Chapter 11 The Rebel of the School by L. T. Meade
THE BLOUSE AND THE ROBBERY
Susy Hopkins shared none of Ruth Craven's scruples. To her the Wild Irish Girls' Society was all that was lovely. She trod on air as she went down the street, and when she finally let herself into her mother's little shop, locked the door after her, and went softly upstairs, her heart was beating so loud that she hardly knew herself. She slept in a tiny room just at the back of her mother's; it was sparsely furnished, and had a sloping roof at one side. The chest of drawers also did duty as a dressing-table, and there was a small square of looking-glass placed on the top. Susy had secured a candle in a tin candlestick, with which she had lighted herself to her bedroom, but when she got there she had no intention of putting up with such feeble illumination. She first of all drew the bolt to secure herself against intrusion, and then stepping on tiptoe, she unlocked a drawer and took from it several ends of candle which she had collected from time to time. These she stuck on the dressing-table, and when she had made her little garret almost as bright as day she unfolded her pale-blue blouse. She bent low over her treasure, examining the blue embroidery, which was rendered still more fascinating with small stitches of pink silk, looking with ecstacy at the real lace round the neck and cuffs and finally pressing the delicate color against her blooming cheek.
Susy Hopkins was quite an ordinary-looking little girl. Her nose was decidedly snub, her mouth wide; but her eyes were dark and bright, and she had fairly good eyebrows. She had a low forehead, rather nice curly hair, and a high color in her cheeks.
"In this blouse I shall look a positive beauty," she thought. "Won't Tom respect me when he sees me in it on Sunday? I must try it on now; I really must."
Accordingly she slipped off her bodice, and substituted the pale-blue cashmere blouse for the ugly and threadbare garment she had removed. Whether the blouse was becoming to Susy Hopkins or not remains to be proved, but it certainly delighted its wearer, causing her eyes to sparkle and the color in her cheeks to grow brighter.
"It is the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life," she thought. "Why, Kathleen is like a fairy godmother. And how well it fits! And what a perfect cut about the neck! And, oh! these darling little cuffs at the end of the sleeves, and this sweet pink embroidery and this little ruffle of lace round the neck. Oh! there never, never was anything made so beautifully before. I am in luck; I am—I am."
Her mother's hand knocking on the wall brought her down from the clouds.
"Go to bed, dear," called out her parent. "It is very late, and you are disturbing me."
"Yes, mother," called back Susy.
She removed the blouse, folded it in tissue-paper, put it into her drawer, blew out the candles, and got into bed. But all through the remainder of the night Susy dreamt of her blouse. The blouse filled her thoughts, otherwise she might have been in raptures over her pretty silver locket and its green ribbon. But as this was for private wear, and must on no account be shown to any one who was not a member of the society, it did not give her the amount of rapture it would otherwise have done.
"It is lovely too. It is a badge, and means a great deal," she said to herself, and she closed her hand over it as she lay in bed. "It is tiresome that I cannot show it. It is a sweet little locket, and I might save up money enough to have it gilded over. People would think I had a gold locket. I have always nearly died to have one; but of course I couldn't do that, for it would displease our queen, the darling, and I wouldn't for all I am worth do anything to annoy her. Oh dear, things are turning out lovely! I am twice as happy a girl as I was before Kathleen O'Hara came to the school."
At school next day the members of the new society looked a little conscious. Their eyes often met, and those eyes spoke volumes. Sometimes a girl would put her hand up to her neck in a somewhat significant way, and another girl would respond with a similar signal. There was a sort of suppressed excitement in the school; but the teachers remarked nothing. On the contrary, they were pleased with the way lessons were done, exercises gone through, and work accomplished. The girls were so completely in league with each other, so full of delight over the new amusement which Kathleen had started in their midst, that they had no time to be supercilious or disagreeable to the paying girls, who were left in peace. They were usually a good deal tormented by the foundationers, who took their revenge by small spiteful ways—by taking the ink when they did not want it, by removing good pens and putting bad ones in their places, by spilling ink on the blotting paper. In short, they had many ways of rendering the life of a paying girl anything but happy. To-day, however, all was peace and quiet. Kathleen walked in her radiant fashion through her lessons; her beautiful face could not but be an attraction. She was very bright and very smart, and even Alice gave her an approving glance.
"Mother is right," she thought. "She is a little better than she was. If only she would take a real interest in her work I should have hopes of her."
Now Cassandra Weldon had come to the school that day with the intention of asking Ruth Craven to come home with her. She had a suggestion to make to Ruth. She knew that the little girl was very poor and very clever. Cassandra was working very hard for one of the big scholarships, and her mother had gone to the expense of getting a special coach to help her at home. Cassandra had spoken to her mother, and her mother had agreed that Ruth might come back with her each evening and also take advantage of the services of Miss Renshaw. If Ruth got a scholarship she would indeed be a happy girl, and it was Cassandra's, opinion that, although she had been such a short time in the school, she would have a very good chance if she got a little outside help.
