Concerns a Letter
The Girls' Patriotic League never for a moment forgot that it was
war-time. Though the quiet village of Heathwell was little affected by
the European crisis, echoes of the conflict often reached Aireyholme
from relations at the front. All the school grieved with Jill Barton
when her brother was reported missing, and rejoiced when he turned out
to be safe and sound after all. They did their best to comfort Jess
Howard, whose cousin's name was added to the Roll of Honour, and shared
Hebe Bennett's anxiety when her father was in a Red Cross Hospital. As a
practical means of showing their patriotism, they had grown vegetables
instead of flowers in their school gardens, and sent the little crops of
peas and onions and cabbages to be distributed among the soldiers' and
sailors' wives at a Tipperary Club in Carford. Katrine and Gwethyn heard
rather irregularly from Hereward. They looked forward to his letters as
uncertain but delightful events, and sat in eager expectation every
morning when Mrs. Franklin distributed the correspondence. News that he
was wounded came as a sore blow, though a letter in his handwriting
followed immediately, assuring them of his convalescence in a Base
Hospital.
"I am doing splendidly," he wrote, "and hope soon to be at those Huns
again. I am very comfortable here, and as jolly as a cricket, so don't
bother yourselves over me. There's a fellow in the bed next to mine who
says he knows Heathwell. We got talking, and I told him you two were at
school there, so that's how it came up. He used to live at a house
called the 'Grange'. His name is Ledbury--an awfully decent chap--he's
in the Canadian Rifles. He's had rather a nasty shrapnel wound, and will
probably be sent home on sick leave. We've a jolly lot of books and
magazines here, and sometimes there's a concert in the ward. I can tell
you we all yell the choruses to the songs. We don't sound much like
invalids."
When Katrine and Gwethyn had finished joying over the happy fact that
Hereward seemed to be in no danger, and was apparently enjoying himself
in hospital, it occurred to them to consider the item of news which he
had mentioned concerning his fellow-patient. They showed the letter to
Githa. She was immensely excited.
"Why, surely it must be Uncle Frank!" she exclaimed. "It couldn't
possibly be anyone else! He's been away for years and years, and no one
knew what had become of him. I haven't seen him since I was a tiny tot,
and I shouldn't remember him at all. How splendid that he's joined the
Canadians! Oh! I'm proud to have a relation at the front. It's glorious!
How I'd love to write to him! If I did, would you enclose it with yours
to your brother, and ask him to give it to him? Of course it mightn't be
Uncle Frank after all, but I think I'll chance it!"
"Write straight away, then," said Katrine, "for we shall be posting our
letters to Hereward to-day. I'll lend you some foreign paper."
"Oh, thanks so much!"
Githa spent the whole of her recreation time at her desk. Her epistle,
if rather a funny one, had at least the merit of being spontaneous, for
she put exactly what came into her head at the moment, without pausing
to think of the composition.
"DEAR UNCLE FRANK,
"At least, I'm not at all sure that you really are my Uncle
Frank, but I do hope you are. It's just splendid that you are in
the Canadians. I am dreadfully sorry you are wounded. I hope you
will soon be quite well again. If you come back to England, do
please come and see me, that is to say if you are really Uncle
Frank, but I expect you are. I want to see you most dreadfully.
Cedric and I have often talked about you, and planned that we
would go and live with you. Cedric tried to run away to you in
America two weeks ago, but it is a good thing he did not go, for
he would not have found you there. I am quite sure you are nice,
and I should so like to see you. Nobody is living at the
'Grange' now, and it looks so wretched. I wish you would come
and live there, and ask me to come too. I should like to live at
the 'Grange' again, and Cedric could come for the holidays. He
is to go to-morrow to stay with a gentleman in London, who will
coach him for the Naval Examination. I must stop now, as the
bell is just going to ring, and I have no more time. I have
written this letter in school.
"From your loving Niece,
"GITHA HAMILTON.
"I hope I really am your niece, after all."
Githa folded and addressed her letter, and ran to give it into Katrine's
safe keeping. Her eyes were dancing, but clouded as a sudden
apprehension struck her.
"Suppose he's left the Base Hospital?" she queried.
"Hereward will send it to him. He'll easily find out where he's gone.
I'll undertake it shall reach him somehow."
"What a trump you are! Oh! I wonder if it is really and truly Uncle
Frank, or only somebody else?"
"I wish somebody could send me news of my uncle," said Yvonne de Boeck
wistfully. "It is now five months since we hear. Is he alive? we ask
ourselves. My aunt and my two cousins remain yet in Holland."
Yvonne and Melanie had been at Aireyholme since the preceding November,
and though when they arrived they could speak nothing but French and
Flemish, they were now able to talk English quite fluently. Indeed, Mrs.
