The School Queens

“Oh!” said Maggie, dropping a curiously made cross in her confusion and turning a dull brick-red. “Whatever have you come about?”

Aneta closed the door calmly, and placed her lighted candle on the top of Maggie’s chest of drawers.

“I hoped you were in bed and asleep,” she said; “but instead of that you are up. I have made arrangements to spend the night with you. It is bitterly cold. We must build up the fire.”

Maggie felt wild.

Aneta did not take the slightest notice. She knelt down and put knobs of fresh coal on the fire. Soon it was blazing up merrily. “That’s better,” she said. “Now, don’t you think a cup of cocoa each would be advisable?”

“I don’t want to eat,” said Maggie.

“I should like the cocoa,” said Aneta; “and I have brought it with me. I thought your supply might be out. Here’s your glass of milk which you never drank, and here’s a little saucepan, and there are cups and saucers in your cupboard, and a box of biscuits. Just sit down, won’t you? while I make the cocoa.”

Maggie felt very strange. Her dislike of Aneta was growing less and less moment by moment. Nevertheless, she by no means gave up her primary idea of running away. She felt that she must hoodwink Aneta. Surely she was clever enough for that. The best plan would be to acquiesce in the cocoa scheme, afterwards to pretend that she was sleepy, and go to bed. Then Aneta would, of course, leave her, and there would still be plenty of time to get out of the house and disappear into the foggy world of London. The glowing fire, the beautiful young girl kneeling by it, the preparation for the little meal which she made with such swiftness and dexterity, caused Maggie to gaze at her in speechless amazement.

Maggie drank her delicious cocoa and munched her biscuits with appetite, and afterwards she felt better. The world was not quite so black and desolate, and Aneta looked lovely with her soft eyes glowing and the rose-color in her cheeks.

“Why are you doing all this for me?” said Maggie then.

“Why?” said Aneta. “I think the reason is very simple.” Then she paused for a minute and her eyes filled with sudden tears. “I think it is, Maggie, because quite unexpectedly I have learned to love you.”

“You – to love me – me?” said Maggie.

“Yes.”

Maggie felt herself trembling. She could not reply. She did not understand that she returned the love so suddenly given to her – given to her, too, in her moment of deepest degradation, of her most utter misery. Once again the feeling that she must go, that she could not face confession and the scorn of the school, and the awful words of Bo-peep, and her poor mother as Bo-peep’s wife, overpowered her.

“You are – very kind,” she said in a broken voice; “and the cocoa was good; and, if you don’t mind – I will – go to bed now, and perhaps – sleep a little.”

“What have you been doing with all those lovely curios?” said Aneta.

“I?” said Maggie. “I – oh, I like to look at them.”

“Do pick up that cross which is lying on the floor, and let me examine it.”

Maggie did so rather unwillingly.

“Please bring over all the other things, and let me look at them,” said Aneta then.

Maggie obeyed, but grudgingly, as though she did not care that Aneta should handle them.

“Why have you taken them out of their boxes and put them all in a muddle like this?” said Aneta.

“I – I wanted something to do,” said Maggie. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Was that the only reason – honor bright?” said Aneta.

Maggie dropped her eyes.

Aneta did not question her any further, but she drew her down to a low chair by the fire, and put a hand on her lap, and kept on looking at the treasures: the bracelets, the crosses, the brooches, the quaint designs belonging to a bygone period. After a time she said, “I am not at all sure – I am not a real judge of treasures; but I have an uncle, Sir Charles Lysle, who knows more about these things than any one else in London; and if he thinks what I am inclined to think with regard to the contents of these two boxes, you will be”–She stopped abruptly.

Maggie’s eyes were shining. “Aneta,” she said, “don’t talk of these any more; and don’t talk either of wealth or poverty any more. There is something I want to say. When you came into my room just now I was packing up to run away.”

“Oh yes, I know that,” said Aneta. “I saw that you had that intention the moment I entered the room.”

“And you said nothing!”

“Why should I? I didn’t want to force your confidence. But you’re not going to run away now, Mags?” She bent towards her and kissed her on the forehead.

“Yes,” said Maggie, trembling. “I want you to let me go.”

“I cannot possibly do that, dear. If you go, I go too.”

“I must go,” said Maggie. “You don’t understand. You found things out about me to-day, and you have behaved – well, splendidly. I didn’t give you credit for it. I didn’t know you. Now I do know you, and I see that no girl in the school can be compared to you for nobleness and courage, and just for being downright splendid. But, Aneta, I cannot bear that which is before me.”

