SUSAN MARSH
Susan now, with quick, deft movements, removed the candles from their
places by the wall, and placed them round the wooden bowl, which no
longer contained any fondants, for they had all been devoured by the
greedy Penwernians. The candles were arranged in a circle, and the
girls were invited to seat themselves in a wider circle just beyond.
Christian alone was so placed that the light from the candles should
fall on her face.
"Now begin, please," said Susan; "all about your unavoidable detention
first. And don't prevaricate; the soul of truth is the leading motive
of our society. We scorn to conceal anything; we just speak the simple
truth on all occasions."
There was a pause. For a minute it seemed to Christian as though she
heard the beating of her own heart. She was quite still, and it was not
until a small sharp voice sounded at the back of her ear: "It is the
first step that costs"--that she found her voice.
Really Star was too trying, but she had the effect of stimulating the
young girl into a terrible effort to control herself.
"I am very much obliged to you all for being so anxious to know about
me," said Christian, "and I will tell you about my past life from time
to time if you really desire it; but I don't intend to mention why I
was kept from school. That is my own secret, and I intend to keep it."
"Naughty new member; that will never do," cried several gay voices.
"Hush!" said Susan in an imperative tone. "We all know what happens
when members of this society refuse to obey the committee. But we will
speak of that later on. Tell us just what you wish to tell us now,
Christian."
"I will tell you a story," said Christian suddenly, "and it's all about
myself."
"A story--that's good!" cried Agnes Temple, a look of satisfaction
crossing her commonplace little face. "I love stories about people."
Then, fixing her eyes on her companion's face, she said, "I like
Christian Mitford--don't you?"
"Please don't talk any more in that whisper," suddenly exclaimed Star.
"Now then, Christian, we will not compel your confidence to-night.
It might have been," she continued, glancing round at her fellows,
"anything. It might mean an accident to the head or to the heart, in
which case it would be extremely dangerous to press for an explanation.
You shall tell us just what you like, Christian," she continued, "only
don't draw on your imagination if you can help it."
"What I tell you will be true," answered Christian, "only I don't
suppose any of you will believe me. I am an only child. All my days I
should have been terribly lonely but for my attic."
"Oh, dear!" cried Maud Thompson; "perhaps she has belonged to other
secret societies. She would have been very lonely but for her attic.
Please tell us all about your attic."
"I will," said Christian, "if you won't interrupt."
She then proceeded to give a vivid picture of her early days. She
described her life so that the girls who listened no longer interrupted
with silly words or sarcastic remarks; they were so interested that
they forgot themselves. Christian spoke of her doll days, then of her
fairy-story days, and last of her heroic days. When she got to the
subject of Joan of Arc it seemed to the girls that no history had ever
been so thrilling.
"It was one dreadful dark day," she continued, suddenly rising to her
feet and forgetting about everything but that picture of the past which
was rising up in her mind. "There was snow outside, and I thought and I
thought, and it seemed to me that I was Joan and in prison. I thought I
would put on the armor which was to be my undoing. I saw myself in it,
and I was glad and not at all afraid. And then--and then--there came
the trial. Oh! it lasted so long, and I seemed to live through it all.
I was condemned to death. I saw myself; I was there. I was burnt, and I
did go through it all."
"Oh, nonsense!" here cried Mary Hillary. "Your head must be affected."
"No, no; I did go through it all in imagination," said Christian. "I
made it, too, as realistic as possible. There was an old, old bedstead,
and one of the posts was broken. I bound myself to the post--yes, with
real chains, too; they belonged to a dog we used to keep in a kennel.
They were rusty, but that did not matter. And I piled up papers round
me, all torn up in great pieces; and I had some red paper to imitate
the color of the flames. I made the paper come higher and higher, and I
fancied I saw a crowd, and I was burned."
"Oh, dear! you are an extraordinary girl," said Angela Goring. "Don't
you think that sort of thing is very bad for you?"
The others were silent. Christian dropped down again on her seat.
"I have no more to tell you to-night," she said. "It takes it out of me
to feel like that. I wouldn't tell you, but if we are Penwernians that
means that we are comrades--and comrades must understand each other. If
you all will be friends with me I will be your friend. Oh, I hope you
will; I was a little afraid of you to-day, but I don't really think I
will be afraid any longer."
"I, as a member of the committee, declare our meeting is now
dissolved," said Star Lestrange suddenly. "It is time for us to go to
our bedrooms. Go softly, everyone. Jessie wouldn't tell, but the other
mistresses are no end of tell-tale-tits. Good-night, Christian."
"Christian," said Janet Bouverie suddenly, "I'm glad you have come to
the school, and I hope you will be friends with me."
A great many other girls came up and shook hands with Christian. She
had scored a success. One by one, like little frightened shadows, the
Penwernians stole to their separate rooms. Fortunately for Christian,
hers was not far off, as the White Corridor was the nearest to the
celebrated front attic.
She was glad to see a bright fire burning in the grate, but she started
very violently when she saw standing by the fire no less a person than
Miss Jessie herself.
