SENTENCE IS DELAYED
"Now, Monica," said Nat firmly, as she closed the study door upon the
outer world. "I want to know all about it. Did you send that
telegram, and if so, why? I thought I had successfully managed to
keep my eye upon you since the last upset," she added reproachfully.
Monica sat down in the nearest chair with a tired sigh. "Oh, what
does it matter? You won, after all. I think I'm glad you did now.
As for me, the girls in the train said they expected Prinny would
expel me. Do you think I shall be expelled, Nat?"
"It's within the bounds of possibility," replied Nat severely, for
she felt that Monica deserved a good fright. "But you don't seem to
mind about that sort of thing."
"I shouldn't have minded a bit when I first came," confessed Monica,
"but it's different now. I don't want to be expelled now."
She had such a forlorn look that Nat's susceptible heart was touched.
She recalled how all the girls, at the match and on the return
journey, had pointedly cut Monica, and she herself had been the only
one who would speak to her.
"Your best chance will be to confess all you know about it," she said
sensibly, "and tell Prinny you are sorry. She's not half a bad sort
really. I'd rather tell her anything than--than Miss Bennett, for
instance."
"I didn't send the telegram," Monica said, "that's true. But I'm
responsible for having it sent. It was my idea, so I suppose I'm
chiefly to blame." She looked inquiringly at Nat.
"If you mean, is the person who plans a wrong just as bad as the
person who carries it out, I'd certainly say yes, she is," Nat
answered. "But you still haven't told me much about it."
Before Monica could speak again there was a tap at the door and Pam
looked in. "Prinny wants to see Monica in her room at once," she
said briefly.
The dread summons had come. Monica moved reluctantly towards the
door, then turned and came back. "I say, Nat." There was earnest
appeal in the eyes she raised to Nat's face. "Truly, I'm glad the
telegram plan wasn't successful and that the school won. You do
believe me, don't you?" and Nat heard herself replying quite
heartily: "Of course I do, if you say so."
Monica's interview with the Principal was not at all reassuring.
Miss Julian looked so very stern and severe that Monica found it too
difficult a matter to follow Nat's advice and confess the story in
all its details, and fell back upon brief and reluctant answers to
the Principal's questions.
"Are you responsible for having this telegram sent, Monica?" the
Principal began, pointing to the fateful document which lay on the
table.
Monica hesitated, wondering how to answer without telling a
deliberate untruth. She could feel her knees shaking beneath her.
"I did not send it, Miss Julian," she answered at last. "I did not
even know it had been sent till I heard the other girls talking about
it."
"Do you know who sent it?"
"I--I think so."
"Who was it, then?"
Monica was silent.
"A girl in this school?"
Monica shook her head.
"Was it one of the Fairhurst Priory girls? This girl with whom you
correspond?"
Again Monica was silent.
"Come, Monica," said Miss Julian. "I must know the truth. I shall
be obliged to think the worst of you if you don't speak up frankly.
Can you explain why this girl wrote such a letter to you?" and she
picked up from the table the letter Irene had purloined. "Do you
think this is a very nice kind of letter to receive from a girl in
another school? Listen to this, for instance: '_Do you still hate
rules and regulations and persons in authority? ... Don't you think
it would be fun to put a little spoke in their wheels, I mean in St.
Etheldreda's hopes of winning the shield? I know how clever you are
and how full of ideas. I should love to see if you could pull it
off._' That does not sound very loyal to your school, does it?"
Monica looked shamefacedly at the floor, but still remained dumb. It
was harder than ever to speak up. Miss Julian continued her
questions.
"Have you the other letter Irene saw?"
"No. I tore it up afterwards."
"Is it true that it said: '_Your idea about the telegram is clever,
though simple. I shall be curious to see how it works?_'"
"Y--yes. Something like that," Monica replied faintly.
"Did she have the telegram sent or did you?"
"She did."
"But you planned it? It was your idea?"
"Yes."
"But why didn't you want the school to win, Monica? Besides, apart
from that, didn't you realize what a cruel trick it was to play on
Allison; what hours of anxiety and suspense it would cause her?"
The Principal's voice was very stern, so stern that Monica dared not
lift her glance from the carpet pattern she was so desperately
studying. Yet a few months before she had stood and listened with an
attitude of hard defiance when told that she would not be allowed to
return to her first school after the holidays.
When Miss Julian spoke again, Monica was astonished at the sudden
change from severity to gentleness.
