by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XXIV.
GUNPOWDER IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP.
Miss Archer was a most splendid director of a school. She was the sortof woman who could read girls' characters at a glance; and as her objectwas to spare Mrs. Merriman all trouble, and as she was now furtherhelped by Miss Frost, a most excellent teacher herself, and MademoiselleOmont took the French department, there was very little trouble inarranging the lessons of the different girls.
Irene, on the morning after her arrival, awoke in a bad temper,notwithstanding the fact that sweet little gentle Agnes was lying closeto her, with her pretty head of fair hair pressed against the eldergirl's shoulder. But when she went downstairs, and took her place in theclass, and found that, after all, she was not such an ignoramus as hercompanions evidently expected to find her, her spirits rose, and for thefirst time in her existence a sense of ambition awoke within her. Itwould be something to conquer Lucy Merriman--the proud, the disdainful,the unpleasant Lucy. After what Professor Merriman had said, Irene madeup her mind to say nothing more in public against Lucy; but her realfeelings of dislike toward her became worse and worse.
Now, Lucy's feelings towards Irene, which were those of contempt andutter indifference until they met, were now active. She was amazed tofind within herself a power of disliking certain of her fellow-creatureswhich she never thought she could have possessed. She was not a girl tomake violent friendships, but she did not know that she could dislike soheartily. She hated Rosamund with a goodly hatred, but now that hatredwas extended to Irene. Why should Irene be so pretty and yet so naughty,so lovable and yet so detestable? For very soon the peculiar little girlbegan to exercise a certain power over more than one other girl in theschool; and except that she kept herself a good deal apart, and absorbedlittle Agnes Frost altogether, for the first week she certainly didnothing that any one could complain of. Then she was not only remarkablefor her beauty, which must arrest the attention of everybody, but shewas also undeniably clever. Laura Everett was greatly taken with her, sowas Annie Millar, so was Phyllis Flower, and so was Agnes Sparkes.Rosamund assumed the position of a calm and careful guardian angel overboth Irene and little Agnes. She had a talk with both Mrs. Merriman andthe Professor, and also with Miss Frost, on the day after their arrival.
"I will promise to be all that you want me to be if you will allow me tohave a certain power over Irene and over little Agnes Frost, a powerwhich will be felt rather than seen. I want little Agnes to sit next toIrene at meals; and I want this not for Agnes' sake--for she is such adear little girl that she would make friends wherever she wasplaced--but for Irene's sake, for I don't want her to become jealous. Atpresent she has a hard task in conquering herself, and my earnest desireis to help her all I can."
"I know that, dear," said Professor Merriman; and he looked with kindeyes at the fine, brave girl who stood upright before him.
Mrs. Merriman and Miss Frost also agreed to Rosamund's suggestion, andin consequence there was a certain amount of peace in the school. Thispeace might have gone on, and things might have proved eminentlysatisfactory, had it not been for Lucy herself. But Lucy could nowscarcely contain her feelings. Rosamund exceeded her in power ofacquiring knowledge; she excelled her in grace and beauty. And now therewas Rosamund's friend, a much younger girl, who in some ways was alreadyLucy's superior; for Irene had a talent for music that amounted togenius, whereas Lucy's music was inclined to be merely formal, althoughvery correct. There were other things, too, that little Irene could pickup even at a word or a glance. Agnes did not much matter; her talentswere quite ordinary. She was just a loving and lovable little child,that was all; but when Lucy sometimes met a glance of triumph inRosamund's dark eyes, and saw the light dancing in Irene's, she began toturn round and plan for herself how she could work out a very prettylittle scheme of revenge.
Now, there seemed no more secure way of doing this than by detachinglittle Agnes from Irene; for, however naughty Irene might be, howevercareless at her tasks, one glance at her little companion had always theeffect of soothing her. Suppose Lucy were to make little Agnes herfriend? That certainly would seem a very simple motive; for Lucy, inreality, was not interested in small children. She acknowledged thatAgnes had more charm than most of her companions, and, in short, she wasworth winning.
"The first thing I must do is to detach her from Irene. She does notknow anything about Irene at present, but I can soon open her eyes,"thought Lucy to herself.
