CHAPTER IX

WHILE THE CAT'S AWAY

That evening, however, Nat and the Fifth had other things to think of besides their own particular black sheep and her delinquencies. Miss Julian and Miss Bennett were taking them to a large neighbouring town, where a good-class travelling company were giving a performance of one of the Shakespearean plays that the Fifth and Sixth were studying that year--"A Midsummer Night's Dream." Monica would have gone with the rest had she behaved herself that day, but now she was left behind. Considering this a sufficient punishment for her misdemeanours, Miss Bennett informed Monica just before the party set out that she was at liberty to leave the study and follow her ordinary pursuits.

After Miss Bennett had gone Monica still sat reading, but by half-past seven she had finished her book. It was an exciting story, and for a little while she had lost herself in its contents. Now she put it aside, and gazing round the study she realized suddenly and overwhelmingly how quiet and lonely it was. For some minutes she sat brooding, but the silence and loneliness became more than she could bear, and springing to her feet she hurried out into the passage. How quiet it was in that part of the house; not a single sound could be heard from any of the studies, not a single crack of light shone from under their doors!

Very soon, Monica reflected, the Fifth and Sixth would be enjoying themselves at the theatre, laughing at the funny antics of Bottom and his fellow-artisans. Well, she, Monica, could make her own fun. Walking to the end of the corridor she heard the sound of voices in the common room. It would be the lower forms, just released from prep in their classrooms. During the winter months their prep hours were from five-thirty to seven-thirty, and from then till half-past eight they were free to do what they pleased. She would join them. The Fourth were a lively set, not nearly as stodgy as the conscientious Fifth.

It appeared that the netball champions of the Fourth and Third had called a meeting of their supporters. Pam's two independent younger sisters had never approved of their sister's inclusion in the hockey eleven--especially Prue, the youngest. She was particularly indignant just now because the netball club had arranged their most important fixture for a date in the near future, and Pam had informed them that she would be unable to play, as St. Etheldreda's would be engaged in their third shield match on that very same day. Prue and the other netballites considered that they had just cause for grievance.

As Monica quietly entered the room and took a seat, Prue was in the act of declaiming loudly: "No Preston was ever content to sit down with folded arms and, like Mr. Micawber, wait for something to turn up. Words are of no use. Have we not protested in vain? No, we have got to show them how much we resent it."

Monica's eyes brightened. The evening need not be so dull, after all! The opportunity for a little fun was there in front of her. She had only to grasp it. She rose to her feet and walked forward.

"As one of netball's most enthusiastic exponents," she interrupted--this was hardly true, but Prue and her friends were too much impressed by the long words to trouble about their accuracy--"may I address a few words to the meeting?"

Prue hesitated. The new girl was reputed to be a bit "queer." But, after all, she had joined the netball club in spite of the fact that practically all the Fifth played hockey. She had also played in the last netball match and had not acquitted herself badly, beyond breaking most of the rules in the game through ignorance or over-excitement. Prue mentally recalled Monica's part in the match. Yes, she had certainly been pulled up by the referee for running with the ball once or twice, for holding it longer than three seconds, for getting offside and once for inadvertently kicking the ball. On the other hand she had been extremely quick in running and jumping to intercept the ball, had held her passes well, and passed quite accurately herself, and had seemed to enjoy the game thoroughly once she had got into it.

"Right you are," said Prue, jumping down from the chair on which she was standing. "Fire away."

"I don't want to say much--just two or three words," replied Monica modestly, then lowering her voice she added in grave tones: "Has it ever occurred to you what is the real object of the seniors?"

Her audience stared at Monica in perplexity.

"No. What do you mean?" from Prue.

"Well, being a senior myself," Monica continued solemnly, "I naturally hear more about their point of view than you girls in lower forms. I think they are working with the idea of making netball entirely subsidiary to hockey--just a form of exercise for the very youngest girls in the school--or even to abolish it altogether. They intend to make hockey the winter game of the school, and everybody above, say, the Second Form will be compelled to play it."

The netballites looked at each other in horror. Prue shook with indignation. "I shouldn't be surprised in the least if you are right," she declared. "All the more reason why we should do something to show we are not going to be put down so easily. Can anyone suggest a plan?"

No one could, though all agreed emphatically--if vaguely--that something ought to be done. After a short silence a few tentative suggestions were put forward, but rejected as not being suitable or feasible. Finally the meeting came to an end with the resolution that another should be called in a day or two's time to see if fresh ideas were forthcoming--the members to rack their brains well in the meanwhile.

Prue left the room arm-in-arm with her chief friend, lively Meggie Mellows. Monica caught them up outside, laying her hand on Prue's shoulder.

"I say, Prue, I have an idea. Would you like to hear it?"

Prue nodded eagerly.

"Suppose we were to take all their hockey sticks and hide them," was Monica's suggestion. "Think what a stew they would all be in! If the sticks didn't turn up before match day we could promise to find them on condition that Pam played in the netball match, instead of the hockey match. It is quite easy to get hold of the sticks. They are all kept in the gym room."

Prue's eyes began to sparkle. Then her face fell. "Yes, but where could we hide them so they couldn't be found? Short of digging a hole in the garden and burying them--and for that we've neither the time nor the tools--where could we put them? They'll search everywhere, every nook and corner."

Monica bent forward and whispered earnestly in the ears of the other two girls. When she had finished, Meggie was giggling and Prue smiling broadly.

"It might work," Prue admitted. "They might not think of looking there. Anyway, it's rather a lark."

"Who's going to do it?" asked Meggie. "One alone can't carry all the sticks."

"I should think we three would be sufficient," replied Monica. "The fewer in the secret the better. I shouldn't tell the other girls. A secret shared by so many would cease to be a secret, you know."