Franklin complained that they had picked up many unnecessary
expressions, and often scolded the girls for teaching them so much
slang. They were favourites in the school, partly because everybody was
so sorry for them, but also because they were really jolly, friendly
children, and had adapted themselves so readily to their new
circumstances. Yvonne's twelfth birthday was celebrated with great
rejoicings; the many presents she received and the English iced
birthday-cake which made its appearance on the tea-table caused her
little round rosy face to beam with smiles, and she exclaimed for the
hundredth time: "Mesdemoiselles, you are too good towards me!" Yvonne
evinced the utmost admiration for Tony; nothing delighted her more than
to help with his toilet, to brush his glossy coat, wipe his paws when he
came in from the garden, and assist at his Saturday bath. She was even
found tying her best hair ribbon as a bow on his collar. "C'est un vrai
ange!" she would declare ecstatically.
One afternoon, when most of the girls were at the tennis courts, Yvonne
happened to stroll to the bottom of the garden to look for a lost ball.
While hunting about under the laurels she could see plainly into the
road, and she noticed Tony trotting through the gate. She called to him,
but, intent on errands of his own, he ignored her, and crossed to the
opposite hedge, where an abandoned bone claimed his interest. He was
still busy gnawing it and growling over it, when tramping from the
direction of the village appeared an old ragman, with a sack slung over
his back. As he passed Tony he stopped, and set his bag down on the
ground, apparently to rest himself, though he glanced keenly round with
such a strange vigilant look on his face that it immediately attracted
Yvonne's attention. Hidden under the laurels, she watched him carefully.
The ragman, finding himself the only occupant of the road, and believing
he was safe from observation, opened his bag, and drawing out a piece
of meat, offered it with a few cajoling words to the unsuspecting dog.
Tony had a friendly disposition, and also, alack! a tendency towards
greediness. He was always ready for something tempting. He left his bone
and came up inquiringly. The moment he was within reach, the ragman
snatched him up and crammed him unceremoniously into the sack, then
shouldered him, and walked off at a rapid pace. It was all done so
quickly that Tony had not even time to yelp, and once in the interior of
the sack, his protests were smothered to suffocation point.
Yvonne, overwhelmed by the extreme suddenness and unexpectedness of the
occurrence, could only give a gasp of horror; the dog had seemed to
vanish as if by a conjuring trick. Luckily she was possessed of a
certain presence of mind; she raced up the shrubbery, found George, the
garden boy, and poured out her news, pointing the direction in which the
ragman had gone. George flung down his spade, hurried out by the side
gate, and ran along a short lane that led to the road. By thus cutting
off a long corner, he almost fell into the arms of the ragman, who, no
doubt, had been congratulating himself upon the speed with which he was
escaping with his booty, and who certainly did not expect to be
intercepted in so prompt a manner.
"You rascal! Let's have a peep inside that bag," exclaimed George, and
dragging the sack from the man's shoulder he opened it, and revealed
poor Tony, who crawled out, looking the most astonished dog in the
world. The thief did not wait to explain matters. He took to his heels,
leaving his sack behind him.
The thrilling tale of Tony's adventure soon spread over the school.
Gwethyn was almost in hysterics at the danger her pet had escaped.
Yvonne, proudly conscious that for once she had acted as a heroine,
received congratulations on all sides with a pretty French air of
graciousness. Coming so soon after the attempted burglary, the episode
made an even greater stir than it would perhaps otherwise have done. It
seemed as if bad characters were abroad in the neighbourhood, and
property must be guarded with unusual vigilance. The girls had allowed
their fears to be calmed a little since the recent midnight alarm, but
now their anxiety broke forth again in full force. They went to their
rooms that night in a highly nervous condition. They looked carefully
underneath their beds and inside their wardrobes, to make sure that no
thieves were concealed there.
"I wish Mrs. Franklin would let us have night-lights," sighed Rose
Randall. "Directly the room's dark, I know I shall be just scared to
death. Suppose a man climbed in through the window!"
"I'm more afraid of someone being hidden inside the house, waiting for
his opportunity when every one's asleep," said Beatrix Bates. "Don't you
remember that dreadful story of the pedlar's pack? Oh, yes, you do! It
was at a lonely farm-house, you know; the father and mother were away
for the night, and at dusk a pedlar called, and asked if he might leave
his pack there till the next day. The girl said yes, so he carried it
in, and put it down in the parlour; then he went away. It seemed
fearfully heavy, so the girl was curious and went to look at it, and
then"--Beatrix' voice was impressive with horror--"she saw it move! She
guessed at once that a man was concealed inside it!"
"Oh! a big parcel came to-day by the carrier--I saw it arrive!"
interrupted Prissie Yorke, in visible consternation.
"What did the girl do with the pedlar's pack?" asked Dona Matthews.
