CHAPTER VI.
MISS REEVES' ESTABLISHMENT FOR YOUNG LADIES.
Moorhouse was a red brick mansion of Elizabethan architecture, standingon the outskirts of the old-fashioned town of Greyling, nestling under amisty embattlement of distant downs. Tracts of ferny solitudes andclumps of woodland lay beyond, cloven by the long straight road that ledLondonward. It was difficult to imagine that such rural peacefulnesscould be found at thirty miles distance from the big metropolis.
Moorhouse was a boarding-school for young ladies. It had gained a highreputation under the direction of its present head-mistress, MissReeves, a middle-aged lady of dignified appearance.
It was to Moorhouse Mr. Fullbloom was taking Meg. The child had nevergone on a railway journey. The shriek and whistle of the engine as thetrain dashed along startled her. She felt whirled forward as by ademoniac force, and the pant of the engine seemed to her like theaudible heart-beat of some dread monster. She sat rigid and silent inthe corner by the window as she passed out of the station across thebridge-spanned river, past squalid streets and roofs crowding below. Atlast she emerged into more airy and peaceful surroundings. The speed andpant still filled the limpid daylight with terror; but Meg foughtagainst her unstrung nerves and compelled herself to look out of thewindow. She was passing through a pageantry of meadows lying in the mildsunshine of the March afternoon; of cows grazing, of a pallid goldenlight in the sky, veiled with fleecy purple clouds. She heard thepassing chirp of birds; she caught glimpses of leafless woods spreadinga tracery of boughs against the brightness of the sky. There were banksflickering with suggestions of primroses under the hedges; undulatinggreenswards losing themselves in blue distances. Through the terror ofthat ride the influence of nature brought comfort to her heart. Anexhilarating sense that she was traveling to a better land overcamefear. A house in the distance, perched on a height, with the sunlight onits windows, appeared to her a type of that school to which she wasjourneying; a sort of magic academy where she would grow worthy ofbecoming Mr. Standish's friend.
Mr. Fullbloom coughed and Meg turned her head. She caught the amusedglance of her traveling companion fixed upon her. The solicitor had beendividing his attention between his paper and the child by his side. Meghad been unconscious of his investigation.
"Reach the school soon now," said the lawyer with his accustomed airynod.
"I am glad of it," replied Meg.
"Want to be a learned little lady, eh?"
"Yes, that is just what I want to be," Meg answered in an eager tone;"learned as a lady."
"Well, so you will be--excellent school that of Miss Reeves--learn todance, play the piano, to speak French, German--any amount ofaccomplishments. Bless me, there will be no talking to you in a year ortwo. Have to study hard, though."
Meg nodded in token of her readiness to face any amount of study.
"Don't forget your name--Beecham--it is not Browne. Madam was not yourmother, or for the matter of that any relation," said the lawyer.
"I knew she was not my mother," said Meg in a low voice.
"No, indeed; light and darkness could not be more unlike."
"You knew my mother?" cried Meg, a flush kindling her cheeks.
"I knew her a little," replied the lawyer guardedly. "You are like herabout the mouth and eyes."
"I am not a bit like her," Meg answered in a tone of offense. "She wasbeautiful--like an angel."
"Yes, she was beautiful," acquiesced Mr. Fullbloom.
Meg looked at the lawyer with a new expression. A halo surrounded hisbrow, for he had seen her mother.
"Did the old gentleman I saw to-day know her too?" she asked softly.
The lawyer put up his finger and wagged his head.
"Little girls must not ask questions. They must be seen, not heard," hereplied, taking up his paper and growing absorbed in its contents.
He did not speak again until the train shortly after stopped at Greylingstation.
Before long they had reached Moorhouse, and the door had opened for Meg.As she passed through the portal of the red brick mansion she felt as ifshe stood upon the threshold of a sanctuary. This sense deepened when, afew moments later, she was confronted by a majestic lady, whom thelawyer introduced to her as Miss Reeves, who looked at her kindly andscrutinizingly. After a low-voiced colloquy with Mr. Fullbloom at theother end of the room, Miss Reeves took her by the hand, saying:
"Your guardian has confided you to my care. I hope, my dear child, thatwe may both learn soon to love and trust each other."
Meg took with confidence the extended hand. Shortly after, Mr. Fullbloombade her an airy farewell, and she followed Miss Reeves into a roomwhere a meal was going on.
"Miss Grantley and Madame Vallaria," said the head-mistress addressingthe two ladies sitting at either end of the table, "let me introduce toyou a new pupil, and to you, young ladies, a new school-fellow--MissMargaret Beecham. Ursula Grey, let her sit beside you; look after her,she is a stranger."
The room swam around Meg as she took her seat near a girl with apleasant rosy face and bright eyes shining behind a pair ofclever-looking spectacles. The child fancied she detected muffledexclamations, and that on all sides a stare was turned upon her whichwas not friendly.
The young ladies appeared to her beautifully dressed. They wore prettybrooches and necklaces of colored beads; their shining hair fell abouttheir necks, and they had delicate bits of lace round their throats andwrists. One girl appeared to Meg so beautiful that she forgot everythingin the delight of looking at her.
She was roused by a nudge of the elbow.