"That's true," agreed Prue. "I'll go and get the key while the staff are still at dinner. I know just where it hangs in Miss Cazalet's room, 'cause I've fetched it for her more than once. You can skirmish around and see that there's no one hanging about near the gym room. With all the Fifth and Sixth away it's an opportunity we shan't get again."

The gym room, which was situated at the back of the building, was plunged in darkness Meggie switched on the light at one end, and by the time Prue had joined them, holding up the key in triumph, she and Monica had noiselessly piled all the hockey sticks and pads they could find into three heaps on the floor. Meggie had also found three balls, one used for practices, the other two kept for matches. Each burdened with a heavy load, the three conspirators slipped out of the door that led from the gym room into the garden behind and vanished in the shadows. Ten minutes later they reappeared, and joining the girls who belonged to the indoor games club, played draughts or ludo in the library with serene and innocent faces till the supper bell rang.

While this dark deed was being planned and carried out at school, the innocent victims were enjoying themselves thoroughly at the theatre. The only one whose thoughts were not given wholly to the play was Nat, and though she laughed as heartily as the rest when Bottom was "translated" into an ass, she could not keep herself from constantly wondering how the black sheep of the form was spending her lonely evening. The part of Puck was taken by a young girl, and somehow the slight, graceful little figure darting to and fro in the dimness of the stage, bent on impish mischief, reminded Nat of Monica. Many times she had seen the cold, unfriendly expression of her little face soften and sparkle with just that look of impish roguery. She pictured her sitting alone in the study all the evening, with the hard, bored look on her small features, little dreaming that while the real Puck was busy laying traps for unsuspecting mortals on the stage, the other was similarly occupied at school.

The curtain descended on the happily united lovers, rose again for the "tedious brief scene" of young Pyramus and his love Thisbe, and descended for the last time on Puck's good night to his audience. Laughing and chattering, blinking and yawning, the party of schoolgirls caught the last train home, and by the time they entered the gates of St. Etheldreda's the clock in the steeple of the parish church was striking half-past eleven--an extraordinary time for St. Etheldreda's girls to be out of their beds.

"Hot cocoa and sandwiches will be served in the library, girls," said Miss Julian, smiling at all the bright, happy faces round her, as they trooped into the hall. "Then I shall expect you all to get to bed and to sleep as quickly and with as little noise or commotion as possible. No chattering in the dormitories, mind."

There was a chorus of promises of obedience to the Principal's wishes; and when the cocoa and sandwiches had been disposed of round the still glowing fire in the library there was a general movement for bed. As Nat was on her way upstairs she slipped into the passage on to which the studies opened, intending to fetch a pair of indoor shoes which she had left in her room. To her amazement a shaft of light shone beneath the door. Had Monica forgotten to switch off the light before leaving? Had it been overlooked by the mistress who made her nightly round to see that no lights were left burning? Hurriedly she pushed open the door, and gave a gasp of amazement to find the room occupied.

Monica sat there, huddled up in a chair, with her elbows propped on her knees and her chin in her hands, staring fixedly at the opposite wall and apparently lost in thought--or dreams. On the table in front of her lay what looked like an oblong piece of cardboard, but at second glance proved to be a picture or photograph.

"Whatever are you doing here?" exclaimed Nat. "Why aren't you in bed?"

As Nat spoke Monica turned the photograph over, so that it lay face downwards.

"I did go up when bed bell went," she explained. "I was the only one in the dormitory, and it seemed so queer and lonely that after Miss Moore had come round and put out the lights I crept down here again, and read until I heard you come in. I was just going upstairs again."

"It was rather a shame, being the only one left out of it," Nat agreed. Then, touched by Monica's forlorn words and look, she added impulsively: "I say, I'm sorry I made such a fuss over that business about Irene and the hockey match. I expect I sounded an awful prig. Let's forget it, shall we? I'd much rather be in my own study with you--even with all those horrible things on the walls--than pushing myself in with other girls who don't really want me, nice though they are about it, and where there isn't room for my big feet."

Monica made no reply. She had picked up the piece of cardboard from the table and was unconsciously twisting and turning it between her fingers, her head lowered so that her face could not be seen. In the bright electric light Nat saw a tear splash on the polished surface of the little table.

"I say," she exclaimed, alarmed. "You're never crying, are you? Don't you feel well, or something?"

Monica looked up, blew her nose vigorously and laughed, though her eyelashes were wet. "No, I'm not crying," she averred, "and I don't feel in the least ill. All the same, I'm glad I shall have somebody to talk to to-morrow. It was miserable sitting here alone all day."

"That's all right then," said Nat cheerfully, "and now hurry up and come along to bed, or we'll get into a row." She switched off the light and in another minute they had gained the dormitory, where the rest of its occupants, tired and sleepy, were already tumbling into bed. Nat saw Monica into her cubicle, then nodded a cheery good-night and pulled back the curtains over the entrance. Monica drew out the photograph she had tucked under her arm, looked at it and sighed. Then she dropped it into one of her drawers, pulled off her clothes and slipped into bed a second before Miss Bennett looked in at the dormitory door, said, "Good-night all," and switched off the light. In spite of that sigh, Monica dropped off to sleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. The pleasant recollection of Nat's cheerful face and wide smile as she pulled back the curtain was her last mental vision before she lost consciousness.

Nat was not so lucky. A tiresome knot in a string delayed her nearly five minutes, with the result that she had to finish undressing in the dark, finally falling to sleep blissfully unaware that the stockings she had pulled off and aimed at the chair at random had, instead of finding their true destination, dropped with uncanny precision into the water jug and its liquid contents.