The School Queens

He had done a very successful stroke of business in Liverpool, and was returning to Laburnum Villa in the highest spirits. While he was in the train he was planning how he could most effectively announce his return. To ring at his own hall-door, or to open it with a latch-key, or to walk in in the ordinary fashion of the master of the house did not content him at all. He must invent a more novel manner of return than that. He was really fond of Little-sing. She suited him to perfection. What he called her “fine-lady airs,” when they were displayed to any one but himself, pleased him mightily. He thought of her as pretty and gracious and sweet. He really loved her after his own fashion, and would do anything in his power to make her happy. But he must, as he expressed it, have his joke.

Mrs. Martin was seated by the fire in the drawing-room. It was getting late – nearly four o’clock; but, according to an expressed wish of Bo-peep, the window-blinds had not yet been drawn down. He liked, as he said, to see his home before he entered it. Mrs. Martin, therefore, with the electric light on, was perfectly visible from the road. Mr. Martin guessed that this would be the case, and he stopped the cab at a little distance from the house, paid the fare, shouldered his bag, and walked softly down the street. He went and stood outside the window. He looked in. The street was a quiet one, and at that moment there were no passers-by. Mrs. Martin was seated in her smart dress which he had given her, with her profile towards him. He thought her very beautiful indeed. His heart swelled with pride. She belonged to him. He hated fine ladies, as a rule; but a fine lady who was his very own was a different matter. He even felt romantic.

She was reading a letter. Who could have been writing to Little-sing? Suddenly it occurred to him to slip down the area steps and stand close under the window. He did so, to the terror of cook and Tildy. Cook was about to scream, “Burglars!” but Tildy recognized her master.

“It’s his joke,” she said. “’E’s a wonderful man for jokes. Don’t let on to Mrs. Martin that ’e’s ’ere for your life. ’E’ll do something so comic in a minute.”

The comicality of Martin consisted, in the present instance, of singing in a harsh baritone the song of the Troubadour:

“Gaily the TroubadourTouched his guitar,When he was hasteningHome from the war;Singing, ‘From PalestineHither I come.Ladye love! ladye love!Welcome me home.’”

Mrs. Martin gave a shriek. She had the presence of mind to pop her letter into her pocket. Then she approached the window, trembling and blushing. Bo-peep uttered a huge laugh of delight, let himself in by the back way, and ran up the stairs.

“Little-sing!” he said, and clasped his wife in his arms.

During dinner James Martin was in high good humor, and it was not until dessert was put on the table and he had helped himself liberally to port wine, and was filling his pipe for his evening smoke, that it occurred to him to speak to his wife about Maggie.

“By the way,” he said, “I did a right good turn for that girl of yours, Little-sing, before I left for Liverpool. I sent her a box of clothes – two smart everyday dresses, an evening dress, and no end of fal-lals. She wrote to thank me, I suppose?”

“She wrote to me, dear,” said Mrs. Martin, trembling a good deal. “She was very much obliged to you.”

“And well she ought to be. Did she clearly understand that I sent her the things – that you had nothing to do with them?”

“Oh yes, yes,” said Mrs. Martin. “Won’t you have some coffee, James? I’ll tell Matilda to bring it in.”

“Coffee – fiddlestick!” said Martin; “and you know I hate to be called ‘James.’ Where’s Bo-peep?”

“You are Bo-peep,” said his wife with a funny smile.

“Well, then, no ‘Jamesing’ of me. I think it is very queer of your daughter not to reply to me when I send her expensive and handsome things. What did she say in her letter to you?”

“Oh, she was very grateful, of course, Bo-peep.”

“Well – but – where’s the letter? I may as well see it. There’s stuff in that girl. I don’t despair of her yet. She has a head for business. I wouldn’t have your dear little head muddled with business, but your daughter’s a different person. She has nothing whatever to live on except what I allow her, and unless she is to starve she has got to please me.”

Mrs. Martin might have said, had she not been afraid, that Maggie was certainly entitled to her own father’s money; but it is to be regretted that Little-sing had not much courage.

Matilda came in with the coffee, which caused a slight diversion, more particularly as it was not to Martin’s taste, who desired her to take it away again, and request Horniman to send him something fit to drink. When the door was closed behind Matilda he renewed the subject of the letter.

“I saw you reading something as I came along,” he said. “When I peeped in at the window you had a letter in your hand. Who has been writing to you?”

“Only Maggie.”

“And that is the letter you spoke about?”

