Brackenfield College
Brackenfield College stood on the hills, about a mile from the
seaside town of Whitecliffe. It had been built for a school, and
was large and modern and entirely up-to-date. It had a gymnasium,
a library, a studio, a chemical laboratory, a carpentering-shop,
a kitchen for cooking-classes, a special block for music and
practising-rooms, and a large assembly hall. Outside there were
many acres of lawns and playing-fields, a large vegetable garden,
and a little wood with a stream running through it. The girls lived
in three hostels--for Seniors, Intermediates, and Juniors--known
respectively as St. Githa's, St. Elgiva's, and St. Ethelberta's.
They met in school and in the playgrounds, but, with a few exceptions,
they were not allowed to visit each other's houses.
Marjorie and Dona had been separated on their arrival, the former being
entered at St. Elgiva's and the latter at St. Ethelberta's, and it was
not until the afternoon of the day following that they had an
opportunity of meeting and comparing notes. To both life had seemed a
breathless and confusing whirl of classes, meals, and calisthenic
exercises, with a continual ringing of bells and marching from one room
to another. It was a comfort at last to have half an hour when they
might be allowed to wander about and do as they pleased.
"Let's scoot into that little wood," said Marjorie, seizing Dona by the
arm. "It looks quiet, and we can sit down and talk. Well, how are you
getting on? D'you like it so far?"
Dona flung herself down under a larch tree and shook her head
tragically.
"I hate it! But then, you know, I never expected to like it. You should
see my room-mates!"
"You should just see mine!"
"They can't be as bad as mine."
"I'll guarantee they're worse. But go on and tell about yours."
"There's Mona Kenworthy," sighed Dona. "She looked over all my clothes
as I put them away in my drawers, and said they weren't as nice as hers,
and that she'd never dream of wearing a camisole unless it was trimmed
with real lace. She twists her hair in Hinde's wavers every night, and
keeps a pot of complexion cream on her dressing-table. She always uses
stephanotis scent that she gets from one special place in London, and it
costs four and sixpence a bottle. She hates bacon for breakfast, and she
has seventeen relations at the front. She's thin and brown, and her nose
wiggles like a rabbit's when she talks."
"I shouldn't mind her if she'd keep to her own cubicle," commented
Marjorie. "Sylvia Page will overflow into mine, and I find her things
dumped down on my bed. She's nicer than Irene Andrews, though; we had a
squabble last night over the window. Betty Moore brought a whole box of
chocolates with her, and she ate them in bed and never offered a single
one to anybody else. We could hear her crunching for ages. I don't like
Irene, but I agreed with her that Betty is mean!"
"Nellie Mason sleeps in the next cubicle to me," continued Dona, bent on
retailing her own woes. "She snores dreadfully, and it kept me awake,
though she's not so bad otherwise. Beatrice Elliot is detestable. She
found that little Teddy bear I brought with me, and she sniggered and
asked if I came from a kindergarten. I've calculated there are
seventy-four days in this term. I don't know how I'm going to live
through them until the holidays."
"Hallo!" said a cheerful voice. "Sitting weeping under the willows, are
you? New girls always grouse. Miss Broadway's sent me to hunt you up and
do the honours of the premises. I'm Mollie Simpson. Come along with me
and I'll show you round."
The speaker was a jolly-looking girl of about sixteen, with particularly
merry blue eyes and a whimsical expression. Her dark curly hair was
plaited and tied with broad ribbons.
"We've been round, thanks very much," returned Marjorie to the
new-comer.
"Oh, but that doesn't count if you've only gone by yourselves! You
wouldn't notice the points. Every new girl has got to be personally
conducted by an old one and told the traditions of the place. It's a
sort of initiation, you know. We've a regular freemasons' code here of
things you may do or mustn't. Quick march! I've no time to waste. Tea is
at four prompt."
Thus urged, Marjorie and Dona got up, shook the pine needles from their
dresses, and followed their cicerone, who seemed determined to perform
her office of guide in as efficient a fashion as possible.
"This is the Quad," she informed them. "That's the Assembly Hall and the
Head's private house, and those are the three hostels. What's it like in
St. Githa's? I can't tell you, because I've never been there. It's for
Seniors, and no Intermediate or Junior may pop her impertinent nose
inside, or so much as go and peep through the windows without getting
into trouble. They've carpets on the stairs instead of linoleum, and
they may make cocoa in their bedrooms and fill their own hot-water bags,
and other privileges that aren't allowed to us luckless individuals.
They may come and see us, by special permission, but we mayn't return
the visits. By the by, you'd oblige me greatly if you'd tilt your
chapeau a little farther forward. Like this, see!"
"Why?" questioned Marjorie, greatly astonished, as she made the required
alteration to the angle of her hat.
"Because only Seniors may wear their sailors on the backs of their
heads. It's a strict point of school etiquette. You may jam on your
hockey cap as you like, but not your sailor."
"Are there any other rules?" asked Dona.
"Heaps. Intermediates mayn't wear bracelets, and Juniors mayn't wear
lockets, they're limited to brooches. I advise you to strip those
trinkets off at once and stick them in your pockets. Don't go in to tea
with them on any account."
