THE HOWARD BEQUEST.
Although Miss Archdale spoke very soothingly to wild Peggy she did not
feel so comfortable as her words seemed to imply. She was a very clever
and very conscientious woman, and saw immediately that a very strong new
element had come into the Lower School with the advent of Peggy. Whether
it was for good or evil remained to be proved. Miss Archdale was wise
enough to know that the best teachers in the world can only guide girls;
they can only, so to speak, give them a little push here and a little
nudge there in the direction in which they are to go. The girl is
really, when all is said and done, her own teacher, her own guide; if
she chooses to follow the paths of evil, not all the accomplishments in
the world, not all the knowledge, not all the loving-kindness, can keep
her back. God, inside the girl, must be the propelling force for good;
and, alas! Satan inside the girl must be equally the propelling force
for evil. Because Miss Archdale recognised this fact she was an
admirable and efficient and dearly loved teacher; and because Mrs.
Fleming recognised the same fact even in greater fullness she had made
The Red Gables the school that it was. Miss Archdale, to all appearance,
had taken little or no notice of The Imp and her ways. She called her
Kitty Merrydew, and was consistently kind to her.
Kitty’s conduct was always excellent before her teachers. She learnt her
numerous tasks with the ease of very pronounced talent; she was a
favourite with the occasional masters and mistresses who came to the
school, for her music was decidedly above the average, and so also was
her drawing and painting. She had a perfect genius for caricature, and
could make thumbnail sketches of the different girls and mistresses in a
way which convulsed the school with mirth. These caricatures she kept,
however, carefully hidden from the eyes of the mistresses. Kitty could
tell a story better than anybody else, she could sing a song to “bring
down the house,” she could act to perfection, and here her powers of
mimicry did her immense service. Up to the present Miss Archdale had
left The Imp more or less alone; she knew that the girl was peculiar,
difficult, and that she had a power in her which seemed to be more
directed to evil than to good; but, nevertheless, up to the present she
knew that she had no right to interfere. The Imp was The Imp, and as she
seemed not to cause any unhappiness, and was on the whole more a
favourite than the reverse, she judiciously let her alone. But now
things were different. The new girl was a power to be reckoned with, and
already between the new girl and Kitty Merrydew open war had been
declared. Miss Archdale was truly thankful that Peggy’s bed had been
made up for her in the lower dormitory, where some quiet, well-behaved
little girls slept. She would have altered matters at once had things
been different, and had the child been put into the dormitory where
Kitty Merrydew and the Dodds, her satellites, were placed.
It was one of the strictest rules of the school that the girls were
never to visit the dormitories during the daytime, and that no girl was
ever to be seen at night in any dormitory but her own. The rules of The
Red Gables School were not many, but they were very strict; to break
them was to get into dire disgrace and to be subjected to instant
punishment. Miss Archdale had, therefore, no fear of Peggy being
molested during the time devoted to slumber; and, in consequence, having
seen all the girls safely into their respective dormitories, she crossed
the quadrangle in order to have a conversation with Mrs. Fleming.
As a rule nothing would have induced her to trouble her dear
head-mistress on the first night of school; but this special occasion
needed special counsel, and Miss Archdale did not hesitate. Mrs.
Fleming’s beautiful suite of rooms was in a small wing on the ground
floor of that portion of the house which was reserved for the Upper
School. The suite consisted of a spacious and lovely sitting-room, which
looked out into the celebrated rose-garden, and had French windows which
in summer were always open; beyond the sitting-room was a bedroom, a
dressing-room (where Mrs. Fleming’s own special maid slept), and a
bathroom. Besides the sitting-room, at the opposite side of the passage
was a small room which went by the name of the library. Its walls were
completely lined with books from ceiling to floor, and Mrs. Fleming was
fond of saying that not one of these books had been purchased, they had
all been gifts from the different schoolgirls to the different
head-mistresses. The books were bound in calf and were all uniform in
appearance, and therefore looked extremely neat and tempting to lovers
of literature. There was a side devoted to fiction (almost all
classical), another side to _belles-lettres_, another side to foreign
languages, and another to religious works and philosophical treatises.
Behind the outer row of books was an inner row where obsolete volumes
were placed to make room for the newest and best books as they came
along. The sole furniture of the library, besides the books, was a large
roll-top desk, where the head-mistress kept her important letters, a
table on which a typewriter stood, a chair facing the desk where the
head-mistress could sit, and two or three other chairs, plain and stiff
and covered with green leather. It was in this room that Mrs. Fleming
received her pupils when they were in disgrace, or when, as sometimes
happened, they were in trouble; it was here, in short, that she
conducted all her business affairs, and it was here on this special
night that Miss Archdale sought for her. She was not to be found there,
however, and the governess was wondering whether she might knock at the
sitting-room door when the door was flung open and the head-mistress
came out, accompanied by Miss Greene.
