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A World of Girls: The Story of a School, a novel by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 32. Fresh Suspicions |
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_ CHAPTER XXXII. FRESH SUSPICIONS Mrs. Willis was not at home many hours before Dora Russell begged for an interview with her. Annie had not as yet heard anything of the changed essay; for Dora had resolved to keep the thing a secret until Mrs. Willis herself took the matter in hand. Annie was feeling not a little anxious and depressed. She was sorry now that she had led the girls that wild escapade through the wood. Phyllis and Nora were both suffering from heavy colds in consequence, and Susan Drummond was looking more pasty about her complexion, and was more dismally sleepy than usual. Annie was going through her usual season of intense remorse after one of her wild pranks. No one repented with more apparent fervor than she did, and yet no one so easily succumbed to the next temptation. Had Annie been alone in the matter she would have gone straight to Mrs. Willis and confessed all; but she could not do this without implicating her companions, who would have screamed with horror at the very suggestion. All the girls were more or less depressed by the knowledge that the gypsy woman, Mother Rachel, shared their secret; and they often whispered together as to the chances of her betraying them. Old Betty they could trust; for Betty, the cake-woman, had been an arch-conspirator with the naughty girls of Lavender House from time immemorial. Betty had always managed to provide their stolen suppers for them, and had been most accommodating in the matter of pay. Yes, with Betty they felt they were safe; but Mother Rachel was a different person. She might like to be paid a few more sixpences for her silence; she might hover about the grounds; she might be noticed. At any moment she might boldly demand an interview with Mrs. Willis. "I'm awfully afraid of Mother Rachel," Phyllis moaned, as she shivered under the influence of her bad cold. Nora said "I should faint if I saw her again, I know I should;" while the other girls always went out provided with stray sixpences, in case the gypsy mother should start up from some unexpected quarter and demand blackmail. On the day of Mrs. Willis' return, Annie was pacing up and down the shady walk, and indulging in some rather melancholy and regretful thoughts, when Susan Drummond and Mary Morris rushed up to her, white with terror. "She's down there by the copse, and she's beckoning to us! Oh, do come with us--do, darling, dear Annie." "There's no use in it," replied Annie; "Mother Rachel wants money, and I am not going to give her any. Don't be afraid of her, girls, and don't give her money. After all, why should she tell on us? she would gain nothing by doing so." "Oh, yes, she would, Annie--she would, Annie," said Mary Morris, beginning to sob; "oh, do come with us, do! We must pacify her, we really must." "I can't come now," said Annie; "hark! some one is calling me. Yes, Miss Danesbury--what is it?" "Mrs. Willis wishes to see you at once, Annie, in her private sitting-room," replied Miss Danesbury; and Annie, wondering not a little, but quite unsuspicious, ran off. The fact, however, of her having deliberately disobeyed Mrs. Willis, and done something which she knew would greatly pain her, brought a shade of embarrassment to her usually candid face. She had also to confess to herself that she did not feel quite so comfortable about Mother Rachel as she had given Mary Morris and Susan Drummond to understand. Her steps lagged more and more as she approached the house, and she wished, oh, how longingly! oh, how regretfully! that she had not been naughty and wild and disobedient in her beloved teacher's absence. "But where is the use of regretting what is done?" she said, half aloud. "I know I can never be good--never, never!" She pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains which shaded the door of the private sitting-room, and went in, to find Mrs. Willis seated by her desk, very pale and tired and unhappy looking, while Dora Russell, with crimson spots on her cheeks and a very angry glitter in her eyes, stood by the mantel-piece. "Come here, Annie dear," said Mrs. Willis in her usual gentle and affectionate tone. Annie's first wild impulse was to rush to her governess' side, to fling her arms round her neck, and, as a child would confess to her mother, to tell her all that story of the walk through the wood, and the stolen picnic in the fairies' field. Three things, however, restrained her--she must not relieve her own troubles at the expense of betraying others; she could not, even if she were willing, say a word in the presence of this cold and angry-looking Dora; in the third place, Mrs. Willis looked very tired and very sad. Not for worlds would she add to her troubles at this instant. She came into the room, however, with a slight hesitation of manner and a clouded brow, which caused Mrs. Willis to watch her with anxiety and Dora with triumph. "Come here, Annie," repeated the governess. "I want to speak to you. Something very dishonorable and disgraceful has been done in my absence." Annie's face suddenly became as white as a sheet. Could the gypsy mother have already betrayed them all? Mrs. Willis, noticing her too evident confusion, continued in a voice which, in spite of herself, became stern and severe. "I shall expect the truth at any cost, my dear. Look at this manuscript-book. Do you know anything of the handwriting?" "Why, it is yours, of course, Dora," said Annie, who was now absolutely bewildered. "It is _not_ mine," began Dora, but Mrs. Willis held up her hand. "Allow me to speak, Miss Russell. I can best explain matters. Annie, during my absence some one has been guilty of a very base and wicked act. One of the girls in this school has gone secretly to Dora Russell's desk and taken away ten pages of an essay which she had called 'The River,' and which she was preparing for the prize competition next month. Instead of Dora's essay this that you now see was put in its place. Examine it, my dear. Can you tell me anything about it?" Annie took the manuscript-book and turned the leaves. "Is it meant for a parody?" she asked, after a pause; "it sounds ridiculous. No, Mrs. Willis, I know nothing whatever about it; some one has imitated Dora's handwriting. I cannot imagine who is the culprit." She threw the manuscript-book with a certain easy carelessness on the table by her side, and glanced up with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes at Dora. "I suppose it is meant for a clever parody," she repeated; "at least it is amusing." Her manner displeased Mrs. Willis, and very nearly maddened poor Dora. "We have not sent for you, Annie," said her teacher, "to ask you your opinion of the parody, but to try and get you to throw light on the subject. We must find out, and at once, who has been so wicked as to deliberately injure another girl." "But why have you sent for _me_?" asked Annie, drawing herself up, and speaking with a little shade of haughtiness. "Because," said Dora Russell, who could no longer contain her outraged feelings, "because you alone can throw light on it--because you alone in the school are base enough to do anything so mean--because you alone can caricature." "Oh, that is it," said Annie; "you suspect me, then. Do _you_ suspect me, Mrs. Willis?" "My dear--what can I say?" "Nothing, if you do. In this school my word has long gone for nothing. I am a naughty, headstrong, willful girl, but in this matter I am perfectly innocent. I never saw that essay before: I never in all my life went to Dora Russell's desk. I am headstrong and wild, but I don't do spiteful things. I have no object in injuring Dora; she is nothing to me--nothing. She is trying for the essay prize, but she has no chance of winning it. Why should I trouble myself to injure her? Why should I even take the pains to parody her words and copy her handwriting? Mrs. Willis, you need not believe me--I see you do not believe me--but I am quite innocent." Here Annie burst into sudden tears, and ran out of the room. _ |
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