CHAPTER III
A Penniless Princess
Miss Todd, sitting at her desk in her study, with a row of the verylatest publications on the most modern theories of education in abookcase so near that she could stretch out her hand for any particularone she wanted, rapidly reviewed some of her new experiments. First andforemost came the plan of sandwiching seniors and juniors together intheir bedrooms. She hoped the influence of the elder girls would worklike leaven in the school, and that putting them with younger ones wouldgive them the chance of developing and exercising their motherlyinstincts. She tapped her book with her pencil as she mentally ran overthe list of her seniors, and considered how--to the outside view of ahead mistress--each seemed to be progressing.
"It's difficult to foster just the spirit one wants in them--it dependsso largely on the girl," she decided.
And there she was right--the girl made all the difference. HilaryChapman had listened to her remarks on "the mother instinct", and hadwalked straight into her dormitory, tow-rowed her young room-mates fortheir untidiness, snapped at their excuses, and sent them downstairswith a snubbing, returning to the bosom of the seniors ruffled, but witha strong sense of having performed her obvious duty. Betty Blane, EricaPeters, and Peggy Collins, comparing injured notes, viewed the matterfrom a different angle.
"Calls herself a mother, does she? Jolly more like a step-mother, Ishould say," objected Erica.
"Pretty grizzly to be boxed up with Hilary for a whole term," lamentedBetty.
"I'm _not going_ to be 'mothered' by her," proclaimed Peggy with energy."She's only two years older than I am, and yet from the airs she givesherself you'd think she was Methuselah."
"You don't _look_ like her daughter," remarked Betty, who wasliteral-minded to a fault.
Peggy made an eloquent grimace.
"I'm an undutiful one, at any rate," she laughed. "I'm afraid Hilarywill find me somewhat of a handful."
Up in the little ivy room, however, matters were going somewhat better.Diana and Loveday, after a few minor differences, dovetailed both theirpossessions and their dispositions so as to admit of the least possiblefriction. It was fortunate for Diana, for she had a side to hercharacter that would have bristled into porcupine quills had she beenplaced with Hilary. Loveday's particular temperament soothed her down.
"I'm falling in love with her," she admitted to Wendy. "I was takenwith her, of course, the moment I saw her, but I believe now I'm goingto have it badly. I think she's beautiful! If there were a PeachCompetition, she'd win at a canter."
Such a pandering to the "pomps and vanities" as a Beauty Show wascertainly not an item in the list of new experiments at Pendlemere, butthere was a general consensus of opinion that Loveday held the palm inthe matter of looks. She was a fair, slender girl, with delicatefeatures, a clear complexion, and a quantity of long flaxen hair. Shespoke prettily, but without affectation, and always gave an impressionof great refinement. The wistful look that sometimes shaded her blueeyes was, on the whole, attractive.
"She's like a picture I once saw of Eve just turned out of Paradise,"commented Diana, sitting with Wendy and Tattie in the window-seat on thestairs.
"Not half a bad shot," said Wendy. "In fact, it just about hits themark. In a way, Loveday _is_ turned out of Paradise. That's to say, Isuppose, if her grandfather hadn't gambled, the Abbey would havebelonged to her."
"What Abbey?"
"Why, this, of course, stupid!"
"Do you mean to say Loveday's folks used to _own_ this place?"
"They did. Owned it for hundreds of years. They were an old Borderfamily, and mixed up with the rebellion of 1745, and all sorts ofinteresting things. Loveday's grandfather was the regular old-fashionedsporting kind of squire you read about in books. He gambled the wholeproperty away. I suppose it used to be a fine place in his day. I'veheard he kept eight hunters, and always had the house full of guestswhile his money lasted. Then there was a grand smash up, and everythinghad to be sold--house, horses, furniture, and all. He went abroad anddied of a broken heart--never smiled again, and all that sort of thing,you know."
"How fearfully romantic!" gasped Diana. "Of course it was his own faultfor gambling, but still one feels sorry for him. Did Loveday live heretoo when she was little?"
Wendy shook her head.
"I shouldn't think so. I believe it happened ever such a long time ago;before she was born, even."
"Couldn't her father get it back?"
"I suppose not. Besides, he's dead too. Loveday is an orphan. She'sneither father nor mother."
"Where does she live, then, when she's at home?"
"With an uncle and aunt--her mother's relations. But she never talksvery much about them, so we fancy they're not particularly nice to her.She has no brothers or sisters. I think she feels lonely, if you ask myopinion, but she's too proud to say so."
"And Pendlemere ought to be hers! How romantic!" repeated Diana. "Iwanted to stay in a real old-fashioned mediaeval British house, and hereI'm plumped into a story as well. It's most exciting! What's going tohappen next? Is Loveday going to get it back? Will she marry the man whoowns it? Or will somebody leave her a fortune? Or will she find a lostwill? How do stories generally end?" continued Diana, casting her mindover a range of light literature which she had skimmed and halfforgotten.
