP OF THE RED GABLES.
It was the custom at The Red Gables for the entire school to meet
together, and in the presence of their teachers to have tea together
during the first evening of each term. Afterwards the Upper and the
Lower School might still remain in the great central hall, talking with
their mutual friends and discussing how and where the holidays were
spent. This evening was looked forward to with deep interest by all the
old pupils; they had so much to say, to inquire about, to whisper
together. For the rules were very strict, and except in the case of a
holiday, or the Saturday half-holiday, the pupils of the Upper and Lower
Schools never met except on this one precious evening.
But while the old pupils delighted in these few moments of reunion, the
new pupils—when there were new pupils—did not find this time of mutual
confab so agreeable. They, poor things, felt strange and out in the
cold, and as a rule longed for the moment when they might cross the
quadrangle and retire to their own rooms.
The Red Gables was an old-fashioned house, built round three sides of a
square. This gave it a slightly foreign appearance. On the fourth side a
great archway was flung across where the square opened on to the long
avenue, which was very broad and straight.
Facing this was the school itself, where were the classrooms, the great
refectory, and the chapel where prayers were read morning and evening.
To the right were the rooms occupied by the girls of the Upper School.
Here each girl had her own special bedroom. Here was the suite of rooms
appropriate to the head-mistress, and here also slept the English
teacher, Miss Green, the French governess, and the German governess.
Here was a lovely library of most choice books for the use and pleasure
of the girls, and here also was the private sitting-room sacred to the
girls themselves, and into which not even the head-mistress had a right
to enter without the special invitation of the girls. This room was most
carefully laid out in ten compartments, each girl owning one, and
keeping therein her own precious gifts and possessions. The room had
easy-chairs, a thick Axminster carpet, and in winter and spring a bright
fire burning in the grate. On the walls hung lovely pictures, many of
them the work of former pupils.
The left wing of The Red Gables was devoted to the Lower School. Here
also slept Miss Archdale, the clever and delightful second English
teacher. Here was to be found Miss Smith, the beloved of all sick or
sorrowful children, and here also, on the upper floor, slept the
servants of the establishment. The children here—with the exception of
little Elisabeth Douglas, who had her own small room on the second
floor—slept in two long and very cheerful dormitories. One dormitory was
on the first and the other on the second floor. At the end of each
dormitory was a small room occupied by a teacher. There was also a large
sitting-room downstairs for the use of the girls in wet or cold weather,
but this room was unlike the luxurious sitting-room of the Upper School.
It was plainly and almost severely furnished, and had a high
nursery-fender to keep the young and giddy children from going too near
the flames. This room was not private like the Upper sitting-room, but
was liable at all times or at any moment to be invaded by Miss Archdale
or Miss Smith.
The fact was this: Mrs. Fleming, having a reason in all she did or said,
made it a great object that her pupils should realise that promotion to
the Upper School was worth waiting for and worth striving for, so that
those girls who were really worthy, quite irrespective of age, might go
there. This being the case, there were now and then times in the history
of The Red Gables when up to twelve girls would be members of the Upper
School, while only eight remained in the Lower. Of late years, it is
true, this was not the case; and the good lady wondered, without in the
least knowing the cause—namely, the baneful influence of The Imp.
The Imp was a great correspondent, and had learned from her friends and
satellites, the Dodds, that a most peculiar Irish girl—a sort of raw
material—was coming to the school.
The Dodds lived in a huge, vulgar-looking place called Hillside, in the
same parish as the Welsh family. Mr. Dodd had made his money in pigs,
and had built Hillside some years before this story begins. His one
object was to get in with the County, and the object of the said County
was to avoid him and his vulgar, red-faced wife and singularly plain
daughters. The link between the County and himself seemed to John Dodd
to be the clergyman of the place, and in consequence he tried to make
great friends with the Welsh family. It was entirely on account of them
that he got his daughters admitted into Mrs. Fleming’s school.
