after her talk with father on the evening of the prize-giving gwen went back to school determined, if she could not feel cordial just at present towards her classmates, she would at least bury the hatchet and take no notice of the unkindness they had exhibited. it seemed much the most dignified course, for gwen was far too proud to look injured, or to show even to netta that she had felt hurt. perhaps the girls were a little ashamed of themselves. iris watson and one or two others spoke to her with quite an approach to friendliness, and elspeth frazer asked her opinion about the costumes for the play. gwen was not taking a part, so she was rather a free lance in that respect, and her advice was likely to be disinterested. each form got up its own particular act with a secrecy worthy of the freemasons. it was a point of honour not to betray the least tiny hint of what was going to happen, in order that the performance should be a complete surprise to the rest of the school.
now the fifth had decided to give the trial scene from the merchant of venice—rather an ambitious and decidedly a hackneyed piece to select. the dramatic society was influenced in its choice, how
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ever, by several considerations; the form was studying the merchant, and had learnt the principal speeches for recitations, which would save a great deal of trouble to the performers in the matter of studying parts. then hilda browne's father was a barrister and would lend his wig for the occasion, and louise mawson could bring a gown that would do excellently for shylock's gaberdine, also two sets of tights and doublets and feathered caps, all of which were invaluable assets in the way of stage properties.
"we must manage the rest of the costumes as best we can," said elspeth. "charlotte perry knows of a dressmaker who makes fancy dresses very cheaply. she does them for other schools. the chief question is the scheme of colour: hilda wants us to copy exactly from some celebrated picture, and louise says it doesn't matter as long as everything looks very bright and gay. here's a book of costumes. tell me what you think."
as gwen turned over the pages of the little volume, with its illustrations of bassanio, jessica, &c., a horrible suspicion suddenly shot into her mind. where had she seen that book before? and just lately too! why, at home, of course! she had come into the sitting-room suddenly and found winnie and beatrice discussing it over the fire. winnie had suppressed it instantly, but not before she had caught a glimpse both of the illustrations and the title. she remembered them perfectly. now winnie, as well as being junior mistress for the fifth, was a member of a class for higher mathematics composed of a few senior girls and taught by a professor who came weekly from the
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university at radchester. on the strength of this class she considered herself still one of the sixth for special purposes, and licensed to take part in school performances. was the sixth going to act in the merchant of venice? it looked uncommonly like it. why else should winnie be studying that particular book of costumes?
gwen was in a dilemma. she did not know what to do. not only did the rodenhurst code of honour regard form secrets as being inviolable as those of the confessional, but further she had been continually warned by father and beatrice that, now winnie was a mistress, she and lesbia must be particularly careful never to repeat anything they heard at home which might be likely to compromise their sister at school. it was clearly impossible to betray the least hint of her suspicion, but on the other hand it would be an exceedingly stupid dénouement if both forms were to act the same play. she decided to try finesse.
"have you absolutely decided on the merchant?" she said. "don't you think it's rather stale to choose our form subject? it's been done before too."
"not for three years," objected elspeth. "that's quite time enough for most of the girls to have forgotten it. besides, i know the speeches."
"you could learn some fresh ones."
"oh, i dare say! it sounds easy enough when you haven't to do it yourself. one's homework is quite enough just now without learning pages of blank verse. then there are the costumes."
"wouldn't they come in for the rivals? you might do some scenes from that. we've never had
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it at school before, and it's simply ripping. or part of she stoops to conquer would be gorgeously funny."
"you couldn't put sir anthony absolute into shylock's gaberdine, or tony lumpkin into a venetian doublet and tights! and what about the wig? hilda's had hard work to persuade her father to lend it, and she'd be fearfully offended if it wasn't used."
these arguments were so conclusive that gwen sighed. nevertheless she made a last appeal.
"well, i think you're very silly to act the merchant," she said. "you might choose something far more original and interesting. it's an opportunity wasted—and, if you'll only believe me, i'm quite sure you'll be sorry for it."
"it's you that's silly, gwen gascoyne!" retorted the indignant elspeth. "we've chosen the merchant, so why need you go trying to upset everything. i was asking you about the costumes, not the play."
"like gwen's cheek!" murmured louise mawson. "we don't want ex-juniors interfering with our dramatic!"
gwen turned sharply away. it seemed most unfortunate that she always got across the rest of the form. in this instance her motive was the purest, but as she could not explain, the girls naturally thought it was only her love of putting herself forward which caused her to suggest such a drastic measure as a change of programme.
"they never will understand me!" she thought bitterly. "father said they would be proud of me yet, but oh, dear! the more i try to do, the more i
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seem disliked. they'll be fearfully sold when it comes to the performance. i wonder if i ought to give them just a hint! it's really too idiotic to have two merchants. no, i won't! they'd probably only slang me for letting out form secrets. i'm glad i'm not acting, at any rate. school's not exactly a terrestrial paradise at present. i wonder what other troubles are coming to me? i believe i'm one of those people who are born under an unlucky star!"
gwen's words might almost have been prophetic, for the very next day something happened—something so unprecedented and overwhelming that she could never have anticipated it, even if she had been expecting general ill luck.
at the interval she received a summons to miss roscoe's study. she went at once, wondering why she had been sent for.