“The fact is,” said Aneta, “you are in the midst of a terrible battle, and you mean to give in and turn tail, and let the enemy walk over the field. That is not a bit what I should have expected at one time from Maggie Howland.”

“I will tell you,” said Maggie. “I am not really a bit brave; there is nothing good in me.”

“We won’t talk about that,” said Aneta. “What we have to think about now is what lies straight ahead of you; not of your past any more, but your immediate future. You have a tough time before you; in fact, you have a very great battle to fight, but I do not think you will turn tail.”

“You want me,” said Maggie, “to go to Mrs. Ward and tell her everything?”

“You must do that, Maggie. There is no second course to pursue. There is no way out. But I have been thinking since I saw you that perhaps you might have your day on Saturday. I think it would be best for you to tell Mrs. Ward to-morrow; and I think she would not prevent you having your day on Saturday. Perhaps it will be necessary – but she is the one to decide – that some of your schoolfellows should be told; and of course your little brooch which you sold to Pearce must be got back. Even Pearce is far too honest to keep it for the price he paid you.”

“He gave me five pounds, and I have spent one. There are still four pounds left,” said Maggie. “I meant to run away with the help of these.”

“I will lend you a pound,” said Aneta, “and we’ll get the brooch back to-morrow.”

“But, Aneta, I have not yet told you – it is too fearful – you cannot conceive what my stepfather is like. It isn’t only his being a grocer – for I have no doubt there are lots of grocers who are quite, quite tolerable; but you cannot imagine what he is. I had a letter from him a little time ago – that time, you remember, when he sent me those perfectly awful dresses – and he said then that he and my mother were coming to see me, as he wanted to interview Mrs. Ward and to look at the school for himself. Well, that poor Tildy brought me a letter to-day from mother. I had written to mother to beg of her not to let him come; but he got hold of the letter, and he was nearly mad about it. The end of it is that he and she are coming on Saturday, and, somehow, I can’t bear it. I must run away; I cannot endure it!”

“I don’t wonder,” said Aneta. “Let me think. Lay your head on my shoulder, Maggie. Oh, how tired you are!”

“Aneta, you seem to me quite new – just as though I had never seen you before.”

“I think you and your story have opened my eyes and done me good,” said Aneta. “Then what you said about the sufferings of the poor – I mean your sort of poor – gave me great pain. Will you take off your things and lie down, and let me lie by your side? Do, Maggie darling!”

Maggie darling! Such words to come from Aneta Lysle’s lips! Maggie felt subjugated. She allowed her rival queen to undress her, and presently the two girls were lying side by side in the little bed. Maggie dropped off into heavy slumber. Aneta lay awake.

It was early morning when Aneta touched her companion.

“Maggie, I have been thinking hard all night, and I am going to do something.”

“You! What can you do? Oh, I remember everything now. Oh, the horror! Oh, how can I endure it? Why didn’t I run away?”

“Maggie, you must promise me faithfully that you will never run away. Say it now, this minute. I believe in your word; I believe in your fine nature. I will help you with all my might and main through school-life, and afterwards. Give me your word now. You will stay at Aylmer House?”

“I will stay,” said poor Maggie.

“I don’t ask any more. Thank you, dear. Maggie, do nothing to-day, but leave matters in my hands. You are not well; your head aches, your forehead is so hot.”

“Yes, I have a headache,” owned Maggie.

“I shall be away for the greater part of the day, but I will ask Miss Johnson to look after you. Don’t say anything until I return.”

“But what are you going to do?”

“I am going to see your mother and your stepfather.”

“Aneta!”

“Yes.”

“Oh Aneta, you must not see him!”

“It is probable that I shall seem him, dear; I am not easily alarmed. I will take Aunt Lucia with me. I am going downstairs now to ask Mrs. Ward’s permission.”

“And you will say nothing about me?”

“Something, but nothing of your story. When you feel well enough you can get up and go on with the preparations for to-morrow. I believe we shall have our happy day.”

CHAPTER XXIII.

AT LABURNUM VILLA

Aneta went back to her room, where she dressed with her usual expedition and extreme neatness. When she had finished her toilet she ran downstairs. It was not yet eight o’clock; but most of the girls were assembled in the large hall waiting for prayers, which always took place before breakfast. Mrs. Ward was seen passing to the library, where prayers were held. Aneta went up to her.

