A SENSATIONAL PAPER-CHASE
Nat set a brisk pace for the first part of the paper-chase, declaring
that she liked to get well out of sight of the hounds as soon as
possible. She led the way across fields and through copses, over a
stream by whose banks each year meadowsweet and herb-willow grew
profusely; several times they climbed gates, and once they laid a
trail along the bottom of a dry ditch, scrambling through a hole in
the hedge at the end. Here Monica accidently brushed by a bed of
stinging nettles, but though they must have stung her legs, her
companion noticed with satisfaction that she made no complaint, and
when Nat chose to set a very hard pace she kept up with dogged
determination.
At length they came out upon a stretch of rough common land, where
Nat explained that her scheme was to lay a trail right through the
Haunted Farm, and thence to make their way back to the school gates
as fast as they could. They were walking quickly up a rather steep
slope that led to a collection of not very extensive and decidedly
dilapidated farm buildings. Monica pricked up her ears.
"Did you say haunted?" she inquired with interest.
"It's only a name," replied Nat with contempt. "It has been
unoccupied for the last half-dozen years or more, so of course, folk
say no one will live there because it is haunted. The truth is that
the land has been bought by a neighbouring farm and these buildings
aren't required. Besides, the soil just here is poor and not of
great value for farming purposes."
She led the way through the farm gate that hung by one hinge, across
a muddy yard, then clambered through a paneless side-window.
The two girls found themselves in a house where dust lay inches thick
everywhere and where bats, birds and mice found a pleasant abode.
The farmhouse itself was only a cottage, and after passing through
two empty rooms they let themselves out by the back door, which was
bolted from the inside but not locked.
"Come along," said Nat, "straight down this slope; not too fast, as
the grass is rather slippery. Then we'll make tracks for home as
quickly as we can. My bag is getting rather light."
"So's mine," said Monica, then added, pointing: "What is that down in
the little hollow? Looks like a square fence."
"It's an old well, supposed to be very historical. It's called the
Saxons' well, because, when the Saxon army, fighting against the
Danish invaders, was encamped behind the earthworks on the hill
yonder, it is said they used to steal down and get their water from
this well. Whether that is true or not I can't say, but the well is
certainly very old. People also say it is so deep no one has ever
yet touched the bottom, but I expect that's all rubbish. I've never
been right up to it."
"Let us just have a glance at it," suggested Monica. "It's not an
ordinary common or garden well, you know."
"Well, just a peep," replied Nat, as they came abreast of the fencing
that bordered the well-mouth. Monica pointed to the rusty but stout
windlass that was erected over it.
"Is that what the Saxons used to draw up their water?"
"Don't be silly! I suppose the last occupants of the farm used it
for watering their cattle." As Nat spoke she slipped through the
bars of the fence and, crouching down, tried to peer over the edge of
the well, around which the grass grew in thick, coarse tufts. From
outside the fence you could only see the outline of the wide, gaping
mouth.
"Be careful!" Monica said anxiously, and though she also slipped
through the fence, which stood several feet away from the well
itself, she was careful to remain standing close beside it with a
firm hold on the top bar. She had not Nat's utter contempt of
physical danger; moreover, her more vivid imagination was apt to see
danger where Nat never thought of looking for it.
How the accident happened neither girl could clearly explain
afterwards, but it was probably due to the fact that the high grass
and soil around the unusually wide mouth of the well hung
treacherously far over the edge. By the irony of fate Nat was just
saying: "I should like to know how deep it is. I can't see down it
without bending right over----" when her words broke off abruptly as
the soil and clumps of grass at the edge gave way under her. She
made a desperate but futile effort to recover her balance, then
disappeared over the edge amid a shower of dirt and small stones.
Monica made one frantic clutch after her and actually succeeded in
grasping her sleeve, but the material was torn out of her hand in the
same second.
For one awful instant Monica stood rooted to the spot with terror,
clutching frantically at the fence. Then, flinging herself flat on
the ground, she lay as near the edge of the well as she dared and
shouted: "Nat! Nat!" as loudly as she could.
But there was no answer to her frenzied calls. Springing to her feet
again she stared wildly round. Not a soul was in sight, nor could
she see any signs of habitation. So ignorant was she of this
countryside that she did not even know in what direction to search
for the nearest house. She might waste a long time wandering vainly
about. The hounds were nowhere in view; it might be twenty minutes
or more before any of them arrived at this spot. If Nat were injured
she would even now be drowning in the well water. What--oh, what
could she do?
All these thoughts flashed through Monica's mind in a few fleeting
seconds. Then her glance fell upon the windlass and the rope hanging
over the well-mouth, falling into the depths below. It was only six
years, Nat had said, since the farm had been occupied and the well
used. Holding the windlass with one hand she bent forward and,
catching the rope with the other, gave it a strong tug. The rope was
a stout one, and although frayed on the outside by the weather seemed
sound enough.
