The School Queens

CHAPTER XXIII.

AT LABURNUM VILLA

Aneta went back to her room, where she dressed with her usual expedition and extreme neatness. When she had finished her toilet she ran downstairs. It was not yet eight o’clock; but most of the girls were assembled in the large hall waiting for prayers, which always took place before breakfast. Mrs. Ward was seen passing to the library, where prayers were held. Aneta went up to her.

“Prayers first, of course,” said Aneta, “and afterwards may I talk to you?”

Mrs. Ward looked at Aneta. “What is the matter, dear?”

“Something very important indeed. I must see you.”

“Well, breakfast follows prayers; come to me the minute breakfast is over.”

“Thank you, dear Mrs. Ward,” said Aneta.

At breakfast Merry asked Aneta how Maggie was. Aneta said that Maggie had a headache, and would not be in school during the morning.

“Then what are we to do about our day?” said Molly Tristram, who overheard this remark. “We have absolutely more to get through than we can possibly manage.”

“Oh, to-morrow will be quite all right,” said Aneta; “and Maggie will join you presently.”

Aneta was so respected in the school, so little given to exaggeration, so absolutely to be relied on, that these words of hers had a most calming effect. The girls continued their breakfast, those who were in the secret of to-morrow occasionally alluding to the subject in French, which was the only language allowed to be spoken. The others talked about their different occupations.

As soon as ever breakfast was over, Aneta went to Mrs. Ward’s private room.

“Now, dear, what is it?” said the head-mistress. “I have to take the class for literature at half-past nine, and have very little time to spare.”

“I won’t keep you,” said Aneta; “but what I wanted was to beg for a day’s holiday.”

“My dear girl! What do you mean? In the middle of term – a day’s holiday! Can you not take it to-morrow? – oh, I forgot, to-morrow Maggie is having her grand carnival, as I call it. But what is the matter, Aneta? Have you any trouble?”

“Yes,” said Aneta; “and I cannot tell you, dear Mrs. Ward.”

“I trust you, of course, Aneta.”

“I know you do; and I want you to trust me more than ever. It has something to do with Maggie.”

Mrs. Ward slightly frowned. “I am never sure” – she began.

But Aneta stopped her impulsively. “If you give me that holiday to-day,” she said, “and if you trust me, and if you will also give me Mrs. Martin’s address, which, of course, you must have on your books”–

“Mrs. Martin’s address?” said Mrs. Ward.

“Yes. You know Maggie’s mother has married again; she is Mrs. Martin.”

“Of course, of course; I had forgotten for the moment. Yes, I have her address.”

“Well, if you will do all that,” continued Aneta, “I think that you will find a new Maggie in the future, one whom you – will trust, and – and love, as I love her.”

“My dear girl! as you love Maggie Howland?”

Aneta lowered her head for a minute. “It is true I did not love her,” she said, “in the past, but I have changed my views. I have been narrow-minded, and small, and silly. She herself has opened my eyes. I cannot tell you more now. Maggie will come down, and will be able to go on with her lessons just as usual this afternoon; but I want a day off, and I want it at once.”

“But where are you going, dear?”

“I am going to Aunt Lucia. You will let me have a cab, and I will drive to Aunt Lucia’s house in Eaton Square at once?”

Mrs. Ward looked doubtful. “You have a very grave reason for this?” she said.

“Very, very grave; and I will tell you all presently.”

“I have never had reason to doubt you,” said Mrs. Ward, “and I won’t doubt you now. Does Maggie know of this?”

“Yes – oh yes; but please don’t question her until I return.”

“Very well, dear; you shall have your way. Oh, you want Mrs. Martin’s address. It is Laburnum Villa, Clapham.”

Aneta entered the address in a little tablet bound in gold which she always wore at her waist.

“Thank you ever so much,” she said, and then left the room.

A minute or two later she met Miss Johnson. “Give me something stiff to learn – something that I don’t like – to-night, dear Lucy,” she said. “I am off for a whole day’s holiday, but I shall be back in the evening.”

“That is very queer,” said Miss Johnson. “What does it mean?”

“I cannot explain, but Mrs. Ward knows. Be specially kind to dear Maggie, and give me something that I don’t like to do when I return.”

Miss Johnson smiled. “You shall hem some dusters,” she said.

Aneta made a wry face. “Thanks ever so much,” she replied; then she ran upstairs to get ready for her visit.

Just before leaving the house she looked in at Maggie. “I’m off, Mags. It’s all right. I shall probably see you about tea-time.”