“Yes, dear James – I mean Bo-peep – yes. The child is very grateful.”

“She ought to be. I’d like to see the letter. Where is it?”

“I will go upstairs and fetch it,” said Mrs. Martin, who knew well that it was safe in her pocket all the time.

James Martin roused himself and gave her a studied look.

“Do so,” he said. “Bring it back to me at once. If I have to support that girl, and keep her at school, and pay for her clothing, I’ll allow her to have no secrets from me. You understand that, don’t you, Little-sing?”

“Yes. I will fetch the letter,” said Mrs. Martin.

She left the room. Martin was fond of her, but he was no fool. He was certain now that there was something in the letter which his wife did not wish him to see, and his curiosity was instantly aroused. He was determined to read poor Maggie’s letter at any cost. He waited impatiently, drumming his large, fat hand on the highly polished oak table the while. Tildy came in with fresh coffee.

“Please, sir,” she said, “cook wants to see you for a minute.”

“I can’t see her now. Tell her so,” replied Martin.

“Which is no message for a woman of my class,” said Horniman, entering the room and showing a very heated face. “I wishes to give notice that I leave your service this day month.”

“You can go to-morrow,” said Martin.

“As you please, sir; wages in full.”

“You go to-morrow,” said Martin; “and if you say another word you go to-night. Leave the room.”

Tildy breathed a little quickly, felt inclined to pat master on the back, thought better of it, and left the room.

“Whatever is keeping Little-sing?” thought Martin to himself.

He was not going to worry about cook and her whims, but of Little-sing and the letter. He grew a little more suspicious, and consequently a little more angry.

“She has that letter in her pocket; I saw her put it there when I was acting the part of the Troubadour,” he said to himself. “She is destroying it now; but she sha’n’t – not before I get it.”

He softly left the dining-room and crept with catlike steps upstairs. He stopped outside his wife’s bedroom. There was a light burning there. He turned the handle of the door. It was locked.

“Open the door at once,” he said; and Mrs. Martin flew to do so.

“Oh Bo-peep, you gave me a fright!”

“Where is that letter, Victoria?”

“It – it – I can’t find it,” she replied.

“What are those papers lying on the floor?”

Mrs. Martin gave a cry. Mr. Martin was too quick for her. He swept up the pieces of torn letter, collected them in his great hand, and, taking Mrs. Martin with the other hand, returned with her to the dining-room.

“Now, you sit there, Little-sing,” he said, “while I piece the letter together. There is something in it that you want hidden from me; but you’ve quite mistook your man. There are to be no secrets between you and me. I’m not the least bit angry with you, but I am not going to have that girl ruling you. You’re frightened of that girl. Now, let’s see what she has to say.”

Poor Mrs. Martin trembled from head to foot. Suddenly she went on her knees, clasped her hands round Bo-peep’s arm, and looked into his face. “She was naughty. She was a silly child. Oh, forgive her! I ought to have destroyed the letter. I ought not to have kept it until you came back. Please – please, don’t read it!”

“Nonsense, Little-sing,” he replied, restored once more to the height of good humor. “You have roused my curiosity; nothing will induce me not to see every word of the letter now.”

It took Martin some time to piece together poor Maggie’s letter; but at last the greater part of its meaning was made plain to him. Mrs. Martin sat, white as death, looking at her lord and master. What was going to happen? What awful thing lay ahead of her? She felt crushed beyond words. Once again she struggled to get on her knees to implore him, to entreat; but Martin put out his great hand and kept her forcibly in her seat.

When he had quite taken in the meaning of the letter he made no comment whatever, but carefully deposited the torn fragments in his pocket-book. Then he said quietly, “I don’t blame you, Little-sing, not one bit. But we’ve got to punish this girl. To-morrow I shall be busy in town. The day after will be Friday, and I shall be busy then; but on Saturday we’ll take a half-holiday and go to visit Miss Margaret Howland at Aylmer House – you and me together, Little-sing – the grocer and his wife together. Not a word, my love; not a word.”

CHAPTER XXI.

TILDY’S MESSAGE

Nothing ever kept Mrs. Martin awake; and, notwithstanding her anxiety with regard to Maggie, she slept soundly that night. Bo-peep was his own delightful self. His jokes were really too good for anything! She regarded him as the wittiest man of her acquaintance. She laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. He told her that he would take her to the theater on the following evening, and further said that he would engage a cook himself in town, send her out in the course of the morning, and that Horniman could go.