Accordingly Cassandra waited for Ruth outside the school when lessons were over. During the morning her eyes had travelled in Ruth's direction pretty often, and her eyes had conveyed to the little girl all sorts of kind and friendly messages. But Ruth had avoided Cassandra's eyes. She had made up her mind.
"I can't be two things," she said to herself. "I have elected to go with the foundationers and with Kathleen O'Hara, although I don't care for the society, and I don't want to belong to the girls who band themselves together against the paying girls. But if I do this I certainly can't take advantage of Cassandra's kindness. I do love her—I am sure I should love her dearly—but I can't have much to say to her now."
Accordingly, while Cassandra waited for Ruth, hoping that she would appear at any moment, and that she could tell her what a good thing she had arranged on her behalf, Ruth avoided Cassandra. Presently Kathleen O'Hara, dressed somewhat extravagantly, and with her blue velvet cap perched upon the back of her golden hair, strolled out of school. She had a crimson sash round her black velvet dress, and a wide lace collar encircled her neck. She was fastening a heavily embroidered coat of blue cashmere when Cassandra accosted her.
"How do you do, Miss O'Hara?" she said.
"How are you?" replied Kathleen, just raising her brows, and then turning to say something to Susy Hopkins.
Cassandra frowned.
"How can Kathleen, who with all her eccentricities is a lady, waste her time talking to an insignificant little girl like Susy?" thought Cassandra.
Kathleen seemed to read her neighbor's thoughts, for she slipped her hand inside Susy's arm.
"I will walk with you a little way," she said; "I have something I want to say."
"One moment first," said Cassandra. "Have you seen Ruth Craven anywhere?"
"Oh yes; Ruth has left the school. Didn't you see her go? There she is, crossing the field. I suppose she is in a hurry to get home."
"Thank you," said Cassandra.
She caught up her books and started running in the direction of Ruth Craven.
"How tiresome of her to have gone so fast!" she said to herself?
Presently she shouted Ruth's name, and Ruth was obliged to stop.
"Why, Ruth," said Cassandra, "what is the matter with you? You generally wait to talk to me after school is over. Why are you in such a hurry?"
"I am not," said Ruth, who was not going to get out of her difficulty by telling an untruth.
"Well, if you are not in a hurry, why are you running across this field at the rate of a hunt? It looks as if you were—" Cassandra paused, and the color came into her cheeks—"as if you were running away from me."
Ruth was silent. Cassandra came close to her and looked into her face.
"What is the matter, Ruth?" she repeated.
"I have promised granny that I would help her with some darning this afternoon."
"Your granny must do without you, for you have got to come back with me."
"Oh, indeed, I can't!"
"But you must, my little girl. I have got the most heavenly plan to suggest to you."
Cassandra laid her hand on Ruth's shoulder. Ruth started away.
"What is it, Ruth? How queer you look! What is the matter?"
"I must get home. I promised granny."
"But listen before you decide. You know Miss Renshaw, don't you?"
"Miss Maria Renshaw, the coach. Yes, I do."
"Don't you remember my pointing her out to you?"
"Of course I remember it, Cassandra; and she looked—oh, lovely!"
"She is far more lovely than she looks—that is, if you mean she is clever and taking and all the rest. She is just perfectly splendid. She makes you see a thing at the first glance. She has a way of putting information into you so that you cannot help knowing. Oh, she is delightful! And mother says that I may have her to coach me for the big scholarship—the sixty-pounds-a-year scholarship. You know there are two of them. There is one quite in your line, and there is one in mine; and there is no earthly reason why you should not get one and I the other."
"Well?" said Ruth.
Her beautiful, fair, delicately chiselled face had turned pale. She stood very upright, and looked full at Cassandra.
"It could be easily done, dear little Ruth. Miss Renshaw would just as soon coach two girls as one, and mother has arranged it. Yes, she has arranged it absolutely. Miss Renshaw will coach you and me together. You are to come home with me every evening. She will give us both an hour. Isn't it too splendid?"
Ruth did not speak.
"Aren't you pleased, Ruth? Don't you think it is very nice of me to think of my friends? You are my friend, you know."
"Oh no," said Ruth.
"But what is it? What is the matter?"
"I—I can't."
"You can. It will be madness to refuse. Think what a chance is offered you. If you get Miss Renshaw's instruction you are safe to get that scholarship; and it is for three years, Ruth. It would send you, with a little help from your grandfather, perhaps to Holloway College, perhaps to Somerville or Newnham, or even Girton. Perhaps you could try for a scholarship in one of these great colleges afterwards. You daren't refuse it. It means—oh, it means all the difference in your whole life."
