CHAPTER XVI.
A DAME'S SCHOOL.
The Hollies, Teddington, was situated in a quiet road off the mainstreet. A wooden gate, varnished and grained, displayed a brass platewith Mrs. Bickersteth's name engraved upon it, while that of the housewas lettered in black on one of the stucco gate-posts, and perhapsjustified by the few evergreens which grew within. A low wall wastopped by a sort of balustrade, likewise stuccoed, and behind this wallstood half-a-dozen cropped and yellowing limes.
The house itself was hardly what Harry had expected so far from town.He seemed to have passed it daily for the last four months, for it wasthe plain, tall, semi-detached, "desirable" and even "commodiousresidence," which abounds both in Kensington and Camden Town, in thegroves of St. John's Wood and on the heights of Notting Hill. A flightof exceedingly clean steps led up to a ponderous front door with amighty knocker; on the right were two long windows which evidentlystretched to the floor, for a wire screen protected the lower part ofeach; and above these screens, late on the Friday afternoon, some eightor nine rather dismal little faces were pressed to watch the arrival ofthe new master.
The cabman carried the luggage up the steps and was duly overpaid. Theservant shut the great door with a bang--it was a door that would notshut without one--and Harry Ringrose had gone to school again atone-and-twenty.
He was shown into a very nice drawing-room--the kind of drawing-room toreassure an anxious parent--and here for a minute he was alone. Througha thin wall came a youthful buzz, and Harry distinctly heard, "I wonderif he's strict?" He also heard an irritable, weak, feminine voiceexclaiming: "Be silent--be silent--or you shall all have fifty lines!"Then the door opened, and he was shaking hands with Mrs. Bickersteth.
The lady was short, stout, and rather more than elderly, yet with afresh-coloured face as free from wrinkles as it was full of character,and yellow hair which age seemed powerless to bleach. Her manner wasnot without kindness or distinction, but neither quality was quite sonoticeable as when Harry had seen her at the agents' in her mantle andbonnet. Indeed the fresh cheeks had a heightened tinge, and the lighteyes a brightness, which Harry Ringrose was destined to know better asthe visible signs of Mrs. Bickersteth's displeasure.
"We are a little late," began the schoolmistress (who had this way ofspeaking to the boys, and who early discovered a propensity to treatHarry as one of them): "we are a little later than I expected, Mr.Ringrose. Now that we have come, however, we will say no more aboutit."
And the lady gave a perfunctory little laugh, meant to sound indulgent,but Harry had a true ear for such things, and he made his apologies alittle stiffly. If Mrs. Bickersteth had named an hour he would havemade it his business to be there by that hour; as she had but said theafternoon, he had presumed that five o'clock would be time enough. Mrs.Bickersteth replied that she called five o'clock the evening, with aplayfully magnanimous smile which convinced Harry even less than herlaugh: he had a presentiment of the temper which it masked.
"But pray let us say no more about it," cried the lady once more. "Ionly thought that it would be a good opportunity for you to get to knowthe little men. I am glad to say that all the boarders have arrived;they are now, as I daresay you hear, in the next room with the othergoverness. Dear me, what am I saying! You see, Mr. Ringrose, I havealways had two governesses in the house hitherto. Mr. Scrafton, whocomes every morning (except Saturday) to teach the elder boys, has beenour only regular master for many years, though a drill-sergeant alsocomes twice a week from the barracks at Hampton Court. But in taking amaster into my house, in place of one of the governesses, I am tryingan experiment which I feel sure we will do our best to justify."
Harry replied as suitably as possible, but made more than one mentalnote. His engagement had not been termed an experiment at theirprevious interview. Neither had he heard the name of Mr. Scrafton untilthis moment.
"I hear the servant taking your portmanteau upstairs," continued Mrs.Bickersteth, "and presently I shall show you your room, as I am goingto ask you to oblige me by always wearing slippers in the house. Theday-boys change their boots the moment they arrive. Before we goupstairs, however, there is one matter about which I should like tospeak. We have a delicate little fellow here whose name is Woodman, andwhose parents--very superior, rich people--live down in Devonshire, andtrust the little man entirely to my care. He is really much better herethan he is at home; still he has to have a fire in his room throughoutthe winter, and consequently he cannot sleep with the other boys.Hitherto one of the governesses has slept in his room, but now I amgoing to take the opportunity of putting you there, as I am sorry tosay he is a boy who requires firmness as well as care. If you willaccompany me upstairs I will now show you the room."
It was at the end of a passage at the top of the house, and a very niceroom Harry thought it. The beds were in opposite corners, a screenround the smaller one, and the space between at present taken up withHarry's portmanteau and the boy's boxes, which were already partiallyunpacked. A fire burnt in the grate; a number of texts were tacked tothe walls. Harry was still looking about him when Mrs. Bickersteth madea dive into one of the little boy's open boxes and came up with agaily-bound volume in each hand.
