THE CULPRITS IN COUNCIL.
While Kitty and Jessie were having a confab of deep interest to
themselves, a conversation which was, indeed, to mean tremendous results
by-and-by, Hannah Joyce and Molly walked together. Molly had taken a
fancy to Hannah; she belonged, of course, to the Lower School, and could
never be a great friend like Alison Maude or Bridget O’Donnell, but
nevertheless she could be a friend, and there was something which
attracted Molly now in Hannah’s rather plain little freckled face. It
struck Molly as she watched the girl that Hannah would have a very great
chance of winning the prize on the score of _expression_, for Hannah’s
small blue eyes were honest, and when she smiled her lips had a
wonderfully kindly curve about them, and when she looked her friends in
the face her friends were quite certain that Hannah Joyce would never do
a mean or shabby thing. But, nevertheless, Hannah looked troubled
to-night; she had indeed looked troubled ever since that terrible
accident which had occurred during the first day of term. Yes, it was
invariably spoken of as an “accident;” no one dared think of it in any
other way, to do that would be too unspeakably dreadful.
“Now, Hannah,” said Molly, slipping her hand inside Hannah’s thin little
arm, “what do you think about the big prize? Isn’t it altogether too
astounding?”
“It is indeed,” said Hannah, and she sighed.
“It would be the very thing for you, Hannah, if you got it.”
“Yes,” answered Hannah gravely, “it would be the making of me. You don’t
know, Molly, for I have never told you, how difficult it was for father
and mother to send me to The Red Gables at all. You see, mother won’t
send a girl to a school without paying the full terms, and it is also
one of Mrs. Fleming’s rules that there is to be no abatement of terms in
any case whatsoever. She says she can and will help in other ways, but
not in that. Every girl must stand on her own merits in this school, or
not be here. Well, I can’t describe to you how father and mother have
toiled and saved and denied themselves to send me here. You see, I’m the
only girl, and the boys—Jack and Tom and Harry—are all much older; and
mother was at this school herself, and simply said, the moment I was
born, that I must come here to be educated. From the very first she and
father saved up for this object, and here I am. But, oh Molly, it is
quite too torturing to think of that prize! If what Mrs. Fleming says is
true, it would make _all_ the difference—all the difference.”
“Of course what Mrs. Fleming says is true, Hannah; how can you even
imagine anything else, you silly girl? And why shouldn’t you try for the
prize and win it too? I suppose I oughtn’t to tell you; but I know the
literary part of the prize is to be won by a sort of graduated scale—I
heard Miss Greene talking about it—so that each girl, whether of the
Lower or the Upper School, should have an equal chance. You mustn’t
think too badly of yourself, Hannah, I am sure your abilities are quite
up to the average; and then this prize doesn’t only mean ability, it
means other and greater things.”
“I know, I know,” said Hannah, “and it isn’t for a single moment that I
think so very badly of myself; it isn’t on that account at all, Molly,
but I can’t—try for the prize.”
“You can’t! Nonsense, Hannah! what do you mean?”
“Don’t ask me any more, dear Molly. I’d give anything in all the world
to try; but I can’t, so there’s an end of it. Oh no, Molly, I’m not
going to tell you why. Dear Molly, you mustn’t inquire; it makes it
harder for me if you do, only I can’t compete, that’s all. I can never
compete,” she added in a low voice.
Molly looked at Hannah as she was speaking, and now it was very strongly
borne in upon her that during the whole of this term Hannah was changed.
She was a very gay, bright, commonplace sort of little girl before; but
now she was neither gay nor bright, nor was she exactly commonplace any
longer. There was a look of suffering about her face which rather
improved her appearance than otherwise. Molly was wise, and did not
press the matter; after a minute’s pause she turned the conversation,
and began to speak about Peggy. Here she found an enthusiastic admirer
in Hannah.
“I’m very glad she’s in the Upper School. I’m very glad she’s with you!”
was Hannah’s comment.
Molly felt a prick at her heart. Had the poor little Irish girl any
reason to rejoice in the fact that she was close to her so-called
cousins? Alas and alas! no. Molly felt more and more certain that
Jessie’s cruel words had been overheard by Peggy that day. She was glad,
however, to talk about the child with Hannah, and soon it was time for
the girls to go indoors, and the Upper School could have nothing more to
do with the Lower School until the Wednesday half-holiday.