Before Maggie had time even to expostulate Aneta closed the door, and a minute or two later had stepped into the cab which Agnes had called for her. The cabman was desired to drive Miss Lysle to Lady Lysle’s house in Eaton Square. This was accordingly done, and soon after ten o’clock Lady Lysle, who had not yet completed her morning toilet, was most amazed at being informed by her maid that Miss Lysle was waiting for her downstairs.

“Aneta! You don’t mean Aneta, Purcell?”

“Yes, my lady; and she wants to see you in a very great hurry.”

“Then send her up to me.”

Purcell disappeared. Lady Lysle wondered what was wrong. Presently Aneta burst into the room.

“My dear child,” said her aunt, “what can be wrong? Why have you left school? I do hope no illness has broken out there. It would be very inconvenient for me to have you here at present.”

“There is no illness whatever at the school, Aunt Lucia,” said Aneta, going up to her aunt and kissing her; “only there is a girl there, one of my schoolfellows, in a good bit of trouble, and I want to help her, and I have got a day off from Mrs. Ward, who doesn’t know why she is giving it to me, but trusts me all the same. And now, auntie, I want you to come with me at once.”

“Oh my dear child, where?”

“To Clapham, auntie.”

“Clapham! I never stopped at Clapham in my life. I have driven through the place, it is true.”

“Well, we’ll stop there to-day,” said Aneta, “at Laburnum Villa, Clapham. I want to see Mrs. Martin, Maggie’s mother.”

“Oh, dear child,” said Lady Lysle, “you mean Miss Howland when you speak of Maggie? Now, you know I told you that her stepfather is no relation whatever to the Martyns of The Meadows. I cannot make out why she should have given you to understand that he was. A man who lives at Clapham! Dear Aneta, I would rather be excused.”

“There is no excuse, auntie, that I can listen to for a single moment. I know all about Maggie’s stepfather, and I will tell you as we are driving out to Clapham. You have always let me have my own way, and I have – yes, I have tried to be a good girl; but there is something before me to-day more important and more difficult than I ever tackled yet, and if I can’t come to my own aunt – I, who am a motherless girl – for help at this crisis I shall think the world is coming to an end.”

“What a strange, earnest way you do speak in, Aneta!”

“I am very sorry, darling; but I assure you the case is most urgent. You are quite well, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, my love; I am never an ailing sort of person.”

“Well, then, I will send Purcell back to you, and please order the carriage, and please be as quick as possible. We have to go somewhere else after we have done with Mrs. Martin.”

“Well, Aneta, I always was wax in your hands, and I suppose I must do what you wish. But remember your promise that you will tell me the meaning of this extraordinary thing during our drive to Clapham.”

“I promise faithfully to tell you what is necessary, for the fact is I want your help. Darling auntie! you are doing about the best work of your life to-day. I knew you would stand by me; I felt certain of it, and I told Maggie so.”

“That girl!” said Lady Lysle. “I don’t care for that girl.”

“You will change your mind about her presently,” said Aneta, and she ran downstairs to request Davidson, the butler, to bring her something to eat, for her breakfast had been slight, and she was quite hungry enough to enjoy some of her aunt’s nice food.

By-and-by Lady Lysle, looking slim and beautiful, wearing her becoming sables and her toque with its long black ostrich plume, appeared on the scene, and a minute later Davidson announced that the carriage was at the door.

The two ladies stepped in, Aneta giving very careful directions to the driver.

He expressed some astonishment at the address. “Laburnum Villa, Clapham!” he said. “Martin, Laburnum Villa, Clapham! Clapham’s a big place, miss.”

“I know that,” said Aneta; “but that is all the address I can obtain. We must call at the post-office, if necessary, to get the name of the street.”

The footman sprang into his place, and Aneta and her aunt drove off in the comfortable brougham towards that suburb known as Clapham.

“Now, Aneta, I suppose you will tell me what is the meaning of this?”

“Yes, I will,” said Aneta. “I made a mistake about Maggie, and I am willing to own it. She has been placed in a difficult position. I do not mean for a minute to imply that she has acted in a straight way, for she has not. But there is that in her which will make her the best of girls in the future, as she is one of the cleverest and one of the most charming. Yes, auntie, she has got a great power about her. She is a sort of magnet – she attracts people to her.”

“She has never attracted me,” said Lady Lysle. “I have always thought her a singularly plain girl.”

“Ugliness like hers is really attractive,” said Aneta. “But, now, the thing is this: if we don’t help her she will be absolutely lost, all her chance taken from her, and her character ruined for ever. We do a lot at our school for those poor slum-girls, but we never do anything for girls in our class. Now, I mean my girl in future to be Maggie Howland.”

