The Empress
The S.S.O.P. was duly, thrilled when Marjorie reported her act of
patriotism. Its members, however, reproached her that she had not
copied down the names and addresses of other lonely soldiers on her
aunt's list, so that they also might have had an opportunity of
"doing their bit".
"There wasn't time," Marjorie apologized. "Elaine came back into the
room almost immediately, and I daren't let her and Dona know, because it
would have broken my vow."
Her friends admitted the excuse, but it was plain that they were
disappointed, and considered that with a little more promptitude she
might have succeeded.
"Did you tell him about our society?" asked Betty.
"No, of course not."
"Well, I didn't mean betraying the secret, exactly, only I think you
might have mentioned that there are several of us who want to do things
for the soldiers. And there was a beautiful snapshot that Patricia took
of us all--you might have put that in."
"But I hadn't got it with me."
"You needn't have been in such a hurry to send off the letter. You could
have waited till you'd seen us."
"How could I post it from school? It was by sheer luck I slipped it into
the pillar-box at Whitecliffe. I got my chance to write that letter, and
I had to take it at once or leave it."
"Perhaps our turns may come another time," suggested Patricia
consolingly.
Though it was Marjorie who had done the actual writing, the whole of the
S.S.O.P. felt responsible for the letter, and considered that they had
adopted the lonely soldier. In imagination they pictured Private
Hargreaves sitting disconsolately in a dug-out, gazing with wistful eyes
while his comrades read and re-read their home letters, then an orderly
entering and presenting him with Marjorie's document, his incredulity,
surprise, and delight at finding it actually addressed to himself, and
the eagerness with which he would tear open the envelope. Opinions
differed as to what would happen when he had read it. Sylvia inclined to
think that tears would steal down his rugged cheek. Betty was certain
that, however bad he might have been formerly, he would at once turn
over a new leaf and begin to reform. Patricia suggested that he would
write on the envelope that he wished it to be buried with him. Schemes
for sending him pressed violets, poems, and photographs floated on the
horizon of the society. He should not feel lonely any more if the
S.S.O.P. could help it. They decided that each would contribute
twopence a week towards buying him cigarettes. They went about the
school quite jauntily in the consciousness of their secret. The rival
secret society, noticing their elation, openly jeered, but that no doubt
was envy.
A fortnight passed by, and the girls were beginning to forget about it a
little. The snow had melted, and hockey practice was uppermost in their
minds, for the match between St. Githa's and St. Elgiva's would soon be
due, and they were anxious for the credit of their own hostel. Just at
present the playing-fields loomed larger than the trenches. St. Elgiva's
team was not yet decided, and each hoped in her innermost heart that she
might be chosen among the favoured eleven. Marjorie had lately improved
very much at hockey, and had won words of approval from Stella Pearson,
the games captain, together with helpful criticism. It was well known
that Stella did not waste trouble on unpromising subjects, so it was
highly encouraging to Marjorie to find her play noticed. Golden visions
of winning goals for her hostel swam before her dazzled eyes. She dreamt
one night that she was captain of the team. She almost quarrelled with
Chrissie because the latter, who was a slack player, did not share her
enthusiasm.
One Monday morning Marjorie woke up with a curious sense of impending
trouble. She occasionally had a fit of the blues on Mondays. Sunday was
a quiet day at Brackenfield, and in the evening the girls wrote their
home letters. The effect was often an intense longing for the holidays.
On this particular Monday she tried to shake off the wretched dismal
feeling, but did not succeed. It lasted throughout breakfast in spite of
Chrissie's humorous rallyings.
"You're as glum as an owl!" remarked her chum at last.
"I can't help it. I feel as if something horrible is going to happen."
Marjorie's premonition turned out to be justified, for, as she was
leaving the dining-hall after breakfast, Miss Norton tapped her on the
shoulder, and told her to report herself at once to Mrs. Morrison.
Wondering for what particular transgression she was to be called to
account, Marjorie obeyed, and presented herself at the study. The
Principal was seated at her desk writing. She allowed her pupil to stand
and wait while she finished making her list for the housekeeper and
blotted it. Then, taking an envelope from one of her pigeonholes, she
turned to the expectant girl.
"Marjorie Anderson," she began sternly, "this letter, addressed to you,
arrived this morning. Miss Norton very properly brought it to me, and I
have opened and read it. Will you kindly explain its contents?"
The rule at Brackenfield, as at most schools, was that pupils might only
receive letters addressed by their parents or guardians, and that any
other correspondence directed to them was opened and perused by the head
mistress. Letters from brothers, sisters, cousins, or friends were of
course allowed if forwarded under cover by a parent, but must not be
sent separately to the school by the writer.