The school began, as almost all schools do, toward the middle ofSeptember, and it was on a certain afternoon in a very sunny and warmOctober that Lucy invited little Agnes Frost to take a walk with her.She did this feeling sure that the child would come willingly, for bothIrene and Rosamund were spending the half-holiday at The Follies. MissFrost was busily engaged, and beginning to enjoy her life, and littleAgnes was standing in her wistful way by one of the doors of theschoolroom when Lucy came by.
"Why, Agnes," said Lucy, "have you no one to play with?"
"Oh, yes, I have every one," said Agnes, raising her eyes, whichappealed to all hearts; "only my darling Irene is away, and I miss her."
"Well, you can't expect her to be always with you--can you?"
"Of course not. It is very selfish of me; but I miss her all the same."
"Now, suppose," said Lucy suddenly--"suppose you take me as your friendthis afternoon. What shall we do? I am a good bit older than you, but Iam fond of little girls."
Agnes looked at Lucy. In truth, she had never disliked any one; but LucyMerriman was as little to her taste as any girl could be.
"There's Agnes Sparkes. Perhaps she wouldn't mind playing with me," saidshe after a pause.
"As you please, child. If you prefer Agnes you can go and search forher."
"No, no, I don't," said Agnes, who wouldn't hurt a fly if she could helpit. "I will go for a walk with you, Miss Merriman."
"Lucy, if you please," said Lucy. "We are both school-fellows, are wenot?"
"Only I feel so very small, and so very nothing at all beside you,"replied Agnes.
"But you are a good deal beside me. It is true you are small; but howold are you?"
"I was eleven my last birthday. I am two years younger than dear Irene;but Irene says that I am ten years older than she is in some ways."
"Twenty--thirty--forty, I should say," remarked Lucy, with a laugh."Well, come along; let's have a good time. What shall we do?"
"Whatever you like--Lucy," said the little girl, making a pause beforeshe ventured on the Christian name.
"That's right. I am glad you called me Lucy. We all like you, littleAgnes; and it isn't in every school where the sister of one of thegovernesses would be tolerated as you are tolerated here."
"I don't quite understand what you mean by that."
"Well, your sister is one of the governesses."
"Yes, I know."
"And yet we are all very fond of you."
"It is very kind of you; but they were all fond of me at Mrs. England'sschool; and when I was at that sort of school at Mrs. Henderson's, wherethere were boys as well as girls, the girls used to quarrel with theboys as to who was to play with me. People have always been kind to me.I don't exactly know why."
"But I do, I think," said Lucy; "because you are taking, and can makepeople love you. It is a great gift. Now, give me your hand. We'll walkalong by the riverside. It's so pretty there, is it not?"
"Yes, lovely," said little Agnes.
Lucy walked fast. Presently they sat down on a low mossy bank, and Lucyspread out her skirt so that Agnes might sit on it, so as to avoid anychance of taking a chill.
"You see how careful I am of you," said the elder girl.
"All the girls are careful of me like that," said little Agnes. "I don'texactly know why. Am I so very, very precious?"
"I expect you are to those who love you," said Lucy, coming more andmore under the glamour of little Agnes's strange power of inspiringaffection.
"When you look at me like that you seem qu
ite kind, but sometimes youdon't look very kind; and then, you are not fond of my darling Irene andmy dearest Rosamund. I wonder why?"
"Shall I tell you?"
Lucy bent close to the little girl.
"Oh! if it is anything nasty I would rather not know."
"But I think you ought to know about your Irene. Nobody loved her atall--nobody could bear her--until----Why, what is the matter, child?"
"Don't--don't go on; I won't listen," said little Agnes.
Her face was as white as death; her eyes were dilated.
"But I will tell you," said Lucy. "She was the dreadful girl who nearlydrowned poor Miss Carter, one of her governess, who is now at theSingletons'. She was the terrible, terrible girl who made your own dearsister swallow live insects instead of pills; she was the awful girl whoused to put toads into the bread-pan; and--oh! I can't tell you all theterrific things she did. She is only biding her time to do the same toyou. Some people say she isn't a girl at all, but a sort of fairy; andfairies always fascinate people, and when they have made them love themlike anything they will turn them into wicked fairies, or something elseawful. What is the matter, child?"
For little Agnes was trembling all over. After a minute she got up andmade a great effort to steady herself.