"You know, of course, Monica, that you came to St. Etheldreda's with
a poor character. I was told that at your last school you were
naughty, stubborn and unmanageable, finally bringing disgrace upon
yourself and the school by bare-faced cheating in a public exam, for
which behaviour you were quite unashamed and unrepentant. The Head
Mistress's statement was confirmed by your aunt. Because I knew both
your parents, and knew what splendid people they were, it was hard
for me to believe that their only child should be so deficient in
moral stability. I wrote also to your old nurse, under whose care
you lived for many years after your parents' death, and she declared
that though highly strung and sometimes full of mischief you had
never been a bad girl, never unmanageable, dishonest or untruthful.
"For the sake of the great friendship between your mother and myself
I resolved to give you another chance here on equal terms with the
rest of my girls. So far I have not been unduly disappointed. At
first I received reports that you did not always settle down in class
as well as you should and were sometimes troublesome to the
mistresses. I asked the mistresses to take into account the fact
that you were not used to school ways and school routine like the
rest of our girls. On one occasion Miss Bennett had to punish you
severely for neglecting your preparation, but since then reports on
your work have been mainly good and Miss Andrews in particular is
highly delighted with your Latin. I had hoped such progress was
going to continue till the end of the term, but this trick you have
tried to play on Allison is one I cannot overlook. You should have
broken with this girl on leaving your last school and not have
continued your friendship with her when you realized it was proving a
bad influence. Cannot you tell me all about it, Monica? You have
told me very little except the bare facts."
"There isn't anything else to tell," Monica murmured, still wondering
miserably if the Principal was going to expel her. How gladly she
would have denied her share in the matter! But she could not.
"Then I shall leave the matter where it is for a few days'
consideration," the Principal replied. "Perhaps by then you will be
willing to tell me why you planned this unkind trick. I shall speak
to you again about it later, probably in about a week's time."
The astonished Monica was dismissed, still ignorant of her fate. A
reprieve of a week! What was really in the Principal's mind? She
wished she knew. This uncertainty was far worse than the actual
punishment.
For a few days Monica and the sham telegram formed the chief topic of
conversation at St. Etheldreda's. Whatever room you entered, at
whatever time of the day--save actual lesson hours--you might be sure
to hear somebody discussing the affair. For indeed, schoolgirls,
like everybody else, must have something to talk about and a
sensational story like this was pounced upon with avidity. Everyone
wondered why the Principal delayed in pronouncing sentence, and
though the Fifth and Sixth, unlike the lower forms, had never
believed it to be an offence calling for the extreme punishment, they
certainly did not think Monica should escape altogether.
After about three days the outburst of feeling began to die a natural
death, though it was not forgotten entirely. For a while the Fifth
vigorously sent Monica to Coventry, but as she had never been on
friendly or intimate terms with her form companions, this was not
such a great hardship as it sounds. Glenda and one or two others had
tried hard to persuade Nat also to ostracize Monica, but in vain.
Nat's attitude towards her study-mate was a curious one; and in
truth, Nat herself could not account for her own feelings in the
matter. She was the sort of girl who scorned sentimentality of any
kind and yet had a very soft spot for helpless creatures in distress,
particularly dumb animals. During her first year at St.
Etheldreda's, when a girl of eleven in the Second Form, she had
broken the school ranks while on an afternoon's walk to rush to the
rescue of a miserable, bedraggled cat some boys were teasing,
attacking them with fists and feet till the mistress in charge came
to the rescue. The cat was old and mangy and evil-smelling and
should have been painlessly chloroformed, but Nat had begged to be
allowed to take it to school and give it a saucer of milk, after
which it had been placed, dirt and all, upon the best silk cushion in
front of the library fire. Had Monica continued to show the same
sullen, defiant front as she had done during her first week or two in
the study, Nat would probably have condemned her as severely as any
of the Fifth, perhaps more severely; but something in Monica's plea
that Nat should believe she regretted the telegram trick, and in her
shrinking fear of being expelled again, touched the soft spot in
Nat's heart in the same way as the bedraggled, mangy cat had done.
Besides, Monica showed a certain courage in the way she patiently
ignored the scornful looks and sneers that came from some of the
girls, and Nat admired pluck. Nat wouldn't have had the least
sympathy with a girl who cried and made an unnecessary fuss at
receiving a blow on the hockey or cricket field, though she would
have been one of the first to run to help her.
By the end of a week the girls had certainly forgotten their first
bitter animosity. They had been busy with term examinations for
several days, and when they met together after lesson hours now, it
was to compare answers and discuss the difficulty or otherwise of the
various papers. Everyone was glad when Tuesday evening arrived, for
the next morning would see the last of the examination papers, and
after that they would be able to take things more easily--lessons,
that is, for there was still Speech Day to prepare for, a fortnight
hence, and the hockey Final to be played.
