CHAPTER IV
"The King of the Castle"
The members of VB often congratulated themselves that their specialclassroom was decidedly larger than that of the Sixth or of VA. Theywere apt to boast of their superior accommodation, and would never admitthe return argument that being so much larger a form, their room reallyallowed less space per girl, and was therefore actually inferior to itsrivals. On one February evening the whole nine were sitting round thefire, luxuriating in half an hour's delicious idleness before the bellrang for "second prep.". Those who had been first in the field hadsecured the basket-chairs, but the majority squatted on the hearth-rug,making as close a ring as they could, for the night was cold, and therewas a nip of frost in the air.
"Now, don't anybody begin to talk sense, please!" pleaded Betty Scott,leaning a golden-brown head mock-sentimentally on Annie Pridwell'sshoulder. "My poor little brains are just about pumped out with maths.,and what's left of them will be wanted for French prep. later on. Thisis the silly season, so I hope no one will endeavour to improve mymind."
"They'd have a Herculean task before them if they did!" sniggeredAnnie. "Betty, your head may be empty, but it's jolly heavy, all thesame. I wish you'd kindly remove it from my shoulder."
"You mass of ingratitude! It was a mark of supreme affection--a kind of'They grew in beauty side by side', don't you know!"
"I don't want to know. Not if it involves nursing your weight. Oh, yes!go to Barbara, by all means, if she'll have you. I'm not in the leastoffended."
"That big basket-chair oughtn't to be monopolized by one," asserted EvieBennett. "It's quite big enough for two. Here, Deirdre, make room forme. Don't be stingy, you must give me another inch. That's better. It'srather a squash, but we can just manage."
"You're cuckooing me out!" protested Deirdre.
"No, no, I'm not. There's space for two in this nest. We're a pair ofdoves:
"'Coo,' said the turtle dove, 'Coo,' said she".
"I'll say something more to the point, if you don't take care. What alot of sillies you are!"
"Then please deign to enlarge our intellects. We're hanging upon yourwords. Betty can stop her ears, if she thinks it will be too great astrain on her slender brains. What is it to be? A recitation fromMilton, or a dissertation on the evils of levity? Miss Sullivan, youraudience awaits you. Mr. Chairman, will you please introduce thelecturer?"
"Ladies and gentlemen, I hasten to explain that owing to severeindisposition I am unable to be present to-night," returned Deirdrepromptly.
"Oh, Irish of the Irish!" laughed the girls. "Did you say it on purpose,or did it come unconsciously?"
"I wish I were Irish. Somehow I never say funny things, not even if Itry," lamented Dulcie.
"Because you couldn't. You're a dear fat dumpling, and dumplings neverare funny, you know--it's against nature."
"It's not my fault if I'm fat," said Dulcie plaintively. "People say'Laugh and grow fat', so why shouldn't a plump person be funny?"
"They are funny--very funny--though not quite in the way you mean."
"Oh, look here! Don't be horrid!"
"You began it yourself."
"Children, don't barge!" interrupted Romola Harvey. "You really arerather a set of lunatics to-night. Can't anyone tell a story?"
"I was taught to call fibbing a sin in the days of my youth," retortedBetty Scott, assuming a serious countenance.
"You--you ragtimer! I mean a real story--a tale--a legend--a romance--orwhatever you choose to call it."
"Don't know any."
"We've used them all up," said Evie Bennett, yawning lustily. "We allknow the legend of the Abbess Gertrude--it's Miss Birks's favouritechestnut--and what she said to the Commissioner who came to confiscatethe convent: and we've had the one about Monmouth's rebellion till it'sas stale as stale can be. I defy anybody to have the hardihood to repeatit."
"Aren't there any other tales about the neighbourhood?" asked GerdaThorwaldson. It was the first remark that she had made.
"Oh, I don't think so. The old castle's very sparse in legends. Isuppose there ought to be a few, but they're mostly forgotten."
"Who used to live there?"
"Trevellyans. There always have been Trevellyans--hosts of them--thoughnow there's nobody left but Mrs. Trevellyan and Ronnie."
"Who's Ronnie?"
More than half a dozen answers came instantly.
"Ronnie? Why, he's just Ronnie."
"Mrs. Trevellyan's great-nephew."
"The dearest darling!"
"You never saw anyone so sweet."
"We all of us adore him."
"We call him 'The King of the Castle'."
"They've been away, staying in London."
"But they're coming back this week."
"Is he grown up?" enquired Gerda casually.
"Grown up!" exploded the girls. "He's not quite six!"
"He lives with Mrs. Trevellyan," explained Betty, "because he hasn't gotany father or mother of his own."
"Oh, Betty, he has!" burst out Barbara.
"Well, that's the first I ever heard of them, then. I thought he was anorphan."
"He's as good as an orphan, poor little chap."
"Why?"
"Nobody ever mentions his father."
"Why on earth not?"
"Oh, I don't know! There's something mysterious. Mrs. Trevellyan doesn'tlike it talked about. Nobody dare even drop a hint to her."
"What's wrong with Ronnie's father?"
"I tell you I don't know, except that I believe he did something heshouldn't have."
"Rough on Ronnie."
"Ronnie doesn't know, of course, and nobody would be cruel enough totell him. You must promise you'll none of you mention what I've said.Not to anybody."
"Rather not! You can trust us!" replied all.