Wendy disposed of each of the suggestions in turn.
"There isn't anybody to leave her a fortune; and what's the good offinding a will when the place is sold? The present owner is a fat oldfellow of fifty, with a wife already, and, even if _she_ died, Ishouldn't think Loveday would want to marry him. He has three daughtersolder than she is, and he's quite bald."
Diana looked baffled. Her romantic plan of restoring the fortunes of theSeton family through matrimony certainly did not seem hopeful.
"I'm fearfully sorry for Loveday," confided Tattie. "I know somethingabout her, because some friends of ours live near her aunt. They say shegets very much snubbed; her cousins make her feel it's not her own home.She wants to go to college, but it's doubtful if she'll be able. NestaErskine says Loveday is just _counting_ on a career. She wants to beindependent of her aunt."
"It must be horrible to be snubbed," commented Diana thoughtfully.
She had admired Loveday before, but now she looked at her room-mate withnew eyes. To Diana there was something fascinating about the idea of a"penniless princess".
"Do your ancestors go right slap-bang back to the Conquest?" she askedinterestedly, while she was undressing that evening.
"Well, not quite so far as that," smiled Loveday, diligently brushing aflaxen mane ripply with plaiting. "But I believe there were Setons inthe fourteenth century, long before they had the Abbey from Edward theSixth's commissioners. There are all sorts of stories and legends aboutthem, of course."
"What kind of stories? Do tell me! I'd just admire to hear. I'm crazy onBorder ballads and legends. Tell me, while I fix my hair."
"Well, there was little Sir Rowland. When he was only six years old hisfather was killed in one of the battles of the Wars of the Roses. Theywere Lancastrians, and the Yorkists seized his estate, and Rowland wasonly saved from the fury of the conquering party by the devotion of hisnurse. She managed to hide him in a secret place in the tower till therewas an opportunity to escape, and then she got him away to her father'shouse in the midst of a wild tract of forest. He lived there, disguisedas a forester, for years and years, and helped to cut wood and to hunt,and only two or three people knew the secret of his birth. He used to goerrands sometimes to the great Hall of the neighbourhood, and there hesaw Lady Anne, the beautiful daughter of Lord Wharton, and felldesperately in love with her. One day when she was out riding he wasable to save her from the attack of an infuriated stag, and I supposeshe was very grateful, and perhaps showed her feelings too plainly, forher father shut her up in a turret-room, and ordered her to marrysomebody whom she didn't like at all. I don't know what would havehappened, but just then Henry VII came to the throne, and
one of hisfirst acts was to restore Sir Rowland Seton to his possessions anddignity. Lord Wharton must have thought him an eligible suitor then, forhe was allowed to marry the Lady Anne, and take her away to his castle.Their tomb is in Dittington Church. He was killed at the Battle ofFlodden, and one of his sons with him.
"There's a romantic story, too, about Sir Roderick Seton, who lived atthe Abbey here in the days of Charles I. He had a stone seat made, andput just by the front door. The first person who sat on it was a lovelygirl named Katherine, and he said to her: 'Katherine, you have sat on myseat, so you must give me three kisses as toll'. Not very long after hewent away to London, leaving his brother William to look after theestate. Then civil war broke out, and he joined the Royalist forces, andfollowed the young King Charles into exile. After the Restoration hejourneyed north, and came on foot to his old home. It was years andyears since he had left there, and nobody had had any tidings about him,or knew whether he was alive or dead. He found his brother William, whowas now married to Katherine, sitting with her and their two children onthe stone seat by the door. He asked them for a night's lodging, and,though they did not know who he was, they took him in and treated himkindly. Next morning he asked his hostess to accompany him to the door,and, pointing to the stone seat, said:
"'It is many years since I had three kisses from the dame who first saton it.'
"She recognized him then, and ran joyously to call the rest of thehousehold. His brother at once wished to hand over the keys to him, buthe would not accept them. 'I am old and childless,' he said. 'All I askhere is bed and board till you carry me to the churchyard.' He livedwith them for some years, and devoted himself to study. The people ofthe neighbourhood venerated him as a sage, and after his death he wassupposed on very special occasions to appear and give the family warningof future trouble. They say he was seen before the Battle of Culloden,and several times during the Napoleonic wars; but of course I can'tvouch for that--it's only legend."
Diana, sitting up in bed with the curtains of her cubicle drawn aside tolisten, gave a long-drawn, breathless sigh.