The next day was Sunday, and Sunday was considered a very pleasant day
indeed at The Red Gables. The holy day was kept with no old-fashioned
severity; nevertheless, each girl in the school felt that Mrs. Fleming
herself looked upon Sunday as one of the red-letter days of her life. An
omnibus came round immediately after breakfast to take the girls to
church, and after church the two schools went for a walk with their
respective governesses; then, when early dinner was over, they were
allowed to do exactly as they pleased, even to play together in a quiet
fashion, to read story-books, to exchange confidences, to chat with
their friends. After tea came _the_ time of the day, when Mrs. Fleming
herself gave religious instruction to every girl in the school, even
little Elisabeth was present at this. The great hall was made cosy, the
fire blazed high in the inglenook, and the girls sat round in a wide
circle. The religious instruction was of the pleasantest kind, and was
calculated not to fatigue any brain, although it was possible that
occasionally some consciences might be pricked. But when the few earnest
words had come to an end, then followed the witching hour. Each girl
recited a short poem, chosen by herself, for the benefit of her
mistress. These recitations were so good as to be almost famous, and
many and many a time a teacher crept into the hall unbidden to listen to
the ringing and enthusiastic words.
But after the girls had recited, the crowning moment arrived. Mrs.
Fleming either recited something herself or went on with a story which
was always in hand, and which was intimately connected with the school.
It was a very strange, imaginary romance, in which the girls now at the
school were _supposed_ to have entered on their future lives, and to be
carrying them on according to Mrs. Fleming’s own ideas. This continuous
tale was full of adventures and hairbreadth escapes and deep
excitements. It was a sort of modern _Pilgrim’s Progress_, and the
character-drawing was so good that no one could possibly miss a word.
The story itself was never spoken of afterwards, this was part of the
honour of the thing; it was a mutual tie between Mrs. Fleming and her
girls, and the teacher who had listened to the recitations was always
obliged to leave the hall before it began. A few of the girls, it is
true, tried to take down some of the beautiful thoughts in a peculiar
shorthand which they had invented for themselves; but Mrs. Fleming
preferred that they should not do this. In short, the Sunday evening
hour was a great hour with the girls, and even the wildest and most
difficult to manage never cared to miss it.
On the Sunday after Peggy Desmond had been admitted to the Upper School
and the subject of the great prize had been broached, Kitty Merrydew and
her satellites sat together in the room which was devoted to the special
use of the girls. It so happened that Priscilla Price, Rufa Conway, and
Annie Jones had gone out for a long walk, accompanied by Miss Archdale.
They would be home in time for tea, and of course in time for the Sunday
class. Kitty had the place of honour by the fire, as the day was a
bitterly cold one, with a north-east wind blowing. Kitty lay back in the
deep armchair, the only one that the room possessed, Grace Dodd sat at
her feet, her two pretty little feet reposed in Grace’s lap, and Grace
rubbed the fine black silk stockings up and down. These stockings had
been a present from Grace and Anne Dodd to their darling. Kitty looked
particularly smart in her short frock of crimson cashmere, which set off
her glowing, dark face as only such rich colour could. Anne fondled one
of Kitty’s small hands, and Sophy Marshall looked on, a little jealous,
a little disgusted. She admired Kitty, of course, but she by no means
like the scrape into which The Imp had brought her.
Kitty lay back with her eyes closed, the dark lashes resting on her rosy
cheeks. Suddenly she opened her great eyes wide, and said: “Well, of
course we’ve all agreed to do it.”
“Oh yes, darling, don’t worry,” said Grace Dodd.
“It was you, Gracie, who really smashed her leg, you know,” continued
Kitty, with a wicked glance at her adorer. “I saw you hit out with that
club. You needn’t have been so violent.”
“I don’t see why you should scold me,” said Grace, who had not much
spirit where Kitty was concerned, but nevertheless had a little. “I did
it for you. She’d have escaped otherwise.”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t let’s talk about it,” said Anne; “it makes me
sick. Why, if it were known, Grace would be expelled.”
“Not only Grace,” said Sophia, in a shaking voice, “the whole of us—the
whole of us. Oh dear, oh dear, I never was so miserable in my life!”
“And what on earth are you miserable about now, pussycat? I own _I_ even
didn’t feel too nice the day she was so bad, and they prayed in church
for her; but I got fright enough, I can tell you, when you—you goose of
a Grace!—fell flop down in a faint on the floor of the pew.”
