Kitabı oku: «The Girls of St. Wode's», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XI – ST. WODE’S COLLEGE

There were several women’s colleges at Wingfield, but the largest and the best known, and the most important, was St. Wode’s. It stood in its own spacious grounds, and consisted of four large buildings, which were called respectively the North, the South, the East, and the West Halls. There was also an extensive library standing a little back from the halls of residence, a great gymnasium, and another building devoted entirely to class and lecture rooms. Endless money had been spent upon St. Wode’s College, which now ranked as one of the largest and most important colleges for women in the whole of England. It numbered from three to four hundred students: but the place was so popular, the system on which everything was worked was so admirable, that girls who wished to go to St. Wode’s, had as a rule to put down their names a couple of years in advance.

It so happened, however, that there was a vacancy for two sisters at West Hall, and owing to the breaking-down of a highly nervous student who had worked too hard for classical honors, there was also a vacancy in the North Hall.

North Hall was the house of residence where Belle Acheson carried on her vagaries, and pleased herself with the idea that she was one of the cleverest and most distinguished girls in college. She owned to a qualm of disgust, however, when she learned that Letitia was to be under the same roof as herself, having a thorough scorn for that young lady; but, as she was allowed no choice in the matter, she felt that there was nothing for it but to submit to the inevitable.

Mr. Parker had himself visited St. Wode’s College, had seen the principal, Miss Lauderdale, and had pleaded the cause of Leslie Gilroy with such passion and effect that special arrangements had been made in her favor, and she was admitted to the same hall as Marjorie and Eileen. For the first term she must share a large room with another girl; but that was a trifling matter to Leslie, who, now that things were thoroughly arranged, wished to start on her new career without a moment’s delay. As she had already passed the London Matriculation, there was no difficulty about her admission as soon as room could be found for her. This being arranged, she was able to go to St. Wode’s at the beginning of Trinity term. It so happened, therefore, that Letitia, Eileen, Marjorie, and Leslie Gilroy all found themselves on a certain afternoon in the same cab, driving to St. Wode’s from the railway station, a mile and a half distant. The girls’ luggage was to follow them; and as there happened to be a place in the cab for a fourth, and Leslie was standing, looking just a little forlorn, on the platform, Marjorie went up to her and suggested that they should all go together.

“For I know you are a St. Wode’s girl,” she said.

“How could you possibly guess that?” replied Leslie, looking with admiration at Marjorie whose plain dress could never take away from the charm of her handsome face.

“There was really no mystery about it.” said Marjorie, after a pause. “I am not a magician; but I happened to see the name of St. Wode’s on that basket-trunk a minute or two ago. Will you come with us?”

“I shall be only too delighted,” was the reply. “I was feeling quite lost and strange. It would be nice to go to college in company. Is this your first term?” she added, as she seated herself in the cab.

“Yes, yes; we are all freshers,” replied Lettie. “We shall all have a most unenviable position, that I can foretell. There is a certain Miss Acheson, who resides in North Hall, who has told us of some of the discomforts, and, for my part, if I had not promised – ”

“Oh, hush, please, Lettie; don’t say any more,” said Eileen. “You need not begin by frightening Miss Gilroy. You look, Miss Gilroy, as if you intended to have a good time.”

Leslie did not reply, except with her eyes, which were smiling. She was looking her best, dressed neatly and suitably, with her white sailor hat making an effective contrast to the meshes of her bright golden hair.

“Well, I do wonder how everything will turn out,” said Eileen. “By the way, Miss Gilroy, you did not tell us which Hall you were going to?”

“I believe I am to share a room with another student at North Hall,” she answered. Then she continued, the smiles which she could not suppress now visiting her eyes, “Is not the whole scheme delightful? I do wonder what the other students will be like.”

“And what the tutors will be like,” continued Marjorie eagerly. “There are two resident tutors in each house, and also a vice-principal. Miss Lauderdale is, of course, the principal over the entire college. I expect I shall be somewhat afraid of her.”

“I don’t intend to be afraid of anyone,” said Eileen. “When one makes up one’s mind to lead a really useful life, surely small matters, such as little nervousnesses, ought not to count.”

Leslie gazed hard at Eileen, as if she would read her through.

Marjorie bent suddenly forward and laid her hand on Leslie’s knee.

“Will you tell me something?” she asked earnestly. “Are you coming to St. Wode’s to be a useful member of society, or a learned, or an ornamental one?”

