The School Queens

Molly and Isabel were silent for a minute.

“If you can’t bear her,” said Isabel, “then I don’t suppose we’ll like her either when we go to the school.”

“Oh yes, you will; you’ll adore her – sure to. Now promise once again that you will never repeat this.”

“We certainly will not,” said Molly.

Isabel nodded emphatically. “We don’t tell secrets,” she said. Then she added, “We had best go downstairs now, if you’re quite tidy, Mags.”

During supper that night Mrs. Cardew, who found herself seated near her favorite rector, began to ply him with questions with regard to Aylmer House. How had he heard of it, and why had he specially fixed on that establishment for his daughters?

The rector smiled. He had twinkling dark eyes, and they now looked down the long table until they rested for a brief moment on Maggie’s young figure. She was talking to Mr. Cardew, who, stately and reserved as he was, took her remarks with good-natured tolerance.

“A nice, unaffected child,” he kept saying to himself, and neither did he remark how plain she was.

“That young person yonder,” said Mr. Tristram to Mrs. Cardew, “is the influence that has induced me to make arrangements for my girls at Aylmer House.”

“Miss Howland! You don’t mean to say that you are influenced by a schoolgirl?”

Mr. Tristram looked grave. “In this case I may as well confess at once that I have been influenced,” he said. “I have heard a great deal of the child from Molly and Isabel, for they were all three at the same excellent school in Hanover. I met little Miss Howland when I was in London at Christmas. Being such a great friend of my children’s, I naturally talked to her. She told me of Mrs. Ward and of the new delightful school to which she was going. She certainly never once pressed me to send my girls there, but it occurred to me that I would visit Mrs. Ward and see if it could be arranged. My girls are quite proficient for their ages in foreign languages; but I want them now thoroughly to learn literature and English history, and also those numerous small accomplishments which are so necessary for a gentlewoman. There is also no place in the world like London, in my opinion, for hearing good music and seeing good art. I saw Mrs. Ward. A short interview with her was all-sufficient. I could not desire to put my girls in safer hands.”

Mrs. Cardew listened very attentively.

“Then you think, Mr. Tristram,” she said after a pause, “that school-life is really good for girls?”

“In my humble opinion, Mrs. Cardew, it is essential. A girl must find her level. She can only find it at school.”

“Then what about my dear girls?” said Mrs. Cardew.

The rector bowed in a very courteous manner. “School-life may not be really necessary for them,” he said; “although you know my opinion – in short you know what I would do with them did they belong to me.”

Mrs. Cardew was silent for a minute or two. Then she continued the conversation by saying, “It is really a curious fact that Lady Lysle, my great friend, who was here this afternoon, spoke to me in terms of the warmest approbation with regard to Mrs. Ward and Aylmer House. She says that her own niece Aneta is a member of the school. She further said that there were two vacancies at present, and she urged me to send my girls there. But, alas I cannot do that, for their father would not hear of it.”

“I do wish he would hear of it,” said Mr. Tristram with some feeling. “You will never have your girls properly taught unless they go to school. It is impossible at this distance from London to command the services of the best masters and governesses. You will not have a resident governess in the house – forgive me if I speak freely, dear lady, but I love your children as though they were my own – and if you could persuade Mr. Cardew to seize this opportunity and let them go to school with Molly and Isabel I am certain you would never regret it.”

“I wish I could persuade him,” said Mrs. Cardew; “more particularly as that excellent music master, Mr. Bennett, has just written to say he must discontinue giving his music-lessons, as the distance from Warwick is too far for his health, and Miss Beverley, their daily governess, has also broken down. But there, I know my husband never will agree to part with the girls.”

“Then the next best thing,” said Mr. Tristram, speaking in a cheerful tone, “is for you to take up your abode in your London house, and give the girls the advantages of masters and mistresses straight from the Metropolis. Why, you will be bringing them out in a couple of years, Mrs. Cardew, and you would like them to have all possible advantages first.”

“Something must be done, certainly,” said Mrs. Cardew; “and I like that girl, Miss Howland, although Lady Lysle seemed prejudiced against her at first.”

“Oh, she is a girl in a thousand,” said Mr. Tristram; “so matter-of-fact and amiable and agreeable. See how she is talking to your husband at this very moment! I never saw a nicer or more modest young creature, but she is so exceedingly clever that she will push her own way anywhere. She has bowled over my two young urchins already, although she has been only a few hours at the rectory. What could Lady Lysle have to say against Maggie Howland?”

“Oh, nothing – nothing at all, and I ought not to have spoken; but it seems she does not much care for Mrs. Howland.”

“I think I can explain that,” said Mr. Tristram. “Mrs. Howland means well, but is a rather silly sort of woman. The girl manages her in the sweetest way. The girl herself takes after her father, poor Howland the African explorer, who lost his life in his country’s cause. He had, I am told, a most remarkable personality.”

When Molly and Isabel Tristram, accompanied by Maggie Howland, the rector, and his wife, walked back to the rectory that evening, Maggie was in excellent spirits. It was natural that the three young people should start on in front. Maggie talked on various subjects; but although the Tristrams were most anxious to get opinions from her with regard to the Cardews, she could not be led to talk of them until they were approaching the house.

It was now nearly eleven o’clock, and a perfect summer night. The boys, Jack and Andrew, had gone to bed, but a few lights were twinkling here and there in the dear old rectory.