“Prayers first, of course,” said Aneta, “and afterwards may I talk to you?”

Mrs. Ward looked at Aneta. “What is the matter, dear?”

“Something very important indeed. I must see you.”

“Well, breakfast follows prayers; come to me the minute breakfast is over.”

“Thank you, dear Mrs. Ward,” said Aneta.

At breakfast Merry asked Aneta how Maggie was. Aneta said that Maggie had a headache, and would not be in school during the morning.

“Then what are we to do about our day?” said Molly Tristram, who overheard this remark. “We have absolutely more to get through than we can possibly manage.”

“Oh, to-morrow will be quite all right,” said Aneta; “and Maggie will join you presently.”

Aneta was so respected in the school, so little given to exaggeration, so absolutely to be relied on, that these words of hers had a most calming effect. The girls continued their breakfast, those who were in the secret of to-morrow occasionally alluding to the subject in French, which was the only language allowed to be spoken. The others talked about their different occupations.

As soon as ever breakfast was over, Aneta went to Mrs. Ward’s private room.

“Now, dear, what is it?” said the head-mistress. “I have to take the class for literature at half-past nine, and have very little time to spare.”

“I won’t keep you,” said Aneta; “but what I wanted was to beg for a day’s holiday.”

“My dear girl! What do you mean? In the middle of term – a day’s holiday! Can you not take it to-morrow? – oh, I forgot, to-morrow Maggie is having her grand carnival, as I call it. But what is the matter, Aneta? Have you any trouble?”

“Yes,” said Aneta; “and I cannot tell you, dear Mrs. Ward.”

“I trust you, of course, Aneta.”

“I know you do; and I want you to trust me more than ever. It has something to do with Maggie.”

Mrs. Ward slightly frowned. “I am never sure” – she began.

But Aneta stopped her impulsively. “If you give me that holiday to-day,” she said, “and if you trust me, and if you will also give me Mrs. Martin’s address, which, of course, you must have on your books”–

“Mrs. Martin’s address?” said Mrs. Ward.

“Yes. You know Maggie’s mother has married again; she is Mrs. Martin.”

“Of course, of course; I had forgotten for the moment. Yes, I have her address.”

“Well, if you will do all that,” continued Aneta, “I think that you will find a new Maggie in the future, one whom you – will trust, and – and love, as I love her.”

“My dear girl! as you love Maggie Howland?”

Aneta lowered her head for a minute. “It is true I did not love her,” she said, “in the past, but I have changed my views. I have been narrow-minded, and small, and silly. She herself has opened my eyes. I cannot tell you more now. Maggie will come down, and will be able to go on with her lessons just as usual this afternoon; but I want a day off, and I want it at once.”

“But where are you going, dear?”

“I am going to Aunt Lucia. You will let me have a cab, and I will drive to Aunt Lucia’s house in Eaton Square at once?”

Mrs. Ward looked doubtful. “You have a very grave reason for this?” she said.

“Very, very grave; and I will tell you all presently.”

“I have never had reason to doubt you,” said Mrs. Ward, “and I won’t doubt you now. Does Maggie know of this?”

“Yes – oh yes; but please don’t question her until I return.”

“Very well, dear; you shall have your way. Oh, you want Mrs. Martin’s address. It is Laburnum Villa, Clapham.”

Aneta entered the address in a little tablet bound in gold which she always wore at her waist.

“Thank you ever so much,” she said, and then left the room.

A minute or two later she met Miss Johnson. “Give me something stiff to learn – something that I don’t like – to-night, dear Lucy,” she said. “I am off for a whole day’s holiday, but I shall be back in the evening.”

“That is very queer,” said Miss Johnson. “What does it mean?”

“I cannot explain, but Mrs. Ward knows. Be specially kind to dear Maggie, and give me something that I don’t like to do when I return.”

Miss Johnson smiled. “You shall hem some dusters,” she said.

Aneta made a wry face. “Thanks ever so much,” she replied; then she ran upstairs to get ready for her visit.

Just before leaving the house she looked in at Maggie. “I’m off, Mags. It’s all right. I shall probably see you about tea-time.”

Before Maggie had time even to expostulate Aneta closed the door, and a minute or two later had stepped into the cab which Agnes had called for her. The cabman was desired to drive Miss Lysle to Lady Lysle’s house in Eaton Square. This was accordingly done, and soon after ten o’clock Lady Lysle, who had not yet completed her morning toilet, was most amazed at being informed by her maid that Miss Lysle was waiting for her downstairs.