"I don't think you should have told me that story," she said. "And Idon't believe you."
"You don't believe me, you little wretch!" said Lucy, reddening withanger. "How dare you say such things? Do you think I, the daughter ofProfessor Ralph Merriman, would tell lies?"
"Well, you've told one now," said Agnes stoutly; "for I don't believe mydarling Irene ever did such naughty--such very naughty--things."
"You ask Miss Frost--your dear Emily, as you call her. Here she comeswalking along the bank. You go up and ask her, and if she tells you thatI am wrong, then I will confess that some one told me lies. There, go atonce and do it."
Miss Frost approached the pair to take little Agnes off Lucy's hands,for it did not occur to her as possible that a girl of Lucy Merriman'stype could be really interested in her little sister. When she saw thewhite face and trembling lips, and the anxious eyes, she stoppedsuddenly, her own heart beating violently.
"What is it, Aggie? What is wrong, darling?" she said; and she bent downand touched the little one on the shoulder.
"Oh, Emmie, it isn't true--it can't be true!" said little Agnes.
"I have been telling her one or two things," said Lucy. "I have thoughtit best to put her on her guard. You have done an exceedingly sillything to allow her to sleep in the room with that changeling sort ofgirl, Irene Ashleigh. Some day little Agnes will get a great fright. Shesays that she doesn't believe me; but you can tell her the truth, can'tyou? You did swallow wood-lice, did you not?"
"I--I would rather not speak of it," said Miss Frost. "It is all overnow." But she shuddered as she spoke.
"Nevertheless, you must tell her. The child will not believe me."
"It was a long time ago, darling. Oh, Lucy, what have you done? Whatmischief you have done! How could you be so unkind?"
For little Agnes, in a perfect agony of weeping, had thrown herself intoher sister's arms.
"I--I don't believe it!" she said. "Irene! Dearest, dearest Irene! Shecouldn't do anything of that sort."
"She couldn't now, Aggie. Oh, Lucy, do go away! Leave her to me--leaveher to me," said Miss Frost, in the greatest distress.
Having accomplished her mission--and, as she said to herself, broughtgunpowder into the enemy's camp--Lucy retired, wondering that she didnot feel more satisfied. Agnes and her sister had a very long talk, theend of which was that they returned home a short time after Irene andRosamund had come back from The Follies.
Irene began at once to call for Agnes.
"Aggie! Where's my Aggie? Aggie, I have brought you somethingback--something ever so pretty!"
But there was no response, and Irene felt a queer sensation at herheart.
"Where is the child?" she said. "Where is my little Agnes?"
After a time Agnes was seen running towards her. She did not come quiteas fast as usual, and there was a change in her face. Irene did not knowwhen she saw that change why a sudden sense of fear stole over her. Itwas as though some one had snatched the heart out of a gem, the gloryout of a flower. It was as though little Agnes was no longer thebeautiful Agnes she loved. She could not analyze her own feelings. Sheherself had returned in the best of spirits. Rosamund had been sobright, so cheery, so brave; her mother had been so pleased at thereports which Irene's different masters and mistresses had given her.All seemed going prosperously and well, and on the way home Rosamund hadspoken of Agnes, and said how glad she was that Irene should have thelittle one to look after, to love and to guide and to cherish.Altogether, Irene was in her most softened mood, and she had broughtback to Sunnyside several old toys of her own which she had rooted outof a cupboard in the long-disused nursery. They would charm littleAgnes; they had never had any fascination for her.
She thrust the parcel into the child's hands.
"They are for you," she said.
Little Agnes took the parcel, but not in her usual frank, enthusiastic,and open delight, but timidly.
"They're not--they're not toads?" she said.
"Toads!" cried Irene; and then she colored crimson. "Don't take themunless you want them," she said; and she snatched the parcel away fromthe child.
Little Agnes burst out crying.
"Irene, what do you mean?--Surely, Agnes, you are not silly!" exclaimedRosamund. "See, let me open the parcel."
"I don't want her to have it unless she really wishes for it," saidIrene. "I wouldn't force my gifts on any one, not even little Agnes."But there was an imploring note in her voice.
