Chapter 19 The Girls of St. Wode's by L. T. Meade
THE MAN BY THE RUIN
Leslie reached her own door; she eagerly turned the handle. The door was locked. She called Annie’s name; there was no answer of any sort. She then knelt down and endeavored to peer through the keyhole. The room was in darkness. Had Annie gone to bed and really forgotten her? For a moment Leslie felt quite alarmed. Her own special friends had already retired to their rooms. She could not well stay in the corridor all night; but she was not really thinking of herself nor her own inconvenience. She was terribly anxious about Annie. Suppose she had gone out! Suppose she was not in her room at all! Again Leslie rattled the handle of the door. There was no reply. At that moment the door of the room next to the one at which she was knocking was opened, and Susan Merriman looked out.
“Oh, is that you, Miss Gilroy?” she exclaimed. “Can I do anything for you?”
“No, thank you,” replied Leslie; “this door is locked, and I am afraid Miss Colchester has gone to bed and forgotten all about me. If so, I will ask Jane Heriot to take me in until the morning.”
“I am sure Annie Colchester has not gone to bed,” replied Susan. “I saw you leave your room on the way to East Hall this evening, and a moment afterwards she came out and ran down the back-stairs. I thought, of course, she had gone across to the hall. Was she not there?”
“No,” replied Leslie; “she did not come to the meeting; did you not observe when the roll was gone through that her name was missing?”
“I did not notice it,” answered Susan; “but what a scrape she will get into! How silly of her!”
“Well, please don’t tell anyone that I found the door locked when I returned,” said Leslie.
“Certainly not. Why should I? Can I do anything for you? Would you like to wait in my room until she comes back?”
“No, thank you. I must go and look for her; I am a little anxious about her.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t fret if I were you,” said Susan. “I shall be up for the next hour, and if you wish to take refuge in my room you are heartily welcome.”
Leslie thanked her and ran down the corridor. Trusting that no one would see her, she went downstairs. The house was already locked up, and the lower part in darkness, but she knew a side-door by which she could get out. She went to it, found it still on the latch, opened it, and the next moment found herself in the quadrangle. She stood there, with the soft night-breeze blowing upon her hot face; her heart was beating quickly: she felt full of the strangest apprehension. Where was she to go? What was she to do? Without doubt, Annie was in serious trouble. If Miss Merriman’s account was true, she must have been out for hours. She would be sure presently to return to this side-door. Leslie thought she would wait there in order to meet her. She paced up and down, her restlessness and the queer dread which assailed her increasing each moment. When the great clock over East Hall sounded the hour of eleven, she felt that she could not stay inactive any longer. If Annie did not soon return, the little side-door would be locked, and it would then be impossible to get back to the college for the night. Should she go and confide her fears to Miss Frere? When this thought came to her she put it away at once. No; whatever happened, it would never do to tell about Annie. Annie had got into a scrape already in not attending the meeting at East Hall; she would get into a worse scrape, in all probability be rusticated, if this latter offense were known.
Scarcely realizing what she was doing, Leslie now walked down a side-path which led to the river. Presently she stood on the little quay just outside the boat-house. Here she herself was in complete shadow, but the moon riding high in the heavens made a silver band of light across the river. In the middle of this light, seated in a boat, was a girl; a man was with her; he was bending forward and talking in an eager voice. Presently the words uttered by the girl reached Leslie’s ears.
“Is it not possible for you to do with less than sixty pounds?”
“No, not a penny less,” came the quick reply. “I shall be ruined if I don’t get it.”
“But won’t you consider me at all? I am working hard, terribly hard. If I pass with honors in my June exam., I shall get a good situation and – ”
“What do I care about your passing your exam., or not, Annie? Don’t you know that all that kind of thing is humbug,” said the man’s voice. “I have no intention of your killing yourself for me. I want sixty pounds; if I don’t get that sum I shall be ruined. Can’t you understand what I mean?”
“Yes, yes; and I’ll do my best for you,” was the reply. “You must leave me now, Rupert. As it is, I shall in all probability be locked out of the college.”
“You are always thinking of yourself and your own miserable safety,” replied the man.
He took up a pair of light sculls, and rowed swiftly in the direction of the boat-house.
Leslie, who had heard each word of this conversation, shrank up against the house; she was in complete shadow, and trusted no one would see her. The boat touched the boards of the little quay, and Annie sprang lightly on shore.
“You must help me put the boat back into the house,” she said.
The man did so without uttering a word. The key was then turned in the lock, and Annie slipped it into her pocket. She stood at the edge of the quay, the man standing near her.
“Good-by,” she said, raising her face to his.
“Good-by, old girl. You mean the best, but it is all humbug about your getting that scholarship, and my – ” He broke off suddenly.
“Annie,” he continued, “I could not do it; you may as well know now for certain that I have made up my mind to cut the old life. With that sixty pounds, or without, I leave England in a day or two. You will be better off without me than with me, but you know what it means if I go without the money.”
“What?” said Annie in a low, terrified voice.
“That I am followed and arrested. Think of that! Think what the disgrace will mean to you!”
