The School Queens

“Yes, I dare say I shall,” said Maggie, who didn’t care to contradict Merry’s innocent ideas with regard to her mother’s marriage.

“Well, I am glad,” said Merry, “that your dear mother has married a rich gentleman. Has he a country place of his own?”

“Of course he has,” said Maggie, who felt that she could at least utter these words with truth.

“And is it far, far from London, or quite in the country?”

“It is,” said Maggie, “in – in the Norwood direction.”

This remark made no impression whatever on Merry, who had not the least idea where the Norwood direction was. But by-and-by, when she parted from Maggie and joined her sister and Aneta, she said, “I have a piece of rather good news to tell about dear Maggie Howland. She won’t be poor any more.”

“That is a word we never discuss at school,” said Aneta.

“Well, we needn’t after to-night,” said Merry with a slight touch of irritation in her manner. “But although I haven’t the faintest idea what poverty means, I think poor Maggie knows a good deal about it. Well, she won’t have anything to do with it in future, for her mother has just married again.”

“Oh!” said Aneta, with a show of interest.

“Yes; and a very nice gentleman he must be. He is a cousin of the Martyns of The Meadows. You know how you liked them when we spent a day there during these holidays – didn’t you, Aneta?”

“Yes,” said Aneta, “most charming people. I felt quite sorry that the Martyn girls were too old for school. I wonder they didn’t mention the fact of their cousin being about to marry Mrs. Howland; for you know we were talking of Maggie to them, or at least you were, Merry.”

“Of course I was,” said Merry in a determined voice. “I am very, very fond of Maggie Howland.”

“Perhaps we had better go to bed now,” said Aneta. “I may as well tell you, girls, that we have to get up at half-past six. Lucy comes to us and wakes us at that hour, and we are expected to be downstairs at seven. Lucy will tell you, too, girls, that it is expected of us all that we shall keep our rooms in perfect order. Now, shall we say good-night?”

The Cardews kissed their cousin and went to their own pleasant room.

As soon as they were there Merry said, “Cicely, I am glad about poor Maggie.”

“And so am I,” said Cicely.

“When we write home we must be sure to mention to mother about Mr. Martyn. I don’t think dear Maggie knew anything about The Meadows; so perhaps, after all, he is a somewhat distant cousin; but it is such a comfort to know that he is rich and a gentleman.”

“Yes,” said Cicely. Then she added, “I don’t think Aneta wants you to make too great a friend of Maggie Howland.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said Merry, coloring slightly. “I am never going to give Maggie up, for I love her dearly.”

“Of course,” said Cicely, “it would be very mean to give her up; but you and I, as Aneta’s cousins, must be on her side in the school. What I am afraid of is that Maggie will try to induce you to join her set.”

“That shows how little you know her,” said Merry, roused to the defensive. “She explained everything to me this afternoon, and said that I certainly must belong to Aneta.”

“Did she? Well, I call that splendid,” said Cicely.

CHAPTER XVI.

BO-PEEP

When Aneta found herself alone that evening she stayed for a short time thinking very deeply. She felt a queer sense of responsibility with regard to the Cardews. If Maggie imagined that it was through her influence they had come to Aylmer House, Aneta was positive that they would never have entered the school but for her and her aunt, Lady Lysle. Besides, they were her very own cousins, and she loved them both dearly. She was not especially anxious about Cicely, who was a more ordinary and less enthusiastic girl than Merry; but about Merry she had some qualms. There was no doubt whatever that the girl was attracted by Maggie; and, in Aneta’s opinion, Maggie Howland was in no sense of the word a proper companion for her.

Aneta, as she sat calmly by her open window – for it was not necessary to hurry to bed to-night – thought much over the future which spread itself immediately in front of her and her companions. She was naturally a very reserved girl. She was born with that exclusiveness and reserve which a distinguished class bestows upon those who belong to it. But she had in her heart very wide sympathies; and, like many another girl in her position, she could be kind to the poor, philanthropic to the last degree to those in real distress, denying herself for the sake of those who wanted bread. Towards girls, however, who were only a trifle below her in the social scale she could be arbitrary, haughty, and strangely wanting in sympathy. Maggie Howland was exactly the sort of girl who repelled Aneta. Nevertheless, she was a member of the school; and not only was she a member of the school, but a very special member. Had she even been Janet Burns (who was so clever, and as far as learning was concerned carried all before her), or had she been as brilliant and witty as Kathleen O’Donnell, Aneta would not have troubled herself much over her. But Maggie was possessed of a curious sense of power which was hers by heritage, which her father had possessed before her, and which caused him – one of the least prepossessing and yet one of the most distinguished men of his day – to be worshipped wherever he went. This power was greater than beauty, greater than birth, greater than genius. Maggie had it, and used it to such effect that she and Aneta divided the school between them. Aneta was never quite certain whether some of her special friends would not leave her and go over to Maggie’s side; but she felt that she did not greatly care about this, provided she could keep Merry and Cicely altogether to herself.

