A PRISONER IN THE TOOL-HOUSE
When the story was over and the narrator had gone away, Miss Peacock
also rose. She stood and faced the girls.
"There are here," she said, "about twenty in all. The school contains
forty girls, reckoning Christian herself. Christian cannot appear, but
I should like the remaining nineteen to come to me. Star Lestrange, my
dear, will you fetch the entire school into the hall?"
Star rushed off. Once again Susan looked as though she wished to
escape, but to do so she would have had to pass Miss Peacock, and she
knew, therefore, that her effort would be useless.
Star was not long in collecting the school, and when they trooped in
Miss Peacock remarked:
"Stand round me, my dears; I have something to say."
They collected in a group. Miss Peacock stood at one side of a wide
circle.
"My dear girls, you all know how ill Christian Mitford has been. You
know that from the brink of the grave she has been restored to us.
Had she died, I can scarcely tell you what a fearful blow would have
fallen upon us all. Not only should we have lost a dear pupil and a
brave, delightful schoolfellow, but there are circumstances attending
her illness which would have made her death a very terrible matter to
us all; for I wish to tell you now, girls, that there are some in this
school who have not acted kindly to Christian Mitford. Her illness
has been largely caused by trouble of mind. She came here expecting
sisterly affection, but from the very first she was treated with
suspicion. There are some--I mention no names as yet--who behaved with
cruelty to Christian. Had she died, those girls could scarcely know a
happy moment again. My dear pupils, it has doubtless been whispered
amongst you that Christian Mitford came to this school surrounded by a
little mystery. That is perfectly true. Something happened just before
she came to school which delayed her coming for a fortnight. Full
particulars of the occurrence were sent to me, and I thought--unwisely,
as it turns out--that it would be best not to acquaint the school
with what, it appeared to me, did not concern it. As things happened,
I was wrong. There are girls now standing before me who discovered
this mystery--I do not know how--and who made a handle of it; who
blackmailed Christian, a girl who had never before been at school, and
made her thoroughly wretched. What they did I am not prepared to say,
for a great deal has been concealed from me. But I wish to declare to
you all who are now present that the mystery is cleared up. Twenty
of you have heard Christian's story, and each of you twenty girls is
permitted to tell that story to the girls who were not present to hear
Rose Latimer's narrative. I shall have more to say by and by. For the
present my wish is that every girl in Penwerne Manor should know the
true reason why Christian Mitford was a fortnight late in coming to
school."
Miss Peacock hastily made her way through the group of girls. As she
passed Susan Marsh she stopped and looked at her.
"You can now prepare your exercise," she said, "and do as you think
fit. I think your wings are clipped," she added. "I shall have more to
say by and by."
Never before had Miss Peacock looked so dignified, and never before had
she said such bitter words as those now addressed to Susan Marsh. She
left the room and went straight to her private sitting room. There she
rang her bell, and told the servant to ask Miss Jessie Jones to come to
her at once.
Jessie appeared within a few minutes. Jessie had not been present in
the hall when Rose Latimer told Christian's story. The minute she
entered the room, however, she saw by Lavinia Peacock's face that
something had happened.
"Now, Jessie," she said, "you and I have got to clear the horizon. Next
we have got to rid the school of a most pernicious influence. We have
got to get to the very bottom of a base conspiracy. My dear friend,
this is not the hour for soft measures or kindness; this is the hour
when true kindness must be severe. My school would cease to be the
Penwerne Manor I like to think of if certain girls who have acted in a
most disgraceful manner are not suitably punished."
"Oh, Lavinia! I see you are very angry, and I don't really understand,"
said Jessie. "Of course, it is fearfully hard about our poor dear
Christian; but she is better now. God has saved her life."
"But if she had died, should you or I ever have held up our heads
again? No, my dear. I will tell you what has happened. You know little
Rose Latimer?"
"Yes; Mrs. Peach's little grand-niece--a bright, nice little girl."
"Little Rose, quite innocently, began to tell the story of Christian's
adventure before she came to us to several of the girls assembled in
the hall."
"But oh! you didn't let her----"
"Let me speak. Star Lestrange--I am really fond of dear Star--came to
me at once and asked if I would be present. I went into the hall. To
little Rose I am just an ordinary lady; she was not shy of me. I sent
her up to ask Christian's permission. The story was told. It has now
been spread throughout the entire school. Some of the girls are very
miserable; one girl is very angry. Jessie, I take shame to myself for
not having allowed the child's adventure to be known from the very
first. But now, dear, I must, as I said, take measures. Sit down,
Jessie, and tell me the exact truth with regard to the secret society
in the midst of the school called the Penwernians."
Jessie's face turned very pink; tears filled her eyes.
"Come, Jessie; I must know everything. I gave you liberty in the past;
I give you none now. Tell me everything."
What little Jessie told she did not know, nor how she told it, nor
exactly what she said; but Miss Peacock listened calmly. After a
time, going close to the little speaker, she held her hand. When this
happened Jessie felt that she could tell better than ever. Courage
came into her; she became certain that Miss Peacock was right. She had
always adored Lavinia Peacock; now she knew that harshness in the real
sense of the word could never come from those kind lips, nor proceed
from that true and generous heart. At last Jessie stopped.