Horniman came up to interview her mistress soon after Martin’s departure. She was penitent now, and willing to stay; but nothing would induce Martin himself to forgive her, and, in consequence, Mrs. Martin did not dare to do so. The woman was paid her wages in full, and dismissed. Then it occurred to Mrs. Martin that here was her opportunity to send a short note of warning to Maggie. Why she did not send it by post it is hard to ascertain; but she thought that it would go more swiftly and surely if Tildy were the messenger.

Accordingly she sent for Tildy and told her what she expected her to do.

“Matilda,” she said, “cook has gone, and I shall be quite content with tea and toast and a lightly boiled egg for my lunch. After lunch you can take the train to London and convey a message from me to Miss Maggie.”

“Oh mum, ’ow beauteous!” said Tildy.

“I will have a letter ready which you are, if possible, to put into her own hands.”

“Yes, ’um; and don’t I long to see ’er, jest!”

“Well, this is the address,” said Mrs. Martin. “Get everything cosy and comfortable in the house, and bring me my tea by one o’clock. A train will take you to Victoria at half-past one, which you ought to catch. You can easily be back here between four and five; by that time the new cook will have arrived.”

“Things ain’t dull a bit to-day’,” said Tildy. “They’re much more Shepherd’s Bushy, and I like ’em a sight better than I did.”

“Well, go now, and attend to your business,” said Mrs. Martin.

Having secured a messenger, Mrs. Martin next prepared to write to poor Maggie:

“My dear Child, – Most unfortunately your father has discovered the letter you wrote to me. He doesn’t say much, but I can see that he is furiously angry. He intends to take me with him to call on you next Saturday – I presume, some time in the afternoon. I will try to make him dress in as gentlemanly a manner as possible, and also will endeavor to prevent his talking about the shop. You must make the very best of things you can, dear; for there’s no possible way of keeping him from Aylmer House. – Your affectionate mother,

“Victoria Martin.”

When the letter was finished Mrs. Martin put it into an envelope, addressed to Miss Maggie Howland, Aylmer House, Randal Square, South Kensington, and put it into Tildy’s care. Tildy caught her train all in good time, arrived at Victoria, and took a bus to South Kensington. A very little inquiry enabled her to find Randal Square, and at about half-past two she was standing on the steps of that most refined and genteel home, Aylmer House. The look of the place impressed her, but did not give her any sense of intimidation. When the door was opened to her modest ring, and the pleasant, bright-looking parlor-maid answered her summons, Tildy gazed at her with great interest but without a scrap of shyness.

“I’ve come from ’er ’ome to see Miss Maggie ’Owland,” said Tildy; “and I’ve a message for ’er from ’er ma.”

The girl, whose name was Agnes, stared for a minute at Tildy. She recognized her “sort” in a moment. Tildy belonged to the lodging-house sort of girl. What she could have to do with one of Agnes’s young ladies puzzled that young person considerably. It was the rule, however, at Aylmer House that no one, however poor or humble, should be treated with rudeness, and certainly a person bringing a message to one of the young ladies was entitled to respect. Agnes said, therefore, in a polite and superior tone, “Step in, will you, miss? and I will find out if Miss Howland is in.”

Tildy stepped into the hall, feeling, as she expressed it, “dream-like and queer all over.” She did not dare to sit down, but stood on the mat, gazing with her bright, inquisitive eyes at the various things in this new world in which she found herself.

“How beauteous!” she kept repeating at intervals. “Why, Laburnum Villa ain’t a patch on this. How very beauteous! No wonder Miss Maggie ’ave the hair of a queen.”

Now, it so happened that Maggie Howland was out, and would not be back for some time. This was the day when she and the other girls belonging to her kingdom had gone forth to purchase all sorts of good things for the coming feast. Maggie, as queen, had put a whole sovereign into the bag. There would, therefore, be no stint of first-class provisions. Every sort of eatable that was not usually permitted at Aylmer House was to grace the board – jelly, meringues, frosted cake, tipsy cake, as well as chickens garnished in the most exquisite way and prepared specially by a confectioner round the corner; also different dainties in aspic jellies were to be ordered. Then flowers were to be secured in advance, so as to make the table really very beautiful.

Maggie, Kathleen O’Donnell, and Janet were the people selected to arrange about the supper. Not a single thing was to be cooked in the establishment; this would give extra trouble to the servants, and was therefore not to be permitted. The girls would make their own sandwiches; and, oh, what troublesome thoughts they had over these! Maggie was in the highest spirits, and left the house with her companions – Miss Johnson, of course, in close attendance – half-an-hour before Tildy with her ominous letter appeared on the scene.