“I couldn’t help it,” said Grace; “it came over me. Oh it was awful! I
thought that if she died——”
“Well, she hasn’t died,” interrupted Kitty; “don’t let’s talk any more
about that! She’s as well and hearty as ever. Why, my dear girls, we did
her a good turn. Tell me, would she be in the Upper School now but for
us? But, for goodness’ sake, let’s drop her. It’s the prize I want to
talk about. We must all try for it, that’s a certainty, and _I_ mean to
get it. Girls, you’ll none of you really fight against me, will you?”
“Of course not, little sweetheart,” said Anne Dodd.
“But there’s that awful fresh lie we’ve got to tell,” said Sophia
Marshall; “it’s that that’s terrifying me. I don’t want to tell any
_more_ lies. How can I listen to Mrs. Fleming Sunday after Sunday and
act as I’ve been doing lately? I can’t—I tell you, I can’t!”
“Come along, Sophy, and sit here by me,” said Kitty. “You’re blue with
the cold out there. You squat on the floor and take my feet on your
lap.—You have had your turn, Gracie.”
Grace withdrew meekly.
“How cold you look, Sophy; why don’t you wear a warmer dress?”
“I haven’t got one. Mother wrote to say that I must do with what I
have.”
Kitty turned and pulled Anne Dodd down to talk to her, and whispered in
her ear. “It’s worth it,” she said finally; “it’s for Grace’s sake,
remember.”
“Of course, of course,” said Anne.
“Listen, Sophy,” continued Kitty. “Would two big golden sovereigns buy
you a frock? For, if they would, they are yours.”
“Oh wouldn’t they just?” said Sophia, her eyes sparkling.
“Well, come close to me and let me hug you.—Now, Anne.”
There was an instant silence, a quick movement on the part of Anne, and
then Kitty pushed Sophia from her.
“Put your hand in your pocket,” Kitty said with a laugh. Sophia did so
and produced two sovereigns. “There, didn’t I say there were fairies
about? Now, Sophy, my dear, you’ve got to do what the rest of us do,
whether you like it or not. If your conscience was so tender you should
have thought about it many weeks ago. It’s quite settled that we all
compete for the miniature, and do what’s necessary to enable us to
compete for it.”
Sophia wiped some tears from her eyes. “I hope I’ll do it right,” she
said. “Even two sovereigns don’t seem to make up to me for it. I don’t
know how I’ll look father and mother in the face at Christmas; and,
anyhow, even if I do what you wish, there’s Hannah. What about her?”
“Hannah Joyce! Good gracious, what a mercy you remembered her, Sophy! Of
course she must join. Dear, dear, what a worry things are!—If only you
hadn’t been so violent that time, Grace! What a job the rest of us have
trying to shield you!”
“I don’t think Hannah will do what you want,” said Sophia. “Hannah is
looking very unhappy lately.”
“She must do what we want,” was Kitty’s remark. “Let some one fetch her
without delay.—You’d best go, Grace, as you are the culprit, the rest of
us have done nothing except try to shield you. Now trot, my dear Grace,
trot.”
Hannah Joyce had been asked by her other room-mates to join them in
their walk, they wanted to consult her about the prize. Hannah knew
quite well that such was their thought, and for that very reason, if for
no other, she refused to go. She was feeling intensely unhappy; she knew
that she was throwing away a splendid chance; she knew well the
capacities of every girl in the Lower School, and she was thoroughly
aware of the fact that, now that Peggy was removed, she herself had the
most marked ability and the greatest firmness and steadiness of
character. Priscilla, Annie, and Rufa were very nice, good, everyday
sort of girls, but they were younger than Hannah to begin with, and were
none of them at all clever. The Dodds were simply parasites, no more and
no less. Did they happen to be poor, how soon would Kitty have spurned
them from her friendship! Sophia was weak—Hannah felt rather sorry for
Sophia—and then there remained Kitty, or The Brat. Kitty was, beyond
doubt, wonderfully beautiful, and she had that sort of cleverness which
belongs to a treacherous, selfish, and designing nature; beyond that she
had nothing. She was not a steady worker, she could not write an essay
in decent English to save her life. Yes, if Hannah chose, she had a
fair, a more than fair, chance of the prize.
When the girls went for their walk Hannah entered the little school
library—it was too cold to go out with no object in view—and began to
think about the prize. She could not help that, she could not turn her
thoughts to any other subject. Try as she might, this was absolutely
impossible. She pictured the scene at home if things were different, and
if she had a right to compete for this delightful miniature, the
difference in her future it would make, the difference in her present
life it would make, the pride of her father and mother and of her
brothers. Oh, if only those wicked girls would confess and let her try!
