Читать книгу The Girls of Old Grange School - Mabel Winifred Knowles - Страница 3

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“You can’t resign, Yvette.”

Yvette’s answer to the storm of protest was a very shaky laugh.

“Don’t worry, girls,” she retorted. “I’m not going to leave the Pioneers. It’s only that—well! anyhow, for this term I don’t want to be captain. Sybilla will have to take my place—won’t you, Sybilla? And—there’s a new girl coming to Old Grange. She’ll be here, I suppose, sometime this evening. I—I want—I mean I wish—oh, bother!—anyhow, will you vote her a member of the Club—just to please me?”

It was not a very eloquent request, and the three girls, perched along the bank which ran on one side of a shady dell, stared perplexedly at the speaker.

Then Sybilla wagged her head solemnly.

“Yvette, ducks,” she urged. “What are you driving at? Do you want to crack our brains with problems on the very first day of term? To begin with, I hate to be captain when you are such a much better one than I shall ever be. Ten to one on the eve of some great event I shall be found sleeping my beauty sleep. And then, to go on with, you hurl at our devoted heads—a brand-new girl, of whom we don’t even know the name. An unknown quantity who may absolutely wipe out ye merry band of Pioneers.”

Yvette did not laugh. She sat pondering, her small, glowing face grown unnaturally grave and pale. She was evidently weighing over some very serious “pros and cons.” And the three sat patiently waiting for the coming explanation, with a thrill of expectancy.

“It’s like this, girls,” said Yvette at last—and there was a note of desperation in her voice, “but first give the Pioneer promise not to tell any one at all.”

“Promise—honour,” came the chorus, and Yvette went on:

“Dad spoke to me last evening,” she said; “he—he told me he had lost ever such a lot of money and would have had to sell our darling old home—Glencourt Castle—which has belonged to our family for hundreds of years—if it had not been for a millionaire named Jonas Darlake, who made his fortune at manufacturing in Yorkshire.

“Mr. Darlake saved my Dad from bankruptcy, so we shall not have to say good-bye to our home. And Dad is frightfully grateful. Well, Jonas Darlake’s daughter is coming this term to Old Grange, and Dad asked me to be very, very kind to her and do all in my power to make her happy. So I’ve got to, though, can’t you guess how I hate it? Just to have to be friends with a girl whom one would probably never have had anything to do with if it hadn’t been a sort of pay-back. But I promised, and that’s why I don’t want to be captain, and why I asked you to let Wendy join the Pioneers.”

Yvette’s listeners did not hesitate for one moment. They knew perfectly well how horribly hard she must have found it to tell the tale, for, though Yvette was a darling, she was terribly proud—just the very last girl in the school for such a job as she described.

Sybilla pushed up her spectacles impatiently.

“You know we’ll only be too glad to have Wendy,” she declared. “And—er—it’s a rattling good thing to have a fifth member. Odd men out are so useful. Don’t you agree, chums?” Ailsie and Mona Carnock nodded vigorously.

“Ra—ther,” they chorused. “We’ll give Wendy ever such a good time. And—what a good thing you’re not leaving your home, Yvette!”

Yvette jumped up. It was a tremendous relief to have made her confession, but she did not want her friends to see the sparkle of a tear in her eyes.

“You are darlings,” she declared huskily. “I’m frightfully grateful. And—well! I’ll go and see if Wendy has come.”

The others let her go without a word. I think they understood.

Yet no one would have supposed that Yvette Glencourt had a care in the world as she ran humming across the playground towards the prettiest old school in the kingdom. It didn’t look one bit like a school—in fact, it had only been one for two terms! Miss Caddock, the head mistress, had moved her school of thirty-five girls from Worcestershire up to this lovely glen amongst the Scottish hills in Aberdeenshire, where she had succeeded in buying the romantic and picturesque property known as Old Grange from Sir Alan Arnloch, who, having lost most of his money—like so many landlords since the Great War—had reluctantly sold his beautiful home.

Even now the girls had not ceased exploring that rambling old place with its nooks, its crannies, and its glamour of other days. Yvette was thinking pityingly of the wrench it must have been to the owners of Old Grange to leave as she climbed up the short flight of steep stone steps leading to the school premises. She had spied the local taxi driving away, and guessed the new girl had arrived. She was right too, for she met Miss Prinkton, the head English governess, coming out of the schoolroom with a tall, lanky girl in tow.

Yvette looked hard at the latter. Never had she been so anxious before to discover what a new girl was like.

This one was very plainly dressed in blue serge, a small blue velour hat perched like a halo at the back of a mop of short red curls. Her face was round, rosy, and freckled, her nose tip-tilted, her mouth wide, her big, dark-grey eyes brimming with fun.

