CHAPTER V
A Riding Lesson
The College had reopened on a Tuesday, so that by her first SundayHonor had been at school five days. In her own estimation it seemedmore like five months, but as she had left home on 24th April, and theShakespeare calendar in the recreation room (a leaf of which was tornoff punctually each morning by the monitress) only recorded 29th April,she was obliged reluctantly to acknowledge the evidence of the almanac,and realized that twelve whole weeks must intervene before the joyfultermination of what she considered her banishment from Erin.
Sundays were made very pleasant at Chessington. In the morning thegirls attended the parish church at Dunscar. In the afternoon theymight read, or stroll about the grounds where they pleased, anindulgence not permitted on weekdays. During the summer term they wereallowed to carry their four-o'clock tea into the garden. All was laidready by the servants in the dining-hall, and each girl might pour outher own cup, and, taking what bread and butter she wished, retire witha few select companions to some nook under the trees, or a seat in anivy-covered arbour.
From half-past four to half-past five was "silence hour", whicheveryone was required to devote to reading from a special library ofbooks carefully chosen for the purpose by Miss Cavendish.
"I won't call them Sunday books," she sometimes said, "because Iconsider our religion would be a very poor thing if it were only keptfor one day in the week. What we learn in this quiet time we must applyin our busy hours, and let the helpful words we read influence ourordinary life and go towards the building of character, which is themost invaluable of all possessions."
At half-past six there was a short service in chapel; and the rest ofthe evening, after supper, was given up to the writing of home letters.
All the routine of the school was still new to Honor, and she felt verystrange and unusual as, precisely at ten o'clock, she took her placeamong the lines of Chessingtonians marshalled in the quadranglepreparatory to setting off for church. Miss Cavendish gave the signalto start, and the two hundred girls filed along two and two, alldressed alike in white serge coats and skirts and best sailor hats,with their house colours, the blue ribbons of the School House leadingthe way, followed by the pink of St. Aldwyth's, and the orange, violet,and scarlet of St. Chad's, St. Bride's, and St. Hilary's, respectively.
"I believe it's considered one of the sights of the neighbourhood tosee us parade through the lich-gate," said Lettice Talbot, who happenedto be walking with Honor. "Visitors stand in the churchyard and try tocount us. They make the most absurd remarks sometimes; I suppose theythink we shan't overhear what they say. Really, they seem to look uponus as a kind of show, and I quite expect we shall be put down in thenext edition of the guide-book as one of the attractions of Dunscar. Ofcourse, we take no notice. We walk along with our noses in the air, asif we weren't aware that anyone was even thinking of us; but all thesame we feel giggles inside when we catch a whisper: 'They look likeangels dressed in white!' or, 'What a pile of washing they must make!'"
Honor had been looking forward immensely to this Sunday morning, forshe hoped she might have an opportunity of seeing her brother Dermot,who was at Dr. Winterton's school. Dermot was her favourite among herfive brothers, and the thought that Orley Grange and Chessington stoodonly a mile and a half apart had so far been her one thread of comfort.To catch even a distant glimpse of Dermot would be like a peep at home,and she felt that a moment's talk with him would be sufficient to sendher back to St. Chad's rejoicing.
The students of the College occupied the whole of the left aisle of thechurch, and the right aisle was reserved for Dr. Winterton's pupils. Asa rule, the girls arrived early and took their seats first; and theyalways passed out by a side door, so that they seldom met the boys inthe churchyard. Should they happen to do so, however, it was etiquetteto take no notice of them, even though some might be relations, orintimate friends. Honor was unaware of this rule, which her classmates,not knowing she had a brother at the Grange, had not thought ofmentioning to her.
On this particular Sunday either Miss Cavendish or Dr. Winterton hadslightly miscalculated the time, for the two schools arrived at exactlythe same minute. As there was not room for all to march in togetherthrough the lich-gate, the boys were drawn up like a regiment, andwaited for the College to go by. The girls sailed past with well-bredunconsciousness, their eyes fixed discreetly upon the Prayer Books andhymn-books that they carried--all except poor impulsive, unconventionalHonor, who made a sudden dart out of the line, and snatched rapturouslyat a brown-faced, curly-headed boy, by his coat sleeve.