“Oh, Rupert, Rupert, it would kill me!” moaned the poor girl.
“Well, then, get me the sixty pounds, and you have nothing to fear.”
“I will do my best; but this terrible, awful blow has nearly killed me.”
“Humbug. I say – humbug! Girls don’t die as quickly as all that. Listen, I must have that sixty pounds by hook or by crook; you must get it for me. This is Tuesday evening. I will be here about ten o’clock on Thursday; if you don’t have the money then, well, you know what will happen.”
“Good-by, Rupert, good-by. I will do my best, my very best.”
The man walked away, and Annie, standing for a moment where he had left her, with her hands hanging helplessly to her sides, turned slowly in the direction of the college.
Leslie waited behind until her companion was well out of sight, then she followed her; the side-door was not yet latched, and Annie let herself in. In trembling and sick fear Leslie followed, dreading each moment to hear the key turned in the lock, and yet anxious to give Annie time to escape to her room before she entered the house.
In a moment or two she approached the little door, found that it was still on the latch, entered, and uttered a long sigh of relief. When she reached her room the door was unlocked, the electric light was on, and Annie was standing near her window. Leslie came in and softly shut the door behind her. Annie turned and looked at her.
“What a long time you have been,” she said.
Leslie made no reply. She seated herself on the edge of her bed, her head ached, she felt a new sense of fear. Should she tell Annie that she had listened to her, that she had overheard her conversation, that she knew a part at least of the terrible secret which was weighing her down?
Before she could make up her mind whether to speak or not, Annie herself came forward, drew a chair opposite to Leslie, and sat down.
“What did they say about my being absent at the meeting to-night?” she began.
“Miss Lauderdale was very much displeased,” replied Leslie in a monotonous sort of voice, “and so was Miss Frere. Miss Frere intends to speak to you in the morning. I did what I could for you. I said you were ill, and – ”
“Humbug!” interrupted Annie. “I wasn’t ill.” Then she laughed in a queer, strained way. “After all, that may be as good an excuse as anything else; but I don’t mind your knowing that I wasn’t really ill. I was obliged to go out. Leslie, I am in a great, a terrible strait, and it has occurred to me that perhaps you can help me.”
“In what way?” asked Leslie.
“Leslie Gilroy, let me ask you a question. Did you ever want money so badly, so dreadfully badly, that you would even commit a crime to get it?”
“Never,” answered Leslie.
“Then you are one of the rich and lucky ones: I am one of the poor and unlucky. What a wide, wide gulf lies between us!”
“You are quite mistaken when you say that I am one of the rich ones,” said Leslie; “we are none of us rich. On the contrary, we are poor. My mother has to work very hard to support us; and I should not be here at this moment were it not for the great kindness of a friend of my dear father’s, a Mr. Parker.”
“Parker?” said Annie, starting; “did you say Parker?” She roused herself and looked attentively at Leslie.
“I did,” replied Leslie. “Mr. Parker – he was my father’s great friend. Do you happen to know anyone of the name?”
“My brother has been in the office of a man of that name, and I happen to know him slightly myself. He is a very rich city merchant. I wonder if it could possibly be the same.”
“Very likely,” answered Leslie. “Our friend’s name is Charles Parker, and he lived for a great many years in Sydney.”
“The same; it must be the same,” said Annie. She clasped her hands and looked excited. “And you know this Mr. Charles Parker well?” she said, turning to Leslie. “He is good to you?”
“I do not know him well,” replied Leslie; “but he is very good to me – more than good. The fact is, it is he who has sent me here. He is paying all my fees. He was a great friend of my dear father’s, and mother could not help accepting his generous offer. You see by that fact, Annie, that I am not a rich girl, and that I know about poverty. Now, what is troubling you? Do tell me.”
“I cannot,” replied Annie abruptly. “I have changed my mind. It is much better for you not to know.”
She moved away, looking sulky and wretched.
“Don’t you want to go to bed?” she said presently.
“Yes, I am tired,” answered Leslie; “but I don’t mind how long I wait up if I can really help you.”
“You cannot help me. I have quite changed my mind. It is better for you to know nothing whatever about me.”
Annie moved to the other end of the room and began to take off her things. She tossed her hat on the nearest chair; her jacket had already tumbled on to the floor, but she had not observed it. She then began to unfasten her dress, and, taking down her untidy red hair, twisted it up into a knot at the back of her head.
“I wonder if it is quite certain,” she said presently, “if the Mr. Charles Parker you know is the one in whose office my brother has been?”
“It is impossible for me to tell you that,” replied Leslie. “I only know that our friend’s name is Charles Parker, that he made his fortune in Sydney, and that he is now in the city.”
Annie heaved a great sigh of mingled relief and perplexity.
“It must be the same,” she said. “Leslie, you are a very good girl, and I am sorry I was rude to you to-day.”
“It does not matter about that in the least,” replied Leslie. “I wish you would think more of how you are to get out of your scrape. Miss Lauderdale was considerably annoyed at your not attending the meeting. Are you prepared to apologize to-morrow?”