Yvette’s feeling was one of relief. The new girl looked the essence of good nature. Miss Prinkton—staid, grey-haired, severe—was only too glad to hand over her charge.

“Miss Caddock asked me to find you, Yvette,” said she. “You had better take Wendy out into the playground till tea-time. After tea, Miss Simmins will help her unpack and show her where to keep her things.”

Wendy smiled. She had a nice smile and dozens of dimples.

“Isn’t it a jolly-looking school?” she said to Yvette as the two went down the passage. “I am glad Dad sent me here instead of to Windsor. It’s so old and quaint and not one teeny bit of a school. How many girls are there and what are their names? You will tell me about things, won’t you? I’ve never been to school before. Dad told me perhaps you’d be my friend.”

Yvette stiffened. She felt Wendy ought not to have made that last remark. It—it was bad enough to be told what she had to do by Dad without being reminded of it within the first five minutes of acquaintance!

“Old Grange never was a school,” said she, “till poor Sir Alan Arnloch had to sell it to pay his debts. It broke his heart, anyway. He still lives in the Glen House. Some one told me he has one son—very delicate. Old Grange is beautiful. I—er—can’t possibly tell you all the girls’ names in a breath, but if you come out I’ll introduce you to my friends. We—they——”

Wendy’s eyes were twinkling. This pretty, dark girl’s manner was stiff, and her long speech was rattled off like a lesson. Wendy couldn’t stand that.

“I want fun,” she explained, “jolly fun. I’ve got no brothers—and only one sister, heaps older than myself. It was lovely being at home, but Miss Rayle, my governess, was dull too. Do introduce me to the jolliest girls. Your—your Dad told mine you loved fun.”

Yvette blushed—and thawed. There was something very coaxing in Wendy’s appeal. After all, the new girl was not a bit like what she had feared. There was no “new-rich” bumptiousness visible in Wendy Darlake. Her clothes were so simple as to be shabby. She pleaded rather than patronized.

“Of course I like fun,” she admitted. “That’s why Sybilla Grant, the two Carnock girls and I made a little Club. We call it the Pioneers, and we go exploring not only in search of things but adventures. That rather fat girl over by the railings with brown hair in pigtails and wearing glasses is Sybilla Grant. She’s going to be captain of the Pioneers this term. Her Dad is an author and writes plays. He’s very clever. They live in London. Sybilla is the sleepiest, sweetest old thing, who is always giving us amazing surprises by suggesting thrilling adventures.”

Wendy beamed. “I shall like Sybilla,” she said. “And do the two girls she is talking to belong to the Club?”

“Yes,” went on Yvette, trying not to be bored. “Those are Mona and Ailsie Carnock; they have no mother, and no proper home. They go and spend the holidays with friends and relations when their father is away. He is an Arctic explorer and the girls adore adventures.”

“So do I,” agreed Wendy, giving a skip of glee. “You are jolly to let me join the Pioneers. Are you going to begin having adventures right away? Do come and talk it over. Is the fair girl over there a Pioneer?”

Yvette laughed. “What, Alison Blundel?” she asked. “Rather not! She’s the head of the school and a great friend of Miss Mallins, the sports mistress. Do you play cricket and hockey?”

“Hockey—but not much cricket,” said Wendy. “I love climbing and swimming. I’d adore to go up in an aeroplane. And I shall be quite happy when I’ve seen a ghost. That’s all I can think of at present, excepting that I’ve been looking forward ever so much to school—and sport.”

Sybilla and the other two Pioneers had espied Yvette and her charge now and were making a bee-line for them. For Yvette’s sake the stranger must be welcomed with ready arms. She did not look formidable either and shook hands vigorously.

“I’ve never actually been in Scotland before,” she smiled; “it’s been a dream of mine for ages. We aren’t near the seashore, are we? When I hear the word Geography my head buzzes. Are we allowed out alone without governesses?—and are the govs nice?”

There was a moment’s pause, then the Pioneers burst into merry laughter.

“You’re not going to get all those questions answered in one act,” declared Sybilla. “The very thought makes me sleepy. And it’s nearly tea-time now. Let’s sit on the railing like a row of fowls and I’ll point out the celebrities. There’s Mademoiselle—otherwise known as Frou-Frou. She loves you to know she always wears silk petticoats, and if only she discovers you knit silk jumpers you have no peace. Also she adores English history and is quite useful if we go for an excursion. On the whole, if you are sympathetic you can enjoy poor little Frou-Frou. No one likes Miss Prinkton. Something turned her sour in youth and she’s incapable of turning sweet again. She’s ten times more Chief than Miss Caddock. The great Lena, as we call her, is a dear and so good-looking. We’re always afraid she’ll end by marrying and giving us over into the clutches of Frou-Frou! She’s tremendously just and her pet pupil is Doreen Menleigh, who is the school encyclopædia—there she is with shingled hair and a long nose.”