Little Agnes, however, was still full of the horrors with which she hadbeen crammed. Rosamund went on one knee and opened the ungainly parcel.It contained a Noah's Ark, a box of bricks, some soldiers (the very bestof their kind), and other toys of the sort that would ravish children.At another moment little Agnes would have been all delight, but now sheseemed to see--behind the marching soldiers, and the fascinating brickswhich could raise such marvelous architectural edifices, and the Noah'sArk with its quaint animals--toads and lizards and newts, and wasps andbees. Oh, why was she so frightened, she who had never really beenfrightened before? And she did love Irene. She looked up into her facenow with piteous terror, and yet a piteous love mingling in her eyes.
"I will take them; they are beautiful," she said; and she clasped themin her arms. Then she put her face up for Irene to kiss, and then shewent away staggering under the weight of her new treasures.
Irene turned to Rosamund.
"What is the matter?" she said. "Something has happened to the child.She was so jolly when we went out--so like her dearest, sweetestself--and now she is quite altered. What can have happened?"
"I can't tell," said Rosamund. "You had better take no notice, Irene."
Irene could scarcely promise to do that, and she was sulky and disturbedduring the rest of the evening; and although little Agnes sat in herusual place at supper, she hardly spoke to her.
After supper Agnes flew up to Miss Frost and whispered something in herear.
"May I--may I--sleep in your bed to-night? I want to," she said.
"Certainly," replied Miss Frost, intensely gratified. "But what willIrene say?"
"I can't help it. I daren't stay in her room. I am frightened."
Miss Frost whispered again to the child, who went off presently to herstudies, which always took about a quarter of an hour before she retiredto bed. Miss Frost insisted on always seeing her little sister to bedherself, and after the first night or two at Sunnyside no one interferedwith this arrangement. Irene had her own happy time afterwards, when shewent to bed herself, and could look at the dear little face smiling inits sleep, when she could now and again hear the happy murmured words,"Dear Irene! darling Irene!" and when she knew she had constitutedherself the little one's guardian--a
sort of guardian angel overher--to fight to the death for her against all that was evil, all thatwas frightening. She was busy as usual to-night over her tasks, and tookno notice when little Agnes and Miss Frost left the room together.Agnes, being the youngest pupil in the school, was always put to bedbefore the others. By-and-by the time came when all the girls were toretire for the night. Lucy had made herself delightfully inconspicuousthis evening. She had scarcely spoken to any one. Even MademoiselleOmont, with whom she had struck up a sort of friendship, developingrapidly a very sound knowledge of the French language, had scarcely beenaddressed by the loquacious young lady; while as to Miss Archer and MissFrost, Lucy disdained even to speak to them.
By-and-by Rosamund too went up to her room. It was next to the roomoccupied by the two girls, Irene and Agnes.
"I won't come into your room to-night," said Irene. But she hesitatedfor a moment. "Have you found out anything to account for little Agnes'sstrange behavior?"
"No--nothing. If I were you I would take no notice. Perhaps the childwas tired."
"Perhaps some one has told her things that she ought not to know," wasIrene's response.
Rosamund was silent. She had much the same fear at her heart.
"Did you, or did you not, notice how quiet Lucy Merriman has been allthe evening--a sort of hush about her which is not usual? I expect herconscience has been pricking her. Well, if she dares to interfere withme and Agnes she'll rue it, that's all I can say. Goodnight, Rosamund. Iam sleepy."
Irene went into her room. She longed beyond words to find Agnessufficiently awake to put her arms round her neck and kiss her as ofyore. She wanted to tempt the little one to come into her bed. She felt,more than she cared to own, the acute pang at her heart with regard tolittle Agnes when she brought back the toys. Now, these were placedtidily away on a shelf just beside little Agnes's bed, but the beditself was empty. The little night-dress had been removed; the brush andcomb that always stood on the small dressing-table were also conspicuousby their absence. The little blue felt slippers which looked so sweet onher tiny feet were gone, as was also the blue dressing-gown. But none ofthese things mattered. It was the absence of little Agnes herself thatIrene noticed. Agnes was not in the room. She stood quite still,clasping her hands, while a sensation of rage such as she had neverbefore experienced--such as, with all her tempestuous nature, she hadnever believed could sweep over her--now visited her.
"Agnes!" she said once, and she went up to the empty bed and turned downthe clothes as though she might even find Agnes beneath.
But the bed was quite empty; the child was gone.