After thinking for a little time she sprang to her feet, and going to the electric bell, sounded it. After a short delay a servant appeared.

“Mary,” said Aneta, “will you have the goodness to ask Miss Lucy if I may speak to her for a minute?”

“Yes, miss,” replied Mary, closing the door behind her in her usual noiseless fashion.

In a very few minutes Miss Johnson entered Aneta’s room.

“I was just thinking of going to bed, dear,” said that good-natured young woman. “Can I do anything for you?”

“I only want to say something to you, Lucy.”

“What is it, my love? I do not like to see that our dear Aneta looks worried, but your face almost wears that expression.”

“Well,” said Aneta, “it is just this: I am a trifle worried about a matter which I hope I may set right. It is against the rules for girls to leave their rooms after they have gone to them for the night, and it would never do for me to be the first to break a rule at Aylmer House. Nevertheless, I do want to break it. May I, Miss Lucy?”

“Well, Aneta, I do not think that there’ll be the slightest difficulty, for we don’t really begin school till to-morrow. What do you wish to do, dear?”

“I want to go and visit one of my schoolmates, and stay with her for a time.”

“Of course you may go, Aneta. I give you permission; but don’t remain too long, for we get up early to-morrow, as to-morrow school really begins.”

“I won’t remain a minute longer than I can help. Thank you, Lucy,” said Aneta.

Miss Johnson kissed her pupil and left the room.

A minute later Aneta Lysle was running down the corridor in the direction of the bedroom occupied by Maggie Howland. It was some distance from her own room. She knocked at the door. She guessed somehow that Maggie would be still up.

Maggie said, “Come in,” and Aneta entered.

Maggie was in a white dressing-gown, with her thick, handsome hair falling below her waist. Her hair was her strongest point, and she looked for the time being almost pretty.

“What do you want, Aneta?” she said.

“To speak to you, Maggie.”

“But it’s against the rules,” said Maggie, drawling out her words a little, and giving Aneta a defiant glance.

“No,” said Aneta. “I asked for permission to come and see you, and I have obtained it.”

“Well, sit down, won’t you?” said Maggie.

Aneta availed herself of the invitation, and took a chair.

Maggie remained standing.

“Won’t you sit too, Maggie?” said Aneta.

“I don’t particularly want to, but I will if you insist on it. To tell the truth, I am a little sleepy. You won’t keep me long, will you?”

“That depends on yourself.”

Maggie opened her narrow eyes. Then she contracted them and looked fixedly at her companion. “Have you come here to talk about Merry Cardew?”

“Yes, about her, and other matters.”

“Don’t you trust me at all, Aneta?”

Aneta looked full up at the girl. “No, Maggie,” she said.

“Do you think when you say so that you speak kindly?”

“I am afraid I don’t, but I can’t help myself,” said Aneta.

Maggie gave a faint yawn. She was, in reality, far too interested to be really sleepy. Suddenly she dropped into a sitting position on the floor. “You have me,” she said, “in the hollow of your hand. Do you mean to crush me? What have I done that you should hate me so much?”

“I never said I hated you,” said Aneta. “I don’t hate you, but I am exceedingly anxious that you should not have any influence over my two young cousins who came here to-day.”

“I thought we discussed that when you were staying at Meredith Manor,” said Maggie. “You made me unhappy enough then, but I gave you my promise.”

“I was sorry to make you unhappy, Maggie; and you did give me your promise; but I have come here to-day to know why you have broken it.”

“Broken it!” said Maggie. “Broken it!”

“Don’t you understand me?” said Aneta. “You and Merry were together the greater part of the evening, and even Cicely wondered where her sister was. Why did you do it?”

“Merry is my friend,” said Maggie.