"How silly!" objected Dona, unclasping her locket, with Father's photo
in it, most unwillingly.
"Now, look here, young 'un, let me give you a word of good advice at the
beginning. Don't you go saying anything here is silly. The rules have
been made by the Seniors, and Juniors have got to put up with them and
keep civil tongues in their heads. If you want to get on you'll have to
accommodate yourself to the ways of the place. Any girl who doesn't has
a rough time, I warn you. For goodness' sake don't begin to blub!"
"Don't be a cry-baby, Dona," said Marjorie impatiently. "She's not been
to school before," she explained to Mollie, "so she's still feeling
rather home-sick."
Mollie nodded sympathetically.
"I understand. She'll soon get over it. She's a decent kid. I'm going to
like her. That's why I'm giving her all these tips, so that she won't
make mistakes and begin wrong. She'll get on all right at St.
Ethelberta's. Miss Jones is a stunt, as jinky as you like. Wish we had
her at our house."
"Who is the Head of St. Elgiva's?"
"Miss Norton, worse luck for us!"
"Not the tall fair one who met us in London yesterday?"
"The same."
"Oh, thunder! I shall never get on with her, I know."
"The Acid Drop's a rather unsweetened morsel, certainly. You'll have to
mind your p's and q's. She can be decent to those she likes, but she
doesn't take to everybody."
"She hasn't taken to me--I could see it in her eye at Euston."
"Then I'm sorry for you. It isn't particularly pleasant to be in Norty's
bad books. If you missed your train and kept her waiting she'll never
forgive you. Look out for squalls!"
"What's the Head like?"
"Mrs. Morrison? Well, of course, she's nice, but we stand very much in
awe of her. It's a terrible thing to be sent down to her study. We
generally see her on the platform. We call her 'The Empress', because
she's so like the pictures of the Empress Eugenie, and she's so
dignified and above everybody else. Hallo, there's the first bell! We
must scoot and wash our hands. If you're late for a meal you put a penny
in the missionary box."
Marjorie walked into the large dining-hall with Mollie Simpson. She felt
she had made, if not yet a friend, at least an acquaintance, and in this
wilderness of fresh faces it was a boon to be able to speak to somebody.
She hoped Mollie would not desert her and sit among her own chums (the
girls took any places they liked for tea); but no, her new comrade led
the way to a table at the lower end of the hall, and, motioning her to
pass first, took the next chair. Each table held about twenty girls, and
a mistress sat at either end. Conversation went on, but in subdued
tones, and any unduly lifted voices met with instant reproof.
"I always try to sit in the middle, unless I can get near a mistress I
like," volunteered Mollie. "That one with the ripply hair is Miss
Duckworth. She's rather sweet, isn't she? We call her Ducky for short.
The other's Miss Carter, the botany teacher. Oh, I say, here's the Acid
Drop coming to the next table! I didn't bargain to have her so near."
Marjorie turned to look, and in so doing her sleeve most unfortunately
caught the edge of her cup, with the result that a stream of tea emptied
itself over the clean table-cloth. Miss Norton, who was just passing to
her place, noticed the accident and murmured: "How careless!" then
paused, as if remembering something, and said:
"Marjorie Anderson, you are to report yourself in my study at 4.30."
Very subdued and crestfallen Marjorie handed her cup to be refilled.
Miss Duckworth made no remark, but the girls in her vicinity glared at
the mess on the cloth. Mollie pulled an expressive face.
"Now you're in for it!" she remarked. "The Acid Drop's going to treat
you to some jaw-wag. What have you been doing?"
"Spilling my tea, I suppose," grunted Marjorie.
"That's not Norty's business, for it didn't happen at her table. You
wouldn't have to report yourself for that. It must be something else."
"Then I'm sure I don't know." Marjorie's tone was defiant.
"And you don't care? Oh, that's all very well! Wait till you've had five
minutes with the Acid Drop, and you'll sing a different song."
Although Marjorie might affect nonchalance before her schoolfellows, her
heart thumped in a very unpleasant fashion as she tapped at the door of
Miss Norton's study. The teacher sat at a bureau writing, she looked up
and readjusted her pince-nez as her pupil entered.
"Marjorie Anderson," she began, "I inspected your cubicle this afternoon
and found this book inside one of your drawers. Are you aware that you
have broken one of the strictest rules of the school? You may borrow
books from the library, but you are not allowed to have any private
books at all in your possession with the exception of a Bible and a
Prayer Book."
Miss Norton held in her hand the sensational novel which Marjorie had
bought while waiting for the train at Rosebury. The girl jumped guiltily
at the sight of it. She had only read a few pages of it and had
completely forgotten its existence. She remembered now that among the
rules sent by the Head Mistress, and read to her by her mother, the
bringing back of fiction to school had been strictly prohibited. As she
had no excuse to offer she merely looked uncomfortable and said
nothing. Miss Norton eyed her keenly.
"You will find the rules at Brackenfield are intended to be kept," she
remarked. "As this is a first offence I'll allow it to pass, but girls
have been expelled from this school for bringing in unsuitable
literature. You had better be careful, Marjorie Anderson!"