After the events related in the last chapter, the monitresses suddenly awakened to a sense of their responsibility as leaders of the school. Particularly Veronica. She had a sensitive disposition, and Miss Beasley’s reproof rankled. She determined to set an example to the younger ones, and to be zealous in keeping order and enforcing rules. She held a surprise inspection of the juniors’ desks and drawers, and pounced upon illicit packets of chocolate; she examined their books, and confiscated any which she considered unsuitable; she put a ban upon slang, and wrote out a new set of dormitory regulations. Her efforts were hardly so much appreciated as they deserved. The girls grumbled at this unanticipated tightening of the reins.

“We’ve always bought sweets and kept them in our desks,” declared Joan Butler. “I believe Veronica used to do it herself.”

“Life wouldn’t be worth living without chocolates!” mourned Nora Fawcitt.

“And we always used to scramble for the bathroom in the mornings, ever since I’ve been here,” groused Dorothy Newstead. “It’s no fun to wait in a queue.” 92

The Fifth fared no better than the Fourth, and being older, their indignation was even hotter.

“Veronica took away Adam Bede, and said it wasn’t ‘suitable’!” fumed Aveline. “She told me I might read Scott and Dickens instead. And I’d just got to the interesting part! It’s too idiotic!”

“I can’t see why Veronica need act censor to all our reading,” agreed Katherine bitterly. “Why should we be allowed Jane Austen and not Charlotte BrontË?”

“Little girls mustn’t read love stories!” mocked Raymonde.

“But they’re all love stories—Scott’s and Dickens’s and Jane Austen’s and everyone’s! How about Shakespeare? There’s heaps of love-making in Romeo and Juliet, and we took that with Professor Marshall!”

“I don’t think Gibbie ever quite approved of it. She thought it indiscreet of the Professor, I’m sure, and likely to put ideas into our heads!”

“Does she expect we’ll go eloping over the garden wall? Perhaps that’s why she keeps such a vigilant look-out with the telescope!”

“It’s quite bad enough to have Gibbie always on our trail,” said Ardiune gloomily, “but when it comes to Veronica turning watch-dog as well, I call it an outrage!”

“I think Fifth-Form girls have responsibilities as well as monitresses,” grunted Raymonde. “It’s not good for Veronica to take life so earnestly! She’ll grow old before her time. The Bumble’s always rubbing it into us to make the most of our girlhood, and not be little premature women, so I vote we live up to her theory. It’s Veronica’s 93 last term here. She ought to be bubbling and girlish, and carry away happy memories of her light-hearted school-days when she goes out into the wide world to be a woman. I consider it’s our duty to look after this. The Bumble says the value of school life consists in its ‘give and take’. We’re taking a good deal from Veronica at present, so we must give her something back. Let’s teach her to be kittenish and playful.”

The chums exploded. The idea of the serious-minded Veronica developing a bubbling or kittenish manner was too much for them.

“We did pretty well when we took Maudie Heywood in hand,” urged Raymonde. “She’s wonderfully improved. Never exceeds the speed limit in her lessons, and if she writes extra essays she keeps them to herself, and doesn’t flaunt them before the Form. And there was Cynthia Greene, too! We don’t hear a word about The Poplars now, or her wretched bracelet. It may be difficult, perhaps, but we’ll do our best with Veronica. We must regard ourselves as sort of missionaries.”

Having decided that it was their vocation to cultivate a spirit of artless happiness in the school, the Mystic Seven set to work on Veronica. She did not respond to their efforts; on the contrary, she seemed to resent them. When they attempted to introduce lighter veins of conversation, she reproached them with being frivolous. She frowned on riddles, limericks, and puns. One day she so far forgot herself as to murmur “Cheeky kids!”

Raymonde, with a shocked and grieved expression, looked at the illuminated card deprecating the use of slang, which had lately been hung in the 94 lecture hall, and Veronica flounced out of the room.

