A Patriotic Schoolgirl Part 19

Miss Duckworth could hardly forbear a smile; the real circ.u.mstances were so utterly different from what they appeared in the Princ.i.p.al's eyes.

"You've been a very silly child," she said; "so silly that I think you richly deserved to get yourself into a sc.r.a.pe. 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."

CHAPTER XVI

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 cla.s.sroom, 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 suns.h.i.+ne. 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 gra.s.s 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 s.p.a.ce 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 gla.s.s 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 succ.u.mbed, 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 gla.s.s 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 c.h.i.n.k 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 n.o.body knew from what quarter danger might come, or whether a stray Zeppelin might some night float overhead, or a cruiser begin sh.e.l.ling 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 s.h.i.+ning. 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 Princ.i.p.al was horror-stricken. Girls, teachers, and servants were questioned, but n.o.body 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?"