The Misses Dodd were quite as commonplace as their name implied, and
being completely under the power of The Imp, rejoiced in writing letters
to her. Their luxurious home at Hillside was supplied with unlimited
carriages, motor-cars, horses, pony traps—in short, all that money could
buy. But it is well known that money cannot buy everything; it cannot
buy refinement of taste, it cannot buy those inalienable things which
come from long descent, from the heart and soul of the born gentleman or
lady. These things the young Dodds had not got, and nothing could ever
give them those inestimable possessions. Mr. Welsh was, however, the
sort of man who could not possibly be rude or unkind to any one; he told
his children that they were to be as nice as possible to the Dodds, he
allowed them to visit at Hillside, and the news that Mary Welsh had gone
to Preston Manor because a little wild Irish girl had arrived there
quickly reached the ears of Grace and Anne Dodd. For Grace and Anne to
know a thing was, of course, for Kitty Merrydew to know it as soon after
as possible. Accordingly, Kitty was prepared for the advent of poor
little Peggy in the school.
The first evening passed as usual. The girls assembled in the great hall
and stared at each other. Peggy found herself standing close to Molly,
who instinctively put out her hand and linked it in that of her little
friend. Peggy felt a warm rush of something like gratitude filling her
heart, then her bright eyes, blue as sapphires, shining like stars,
fixed themselves on the equally bold black eyes of The Imp. There was an
instant challenge between those two pairs of eyes. Peggy held herself
very erect. The Imp also drew herself up as high as she could—she was a
tiny creature, and really exquisitely made—and looked at Anne Dodd, and
Anne Dodd laughed. This laugh was very bad manners, and would not have
been permitted had any of the governesses been by.
The evening passed much as usual, and by-and-by the moment came when
Peggy had to say good-bye to Molly and go across the courtyard to the
left wing, where the Lower School lived. For the first time Molly was
startled by the passionate intensity of Peggy’s nature, as she said in a
low whisper: “For the Lord’s sake don’t let me go alone over there!”
“But I must, Peggy, and you know you’re no coward; and you also know—you
are quite sure, you are _certain_—that nothing will happen to you,
darling.”
“Oh I—I can’t go over there alone. Oh, _she_ lives over there!”
“Who do you mean by she, Peggy?”
“That thing with black eyes, that stare and stare at me.”
But just at that moment other eyes looked compassionately into Peggy’s;
they were the wistful, thoughtful, pleading eyes of the little creature
Elisabeth Douglas. She was wearing her peculiar dress of striped scarlet
and yellow. On her little head was placed her dainty scarlet cap. Her
pale face became suddenly illumined with a brilliant colour.
Elisabeth went up to Peggy and held out her little hand. “I will take
care of you,” she said.
There was something wonderfully touching in the tone of the almost baby
voice. Peggy looked beyond her, and encountered the affectionate gaze of
Chloe, the large, very stout mulatto woman.
“I’m all right,” said Peggy suddenly. “I’ll go wid her. She’s a little
duck, she’s almost as good for all the worruld as a hin. Good-night,
Molly; I’ll see ye some time to-morrow.”
Molly did not like to say to Peggy that she could not by any possibility
see her until the following Saturday except in school hours, when, of
course, the girls were not allowed to speak to each other. The
playgrounds for the Upper and the Lower School were quite apart; and the
only time of intercourse between the two schools was on Saturday
afternoons. As soon as the child had departed, holding the hand of
little Elisabeth, Molly looked wistfully after her, then she turned and
met the earnest gaze of Alison Maude.
“What a queer, nice child!” said Alison.
“Yes,” said Molly very eagerly. “I’m so glad you like her; but do you
know, Alison, I’m awfully frightened about her?”
“Why?” asked Alison.
“I can’t half tell you what she is or what she’s like.”
“Well, shall we go up to our sitting-room and talk?” said Alison.