That night, when the monitress went to bed, her sponge, nail-brush, tooth-brush, and cake of soap were missing, and it was only after a long search that she found them at the bottom of her emptied water-jug. On the next evening it was impossible for her to strike a light, owing to the fact that both her candle and matches had been carefully soaked beforehand in water.

Veronica felt it was high time to lay the matter before her fellow-monitresses. They decided that such flagrant cases of insubordination must be promptly dealt with. In order to catch the offenders they laid a trap, Linda and Daphne concealing themselves in Veronica’s bedroom, while Veronica herself walked ostentatiously in the courtyard.

As they had expected, it was not long before two stealthy figures came tiptoeing in, and were taken red-handed in the very act of constructing an apple-pie bed. The vials of wrath which descended upon the would-be practical jokers were enough to damp the spirits of even such madcaps as Raymonde and Aveline. After all, monitresses are monitresses, and to affront them is rather like twisting a lion’s tail. Miss Gibbs herself could not have been more scathing in her sarcasms than Linda. For once the Mystics retired crushed, and with a due respect for their seniors.

It was not in the nature of things, however, for Raymonde’s spirits to remain long below zero. After a decent period of immersion they once more rose to the surface. The occasion of their revival was sufficient to awaken enthusiasm in the most 95 down-trodden and monitress-ridden of school-girls.

A report was rumoured through the Grange; nobody seemed to know quite where it started, or what was the fount of information, but everybody said it was perfectly true, and girl whispered to girl the astounding secret.

“The Bumble and the Wasp are going out to dinner on Thursday, and are to stay the night, only we’re not supposed to get a hint of it, so don’t breathe a word, or let on you’ve heard.”

Circumstantial evidence seemed to confirm the statement. Emily, the sewing-maid, had been seen in the linen-room employed on some renovations to Miss Beasley’s best evening dress; Miss Gibbs’s suit-case had been brought down from the box-room to have its lock and handles polished; and Dorothy Newstead, concealed behind a laurel bush during a game of “Hide-and-seek,” had overheard the Principal give instructions to the gardener to order a conveyance for Thursday evening at half-past six. Certainly nothing could be more conclusive. Excitement was rife. Never in all the annals of the school had Miss Beasley and Miss Gibbs together taken a night off!

“It seems a shame to waste such a golden opportunity!” said Raymonde enthusiastically. “Gibbie was talking to us only to-day about seizing our opportunities.

She quoted it most impressively.” 96

“She didn’t go on to the verse about getting married while you’d the chance, though!” chuckled Ardiune.

“No, my child. Such a subject as matrimony is not supposed to be a fitting topic for a ladies’ school. Gibbie always gracefully shelves it. But you’re side-tracking, and I want to get back to my point. I was talking of opportunities, and never in the whole of our school-days shall we get such another as next Thursday. How are we going to make use of it? I vote for a beano in our dormitory.”

“What’s a ‘beano’?” demanded Fauvette’s plaintive voice. “You’re always saying things I don’t understand.”

“You’re young, child!” returned Raymonde indulgently, “and you can’t be expected to know everything. A beano is a bean-feast. Now don’t look alarmed! We’re not going to eat beans; we’ll have something far more appetizing—sardines, and tinned peaches, and biscuits, and anything else we can get. If the Bumble and the Wasp gad off to enjoy themselves, why shouldn’t we make a night of it too?”

“How about those kids?”

“They’ll join in. It shall be an affair for the whole dormitory. We’ll share the treat, for once!”

“You won’t get the monitresses to join,” interposed Katherine dubiously.

“Shan’t ask them! I’ve settled all that in my mind. You know the big oak door across the passage that leads to their rooms? Well, I’m going to fasten it after they’ve gone to bed, and lock them up in their own quarters.” 97

“That would be all right, old sport, if there were a key, but there isn’t.”

“Morvyth Holmes, d’you think I’m an infant? I know perfectly well there isn’t a key. I’m going to fix a screw in the door and another in the doorpost beforehand, and then twist some strong wire across. It’ll act like a lock.”