“Oh, I am not a scrap sleepy”, said Maggie. “This air stimulates one; it is splendid. By the way, girls,” she added, suddenly turning and facing her companions, “would you like your bracelets to have rubies in them or sapphires?”

“Nonsense!” said Molly, turning crimson.

Belle laughed. “You don’t suppose you are accomplishing that?” she said.

Maggie spoke rather slowly. “Mother has one dozen bracelets in her jewelry-case. Father brought them to her in the course of his travels. Some he got in India and some in Africa. They are very valuable and exceedingly quaint, and I recall now to my memory, and can-see clearly in my mind’s eye one lovely gold bracelet fashioned like a snake and with eyes of ruby, and another (which I think he must have got at Colombo) that consists of a broad gold band studded here and there with sapphires. How pretty those bracelets would look on your dear little arms, Molly and Isabel; and how glad – how very, very glad – your Maggie will be to give them to you!”

“And, of course, when you do give them to us we’ll be delighted to have them,” said Molly and Isabel.

Then Isabel laughed and said, “But what is the good of counting your chickens before they’re hatched?”

“I consider my chickens hatched,” was Maggie’s remark, “What fun we shall all have together next winter! Aneta won’t have much chance against us. Yes, girls, of course I like your friends Cicely and Merry; but they’ll be twice three times – the girls they are when they have been for a short time at Mrs. Ward’s school.”

“Aren’t you tired, Maggie?” was Molly’s remark. “Wouldn’t you like to go to bed?”

“I am not a scrap tired, and I don’t want to go to bed at all; but I suppose that means that you would?”

“Well, I must own to feeling a little sleepy,” said Molly.

“And so am I,” said Belle.

“Girls, girls, come in; your father wants to lock up,” called Mrs. Tristram at that moment.

The girls all entered the house, lit their candles, and went upstairs to their rooms.

As Maggie was wishing her two dear friends good-night she said quietly, “I hope you won’t mind; but Merry Cardew – or, as I ought to call her, Miss Cardew – has asked me to go over to the Manor to-morrow morning in order to show me the old house. I said I’d be there at ten o’clock, and could then get back to you in time for lunch. I do trust you don’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t,” said Molly in a hearty tone. “Now, good-night, Mags.”

“But if you think, Maggie,” said Isabel, “that you will succeed in that scheme of yours you will find yourself vastly mistaken.”

Maggie smiled gently, and the next moment she found herself alone. She went and stood by the open window. There was a glorious full moon in the sky, and the garden, with its deep shadows and brilliant avenues of light, looked lovely. But Maggie was not thinking of the scenery. Her thoughts were busy with those ideas which were always running riot in her busy little head. She was not unamiable; she was in reality a good-hearted girl, but she was very ambitious, and she sighed, above all things for power and popularity.

When she came to visit Molly and Isabel she had not the faintest idea of inducing Cicely and Merry to join that select group who were taught by Mrs. Ward at Aylmer House. But when once the idea had entered her brain, she determined, with her accustomed quickness, to carry it into execution. She had never yet, in the whole course of her life, met with defeat. At the various schools where she had been taught she had always been popular and had won friends and never created an enemy-but at Aylmer House, extraordinary and delightful as the life was, there was one girl who excited her enmity – who, in short, roused the worst that was in her. That girl’s name was Aneta Lysle. No sophistries on the part of Maggie, no clever speeches, no well-timed and courteous acts, could win the approval of Aneta; and just because she was impossible to get at, because she carried her young head high, because she had that which Maggie could never have – a stately and wonderful beauty – Maggie was jealous of her, and was determined, if she could not win Aneta over to be her friend, to use her own considerable powers against the girl. She had not for a single moment, however, thought that she could be helped by Cicely and Merry in this direction, and had intended to get them to come to the school simply because they were aristocratic and rich, in the first instance. But when she saw Lady Lysle – Lady Lysle, who hated her mother and before whom her mother trembled and shrank; Lady Lysle, who was Aneta’s aunt – she knew that Cicely and Merry might be most valuable aids to her in carrying out her campaign against Aneta, and would help her to establish herself once and for all as the most powerful and important person in Mrs. Ward’s school.

Power was everything to Maggie. By power she meant to rule her small school-world, and eventually by the aid of that same gift to take her position in the greater world that lies beyond school. In her heart of hearts she considered Cicely and Merry tiresome, silly, ignorant little girls; but they could be made to play into her hands. They must come to Aylmer House – oh yes! and already she felt certain she had put the thin end of the wedge beneath that opposition which she knew she must expect from Mr. Cardew. She would see him again on the morrow. Indeed, greater schemes than hers could be carried into effect within a fortnight.

Maggie was the soul of common-sense, however, and had no idea of wearing herself out thinking when she ought to be asleep. She accordingly soon turned from the window, and, getting into bed, dropped at once into healthy slumber.

When she awoke she felt remarkably light-hearted and cheerful. She got up early, and went with Andrew and Jack to see the adorable rabbits. So judicious was she on this occasion that both boys returned with her to breakfast in the highest good-humor.

“Mother, mother,” cried Jackdaw, “she loves Fanciful because he’s so beautiful.”

“And she adores Spot-ear because he’s so ugly,” said Peterkins.

The boys were exceedingly happy at being allowed to sit at breakfast one on each side of Maggie, who, when she did not speak to them – for she wanted to ingratiate herself with every one present, and not with them alone – contrived to pat their hands from time to time, and so keep them in a subdued state of exceeding good-humor.