“And now about ghosts,” asked Wendy, “is there one? If so, do let me sleep in the haunted room. Who’s the girl coming towards us?”

Ailsie Carnock chuckled. “Nothing of the ghost about Joan Pinson,” she declared. “She’s the Gusher, the Gurgler—and, if Yvette weren’t here, I’d call her the sneak. She always glues on to new girls, so she’ll glue to you, Wendy. But she won’t ever be a Pioneer.”

Wendy did not answer. Her instinct was to agree with Ailsie. The thin, sharp-featured girl with the delicate skin and flaxen hair had shifty eyes. Wendy disliked her at first sight, though Joan was all beams when she came up to them.

“Miss Simmins will have time to unpack you before tea,” she said to Wendy; “if you like, I’ll take you to her. Hullo, Mona! So you and Ailsie are back. I hear Gia has brought a small sister to school—Betty, quite a pet. Come, Wendy.”

And Wendy, most reluctantly, had to obey, though she could not help grimacing in answer to Mona’s grin.

“You didn’t want to come, did you?” gushed Joan, when the two girls were out of earshot of the others. “I can guess why! Yvette and her chums are never one bit fair to me. It’s too bad. I’m sure I’ve always wanted to be chums with them—at least till I found out how horribly cliquey they are. The other girls have always remarked it—and those four aren’t a bit popular. Yvette Glencourt seems to think no one ever lived in a castle besides herself. I call it horribly snobbish, and she is as poor as a church mouse—or anyhow mean, when she hears the word subscription.”

Joan had rattled on so fast that the indignant Wendy had not had time to get in a word. Now, however, she quickly checked the speaker.

“You’d better not talk that way about my friends,” she said crisply. “They’ve made me one of their chums, and I won’t have any of them run down, especially Yvette.”

Joan’s nose looked more pinched than ever—as it had a way of doing when she was vexed.

“There’s no need to get excited,” she drawled. “If you intend to be chums with that lot, no one will interfere with you. Perhaps you’d rather go and find Miss Simmins by yourself, or call one of your dearest friends.”

Wendy gave an indignant wriggle. It was rather awful to be on the brink of a quarrel before she had been two hours at school—and she was hopelessly at sea in finding her way about.

“I thought Miss Simmins told you to bring me,” she replied, “but if you don’t want to I’ll ask the governess over there.”

Joan reddened. “Of course I’ll take you,” she said, adding spitefully as she led the way upstairs, “but if you want to know the ropes, my dear, you won’t go sneaking to govs with every little——” She broke off abruptly. At the head of the staircase stood a tall, good-looking woman of forty, her bright brown hair worn coronet fashion about her head, her expression kindly and her chin determined. Miss Caddock, head mistress of Old Grange School, was enthusiastic over her work, and, though some people might have told you that she gave her girls too much licence and depended altogether on the head English governess for the school discipline, this was hardly true. Lena Caddock trusted her girls’ honour. If they failed her she never warned more than once. The second time they were asked to leave her school.

She looked rather severe now, having overheard Joan’s remark. But it was Wendy she spoke to.

“Come with me, dear,” she said. “Miss Simmins is waiting to show you your room and what clothes you may keep there. Your hamper has been taken down to the store-room, as they are not allowed upstairs. The sweets you may have, to divide with your friends, but as a rule sweets are not allowed—only fruit and cake, which is kept by Miss Simmins and given out.”

Wendy’s face fell slightly, though she managed to smile her thanks for the permission. Joan went slowly downstairs, pouting in vexation. She adored sweets and resolved to lose no time in winning her way back to the new girl’s favour. Clearly she was one to be cultivated!

Meantime, Yvette and her friends were deciding that Wendy Darlake would certainly not be a “pioneer” on sufferance.

“She’s a sport,” declared Sybilla, “I feel that in my bones. We must take her at face value. She looks jolly. That’s why I’m so sorry my nose does not turn up. A girl with a turned-up nose is bound to live up to it. And living up to it means sport and wit. Hurrah for the new chum! After tea and straightening out we’ll take her for a scramble. That’s the best of dear old Craigloch—there’s always some place to explore. First and foremost the Wizard’s Glen. She’ll love it.”