"Dermot! Dermot! I _am_ glad to see you!" she exclaimed, in a voice thatcould be heard from end to end of the ranks.
"Oh, I say, Honor! Stow it!" murmured the boy in an agonized tone,turning as red as fire, and trying to back away from her.
Naturally Honor's unexpected and unprecedented act caused a greatsensation. Lettice Talbot stopped when deserted by her partner, and thegirls behind her were obliged to halt too. All wondered what hadhappened, and, in spite of their excellent training and gooddiscipline, their curiosity got the better of them, and they cranedtheir necks to look. Miss Farrar saved the situation by hurrying toHonor, seizing her by the shoulder, and forcing her back into herplace; then the long line once more moved forward, and theChessingtonians, slightly ruffled, but trying to carry off the affairin a dignified fashion, marched with admirable coolness into thechurch. If Honor had a little, surreptitious cry behind her PrayerBook, she managed to conceal the fact from the neighbours on eitherside of her in the pew; and if her eyes looked suspiciously red, andthere was a slight tendency to chokiness in her voice as she walkedhome after service, Lettice Talbot, at any rate, was tactful enough totake no notice, though she seized the opportunity of explaining theschool code of decorum, and was severe in her censure.
"You ought to have told me before," said Honor. "How could I know thatI mustn't speak to my own brother?"
"I didn't even know you had a brother," returned Lettice; "and I neverdreamt you'd do such an idiotic thing as rush at him like that. Heevidently didn't appreciate it."
"No! I thought he'd be more glad to see me," gulped Honor, not theleast part of whose trouble had been Dermot's cold reception of herenthusiastic greeting.
"How silly you are! Does any boy care to parade his sister before hiswhole school? I expect he'll get tremendously chaffed about this, poorfellow! Really, Paddy, you ought to know better!"
Considerably chastened by Lettice's crushing remarks, Honor subsidedinto silence, and only reopened the subject when, in company with JanieHenderson, she had retired after dinner to a spot overlooking theplaying-fields. It was a warm, beautiful afternoon, a day when youcould almost hear the buds bursting and the flowers opening. The twogirls spread their jerseys on the grass, and sat basking in thesunshine, watching a lark soar up into the blue overhead, or theseagulls flapping leisurely round the cliffs; or listening to the cawof the jackdaws that, in company with a flock of starlings, werefeeding in a neighbouring ploughed field. The sea lay a sparkling sheetof pearly grey, and Honor looked wistfully at its broad expanse whenshe remembered that its farther waves washed the rocky shores ofIreland.
Janie was the only girl at St. Chad's to whom she cared to mention herhome. With the others she could exchange jokes, but not confidences;and though she returned their banter with interest, she did not look tothem for sympathy. Janie seemed altogether different from the rest; shenever laughed at Honor, and even if she remonstrated, it was in such agentle, apologetic way that the most touchy of Celtic natures could nothave taken offence.
Miss Maitland had not overlooked the episode of the morning. She hadhad a few words to say after their return from church, and Honor, inconsequence, was feeling rather sore, and ready to pour out hergrievances into her friend's ears.
"It's too bad!" she declared. "If you can't speak to your own brother,to whom may you speak, I should like to know? It seems absurd thatDermot should be living at the Grange, not two miles o
ff, and yet we'renever to see one another. I thought I should at least meet him once aweek, and now I mayn't even say, 'How do you do?' without being scoldedas if I had committed a highway robbery."
"Is he your favourite brother?" asked Janie.
"Yes; he's the nearest in age to me, and we're great chums. We have thewildest fun during the holidays--we dare each other to do the maddestthings we can think of!"
"What kind of things?"
