Mrs Willis was not at home many hours before Dora Russell begged for an
interview with her. Annie had not as yet heard anything of the changed
essay; for Dora had resolved to keep the thing a secret until Mrs
Willis herself took the matter in hand.
Annie was feeling not a little anxious and depressed. She was sorry now
that she had led the girls that wild escapade through the wood. Phyllis
and Nora were both suffering from heavy colds in consequence, and Susan
Drummond was looking more pasty about her complexion, and was more
dismally sleepy than usual. Annie was going through her usual season of
intense remorse after one of her wild pranks. No one repented with more
apparent fervour than she did, and yet no one so easily succumbed to the
next temptation. Had Annie been alone in the matter she would have gone
straight to Mrs Willis and confessed all; but she could not do this
without implicating her companions, who would have screamed with horror
at the very suggestion.
All the girls were more or less depressed by the knowledge that the
gypsy woman, Mother Rachel, shared their secret; and they often
whispered together as to the chances of her betraying them. Old Betty
they could trust; for Betty, the cake-woman, had been an
arch-conspirator with the naughty girls of Lavender House from time
immemorial. Betty had always managed to provide their stolen suppers
for them, and had been most accommodating in the matter of pay. Yes,
with Betty they felt they were safe; but Mother Rachel was a different
person. She might like to be paid a few more sixpences for her silence;
she might hover about the grounds; she might be noticed. At any moment
she might boldly demand an interview with Mrs Willis.
"I'm awfully afraid of Mother Rachel," Phyllis moaned, as she shivered
under the influence of her bad cold.
Nora said "I should faint if I saw her again, I know I should while the
other girls always went out provided with stray sixpences, in case the
gypsy-mother should start up from some unexpected quarter and demand
black-mail."
On the day of Mrs Willis's return, Annie was pacing up and down the
shady walk, and indulging in some rather melancholy and regretful
thoughts, when Susan Drummond and Mary Morris rushed up to her, white
with terror.
"She's down there by the copse, and she's beckoning to us! Oh, do come
with us--do, darling, dear Annie."
"There's no use in it," replied Annie; "Mother Rachel wants money, and I
am not going to give her any. Don't be afraid of her, girls, and don't
give her money. After all, why should she tell on us? she would gain
nothing by doing so."
"Oh, yes, she would, Annie--she would, Annie," said Mary Morris,
beginning to sob; "oh, do come with us, do! We must pacify her, we
really must."
"I can't come now," said Annie; "hark! some one is calling me. Yes,
Miss Danesbury--what is it?"
"Mrs Willis wishes to see you at once, Annie, in her private
sitting-room," replied Miss Danesbury; and Annie, wondering not a
little, but quite unsuspicious, ran off.
The fact, however, of her having deliberately disobeyed Mrs Willis, and
done something which she knew would greatly pain her, brought a shade of
embarrassment to her usually candid face. She had also to confess to
herself that she did not feel quite so comfortable about Mother Rachel
as she had given Mary Morris and Susan Drummond to understand. Her
steps lagged more and more as she approached the house, and she wished,
oh, how longingly! oh, how regretfully! that she had not been naughty
and wild and disobedient in her beloved teacher's absence.
"But where is the use of regretting what is done?" she said, half aloud.
"I know I can never be good--never, never!"
She pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains which shaded the door of the
private sitting-room, and went in, to find Mrs Willis seated by her
desk, very pale and tired and unhappy looking, while Dora Russell, with
crimson spots on her cheeks and a very angry glitter in her eyes, stood
by the mantelpiece.
"Come here, Annie dear," said Mrs Willis in her usual gentle and
affectionate tone.
Annie's first wild impulse was to rush to her governess's side, to fling
her arms round her neck, and, as a child would confess to her mother, to
tell her all that story of the walk through the wood, and the stolen
picnic in the fairies' field. Three things, however, restrained her--
she must not relieve her own troubles at the expense of betraying
others; she could not, even if she were willing, say a word in the
presence of this cold and angry-looking Dora; in the third place, Mrs
Willis looked very tired and very sad. Not for worlds would she add to
her troubles at this instant. She came into the room, however, with a
slight hesitation of manner, and a clouded brow, which caused Mrs
Willis to watch her with anxiety, and Dora with triumph.
"Come here, Annie," repeated the governess. "I want to speak to you.
Something very dishonourable and disgraceful has been done in my
absence."
Annie's face suddenly became as white as a sheet. Could the
gypsy-mother have already betrayed them all?
Mrs Willis, noticing her too evident confusion, continued in a voice,
which, in spite of herself, became stern and severe.
"I shall expect the truth at any cost, my dear. Look at this
manuscript-book. Do you know anything of the handwriting?"
"Why, it is yours, of course, Dora," said Annie, who was now absolutely
bewildered.
"It is _not_ mine," began Dora, but Mrs Willis held up her hand.
"Allow me to speak, Miss Russell. I can best explain matters. Annie,
during my absence some one has been guilty of a very base and wicked
act. One of the girls in this school has gone secretly to Dora
Russell's desk, and taken away ten pages of an essay which she had
called `The River,' and which she was preparing for the prize
competition next month. Instead of Dora's essay this that you now see
was put in its place. Examine it, my dear. Can you tell me anything
about it?"
Annie took the manuscript-book, and turned the leaves.
"Is it meant for a parody?" she asked, after a pause; "it sounds
ridiculous. No, Mrs Willis, I know nothing whatever about it; some one
has imitated Dora's handwriting. I cannot imagine who is the culprit."
She threw the manuscript-book with a certain easy carelessness on the
table by her side, and glanced up with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes at
Dora.
"I suppose it is meant for a clever parody," she repeated; "at least it
is amusing."
Her manner displeased Mrs Willis, and very nearly maddened poor Dora.
"We have not sent for you, Annie," said her teacher, "to ask you your
opinion of the parody, but to try and get you to throw light on the
subject. We must find out, and at once, who has been so wicked as to
deliberately injure another girl."
"But why have you sent for _me_?" asked Annie, drawing herself up, and
speaking with a little shade of haughtiness.
"Because," said Dora Russell, who could no longer contain her outraged
feelings, "because you alone can throw light on it--because you alone in
the school are base enough to do anything so mean--because you alone can
caricature."
"Oh, that is it," said Annie; "you suspect me, then. Do _you_ suspect
me, Mrs Willis?"
"My dear--what can I say?"
"Nothing, if you do. In this school my word has long gone for nothing.
I am a naughty, headstrong, wilful girl, but in this matter I am
perfectly innocent. I never saw that essay before; I never in all my
life went to Dora Russell's desk. I am headstrong and wild, but I don't
do spiteful things. I have no object in injuring Dora; she is nothing
to me--nothing. She is trying for the essay prize, but she has no
chance of winning it. Why should I trouble myself to injure her? why
should I even take the pains to parody her words and copy her
handwriting? Mrs Willis, you need not believe me--I see you do not
believe me--but I am quite innocent."
Here Annie burst into sudden tears, and ran out of the room.