Once she started to her feet with the idea of persuading them, but then
again she sat down. It was so useless! And, after all, she had already
to a certain extent committed herself. When questioned immediately after
the supposed accident she had said she knew nothing, when she did know
something, when she did know that Grace had come for Peggy and taken the
girl away, and would not allow her, Hannah, to accompany them. If she
mentioned these things now, doubtless the necessary clue would be
forthcoming; but she had already yielded to the entreaties of those whom
she knew were her false friends. She had, therefore, debarred herself
from trying for the Howard prize.
“Well, I have been searching the house for you; where on earth have you
hidden yourself?” said Grace, coming into the library and speaking in a
very cross tone. “Ugh! what a cold room!” she continued, pretending to
shiver as she spoke. “We thought, of course, you had gone for a walk
with the others, Hannah. Why on earth didn’t you join us? We are having
such a jolly time in the sitting-room.”
“I didn’t want to,” replied Hannah. “I am all right here, thanks.”
“Well, you’ve got to come with me now,” said Grace. “You’re wanted.”
“Wanted?” replied Hannah. “Who wants me?”
“Kitty wants you.”
“Kitty! Tell her if she wants me she can come here and see me. I’m not
going to her.”
“Nonsense, Hannah, you must go; it’s really very important.”
“I don’t see it, and I’m not going,” said Hannah. She crouched up close
to the heat which was produced by a little stove, and held out her thin
hands towards it.
Grace longed to snatch one of the hands and drag the girl across the
hall into the sitting-room. “Hannah,” she said, “you really must come,
it’s awfully important. We’re talking about the prize, you know.”
“Oh, I thought you were! Well, then, less than ever do I want to go with
you, for I am not interested in the prize.”
“Not interested in the prize!” exclaimed Grace, backing a pace or so and
looking fixedly at Hannah; “that does seem ridiculous, Hannah—it really
does. Why, of course you’re going to try for it with the rest of us.”
“I don’t know what the rest of you are going to do, but I know what I am
not going to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“I am not going to try for the Howard portrait prize.”
“Hannah!”
“No, Grace, I am not, and there’s an end of it, as far as I am
concerned. If you want to sit down I can’t prevent you; but I am going
up to my room to lie down.”
“You know you’re not allowed in the dormitories in the daytime?”
“I know that quite well, except when I have a headache, as I happen to
have. I shall let Miss Archdale know when she comes back. Good-bye,
Grace.”
“No, no, you can’t go like that, Hannah. Hannah, please, _please_ let me
speak to you! Hannah, it’s most awfully important. You see, we are all,
all, all of us mixed up in this thing.”
“In what thing? I am not mixed up in anything with _you_, so don’t you
think it.”
“I think you’re most horribly, beastly unkind,” said Grace. “I don’t
know what’s the matter with you.”
“I know quite well what is the matter with myself. I should not have
made you that promise; if I hadn’t, I should have tried for the prize.
As I have made it, I am not going to try. It would have been exceedingly
important for me to get the prize, far more important than you have the
least idea of; but I have done for myself now. All the same, if you
think I am going to tell any more lies you’re mistaken. I suppose no one
in the Lower School will try, unless perhaps Prissy and Annie and Rufa.
They’re all right, of course; dear little Elisabeth is too young.”
“Oh dear, what is to be done?” said Grace. Her face clouded over, then
it got very red, and she felt considerably frightened. “But please,
Hannah, do let me speak.”
“You may speak as much as you like, I’m not preventing you.”
“Yes, but won’t you listen?”
“I am listening. Do go on.”
“Well, you see, Hannah, if—if _you_ refuse to compete for the prize you
will have to give a reason.”
“I don’t see that at all. I don’t intend to give any reason. I’ll simply
say that I’d rather not try.”
“Oh, but really, really! Mrs. Fleming, she’s very suspicious now. I know
she’s just—just _looking out_ for things, and your refusing to compete
will certainly give her a clue, and we’ll get into trouble.”
“But how can my refusing possibly make things worse for you? You surely
have got to refuse too.”
“To refuse!” cried Grace. “I assure you we are not going to do anything
of that sort.”
“You mean,” said Hannah—she rose abruptly, she turned and faced the
other girl—“you calmly stand there and tell me that you mean to compete
for a prize which means what that prize means, which means honour,
kindness, charity, love! No, Grace, you can’t do it; you really can’t. I
don’t believe even _you_ would sink as low as that.”
“I must do it,” said Grace. “I have no help for it.”