On Tuesday evening the Fifth were full of a suggested paper-chase for
Wednesday half-day. It was the weather that was chiefly responsible
for the idea. It had turned very cold, and violent exertion was
necessary to keep oneself warm. The ground was quite hard, the air
clear and frosty, and there was no wind: simply ideal weather for a
paper-chase. Besides, it was very good training for their hockey
Final and they would find it a relief to "let off steam" after the
strain of the examinations.
It was decided that the paper-chase should be a really good one, not
a half-and-half affair, as Glenda put it, but five or six miles over
the country. Most of the Fifth, with the exception of a few of the
less physically energetic whose spirits quailed at the thought of
those five or six miles, agreed to join in. Many of the Fourth were
eager to participate, and Pam and Deirdre of the Sixth also announced
that they would like to share the fun. The Fifth had already
selected Nat as hare, for two reasons. Firstly, she was one of the
quickest and most tireless runners in the school, and secondly, in
the summer months she was so fond of taking long walks and cycling
expeditions in search of flowers or botanical specimens for the
nature-study competition, that she had an extensive and detailed
knowledge of the surrounding country, and could be relied upon to
choose a suitable and interesting route. Following their usual
custom, they left it to Nat to select a girl to accompany her as
second hare.
While most of the Fourth and Fifth were busily engaged in the common
room, tearing up paper into small pieces, Nat, who was nothing if not
practical, declared her intention of running five or six times round
the garden to see how long it would take to get her "second wind."
As she slipped out of the back door she became aware that Monica had
followed her.
"Hullo, what do you want?" she asked, in surprise. "Are you going to
join in the paper-chase or do you consider it waste of time and
energy?"
"Take me with you as the other hare," was Monica's amazing proposal.
"I am sure I should make a good hare."
Nat gasped. "But--but do you really mean it?" she stuttered.
"Yes, of course I do. I can run fast, though I've never learnt any
of your games. I used to run about for miles in the country where I
lived, and never get tired."
Nat surveyed the slight but alert figure beside her.
"Well, you are certainly light and skinny rather than fat," she
admitted, "and you look as if you could run. Come on round with me
and let's see how long you can last."
Nat started off with a burst of speed, but glancing round after
covering two or three hundred yards she found that Monica was only a
few feet behind her. "Yes, you can run quite fast," she jerked out,
then dropped into a jog-trot. When they had circled the garden
several times, Nat pulled up, breathing deeply; Monica was still a
few feet behind her, red in the face and panting, but showing no
signs of wanting to give up yet.
"I really believe you could do it," Nat declared. "Well, I'll try to
work it for you, but I don't know if the rest of the girls will be
willing, particularly the Fifth."
When Nat announced that she had chosen Monica as her fellow-hare,
there was a general chorus of disapproval.
"But why not?" Nat persisted. "What's your objection? She's quite a
good runner or I wouldn't have chosen her."
"You know why not," replied Glenda coldly. "We object to having a
girl like that sharing in our pastimes."
"But why do you object?"
"You know why, well enough. Because of what happened a week ago."
"But are you going on punishing her for that for the rest of her life
at school? She's done nothing else so desperately wicked. Besides,
she hasn't really been proved guilty yet. Prinny said she was going
to wait a few days before making any decision. Time enough for us to
follow suit when Prinny sets the example."
Some of the more peace-loving, milder-tempered girls looked at each
other, obviously impressed by Nat's arguments. After all, you
couldn't keep the hymn of hate going for ever.
Nat saw the impression she had made and hastened to deepen it.
"Has Allison, the one most injured, said or done anything to Monica?
You know she hasn't. She's been content to leave the matter in
Prinny's hands. It isn't like Allison to hit anyone who's down.
Besides, Monica's sorry for it now. She told me so."
Even Glenda, who was by no means an ill-natured girl, began to waver.
"Well--if Deirdre and Pam don't mind, I don't suppose it really
matters very much who goes with you," she said weakly.
There was still one dissentient voice.
"I think it matters very much," Irene interjected sharply.
"Personally I refuse to take part if Monica Carr does. She can't
play fair."
Nat answered smartly. "I don't see that you have any right to
criticize anyone for not playing fair. Do you call it playing fair
to pry into and purloin another girl's private correspondence?"
Irene subsided with flaming cheeks and a look on her face that was
half anger, half shame.
So Nat got her way in the end. Punctually at a quarter to two the
next afternoon a large crowd of girls assembled at the school gates.
Nat and Monica, the former looking like a large man o' war with a
small craft in tow, and each with a couple of bags bursting with
paper scent slung across her shoulder, stood by the gates in
readiness for the start. They set off down the road at a brisk pace
as the church clock struck the quarter. The rest of the girls
skipped and jumped about impatiently till, a quarter of an hour
later, Miss Cazalet gave the signal to start and they all streamed
into the road after the thin trail of paper scent.
The hunt had begun.