Monica had already learned to climb the ropes in the gymnasium with
confidence, and clutching this rope frenziedly with both hands she
swung herself over the well-mouth. For one horrible moment she hung
there suspended by her hands; the next she had found and gripped the
rope firmly between her feet and was sliding down in a series of
jerks, hand over hand. Four--five--six--she counted them to herself,
and now her head was considerably below the edge of the well-mouth;
then her heart gave a jump of horror, as her feet failed to grip the
rope and she realized that she had now come to the end of it before
reaching the surface of the water.
[Illustration: "For one horrible moment she hung there suspended by
her hands."]
Till then she had purposely refrained from looking below, for the
very thought of that gloomy depth turned her sick and giddy. But
now, clutching the rope despairingly, she essayed a hasty glance
down. In the dim light, about six feet below, she caught the glimmer
of water. Again half a dozen thoughts flashed through her mind in
one lightning second of time. Should she climb up again or should
she drop into the water? If Nat were still alive she might hold her
up till the girls traced them to the well. She was a good swimmer
and had been accustomed to the water from childhood, but it was the
numbing cold she feared--and the water would be very cold indeed this
winter day. She dared not waste a precious second in hesitation.
With a quick sobbing breath she slid to the very end of the rope and
dropped, prepared for an almost instantaneous plunge into icy water.
There was no plunge of any sort, however. Instead, she alighted on
her feet quite unhurt in some three or four inches of soft mud and
water, and almost before she had recovered from her astonishment a
voice, which seemed to come from a spot close to her feet, said in
faint tones: "Hallo, is that you, Monica?" and Nat herself rose up in
much the same way as did the apparition of the Crowned Child in
_Macbeth_--or so it seemed to Monica.
She heard herself laughing shakily. "Then you're not dead after all,
Nat! I--I thought you were, as you didn't answer when I called."
Nat, leaning against the chalky side of the well, put her hand up to
her head very gingerly. "My head is ringing like--like anything.
There's a bump as big as an egg on one side. I suppose I must have
struck it against the side when I fell. Probably it stunned me, for
I don't remember anything very clearly till you dropped from the
skies. How long have I been down here?"
"I don't know. It seems hours since you disappeared over the edge,
but I suppose it's really only a minute or two."
"How on earth did you get here? You didn't fall too?"
Monica pointed upwards. "I came down the rope. But it wasn't long
enough, so I had to drop. I--I thought perhaps you were hurt."
There was a sob in her voice.
"Well, it was a fortunate chance you didn't drop on me, as you might
very well have done. There isn't much area space down here. Isn't
that rope-end tantalizing, dangling just out of reach! Do you think
you could grab it if I lifted you up, or you stood on my back?"
Their united efforts to reach the rope, however, proved unavailing;
the end still dangled a few inches too high.
"Oh dear!" said Monica. "I hope we shan't have to wait here much
longer. It's so dirty and unpleasant. How long do you think the
girls will be? Supposing they lose the trail and fail to track us
here!"
It was Nat's philosophy to look on the bright side. "Not they," she
replied confidently. "Besides, having come so far they would guess I
was making for this point. You can't exactly wander over the country
how you like; too many hedges and barbed wire fences about. And if I
know Pam and Deirdre and one or two others, they won't be very far
behind, either. You know, we wasted several minutes stopping to look
at the well. We must shout."
They shouted as loudly as they could, but there was no response.
"Anyway, we know now how deep the well is," remarked Nat, still
endeavouring to be cheerful. "Not a bit deep, really, so you can't
believe all the exaggerated stories you hear. I wish it were quite
dry, though this mud was certainly soft to fall on. I wonder there
aren't some stones here. It seems such a fascinating occupation--I
mean, throwing stones down wells to hear the splash."
"It's more fascinating than throwing yourself down," sighed Monica,
on whose more highly strung nerves the strain of their unpleasant
situation was beginning to tell. In response Nat shouted again, but
still there was no answer to their cries for help. At last even Nat,
whose head was throbbing violently, began to lose heart.
"I feel like Alice in Wonderland," she said dismally. "Only I'm sure
she didn't find falling down a rabbit-hole nearly as unpleasant as
falling down a well."
Monica giggled a little hysterically. "Or the Dormouse's treacle
well," she suggested. "How long do you think we've been down here,
Nat? Half an hour?"
"Ten minutes, more likely. Come on, we'd better keep shouting now.
It would be awful if they passed us by and left us here."
"They won't do that. I left my bag of scent on the top. They are
sure to notice it."
"And I brought mine down with me," said Nat ruefully. "What an ass I
was to get so near an overhanging edge like that!"