"O-o-o-oh! How gorgeous to belong to a highfaluting family that's gotlegends and ghosts. I'm just crazy to hear more. What about the house?Aren't there any dungeons or built-up skeletons or secret hiding-places?There _ought_ to be, in a real first-class mediaeval place like this."
Loveday was plaiting her flaxen hair into two long braids; she pausedwith the ribbon in her hand.
"I don't know--as you say, there ought to be. I've oftenwondered--especially since----" She hesitated.
"Since what?" urged Diana, scenting the beginning of a mystery.
"Since something that happened once."
"When? Oh, _do_ tell me!"
"I've never told anybody."
Diana hopped out of bed, and flung two lace-frilled arms round herroom-mate, clinging to her with the tenacity of a young octopus.
"Oh, Loveday! Ducky! Tell me! I shan't let you go till you promise.Please! please!" she entreated.
"If you strangle me I can't tell anything. Get back into bed, Diana! Idon't know whether it was really important, but it may have been. Ithappened when I was quite a little girl. I had a slight attack ofmeasles, and of course I was kept in bed. Mother was nursing me, and oneafternoon she went out to do some shopping and left me to have a nap. Iwasn't sleepy in the least, and it was horribly dull staying there allby myself. I remembered a book I wanted to read which was in thedining-room bookcase, so I did a most dreadfully naughty thing: I jumpedup, put on my dressing-gown and bedroom slippers, and ran downstairs tofetch _At the Back of the North Wind_. I opened the dining-room door andmarched in, and then I got a surprise, for seated in a chair by the firewas a stranger. He looked as much surprised as I was.
"'Hallo!' he said. 'We go to bed early in this part of the world, don'twe? Or are we only getting up?'
"I walked to the fire and warmed my hands, and looked at him calmly. Iwas a funny child in those days.
"'It's neither,' I answered. 'I've got measles.'
"'Then please don't give them to me,' he laughed. 'I assure you I don'twant them. Look here! I called to see your father, or, failing yourfather, your mother. They're both out, and I've been waiting half anhour for either of them to come in. I can't stay any longer. Will yougive them a message from me? Say I've been over at Pendlemere Abbey, andthat I've made a most interesting discovery there. If they care tocommunicate with me, I'll tell them about it. Here's my card with myaddress. Now I must bolt to keep an appointment. You'll remember themessage?'
"O-O-O-OH! HOW GORGEOUS TO BELONG TO A HIGH-FALUTINGFAMILY THAT'S GOT LEGENDS AND GHOSTS!"]
"He flung his card on the table, went out of the room, and I heard thehall door bang after him. I stood for a moment thinking. If I gave thismessage, Mother would know that I had been out of bed and downstairs,and I should be sure to get a tremendous scolding. I was a naughtylittle girl in those days; I took the card, flung it on the fire, seized_At the Back of the North Wind_ from the bookcase, and tore upstairsagain. Of course I caught cold, and had rather a serious relapse whichpuzzled everybody. No one except myself knew the reason, and I took goodcare not to tell. Only six months afterwards I lost both my father andmother, and went to live with my aunt at Liverpool. What became of thestranger I don't know. I didn't even remember his name."
"You weren't living at the Abbey then?"
"No, no! We never lived at the Abbey. It was sold before I was born. Ibelieve at that time it was empty, and a caretaker used to allowtourists to look through it. I suppose that gentleman was a tourist."
"What had he found?"
"That's a question I've asked myself a hundred times. Was it a slidingpanel or a secret door? Or was he simply some antiquarian crank whowanted to prove that the Abbey was of Norman origin, or built on a Romanfoundation? How I wish I hadn't forgotten his name! When I heard thatPendlemere had been turned into a school I begged my aunt to send mehere. For a long time she wouldn't, and I went to a day-school. Then twoyears ago she and uncle decided to send me to a boarding-school, soagain I asked to come here, and after a great deal of urging they letme. I hoped I might find out something. I'm always hunting about, butI've never yet made the 'interesting discovery'."
"Where have you looked?" asked Diana, immensely thrilled.
"Oh, everywhere! I've tapped panels, and pushed bits of carving to seeif they'd move, but they're all absolutely firm and solid. I've had noluck."
"I'll go exploring on my own."
"Well, if you do, don't tell the other girls. I hate to pose as a sortof turned-out heiress, and have them pitying me. If they knew I washunting for hiding-places, I believe some of them would rag medreadfully. I should never hear the last of it. They'd always bepretending they'd found something, just to tease me."
"And yet you ought to have been the heiress," mused Diana.
"It's no use talking about being an heiress when the place was soldbefore I was born," returned Loveday rather bitterly. "I've told youthis, but I trust you not to go blabbing it all over the school. Ifyou're ready, I'll blow out the candle. Miss Hampson will be round in aminute."
A harum-scarum schoolgirl Page 3