“There’s so much we have to say, these summer holidays are so long; for
my part I am very glad to be at school again. Heigho! it’s my last year,
my very last; to think of it, girls—to think of it!”
“Well, don’t think of it to-night, Ally darling,” said another girl
belonging to the school, running up to Alison and kissing her.
Suddenly Bridget O’Donnell came up and spoke to Jessie. “Is that new
girl Irish?” she asked.
“Need you ask?” was Jessie’s reply.
“I thought she must be. I am ever so glad.”
“Are you?” said Jessie. “That’s because you don’t know her.”
“And you don’t know me,” retorted Bridget, “or you wouldn’t suppose,
even for a single moment, that I could be anything but glad to see a
fellow countrywoman in the same school.”
“A fellow country_woman_!” echoed Jessie, “fellow country _baby_, if you
like! Why, she’s a regular little brat, that’s all I can say. If I’m
glad of one thing more than another it is that she’ll be at the mercy of
The Imp.”
“Oh hush!” said Bridget, “it isn’t kind of you, Jessie.”
“I know it isn’t, Bridget; but you can’t imagine what we have been
suffering from that girl. Since her arrival, at the very beginning of
the holidays, we haven’t had one minute’s peace or comfort. Since she
came to live with us I can’t tell you what it’s been like!”
“Well, I have a lot of things to talk over,” said Bridget. “I want to
call a private council. Please may I, Alison?”
“Of course you may, Biddy, my dear,” replied Alison, looking with some
surprise at Bridget as she spoke.
Bridget suddenly darted about the hall, collecting her several friends,
and a few minutes later ten girls were assembled in a sort of circle in
the lovely sitting-room. How cosy and bright it looked! How homelike,
with its ten compartments each filled with the treasures of the girl to
whom the said compartment belonged! How brilliantly the fire burnt in
the grate! The easy-chairs were drawn up, the circle widened, the doors
were shut. Lights, except the light of the fire, were extinguished. Then
Bridget suddenly sprang to her feet. “Now I have got something to say,”
was her remark.
“Well, whenever you have anything to say, Biddy, I will acknowledge
this—it’s worth listening to,” was Alison’s answer.
“It’s about The Imp,” said Bridget.
They all looked very grave when she said this; a dead silence fell over
the room. The girls, including Marcia and Angela Welsh, pressed a little
nearer, and some quick, hurried breaths were drawn from more than one
pair of lips.
“The fact is this,” said Bridget, “I have been having my eyes on The Imp
for a long time. I haven’t pried on her, because it isn’t in my nature
to pry; but I know what I suffered from her even for the half-year that
I remained in the Lower School, and I don’t know that it is at all right
to have her spreading an evil influence over nine young girls, which is
what she is doing. She trades upon our good nature, upon that old
proverb which says that no one should tell tales out of school; but she
may trade a trifle too far, particularly now that she has got those
Dodds to uphold her—to be, in short, her satellites. I think that we
ought to speak about The Imp to Mrs. Fleming.”
“Oh but I don’t think we could,” said Alison, “you know what it would
mean, don’t you, Bridget?”
“Yes,” said Bridget. “I know quite well what it would mean. I have been
thinking it over at night during the holidays, when I have lain awake. I
have been thinking it over also in the daytime, when I ought to have
been enjoying myself, and I tell you, girls, it downright hurts me. It
isn’t right, that’s what it isn’t, and nothing will ever make me think
it’s right! When I got home to-day—for you know I call this darling old
place home—one of the first things I noticed was the wicked way that Imp
looked at poor little——What’s the name of your friend, Molly?”
“Peggy Desmond.”
“At poor little Peggy Desmond. She will make that child’s life
unbearable.”
Jessie burst into a peal of laughter. “Little you know, Peggy, if you
think any one will make her life unbearable! She’ll just have her own
way, and be a match for The Imp if any one can.”