“I have not thought of it in that light,” said Leslie. “I want to go in for learning, of course. As to being ornamental, I have no time to think about that; and useful – well, I hope that learned and useful will, in my case, go together. I have a great deal to do during the three years which are before me – a delightful three years I have no doubt they will prove. What special subjects do you mean to take up, Miss – ”

“Chetwynd is my name,” said Eileen; “but I hope you won’t call me it. I am sure we shall be friends, more particularly as we are to start our new life in the same hall. Oh, I shall have much to tell you by and by. Lettie, why is that frown between your brows?”

“I did not know that I was frowning,” answered Letitia, “I was only thinking of the ornamental part of life, and how I could carry it out most effectively.”

Letitia was dressed with special care, not unsuitably, for she had too good taste for that; but so daintily, so exquisitely, with such a careful eye to the smallest details that Marjorie and Eileen looked rough and gauche beside her. Their serge skirts had been made by a work-girl, as nothing would induce them to waste money on a dressmaker. The work-girl had been discovered by Eileen in Fox Buildings. She had a lame knee and a sick brother, and Eileen seized upon her at once as a suitable person for the job, as she expressed it. Finally, she was given most of the girls’ outfits to undertake.

She worked neatly, but had not the slightest idea of fitting. With numberless blouses, however, and a couple of serge skirts, and sailor hats, though cheap, at least looking clean, the girls passed muster, and were totally indifferent to their own appearance.

“When once we have plunged into our new work we shall be as happy as the day is long,” said Eileen. “I wonder if Belle arrived yesterday or to-day?”

“I sincerely trust she won’t come till to-morrow,” said Letitia, with a shudder. “I do not know for what sin I am doomed to reside under the same roof with that terrible girl.”

“A terrible girl? Who can she be?” asked Leslie.

“You will know for yourself before you have been many days at St. Wode’s,” was Lettie’s enigmatical reply. “Oh, and here we are, turning in at the gates! My heart does go pit-a-pat.”

Leslie’s face also became suffused with pink as the cabman drew up at the large wooden gates, which were presently opened by a neatly dressed young woman who lived at the lodge just within.

The grounds were three-quarters of a mile in length, and the four halls, built round a quadrangle, stood in the middle. There was a wide and smoothly kept grass lawn in front of the halls, and a gravel sweep going right round them. The cab presently delivered up its four occupants, and Eileen, Marjorie, and Leslie found themselves in a small waiting room inside West Hall, where they were to remain until the housekeeper could arrive to take them to their several rooms. They had not to wait long. A cheery young woman of about seven-and-twenty presently made her appearance, asked them their names, told them that their trunks would be brought to their rooms as soon as ever they arrived, and then requested them to follow her.

She tripped up some wide stone stairs, destitute of carpets, and then down a corridor, slippery with parquetry work. The next moment she had flung open a door, and revealed a good-sized room, which was occupied by another girl at the farther end, who wore a shock of red hair rather untidily put up in a loose knot at the back of her head.

“Miss Colchester, I see you have arrived,” said Miss Payne the housekeeper. “This is your room-fellow; may I introduce you to Miss Leslie Gilroy?”

“Pray come in, Miss Gilroy; you are heartily welcome,” said Miss Colchester, jumping up, coming forward, and gazing hard at Leslie. She then extended an awkward hand.

“I am glad to see you,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind the room being in disorder. I have only just begun to unpack, and everything is helter-skelter. I was never tidy – no, never! I begin to think I like things helter-skelter.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, of course!” answered Leslie; but her heart sank. In her mother’s small house the motto impressed upon each child was the old-fashioned one: “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”

“I suppose I shall have one side of the room to myself?” she continued.

Marjorie and Eileen had been left on the landing. They overheard Leslie’s last somewhat despairing words, glanced at one another, and smiled. They were then conducted to their rooms at the farther end of the corridor.

“This is your room, Miss Eileen,” said Miss Payne. “Miss Marjorie has an exact counterpart at the other side of the corridor. Behind this screen you will keep your washhand-stand. This sofa forms your bed at night. This chest of drawers is for your linen and the bodice of your dresses. Behind this curtain you will hang your skirts. Here is your writing-table. It remains with yourself to make your room pretty and neat, or the reverse. You may buy any ornaments in the way of pictures, or anything else you fancy. When you touch this handle you turn on the electric light. Would you care for a fire? Here are coal and wood for the purpose, and I will send in a servant to light it at once, if you wish.”

“No, thank you; it is quite a warm evening,” replied Eileen. “Is Marjorie’s room just the same?”

“Precisely; but I think you have the prettier view.”