"Come in, dear," said Miss Jessie. "I know all about it, of course. If
I were a teacher I should be obliged to tell; but I am not a teacher,
and dear Lavinia gives me a good deal of liberty. I do not feel that I
am obliged to make mischief. As long as you girls keep up your little
mystery and don't do anything wrong, I don't feel called upon to make
you unhappy. Don't tell me, dear, what has happened; I'd much rather
not know. But come to the fire; you look quite blue and cold."
"Oh, in some ways I have had a splendid time," said Christian.
"I am relieved to hear it, my love. To tell the truth, I have been a
little anxious about you, Christian."
"Why?" asked Christian.
"Because your face has a strange expression--just as though you felt
things too much."
"I am naughtier than most girls; that is why," said Christian.
"My dear child, let me assure you that you are nothing of the kind. I
know a lot about girls, living here as I do. Even dear Lavinia can't
see them as I do, for they are always on their best behavior with her,
and they don't mind little Jessie in the very least. But now, dear,
I came to your room on purpose to tell you that your real life here
begins to-morrow. You will, like everyone else, have your hardships;
you will also have your period of discipline, and I earnestly beg of
you, Christian, not for the sake of a purely quixotic motive to get
yourself into hot water by telling something which never happened in
the school. In regard to this remember, my dear, it is your duty to be
guided by the superior judgment of dear Lavinia Peacock."
Christian made no answer. Miss Jessie looked into her eyes.
"You are over-anxious, dear. I trust you will sleep. Is your fire all
right? Ah! I see it is. I wish I could give you this little luxury
every night, but it is against our rules. We have a fire once a week
in each bedroom, just to keep it warm and aired, but that is all. Now
I will put on two additional lumps of coal. You will be quite happy,
dear. The great gong will wake you at seven o'clock to-morrow morning;
you are expected to be down at half-past seven. At eight we have
breakfast, and then prayers. You will soon know all the routine. And
now, love, good-night."
Christian stood for a few minutes by the fire. It certainly was
cheerful, and the little room snug. She felt that she might soon
be happy at school. As to being interested, she had never felt so
intensely interested before. The girls were so naïve, so fresh. Even
those who terrified her aroused her interest. She did not like Susan
Marsh, but even Susan had something fascinating about her. Then, as to
Star, was anybody ever before so gay, so bright, so willful?
"And she was good to me," thought the child--"really good. She helped
me when I was frightened. She showed me how I might take a proper
place in the school. I love her already. I shall love her well. How
strange it is that I should be supplied with a sort of bodyguard! Star
and Lucy and Jane and Angela. I can't say that they did much for me
while I was going through the initiation, but still they were there. I
suppose they acted rightly in not making their presence too much felt.
Star said they were to be a sort of invisible bodyguard, ready to help
me in times of real difficulty and danger, but as a rule allowing me
to get out of my own scrapes, when I don't absolutely require their
assistance."
Christian removed her dress and looked at her arm. It still smarted a
little from the initial ceremony.
"How ridiculous all this is!" she said to herself. "Father and mother
would smile over it; and yet it didn't seem ridiculous up there."
She wondered what her father would say if he ever heard of that
evening's event. Then, having knelt for a minute or two in prayer, she
got into bed.
But Christian's adventures for that night were by no means over; for,
just as she was getting drowsy and was dropping off to sleep, the door
of her room glided open noiselessly, and Susan Marsh stood before her.
"I have come," said Susan, "to say something. I shan't take up much
of your time, but I think it only right that you should know. You are
sleepy, but you must not go to sleep until I have had my talk out. By
the way, what a snug room! And a fire, too. Dear me! do you think you
deserve all these luxuries?"
"Certainly, if my parents choose to pay for them," replied Christian.
She found herself speaking in a pert voice, but her heart was beating
and the old terrors were returning.
"How grand we are!" said Susan mockingly. "I wonder if the parents know
what the dear young only girl is up to. Now, Christian, please note
that I am in the position to assure you calmly, simply, but at the same
time firmly, that you are in my power."
"I in your power?" said Christian. "What do you mean?"
"This: I happen to know all about that unavoidable detention. I know
what it consisted of. I know the full particulars. I know all about
that wicked, wicked running away from home, and the name of the little
girl who went with you, and the slum where you went, and the room that
you slept in, and the reason why you were not allowed to return to the
school for ten days. I can tell that story to the whole school; and I
will, too, if you don't make it worth my while to be silent."
"I will never make it worth your while to be silent," said Christian.
"I can't imagine how you learnt it, but you have learnt it by
dishonorable means. Anyhow, I am not going to be afraid of you."
"Aren't you?" said Susan. "There is plenty of firelight; that is a good
thing. A fire is nice, and we are quite alone--absolutely safe and
comfortable--so we will just argue this matter."
"You may say anything you like," replied Christian very stoutly, "but I
am not going to be afraid of you."
Her attitude and manner, and even the look on her face, impressed
Susan. She was evidently astonished.