They kept up their shouts for perhaps another five minutes and at
last were rewarded by hearing the confused sounds of many voices from
somewhere above; then quite distinctly came Pam's voice.
"My goodness! I believe they are down the old Saxon well. Hang on
to my legs, someone. I don't want to slip over," and a head appeared
over the edge, peering cautiously down.
"Coo-ee!" sang Nat, and once again came Pam's voice in accents of
alarm and astonishment. "Someone's certainly down here. Who is it?"
"It's us," called Nat. "Monica and I."
"Good gracious!" once more ejaculated Pam. "It's both of them.
Whatever are you doing down there?"
"Picking daisies," retorted Nat with pardonable exasperation.
"You aren't hurt, I hope?" Pam inquired anxiously.
"Nothing to speak of, but for goodness' sake hurry up and get us out."
"Can't you climb up the rope?"
"No, it's just out of reach. If you can lengthen it by any means, I
expect we'd manage it, or you could haul us up."
"Right-oh! We'll soon have you out," Pam promised, and her head
disappeared from view as she turned to explain what had happened to
the alarmed group of girls who clustered round the fence. There was
no time to waste wondering how both girls had managed to get
themselves into such an extraordinary predicament.
"Off with your girdles," said Deirdre briskly, "and join them
together. Somebody pull up that rope. Be careful how you knot the
girdles; no grannies, mind!"
In a very short time they had knotted their tunic girdles firmly
together and by this means had lengthened the rope. Then, not
without a few decidedly difficult moments, they managed to haul the
girls safely to the surface.
Both Monica and Nat, though not seriously injured, were white-faced
and shaken, their shoes and stockings were caked with mud and their
tunics stained and torn. It was not the time for long explanations,
as Deirdre saw at once.
"Let us make our way to the high road as quickly as possible," she
said decisively. "Then perhaps we can get a lift. I think we ought
to get Monica and Nat back to school as soon as we can.
"Well, I suppose the paper-chase is at an end and we must consider
ourselves caught," Nat admitted resignedly.
When they arrived at St. Etheldreda's Nat and Monica were handed into
the charge of Miss Perkins, the house mistress, Nat to have her many
bruises well rubbed with embrocation and her scratches bathed.
Strange to say, she appeared to be the better man of the two in spite
of her fall and the blow which had temporarily stunned her, and
declared that save for a headache and the soreness of her bruises she
felt little the worse. At her own request she was allowed to spend
the evening in her study, on condition that she rested and did not
talk or excite herself too much.
On the other hand Monica, though she managed to keep a firm hold on
herself till they reached the school, partially collapsed afterwards
from nervous strain, and Miss Perkins put her to bed in the
sick-room, declaring that a good rest was probably all she needed and
that doubtless she would be herself again in the morning.
The juniors, and the seniors too, were so excited over this
sensational end to the paper-chase that they simply had to spend a
considerable time in the common room talking it well over. Meggie,
who had seen Miss Perkins taking Monica to the sick-room, was
listened to with close attention as she described the incident with
relish, concluding: "She wasn't hurt at all--hardly at all, anyway.
It was just her nerves, Miss Perkins said. She was very white, and
kind of shaking all over."
"What seems so queer to me," remarked Prue, "is how they both managed
to get down there. You can understand one slipping over--though that
seems rather extraordinary--but not both of them."
Here Olive chimed in. "I heard Glenda say it was Nat who fell in.
Monica climbed down the rope after her, but as it wasn't long enough
they couldn't get out again."
"Whatever did Monica do that for?" demanded Prue. "I should have
thought the most sensible thing to do would be to run to the nearest
house for help, or to turn back for the girls who were following
them."
Olive shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know what her idea was. Lost
her head, I expect, and hardly knew what she was doing."
"Still," said Prue reflectively, "it took a little pluck to slide
down that rope. An old well isn't a nice thing to lower oneself
into, even if it isn't deep. And I saw that rope, too. It hadn't
been used for some years and might easily have been more rotten with
age and exposure to the weather than it proved to be," and the other
girls agreed that, whatever her faults, the black sheep had pluck.
"Isn't it just like Nat to spoil a good paper-chase by falling into a
well!" cried Meggie. "Like her, too, to bob up out of it practically
unhurt," and the discussion ended in a general laugh.
The next day went by very quietly. Monica did not appear. She had
passed a restless night and the Principal agreed with Miss Perkins
that it would be best to continue to keep her in absolute quiet in
the sick-room for another day or two.
Everyone was looking forward to Friday morning with mixed feelings,
among which apprehension played a large part; for the exam results
were to be read out at prayers. At St. Etheldreda's term exam lists
were not published till the exams were over and all papers marked.