“Aneta! You don’t mean Aneta, Purcell?”

“Yes, my lady; and she wants to see you in a very great hurry.”

“Then send her up to me.”

Purcell disappeared. Lady Lysle wondered what was wrong. Presently Aneta burst into the room.

“My dear child,” said her aunt, “what can be wrong? Why have you left school? I do hope no illness has broken out there. It would be very inconvenient for me to have you here at present.”

“There is no illness whatever at the school, Aunt Lucia,” said Aneta, going up to her aunt and kissing her; “only there is a girl there, one of my schoolfellows, in a good bit of trouble, and I want to help her, and I have got a day off from Mrs. Ward, who doesn’t know why she is giving it to me, but trusts me all the same. And now, auntie, I want you to come with me at once.”

“Oh my dear child, where?”

“To Clapham, auntie.”

“Clapham! I never stopped at Clapham in my life. I have driven through the place, it is true.”

“Well, we’ll stop there to-day,” said Aneta, “at Laburnum Villa, Clapham. I want to see Mrs. Martin, Maggie’s mother.”

“Oh, dear child,” said Lady Lysle, “you mean Miss Howland when you speak of Maggie? Now, you know I told you that her stepfather is no relation whatever to the Martyns of The Meadows. I cannot make out why she should have given you to understand that he was. A man who lives at Clapham! Dear Aneta, I would rather be excused.”

“There is no excuse, auntie, that I can listen to for a single moment. I know all about Maggie’s stepfather, and I will tell you as we are driving out to Clapham. You have always let me have my own way, and I have – yes, I have tried to be a good girl; but there is something before me to-day more important and more difficult than I ever tackled yet, and if I can’t come to my own aunt – I, who am a motherless girl – for help at this crisis I shall think the world is coming to an end.”

“What a strange, earnest way you do speak in, Aneta!”

“I am very sorry, darling; but I assure you the case is most urgent. You are quite well, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, my love; I am never an ailing sort of person.”

“Well, then, I will send Purcell back to you, and please order the carriage, and please be as quick as possible. We have to go somewhere else after we have done with Mrs. Martin.”

“Well, Aneta, I always was wax in your hands, and I suppose I must do what you wish. But remember your promise that you will tell me the meaning of this extraordinary thing during our drive to Clapham.”

“I promise faithfully to tell you what is necessary, for the fact is I want your help. Darling auntie! you are doing about the best work of your life to-day. I knew you would stand by me; I felt certain of it, and I told Maggie so.”

“That girl!” said Lady Lysle. “I don’t care for that girl.”

“You will change your mind about her presently,” said Aneta, and she ran downstairs to request Davidson, the butler, to bring her something to eat, for her breakfast had been slight, and she was quite hungry enough to enjoy some of her aunt’s nice food.

By-and-by Lady Lysle, looking slim and beautiful, wearing her becoming sables and her toque with its long black ostrich plume, appeared on the scene, and a minute later Davidson announced that the carriage was at the door.

The two ladies stepped in, Aneta giving very careful directions to the driver.

He expressed some astonishment at the address. “Laburnum Villa, Clapham!” he said. “Martin, Laburnum Villa, Clapham! Clapham’s a big place, miss.”

“I know that,” said Aneta; “but that is all the address I can obtain. We must call at the post-office, if necessary, to get the name of the street.”

The footman sprang into his place, and Aneta and her aunt drove off in the comfortable brougham towards that suburb known as Clapham.

“Now, Aneta, I suppose you will tell me what is the meaning of this?”

“Yes, I will,” said Aneta. “I made a mistake about Maggie, and I am willing to own it. She has been placed in a difficult position. I do not mean for a minute to imply that she has acted in a straight way, for she has not. But there is that in her which will make her the best of girls in the future, as she is one of the cleverest and one of the most charming. Yes, auntie, she has got a great power about her. She is a sort of magnet – she attracts people to her.”

“She has never attracted me,” said Lady Lysle. “I have always thought her a singularly plain girl.”

“Ugliness like hers is really attractive,” said Aneta. “But, now, the thing is this: if we don’t help her she will be absolutely lost, all her chance taken from her, and her character ruined for ever. We do a lot at our school for those poor slum-girls, but we never do anything for girls in our class. Now, I mean my girl in future to be Maggie Howland.”