Marjorie, in some amazement, opened the letter which Mrs. Morrison gave
her. It was written on Y.M.C.A. paper in an ill-educated hand, and ran
thus:--
"DEAR MISS,
"This comes hoping you are as well as it leaves me at present. I
was very glad to get your letter, and hear you are thinking
about me. I like your photo, and when I get back to blighty
should like to keep company with you if you are agreeable to
same. Before I joined up I was in the engine-room at my works,
and getting my L2 a week. I am very glad to have some one to
write to me. Well, no more at present from
"Yours truly
"JIM HARGREAVES."
Marjorie flushed scarlet. Without doubt the letter was a reply from the
lonely soldier. It came as a tremendous shock. Somehow it had never
occurred to her that he would write back. To herself and the other
members of the S.S.O.P. he had been a mere picturesque abstraction, a
romantic figure, as remote as fiction, whose loneliness had appealed to
their sentimental instincts. They had judged all soldiers by the
experience of their own brothers and cousins, and had a vague idea that
the army consisted mostly of public-school boys. To find that her
protege was an uneducated working man, who had entirely misconstrued the
nature of her interest in him, and evidently imagined that she had
written him a love-letter, made poor Marjorie turn hot and cold. She was
essentially a thorough little lady, and was horror-stricken at the false
position in which her impulsive act had placed her.
Mrs. Morrison watched her face narrowly, and drew her own conclusion
from the tell-tale blushes.
"Do I understand that this letter is in reply to one written by you?"
she asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Morrison," gasped Marjorie, turning suddenly white.
The Principal drew a long breath, as if trying to retain her
self-command. Her grey eyes flashed ominously, and her hands trembled.
"Do you understand that you have not only broken one of our principal
rules, but have transgressed against the spirit of the school? Every
pupil here is at least supposed to be a gentlewoman, and that a
Brackenfielder could so demean herself as to enter into a vulgar
correspondence with an unknown soldier fills me with disgust and
contempt. I cannot keep such a girl in the school. You will go for the
present to the isolation room, and remain there until I can make
arrangements to send you home."
[Illustration: THEN SOMEHOW MARJORIE FOUND HERSELF BLURTING OUT THE
ENTIRE STORY _page 172_]
Mrs. Morrison spoke quietly, but very firmly. She pointed to the door,
and Marjorie, without a word, withdrew. She had been given no chance
to explain matters or defend herself. By acknowledging that she had
written to Private Hargreaves Mrs. Morrison considered that she had
pleaded guilty, and had condemned her without further hearing. As if
walking in a bad dream, Marjorie crossed the quadrangle, and went down
the path to the Isolation Hospital. This was a small bungalow in a
remote part of the grounds. It was kept always in readiness in case any
girl should develop an infectious complaint. Marjorie had been there for
a few days last term with a cold which Miss Norton suspected might be
influenza. She had enjoyed herself then. How different it was now to go
there in utter disgrace and under threat of expulsion! She sat down in
one of the cosy wicker chairs and buried her face in her hands. To be
expelled, to leave Brackenfield and all its interests, and to go home
with a stigma attached to her name! Her imagination painted all it would
mean--her father's displeasure, her mother's annoyance, the surprise of
friends at home to see her back before mid-term, the entire humiliation
of everybody knowing that she had been sent away from school.
"I shall never be able to hold up my head again," she thought. "And it
will spoil Dona's career here too. They won't be able to send Joan to
Brackenfield either; she'll have to go to some other school. Oh, why was
I such an absolute lunatic? I might have known the Empress would take it
this way!"
Sister Johnstone, one of the school nurses, now came bustling in. She
glanced at Marjorie, but made no remark, and set to work to light the
fire and dust the room. Presently, however, she came and laid her hand
on the girl's shoulder.
"I don't quite understand yet what it's all about, Marjorie," she said
kindly; "but my advice is, if you've done anything wrong, make a clean
breast of it and perhaps Mrs. Morrison may forgive you."
"She's expelled me!" groaned Marjorie.
"That's bad. Aren't there any extenuating circumstances?"
But Marjorie, utterly crushed and miserable, only shook her head.
The Principal was sincerely concerned and grieved by the occurrence. It
is always a blot on a school to be obliged to expel a pupil. She talked
the matter over carefully with some of the teachers. Marjorie's record
at Brackenfield had unfortunately been already marred by several
incidents which prejudiced her in the eyes of the mistresses. They had
been done innocently and in sheer thoughtlessness, but they gave a wrong
impression of her character. Miss Norton related that when she first met
Marjorie at Euston station she had found her speaking to a soldier, with
whom she had acknowledged that she had no acquaintance, and that she had
brought a novel to her dormitory in defiance of rules. Mrs. Morrison
remembered only too plainly that it was Marjorie who had asked the
aviator for his autograph on the beach at Whitecliffe, and had started
the ill-timed episode of snowballing the soldiers. Judging by these
signposts she considered her tendencies to be "fast".
"I can't have the atmosphere of the school spoilt," said Mrs. Morrison.