Now, it so happened that Agnes knew nothing at all of the absence of the young ladies. They usually went out by a side-door which had been specially assigned to their use when the house was turned into a school. As Agnes was going upstairs, however, in order to try to find Maggie, she met Aneta coming down.

“Oh miss,” she said, “can you tell me if Miss Howland is in?”

“No,” said Aneta, “I happen to know that she is out, and I don’t think she will be in for some little time.”

“Very well, miss; the young person will be sorry, I expect.”

“What young person?” asked Aneta, eager in her turn to find out why Maggie was inquired for.

“A girl, miss, who has called, and has asked very particularly to see Miss Howland. She’s rather a common sort of girl, miss, although I dare say she means well.”

“I will go and see her myself,” said Aneta; “perhaps I can convey a message from her to Miss Howland, for I know she won’t be back for some little time.”

Agnes, quite relieved in her mind, turned down the back-stairs and went to attend to her numerous duties. A few minutes after, Aneta, in all her slim grace, stood in the hall and confronted Tildy. Aneta was herself going out; she was going out with Mademoiselle Laplage. They had some commissions to execute. The day was a foggy one, and they were both rather in a hurry. Nevertheless, Aneta stopped to say a kind word to Tildy. Tildy gazed at her with open-eyed admiration. Beautiful as the house was, this young lady was indeed a radiant and dazzling vision.

“She made me sort o’ choky,” said Tildy as she related the circumstance afterwards to Mrs. Martin. “There was a hair about her. Well, much as I loves our Miss Maggie, she ain’t got the hair o’ that beauteous young lady, with ’er eyes as blue as the sky, and ’er walk so very distinguishified.”

“What can I do for you?” said Aneta now, in a kind tone.

Tildy dropped an awkward curtsy. “I’ve come, miss,” she said, “to see our Miss Maggie.”

“Miss Howland is out,” said Aneta.

“Oh, miss!” replied Tildy, the corners of her mouth beginning to droop, “that’s crool ’ard on me. Do you think, miss, if I may make so bold as to inquire, that Miss Maggie ’ll be in soon?”

“I do not think so,” replied Aneta; “but I can convey any message you like to her, if you will trust me.”

“Oh miss,” said Tildy, worshipping Aneta on the spot, “who wouldn’t trust one like you?”

“Well, what is it? What can I do for you?”

“I was maid, miss – maid-of-all-work – at Shepherd’s Bush when Miss Maggie and ’er ma used to live there; and when Mrs. ’Owland married Martin the grocer they was that kind they took me to live at Laburnum Villa. It’s a very rich and comfortable ’ouse, miss; and the way they two goes on is most excitin’. It’s joke, joke, and play, play, from morn till night – that’s the ma and steppa of Miss Maggie. I’ve brought a letter from Mrs. Martin to be delivered straight to Miss Maggie.”

“I can give it to her,” said Aneta in her calm voice.

“You’ll per’aps mention, miss,” said Tildy, taking the letter from her pocket, “as I called, and as I love our dear Miss Maggie as much as I ever did. You’ll per’aps say, miss, with my dutiful respects, that my ’eart is ’ers, and always will be.”

“I will give her a kind message,” said Aneta, “and safely deliver her mother’s letter to her. I am afraid there’s no use in asking you to stay, as Miss Howland is very much occupied just now.”

“Very well, miss, I’ve delivered my message faithful.”

“You have.”

As Aneta spoke she herself opened the hall-door.

“Good-day, miss,” said Tildy, dropping another curtsy, “and I wishes you well.”

“Good-day,” replied Aneta.

Tildy’s little form was swallowed up in the fog, which was growing thicker each moment, and at that instant Mademoiselle Laplage, profuse in apologies for her brief delay, entered the hall.

“Pardon me, ma chère, that I have caused you to wait. I was just ready to descend, when – see! the lace of my shoe was broken. But what will you? You will go out in this dreadful fog?”

Aneta replied in French that she did not think the fog was too thick, and the French governess and the girl went out together into the street. But all the time Aneta Lysle was thinking hard. She was in possession of Maggie’s secret. Her stepfather, instead of being related to the Martyns of The Meadows, was a grocer! Aneta belonged to that class of persons who think a great deal of good birth. She did not mind Tildy in the least, for Tildy was so far below her as to be after a fashion quite companionable; but – a grocer! Nevertheless, Aneta had a heart. She thought of Maggie, and the more she thought of her the more pitiful she felt towards her. She did not want to crush or humiliate her schoolfellow. She felt almost glad that the secret of Maggie’s unhappiness had been made known to her. She might at last gain a true influence over the girl.