“Aneta, you are absurd!”

“I mean it, auntie; her father’s daughter deserves help. Her father was as good a man as ever lived, and for his sake something ought to be done for his only child. As to her mother”–

“Yes, the woman who has married a person of the name of Martin, and to whose house I presume we are going”–

“Auntie, I have rather a shock to give you. Poor Maggie did mean to imply that her stepfather was in a different class of life from what he is. He is a – grocer!”

Lady Lysle put up her hand to pull the check-string.

“Pray, auntie, don’t do that. Maggie isn’t the daughter of a grocer, and she can’t help her mother having married this dreadful man. I want Maggie to have nothing to do with her stepfather in the future, and I mean to carry out my ideas, and you have got to help me.”

“Indeed, I will do nothing of the kind. What a disgraceful girl! She must leave Aylmer House at once.”

“Then I will go too,” said Aneta.

“Aneta, I never knew you behave in such a way before.”

“Come, auntie darling, you know you are the sweetest and the most loving and sympathetic person in the world; and why should you turn away from a poor little girl who quite against her own will finds herself the stepdaughter of a grocer? Maggie has given me to understand that he is a dreadful man. She is horrified with him, and what I am going now to Laburnum Villa about is to try to prevent his visiting the school with his wife on Saturday. I will do the talking, dear, and you have only to sit by and look dignified.”

“I never was put in such a dreadful position before,” said Lady Lysle, “and really even you, Aneta, go too far when you expect me to do this.”

“But you would visit a poor woman in East London without the smallest compunction,” said Aneta.

“That is different,” replied Lady Lysle with dignity.

“It is different,” replied Aneta; “but the difference lies in the fact that the grocer’s wife is very much higher up in the social scale than the East End woman.”

“Oh my dear child, this is really appalling! I have always distrusted that Miss Howland. Does Mrs. Ward know of your project?”

“Not yet, but she will to-night.”

“And what am I to do when I visit this person?”

“Just look your dear, sweet, dignified self, and allow me to do the talking.”

“I think you have taken leave of your senses.”

“I haven’t taken leave of my senses, and I would do more than I am now doing to help a fine girl round a nasty corner. So cheer up, auntie! After we have seen Mrs. Martin we have to go on and visit the grocer.”

“Aneta, that I do decline!”

“I am sure you won’t decline. But let us think of Mrs. Martin herself first, and try to remember that by birth she is a lady.”

Just at this moment the carriage drew up outside a post-office. There was a short delay while Laburnum Villa was being inquired for by the footman. At last the street in which this small suburban dwelling was situated was discovered, and a few minutes later the carriage, with its splendid horses and two servants on the box, drew up before the green-painted door.

The villa was small, but it was exceedingly neat. The little brass knocker shone, even though yesterday was a day of such fog. The footman came to the carriage-door to make inquiries.

“I will get out,” said Aneta.

“Hadn’t James best inquire if the woman is in?” said Lady Lysle.

“No, I think I will,” said Aneta.

She went up the narrow path and rang the front-door bell. Tildy opened the door. The new cook had been peeping above the blinds in the kitchen. Tildy had hastily put on a white apron, but it is to be regretted that a smut was once more on her cheek. Somehow, Aneta liked her all the better for that smut.

“I want to see your mistress, Tildy,” she said. “It is something about Miss Maggie, and I am, as you know, one of her schoolfellows.”

“Lor’, miss! yes, for certain, miss. Mrs. Martin ’ll be that proud, miss.”

“I have brought my aunt with me,” said Aneta. “She would like to come in too in order to see Mrs. Martin.”

“Yes, miss; in course, miss. There’s no fire lit in the drawin’-room. But there’s the dinin’-room; it do smell a bit smoky, for master ’e loves ’is pipe. ’E smokes a lot in the dinin’-room, miss.”

“Show us into the dining-room,” said Aneta. She ran back to fetch Lady Lysle, and conducted that amazed and indignant woman into the house.

Tildy rushed upstairs to fetch her mistress. “You get into your best gown in no time, mum. There’s visitors downstairs – that most beauteous young lady who spoke to me yesterday at Aylmer House, and a lady alongside of ’er as ’u’d make yer ’eart quake. Ef Queen Victoria was alive I’d say yes, it was ’erself. Never did I mark such a sweepin’ and ’aughty manner. They’re fine folks, both of ’em, and no mistake.”