“Grace, for God’s sake, don’t do this thing, I beseech of you,
don’t—don’t! Grace, it isn’t worth it; Grace, it isn’t, really! Do you
know how badly _I_ want that prize? Do you know that I have a mother who
isn’t at all strong, and if I got the prize she’d have relief all during
the rest of her life, relief and peace and rest? Do you think it is
nothing to me to give it up; but no—even for mother—I won’t tell another
lie, that I won’t!”
“You must come and see Kitty; if you speak to Kitty perhaps it will be
different. Do come and see her—do, do!” said Grace.
“All right, I will come and see her. I may as well give her a piece of
my mind.”
Hannah got up. She had never felt so strong before in the whole course
of her life. She walked behind Grace, pushing the rich, vulgar girl in
front of her. She opened the door of the sitting-room and marched up the
room.
Kitty was joking—she was taking Peggy off. “Arrah thin! The top of the
morning to ye, me pets,” she said, raising her eyes and fixing them on
Hannah. The other girls roared with laughter. Hannah looked gravely at
Kitty.
“You don’t suppose,” Hannah said at last, “that you are really taking
off Peggy Desmond? She doesn’t speak in the least like that.”
“When I want you to tell me how Peggy Desmond speaks I’ll ask you,”
replied Kitty, her face crimson with passion.
“You have sent for me. What do you want me for?” asked Hannah.
“Oh, I don’t want to be bothered long with you. You are going to try, I
suppose, for the prize, like the rest of us?”
“No, I am not; I haven’t an idea of trying.”
“Hannah!”
“I am not going to try. Kitty, I presume that if it is impossible for me
to try—and I regard it as impossible—it is much, much more impossible
for you to try.”
“It isn’t at all impossible for me to try, and I mean to try. How dare
you even to presume that I have done anything wrong?”
“Very well, Kitty, you can please yourself; but I certainly intend to
please myself. I am not going to try, and I think any girl in this room
who dares to try, knowing in her heart of hearts what has happened—oh,
you needn’t tell me, I am not quite a fool—knowing in her heart of
hearts what has happened, is indeed unworthy. Kitty, you may try, but
you won’t succeed; you may try, but I don’t think I’d imperil my
immortal soul for a trifle of that sort! Girls, I have nothing more to
say to any of you; you can go your own way. That’s all. I am very
sorry.”
She turned and left the room, and the girls stared after her. There was
a pause, a long, uncomfortable pause. All of a sudden Grace burst out
crying. It was Grace’s rather loud sobs which awakened the sort of
trance which fell over the girls.
Kitty sprang to her feet. “Now, look here, Gracie, you don’t intend to
go on in that silly way because a girl like that common, poor,
good-for-nothing creature chooses to set herself up against us! She
can’t do _us_ any harm; the only thing she’ll effect will be that, in
all probability, suspicion will be fastened on her. I mean it to be
fastened on her too. I shall see about it; it isn’t at all impossible.
No, I shall say nothing at the present moment, but I’ll say something
presently. You wait and see—you wait and see.”
With these words Kitty stretched herself, yawned, and left the
sitting-room. The other girls looked at one another. Grace had now
stopped crying.
“I didn’t like it a bit,” said Sophia.
“Nor I,” said Grace.
“Nor I,” said Anne.
“I wish,” said Sophia, “I was as brave as Hannah. I respect Hannah more
than I ever thought I could respect any one.”
“I wish one thing,” said Grace, “and it is this—that Kitty hadn’t such a
fearful hold over me.”
“And over me too,” said Anne.
“Look here, Anne,” suddenly said Sophia, “you have given me two
sovereigns to buy a frock. I’d rather you took them back; won’t you,
please; won’t you?”
“Oh I don’t mind; but you can keep them if you like; it won’t make any
difference.”
“No, I’d really rather not have them; but don’t tell _her_ that I’ve
given them back to you.”
“No fear, Sophy. I want to say something to you. Do you know that last
summer Kitty was with us for a week? Father won’t let her come any more.
I can’t make out what father found out; but she’s coaxing us now—she’s
coaxing us both—to get her an invitation for Christmas, and _we can’t do
it_. It’s jolly awkward, because, of course, we are very fond of her.”
“I’m not fond of her,” said Sophia. “I wish she wasn’t so powerful
though, but I suppose we must go on with this.”
“We certainly must; there’s no help at all for it; it wouldn’t do to
have Kitty for our enemy,” said both the Dodd girls.