"Well, one day, when old Biddy Macarthy was ill with quinsy, we got upearly and took her cart to Ballycroghan market, and Dermot sold all herchickens for her. He talked away like a Cheap Jack, and made such fun,people nearly died with laughing. You see, most of them knew who hewas, and it seemed so absurd to hear him proclaiming the virtues ofBiddy's fowls. Then we filled the cart with seed potatoes, as a presentfor her; and tore home so fast that the traces broke, and the donkeyran straight out of the shafts. We fell on the road, nearly buried inpotatoes, but luckily we weren't hurt. We managed to catch the donkey,and to mend the traces with a piece of string; then we had to put allthe potatoes back. Biddy laughed so much when we told her about theadventure that it cured her quinsy; and she said she never had such asplendid crop of potatoes as from those we brought her that day fromBallycroghan. That was Dermot's joke; but I think mine was quite asmuch fun."
"What was yours?"
"I saved up my pocket-money to get a little pig, to give to old Micky,the cobbler. Dermot and I walked over to Ennisfellen fair to buy it,and drove it home with a string tied to its leg. As fast as we pulledone way it ran another, and just as we got to Micky's cabin the stringsnapped, and off the pig bolted down the village, and ran straight intothe open door of the school. The children chased it round and roundbeneath the forms, and caught it at last under the master's desk. Oh,we have lively times at Kilmore! Then once Dermot and I ran away, andwent to see Cousin Theresa at Slieve Donnell. Nobody knew where we werefor two days, and people were hunting all over the country for us. Theythought we must have been drowned, or have fallen into the bog."
"But weren't your father and mother fearfully anxious?" asked Janie,who had listened almost aghast to the recital of those wild escapades.
"Well, Father was rather cross about that, certainly. He was neverreally very angry, though, until the last time, when I----"
But here Honor stopped. On the whole, she decided she would not relatethe story of Firefly. She could not quite understand the expression onJanie's face, and she began to doubt whether her friend wouldaltogether sympathize with her. Instead, she plunged into a detaileddescription of her elder brothers, telling how two were preparing forthe Army at Sandhurst, how another was at Oxford, and the fourth wasstudying law.
"I suppose you are nearly always with your mother, as you are the onlygirl," said Janie.
"Well, no," admitted Honor. "She's so delicate, and so often ill. I'mafraid I give her a headache."
"My mother is delicate too," confided Janie. "She has most dreadfulneuralgia sometimes. I bathe her head with eau-de-cologne, mixed withvery hot water, and it always does her good. She calls me her littlenurse. Have you ever tried hot water with eau-de-cologne for yourmother's headaches?"
Honor had never dreamt of offering any help or assistance to anyone insickness. The idea was quite new to her, and that Janie evidentlyexpected her to be her mother's companion and right hand surprised her.She had already met with many astonishments at St. Chad's, where mostof the views of life seemed different from her old standards. Shescarcely liked to confess that she was of so little use at home, andhastily turned the conversation back to her brother Dermot.
"Do you think if I were to ask Miss Cavendish, she would let him callto see me?" she suggested.
Janie shook her head.
"I'm quite sure she wouldn't," she replied. "The rules are so strictabout visitors. Nobody but our parents is allowed, except an occasionaluncle or aunt--never a brother. You'd better not suggest it."
"Then I shall have to go and see him."
"How could you, Honor? Don't be so unreasonable!"
"I thought I might find an opportunity some day," said Honorreflectively. "One never knows what may turn up. Dear old Dermot! Itwould be hard luck to be within two miles of him for a whole term,without exchanging a single word."
"Well, if you do, you'll get into a far bigger scrape than you'll like.You'd much better wait until the holidays, when you'll probably bothtravel home together," advised Janie.
There certainly were no opportunities at Chessington College for payingcalls. Except on half-holidays, the girls seldom went beyond the schoolgrounds, the large playing-fields providing a wide enough area forexercise. The members of the Fifth and Sixth Forms were allowed to goout occasionally, within specified bounds, if they went three together;but the younger ones had not attained to such a privilege.
