Читать книгу By Honour Bound - Bessie Marchant - Страница 6

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A string of vehicles were drawn up outside Sowergate Station—there were three taxis, two rather dilapidated horse cabs, the station bus, and four bath chairs. There was a wild rush for these last by the girls in the know, and when they were secured the fortunate ones set off in a race for the school, the chair-man who arrived first being promised double fare.

Dorothy, with Hazel, Margaret, the two Goatbys, and little Muriel Adams were squeezed into a taxi, and the luggage was taken up on a lorry. The girls were a tight fit, as Daisy Goatby was an out-size in girls; however, the distance was short, so crowding did not matter. They all cheered loudly when they passed the labouring chair-men, who were making very good way indeed, until one unlucky fellow, in trying to pass another, tipped his chair over in the ditch and spilled the passenger, though, luckily, without doing any damage.

Dorothy felt rather sore because Tom had gone off without even saying good-bye, but she was too proud to let the others know she was hurt. There was such a bustle and commotion on the platform and in the station that no one would notice the omission but herself. It was quite possible that Tom had forgotten that he had not said good-bye to his sister, and she strove to forget it herself.

There were no conveyances for the boys. Their school was so close to the station, they had only to race across the rails, and then over the road leading up to Beckworth Camp, and the school gates were in front of them. But it was nearly a mile up the steep little Sowergate valley to the funny old house under the hill where the girls had their school.

Dorothy thought she had never seen such a queer medley of buildings as the Compton School for girls. It was built round in a half-circle under the hill, and at first sight seemed to consist chiefly of conservatories; but that was because most of the rooms opened on to a conservatory which ran the whole length of the house, and served as a useful way of getting from room to room. The place was very big, and very rambling; it had lovely grounds, and the sixty girls were lodged in the extreme of comfort and airy spaciousness.

Dorothy was received by Miss Arden, the Head, and by her handed over to the matron, who allotted her a cubicle in No. 2 dormitory, in company with Hazel, Margaret, and seven other girls. It was half-past five by this time, and matron said dinner was at six o’clock: it was to be at this time to-day, as most of the girls had been travelling, and had had no proper meal since breakfast. By the time dinner was over the luggage would have arrived, and there would be unpacking to be done.

Dorothy was thankful to drop the curtains of her cubicle, and to find herself alone for a few minutes, it had been such a wildly exciting sort of arrival. Even as she sank down for a moment on the chair by the side of her bed a great burst of cheering broke out, and she looked out of the window to see that the first bath chair had turned in past the lodge gate, and was being uproariously welcomed by a group of girls who were lingering on the step of the hall door for that purpose.

She had to burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight the chair-man presented, decked out with coloured paper streamers round his hat and a huge rosette pinned to his coat. He was panting with his exertions, while his fare, still seated in the chair, was haranguing them all on her splendid victory, when two other chairs came in at the gate, and were presently followed by the last, which had been overturned.

There was only time for a wash and brush-up; then, as the gong sounded, streams of girls from various parts of the house poured in the direction of the dining-hall. They streamed along the conservatory that was so gay with all sorts of flowers, and turned into the dining-hall to meet another stream of girls coming from dormitories No. 4 and No. 5, which were reached by a different stairway.

Dorothy was with the girls coming through the conservatory, she was looking at the flowers as she was hurried along, and she was thinking what a lovely place it was. There seemed to be a great crowd of girls in the dining-hall, and because it was the first meal of term, they were a little longer getting to their places. The various form-mistresses were busy drafting them each to the right table, and Dorothy had a sense of whirling confusion wrapping her round, making all things unreal, while her vision was blurred, and the sound of voices seemed to come from ever so far away. Then the sensation passed. She was herself again, she was standing on one side of Hazel Dring, while Margaret stood on the other, and she lifted her eyes to look at her opposite neighbour.

A shiver of very real dismay shook her then, for in the tall girl confronting her across the table she recognized the girl who had stolen the jumper in the showroom of the London shop.

Oh, it surely, surely could not be the same! Dorothy stared at her wide-eyed and bewildered. Her gaze was so persistent and unwinking that presently the girl looked at her in annoyance, saying curtly,—

“What are you staring at? Have you found a black mark on my face?”

Dorothy flushed. “I beg your pardon, I was thinking I had seen you before.” She stammered a little as she spoke, wondering what answer she would make if the girl should ask her where she had seen her.

“That is hardly likely, I should think,” answered the girl. Then, as if with intent to be rude, she said coldly, “I have no acquaintance with any of the scholarship girls.”

Dorothy gasped as if some one had shot a bowl of cold water in her face; she was fairly amazed at the rudeness and audacity of the girl, and she subsided into silence, while Hazel said crisply,—

“Dorothy Sedgewick is not a scholarship girl, and until after the examination to-morrow morning we do not even know whether she is a dunce or not, so you need not regard her as a possible rival until then.”

“I am not afraid of rivals,” said the girl with superb indifference; and Dorothy caught her breath in a little strangled gasp as she wondered what would happen if she were to announce across the table that she had seen this proud girl steal a silk jumper from the showrooms of Messrs. Sharman and Song only a few hours before.

Just then a girl lower down the table leaned forward and said, “I did not see you at Redhill this morning, Rhoda; which way did you come?”

The girl who had snubbed Dorothy turned with a smile to answer the question. “I came up to town with Aunt Kate, who was going to do some shopping, and then I came on from Victoria.”