“Aneta, you are absurd!”

“I mean it, auntie; her father’s daughter deserves help. Her father was as good a man as ever lived, and for his sake something ought to be done for his only child. As to her mother”–

“Yes, the woman who has married a person of the name of Martin, and to whose house I presume we are going”–

“Auntie, I have rather a shock to give you. Poor Maggie did mean to imply that her stepfather was in a different class of life from what he is. He is a – grocer!”

Lady Lysle put up her hand to pull the check-string.

“Pray, auntie, don’t do that. Maggie isn’t the daughter of a grocer, and she can’t help her mother having married this dreadful man. I want Maggie to have nothing to do with her stepfather in the future, and I mean to carry out my ideas, and you have got to help me.”

“Indeed, I will do nothing of the kind. What a disgraceful girl! She must leave Aylmer House at once.”

“Then I will go too,” said Aneta.

“Aneta, I never knew you behave in such a way before.”

“Come, auntie darling, you know you are the sweetest and the most loving and sympathetic person in the world; and why should you turn away from a poor little girl who quite against her own will finds herself the stepdaughter of a grocer? Maggie has given me to understand that he is a dreadful man. She is horrified with him, and what I am going now to Laburnum Villa about is to try to prevent his visiting the school with his wife on Saturday. I will do the talking, dear, and you have only to sit by and look dignified.”

“I never was put in such a dreadful position before,” said Lady Lysle, “and really even you, Aneta, go too far when you expect me to do this.”

“But you would visit a poor woman in East London without the smallest compunction,” said Aneta.

“That is different,” replied Lady Lysle with dignity.

“It is different,” replied Aneta; “but the difference lies in the fact that the grocer’s wife is very much higher up in the social scale than the East End woman.”

“Oh my dear child, this is really appalling! I have always distrusted that Miss Howland. Does Mrs. Ward know of your project?”

“Not yet, but she will to-night.”

“And what am I to do when I visit this person?”

“Just look your dear, sweet, dignified self, and allow me to do the talking.”

“I think you have taken leave of your senses.”

“I haven’t taken leave of my senses, and I would do more than I am now doing to help a fine girl round a nasty corner. So cheer up, auntie! After we have seen Mrs. Martin we have to go on and visit the grocer.”

“Aneta, that I do decline!”

“I am sure you won’t decline. But let us think of Mrs. Martin herself first, and try to remember that by birth she is a lady.”

Just at this moment the carriage drew up outside a post-office. There was a short delay while Laburnum Villa was being inquired for by the footman. At last the street in which this small suburban dwelling was situated was discovered, and a few minutes later the carriage, with its splendid horses and two servants on the box, drew up before the green-painted door.

The villa was small, but it was exceedingly neat. The little brass knocker shone, even though yesterday was a day of such fog. The footman came to the carriage-door to make inquiries.

“I will get out,” said Aneta.

“Hadn’t James best inquire if the woman is in?” said Lady Lysle.

“No, I think I will,” said Aneta.

She went up the narrow path and rang the front-door bell. Tildy opened the door. The new cook had been peeping above the blinds in the kitchen. Tildy had hastily put on a white apron, but it is to be regretted that a smut was once more on her cheek. Somehow, Aneta liked her all the better for that smut.

“I want to see your mistress, Tildy,” she said. “It is something about Miss Maggie, and I am, as you know, one of her schoolfellows.”

“Lor’, miss! yes, for certain, miss. Mrs. Martin ’ll be that proud, miss.”

“I have brought my aunt with me,” said Aneta. “She would like to come in too in order to see Mrs. Martin.”

“Yes, miss; in course, miss. There’s no fire lit in the drawin’-room. But there’s the dinin’-room; it do smell a bit smoky, for master ’e loves ’is pipe. ’E smokes a lot in the dinin’-room, miss.”

“Show us into the dining-room,” said Aneta. She ran back to fetch Lady Lysle, and conducted that amazed and indignant woman into the house.

Tildy rushed upstairs to fetch her mistress. “You get into your best gown in no time, mum. There’s visitors downstairs – that most beauteous young lady who spoke to me yesterday at Aylmer House, and a lady alongside of ’er as ’u’d make yer ’eart quake. Ef Queen Victoria was alive I’d say yes, it was ’erself. Never did I mark such a sweepin’ and ’aughty manner. They’re fine folks, both of ’em, and no mistake.”