"hope the head's not going to put me into the sixth!" she laughed to herself. "that would be rather too good a joke. i'm willing to be a prefect or even proctor if i'm asked!"
gwen's reception at her last visit to the study had been so favourable, that this time she tapped lightly at the door, and entered confidently. one glance at miss roscoe's face, however, showed her that she was in dire disgrace. the principal's rather handsome, heavy features seemed to cast themselves in a roman mould when she was annoyed; her brows would knit, and her mouth assume a set, dogged expression of authority. all these storm signals being visible, gwen quaked in her shoes. miss roscoe had an
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unopened envelope in her hand, and to this at once drew her pupil's attention.
"gwen gascoyne, a letter arrived this morning addressed to you at rodenhurst. now, it is one of our principal rules that no girls are allowed to have letters sent to them at the school. tell your correspondent on no account to write to you here again. if i find anything further addressed to you, i shall enclose it in an envelope, and post it to your father. i will not have rodenhurst made a vehicle for clandestine correspondence. you may go, but understand clearly this is never to happen again."
gwen took the letter, and left the room in silence. she was too much astonished to defend herself. she could not imagine who had written to her and put the school address. as soon as she was in the corridor she tore open the envelope. it contained a bill from "messrs. john parker & sons, glass and china merchants" for
"replacing 10 articles in broken
tea service ... £1 2 6"
and at the bottom was written in a business hand:—
"messrs. parker beg respectfully to request miss gascoyne's settlement of above. should she prefer it, they will send the account to her father. they beg to assure her of their best attention at all times."
gwen gasped.
"why, i paid it!" she said almost aloud. "at least, i sent the money by emma. is it possible she
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can have pocketed it? oh, the deceiving wretch! where's netta? i must tell her at once!"
she rushed into the gymnasium, and calling netta aside, showed her the fatal document. the two talked it over, aghast.
"whew! this is a bad job!" exclaimed netta. "certainly it looks as if emma had decamped with the one pound two and six. she's left the school, you know."
"i didn't know," sighed gwen.
"yes, she went ten days ago. haven't you noticed there's a new housemaid waiting at dinner? you must be as blind as a bat!"
"i'm afraid i am done for," said gwen dramatically.
"oh, i shouldn't give up too soon if i were you! i suppose, by the by, you wouldn't care to tell your father?"
"i'd rather die!"
"then you'll have to go somehow to parker's, and ask if they've made a mistake. if, as i strongly suspect, emma really didn't pay it, then you might get them to take part on account now, and leave the rest till after christmas. what could you give them?"
"i don't possess more than sixpence. i'm bankrupt, and in debt to you, too."
"but you're sure to get something at christmas, aren't you?"
"i expect so."
"well, i'll tell you what i'll do: i'll lend you another ten shillings. that will make a sovereign altogether, and you can pay me back when you've had your christmas presents."
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"oh, netta, how good of you!"
"not so particularly. it's only a loan, and i expect you to give it back."
"of course."
"you'd better go to parker's this afternoon at four."
"i daren't!" said gwen, who felt that she was floundering deeper and deeper into a morass of trouble. "you don't know what a scrape i got into at home for stopping behind that other time. beatrice made me promise absolutely always to come home with winnie and lesbia. i should have to give all kinds of explanations."
"i'm supposed to go straight home too, on these dark afternoons. my mother's rather particular about it."
"then what's to be done?"
"you'll have to make a bolt in the dinner hour. there's nothing else for it."
"umph! it's risky."
"you must risk something, o my cautious philosopher! nobody but thistles is about just then, and i think we can outwit thistles. i'll bring the half-sovereign to school with me to-morrow, and you can take it to parker's, in case it's wanted. i'm afraid you'll find you'll need it."
"i should like to prosecute emma—she richly deserves it!"
"couldn't do that without giving ourselves away, so you'll have to restrain your righteous wrath, my child!"
gwen spent the rest of the day feeling as if a black shadow had suddenly fallen over her life. she had
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believed the episode of the china was completely finished with, and here it had cropped up again like some horrible bogey prepared to haunt her. it was worse than ever, for she had lost her own fifteen shillings as well as the ten which netta had previously lent her. between parker's and netta she now owed thirty-two and sixpence. the largeness of the debt appalled her. how was she ever to refund it? she hoped she might get a little money at christmas. her grandmother and aunt violet generally sent postal orders for presents, telling the girls to buy what they liked; it was these welcome gifts that constituted most of her contributions to her savings box.
the hint which parker's had given about sending the account to her father frightened her greatly. father must not know. he would have quite enough christmas bills to pay without adding an extra one. besides, what would he think of her? gwen liked to stand high in her father's estimation. beatrice, too, would hear of it, and would not spare her.