“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed Eileen. “Do look, Marjorie; there is that great park in the distance, and the river down there. Oh, please – ” She turned to speak to Miss Payne, but Miss Payne had already vanished.

“Well, we are landed at last!” she said, clasping her sister’s hand. “Does it not seem almost too delightful?”

“Splendid!” cried Marjorie. “Do you know, Eileen, I have taken a fancy to that pretty Miss Gilroy?”

“So have I,” answered Marjorie. “But I expect she will have a bad time, poor dear, with Miss Colchester. Anyone can see Miss Gilroy is of the orderly sort. Now, I don’t care a bit about having things in perfect order.”

“But, Marjorie,” said Eileen, “I have been reading up about that lately, and I think you and I ought to cultivate order very assiduously if we mean to be really useful women. Oh, by the way! our hair is beginning to grow; we must find a barber to-morrow in order to reduce our crops to the right length.”

“An inch and a half being the length permitted,” said Marjorie, with a smile. “I am curious to see poor old Belle. Lettie will have awful tales to tell of her. Well, this life is interesting, is it not, Eileen?”

CHAPTER XII – INKY ANNIE

Meanwhile, Miss Colchester and Leslie Gilroy, standing in the middle of their room, gazed one at the other. Miss Colchester put up her hand to ruffle her red locks. Presently she uttered a short, sharp sigh.

“I see by the build of your head and your figure that you are painfully tidy,” she said. “I had hoped that it might have been the will of Providence to allow a congenial spirit to share this room with me; but, evidently, that is not to be my lot. How much space do you require?”

“Half the room, I suppose,” said Leslie.

“Half! My dear, good creature, impossible! Don’t you see that my things are everywhere? You will notice, too, that I am absorbed in study. I am working hard for mathematical honors, and I have only this term in which to prepare.”

“Surely a long time?” said Leslie.

“No time at all, I assure you. Come here; I will show you the list of books I have to get through. Oh, I declare, here comes your trunk – two trunks. What do you want two trunks for? How perfectly fearful! Put them down, please, porter – there, near the door. Now then, we had better settle this matter at once. You must promise that you will on no account encroach on my half of the room. I take this side with the bay window; you have the back, with the little side window. I require light for my work. I give you permission to keep your part, just there in the corner, as tidy as you please. Do you understand?”

“I shall certainly keep my part of the room tidy,” said Leslie with some spirit. “And may I ask what this screen is for?”

“Oh! you can use it or not as you please. It is supposed to hide the washhand-stand: most unnecessary in my opinion. Some of the students here even go the length of turning the chest of drawers, so that the drawers may face the wall; then they put an ornamental sort of piano-sheet over the back of the drawers, and make it look like a piece of ornamental furniture, ornamental instead of useful. Ridiculous! Does not one want to bang open a drawer, stuff in one’s things, shut it again as quickly as possible, and then not give another thought to the matter? Surely there are untidy girls in the college: why was it my lot to have you sent to share my room – you who are the very pink of neatness?”

“I see you are very sorry to have me, and, of course, I am sorry, too, that you should be put out,” said Leslie, who thought it best to take the bull by the horns. “But suppose, Miss Colchester – suppose I, who may not have quite so much work to do at present as you have – ”

“Of course you won’t, you silly girl; I am working for honors, I told you.”

“Well, well; do let me finish. Suppose I undertake the tidying of the whole room?”

“But, my dear, good creature, I like it untidy. I hate to have everything in its place. When things are in their right places they can never be found; that’s my opinion. Do you see my study table? I know exactly where I have put my things; but, if anybody attempts to tidy them, woe betide my comfort in the future! Well, I see you are good-natured, and I don’t want to be disagreeable. You have a nice face, too, and I dare say we shall pull together all right. If you wish to tidy just round my table, you may. For instance, if you see my stockings on the floor, you can roll them up and pop them into my drawer, any drawer, it doesn’t matter which; and, if I do forget to put my boots outside at night, you may gather them up with your own and fling them on the landing. Oh, dear, dear, it is such a worry even to speak about it! But what I was about to say,” continued Miss Colchester, “is this: You may tidy for me if you please; but there is one point on which I am resolved. This table is never to be touched. The housemaid knows it, and now I warn you. Think what it means to me – I may make a note, through my brain may be evolved an idea, which a careless housemaid may throw into the waste-paper basket. Just think what it would mean! How do you suppose I am to work in a place like this if I think of small, petty things which occupy home-girls? You are a home-girl: have you a tidy mother? Of course you have.”

