The Observatory Window
Though Mrs. Morrison might be satisfied that Marjorie's letter to
Private Hargreaves had been written in an excess of patriotism, she made
her feel the ban of her displeasure. She received her coldly when she
brought her home letters to be stamped, stopped her exeat, and did not
remit a fraction of her imposition. She considered she had gauged
Marjorie's character--that thoughtless impulsiveness was one of her
gravest faults, and that it would be well to teach her a lesson which
she would remember for some time. Marjorie's hot spirits chafed against
her punishment. It was terribly hard to be kept from hockey practice.
She missed the physical exercise as well as the excitement of the game.
On three golden afternoons she had watched the others run across the
shrubbery towards the playing-fields, and, taking her dejected way to
her classroom, had spent the time writing at her desk. The fourth hockey
afternoon was one of those lovely spring days when nature seems to
beckon one out of doors into the sunshine. Sparrows were tweeting in the
ivy, and a thrush on the top branch of the almond tree trilled in
rivalry with the blackbird that was building in the holly bush. For
half an hour Marjorie toiled away. Copying poetry is monotonous, though
perhaps not very exacting work; she hated writing, and her head ached.
After a morning spent at Latin, algebra, and chemistry, it seemed
intolerable to be obliged to remain in the schoolroom. She threw down
her pen and stretched her arms wearily, then strolled to the open window
and looked out.
A belt of trees hid the playing-fields, so it was impossible to catch
even a glimpse of the hockey. There was nothing to be seen but grass and
bushes and a few clumps of daffodils, which stood out like golden stars
against a background of green. Stop! what was that? Marjorie looked more
intently, and could distinguish a figure in hockey jersey and
tam-o'-shanter coming along behind the bushes. As it crossed a space
between two rhododendrons she recognized it in a moment.
"Why, that's Chrissie!" she said to herself. "What in the name of
thunder is she doing slinking behind the shrubs? Oh, I know! Good old
girl! She's coming to cheer me up, and, of course, doesn't want Norty or
anyone to catch her. What a sport she is!"
Chrissie had disappeared, probably into the vestibule door, but Marjorie
judged that she would be coming upstairs directly, and in a spirit of
fun crouched down in a corner and hid behind the desks. As she had
expected, the door opened a moment later, and her chum peeped inside,
took a hasty glance round the room, and went away. That she should go
without searching for and finding her friend was not at all what
Marjorie had calculated upon. She sprang up hastily and followed, but by
the time she had reached the door Chrissie had disappeared. Marjorie
walked a little way along the corridor. She was disappointed, and felt
decidedly bored with life. She longed for something--anything--to break
the monotony of copying out poetry. Her eyes fell upon a staircase at
her left.
Now on the school plan these stairs were marked "out of bounds", and to
mount them was a breach of rules. They led to a glass observatory, which
formed a kind of tower over the main building of the College. A number
of theatrical properties were stored here--screens, and drop scenes, and
boxes full of costumes. By special leave the prefects came up to fetch
anything that was needed for acting, but to the ordinary school it was
forbidden ground. Marjorie stopped and thought. She had always longed to
explore the theatrical boxes. Everybody was out at hockey, and there was
not a soul to see her and report her. The temptation was too great; she
succumbed, and next moment was running up the stairs, all agog with the
spirit of adventure. The door of the Observatory was open. It was not a
remarkably large room, and was fairly well filled with the various stage
properties. Large windows occupied the four sides, and the roof was a
glass dome. Marjorie peeped about, opened some of the boxes and examined
the dresses, and inspected a variety of odd objects, such as pasteboard
crowns, fairies' wings, sceptres, wands, and swords. She was just about
to try on a green-velvet Rumanian bodice when she turned in alarm. Steps
were heard coming up the staircase towards the Observatory. In an
instant Marjorie shut the box and slipped behind one of the screens. She
was only just in time, for the next moment Miss Norton entered the room.
Through a small rent in the oilcloth which covered the screen Marjorie
could see her plainly. She went to the window which faced the sea and
gazed out long and earnestly. Then she opened one of the theatrical
boxes, put something inside, and shut it again. One more look through
the window and she left the room. The sound of her retreating footsteps
died down the stairs.
Marjorie had remained still, and scarcely daring to breathe. She waited
a moment or two, lest the teacher should return, then descended with
extreme caution, scuttled back into the schoolroom, and started once
more to copy poetry.
"It was a near squeak!" she thought. "The Acid Drop would have made a
fearful row if she'd caught me. It makes one feel rocky even to think of
it. Oh dear! I must brace up if I'm to get all the rest of this done
before tea."