"More story-books!" cried she. "I have a good mind to confiscate them.I do not approve of the number of books his parents encourage him toread. If you ever catch him reading up here, Mr. Ringrose, I must askyou to report the matter instantly to me, as I regret to say that hehas given trouble of that kind before."
Harry bowed obedience.
"Little Woodman," continued the schoolmistress, "though sharp enoughwhen he likes, is, I am sorry to say, one of our most indolent boys. Hewould read all day if we would let him. However, he is going to Mr.Scrafton this term, so he will have to exert himself at last! And now,if you like your room, Mr. Ringrose, I will leave you to put on yourslippers, and will take you into the schoolroom when you comedownstairs."
The schoolroom was long and bare, but unconventional in that a longdining-table did away with desks, and the boys appeared to be shakingoff their depression when Harry and his employer entered five minuteslater. They were making a noise through which the same angry butineffectual voice could be heard threatening a hundred lines all roundas the door was thrown open. The noise ceased that moment. Thegoverness rose in an apologetic manner; while all the boys wore guiltyfaces, but one who was buried in a book, sitting hunched up on thefloor. Like most irascible persons, however, the schoolmistress had hermoments of conspicuous good-temper, and this was one.
"These are the little men," said she. "Children, this is your newmaster. Miss Maudsley--Mr. Ringrose."
And Harry found himself bowing to the lady with the voice, a lady ofany age, but no outward individuality; even as he did so, however, Mrs.Bickersteth beckoned to the governess; and in another moment Harry wasalone with the boys.
The new master had never felt quite so shy or so self-conscious as hedid during the next few minutes; it was ten times worse than going toschool as a new boy. The fellows stood about him, staring frankly, andone in the background whispered something to another, who told him toshut up in a loud voice. Harry seated himself on the edge of the table,swung a leg, stuck his hands in his pockets (where they twitched) andasked the other boys their names.
"James Wren," said the biggest, who looked twelve or thirteen, and wasthickly freckled.
"Ernest Wren," said a smaller boy with more freckles.
"Robertson."
"Murray."
"Gifford."
"Simes."
"Perkins."
"Stanley."
"And that fellow on the floor?"
"Woodman," said James Wren. "I say, Woodman, don't you hear? Can't youget up when you're spoken to?"
Woodman shut his book, keeping, however, a finger in the place, and gotup awkwardly. He was one of the smallest of the boys, but he wore longtrousers, and beneath them irons which jingled as he came forward witha shambling waddle. He had a queer little face, dark eyes and
thelightest of hair; and he blushed a little as, alone among the boys, butclearly unconscious of the fact, he proceeded to shake hands with thenew master.
"So you are Woodman?" said Harry.
"Yes, sir," said the boy. "Have you come instead of Mr. Scrafton, sir?"
"No, I have come as well."
At this there were groans, of which Harry thought it best to take nonotice. He observed, however, that Woodman was not among the groaners,and to get upon safe ground he asked him what the book was.
"One of Ballantyne's, sir. It's magnificent!" And the dark eyes glowedlike coals in what was again a very pale face.
"_The Red Eric_," said Harry, glancing at the book. "I remember itwell. You're in an exciting place, eh?"
"Yes, sir: the mutiny, sir."
"Then don't let me stop you--run along!" said Harry, smiling; andWoodman was back on the floor and aboard his whaler before the newmaster realised that this was hardly the way in which he had beeninstructed to treat the boy who was always reading.
But he went on chatting with the others, and in quite a few minutes hefelt that, as between the boys and himself, all would be plain sailing.They were nice enough boys--one or two a little awkward--one or twovocally unacquainted with the first vowel--but all of them disposed towelcome a man (Harry thought) after the exclusive authority of residentladies. Traces of a demoralising rule were not long in assertingthemselves, as when Robertson gave Simes a sly kick, and Simes startedoff roaring to tell Mrs. Bickersteth, only to be hauled back by Harryand given to understand (evidently for the first time) that only littlegirls told tales. The bigger boys seemed to breathe again when he saidso. Then they all stood at one of the windows in the failing light, andHarry talked cricket to them, and even mentioned his travels, whereatthey clamoured for adventures; but the new master was not such a foolas to play all his best cards first. They were still at the window whenthe gate opened and in walked a squat silk-hatted gentleman with ayellow beard and an evening paper.
"Here comes old Lennie!" exclaimed Gifford, who was the one with themost to say for himself.
"Who?" said Harry.
"Lennie Bickersteth, sir--short for Leonard," replied Gifford, whilethe other boys laughed.