It was perhaps only natural that the affairs of the Castle should seemimportant to the dwellers at the Dower House. The two buildings lay sonear together, yet were so isolated in their position as regarded otherhabitations, that they united in many ways for their mutual convenience.If Miss Birks's gardener was going to the town he would executecommissions for the Castle, as well as for his own mistress; and, on theother hand, the Castle chauffeur would call at the Dower House forletters to be sent by the late post. Mrs. Trevellyan was a widow with nofamily of her own. She had adopted her great-nephew Ronald while he wasstill quite a baby, and he could remember no other home than hers. Thelittle fellow was the one delight and solace of her advancing years. Herlife centred round Ronnie; she thought continually of his interests,and made many plans for his future. He was her constant companion, andhis pretty, affectionate ways and merry chatter did much to help her toforget old griefs. He was a most winning, engaging child, a favouritewith everybody, and reigned undoubtedly as monarch in the hearts of allwho had the care of him. It was partly on Ronnie's account, and partlybecause she really loved young people, that Mrs. Trevellyan took so muchnotice of the pupils at the Dower House. On her nephew's behalf shewould have preferred a boys' preparatory school for neighbour, but evengirls over fourteen were better than nobody; they made an element ofyouth that was good for Ronnie, and prevented the Castle from seemingtoo dull. The knowledge that he might perhaps meet his friends on theheadland gave an object to the little boy's daily walk, and the jokesand banter with which they generally greeted him provided him with asubject for conversation afterwards.
The girls on their part showed the liveliest interest in anythingconnected with the Castle. They would watch the motor passing in and outof the great gates, would peep from their top windows to look at thegardeners mowing the lawns, and would even count the rooks' nests thatwere built in the grove of elm trees. Occasionally Mrs. Trevellyan wouldask the whole school to tea, and that was regarded as so immense a treatthat the girls always looked forward to the delightful chance that somefortunate morning an invitation might be forthcoming.
Mrs. Trevellyan had been staying in London at the beginning
of the term,but early in February she returned home again. On the day after herarrival the girls were walking back from a hockey practice on thewarren, swinging their way along the narrow tracks between last year'sbracken and heather, or having an impromptu long-jump contest where asmall stream crossed the path.
"It's so jolly to see the flag up again at the Castle," said EvieBennett, looking at the turret where the Union Jack was flying bravelyin the breeze. "I always feel as if it's a kind of national defence. Anyships sailing by would know it was England they were passing."
"I like it because it means Mrs. Trevellyan's at home," said DeirdreSullivan. "A place seems so forlorn when the family's away. Did Ronniecome back too, last night?"
"Yes, Hilda Marriott saw him from the window this morning. He was goingdown the road with his new governess. Why, there he is--actuallywatching for us, the darling!"
The girls had to pass close to a turnstile that led from the Castlegrounds into the warren, and here, perched astride the top rail of thegate, evidently on the look-out for them, a small boy was waving his capin frantic welcome. He was a pretty little fellow, with the bluest ofeyes and the fairest of skins, and the lightest of flaxen hair, and heseemed dimpling all over his merry face with delight at the meeting. Thegirls simply made a rush for him, and he was handed about from one toanother, struggling in laughing protest, till at last he wriggledhimself free, and retiring behind the turnstile, held the gate as abarrier.
A SMALL BOY WAS WAVING HIS CAP IN FRANTIC WELCOME_Page 48_]
"I knew you'd be coming past, so I got leave to play here. Thank you allfor your Christmas cards," he said gaily. "Yes--I like my new governess.Her name's Miss Herbert, and she's ripping. Auntie's going to ask you totea. I want to show you my engine I got at Christmas. It goes round thefloor and it really puffs. You'll come?"
"Oh! we'll come all right," chuckled the girls. "We've got something atthe Dower House to show you, too. No, we shan't tell you what itis--it's to be a surprise. Oh, goody! There's the bell! Ta-ta! We mustbe off! If we don't fly, we shall all be late for call-over. No, you'renot to come through the gate to say good-bye! Go back, you rascal! Youknow you're not allowed on the warren!"
As the big bell at the Dower House was clang-clanging its loudest, thegirls set off at a run. There was not a minute to be lost if they meantto be in their places to answer "Present" to their names; and missingthe roll-call meant awkward explanations with Miss Birks. One only,oblivious of the urgency of the occasion, lingered behind. GerdaThorwaldson had stood apart while the others greeted Ronnie, merelylooking on as if the meeting were of no interest to her. Nobody hadtaken the slightest notice of her, or had indeed remembered herexistence at the moment. She counted for so little with herschoolfellows that it never struck them to introduce her to theirfavourite; in fact they had been totally occupied among themselves infighting for possession of him. She remained now, until the very lastschool sports' cap was round the corner and out of sight. Then shedashed through the turnstile, and overtaking Ronnie, thrust a packet ofchocolates, rather awkwardly, into his hand.
The bell had long ceased clanging, and Miss Birks had closed thecall-over book when Gerda entered the schoolroom. As she would offer noexplanation of her lateness, she was given a page of French poetry tolearn, to teach her next time to regard punctuality as a cardinalvirtue. She took her punishment with absolute stolidity.
"What a queer girl she is! She never seems to care what happens," saidDulcie. "I should mind if Miss Birks glared at me in that way, to saynothing of a whole page of _Athalie_."
"She looked as if she'd been crying when she came in," remarked Deirdre.
"She's not crying now, at any rate. She simply looks unapproachable.What made her so late? She was with us on the warren."
"How should I know? If she won't tell, she won't. You might as well tryto make a mule gallop uphill as attempt to get even the slightest, mostordinary, everyday scrap of information out of such a sphinx as GerdaThorwaldson."