The School Queens

“Oh mum, ’ow beauteous!” said Tildy.

“I will have a letter ready which you are, if possible, to put into her own hands.”

“Yes, ’um; and don’t I long to see ’er, jest!”

“Well, this is the address,” said Mrs. Martin. “Get everything cosy and comfortable in the house, and bring me my tea by one o’clock. A train will take you to Victoria at half-past one, which you ought to catch. You can easily be back here between four and five; by that time the new cook will have arrived.”

“Things ain’t dull a bit to-day’,” said Tildy. “They’re much more Shepherd’s Bushy, and I like ’em a sight better than I did.”

“Well, go now, and attend to your business,” said Mrs. Martin.

Having secured a messenger, Mrs. Martin next prepared to write to poor Maggie:

“My dear Child, – Most unfortunately your father has discovered the letter you wrote to me. He doesn’t say much, but I can see that he is furiously angry. He intends to take me with him to call on you next Saturday – I presume, some time in the afternoon. I will try to make him dress in as gentlemanly a manner as possible, and also will endeavor to prevent his talking about the shop. You must make the very best of things you can, dear; for there’s no possible way of keeping him from Aylmer House. – Your affectionate mother,

    “Victoria Martin.”

When the letter was finished Mrs. Martin put it into an envelope, addressed to Miss Maggie Howland, Aylmer House, Randal Square, South Kensington, and put it into Tildy’s care. Tildy caught her train all in good time, arrived at Victoria, and took a bus to South Kensington. A very little inquiry enabled her to find Randal Square, and at about half-past two she was standing on the steps of that most refined and genteel home, Aylmer House. The look of the place impressed her, but did not give her any sense of intimidation. When the door was opened to her modest ring, and the pleasant, bright-looking parlor-maid answered her summons, Tildy gazed at her with great interest but without a scrap of shyness.

“I’ve come from ’er ’ome to see Miss Maggie ’Owland,” said Tildy; “and I’ve a message for ’er from ’er ma.”

The girl, whose name was Agnes, stared for a minute at Tildy. She recognized her “sort” in a moment. Tildy belonged to the lodging-house sort of girl. What she could have to do with one of Agnes’s young ladies puzzled that young person considerably. It was the rule, however, at Aylmer House that no one, however poor or humble, should be treated with rudeness, and certainly a person bringing a message to one of the young ladies was entitled to respect. Agnes said, therefore, in a polite and superior tone, “Step in, will you, miss? and I will find out if Miss Howland is in.”

Tildy stepped into the hall, feeling, as she expressed it, “dream-like and queer all over.” She did not dare to sit down, but stood on the mat, gazing with her bright, inquisitive eyes at the various things in this new world in which she found herself.

“How beauteous!” she kept repeating at intervals. “Why, Laburnum Villa ain’t a patch on this. How very beauteous! No wonder Miss Maggie ’ave the hair of a queen.”

Now, it so happened that Maggie Howland was out, and would not be back for some time. This was the day when she and the other girls belonging to her kingdom had gone forth to purchase all sorts of good things for the coming feast. Maggie, as queen, had put a whole sovereign into the bag. There would, therefore, be no stint of first-class provisions. Every sort of eatable that was not usually permitted at Aylmer House was to grace the board – jelly, meringues, frosted cake, tipsy cake, as well as chickens garnished in the most exquisite way and prepared specially by a confectioner round the corner; also different dainties in aspic jellies were to be ordered. Then flowers were to be secured in advance, so as to make the table really very beautiful.

Maggie, Kathleen O’Donnell, and Janet were the people selected to arrange about the supper. Not a single thing was to be cooked in the establishment; this would give extra trouble to the servants, and was therefore not to be permitted. The girls would make their own sandwiches; and, oh, what troublesome thoughts they had over these! Maggie was in the highest spirits, and left the house with her companions – Miss Johnson, of course, in close attendance – half-an-hour before Tildy with her ominous letter appeared on the scene.

Now, it so happened that Agnes knew nothing at all of the absence of the young ladies. They usually went out by a side-door which had been specially assigned to their use when the house was turned into a school. As Agnes was going upstairs, however, in order to try to find Maggie, she met Aneta coming down.

“Oh miss,” she said, “can you tell me if Miss Howland is in?”

“No,” said Aneta, “I happen to know that she is out, and I don’t think she will be in for some little time.”

“Very well, miss; the young person will be sorry, I expect.”

“What young person?” asked Aneta, eager in her turn to find out why Maggie was inquired for.

“A girl, miss, who has called, and has asked very particularly to see Miss Howland. She’s rather a common sort of girl, miss, although I dare say she means well.”