"But you mustn't speak of him like that," said Harry severely.
"Oh, yes, I must!" cried Gifford, excited by the laughter. "We all callhim Lennie, and Reggie Reggie, and Baby Baby; don't we, you fellows?Bicky likes us to--it makes it more like home."
"Well," said Harry, "I know what Mrs. Bickersteth would _not_ like, andif you say _that_ again I shall smack your head."
Which so discomfited and subdued the excitable Gifford that Harry likedhim immensely from that moment, and not the less when he discoveredthat the boy's incredible information was perfectly correct.
Mrs. Bickersteth was a widow lady with three grown-up children, whomshe insisted on the boys addressing, not merely by their Christiannames, but by familiar abbreviations of the same. Leonard and Reginaldwere City men who went out every morning with a bang of the big frontdoor, and came home in the evening with a rattle of their latch-keys.Both were short and stout like their mother, with beards as yellow asher hair, while Leonard, the elder, was really middle-aged; but it wasagainst the rules for the boys to address or refer to them as anythingbut Lennie and Reggie, and only the governess and Harry were permittedto say "Mr. Bickersteth." As for the baby of the family, who was Babystill to all her world, she was certainly some years younger; and thename was more appropriate in her case, since she wore the family hairdown to eyes of infantile blue, and had the kind of giggle which seldomsurvives the nursery. She knew no more about boys than any other ladyin the house, but was a patently genuine and good-hearted girl, anddeservedly popular in the school.
When Harry went to bed that night he smelt the smoke of a candle,though he carried his own in his hand. Woodman was apparently fastasleep, but, on being questioned, he won Harry's heart by confessingwithout hesitation or excuse. He had _The Red Eric_ and a candle-endunder his pillow, and the wax was still soft when he gave them up.Harry sat on the side of his bed and duly lectured him on thedisobedience and the danger of the detected crime, while the criminallay with his great eyes wide open, and his hair almost as white as thepillow beneath it. When he had done the small boy said--
"If they had spoken to me like that, sir, last time, sir, I nevershould have done it again."
"You shouldn't have done it in any case," said Harry. "You've got topromise me that it's the last time."
"It's so hard to go asleep the first night of the term, sir," sighedWoodman. "You keep thinking of this time yesterday and this time lastweek, sir."
Harry's eye was on the little irons lying on top of the little heap ofclothes, but he put on the firmest face he could.
"That's the same for all," he said. "How do you know I don't feel likethat myself? Now, you've got to give me your word that you won't everdo this again!"
"But suppose they say what they said before, sir?"
"Give me your word," said Harry.
"Very well, sir, I never will."
"Then I give you mine, Woodman, to say nothing about this; but mind--Iexpect you to keep yours."
The great eyes grew greater, and then very bright. "I'll promise not toopen another book this term, sir--if you like, sir," the little boycried. But Harry told him that was nonsense and to go to sleep, andturned in himself glowing with new ideas. If he could but influencethese small boys as Innes had influenced him! The thought kept himawake far into his first night at Teddington. His life there had begunmore happily than he could have dared to hope.
Morning brought the day-boys and work which was indeed within evenHarry's capacity. It consisted principally in "hearing" lessons set byMrs. Bickersteth; and it revealed the educational system in vogue inthat lady's school. It was the system of question and answer, thequestion read from a book by the teacher, the answer repeated by roteby the boy, and on no condition to be explained or enlarged upon byextemporary word of mouth. Harry fell into this error, but was promptlyand publicly checked by the head-mistress, with whom some of the elderboys were studying English history (from the point of view of Mrs.Markham and her domestic circle) at the other end of the baize-covereddining-table.
"It is quite unnecessary for you to enter into explanations, Mr.Ringrose," said Mrs. Bickersteth down the length of the table. "I haveused _Little Steps_ for very many years, and I am sure that it explainsitself, in a way that little people can understand, better than you canexplain it. Where it does not go into particulars, _Little Arthur_does; so no impromptu explanations, I beg."
Whereafter Harry received the answers to the questions in _Little Stepsto Great Events_ without comment, and was equally careful to take noexplanatory liberties with _Mangnall's Questions_ or with the _Child'sGuide to Knowledge_ when these works came under his nose in due course.
Saturday was, of course, a half-holiday; nor could the term yet be saidto have begun in earnest. It appeared there were some weekly boarderswho would only return on the Monday, while Mr. Scrafton also was notdue until that day. Meanwhile an event occurred on the Saturdayafternoon which quite took the new master's mind off the boys who werebeginning to fill it so pleasantly: an event which perplexed anddistracted him on the very threshold of this new life, and yet one witha deeper and more sinister significance than even Harry Ringrosesupposed.