Scarcely knowing what she was doing, Irene burst into Rosamund's room.
"There's something up, and you might find it out. I won't go to beduntil I know. They have taken Agnes away from me. She is not in my room.What is the matter? You must find out."
"I will," said Rosamund very gently. "Just sit down and keep as quiet asyou can. I will go at once and see Miss Frost. She can't have gone tobed yet."
"Let me come with you."
"No, no; stay where you are, dear; and try to be calm, I beseech you. Byyour love for me, and by your love for Agnes, try now to controlyourself."
Irene made a mighty effort. She sank into a chair. Tears came close toher eyes, but they did not fall, though she was trembling from head tofoot.
Rosamund went quickly down the corridor. At the farther end she metLucy, who was returning to her own room. Rosamund stopped her.
"What have you been doing to little Agnes Frost while we were away?" shesaid.
"I?" said Lucy, starting and turning very pale. "Nothing. What should Ihave done?"
"You know you have done something. You have frightened her, telling herdreadful stories about Irene. You know it. You are mean and cowardly.You ought not to have anything to do with any respectable school. Icannot tell you how I despise you. Think how much I have given up tosave Irene, who never had a chance until she knew me, and yet you nowdestroy every effort that I have made for her good. Oh, I despise you! Icannot help it."
Lucy was absolutely speechless. Rosamund walked along the corridor untilshe came to Miss Frost's room. She tapped very gently with her knuckles.Miss Frost came out.
"Frosty dear, is little Agnes sleeping with you to-night?" she said.
Miss Frost shut the door and came on to the landing. She put her fingerto her lips.
"Hush!" she said. "She is with me; she is in my bed. She is verynervous, starting every moment. Lucy Merriman told her dreadful storieswhile she was out to-day. The child told me about them. Lucy had noright to tell her. She is afraid of Irene now."
"She need never be afraid of Irene. I wonder if she has pluck enough togo back to her? If she has, all will be safe. If not, Irene's characterwill be spoiled for ever. Is she asleep?"
"Scarcely asleep; very nervous and restless. You won't take her back toIrene to-night? You know what the effect of nervous fear is upon adelicate, tenderly nurtured child. You could not be so cruel."
"Agnes is not so delicate as all that. She can stand it. When I think ofIrene, who has almost been saved, who has almost been turned into thepaths of goodness and righteousness, and mostly by little Agnes herself,and when I think of that cruel, wicked, unscrupulous girl, I have nopatience. Frosty, I have helped you--you must let little Agnes helpIrene now. Don't be frightened. I shall be next door to them, andnothing can possibly happen to the child; but she must come back."
Miss Frost stood aside.
"Really, Rosamund," she said, "I do admit the strength of your words. Iknow how good--how more than good--you have been; but, at the sametime, I feel she is my little sister, and Irene has taken her away."
"For the present, I grant it, and I am sorry; but not for always. Lether have her back now, for a time at least--to-night at any rate."
"Very well, you must manage it your own way."
Poor Miss Frost wrung her hands in nervous terror. She thought of thatawful moment when she had swallowed the wood-lice. She thought of theterrible appearance of James when the wasps had stung him. Sheremembered another occasion when she had found a leech in her bed. Oh,how terrible Irene had been! And there was Miss Carter, who had nearlylost her life in the boat. Then there was Hughie--something very queerhad happened to Hughie on one occasion, only Hughie was no coward. Hewas brave and practical. But then, again, there was Irene herself--Ireneso altered, so sweet to little Agnes, so kind about Hughie. Poor MissFrost was so torn between her diverse emotions that she scarcely knewwhat to do.
Meanwhile Rosamund had gone into the room. She made a slight noise, andAgnes, only half-asleep, opened her dark eyes and fixed them onRosamund's face.
"What is it? Is there a toad in the room?" she said.
"Don't be silly, Agnes," said Rosamund. "I really have no patience withyou. Now, what is the matter? Sit up in bed and tell me."
Rosamund did not mean to be unkind, nor did she speak in an unkind way,although her words sounded somewhat determined.
"I want to speak to you, Agnes," she said. "You were told stories--andvery exaggerated they doubtless were--by Lucy Merriman when Irene and Iwere at The Follies to-day."
"I was told frightful stories all about Irene."