She wrote away wearily until the dressing-bell rang, then washed her
hands and went into the hall. The one topic of conversation at the
tables was hockey. The points of the various members of the teams were
criticized freely. It appeared to have been an exciting afternoon. A
sense of ill usage filled Marjorie that she had not been present.
"I think the Empress was awfully hard on me," she groused. "I believe
she'd have let me off more lightly if Norty hadn't given her such a list
of my crimes. I wish I could catch Norty tripping! But teachers never do
trip."
"Why, no, of course not. They wouldn't be teachers if they did," laughed
Betty. "The Empress would soon pack them off."
"I wonder if they ever get into trouble and the Empress reprimands them
in private," surmised Chrissie.
"Oh, that's likely enough, but of course we don't hear about it."
"Miss Gordon and Miss Hulton had a quarrel last year," said Sylvia.
"Yes, and Miss Hulton left. Everybody said she was obliged to go because
Mrs. Morrison took Miss Gordon's part."
That evening an unprecedented and extraordinary thing happened.
Brackenfield College stood in a dip of the hills not very far away from
the sea. As at most coast places, the rules in the neighbourhood of
Whitecliffe were exceedingly strict. Not the least little chink of a
light must be visible after dusk, and blinds and curtains were drawn
most carefully over the windows. Being on the west coast, they had so
far been immune from air raids, but in war-time nobody knew from what
quarter danger might come, or whether a stray Zeppelin might some night
float overhead, or a cruiser begin shelling the town. On the whole, the
College was considered as safe a place as any in England, and parents
had not scrupled to send their daughters back to school there. On this
particular evening one of the housemaids had been into Whitecliffe, and,
instead of returning by the high road and up the drive, took a short cut
by the side lane and the kitchen garden. To her amazement, she noticed
that in one of the windows of the Observatory a bright light was
shining. It was on the side away from the high road, but facing the sea,
and could probably be discerned at a great distance. She hurried indoors
and informed Mrs. Morrison, who at once visited the Observatory, and
found there a lighted bicycle lamp, which had been placed on the window
sill.
So sinister an incident was a matter for immediate enquiry. The
Principal was horror-stricken. Girls, teachers, and servants were
questioned, but nobody admitted anything. The lamp, indeed, proved to be
one which Miss Duckworth had missed from her bicycle several days
before. It was known that she had been lamenting its loss. Whether the
light had been put as a signal or as a practical joke it was impossible
to say, but if it had been noticed by a special constable it would have
placed Brackenfield in danger of an exceedingly heavy fine.
Everybody was extremely indignant. It was felt that such an unpleasant
episode cast a reflection upon the school. It was naturally the one
subject of conversation.
"Have we a spy in our midst?" asked Winifrede Mason darkly. "If it
really was a practical joke, then whoever did it needs hounding out of
the place."
"She'll meet with scant mercy when she's found!" agreed Meg Hutchinson.
Marjorie said nothing at all. Her brain was in a whirl. The events of
the afternoon rose up like a spectre and haunted her. She felt she
needed a confidante. At the earliest possible moment she sought Chrissie
alone, and told her how she had run up into the Observatory and seen
Miss Norton there.
"Do you think it's possible Norty could have lighted that lamp?" she
asked.
Chrissie whistled.
"It looks rather black against her certainly. What was she doing up in
the Observatory?"
"She put something inside a box."
"Did you see what it was?"
"No."
"It might have been a bicycle lamp?"
"It might have been anything as far as I can tell."
"Did she strike a match as if lighting a lamp?"
"No, but of course she might have put the lamp inside the box and then
come up at dusk to light it."
Chrissie shook her head and whistled again softly. She appeared to be
thinking.
"Ought I to tell the Empress?" ventured Marjorie.
"Not unless you want to get yourself into the very biggest row you've
ever had in your life!"
"Why?"
"Why? Don't you see, you silly child, that Norty would deny everything
and throw all the blame upon you? Naturally the Empress would ask: 'What
were you doing in the Observatory?' Even if she didn't suspect you of
putting the light there yourself--which it is quite possible she
might--she'd punish you for breaking bounds; and when you've only just
been in trouble already----"
"It's not to be thought of," interrupted Marjorie quickly. "You're quite
right, Chrissie. The Empress would be sure to side with Norty and blame
me. I'd thought of going and telling her, and I even walked as far as
the study door, but I was too frightened to knock. I'm glad I asked you
about it first."
"Of course the whole business may be a rag. It's the kind of wild thing
some of those silly Juniors would do."
"It may; but, on the other hand, the light may have been a signal. It
seems very mysterious."
"Don't tell anybody else what you've told me."
"Rather not. It's a secret to be kept even from the S.S.O.P. I shan't
breathe a word to a single soul."