Dorothy’s gaze was fixed on the girl again: it was just as if she could not take her eyes away from her; and Rhoda, turning again, as if drawn by some secret spell, flushed an angry red right up to the roots of her hair. But she did not speak to Dorothy—did not appear to see her even; and the meal went on its way to the end, while the girls chattered to each other and to the mistresses.

“Who was that girl sitting opposite who was so very rude?” asked Dorothy, finding herself alone for a minute with Margaret when dinner had come to an end.

“That was Rhoda Fleming,” answered Margaret; then she asked, “Whatever did you say to her to put her in such an awful wax?”

“I only said that I thought I had seen her before,” said Dorothy slowly.

“And had you?” asked Margaret, opening her eyes rather widely, for there did not seem anything in that for Rhoda to have taken umbrage about.

“I may have been mistaken.” Dorothy was on her guard now. She might have told Rhoda where she had seen her, had they been alone; but to mention the matter to any one else was unthinkable—it would be like uttering a libel.

“You succeeded in getting her goat up pretty considerably,” said Margaret with a little laugh. “You may always know that Rhoda is pretty thoroughly roused when she mentions scholarship girls—they are to her what a red rag is to a bull. I am a scholarship girl myself, and I have had to feel the lash of her tongue very often.”

“But why?” Dorothy’s tone was frankly amazed. “It is surely a great honour to be a scholarship girl—to have won the way here for yourself; I only wish I had been able to do it.”

“Oh yes, the cleverness part is all right, although very often it is not so much cleverness as adaptability, or luck pure and simple,” said Margaret, who hesitated a minute; and then, as if summoning her courage by an effort, went on, “You see, the scholarship girls often come up from the elementary schools. I did myself: it was my only chance of getting here, for my mother is a widow, and poor; she keeps a boarding-house in Ilkestone. I am telling you this straight off; it is only fair that you should know. Seeing me with Hazel Dring, you might think our social positions were equal, or at least not so far apart as they really are. Hazel’s people are rich. She has never in all her life had to come within nodding distance of poverty, or even of narrow means. But she chose me for her chum, and we never trouble about the difference in our positions.”

“Of course not; why should you?” Dorothy’s tone was friendly—she had even slipped her arm round Margaret’s waist—and was shocked to see how the girl shrank and shivered as she made her proud little statement of her position. “If you will let me be your friend too, I shall be very pleased and proud. My father is a doctor, and he has to work very hard indeed to feed, clothe, and educate his six children, so there is certainly not much difference between you and me, whatever there may be between you and Hazel. But I am so surprised to find that your home is in Ilkestone—why, that is quite close, the next station on from Claydon Junction—and yet you came from London with Hazel.”

“I have spent all the vac at Watley with Hazel. I was not very well last term,” explained Margaret. “Mother is always so busy, too, during the long hols that I am something of an embarrassment at home; so it was an all-round benefit for me to be away with Hazel.”

“I see.” Dorothy’s arm tightened a little round the slender figure of Margaret as she asked, “Then we are to be chums? I don’t want to come between Hazel and you, of course.”

“You would not,” said Margaret, glowing into actual beauty by reason of her happy confidence in her friend. “Hazel and I have plenty of room in our hearts for other friends, and even for chums. I felt you were going to be friendly, that is why I screwed my courage to make a clean breast about myself.”

“That was quite unnecessary where I am concerned, I can assure you.” Dorothy spoke earnestly and with conviction; then she asked a little uneasily, “Do you expect that Rhoda Fleming will be in our dorm?”

“No,” replied Margaret. “I am sure she will not. She will be in No. 1; it is the same size as ours, but there are better views from the windows. She was there last term, and will be certain to go back to her old place. She said she was going to leave, so we are surprised to find that she has come back for another year. Here comes matron; that means we have to go and get busy with unpacking.”

It was later that same evening, and Dorothy was standing at the window of the corridor outside the door of the dorm watching the moon making a track of silver on the distant sea, when suddenly a tall girl glided up to her out of the shadows, and gripping her by the arm, said harshly,—

“Pray, where was it that you thought you had seen me before?”

The girl was Rhoda Fleming, and Dorothy could not repress a slight shiver of fear at the malice of her tone.

“I did not think; I knew,” she answered quietly, and she was quite surprised to hear how unafraid her voice sounded.

“Well, where was it?” Rhoda fairly hissed out her question, and Dorothy shivered again, but she answered calmly enough, “It was in the showrooms of Messrs. Sharman and Song, a little before one o’clock to-day.”

The clutch on her arm became a vicious pinch, as Rhoda said in strident tones, “You are wrong, then, for I have not been near the shop to-day; in fact, I have never been there.”

“Very well, that settles it, of course,” said Dorothy quietly. “Please let my arm go, you are hurting me.”

“Rats! Is your skin too tender to be touched?” Rhoda’s tone was vibrant with scorn, but her fingers relaxed their grip as she went on, “Well, what was I doing when you saw me there?”

“That cannot possibly concern you, seeing that you state you were not there,” said Dorothy calmly, and then she moved away to join some girls who had come out from No. 2 dorm, and were on their way downstairs for prayers. She was feeling that the less she had to do with Rhoda Fleming the better it would be for her happiness and comfort at the Compton Schools. But how to avoid her without seeming to do so would be the problem, and she went her way down with the others, wearing a very sober face indeed.