“I think, Henrietta,” said the mistress, in her pleasant voice, “that
those ideas are quite excellent. I won’t keep you now, my dear, as I am
sure you have quite enough to do to get things into order. Yes, I agree
with you, the prize must be thrown open to the whole school, or it would
not meet with the wishes of our dear old friend.—Ah, Julia,” here she
turned and held out her hand to Miss Archdale, “I am glad to see you, my
dear girl. Were you coming to consult me about anything special?”
“I was, although I admit it’s a shame,” said Miss Archdale.
“Not a bit of it, nothing is a shame that is for the good of the school.
Well, Henrietta, as Julia has come I’ll tell her myself about the prize.
Good-night, dear.—Come in, Julia—come in.”
Julia Archdale felt her heart beating fast; she hated to worry her
beloved friend at this moment. Mrs. Fleming had a sort of dual
personality; she was one person in the library and another in this
lovely and gracious sitting-room, which was replete with every modern
comfort, the electric lights rendered soft by rose-coloured shades. Mrs.
Fleming drew a chair near the fire, which was by no means unwelcome, and
motioned to Miss Archdale to be seated.
“Now, Julia,” she said, “whatever your business may be, I have something
both pleasant and exciting to relate to you. I have already told
Henrietta Greene, and of course will mention the matter to Mary Smith
and to Mademoiselle and Fräulein. I will own, my dear, that the thing
has taken me rather all of a heap, and I sincerely trust that it will do
good, not harm. You know, Julia, that I have always hitherto rather set
my face against prizes, wishing to avoid in the school the spirit of
emulation which seems to me in a small place of this sort to be unworthy
and beneath the dignity of The Red Gables School. Nevertheless, the
thing is thrust upon me, and I could not neglect it without doing
dishonour to the dead, and”—here her voice trembled—“the dead whom I
loved—whom I _love_. You have heard me speak, dear, of my very old
friend Mrs. Howard. Her children and grandchildren were educated at The
Red Gables, and if there were any great-grandchildren they would
certainly be here to-day; but, alas! dear Mrs. Howard, in her ninetieth
year, has passed away, the last of her race, every child and grandchild
having gone before her into the world of spirits. She always took a deep
interest in the school, and there was never a summer holiday that I did
not find time to spend at least a day and night with her, talking over
old times and unforgotten memories. Well, my dear, she is dead, and
amongst the letters which awaited me here to-day was one from her
lawyers, in which they inform me that the school has been endowed by
Mrs. Howard with the munificent sum of twenty thousand pounds. This
money is to be spent in the education of five young girls who are
otherwise too poor to receive a first-class education. Mrs. Howard begs
that only the income of the money shall be used on the education of the
girls, so that it may go on into futurity and add to the honour of the
school. Each Howard scholar on her departure from the school is to be
presented with one hundred pounds to help to start her in life, and for
this purpose an additional sum of money is provided. The whole thing is
to be called the Howard Bequest, and the Howard scholars are only to be
admitted to the school after passing a strict examination in morals, in
knowledge of English literature, and the usual curriculum that a young
girl of fourteen ought to attain to. The Howard Bequest girls are to
remain at the school from the age of fourteen to eighteen, a special new
wing is to be built for their convenience, and they are to be treated,
not as paupers, receiving their education for nothing, but as scholars
of high distinction on whom many special honours are to be conferred. I
have, therefore, Julia, to break that rule which I kept so firmly to,
and which my ancestors kept so firmly to before me, of admitting only
twenty girls to the school. In future—that is, as soon as the wing is
built—there will be twenty-five girls in The Red Gables; these girls
will be admitted, after strict examination by a governing body of
myself, you, Julia Archdale, Henrietta Greene, and my dear and special
friend Mr. Wyndham, of Preston Manor. I expect him to call in two or
three days to talk this matter over with me, for it involves much. With
regard to the prize, however, that is an immediate thing, and must be
dealt with without delay. Mrs. Howard, dear soul, said to me that she
had a strong desire to be remembered in the future by the children whom
she loved. In consequence, once every year, a prize will be competed for
in the school, which is to be called the Howard Prize. It is to consist
of an exquisite little miniature of the old lady herself when she was
young and beautiful. The original picture (one of Conway’s) is to be
copied on ivory by a well-known miniature painter; it is to be set in a
diamond frame, with a golden back, and is to have a narrow gold chain
attached, so that the young possessor can wear it round her neck. In
addition to the miniature, the prize-winner will obtain a beautifully
illuminated scroll, which sets forth in old-fashioned language the
reason why she obtains the prize. The reason is threefold—for morals,
for intellect, and for beauty of person. This last clause may amaze you,
my dear friend, but Mrs. Howard had peculiar ideas on that score, and
said that a really lovely character invariably produced a lovely
expression of face. She particularly makes a clause in her will relating
to this prize, that she does not desire mere beauty of feature, it is
beauty of _expression_ which she demands. So valuable does she consider
these miniatures of herself thus won, that wherever the girl who obtains
the said miniature should happen to be in the future, she has, in case
of need, simply to put an advertisement in an English paper, and, as a
recipient of the Howard miniature, she will be entitled, not only to
pecuniary relief, in case such is needed, but also to unlooked-for
friendship because she is the possessor of the miniature. Thus it will
be a very valuable asset in the life of any girl who honourably wins it,
and none other can, for the rules are most severe. Now, my dear, I shall
announce this amazing prize to the entire school in a few days, and
after consulting Mr. Wyndham shall probably give the first of the Howard
prizes at the end of the spring term, so that the girls will have this
term and the next to work for it. It is rather surprising, is it not,
Julia?”