"Miss Grantley is speaking to you," said her spectacled neighbor. Theyoung lady's lips were quivering with restrained smiles.
"Miss Beecham, will you take a glass of milk or a cup of cocoa?" saidthe lady at the head of the table.
Meg looked blankly in the direction of the speaker.
"Is not your name Beecham?" said this lady with a shade of annoyance inher voice.
Meg shook her head in the negative; then suddenly remembering thewarning she had received not to forget:
"Yes--Beecham--that's my name," she said hurriedly, with the vivid nodthat usually accompanied her assertions.
A titter went round the table.
"Hush!" said Miss Grantley severely.
Meg sat stiff and upright.
"Will you have milk or cocoa?" repeated Miss Grantley.
"Cocoa," blurted out Meg with monosyllabic brevity, in her confusionforgetting her manners.
She was intensely aware of the nudgings going on around her; of subduedfits of laughter shaking some of the young ladies; of the surprisedstare of others. She caught Miss Grantley's cold glance.
Meg seized with both hands the cup passed on to her and hurriedly gulpeddown some of its contents.
As she put it down she again encountered shocked and amazed glances. Anembarrassed misgiving fell upon her. Breaking her bread into smallmorsels she slowly munched, gazing down into her plate.
When she became aware of a general pushing back of chairs and of risingabout her, Meg stood up. She knew the teacher was saying grace. Herspectacled neighbor then nodded.
"Come along," she said, and Meg followed.
The girls were pouring into another room. They at once surrounded Meg.The whispers became audible.
"Who is she?"
"Who brought her?"
"Where did she come from?"
To Meg's surprise, one of the girls approached her and said withfamiliar cordiality:
"What is your name--your real name, I mean?"
"My real name?" repeated Meg. She was standing inflexibly upright near atable.
"The name you were called by before to-day?" said her interrogator.
"You did not recognize your name when you were called Beecham--what isyour real name?" said another.
Meg did not answer for a moment. She remembered her promise to themysterious white-haired stranger. Then she said huskily:
"What does it signif
y what name I had before?"
Again she paused.
"Then you had another name?" said the pretty girl in a thin, high voice."How very romantic!"
"Don't tease her--what does it signify?" put in Ursula.
"What does it signify?" was repeated all round in what Meg fancied a notunkindly tone. She took courage.
"What is in a name?" demanded one of the girls.
"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet would it not?" saidanother.
"Yes," said Meg, bewildered.
"Where did you live!" questioned one.
Meg remained mute. Again her promise to the mysterious stranger sealedher lips.
"Up a tree," suggested one.
"Second branch," said another with a laugh.
"Letters to you came addressed 'Miss What's-her-name, second branch,fourth tree, on the right side of the road,'" cried a third.
This description of Meg's late abode was greeted by peals of laughter.
"Visitors climbed up," suggested another.
"Why do you say those things?" asked Meg, looking round on the laughingfaces. "I am come here to learn lessons--to grow up to be a lady. That'swhat I come for."
"A lady!" echoed all around her.
"A lady is born a lady," said a tall girl who had not spoken hitherto.She had a high nose and a voice of ice.
"My mother was a lady," said Meg.
"Your mother!" was echoed all around.
Meg did not answer; words seemed to tremble on her lips as she gazed onher tormentors.
"Is your dress her taste?" asked one.
"Did she teach you to say 'Cocoa' like that, without saying 'if youplease'?" asked another, mimicking Meg's answer to Miss Grantley.
"My mother taught me nothing--she is dead," said Meg slowly.
There was a pause.
Then the tormentors began again.
"Are you sure you would know a lady if you saw one?"
"Would you call the grocer's wife a lady because she wears a silkdress?" demanded the Roman-nosed young lady in her chilly voice.
"No," said Meg with concentration.
"Does a lady go about playing the street-organ?" asked a fat,stupid-faced girl.
"No," again said Meg fiercely. Then addressing the assembly generally,but looking especially at the high-nosed young lady, she went on:"Why do you want to know all those things about me? It's idlecuriosity--that's what I call it. And if my dress is ugly, what is thatto you? I come here to learn lessons and to be a lady."
"But do you know what it is to be a lady?" replied the girl.
"One is born, not made a lady," said another.
"If," said Meg, trembling with energy, looking round on her persecutors,"to be a born lady makes one laugh at another because she's badlydressed, and to mock her because she's not got fine manners, then to bea born lady is to be vulgar and cruel--that's what I think."
For a moment there was silence; then the stupid-looking girl, comingclose to Meg and thrusting her face near hers, said in a jeering drawl:
"I saw you and your mother selling matches in Bond Street last Easterholidays. Your mother had a red handkerchief round her head and a monkeyunder her arm."
"That is a falsehood!" said Meg. Up flashed the little brown hand andcame down with a slap on the dull, mocking face.
There was a hubbub.
Cries of "She's a savage!" "A gypsy!"
"We will tell Miss Reeves," was vociferated on all sides.
Above the tumult rose the voice of Ursula:
"You deserved that slap, Laura Harris. Miss Beecham had told us hermother was dead. She has been teased too much."
A bell sounded and the head-mistress, followed by the other teachers andthe servants, entered the room.
"Silence, young ladies," said Miss Reeves.
Prayer-time had come at Moorhouse.