"She stuck a knife into it," continued Beatrix, "and there came
out--blood!"
"Oh! had she killed him?"
But at this most sensational point of the narrative Miss Andrews came
into the dormitory, scolded the girls for being slow in getting to bed,
and absolutely forbade further conversation. The penalties for breaking
silence rule were heavy, and might involve suspension of tennis on the
following day, so Beatrix' story, like a magazine serial, must perforce
be left "to be continued in our next".
Rose could not help thinking about it as she lay in bed. She wondered if
groans came from the pack, and what the girl did next--whether she ran
to a neighbour's for help, or called the dog, or locked the parlour
door, or went out of her mind with terror. "It would have driven me
stark staring mad!" she shuddered. She felt too nervous to go to sleep.
All the tales she had ever heard or read about murders and burglaries
rushed to her remembrance with startling vividness.
The night was very hot, and the window, of course, was wide open. How
easy it would be for somebody to creep up the ivy, and climb across the
sill! The more she thought about it, the more terrified she grew. For a
couple of hours she tossed restlessly, lying perfectly still every now
and then, so as to listen intently. Were those stealthy footsteps in the
passage? Was that the sound of a file on the window below? How could
Beatrix, Dona, and Prissie sleep so peacefully? The whole house was
absolutely quiet; there was no moon, so it was perfectly dark. Again
Rose longed for a night-light. It would be reassuring, at least, to be
able to see for herself that the room held no intruder. What--oh! what
was that? Through the dead silence came a sound like a pistol-shot. She
sat up in bed, trembling in every limb. The noise had wakened the other
girls. Again it rang through the quiet, so near that they were convinced
it must be in the room. Dona was whimpering with terror, Prissie buried
her head in the bedclothes; Beatrix, more courageous than the rest,
stretched out her hand for the matches that lay on a small table near
her bed, and lighted a candle. The girls looked fearfully round, fully
expecting to see a masked figure covering them with a revolver. There
was nobody at all. They stared into one another's panic-stricken faces.
A third time, close at hand, came the ringing report.
"It's in the cupboard!" quavered Rose.
At the end of the dormitory two steps led to a small store-room where
Mrs. Franklin kept spare blankets, curtains, and a miscellaneous
assortment of articles. The door was always locked, and the girls had
never even seen inside. It had often excited their curiosity: to-night
it was a veritable Bluebeard's chamber. They remembered that a big
parcel had been delivered that day by the carrier. Had Mrs. Franklin
stored it in the cupboard? Could it--oh, horrible idea!--be a repetition
of the pedlar's pack? Very white and trembling, Beatrix got out of bed,
and, candle in hand, crossed the room. From under the cupboard door,
down the white-painted steps, ran a stream of something dark and red.
The shriek which she uttered was followed by piercing screams from her
companions. That a tragedy was being enacted in the store-room they had
not a shadow of doubt. At any moment they expected the door to open and
the murderer to show himself. With an instinct of self-preservation they
fled from the dormitory, and ran along the passage shouting for help.
Instantly the house was aroused. Alarmed faces peeped from other
dormitories, timorous voices asked what was the matter. Several girls
began to weep hysterically. Mrs. Franklin, armed with a poker, came
hurrying up, followed closely by Miss Andrews, grasping a hockey stick.
Taking the candle from Beatrix, the Principal proceeded to No. 7, the
girls marvelling at her courage.
"There's blood oozing out of the cupboard!" Prissie and Dona assured the
audience in the passage.
"What nonsense! Nothing of the sort!" declared Mrs. Franklin's firm,
matter-of-fact voice, as after a moment of inspection she emerged from
the dormitory. "What has really happened is this. I had left half a
dozen bottles of elder syrup there; the very hot weather has no doubt
caused them to ferment, and I suppose they have popped their corks. I'll
fetch the key. Yvonne and Novie, stop crying this instant! There's
nothing whatever to be frightened about!"
Mrs. Franklin's supposition proved to be correct. When the cupboard was
unlocked, three corkless bottles and a sticky pool of elder syrup were
revealed. Miss Andrews wiped up the mess with a towel, and carried the
bottles downstairs, removing also the three which were intact, in case
of further accidents. The general alarm had changed to mirth. In their
revulsion of feeling the girls laughed uproariously at their scare. The
elder syrup was used in winter-time to doctor colds, and they were
rather fond of it. It had never played such a gruesome prank before.
"It's a good thing we didn't ring the school bell again, and send for
Mr. White," said Mrs. Franklin. "We should have looked extremely foolish
if he and half the village had arrived."
"But how can you tell whether it's a real scare or a false one?"
objected Dona, who felt that there was ample excuse for their alarm.
The Principal, however, was not disposed to argue that point, and packed
the girls back to their rooms. In half an hour, even Rose Randall was
sleeping the sleep of the just.