“Yes,” said Leslie, “and a very hard-working and clever mother, too. She spends a great deal of her time out, but she has trained my sisters and myself – ”

“I do believe you are going to quote that awful proverb about a place for everything,” said Miss Colchester. “Don’t, I beg of you.”

“I was thinking of it. I did not mean to quote it,” said Leslie.

“Well, I must not waste any more time talking. I suppose you must have your way. I am afraid your bedstead is a little uncomfortable. The spring is broken; but you don’t mind, do you?”

“I do mind,” answered Leslie. “I shall ask to have the spring mended to-morrow. There is no good in having an uncomfortable bed; but for to-night it does not matter.”

“Oh, I see you are going to be good-natured! That is your screen – you can take the best of the two, because I never open mine. You can paste any pictures you like on it if you are given that way; but I hope to goodness you are not. The screen is to put round your washhand-stand. That is your table, and that is your chest of drawers. Now, for goodness’ sake, like a dear, good creature, put your things in order, and don’t speak to me again. I must go on with my calculus of finite differences.”

“What do you mean?” asked Leslie.

“Do you wish for an explanation? If so, pray sit down opposite to me and don’t expect to stir for a week; it will take me at least as long to explain the matter. Oh, don’t say any more just now, and do move as softly as you can! Do just consider that my winning honors in mathematics is a little more important than that your drawers should be in immaculate order. Do you comprehend?”

“Perfectly.”

“Well, don’t say another word.”

The red-haired maiden returned to her desk, stuffed both her hands through her fiery locks, which stuck out now like great wings on each side of her head, and began murmuring slowly to herself.

Leslie stood still for a moment with a sense of dismay stealing over her.

“What is to be done?” she thought. “Miss Colchester is a very peculiar girl. What does a calculus of finite differences mean? I almost wish dear old Lew had been mathematical, then perhaps I should have known. Well, never mind; I won’t disturb that poor, dear scholarly girl; but unpack my things I simply must.”

Thanks to her mother’s excellent training, Leslie was a proficient in the art of stowing away things in small spaces; and before the gong for dinner sounded she had put all her belongings away, had arranged the screen round her washhand-stand, and had even brought out much-loved photographs of her mother and her brother Llewellyn to ornament the top of her chest of drawers. These gave a home look to the room, and she glanced at them with satisfaction. Her bedstead, turned into a sofa by day by means of a crimson rug, was now tidy and in order, and Leslie sat down on the edge of it waiting for Annie Colchester to stir.

The second gong pealed through the house, and Annie suddenly started to her feet.

“Good gracious! Oh, I forgot all about you. What is your name?”

“Leslie Gilroy.”

“Leslie Gilroy, please tell me if that is the first or second gong?”

“The second,” replied Leslie.

“And who are you?” continued Annie Colchester, gazing in a sort of vacant way at her roomfellow.

“The girl who has come to share your room.”

“And you have put all your things away and made no noise? Excellent! Did you say that that was the second gong, Miss – ”

“Leslie Gilroy is my name.”

“Is that the second gong?”

“The second gong sounded two or three minutes ago.”

“Then we must fly. Oh, never mind our hands. Ink? Yes, I have ink on my hands and on my face and on my hair; but never mind, never mind; they know me now. I am called ‘Inky Annie.’ I rather glory in the name.”

“But I should have thought that a mathematical scholar would have been the essence of order,” said Leslie. “Surely mathematics ought to conduce to order of mind and body.”

“You know nothing whatever about it,” said Annie, casting a withering glance at Leslie. “I wonder if you are clever or what you have come here for. Girls who are merely orderly have no niche at St. Wode’s. But you will learn doubtless; and if you are good-natured I will stick up for you of course. Come along now; you are a fresher, you know, this term, and will be treated accordingly.”

“But how are freshers treated, and why must I be given that unpleasant name?” asked Leslie.

“Custom, my dear – custom. We always call the new girls freshers; you’ll get used to it. No one is unkind to a fresher unless she makes herself disagreeable, which I rather guess you won’t.” Here Annie smiled brightly into Leslie’s face.

“Well, I hope we shall be good friends, and that I won’t inconvenience you,” said the other girl.

“You won’t if you are silent and keep to your side of the room. Now then, let’s join hands and fly downstairs.”

“Oh, yes, we are fearfully late, and the others have gone into the dining hall.”

“Well, come this way,” said Annie. “I’ll squeeze you into a seat by me, if you like, for this evening, Leslie Gilroy.”