"Then do you mean to tell me you don't love her any more?"
"I shall always love her; but if she were to do such a thing to me itwould kill me."
"She would never do such a thing to you. Now, I will tell you somethingabout her. She used to be a wild and very naughty child. People wereafraid of her, and she had nothing else to occupy her time but to add totheir terrors. Then I came across her path, and I was not a bit afraidof her. In short, I think I helped her not to be so naughty. But I didnot do half the good you have done."
"I?" said little Agnes, in amazement.
"Yes, you, Aggie--you; for you loved her, and you helped her to be goodby simply trusting her, and by clinging to her and thinking her all thatis good and beautiful. Between us--you and me--we were softening her,and sh
e will be a splendid woman some day, not a poor, miserable wretch,half-wild, but good and true and noble."
"I like women of that sort," said little Agnes, in a fervor ofenthusiasm.
"And that is what your own Irene will be, provided that you do not giveher up."
"I give her up?" said little Agnes. "But I never will."
"You gave her up to-night when you refused to sleep in the room withher. She is in my room now, trembling all over, terrified, grieved,amazed. Oh, Aggie, why did you do it?"
"I was frightened," whispered Agnes. "I suppose I am a coward."
"You certainly are a very great coward, and I am surprised at you, forIrene would no more hurt you than a mother would her own little child.You have got to come back to her in my arms, and you have got to tellher that you love her more than ever, and that you trust her more thanever. Now, will you or will you not? If you will not, I believe that allour efforts will be fruitless, and Irene will become just as bad asever. But if you do, you will have done a brave and noble act. You arenot a coward, Agnes; you are a girl with a good deal of character, whenall is said and done, and you ought to exercise it now for your friend.Just think what she has done for you. Think what she has done for yoursister, and"----
"It was to Emmie that she gave the awful wood-lice," said Agnes.
"She did it as an ignorant girl, not in the least knowing the danger andthe naughtiness of her own trick. I do not pretend to defend her; butshe would not do such a thing now to anybody, and certainly not to you.And yet, because you hear a few bad stories about her, you give up thegirl who has sheltered and loved and petted you; who has influenced LadyJane to make your brother a gentleman, not a shopman; who will help youall through your life, as you, darling, are helping her. Oh! I know youare a little girl, and cannot understand perhaps all that I say; but ifyou give Irene up to-night I shall be in despair."
Tears came to Rosamund's bright eyes. She sat quite still, looking atthe child.
"I won't give her up! I won't be frightened at all. I will run back toher now."
"There's a darling! Go this very second. Where are your slippers? Hereis your little blue dressing-gown. You will find her in my room. I won'tgo back for a minute or two, for I will explain to Frosty. Now, off withyou, and remember that I am close to you; but you needn't even think ofthat, for Irene herself would fight the fiercest and most savagecreature to shield and protect you, little Agnes."
It seemed to little Agnes as Rosamund spoke that the terrors that Lucy'swords had inspired rolled away as though they had never existed. Thebrightness came back to her pretty dark eyes. She put her small feetinto her little felt slippers, wrapped herself round with her littleblue dressing-gown, and ran down the corridor. It was too late for anyof the girls to be up, and the corridor was deserted. Lucy had gone tobed, to wrestle and cry and wonder by what possible means she couldrevenge herself on Rosamund Cunliffe.
Irene was sitting in Rosamund's room, feeling more and more that wildliving thing inside her--that wild thing that would not be subdued, thatwould rise up and urge her to desperate actions. Then all of a suddenthere came the patter of small feet, and those feet stopped, not atRosamund's door, but at her own. It was opened and a little face peepedin. Irene, in Rosamund's room, could not see the face, but she heard thesound, and her heart seemed to stand still. She rose softly, opened thedoor of communication between the two rooms, and peeped in.
With a cry, Agnes flew to her side.
"Oh, Irene! I have come back. I couldn't sleep in Frosty's bed. Ithought--I did think--oh, don't ask me any questions! Just let me sleepwith you to-night. And oh, Irene, don't be angry with me!"
"I angry with you?" said Irene, melted on the spot. "No, I won't ask asingle question, you sweet, you dear, you treasure! Yes, we will sleeptogether. Yes, little Agnes, I love you with all my heart for ever andfor ever."
