Three Girls from School

She did not much care whom her cousin heard from, as she said over and over to herself, nothing ever need matter to her any more. But his next words startled her, and she found that she had a heart and susceptibilities, and that once again cruel, terrible fear could visit her.

“This letter is from a man whom I happen to know exceedingly well; I have met him several times in Australia. He is a certain Mr Manchuri.”

“Yes,” said Annie, her lips parted and the colour rushing into her cheeks.

“He says he knows you – he met you at the Hotel Belle Vue at Interlaken – and that, seeing your uncle’s death in the paper, he has written for a double purpose – to convey his condolences to all those who loved your dear uncle, and to request me to meet him in town on important business in connection with you.”

“Oh!” said Annie. She had been standing; she almost fell into her seat.

“He says further,” pursued Saxon, “that a great friend of yours, a Miss Priscilla Weir, is staying with him.”

“She told him, of course,” said Annie.

“What did you say, Annie?” John Saxon looked at her, a puzzled expression between his brows. Then he started to his feet. “I shall run up to town,” he said. “I will go to-day and see what this means. It was through Miss Weir he learned that I was staying here. But for that he says that he would have come himself to have an interview with you; as it is, he thinks I can manage matters best.”

“Don’t go!” said Annie in a choked voice.

“Don’t do what, my dear Annie?”

“Don’t go; don’t mind him. He means mischief.”

“I don’t want to be cross to you, dear Annie, but really this is silly. Mr Manchuri is a most excellent man; I and my father before me have both known him. My father has transacted some business with him from time to time. He is a first-rate man of business, and straight, in every sense of the word. Of course I shall go; I cannot possibly neglect your affairs. Why, what is it, my dear?”

“You can go if you like,” said Annie. “I – I don’t feel well; that is all.”

She crept out of the room, tottering as she did so, and supporting herself by catching hold of various articles of furniture. When she disappeared John thought for a minute. Then he went into the kitchen, where Mrs Shelf was busy.

“Mrs Shelf,” he said, “I have just had a letter which obliges me to go to London at once; I shall catch the next train. It is scarcely possible for me to be back to-night, but I shall certainly come early to-morrow. In the meantime you will look after Annie.”

“You needn’t doubt it, Mr John,” said Mrs Shelf.

Saxon lowered his voice. “I don’t quite like her appearance,” he said. “She is suffering a good deal; I think you ought to watch her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Oh, I will see to her, Mr John. The poor child is fretting; she has found her true heart at long last. The death of my beloved master has revealed many things to our Annie.”

“Well, be careful of her,” said the young man. “I will be back as soon as I can.” Shortly afterwards he started for town.

As soon as ever the sound of the horse’s hoofs which was conveying John Saxon to the railway station died away on the road, Annie, who had been crouching rather than lying down in her room, ran to the window and looked out. The semi-peaceful, semi-stunned expression on her face had given way now to the old watchful, almost crafty look which used to characterise it. She was quickly making up her mind. Mr Manchuri could only want to see John Saxon on one subject – the necklace. Priscilla, horrid Priscilla, had told him everything. He had given Annie one hundred pounds for the necklace, seventy of which she had kept for herself. In all probability, if Mr Manchuri carried things out to the bitter end, she could be locked up for theft. She might even see the inside of a prison. The terrified girl felt nearly mad. She paced up and down her little chamber, fearing – she knew not what. She would have prayed, but she did not dare. She would have cried to God, but as she knew nothing would induce her to be good and to confess her sin, she was equally certain that God would not listen to her.

She remembered her promise to her uncle that she would meet him. Of course she never would. They were parted for ever and ever. But she must not think of that now. She must think of the present, and there was not a single minute to lose.

There was only one thing for Annie to do. She must go away. She had in her possession at that moment seventy pounds. With seventy pounds she could go a good way. She could leave England; there was nothing else for it; she must be well out of the country before John Saxon returned from London. He would probably come to Rashleigh Rectory accompanied by Mr Manchuri and that horrible Priscilla, and then the whole story would get out – the whole awful story – Annie’s conduct with regard to the prize, Annie’s conduct with regard to Susan Martin’s poems, Annie’s dreadful conduct with regard to Dawson and her uncle’s cheque which she had kept for herself.

John Saxon would remember how she had borrowed twenty pounds from him, and that too would be told against her. But her last and very greatest crime seemed to be in connection with the pearl and silver necklace. Her theft was biggest here, her craftiness greater, her double dealing more marked.

Oh yes; such a character ought only to be put in prison. But she would not live in prison – she, the gay, the clever, the free, the bold. She would not lose her liberty; it was worth a struggle to keep it. And she had her stolen money; it should do something for her; it should help her to keep the only thing left – the power to go where she pleased, to do what she liked.

“Annie, my darling!” called Mrs Shelf’s voice at the outside of the locked door.

“Coming in a minute, Mrs Shelf,” said Annie, making an effort to speak cheerfully.

She knew well that if she was to carry out her project she must be very wary, she must make her plans. Fortunately for herself, she now believed that she was an experienced traveller, and that, once on the Continent, she could easily baffle all attempts at discovering her.

She went to a glass and surveyed her little face. It had more colour than it had the day before, for excitement and the imminence of her peril brought back some of her old vivacity.