“If I could think that!” said Bridget. “I wish I might have a talk with
her; but there, I daren’t—I daren’t appear to side with any one. What I
should like to do would be to consult dear, dear, kind Miss Smith, she
is so affectionate and so good to all those children; but at the same
time I don’t believe that she is really the right person to speak to. I
think the right person is Mrs. Fleming.”
“And now, suppose you did speak to her,” said Alison, “what would you
say?”
Bridget looked a little puzzled at this.
“There it is!” continued Alison. “We all suspect her, we none of us like
her; but there isn’t a single girl in the school who can lay any wrong,
absolute wrong-doing, at her door; all we can say about her is that we
don’t like her. And when it comes to that, have we a right to ruin a
girl’s future by making mischief?”
“But when every girl in the whole school dislikes her, except those
Dodds, there must be a reason for it,” pursued Bridget.
“Oh Biddy, you are Irish, you truly are!” said Molly, running up to her
friend at this moment and kissing her.
“I couldn’t bear the look on that other dear little Irish girl’s face,
that seemed to finish me altogether,” said Bridget O’Donnell at that
moment. “I wish you’d tell us about her, tell us something of her story;
how is it she has come to you?”
“Oh don’t let us wander now from the subject under discussion. I’ll tell
you her story in half-a-dozen lines,” said Jessie. “She is the daughter
of an old friend of father’s, and father has gone mad about her. Her
father is dead, she was brought up in an Irish cabin, she doesn’t know
how to behave as a lady, she has turned our house topsy-turvy, she has
made us all miserable, and no doubt she will make school miserable too.
However, Mrs. Fleming was told all about her—all her ways, her
queernesses, and everything else, and she’s absolutely willing to take
her in hand. That being the case, there’s nothing for it but to rest
satisfied and make the best of the worst. If The Imp does annoy Peggy a
little it will do her good, that’s all I can say.”
“You’re a very queer girl!” said Bridget. “Well, I must say that I don’t
like The Imp. I’m certain she works for evil in the school. I don’t know
what there is about her; but I never feel happy in her presence, and I
think she is doing her utmost to effect a bad influence over that dear
little child, Elisabeth Douglas.”
“Well, Elisabeth took to Peggy; she went away holding Peggy’s hand.”
“Yes, a nice quarrel there’ll be to-night between Peggy and The Imp,”
said Jessie with a laugh. “Fancy anybody daring to come in the way of
one of The Imp’s favourites!”
The girls talked a little longer on the subject of The Imp, it was
discussed more and more fully, and after a great deal of conversation it
was finally decided that for the present nothing was to be told with
regard to this peculiar girl, but that she was to be watched, and the
girls would have a further consultation at the end of a fortnight, when,
if necessary, they would speak to Mrs. Fleming on the subject.
Bridget O’Donnell went to bed that night feeling really unhappy. Her
little room was so cosy, everything was so nice and comfortable, but the
dark-blue eyes of the other Irish child seemed to haunt her. She wanted
to kiss that child, to put her arms round her, to say to her, “I too,
come from the Emerald Isle; I too come from the land of the mountain and
the lake; I too love what you love; I too have the warm, warm heart of
the Irish maiden.” But nothing of this could poor Bridget waft across to
Peggy Desmond.
Peggy herself, still holding little Elisabeth’s hand, went across the
quadrangle to the left wing, where the Lower School was situated.
There she was met by Miss Archdale, who spoke very kindly and said: “Oh
you are our dear, new little pupil,” and then, bending down, she kissed
little Elisabeth. “What is your name, dear?” she said in a kind tone to
Peggy.
“Why thin, me name’s nothing at all,” replied Peggy.
“I don’t quite understand you, dear. What did you say?”
“I said nothing at all, wisha thin.”
“Wisha thin!”
There came a mocking laugh. Peggy raised her blue eyes. There was The
Imp looking at her over the balusters—The Imp in a scarlet dress, in
which she looked more bewitching and imp-like than usual.