The Mystics stared at their leader in admiration. Her resourcefulness knew no bounds. With the monitresses safely boxed up in their bedrooms, any jinks would be possible in the dormitory. Of course there remained Mademoiselle, but she slept at the other side of the house, and from past experience they judged that she was more likely to devote the evening to her own pleasure than to an over-strict attention to duty. The juniors, when sounded on the subject, responded to a girl. Even Cynthia Greene assented gleefully. Every occupant of the dormitory vowed with a solemn oath to preserve the secret at all costs. A fund was opened to defray expenses. How to get the provisions was the main difficulty. There was not a single servant in the establishment whom they felt was absolutely to be trusted.

“I believe even that new little Lizzie would go and sneak to the Bumble,” sighed Raymonde. “We shall have to go for the things ourselves. There’s nothing else for it. Who’ll volunteer? Oh! not all of you! We can’t trot off in a body. Look here, I’ll go with Morvyth.”

The village, which lay half a mile away from the Grange, was out of bounds. It would be an extremely risky proceeding for two girls, in the ordinary brown serge uniform and conspicuous 98 hats of the school, to enter a shop and make purchases. Some tiresome busybody would be sure to see them, and report the matter to Miss Beasley.

“It’s a case of disguising ourselves,” decided Raymonde. “The maids keep their waterproofs and hats in the passage near the kitchen. We’ll turn up our hair, borrow what garments we want, and dash off between prep. and supper. Anyone noticing us on the road will think we’re new servants from some house in the neighbourhood.”

The audacity of the project almost staggered Morvyth, but as a member of the Mystic Seven she was pledged to follow her leader, and would not for worlds have displayed symptoms of the white feather, though her more cautious soul began to calculate consequences if caught. There were so many pitfalls in the path—servants, monitresses, and mistresses must be outwitted, both in going and returning, to make their excursion a success. The juniors, however, played up nobly. At a concerted hour, they managed by cleverly concocted excuses to engage the attention of all the monitresses, and hold them busy for five minutes explaining details of lessons or fancy work. Meantime, Aveline and Valentine purloined waterproofs of a suitable length, together with appropriate hats, from the passage near the kitchen.

Raymonde and Morvyth, after a rapid toilet and a hasty review of themselves in a looking-glass, were pleased with their appearance, especially the way they wore their hats.

“Tilt yours a little more on one side,” commanded Raymonde, “and open your mouth with a sort of cod-fishy expression, as if you’d got 99 adenoids. Remember, you want to look as common as possible. Drop your h’s when you speak, wherever you can. Say you’re in a ’urry to get back. I shall sniff all the time, as if I’d a bad cold.”

“I shall laugh if you do!”

“No, you won’t, because we’re going to different shops. I’ll do Adcock’s, and you shall have Seymour’s. It’ll be far better than going together.”

Under cover of a guard of Form-mates the conspirators managed to slip past the barns and off the premises, secure in the knowledge that Miss Gibbs was correcting exercises in the study, so could not possibly be watching them through her too useful telescope. Before arriving at the village they separated, Raymonde going a little in advance, and Morvyth following, as if they had no acquaintance with each other. It was perhaps as well for their mutual composure that they visited separate shops, for Morvyth’s provincial accent and Raymonde’s cold might have been mirth-provoking to a fellow conspirator, though they passed muster well enough with strangers. At the end of ten minutes the two girls were hurrying back, each armed with a large parcel. These were handed at once to scouts when they reached the Grange, and their costumes were removed in the barn, and replaced without delay on their hooks in the kitchen passage by Valentine and Ardiune.

So far so good. The commissariat department had managed to run the blockade of school regulations, and secure provisions for the entertainment. No Tommies looting supplies from the enemy’s trenches could have felt prouder. 100

When the eventful Thursday arrived, great anxiety was felt as to whether the Principal and her assistant were really and actually going out or not. They did not announce their intention, and gave no hint of the matter. Little Nancie Page, however, sent to Miss Gibbs’s room with a message, reported having seen that lady engaged in packing her suit-case, which was taken as proof conclusive of the contemplated expedition.