"Such an attitude is only too catching. Best to check it before it
spreads further."
"But I have always found Marjorie such a nice girl," urged Miss
Duckworth. "From my personal experience of her I could not have believed
her capable of unladylike conduct. She has always seemed to me very
unsophisticated and childish--certainly not 'fast'. Can there possibly
be any explanation of the matter?"
"I fear not--the case seems only too plain," sighed Mrs. Morrison. "I am
very loath to expel any girl, but----"
"May I speak to her before you take any active steps?" begged Miss
Duckworth. "I have a feeling that the matter may possibly admit of being
cleared up. It's worth trying."
No principal is ever anxious for the unpleasant task of writing to a
parent to request her to remove her daughter. Mrs. Morrison had nerved
herself to the unwelcome duty, but she was quite willing to defer it
until Miss Duckworth had instituted enquiries. She had an excellent
opinion of her mistress's sound common sense.
Marjorie spent a wretched day in the isolation ward. Sister Johnstone
plied her with magazines, but she had not the heart to read them, and
sat looking listlessly out of the window at the belt of laurels that
separated the field from the kitchen garden. She wondered when she was
to leave Brackenfield, if her mother would come to fetch her, or if she
would have to travel home by herself. It was after tea-time that Miss
Duckworth entered.
"I've come to relieve Sister for a little while," she announced, seating
herself by the fire.
Sister Johnstone took the hint, and, saying she would be very glad to go
out for half an hour, went away, leaving Miss Duckworth and Marjorie
alone in the bungalow.
"Come to the fire, Marjorie," said the mistress. "It's damp and chilly
this afternoon, and you look cold sitting by the window."
Marjorie obeyed almost mechanically. She knelt on the rug and spread out
her hands to the blaze. She had reached a point of misery when she
hardly cared what happened next to her. Two big tears splashed into the
fender. Miss Duckworth suddenly put an arm round her.
"I'm sorry you're in trouble, Marjorie. Can't you tell me why you did
such a thing? It's so unlike you that I don't understand."
Then somehow Marjorie found herself blurting out the entire story to her
form mistress. How she had found the soldier's address at her aunt's,
and had written to him in a spirit of sheer patriotism.
Incidentally, and in reply to questioning, the aims and objects of the
S.S.O.P. were divulged.
Miss Duckworth could hardly forbear a smile; the real circumstances were
so utterly different from what they appeared in the Principal's eyes.
"You've been a very silly child," she said; "so silly that I think you
richly deserved to get yourself into a scrape. I'll explain the matter
to Mrs. Morrison."
"I'd like her to know, even though I'm to be expelled," groaned
Marjorie.
On hearing Miss Duckworth's version of the story, however, Mrs. Morrison
reconsidered her decision, sent for the culprit, lectured her, and
solemnly forgave her. She further summoned all the members of the
S.S.O.P. to present themselves in her study. In view of the recent
occurrence they came trembling, and stood in a downcast line while she
addressed them.
"I hear from Miss Duckworth," she said, "that you have founded a secret
society among yourselves for the purpose of encouraging patriotism. I do
not in general approve of secret societies, but I sympathize with your
object. It is the duty of every citizen of our Empire to be patriotic.
There are various ways, however, in which we can show our love for our
country. Let us be sure that they are wise and discreet ways before we
adopt them. Some forms of kindness may be excellent when administered by
grown-up and experienced women, but are not suitable for schoolgirls. If
you want to help the soldiers you may sew bed-jackets. I have just
received a new consignment of flannel, and will ask Sister Johnstone to
cut some out for you to-morrow."
The S.S.O.P. retired somewhat crestfallen.
"I hate sewing!" mourned Betty.
"So do I," confessed Sylvia. "But we'll all just have to slave away at
those bed-jackets if we want to square the Empress. It must come out of
our spare time, too, worse luck!"
Marjorie entered St. Elgiva's in a half-dazed condition. A hurricane
seemed to have descended that morning, whirled her almost to
destruction, then blown itself away, and left her decidedly battered by
the storm. Up in her own cubicle she indulged in the luxury of a
thorough good cry. The S.S.O.P. in a body rose up to comfort her, but,
like Jacob of old, she refused comfort.
"I'm not to be t-t-trusted to have my own postage stamps," she sobbed.
"I've to take even my home letters to the Empress to be looked at, and
she'll stamp them. I'm to miss my next exeat, and Aunt Ellinor's to be
told the reason, and I'm not to play hockey for a month."
"Oh, Marjorie! Then there isn't the remotest chance of your getting into
the Eleven for St. Elgiva's. What a shame!"
"I know. It's spoilt everything."
"And the whole school knows now about the S.S.O.P. It's leaked out
somehow, and the secret's gone. It'll be no more fun."
"I wish to goodness I'd never thought of it," choked Marjorie. "I've got
to sit and copy out beastly poetry while somebody else gets into the
Eleven."