“I don’t wish her to be your friend.”

“I am afraid you can’t help it,” said Maggie. She looked a little insolent, and round her mouth there came a dogged expression. After a minute she said, “I did want to talk to Merry to-night; but, at the same time, I most undoubtedly did not forget my promise to you. I explained to Merry what I think she already knew: that there were two girls in the school who greatly influence their fellows; in short, that you and I are the two queens of the school. But I said that, compared to you, I had a comparatively small number of subjects. Merry was interested, and asked questions, and then I most particularly explained to her that, although I knew well she cared for me, and I cared for her, she was to be on your side in the school. If you don’t believe me, you have but to ask Merry herself.”

“I have no reason not to believe you, Maggie,” said Aneta, “and I am relieved that you have spoken as you did to Merry. But now I want to say something else. I have thought of it a good deal during the holidays, and I am firmly convinced that this taking sides, or rather making parties, in a school is pernicious, especially in such a small school as ours. I am willing to give up my queendom, if you, on your part, will give yours up. I want us all to be in unity – every one of us – all striving for the good of the school and for the happiness and welfare each of the other. If you will agree to this I will myself speak to Mrs. Ward to-morrow.”

“Mrs. Ward!” said Maggie. “What has she to do with it?”

“I want to consult with her, so that she may be the queen of the school – not one girl or two girls. She is so clever, so young, so resourceful, that she will more than make up to us for the little we lose in this matter. But, of course, there is no manner of use in my resigning my queendom if you won’t resign yours.”

“I will never do it,” said Maggie – “never! Two queens in the school means little or nothing at all. All it does mean is that I have special friends whom I can influence, and whom I love to influence, and you have special friends whom you love to influence. Well, go on influencing them as hard as ever you can, and I will do the same with my friends. Your cousins will belong to you. I could, I believe, have won Merry Cardew to my side, but I am not going to do so.”

“It would be very unwise of you,” said Aneta in a low tone. “Very well, Maggie,” she added after a pause, “if you won’t give up being queen in the minds of a certain number of girls, I must, of course, continue my influence on the other side. It’s a great pity, for we might all work together.”

“We never could work together,” said Maggie with passion. “It is but to talk to you, Aneta, to know how you despise and hate me.”

“I neither despise nor hate you, Maggie.”

“Well, I despise and hate you, so I suppose it comes to the same thing.”

“I am very, very sorry, Maggie. Some day, perhaps, you will know me as I really am.”

“I know you now as you really are – eaten up with pride of birth, and with no sympathy at all for girls a trifle poorer than yourself.”

“You speak with cruelty, and I am sorry.”

To Aneta’s astonishment, Maggie’s face underwent a queer change. It puckered up in an alarming manner, and the next moment the girl burst into tears.

The sight of Maggie’s tears immediately changed Aneta Lysle’s attitude. Those tears were genuine. Whether they were caused by anger or by sorrow she did not stop to discriminate. The next minute she was down on her knees by the other girl and had swept her young arms round Maggie’s neck.

“Maggie, Maggie, what is it? Oh, if you would only understand me!”

“Don’t! – don’t touch me!” said Maggie. “I am a miserable girl!”

“And I have hurt you, poor Maggie!” said Aneta. “Oh, I am terribly sorry! Sit here now, and let me comfort you.”

“Oh! I can’t, Aneta. You don’t understand me – not a bit.”

“Better than you think, perhaps; and I am terribly sorry you are troubled. Oh, perhaps I know. I was told to-night that your mother had married again. You are unhappy about that?”

Maggie immediately dried her fast-falling tears. She felt that she was in danger. If Aneta found out, or if Mrs. Ward found out, who Maggie’s stepfather was, she would certainly not be allowed to stay at Aylmer House. This was her dread of all dreads, and she had so managed matters with her mother that Mrs. Ward knew nothing at all of Mrs. Howland’s change of name.

“Yes, my mother is married again,” said Maggie. “She is a rich woman now; but the fact is, I dearly loved my own father, and – it hurt me very much to see another put into his place.”

“Of course it did,” said Aneta, with deep sympathy; “it would have driven me nearly wild. Does Mrs. Ward know that your mother is married again, Maggie?”

“Well, I haven’t told her; and, please, Aneta, will you promise me not to do so?”

“But is there any occasion to keep it a secret, dear?”