After a minute’s pause she opened the door and ran downstairs. Mrs Shelf was in the kitchen. She was engaged mournfully and with considerable pain searching through cupboards and counting out all the possessions of the late Rev. Maurice Brooke which would now belong to Annie. The poor housekeeper was sighing bitterly over her famous stores of jam, over her incomparable jellies, over her pickles, her liqueurs, her bottles of home-made wine. Not for her again would the trees in the garden blossom and bear fruit; not for her would the strawberries redden or the raspberry-canes yield of their abundance. Other people who could not possibly understand the value of the dear old garden would possess it; it would pass into the hands of strangers, and poor Mrs Shelf felt perhaps as acutely as Annie herself that her life was over. Far more than Annie, too, did this worthy soul love the good old man who had passed away.

It was a tearful face, therefore, she turned upon the girl.

“Ah, my dearie!” she said, “the days are turning a bit nippy for the time of year, and I thought you would be lonesome all by yourself in your bedroom. Come along and sit by the fire for a bit, won’t you, lovy? and I’ll warm you up a cup of good broth. I have some lovely and tasty in the pantry. Then maybe you’d help me to make a list of the glass and china and the old silver. There’s a quantity of old silver, and most beautiful it is; and it’s all yours, dear. Whenever you start a house of your own, you won’t have to go far to seek for means of making it pretty. There’ll be the silver and the china, and that magnificent Crown Derby dinner-set that your precious uncle took such pride in; and there’ll be the great branch candlesticks – old Sheffield they are, and very valuable; and there’ll be the beautiful house linen – such linen as is not to be found anywhere else in the country-side. You won’t be so bad off when you settle down with your good man, Miss Annie.”

“I’ll never have a good man,” said Annie in a petulant tone. “Nothing would induce me to marry. I hate the thought of it.”

“Poor lamb!” said Mrs Shelf; “you are but a baby yet; but the time will come – you mark my words.”

Annie made no reply. She gazed drearily into the fire. She was wondering how she could circumvent old Shelfy, who might, if she chose, prove a sad hindrance to her getting away before Saxon’s return.

“Shelfy,” she said, “don’t let’s bother about the old things now. I tell you what: I’ll go into the dining-room and write some letters – oh no! I couldn’t go near his study. I’ll just go into the dining-room and stay there for an hour or two; and then, if you will give me some lunch early, I will come and help you in the kitchen soon after that; but I don’t feel up to it this morning. When did John Saxon say he would be back, Shelfy?”

“Not to-night, darling, but some time to-morrow for sure. He’s a very good young man, is Mr John.”

“Well, Shelfy, you know I hate good young men,” said Annie.

Instead of reproving her, Mrs Shelf laughed.

“I declare, now,” she said, “that speech of yours, naughty as it is, is more like your old self than anything I have heard you utter since you came back. But you mustn’t turn against Mr Saxon, lovy, for he is just the best of the best, and sets store by you; any one can see that.”

“Well, I will go into the dining-room now,” said Annie; and she went out of the kitchen.

Mrs Shelf, quite cheered and reassured about her, went busily on with her duties, and Annie was presently able to go softly to her own bedroom, where she made preparations. She fastened her precious notes into her little pocket, which the placed in an inner petticoat, keeping out enough small change for her immediate necessities. She then carefully chose from her wardrobe some of the least smart dresses she had worn when at Interlaken. She must not wear her black; that would cause her to be discovered immediately. But the pretty print and cambric frocks which she had looked so charming in while away from home would not be recognised by any of those who might possibly think it worth while to follow on her track. A dark-blue dress which she used to wear when travelling with Lady Lushington would also come in handy. In short her very modest little wardrobe was quickly selected and put into a small travelling-bag which the could carry herself in one hand.

She could take this as far as the railway station; but that railway station was not to be the one just outside Rashleigh village, but another called Norton Paget, which was situated three miles farther down the line. Not a soul would recognise Annie at Norton Paget in the clothes Lady Lushington had given her. It would be easy to go from Norton Paget to London by the night express, and once in London, she would take an opportunity of getting as far away from England as her means would permit.

Annie from time to time had been fond of reading detective stories, and in these she had learned that there was no place so splendid for hiding in as London itself. She did not know London very well, however, and felt that she would be safest farther afield.

Having carefully packed her little bag, she hid it in a deep cupboard in her room, locked the cupboard, and put the key in her pocket. She then went downstairs.

Mrs Shelf coaxed her to come into the kitchen and share her dinner there. The dinner was very good and nourishing and comforting, and Annie ate quite heartily. She knew well that it was necessary to husband her strength. How to get Mrs Shelf, however, away from the Rectory for two or three hours towards nightfall was the problem which exercised Annie’s brain. Think and think as she would, she was puzzled how to manage this. For if Mrs Shelf was in the house, Annie knew well that she could not possibly leave it without being heard. If Mrs Shelf missed her at once, the hue and cry would be raised, and she could not possibly walk to Norton Paget with her somewhat heavy bag before being discovered. It was, therefore, necessary to get both Mrs Shelf and Dan, their one outside factotum, off the premises.

Almost immediately after lunch, the morning, which had been a bright and sunny one, clouded over and the day became threatening. A few drops of rain, too, fell at intervals, and there was a slight autumnal sound in the wind.

Annie started up from her meal apparently quite excited and anxious to begin those lists in which Mrs Shelf took so deep an interest. The woman and the girl, therefore, began systematically to count over piles of linen, stacks of china, quantities of glass, and then, when these were done and they were both somewhat tired, to plunge into the mysteries of the famous store cupboard. Annie jotted down items on little scraps of paper.

All of a sudden, as the dusk was beginning to fall, she turned to her companion.

“Now I tell you what it is, Mrs Shelf. We will make a clear list of all these things before I go to bed to-night.”

“Oh, nonsense, my dearie!” said Mrs Shelf. “You will be killed over it.”