"I did wrong," said Miss Peacock when all was finished. "I love you,
Jessie; you are the greatest comfort I have, but a mistress in my
position ought to know everything. In the future, dear, we will have
just as happy a time--nay, a happier time--at Penwerne Manor, but we
can never allow things to come to such a pass that an innocent girl can
be willfully tortured by her companions."
"And what about to-night?" said Jessie.
"At what hour is the feast generally held?"
"They go to bed, you know, Lavinia, apparently just as usual, and then
they slip away from their rooms. Oh, you needn't think, dear, that I go
to bed on those nights. Not I! I wait about, just hovering near, to be
certain that there is no real mischief; and when they are snug in their
beds, then I retire."
"You, dear little, patient Jessie! You have tried to act the guardian
angel; but the post is too much for you, dear. To-night I, Lavinia
Peacock, will take your place."
"Oh, Lavinia, they would be so frightened--so terrified--if they saw
you!"
"It is your impression that there is going to be a very special feast
to-night?"
"I did think so, but I am not so sure now. Some provisions were got in,
but for the last two or three days all has been quiet."
"Well, dear, to-night I will mount guard. Say nothing to anyone."
Jessie soon afterwards left Miss Peacock's presence. She felt so upset,
so terrified, at what she considered her betrayal of her darling girl
that she had to retire to her own room, and did not even appear at tea
time. The girls, however, were all too excited to notice her absence.
Christian was the heroine of the hour.
Next to Christian, Rose took the highest place. Wasn't she pretty?
And wasn't she stanch and true and faithful? And wasn't the adventure
itself quite a grand sort of affair? And wasn't Christian really brave?
"To think that I should ever have doubted her bravery!" thought Star.
As Star thought in a very penitent way of her own conduct in the past,
a hand was put on her arm, and looking up, she saw Maud Thompson by her
side.
"Star, I do wish you'd come and speak to her. She's in the
bowling-alley, and she's crying just like anything. She wouldn't come
in to tea. She says she hates everyone in the place."
"Do you mean Susan?" asked Star.
"Yes--oh, yes! Do come to her! I think she respects you if she respects
anyone."
Star thought for a minute. The rain was still pouring. To get to the
bowling-alley she had to run down a sidewalk which was dripping with
moisture. Turning her skirt over her head, she ran quickly, followed by
Maud. Susan was standing where an eave from a neighboring tool-house
slightly protected her. Her handkerchief was pressed to her eyes; she
was bending forward. As Star drew near she heard her very audible sobs.
"Are you sorry, Susan?" said Star.
"I sorry? No. Go away; don't torture me."
"Oh, Susan! I said I would bring her, and you said you'd listen to her.
Here's the key of the tool-house. Let's open it and go in. We must say
something to comfort you, Susan. I am an awfully bad girl, but I am
sorry for you."
"No one is sorry for me," said Susan.
"Oh, yes, someone is. I am, and so is Star."
"If she is going to repent, I'll try and be sorry," said Star. "Are you
going to repent, Susan?"
"No, I can't--I won't. There's nothing to be done. I must go to those
girls to-night, and you must come with me. I am crying so because
everyone has forsaken me, for Maud doesn't wish to come."
"Of course you are not going, Maud," said Star. "You will just stay
with me; yes, you will."
"No, no; I won't forsake her," said Maud. "Everyone else has. I told
you, Susy, that if you went I would go with you; but I wish you'd give
it up. We are certain to be discovered."
"I suppose we are," said Susan, suddenly stopping her tears and looking
full at Star. "I suppose you have told. I always knew you would."
"I have not told yet."
"Then, you mean to tell?"
"Yes, I mean to tell."
"You are certain?"
"Yes, I am; I do mean to tell."
"When?"
"Before you go out at midnight and disgrace us all. I shall certainly
tell."
"Then you won't, so there!" said Susan.
She suddenly pushed Star forward. There was a step, down which the
little girl tumbled. Before she could recover herself she was firmly
locked into the tool-house, and Susan and Maud were running back to the
house.
"It was awfully mean of you," began Maud. "I didn't think, bad as you
are, that you'd do it."
"Yes, I did it. You have promised to come with me. She is locked safely
in now. She may scream as loud as she can and not a soul will hear her
there. I will let her out again if I come back. Perhaps I'll never come
back. Perhaps I'll stay with Florence Dixie. I could write from there
to my father. I couldn't get into greater disgrace."
"Then if you stay I'll stay too," said Maud "But, oh, Susan, I do think
you are wicked!"
"Never mind now; come upstairs. Let us keep out of the way of all the
others. We'll have one last fling--one last bit of fun."
A few of the Penwernians were scattered about. One of them came up and
spoke to Susan.
"Do you know where Star is? I want her."
"I am not her keeper," said Susan roughly.
"But what about our feast to-night? Are we to have it?"
"I was going to speak about that," said Susan, recollecting herself.
"As that precious Christian Mitford, about whom everyone is making such
a ridiculous fuss, is still very ill, we had best not risk matters. The
feast is therefore postponed for another week."
"I am glad," said the girl. "I begin to hate the Penwernians."
Susan walked away.
"Now then, Maud, buck up and be cheerful once again. We will account
for Star's absence, and you and I will have a jolly time."