Then it was the Principal's custom to read out the position lists at
prayers one morning, and make any comments she thought necessary.
The Fifth were particularly interested in their own results that
term. All remembered the boasts of the new girl that she could and
would wrest Irene's position from her and occupy it herself, and it
was common knowledge that in her zeal for swotting she had decorated
the walls of her study with useful tit-bits of information. Someone
had pointed out that good though Monica's Latin and English subjects
were, her maths were very shaky, while she had only attained a Third
Form standard in French. When the exam began, however, it was
ascertained that the French difficulty would be no hindrance to
Monica, for she would take the Third Form paper, and the marks she
obtained for it would be included in her total. As for her weakness
at maths, in her zeal for her friend's cause Glenda was unkind enough
to suggest that she would probably resort to her previous method of
overcoming this difficulty and smuggle a book of theorems into the
geometry examination. But, though several girls had watched her
closely, no one had detected her cheating this time.
"She has learnt her lesson," Glenda observed cynically.
Girls nudged each other meaningly as Miss Julian entered the assembly
hall for prayers, carrying sheets of foolscap under her arm. Irene
was observed to be looking a little pale and strained. Had this new
girl really been in earnest over her boasting, or was it merely a
great game of bluff she was putting up to scare them all? Nat was
gloomily resigned to her fate and had even ceased trying to remember
whether she had or had not headed that last page of her history paper.
The short Sixth Form position list was soon finished. The Sixth,
without exception, smiled cheerily from beginning to end of the
reading. No one in the Sixth took exams with great seriousness; as
long as they pulled through comfortably they were content. They all
knew that Madge would be top--her fluent flow of English would secure
this position for her; Pam was intelligent, but careless and
happy-go-lucky; Deirdre and the other three were not in the least
"brainy."
Now it was the Fifth Form's turn. At Miss Julian's first words the
tension left Irene's face and a sigh of relief passed her lips. How
hard she had studied this last month! Now came her reward. In her
mind the Principal's words still rang joyously.
"Irene has maintained her position at the top. I must congratulate
her, especially as the mistresses report that she has been working
very hard. If she continues in the same way I am sure she will bring
honour to the school when the Oxford Senior results are announced.
Lorna is second with seventy per cent, two per cent behind Irene, and
Glenda and Ida are bracketed third."
The Fifth Stole stealthy and amazed glances at each other as name
after name fell from the Principal's lips and still Monica Carr's was
not among them. When the list was finished the girls looked at each
other with stunned incredulity. Monica's name came last, actually
the very last! Nat was fourth from bottom, a feat which left her
wondering all through the proceedings which followed how she had
possibly achieved it. By the time Miss Julian had finished with the
lowest form Nat had decided that she could not, after all, have
omitted to head that last page of the history paper.
The Principal did not attempt to read out the lists of the separate
subjects, but the head girl of each form was called out to receive
them, so that she might pin them up in the classrooms. There the
girls were allowed a good ten minutes' grace before the entry of the
mistress, to read the lists.
Hubbub reigned in the Fifth formroom. No one appeared to be
bothering much over their own marks; all were chiefly concerned with
those of the absent Monica, and all seemed to be talking at once.
"Just fancy! I never thought for a minute she would be top, but it's
rather a come-down to find herself at the bottom!"
"Great was the fall thereof, n'est-ce pas, likewise nicht-wahr!
That's what comes of boasting!"
"Nonsense! In my opinion she knew she hadn't the slightest chance of
being top. It was just bluff, to annoy us all--particularly Irene."
"As if she could beat our top girl!"
"Look at her marks, girls--failures in all the maths papers, algebra,
geometry and arithmetic. I expect she copied most of her maths prep
from Nat. She's done badly in French too, though I suppose that
isn't surprising as this was her first term at it. I thought she'd
do better in English, though."
"And Latin. Everyone made sure the Ablative Absolute would be top
and she's only third. Miss Andrews will look blue."
Here Nat, coming out of an absorbed perusal of her marks to see where
she had gained her unexpected rise, thought it time someone spoke a
word in defence of the absent victim.
"Monica isn't as stupid as that list makes out," she declared firmly.
"She's quite intelligent really, but you can't expect her to do good
work after the worrying time she's had. Wondering during exams
whether she was going to be expelled or not, cut by the rest of the
form--how could you expect anyone to do herself justice, to have her
mind on her work sufficiently to obtain good results!"
The majority of the form were willing to agree that there was
something in this argument, and if they were rather unsettled for the
rest of the day, the mistresses made allowances. Two girls at least
passed the time in blissful anticipation of the moment when they
should present their reports to their people at home. Both had
attained their ambitions, Irene in maintaining her place at the top,
Nat in escaping at last the teasing jeers and laughter which hitherto
had fallen to her lot.