Part 32 (1/2)
Betty was about the fourth girl to be asked. She rose to her feet and said gravely, ”I would propose that Susie Rushworth and the other members of the Specialities have their games and fun afterwards; but I have a short story to tell, and I should like to tell it first, if those present are agreeable.”
Margaret felt that the little cloud as big as a man's hand had returned, and that it had grown much bigger. A curious sense of alarm stole over her. Martha, meanwhile, stared full at Betty, wondering what the girl was going to do. Her whole manner was strange, aloof, and mysterious.
”We will, of course, allow you to speak, Betty dear. We are always interested in what you say,” said Margaret in her gentlest tone.
Betty came forward into the room. She stood almost in the center, unsupported by any chair, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes fixed on Margaret Grant's face. Just for a minute there was a dead silence, for the girl's face expressed tragedy; and it was impossible for any one to think of ”telegrams,” or frivolous games, or of anything in the world but Betty Vivian at the present moment.
”I have something to say,” she began. ”It has only come to me very gradually that it is necessary for me to say it. I think the necessity for speech arose when I found I could not go to chapel.”
”My dear Betty!” said Margaret.
”There were one or two nights,” continued Betty, ”when I could not attend.”
”Betty,” said the voice of f.a.n.n.y Crawford, ”don't you think this room is a little hot, and that you are feeling slightly hysterical? Wouldn't you rather--rather go away?”
”No, f.a.n.n.y,” said Betty as she almost turned her back on the other girl.
Her nervousness had now left her, and she began to speak with her old animation. ”May I repeat a part of Rule No. I.: 'Each girl who is a member of the Specialities keeps no secret to herself which the other members ought to know'?”
”That is perfectly true,” said Margaret.
”I _have_ a secret,” said Betty. After having uttered these words she looked straight before her. ”At one time,” she continued, ”I thought I'd tell. Then I thought I wouldn't. Now I am going to tell. I could have told Mrs. Haddo had I seen enough of her--and you, Margaret, if ever you had drawn me out. I could have told you two quite differently from the manner in which I am going to tell that which I ought to speak of. I stand now before the rest of you members of the Speciality Club as guilty, for I have deliberately broken Rule No. I.”
”Go on, Betty,” said Margaret. She pushed a chair towards the girl, hoping she would put her hand upon it in order to steady herself.
But Betty seemed to have gathered firmness and strength from her determination to speak out. She was trembling no longer, nor was her face so deadly pale. ”I will tell you all my secret,” she said. ”Before I came here I had great trouble. One I loved most dearly and who was a mother to me, died. She died in a little lonely house in Scotland. She was poor, and could not do much either for my sisters or myself. Before her death she sent for me one day, and told me that we should be poor, but she hoped we would be well-educated; and then she said that she was leaving us girls something of value which was in a small, brown, sealed packet, and that the packet was to be found in a certain drawer in her writing-table. She told me that it would be of great use to us three when we most needed it.
”We were quite heartbroken when she died. I left her room feeling stunned. Then I thought of the packet, and I went into the little drawing-room where all my aunt's treasures were kept. It was dusk when I went in. I found the packet, and took it away. I meant to keep it carefully. I did keep it carefully. I still keep it carefully. I don't know what is in it.
”I have told you as much as I can tell you with regard to the packet, but there is something else to follow. I had made up my mind to keep the packet, being fully persuaded in my heart that Aunt Frances meant me to do so; but when Sir John Crawford came to Aberdeens.h.i.+re, and visited Craigie Muir, and spent a night with us in the little gray house preparatory to bringing us to Haddo Court, he mentioned that he had received, amongst different papers of my aunt's, a doc.u.ment or letter--I forget which--alluding to this packet. He said she was anxious that the packet should be carefully kept for me and for my sisters, and he asked me boldly and directly if I knew anything about it. I don't excuse myself in the least, and, as a matter of fact, I don't blame myself. I told him I didn't know anything about it. He believed me. You see, girls, that I told a lie, and was not at all sorry.
”We came here. I put the packet away into a safe hiding-place. Then, somehow or other, you all took me up and were specially kind to me, and I think my head was a bit turned; it seemed so charming to be a Speciality and to have a great deal to do with you, Margaret, and indeed with you all more or less. So I said to myself, I haven't broken Rule No. I., for that rule says that 'no secret is to be kept by one Speciality from another if the other ought really to know about it.' I tried to persuade myself that you need not know about the packet--that it was no concern of yours. But, somehow, I could not go on. There was something about the life here, and--and Mrs. Haddo, and the chapel, and you, Margaret, which made the whole thing impossible. I have not been one sc.r.a.p frightened into telling you this. But now I have told you. I do possess the packet, and I did tell a lie about it. That is all.”
Betty ceased speaking. There was profound stillness in the room.
Then Margaret said very gently, ”Betty, I am sure that I am speaking in the interests of all who love you. You will tell this story to-morrow morning to dear Mrs. Haddo, and it will rest with her whether you remain a member of the Specialities or not. Your frank confession to us, although it is a little late in the day, and the peculiar circ.u.mstances attending your gaining possession of the packet, incline us to be lenient to you--if only, Betty, you will now do the one thing left to you, and give the packet up--put it, in short, into Mrs. Haddo's hands, so that she may keep it until Sir John Crawford, who is your guardian, returns.”
Betty's face had altered in expression. The sweetness and penitence had gone. ”I have told you everything,” she said. ”I should have told you long ago. I blame myself bitterly for not doing so. But I may as well add that this story is not for Mrs. Haddo; that what I tell you in confidence you cannot by any possibility relate to her--for that, surely, must be against the rules of the club; also, that I will not give the packet up, nor will I tell any one in this room where I have hidden it.”
If Betty Vivian had looked interesting, and in the opinion of some of the girls almost penitent, up to this moment, she now looked so no longer. The expression on her face was bold and defiant. Her curious eyes flashed fire, and a faint color came into her usually pale cheeks.
She had never looked more beautiful, but the spirit of defiance was in her. She was daring the school. She meant to go on daring it.
The girls were absolutely silent. Never before in their sheltered and quiet lives had they come across a character like Betty's. Such a character was bound to interest them from the very first. It interested them now up to a point that thrilled them. They could scarcely contain themselves. They considered Betty extremely wicked; but in their hearts they admired her for this, and wondered at her amazing courage.
Margaret, who saw deeper, broke the spell. ”Betty,” she said, ”will you go away now? You have told us, and we understand. We will talk this matter over, and let you know our decision to-morrow. But, first, just say once again what you have said already--that you will not give the packet up, nor tell any one where you have hidden it.”
”I have spoken,” answered Betty; ”further words are useless.”
She walked towards the door. Susie Rushworth sprang to open it for her.
She pa.s.sed out, and walked proudly down the corridor. The remaining girls were left to themselves.