“We’ll be subdued saints all supper-time!” suggested Raymonde. “Let’s talk intelligently to the monitresses about intellectual subjects—the deeper the better. Make them think we’re going to bed with our minds fixed on Egyptology, and the wonders of the microscope, and the Bagdad railway, and the future of European politics. Be sure you go upstairs very quietly. Anyone who laughs will give the show away.”

The behaviour of the school that evening was a subject of satisfaction to Veronica and her fellow monitresses.

“I was afraid,” remarked the head girl, “that they might take advantage when they saw Miss Beasley’s and Miss Gibbs’s places empty at supper, but they seemed to feel on their honour to be steadier than usual. I really think their tone is improving. Raymonde Armitage was particularly quiet.”

“Yes,” returned Daphne dubiously. “So she was; but if Raymonde has a quiet fit like that on, I generally look out for squalls afterwards.”

When Mademoiselle went the round of the dormitory that night at 9.30, she found absolute peace and tranquillity reigning. Apparently the occupants 101 of the nineteen beds were already wrapt in well-earned repose. One or two were even snoring slightly. Mademoiselle heaved a sigh of relief, and went off thankfully to her own bedroom to write letters. She did not consider it necessary to interrupt herself at this occupation. Miss Gibbs had indeed urged the expediency of a surprise visit at about 10 p.m., but Mademoiselle had no vocation for enforcing discipline, and was not over-burdened with conscientious scruples. Moreover, she considered that, if her Principal took an evening off, she might be licensed to do the same.

The conspirators had decided not to begin the celebrations too early. With heroic self-restraint they remained quietly in bed until 10.30. By that hour monitresses and servants alike would probably be asleep. Mademoiselle, at the far end of the house, on the other side of the big staircase, would hear nothing.

When the charmed moment arrived, everybody sprang up and lighted candles. Raymonde hurried into pink dressing-gown and bedroom slippers, and crept up the passage to the door which led to the monitresses’ rooms. She had inserted her screws earlier in the evening, so with the aid of a pair of pliers, purloined from the wood-carving bench, it did not take her long to fix her wire and secure the door. She came back chuckling.

“If they should hear any slight sounds of revelry, and try to come upon the scenes, they’ll just find themselves jolly well locked in!” she remarked with gusto.

“Perhaps they’ll think Mademoiselle’s done it!” suggested Ardiune. 102

Preparations for the feast were proceeding briskly. Two beds, pulled into the middle of the room, formed the table, and on these the comestibles were spread forth. The village shops had not offered a very wide range of dainties, but there were sardines, and canned peaches, and biscuits, and three Huntley & Palmer’s cakes, rather dry, because they had been kept in a tin box, probably since last Christmas. The drinkable was lemon kali, served in bedroom tumblers, and stirred up with lead-pencils or tooth-brush handles.

Everybody was busy. Morvyth and Valentine were opening the tins with wood-carving implements; Ardiune was performing an abstruse arithmetical calculation as to how to cut up three cakes into nineteen exactly even portions, while Katherine waited with the penknife ready. Even the hitherto irreproachable Maudie Heywood and Cynthia Greene were occupied with scissors, making plates out of sheets of exercise paper. Beds drawn up alongside the impromptu table served for seats, and the girls crowded together as closely as they could. Raymonde and Morvyth, by virtue of their expedition to the shops, were voted mistresses of the ceremonies, and dispensed the provisions. Sardines on biscuits were the first course, followed by canned peaches, the juiciness of which was a decided difficulty, as there was not a solitary spoon with which to fish them up from the tin.

“Never mind, I’ll spear them with a lead-pencil and stick them on biscuits, and you must drink the syrup in the glasses. I dare say it’ll mix all right with lemon kali,” purred Raymonde, thoroughly in her element as hostess. 103

The fun waxed furious, and it only increased when the sardine tin upset in the middle of one of the temporary tables.

“But it’s my bed!” wailed Cynthia Greene.

“Cheer up! Someone’s got to make a sacrifice for the good of the assembly, and you see the lot’s fallen on you,” said Raymonde consolingly. “You ought to be proud to have your bed chosen!”