"I know," said Ruth. "Cassandra, I will write to you. I can't decide just now. I am awfully obliged to you; I can't express what I feel. You are good; you are very, very good."
Ruth caught one of Cassandra's hands and raised it to her lips.
"You are very good," she said again.
Meanwhile Kathleen O'Hara, after walking a very short way with Susy Hopkins, gave her an abrupt good-bye and started running in the direction of the Tennants' house. She did not care a bit for Susy; but being a member of the Wild Irish Girls, and not only a member, but one of the Cabinet, she must on all occasions be kind to her. Nevertheless a commonplace little girl like Susy Hopkins had not one thing in common with Kathleen.
"Everything is going splendidly," she said to herself. "No fear now that I shall not have plenty of excitement in the coming by-and-by. I mean to write to father and ask him whether I may not invite some of the members of the Cabinet to Carrigrohane. Wouldn't they enjoy it? Kate Rourke, of course, must come; and dear little Ruth Craven. How pale and sweet Ruth looked to-day! She is far and away the nicest girl in the school. I am so glad I have taken steps to prevent that horrid friendship with Cassandra coming to anything! Ruth mustn't love anybody in the school very, very much except me. Oh, things are going well, and Alice little guesses what she is driving me to by her extraordinary behavior."
Kathleen entered the house, banging the door loudly after her, as was her fashion.
Another little girl had also reached home, but she did not bang the door. She entered her mother's shop to encounter the flushed and much-perturbed face of her parent.
"Well, Susy," said Mrs. Hopkins, "I wouldn't have thought it of you."
"Why, what is it, mother?"
"There's nineteen-and-sixpence taken out of the till," said Mrs. Hopkins. "Some one must have come into the shop, for the accounts are nineteen-and-sixpence short. When I left the house yesterday there were three pounds in the till—three pounds and fivepence-halfpenny. You sold, according to your own showing, a penn'orth of paper, which makes an extra penny; but when I went into the accounts this morning I found that the whole amount was only two pounds one shilling and a halfpenny. Nineteen-and-sixpence is missing. Susy, what does this mean?"
"I am sure, mother, I can't tell you. No one came into the shop; certainly no one stole the money."
"My dear child, seeing is believing. I assure you there are only two pounds one shilling and a halfpenny in the till. I scarcely took a penny this morning, and that nineteen-and-sixpence makes it impossible for me to pay my rent, as I meant to do, to-day. Who can have come in and stolen very nearly a pound's worth of my hard-earned money?"
"Nobody, mother dear. Do let me examine the till."
"Are you quite positive that no one came into the shop?"
"Nobody, mother."
"You did not leave the shop even for a moment?"
"Yes; I went to sit in the parlor."
"Oh, Susy? there you are! I trust you with my house and property, and you leave the shop without any one in it Did you lock the till?"
Susy had an unpleasant memory of having found the till open when she returned to attend to a customer.
"No" she said, hanging her head.
Mrs. Hopkins uttered a heavy sigh.
"Oh, dear!" she said. "And as you sat in the parlor you could see the shop. You did not leave the parlor, did you?"
For one minute Susy remembered that she had gone upstairs for an exercise-book, but she determined not to tell her mother of this further enormity.
"I was either in the shop or in the parlor all the time. I only went into the parlor because I could not do my exercises in the shop. But I sat where I could see everything."
"You couldn't have done so. This money would not have gone without hands. How am I to manage I don't know. I have lost a large sum for such a poor woman."
Susy pitied her mother, tried to assure her that the fault was not hers, was convinced that the money would be found, and went on talking a lot of nonsense until Mrs. Hopkins fairly lost her temper.
"Examine the drawer for yourself" she said. "I tell, you what it is, Susy, I won't be able to buy you a new winter frock at all this year; and you will have to have your boots patched, for I can't afford a new pair. I was trying to collect a pound towards your winter things, but this puts a stop to everything."
"Mother doesn't know what a lovely blouse I've got," thought Susy. "When she sees me in that she'll be quite cheered up."
The moment she thought of the blouse the little girl felt a frantic desire to run upstairs to look at it.
"Mother," she said, "I don't mind a bit about the winter dress; and if my boots are neatly patched and well blacked every day, I dare say I can do with them a little longer. And I will sit with you this afternoon, mother, and help you to sew. I can't understand who could have stolen the money. Perhaps it is a practical joke of Tom's; you know he is fond of doing things of that sort now and then."
"No, it isn't, for I asked him. Who can have come into the shop? Do you think you fell asleep over your work?"
"Oh, no."
"Then it is a mystery past bearing. If nobody came in, and you never left either the shop or the parlor, that money was taken out of the till as though by magic."
"We will find it, mother; we are sure to find it," said Susy; and the way she said these words aggravated poor Mrs. Hopkins, as she said afterwards, more than a little.