"We mayn't even put our noses through the gate of the quad," saidLettice Talbot, in reply to a question from Honor, who chafed sorelyagainst the rule; "not unless we can get a special exeat from MissCavendish, and that's only given once in a blue moon. It's no uselooking volcanic, Paddy! You'll have to grin and bear it."
"It's as bad as being in prison," grumbled Honor.
"Nonsense!" snapped Maisie Talbot. "You have cricket or tennis fornearly two hours every afternoon. What more can you want? I'd ratherplay games myself than do anything else."
"You can't expect to do just as you like at school," remarked DorothyArkwright, who sometimes joined with Maisie in "squashing" Honor.
"The riding lessons begin next Thursday," said Lettice, with an attemptat consolation. "They are very jolly. Mr. Townsend always takes theclass a trot over the Tor. You said you were to learn riding?"
"It's the one lesson I begged for," replied Honor. "I could havedispensed with Latin, or German, or mathematics."
"Maisie and I are to begin this term; we're looking forward to ittremendously!"
"You are lucky," said Pauline Reynolds enviously. "I'd give all Ipossess to be going with you. I've never ridden anything moreinteresting than a rocking-horse, or a donkey on the sands; and onedoesn't get much of a canter for six-pence!"
"I believe I'm horribly nervous, and I don't mind confessing it,"declared Lettice. "The idea of being perched on a great, tall horsemakes me shake in my shoes. When it begins to trot I shall drop off--Iknow I shall!"
"Don't be so silly!" protested Maisie. "You can stick on to Teddie athome all right. Honor Fitzgerald, can you ride?"
"Bareback, if you like," said Honor. "Dermot and I used to take our oldpony and practise what we called 'circus performances'. Pixie quiteentered into the spirit of the thing, and would walk along gently whilewe stood on his back."
"I hear Mr. Townsend brings very fresh horses," said Lettice, with ashiver of apprehension. "I do hope he'll choose me a quiet one!"
"The fresher the better for me," said Honor. "I'm just longing for agood gallop."
"But suppose it runs away?"
"Then it will have to take me with it. If it's any kind of a beast withfour legs, I'll undertake to make it fly."
"I heard that Mr. Townsend's horses aren't worth the fag of riding,"observed Flossie Taylor, who had joined the group.
"There speaks the voice of envy! You wouldn't say so if you were takingthe lessons," retorted Maisie.
"People who are accustomed to hunt at home don't care about hiredhacks," drawled Flossie, in her most supercilious manner.
"It all depends on the sort of hunting," returned Honor, who was neverat a loss. "If it's only 'hunt the slipper', I'll admit it's not muchof a training, and you might be afraid of your seat."
The riding course was a special feature of the summer term atChessington. It was an "extra", not part of the ordinary schoolcurriculum, as were the games. A master came from Dunscar, and wouldescort select little parties of girls for a trot upon the Tor, astretch of moorland not far from the College. Mr. Townsend did not careto take out many pupils at once, so on the following Thursday afternoononly sev
en horses were waiting in the quadrangle. The Talbots, RuthLatimer, and Honor represented St. Chad's, while two girls from St.Hilary's and one from St. Bride's completed the party. Letticeconfessed to a very superior and elated feeling as the reins were laidin her hand and the cavalcade began to move, particularly as FlossieTaylor and the Hammond-Smiths were just setting off for tennis, andcould not help witnessing the start, though they resolutely looked theopposite way.
"Flossie always tries to be extremely grand herself, and make otherpeople seem small," whispered Lettice.
"Fortunately, one needn't take people at their own estimate," repliedMaisie, whose downright nature much disliked Flossie's habit ofbragging.
To all the seven girls it was a delight to find themselves passingunder the archway of the big gate, and away along the road towards theTor. A chestnut called Victor had fallen to Honor's share, and thoughhe was very tall in comparison with her old favourite Pixie, shenevertheless sat him well.