Her walk, therefore, with Mademoiselle Laplage took place almost in silence. They hastily executed their commissions, and presently found themselves in Pearce’s shop, where Aneta had taken a brooch a day or two ago to have a pin put on.

The shopman, as he handed her the mended brooch, said at the same time, “If you will excuse me, miss, you are one of the young ladies who live at Aylmer House?”

“Yes,” said Aneta, “that is true.”

“Then I wonder, miss, if”–He paused a minute, looked hard at the girl, and then continued, “Might my brother speak to you for a minute, miss?”

“But it make so cold!” said mademoiselle, who knew very little of the English tongue, “and behold – zee fog! I have such fear of it. It is not to joke when it fogs in your country, ma chère. Il faute bien dépêcher.”

“I shall be quite ready to come back with you in a minute or two,” said Aneta.

Just then the man who had bought the brooch from Maggie appeared. “I am very sorry, miss,” he said, “but I thought that, instead of writing to Miss Howland, I might send her a message; otherwise I should have to see Mrs. Ward on the matter.”

“But what matter is it?” said Aneta. “You want to see Miss Howland, or you want me to take her a message?”

“Well, miss, it’s no special secret; only my brother and I cannot afford to buy the brooch which she sold us the other day.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Aneta. “Miss Howland sold you a brooch? Then if she sold it, you did buy it.”

“The fact is, miss,” said young Pearce, coloring rather deeply, “I was not myself quite aware of its value at the time, and I gave the young lady much too small a sum of money for it. I want her to return me the money, and I will give her back the brooch. My brother and I have been talking it over, and we cannot do an injustice to one of the ladies at Aylmer House – it is quite impossible.”

“I will give your message,” said Aneta coldly. “Please do not purchase anything else from Miss Howland. She will doubtless call to see you to-morrow.”

“Thank you, miss; then that is all right,” said the man, looking much relieved.

Aneta hastened home. She felt perplexed and alarmed. She must see Maggie, and as soon as possible. It was a strange fact that while Maggie was in no danger at all, while everything seemed to be going right with her, and as long as she held an undeniable position in the school as one of the queens, Aneta could scarcely endure her; that now that Maggie Howland, was, so to speak, at her mercy, this girl, whose nature was fine and brave and good, felt a strong desire to help her.

There were, however, very strict rules at Aylmer House, and one of them was that no girl on any account whatsoever was to sell any of her possessions in order to make money. This was one of the unwritten rules of the school; but the idea of an Aylmer House girl really requiring to do such a thing was never contemplated for an instant. There were broad lines of conduct, however, which no girl was expected to pass. Liberty was allowed to a great extent at Aylmer House; but it was a liberty which only those who struggle to walk in the right path can fully enjoy. Crooked ways, underhand dealings, could not be permitted in the school.

Maggie had done quite enough to cause her to be expelled. There had been times when Aneta almost wished for this; when she had felt deep down in her heart that Maggie Howland was the one adverse influence in the school; when she had been certain that if Maggie Howland were removed all the other girls would come more or less under her own gentle sway, and she would be queen, not of the greater number of the girls at Aylmer House, but of all the girls, and very gentle, very loving, very sympathetic would be her rule. Her subjects should feel her sympathy, but at the same time they should acknowledge her power. Maggie’s was a counter-influence; and now there was a chance of putting a stop to it.

Aneta knew well that, kind as Mrs. Ward was to Maggie, she did not in her heart absolutely trust her. Therefore, if Maggie left it would also be a relief to Mrs. Ward. Miss Johnson might be sorry, and one or two of the girls might be sorry; in particular, dear little Merry. Aneta had a great love for Merry, and was deeply sorry to feel that Merry was under Maggie’s spell; that was the case, although she did not openly belong to Maggie’s party. So Merry too would be saved if Maggie left the school. Oh! it was most desirable, and Aneta held the key of the position in her hand. She also had in her pocket Mrs. Martin’s letter. That did not perhaps so greatly matter, for Maggie’s father, whatever her mother had done, was himself a gentleman; but the fact of Maggie’s slipping out of doors alone to sell an ornament was a sufficiently grave offense to banish her from such a school as Aylmer House.