"i'm always the black sheep of the family," thought gwen. "none of them have ever done anything so dreadful as this. no! i simply shouldn't dare to tell at home."
netta turned up next morning with the half-sovereign, according to her promise. she was not an ungenerous girl, and she had plenty of pocket money, for her father was well off, and liberal to his only daughter. she was willing to help gwen out of a difficulty for which she knew she herself was partly
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responsible, and perhaps also she rather appreciated the sense of power that the debt gave her over her schoolfellow. netta dearly loved to lead: she would have liked to be of importance in the form, and was often annoyed that hilda browne, iris watson, and some of the others looked down upon her. it was pleasant therefore to feel that she had one satellite who was bound to revolve in her orbit, and could be reckoned upon to support her on all occasions.
gwen had decided to commit a breach of school rules, and to rush out between dinner and afternoon school to pay her visit to the china shop. as she had said, it was a risky performance. if she were caught, she would be reported to miss roscoe, and the penalty would be severe. it seemed sailing 'twixt scylla and charybdis, but it was worth trying. the first difficulty was how to put on her outdoor things without anybody noticing. girls kept strolling in and out of the dressing-room in the most tiresome manner and after waiting as long as she dared for the room to be empty, she was finally obliged to smuggle her hat and coat into the passage, and garb herself there.
"i've barely time," she said to netta, who was acting scout. "for goodness sake tell me if you see thistles about! is the coast clear? then i'll scoot."
at the end of the passage, however, she encountered danger. winnie was standing by the gymnasium door, and gwen only just drew back in time to avoid her. chafing with impatience, she waited while winnie leisurely examined some papers on the notice board. was she going to stay there all the after
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noon? at last she moved, and went inside the gymnasium, and gwen plucked up courage to make a dash for the street door. she hurried along with such enormous strides that passers-by turned to look at her and smiled, but careless of the notice she was attracting, she even broke into a run as she caught sight of the market hall clock. she was panting and altogether out of breath by the time she reached the china shop, and not at all sure what she ought to say. she marched up to the counter, and produced the bill which she had received.
"look here! you've sent me this," she began, "and i want to know whether it was really paid or not."
"i'll just enquire, miss," said the assistant, referring to his superior; then returning, after a whispered colloquy, he continued: "no, miss. mr. evans says it certainly never has been paid. you've no receipt for it?"
"i gave the money to the housemaid at school, and told her to take it," faltered gwen.
"have you asked her about it, miss?"
"she's left, and i don't know where she's gone."
the assistant shook his head.
"i'm afraid, in that case, she won't want to be found, though perhaps the police could trace her if you cared to prosecute."
"would it not be simpler if we sent the account to your father, missy?" suggested the shopwalker, coming to join the assistant at the counter. "ah! i forget whether we have your home address? always best to refer bills to one's father, isn't it? then there's no trouble."
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his tone verged on the familiar and impertinent. gwen drew herself up very straight.
"i prefer to manage it myself, thank you," she replied icily. "if you will take ten shillings on account now, i will pay you the balance after christmas. will you let it remain till then?"
"i dare say mr. parker wouldn't object—that's to say, if you don't mind giving me your home address as a reference."
"you can put 'c/o miss goodwin, the thorns, manor road, stedburgh'," said gwen, who wished at any cost to avoid the chance of a letter being sent to her at her own home. she got a receipt for the ten shillings on account, and put it carefully away in her purse. she thought both the shopmen looked at her very inquisitively, but she took no notice. she did not mean to gratify their curiosity by explaining the details of how she had incurred the expense. she wished netta were with her; it was so much harder to keep up her dignity alone. with a curt "good afternoon!" she left the china stores and hurried back to school. she was only just in time, for the second bell was already ringing. fortunately the dressing-room was empty, except for one agitated junior, who was in too great haste to notice anything. gwen scuttled into the fifth exactly five seconds before miss douglas, and sat down at her desk, exhausted but congratulating herself. she contrived to write a surreptitious note to netta, and to pass it, neatly rolled into a ball, on the waste-paper tray. its tenor was calculated to be ambiguous to outsiders, but intelligible to the initiated.
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"all hail, protector of the poor! this is to inform you that the deed is done—successfully. i thought i was within an ace of exposure, but things righted themselves, and lo! i triumphed. for the present the supplier of brittle goods is satisfied, and for the future—well, i leave it to luck. i feel like a warrior who has been through a campaign—i'm not sure if i haven't acquired some wounds. my head is swimming, and i'm a broken flower for the afternoon. expect me to collapse in maths. my brains are capable of nothing more arduous than the three r's. i am living till four, when i can have the exhilaration of reciting my breathless experiences to your sympathetic ear.
"yours in abject gratitude,
"g.g."