They all loved it, and ran laughing in to tea at sound of the first tinkle of the bell. Some of the homesick lassies would be passing school tartine and even first day cake in disgust, and it was because she knew this that kind Miss Caddock had supplied those gorgeous plums—great plates of them, with their red and yellow skins just cracked enough to show ripeness and juiciness. Oh, those plums, how they transformed the drab tea-table and brought a smile to downcast faces!

Sybilla was nudging Yvette. “Where’s the recruit?” she asked. “I don’t see her, and there’s an empty place beside Miss Prinkton. She didn’t look the kind to go away and indulge in a quiet weep, but she might be doing that, eh? Shall one of us go and explore? I would like a shot, but you are sharing her room, aren’t you?”

Yvette hesitated. She had shy fits very often, and to tell the truth, she was not quite sure what her feelings towards the new girl were yet. “Come with me, there’s a pet,” she coaxed. “The Woollies will see that we get our plums, won’t you, girls?”

Mona and Ailsie nodded. They were quite proud of their nickname, though it would have puzzled any one to know how those curly-wigged, hazel-eyed Scotch lassies ever came by so strange a one.

Yvette led the way up to the “Corner” room which this term she had been “doomed” to share with the new girl.

Such a pleasant room with a deep window-seat. The windows were wide open, though there was a tang of autumn in the evening air, and Yvette went to close one casement, since papers and photo frames scattered the floor.

“She’s not here,” she said, and gave quite a jump as a voice answered from beneath.

“Ow! yes, I am,” it said, “outside. Ugh! I climbed down thinking there was a darling owl tangled up in the ivy, and it was rats.”

Yvette was already craning out of the window, with Sybilla peering behind.

“Wendy!” they gasped in horror, whilst Yvette added in tragic tones: “You’ll fall and be killed. Whatever made you do such a crazy thing?”

It did seem crazy, for there stood the new schoolfellow, flat against the ivy which covered the wall; her two sturdy hands gripped ivy roots above, whilst her feet were evidently steady on roots below; but oh, what a terrible distance it would be to fall, and, lower down, the ivy grew so scantily that she might not find foothold.

“I was a duffer,” gasped Wendy, “though it w-would have been—all right if it had been an owl. I love them, but those rats are—are playing ’possum somewhere in—in the ivy below, and I’m scared stiff lest one should run up my leg.”

“I’d better go out and find Sandy, the gardener,” said Sybilla, “and get him to bring a ladder.”

But Wendy shook her head. “A stick would do—or a stone,” she urged; “if only you can send th-those rats scampering I d-don’t mind one bit. I can easily climb.”

Yvette looked back into the room. She had noticed Wendy’s hands, and, though annoyed with her foolishness, could not help admiring her pluck; but she would never hold on till Sandy was found.

“Steady,” she called, “I’m going to empty the water-jug. Not over you, but down the wall. It’ll make more noise. Watch, Sybilla, and see if the rats come out.”

Wendy grinned weakly. She would be thanking Yvette later.

“Ugh!” squealed Sybilla, as the cascade of water effected its purpose instantly, “there they go—two monsters; they’re across the yard now—brutes! Take care, Wendy, you’ll break your leg.”

“There’s Sandy coming,” whispered Yvette, drawing in her head. “I only hope he won’t sneak. Well climbed, Wendy! but mind—the wall’s bare just there, and——”

Both watchers above gasped, for Wendy’s foot had slipped, there came a sound of tearing material, and, plump! she had almost fallen into the arms of an indignant and agitated gardener.

“Good,” breathed Sybilla. “She’ll have to do her own coaxing—and if Joan has left her any plums it’s a marvel. Come along, Yvette—the banisters will serve.”

They reached the dining-hall door just as Wendy, very much the worse for wear, slipped into the passage. She was actually laughing. Even Sybilla felt slightly aggrieved.

“You ought to be apologizing on your bendeds for giving us such a scare,” she said severely. “What did Sandy say? He is sure to report you.”

Wendy shook her head. “I gave him half a crown,” she said, “and promised him there shouldn’t be a rat left in the place if I can wangle the govs to let me have Plato. Now, will anything be said if I come in to tea like this?”

Yvette snorted; she couldn’t help it.

“I should rather say it would,” she replied icily. “I—am—well, Miss Prinkton wouldn’t be quite as easy to wangle as old Sandy. You’re lucky if you even get a cup of tea; but anyhow you’ll have to wash first.”

Sybilla was giggling as she and Yvette slipped back to their places, after telling Miss Prinkton that Wendy was coming later.

The Woollies had guarded the plums gallantly, and even saved some of their share for Wendy.

Yvette regarded the latter sacrifice judicially. “It’s more than she deserves!” said she.