"She looks just like the picture of Diana Vernon in our _Rob Roy_,"remarked Lettice to Maisie, gazing with admiration at the upright,graceful figure of her schoolmate, who seemed perfectly at home in thesaddle.
Lettice was getting on much better than her modest protestationsbeforehand would have led her friends to expect. Violet Wright, thegirl from St. Bride's, was quite a beginner, and Mr. Townsend held herhorse by a leading rein; while Gwen Roby, from St. Hilary's, lookedrather solemn, as if she were not altogether sure that she was enjoyingthe experience.
"I've ridden before," she explained, "but only on a small pony, andthis feels so very different."
At first the party went at a walking pace, but on coming to a good,level stretch of road the master gave the order to trot, and his pupilswere able to test the capacities of their steeds. Honor, at least, wasmost unwilling to pull up when Mr. Townsend called out "Halt!" I amafraid she did not want a lesson, only a scamper through the fresh air;and she listened impatiently while the master explained the rightposition of the whip, the hold on the snaffle, and the principle ofrising elegantly in the saddle.
"It's all very well to talk of principles," said poor Violet, whohappened to find herself next to Lettice; "I expect a little practicewill be of more use to me. At present I jog up and down like a sack offlour, and it's all I can manage to stick on anyhow. I know I shall beas stiff as a board to-morrow!"
"When we reach the Tor we may manage a short canter," said Mr.Townsend, "but for the present I wish you to keep together. Now then,young ladies, please, elbows in and heads up! Hold the reins rathershort in the hand, and take care not to bear on the curb!"
"It's no fun, is it?" remarked Honor, as she passed Ruth Latimer. "Arewe only going to walk in a stupid row, and then trot for about tenyards? I thought we should be flying along, like a hunt. I'd rather beon Pixie at home; I could always make him go when I tickled his ears.If we don't hurry up a little more I shall try it on this horse, andsee if he won't break into something more interesting than a snail'space."
"Oh, Honor, do take care!" remonstrated prudent Ruth.
But Honor did not stop to listen, and pushed on ahead of the others,swishing her whip about in a manner that drew instant reproof from themaster. They had left the highway, and were now on a road leadingacross the open moor. On one side the cliffs descended steeply to thesea, and on the other rose bare, rolling hills, covered with short,fine grass, the sails of a windmill or an occasional storm-swept treealone breaking the line of the horizon. It was a very suitable placefor a canter, and after a few preliminary remarks Mr. Townsend startedhis flock on what seemed to most of them a rather mad career, followingclosely himself in their wake, to continue his instructions:
"Courage, Miss Roby! Miss Talbot, you are leaning over in your saddle!Miss Lettice, your elbows again! Miss Wright, you must learn not tograsp the pommel. Don't drag the rein! Miss Latimer, keep a light hand!What, tired already? Well, I won't work you too hard just at first."
A little shaken and agitated by the unwonted exercise, the girlschecked their horses to a walk. They were none of them practisedriders, and all were glad that no more was expected from them for thepresent. Honor, however, was some way on in front, and, instead ofpulling up, as she was told, she gave her horse a switch across theflank and a tweak on the ear, such as she had been accustomed to bestowon her old pony at home. The effect was magical. Seaside hacks are notgenerally prone to run away, but this one had a little spirit left inhim; he resented his rider's liberties, and, feeling the soft grassunder his feet, fled as if he were on a racecourse.
"Miss Fitzgerald! Miss Fitzgerald!" shouted Mr. Townsend, but he mightas well have spoken to the wind. Honor had found her opportunity, andwas quick to seize it. Instead of attempting to pull up Victor, she lethim have his head. She had no desire to check his pace, the motion wasso exhilarating; and she could not resist the temptation to display herhorsemanship before the rest of the class. The unfortunate master darednot desert his other nervous and inexperienced pupils to give chase,and in a few minutes she had left the remainder of the party a milebehind. They could see her tearing past the coastguard station, wherean old man with a telescope yelled wildly to her to stop; past awindmill, where children and chickens scrambled in hot haste out of herpath; and away over the moor, until she quite disappeared from sight.