The Imp was bending forward. “Wisha thin!” she said, “Wisha thin! The
top of the mornin’ to ye, or the top of the evenin’ belike!”
In one moment, in a flash, Peggy had dropped the hand of her little
companion, had rushed upstairs, and taking The Imp by the two shoulders,
had shaken her violently, until the angry and enraged little girl had to
cry for mercy.
“Now thin, _that’s_ for yer bad manners, bad cess to ye! Don’t ye be
goin’ on like that, don’t ye be talking like that, for _I_ won’t have
it! Do ye hear—do ye hear—do ye hear?”
“Come, Peggy, come, you must stop this,” said Miss Archdale who had
discovered the girls’ quarrel from the actions of little Elisabeth, who,
white as a sheet, was crouching in a corner in absolute terror.
Peggy let go The Imp’s shoulders, pushed her violently towards Anne
Dodd, and then turned to Miss Archdale. “I’ve relieved meself a bit,”
she said. “Where am I to slape, tell me, please?”
Miss Archdale took the girl’s hand, little Elisabeth clinging once again
to Peggy’s other hand. They walked up the stairs in the direction of the
supper-room. “First of all I will take you to your dormitory,” said Miss
Archdale.
“What on earth’s a dormitory?” asked Peggy.
“It is where you are to sleep.”
“Is it sleep?”
“Yes, sleep.”
“Is there a bed there?”
“Of course there is.”
“Oh my! Well, I suppose I dished her; I shook her pretty rough.”
“You must not do that sort of thing again, Peggy, it won’t do.”
“Mustn’t I? But she mustn’t take me off, I tell ye, Miss—what’s yer
name?”
“Archdale.”
“I can’t go round that word at all, and it’s plain that I can’t.”
“Well, don’t mind it to-night, my dear.”
Just then some one crept up behind, snatched little Elisabeth violently
away from Peggy, and rushed off with her. The child began to kick and
scream, and Peggy would have flown after the two had not Miss Archdale’s
detaining hand kept her back.
“Come, Peggy Desmond,” she said, “this won’t do. I cannot allow fighting
in the school. I am the head of the Lower School and I insist on
obedience.”
“Ye mane by obedience that one girl is to do as she likes, and the other
is to do nothing? Bedad, I don’t see the sinse of that, nohow.”
“There is plenty of sense in what I say, Peggy. Now come, come, my dear.
The little girl will be with her nurse, and you shall see plenty of her
to-morrow. And I will speak to Kitty Merrydew. She must not attempt to
take you off. I certainly won’t allow it.”
“Faix ye needn’t bother. I’ll pay her out!”
“But that is just what you mustn’t do, you must leave those sort of
things to me.”
Peggy laughed. “Is it likely?” she said.
Miss Archdale pretended not to hear this last remark. They had now
entered the lower dormitory, where five girls slept; the upper dormitory
had only four inmates, as little Elisabeth and her nurse had a room to
themselves.
“You are rather lucky in one way, Peggy,” said Miss Archdale, “your bed
is next to my room. I sleep here. If anybody worries you or does
anything to annoy you, you have only to open your door and come to me at
once. I hope you _won’t_ be annoyed or frightened, my dear; I shall
speak to the girls about you. I am glad to say that Kitty Merrydew
sleeps in the dormitory upstairs, and has nothing to do with this room.
You will, therefore, be quite comfortable here.”
“Ah thin, thank ye, ma’am, for that same.”
“I hope you will be happy with us, Peggy; we want you to be happy.”
“Ye’re not at all likely to have yer wish thin, ma’am.”
“And why not, my child?”
“Because ’tis me heart is breakin’, ma’am; it’s breakin’ slow but sure,
the crack gets wider every day, an’ whin I see _her_ an’ hear her voice
trying to take off me blessed, beautiful tongue, why, _fire_ rises up in
me. Oh ma’am, did ye iver feel the fire rise up inside of ye an’ burn so
that ye could scarcely hold yerself together?”