"Why does Miss Peacock say that you were unavoidably detained?" was her
next remark.
"You must ask Miss Peacock that yourself," replied Christian.
"Very well; I must now tell you the simple truth, Christian Mitford.
You can take whatever attitude you please on this occasion. You may
pretend to be indifferent, but you don't know what it means. It lies in
your power to tell the school or not."
"That is what I intend to do," said Christian.
"Is it? Well, we'll see. If you do it you will imagine yourself a sort
of heroine, no doubt; you will think yourself extremely brave. But wait
for the result. How do you think your schoolfellows will take it? You
spent the night, for instance, in the slums. We don't any of us--we
lady girls who live in this school--know what the slums mean, but you
do. Then you were fearfully wicked and disobedient. The girls who are
not wicked and who are not disobedient will be afraid of you. In short,
I may as well assure you, Christian, if you tell this thing, if it is
known in the school, you will be sent to Coventry. Do you know what
Coventry means?"
"I have heard of it, but I should like to have your version," said
Christian.
"You are very smart and courageous in your conversation now, but you
won't be when you feel the full pinch of Coventry life. Just picture
to yourself what it will feel like never to be spoken to by your
companions, to be without friends in the midst of a lot of girls, to be
publicly expelled from the Penwernians."
"Oh, I don't mind that," said Christian.
"You haven't the remotest idea what it means or you wouldn't say so.
Your mistresses may continue to like you, but there isn't a good, nice
girl in the school who will dare to be seen speaking to you. You will
live on here year after year, and not until all the present girls leave
the school will you have any chance of becoming popular. Now, naturally
you would be popular; you are just the sort of girl. That power of
yours of telling stories is an immense attraction. It might win the
heart of nearly every girl in the place. But after your sin is known no
one will listen to you. And why, do you think? Because the committee
of the Penwernians will forbid it. Now, of course, the mistresses have
great power in the school; but, although they would not like to own
it, their power is nothing at all compared to the power of our secret
society. If you, who have just been made a member of it, were at once
expelled because of conduct which makes it impossible for us to have
anything to do with you, you would be in a sorry position. You can
think the thing over. I don't want to press you, but my advice to you
is to take advantage of Miss Lavinia Peacock's kindness and not to tell
what you have done."
Susan's words came out slowly. She made a pause now and then, and these
pauses were very effective. Her ugly face was full of deep shadows in
the firelight. Her eyes were scarcely visible at all. It was only her
white teeth that gleamed now and then. As she stood she herself made a
great shadow, and it seemed to Christian that Susan was a bad girl, and
that she hated and, alas! feared her.
"If I could only speak to Star," she thought. "What am I to do?"
"What I say to you is in absolute confidence," continued Susan, who
knew that she was at last making an impression. "For your own sake you
ought really not to tell. It doesn't matter to me. If you do tell you
will find it distinctly--yes, dreadfully--unpleasant. Miss Peacock must
have known that fact when she so wisely resolved not to acquaint the
girls with the truth."
"But I don't care to live under a lie or to sail under false colors,"
said Christian slowly.
"You are a little goose," replied Susan; and now she changed both her
attitude and manner, and coming close, she laid her hand upon the bed.
Christian's hand was lying outside the counterpane, and Susan caught it
and held it firmly.
"You are one of us," she said, "and of course we all want to like you.
I for one feel that I could adore you. It is because I pity you that I
speak."
"But how did you know? It is a secret from the whole school. How did
you manage to get possession of it?" said Christian.
"Ah! that is my affair. I can only say now that I am in possession of
it, and can give you full particulars of your great adventure. The
name of your little runaway friend is Rose Latimer; and another horrid
girl called Judith Ford was implicated in the affair. Now, are you
satisfied?"
"I see that you know, but I can't make out how you know."
"Be satisfied with that knowledge, for more you will not be told. Now,
you have almost made up your mind, have you not, that you will not
tell?"
"You have frightened me very much. I will think it over."
"Do, and to-morrow we will meet again. I won't stay with you now, for I
know you are sleepy. Of course you will pay me."
"For what?"
"For my silence, dear--my silence. What you give me I shall spend on
fondants for the next meeting of the Penwernians. Have you got any
money handy?"
Poor Christian! A bright new sovereign lay on the dressing-table. At
that very moment Susan's eyes fell upon it.
"Why, here's the very thing," she said. "It will keep me silent for a
while. You will be happy and have a right good time, for I can see to
that. Thank you so much! Good-night."
She snatched up the money and put it into her pocket.
"No, no; come back, please--come back!" called Christian.
But Susan gave a low laugh and a gesture of warning, and disappeared
from the room.
It was long before Christian could sleep. After the relief that the
meeting had given her, to come face to face with such a terrible
obstacle as Susan Marsh made her feel almost wild with apprehension.
She had no one to turn to, for she did not dare to betray Susan. What
was to be done?
"If I do the right thing," thought the poor girl, "Susan Marsh will be
my enemy, and I dare not tell the mistresses. Oh, I wish--I wish father
and mother had never sent me to this terrible school!"