The girls were in a panic of alarm. Mr. Townsend turned rather white,but preserved his presence of mind, and, leading his little companystraight to the coastguard station, made all dismount, and tied up thehorses. Then he set out himself in pursuit of the runaway.
Honor, meanwhile, continued her "John Gilpin" galop. On and on sheflew, her hair, as the fairy tales say, "whistling in the wind". Itoccurred to her at last that she might be going too far, and she madean effort to pull up. But it was of no avail; Victor had got the bitfirmly between his teeth, and nothing could hold him. Luckily, the girldid not lose her nerve, but waited until she could tire him out, andget him in hand again; and I verily believe she would have succeeded inmastering him, and turning him safely on his homeward course, had notthe way been unexpectedly barred by a fence. The poor old horse musthave been a hunter during some period of his life; he went at the fencelike a greyhound, and cleared it nimbly: but there were a trench and arough bank on the farther side, and as he alighted he stumbled,flinging Honor violently from the saddle. Mercifully, her foot cameclear of the stirrup, and she rolled safely into a bed of nettles,while Victor, scrambling up again, made off without her over the crestof the hill.
Honor picked herself out of the nettles as quickly as she could. Nobones were broken, and, except for some painful stings, she was nonethe worse for her adventure.
Nevertheless, the situation was awkward. There she was on the openmoor, many miles away from Chessington, and obliged to make her wayhome to St. Chad's as best she could. She climbed over the fence, and,holding up her habit, set out to walk back in the direction in whichshe had come.
It seemed slow progress compared with riding, and she began to wonderhow long it would take her to retrace her steps. She had not gone morethan half a mile, however, when she met Mr. Townsend, who had at lastsucceeded in reaching her. His relief at finding her alive and unhurtwas almost too great for words. He put her quietly on his own horse,and led it by the bridle back to the coastguard station, where the restof the girls were waiting, very anxious to know what had become ofHonor, and very rejoiced when they saw she was safe.
There was no further riding lesson that day. As Maisie Talbot explainedafterwards to a select company of interested friends: "I'm sure Mr.Townsend was frightfully angry, but he scarcely said a word. He onlytook us straight home at once, in a kind of solemn procession. He hadto walk himself, leading Honor's and Violet's horses, so of course wewent horribly slowly; and he looked so savage that nobody dared tospeak."
"What possessed you, Paddy?" asked Lettice.
"I had an idea of going to see Dermot," confessed Honor. "I thought ifI rode straight up to the Grange, and asked leave from Dr. Winterton,p
erhaps he'd let us have half an hour together."
"Well, you are the silliest goose! Why, the Grange is in exactly theopposite direction! Will you never learn sense?" and Lettice collapsedwith laughter.
"Mr. Townsend is having a long talk with Miss Maitland at this presentmoment," announced Ruth Latimer.
"Then I'm glad I'm not you, Paddy!" chuckled Lettice.
Nobody ever knew the details of Mr. Townsend's interview with thehouse-mistress, or what explanation he gave of the affair. Though hewas perfectly persuaded that it was Honor's own fault, it was difficultfor him to blame her for what might, after all, have been a mereaccident; so, beyond a few words of warning about the danger ofwhipping her horse without proper orders, she did not on this occasionreceive the scolding that she certainly merited.
Victor was found on the hills six miles away from Chessington, gentlycropping the grass, and allowed himself to be caught by a passingfarmer. He was not used at the riding lessons again. Honor was infuture given the tamest and least-spirited of the mounts, and for thenext two lessons was even kept strictly to the leading rein.
"She's fearfully disgusted about it," said Lettice, "and it certainlyis a humiliation, when she can ride so well. It's quite the worstpunishment Mr. Townsend could possibly have given her, and I expect heknows it!"
The New Girl at St. Chad's: A Story of School Life Page 5