“I will go and see her myself,” said Aneta; “perhaps I can convey a message from her to Miss Howland, for I know she won’t be back for some little time.”

Agnes, quite relieved in her mind, turned down the back-stairs and went to attend to her numerous duties. A few minutes after, Aneta, in all her slim grace, stood in the hall and confronted Tildy. Aneta was herself going out; she was going out with Mademoiselle Laplage. They had some commissions to execute. The day was a foggy one, and they were both rather in a hurry. Nevertheless, Aneta stopped to say a kind word to Tildy. Tildy gazed at her with open-eyed admiration. Beautiful as the house was, this young lady was indeed a radiant and dazzling vision.

“She made me sort o’ choky,” said Tildy as she related the circumstance afterwards to Mrs. Martin. “There was a hair about her. Well, much as I loves our Miss Maggie, she ain’t got the hair o’ that beauteous young lady, with ’er eyes as blue as the sky, and ’er walk so very distinguishified.”

“What can I do for you?” said Aneta now, in a kind tone.

Tildy dropped an awkward curtsy. “I’ve come, miss,” she said, “to see our Miss Maggie.”

“Miss Howland is out,” said Aneta.

“Oh, miss!” replied Tildy, the corners of her mouth beginning to droop, “that’s crool ’ard on me. Do you think, miss, if I may make so bold as to inquire, that Miss Maggie ’ll be in soon?”

“I do not think so,” replied Aneta; “but I can convey any message you like to her, if you will trust me.”

“Oh miss,” said Tildy, worshipping Aneta on the spot, “who wouldn’t trust one like you?”

“Well, what is it? What can I do for you?”

“I was maid, miss – maid-of-all-work – at Shepherd’s Bush when Miss Maggie and ’er ma used to live there; and when Mrs. ’Owland married Martin the grocer they was that kind they took me to live at Laburnum Villa. It’s a very rich and comfortable ’ouse, miss; and the way they two goes on is most excitin’. It’s joke, joke, and play, play, from morn till night – that’s the ma and steppa of Miss Maggie. I’ve brought a letter from Mrs. Martin to be delivered straight to Miss Maggie.”

“I can give it to her,” said Aneta in her calm voice.

“You’ll per’aps mention, miss,” said Tildy, taking the letter from her pocket, “as I called, and as I love our dear Miss Maggie as much as I ever did. You’ll per’aps say, miss, with my dutiful respects, that my ’eart is ’ers, and always will be.”

“I will give her a kind message,” said Aneta, “and safely deliver her mother’s letter to her. I am afraid there’s no use in asking you to stay, as Miss Howland is very much occupied just now.”

“Very well, miss, I’ve delivered my message faithful.”

“You have.”

As Aneta spoke she herself opened the hall-door.

“Good-day, miss,” said Tildy, dropping another curtsy, “and I wishes you well.”

“Good-day,” replied Aneta.

Tildy’s little form was swallowed up in the fog, which was growing thicker each moment, and at that instant Mademoiselle Laplage, profuse in apologies for her brief delay, entered the hall.

“Pardon me, ma chère, that I have caused you to wait. I was just ready to descend, when – see! the lace of my shoe was broken. But what will you? You will go out in this dreadful fog?”

Aneta replied in French that she did not think the fog was too thick, and the French governess and the girl went out together into the street. But all the time Aneta Lysle was thinking hard. She was in possession of Maggie’s secret. Her stepfather, instead of being related to the Martyns of The Meadows, was a grocer! Aneta belonged to that class of persons who think a great deal of good birth. She did not mind Tildy in the least, for Tildy was so far below her as to be after a fashion quite companionable; but – a grocer! Nevertheless, Aneta had a heart. She thought of Maggie, and the more she thought of her the more pitiful she felt towards her. She did not want to crush or humiliate her schoolfellow. She felt almost glad that the secret of Maggie’s unhappiness had been made known to her. She might at last gain a true influence over the girl.

Her walk, therefore, with Mademoiselle Laplage took place almost in silence. They hastily executed their commissions, and presently found themselves in Pearce’s shop, where Aneta had taken a brooch a day or two ago to have a pin put on.

The shopman, as he handed her the mended brooch, said at the same time, “If you will excuse me, miss, you are one of the young ladies who live at Aylmer House?”

“Yes,” said Aneta, “that is true.”

“Then I wonder, miss, if”–He paused a minute, looked hard at the girl, and then continued, “Might my brother speak to you for a minute, miss?”

“But it make so cold!” said mademoiselle, who knew very little of the English tongue, “and behold – zee fog! I have such fear of it. It is not to joke when it fogs in your country, ma chère. Il faute bien dépêcher.”

“I shall be quite ready to come back with you in a minute or two,” said Aneta.