“Of course I am. Oh, by the way, what did you say about me?”
“The truth. I said you were ill.”
“If they ask you again, you will tell them again that I was really ill?”
“Of course I shall; you were very ill. You were not putting it on, were you, Annie?”
“Of course not,” answered Annie. “Now, do go to bed, and don’t ask any more questions. I was ill, and I am ill still, but my illness is not of the body. All the same, I have got such a headache that I can scarcely stand up.”
“Well, I am glad you are not going to do any more work to-night.”
“Work!” said Annie. “The mere thought makes me feel sick. Good-night, Leslie. Don’t let us talk any more until the morning.”
Annie lay down on her bed, taking the clothes and wrapping them tightly round her.
“Don’t speak to me again,” she muttered; and Leslie, kneeling by her little bed, tried to pray. But all her thoughts were in a whirl. She hated herself for not telling Annie that she had overheard her conversation. Finally, she made up her mind to do so in the morning.
Being dead tired, she soon dropped asleep; but she was awakened just when the dawn was breaking by a noise in the room. She opened her eyes. To her astonishment, she saw that Annie Colchester was up; that she was standing by her desk turning over her (Leslie’s) papers just as if she were looking for something.
“What is it, Annie?” called Leslie, raising herself on her elbow, and staring in astonishment at her room-fellow.
Annie started and flushed guiltily.
“I was looking for a paper of mine,” she said, “which I thought might have got amongst yours. I cannot think where I put it; but I see it is not here, and I must only do it over again. It is too bad.”
She sighed heavily as she spoke, dragged herself across the room, and once more got into bed.
Leslie lay down without making any remark.
“Another time I will lock my desk,” she thought. “I hate to have my papers and letters looked over. Somehow, I don’t believe what she said about her own paper having got mixed up with mine. She knows that if she is untidy I am absolutely the reverse.”
Soon afterwards she fell asleep again, and when she did awake saw to her astonishment that the sun was pouring into the room, and that Annie Colchester was already up and neatly dressed; her hair was put up tidily, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes wore a bright and yet curious expression.
“How early you are!” said Leslie. “You don’t look well,” she continued, “and yet in some ways I have never seen you look better.”
“I have a headache, but that does not matter in the least,” replied Annie. “I am off now to see Miss Lauderdale, and to apologize for my rudeness in not coming to the meeting last night. I shall tell her that I had such a terrible headache I could not hold my head up; but be sure, Leslie, you don’t mention that I was out part of the time.”
“I shall not volunteer the information,” answered Leslie; “but if I am asked, of course I must mention it. I don’t suppose I shall be.”
“If you are asked!” said Annie, frowning. “You don’t mean to say that you will betray me?”
“I am not likely to be asked,” said Annie. “I said last night that you were very ill. Will you never understand, Annie, that I really wish to help you?”
“You can help me by holding your tongue,” said Annie. She went up to Leslie, half-bent forward as if she meant to kiss her, then changed her mind, and a moment afterwards left the room.
“What can be up?” said Leslie to herself. “How is she going to get that money? Poor girl, I wish she would confide in me; not that I know any way of really helping her. But stay – I wonder if Mr. Parker – No, no, I could not – I could not ask him.”
Leslie dressed hastily, put her part of the room in order, opened her window wide, and then ran down to breakfast.
There were a couple of letters on her plate. These occupied her attention during the meal, and she scarcely spoke to anyone. Immediately after prayers she had to attend a lecture in Wingfield. As she was returning to the college she was met by Marjorie and Eileen, who stopped her, to speak eagerly about Miss Lauderdale’s scheme of the night before.
“It is exactly what we want,” said Eileen; “for the first time we both feel really in touch with St. Wode’s. You, Leslie, will be sure to take part in this noble work?”
“If I have time I certainly will,” replied Leslie; “but I have come here to study. I am working hard for a very definite object, and nothing must stand in the way of my work.”
“By the way, you are going to see Belle Acheson this afternoon?”
“Yes; I promised to do so,” replied Leslie.
“I am heartily glad you like her,” said Eileen; “she is a dear old thing. I cannot bear the way Lettie goes on about her. Lettie is my own cousin; but she disappoints me terribly in her attitude towards Belle. But I can prophesy that you and Belle Acheson will be firm friends.”
“I respect all people who are really earnest,” said Leslie in a grave voice.
“By the way, do you know why Annie Colchester has gone up to town?” said Eileen suddenly.
“Annie Colchester gone to London?” said Leslie, starting and turning slightly pale.
“Yes: didn’t you know? We met her two hours ago on her way to the station. She will return by the last train this evening. She told us that Miss Lauderdale had given her leave. Miss Lauderdale was very good to her, and she has gone off in the highest spirits. She asked if we had any messages.”
Leslie said nothing more; but she slowly entered North Hall, went up to her own room, and sat down by the open window. Some of the fear of the night before visited her. What was Annie’s motive in going up to town? Was she really only looking for one of her own papers in Leslie’s desk in the middle of the night? A queer sense of coming danger and calamity oppressed her. Her head ached, and she scarcely knew her own sensations.