“I would so much rather she did not know. She received me here as Maggie Howland. I am Maggie Howland still; my mother having changed her name makes no difference, except, indeed, that she is very well off, whereas she was poor.”

“Well, that of course is a comfort to you,” said Aneta. “Perhaps by-and-by you will learn to be glad that your mother has secured the care of a good husband. I am told that she has married one of those very nice Martyns who live in Warwickshire. Is that true?”

Maggie nodded. She hated herself after she had given that inclination of her head; but she had done it now, and must abide by it. To own Martin the grocer as a stepfather was beyond her power.

Aneta did not think it specially necessary to worry about Maggie’s mother and her new husband. She said that the whole thing was Maggie’s own affair; and, after trying to comfort the girl for a little longer, she kissed Maggie, and went to her own room. When there, she went at once to bed and fell fast asleep.

But Maggie sat for a long time by her open window. “What an awful and ridiculous position I have put myself in!” she thought. “The Martyns of The Meadows and Bo-peep of Laburnum Villa to be connected! I could almost scream with laughter if I were not also inclined to scream with terror. What an awful idea to get into people’s heads, and now I have, confirmed it! Of course I shall be found out, and things will be worse than ever.”

Before Maggie went to bed she sat down and wrote a brief note to her mother. She addressed it when written to Mrs. Martyn (spelt with a “y”), Laburnum Villa, Clapham. Maggie had seen Laburnum Villa, and regarded it as one of the most poky suburban residences she had ever had the pleasure of entering. The whole house was odiously cheap and common, and in her heart poor Maggie preferred Tildy and Mrs. Ross, and the fusty, musty lodgings at Shepherd’s Bush.

Her note to her mother was very brief:

“I am back at school, and quite happy. Tell Mr. Martin, if he should happen to write to me, to spell his name with a ‘y,’ and please spell your name with a ‘y.’ Please tell Mr. Martin that I will explain the reason of this when we meet. He is so good to me, I don’t know how to thank him enough.”

Maggie managed the next day to post this letter unknown to her fellows, and in course of time a remarkable post-card arrived for her. It was dated from Laburnum Villa, Clapham, and was written in a sprawly but business-like hand:

“No ‘y’s’ for me, thank you. – Bo-peep.”

Very fortunately, Maggie received her card when none of her schoolfellows were present; but it was certainly the reverse of reassuring.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LEISURE HOURS

School-life began in real earnest, and school-life at Aylmer House was so stimulating, so earnest, so invigorating, that all that was best in each girl was brought to the fore. There was an admirable time-table, which allowed the girls periods for play as well as the most suitable hours for work. In addition, each day there were what were called the “leisure hours.” These were from five to seven o’clock each evening. The leisure hours began immediately after tea, and lasted until the period when the girls went to their rooms to dress for dinner. During these two hours they were allowed to do precisely what they pleased.

Mrs. Ward was most particular that no teacher should interfere with her girls during the leisure hours. From the very first she had insisted on this period of rest and absolute relaxation from all work. Work was strictly forbidden in the school from five to seven, and it was during that period that the queens of the school generally exercised their power. Aneta then usually found herself surrounded by her satellites in one corner of the girls’ own special sitting-room, and Maggie was in a similar position at the farther end. Aneta’s satellites were always quiet, sober, and well-behaved; Maggie’s, it is sad to relate, were a trifle rowdy. There is something else also painful to relate – namely, that Merry Cardew cast longing eyes from time to time in the direction of that portion of the room where Maggie and her friends clustered.

The girls had been about a fortnight at school, and work was in full swing, when Kathleen, springing from her seat, said abruptly, “Queen, I want to propose something.”

“Well, what is it?” asked Maggie, who was lying back against a pile of cushions and supplying herself daintily from a box of chocolates which her adorers had purchased for her.

“I want us all,” said Kathleen, “to give a party to the other queen and her subjects; and I want it to be about the very jolliest entertainment that can be found. We must, of course, ask Mrs. Ward’s leave; but she is certain to give it.”

“I don’t know that she is,” said Maggie.

“Oh, she is – certain sure,” said Kathleen. “May I go and ask her now?”

“Do you dare?” said Rosamond Dacre, looking at Kitty’s radiant face with some astonishment.

“Dare!” cried Irish Kitty. “I don’t know the meaning of anything that I don’t dare. I am off. I’ll bring you word in a few minutes, girls.” She rushed out of the room.