“I’m afraid I have; but of course all good and brave girls learn to
conquer that, Peggy; if they cannot, they had far better be out of the
world.”
“Is that truth ye’re speakin’, ma’am?”
“I am speaking the truth. ‘He that ruleth his spirit is better than he
that taketh a city.’ The blessed, beautiful Bible says that, and it is
true.”
“Say thim words again for me, ma’am.”
Miss Archdale did so.
“May I go to bed now?” said Peggy.
“But wouldn’t you like to go downstairs and have supper first?”
“No, I thank ye kindly, ma’am, I’d rather go to bed. I’m that moithered
by the train and the addling ways of this new place, and the looks of
them stupid girls, an’—an’ the whole thing, that I’d rather lay me head
on me pillow an’ pray that I may go off into the land of dreams. If it
wasn’t for Mary Welsh, ma’am, you wouldn’t be able to stand me at all,
but she’s been teachin’ me an’ I’m trying to follow her. Good-night,
ma’am, I know ye mane well, I’ll try to do me best for ye, but don’t let
that _black thing_ come near me, for I can’t abide her, that’s the
solemn gospel truth.”
Poor little Peggy was allowed to have her way. She tumbled into bed now,
and her head was no sooner on her pillow than she fell into the land of
dreams.
Meanwhile The Imp, black with rage, called her satellites round her.
Little Elisabeth had been taken off to bed by Chloe. Little Elisabeth
had kissed The Imp, had looked gravely and steadily with her curious,
thoughtful blue eyes into The Imp’s face, and had said, “I love that
little new girl, I think she’s very pretty.”
“You’re a horrid little wretch if you love her as well as you love me.”
“I am not a horrid little wretch, and you mustn’t call me so!” The
little spoilt Elisabeth burst into tears.
“Think of her taking Elisabeth from me already!” said The Imp, looking
at the two Dodd girls.
“Oh isn’t it shameful?” said Anne Dodd.
“Well, good-night, child,” said Kitty, pushing little Elisabeth from
her. “I’m sure I don’t want your caresses, I don’t want anything
belonging to you. Get off to your new friend; go, go out of my sight!”
Little Elisabeth put a finger into her mouth, stared solemnly and with
great amazement at The Imp, and then backed into the affectionate arms
of Chloe.
“Is it my little darling precious that’s to be spoken to like that?”
cried the mulatto woman. She took the child into her arms, crooned over
her in a way that the child adored, and shut the door of the tiny room
which they shared together. Soon the small child was fast asleep in her
white bed, and the mulatto was rolled up on her rug by the door,
watchful to guard her dear one from any attacks of the enemy.
“Oh then, it’s me that hates that bit of a horrible black thing!”
thought the mulatto, “and that little Irish girl who gave it to her so
well—why, I like her, that I do!”
Meanwhile The Imp sat with a hand of Anne Dodd locked in hers, while
Grace stared full into Kitty’s face, and presently put out a hand and
stroked her curly black hair.
“Do you think I’m going to stand this?” said Kitty, looking with
flashing eyes at the two.
“Of course you’re not, darling; we’ll help you, of course we will.”
“We must think out a plan,” said Kitty.
“Yes, we must think out a plan,” exclaimed Anne.
“Look here, girls, there’s no good doing anything except when we’re by
ourselves. Then we’ll excite her, and we’ll be three to one. My arms are
black and blue from the way she shook me—but three to one! We’ll get her
down and whip her till she screams for mercy, as I screamed to-night.
Are you willing and ready to help me, girls?”
“Yes, that we are,” said both.
“Well, then, let’s coax her into the back playground after morning
lessons to-morrow. We must pretend to be very kind to her, and then
she’ll come fast enough. You manage to sit next her at breakfast and
don’t laugh at her whatever you do. We’ll manage fine.”
“Yes, we will,” was the reply.