“I’d just as soon it had been yours!” grumbled Cynthia. “I shan’t like sleeping in a puddle of oil!”

“If you grouse any more, I’ll empty the can of peaches on your pillow, so shut up!” commanded the mistress of the ceremonies. “A beano’s a beano, and we’re going to enjoy ourselves.”

“If we make too much noise, though––” suggested Maudie Heywood.

Ardiune snapped her up promptly.

“We’ll make what noise we like! What does it matter? The monitresses are locked out, and Mademoiselle will never hear. We’ve got the place to ourselves to-night, thank goodness! Just for once, Mother Soup’s room down there is vacant!”

“Empty is the cradle, baby’s gone!” mocked Morvyth.

“’Xpect she’s having the time of her life at the dinner-party.”

“Well, we’ll have ours!”

A quarter of an hour later the dormitory presented a convivial scene. An orchestra of five, seated on a hastily cleared dressing-table, were performing music with combs, while the rest of the 104 company waltzed between the beds, with intervals of the fox-trot. Maudie Heywood and Cynthia Greene had accepted the inevitable, and joined the multitude. Apparently they were enjoying themselves. Maudie’s cheeks were scarlet, and Cynthia’s long fair hair floated out picturesquely as she twirled round in Elsie Moseley’s arms.

“We’re certainly making the most of our bubbling girlhood!” murmured Raymonde with satisfaction. “The Bumble couldn’t call us little premature women to-night!”

The dark anti-zepp curtains swayed in the night breeze, and the candles flared and guttered, the musicians tootled at their tissue-paper covered combs with tingling lips, faster and faster whirled the dancers, the fun was at its zenith, when quite suddenly the unexpected happened. The door of Miss Gibbs’s room opened, and that grim lady herself stood on the threshold.

If a spectre had made its appearance in their midst, the girls could not have been more disconcerted. A horrible hush spread over the room, and for a moment everybody stared in frozen horror. The musicians slipped down from the dressing-table and scuttled towards their own beds.

“H’m! So this is how you are to be trusted!” remarked Miss Gibbs tartly, advancing towards the scene of the beano, and hastily casting an eye over the empty tins and crumby remains of the repast. “Move this rubbish away, and push those beds back to their places. Now get into bed, every one of you! Not a single sound more is to be heard to-night. We’ll settle up this matter to-morrow.” 105

Having seen each occupant of the dormitory ensconced between her sheets (Cynthia did not dare to complain that hers were sardiny!) Miss Gibbs went back to her own room, leaving the door wide open. With an enraged dragon in such close vicinity the girls did not venture to stir, and silence reigned for the rest of the night. At the first coming of the dawn, however, Raymonde rose with infinite precaution, and stole barefoot along the passage to remove her wire and screws from the oak door. She accomplished that task without discovery, and, after hiding the screw-driver behind a wardrobe, crept back to bed.

Nineteen subdued penitents, clothed in mental sackcloth and ashes, went down to breakfast next morning. Their fears were not without foundation, for when Miss Beasley returned at ten o’clock they were summoned to the most unpleasant interview they ever remembered, from which the more soft-hearted of them emerged sobbing. They spent Saturday afternoon in the schoolroom writing punishment tasks, while the monitresses went boating on the river. It was trying to see Daphne and Hermie coming downstairs in their nice white dresses and blue ties, and to know that they themselves were debarred the excursion. They hung about the hall sulkily.

“It’s your own faults,” moralized Veronica. “After that disgraceful business on Thursday, you couldn’t expect anything else. We heard you plainly enough, and we were utterly disgusted. I’d like to know who locked that passage door. I have my suspicions,” with an eye on Raymonde.

The babyish innocence of Raymonde’s face at 106 that moment might have served an artist as a model for a child angel.

“Have you? It’s a pity to harbour suspicion!” she returned sweetly. “We ought to learn to trust our schoolfellows! I loathe Veronica,” she added in a whisper to Ardiune, as the monitress tripped cheerily to the door.