Janet Burns looked after her, slightly raising her brows. Rosamond Dacre and the two Roaches began to sound her praises. “She is sweet, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” said Clara; “and I do so love her pretty Irish brogue.”

“Mother tells me,” said Janet, who was Scotch, “that Irish characters are not much good – they’re not reliable, I mean.”

“Oh, what a shame!” said Matty Roache.

“I don’t think we need discuss characters,” said Maggie. “I don’t know a great deal about the Irish, but I do know that Kitty is a darling.”

“Yes, so she is – one of the sweetest girls in the whole school,” said Molly Tristram, who was quite as excited as Kathleen herself with regard to the party scheme.

Meantime Kitty found herself tapping at Mrs. Ward’s private door. Mrs. Ward said, “Come in,” and the pretty girl, with her great dark-blue eyes and wild-rose complexion, entered abruptly.

“Well, Kathleen?” said Mrs. Ward in her pleasant tone.

“Oh, please, Mrs. Ward, I’ve come with such a lovely scheme.”

“And you want me to help you?”

“Oh yes, please, do say you will before I let you into the secret!”

“I can’t do that, dear; you must just tell me what is in your mind, and be satisfied with my decision. The only thing that I can assure you beforehand is that if it is a workable scheme, and likely to give you great pleasure, I will do my best to entertain it.”

“Then we’re certain to have it – certain,” said Kathleen.

“It was I who thought of it. You will forgive me if I speak out just as plainly as possible?”

“Of course, Kathleen dear.”

“Well, you know you are the head-mistress.”

“That is scarcely news to me, my child.”

“And people, as a rule,” continued Kathleen, “respect their head-mistress.”

“Dear me,” said Mrs. Ward with a smile, “have you come here, Kathleen, to say that you don’t respect me?”

“Respect you!” said Kathleen. “We do a jolly lot more than that. We adore you! We love you! You’re – you’re a sort of – of mother to us.”

“That is what I want to be,” said Mrs. Ward with fervor, and she took the girl’s hand and smoothed it gently.

“I often want to hug you, and that’s a fact,” said Kathleen.

“You may kiss me now if you like, Kitty.”

“Oh, Mrs. Ward!” Kitty bent down and bestowed a reverent kiss on that sweet face.

“I have permitted you to kiss me, Kitty,” said Mrs. Ward, “in order to show you that I sympathize with you, as I do with all my dear girls. But now, what is the matter?”

“Well, the fact is this. We want, during the ‘leisure hours’ to give a party.”

“Is that all? Do you all want to give a party?”

“Our side wants to give a party, and we want to invite the other side to it.”

“But what do you mean by ‘our side’ and ‘the other side’?”

“Oh, Mrs. Ward! you know – of course you know – that Aneta and Maggie divide the school.”

“I know,” said Mrs. Ward after a pause, “that Aneta has considerable influence, and that Maggie also has influence.”

“Those two girls divide the school,” said Kathleen, “the rest of us follow them. As a matter of fact, we only follow our leaders in the leisure hours; but as they come every day a good deal can be done in that time, can’t it?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Ward, and her tone was not exactly cheerful. “On which side are you, Kitty?”

“Oh, dear Mrs. Ward, of course, on Maggie’s! Do you think that a girl like me, with all my spirit and that irresistible sort of fun always bubbling up in me, could stand the stuck-ups?”

“Kitty, you have no right to speak of any girls in the school by such an offensive term.”

“I am sorry,” said Kitty. “I ought not to have said it to you. But they are stuck-ups; they really are.”

“And what do you call yourself?”

“Oh, the live-and-let-live – that’s our title. But it’s only quite among ourselves, and perhaps I ought not to have said it.”

“I will never repeat what you have told me in confidence, dear. But now for your request?”

“Well, we of Maggie’s set want to invite the Aneta set to a sort of general party. We should like it to be on the half-holiday, if possible. We want to give them a right royal entertainment in order to knock some of their stuck-upness out of them. We wish for your leave in the matter.”

“You must describe your entertainment a little more fully.”

“I can’t; for we haven’t really and truly planned it all out yet. But I tell you what we’ll do. If you give us leave to have the party, we will ask Queen Aneta and her satellites if possible this very evening, and then we’ll submit our programme to you. Now, may we do this, or may we not?”