“It is. I am altogether amazed. I can hardly take it in,” said Miss
Archdale.
“You, my dear, and Henrietta, are the only people at present in the
school who know about it,” said Mrs. Fleming. “Yes, it means a great
deal of extra work on all our parts, but I believe it may do good.”
“It must do good,” said Julia with fervour. “It is a noble thought. That
dear old lady has left her money worthily.”
“She has indeed. I cannot tell you where the bulk of it has gone, but I
am given to understand that a considerable amount will be put out to
interest, in order to create a fund for the hundred pounds which each
Howard scholar receives on leaving the school; but also a fund is to be
collected to expend if necessary on those girls who receive the Howard
portrait, in case of need at any future time of their lives. This part
of the strange legacy is most carefully guarded in order to prevent
fraud occurring, or the portraits being sold or stolen. Only the
original proprietor of the portrait can receive any benefit from its
possession. And now, my dear, it is getting late; what is your trouble,
Julia?”
“How could you guess that it was a trouble, dear Mrs. Fleming?”
“My good Julia, I happen to have a strong pair of eyes, and can tell at
a glance when anything upsets the equilibrium of my dear teachers. Now,
what is wrong?”
“I hope nothing, but I am a little anxious.”
“Ah! well, tell me, my dear—tell me.”
“You know the Irish child, Peggy Desmond?”
“Unquestionably. What a charming little face she has too! I have not had
time yet to talk to her; but I took to her, my dear, amazingly.”
“You have not heard her speak, Mrs. Fleming?”
“No, but I am quite prepared for any eccentricity of language. Paul
Wyndham gave me her history, and it is a very sad one. The dear little
creature hasn’t got a penny in the world; she would be the very case for
the Howard Bequest, but I do not intend to take his privileges from
Paul. Peggy’s father was his dearest friend, and he left him the child
as a keepsake; he means to bring her up as though she were his own, to
put her in all respects on a level with his girls and to endow her with
an equal fortune. He does right. I respect a man who takes up a
responsibility as Paul does. He wrote to me at once on the matter, and
luckily little Violet Darrell’s illness gave me the opportunity to help
him. I intended to speak to you about the child before now, Julia. She
will have a difficult time, but she will succeed, and of course we must
help her. Fortunately, she does not look like a coward.”
“Coward!” replied Miss Archdale, with a laugh; “it might have been
better for her if she were more cowardly. Already we have had a scene,
and she has made an enemy in the school.”
“Ah! who is that?”
“Kitty Merrydew. It was Kitty’s fault, of course.”
“What did Kitty do?”
“Took her off, bent over the balusters and laughed at her, and imitated
her Irish. She was chattering to me, poor little soul, and holding the
hand of Elisabeth Douglas, who had taken one of her violent fancies to
the new girl. Suddenly Peggy looked up, and there was Kitty grimacing
overhead, laughing at her, and imitating her Irish. In one moment, like
a flash, Peggy was on her, had taken her by both shoulders and shaken
her as a dog shakes a rat, and screaming to her, Peggy’s face purple
with rage, ‘Take that for your bad manners,’ she said; ‘don’t ye be
talking like that, for I won’t have it!’ You never knew such a scene.
The Imp, as the girls call Kitty, was absolutely frightened.”
Mrs. Fleming could not help laughing. “Do you know,” she said, “it is
very wicked of me, but I’m rather glad to have some one in the school
with sufficient courage to stand up to Kitty Merrydew?”
“Oh, then you know?” began Miss Archdale, and stopped.
“My dear, of course I know.”
“But you have done nothing!”
“Nothing yet. I am biding my time. Perhaps my work will be done for me
by Peggy Desmond; in which case, God bless her!”
“But, my dear friend, forgive me, do you think it well to have a girl
like Peggy under the thraldom of such a very knowing girl as Kitty
Merrydew?”
“It won’t do Peggy any harm. Keep an eye on them both for the present,
dear, and say nothing. You did right to come to me. I shall learn a
great deal more about Peggy after Paul Wyndham comes here. And now,
good-night, Julia. Don’t take things too seriously.”