CHAPTER XI

THE TELEGRAM

Peace and harmony reigned supreme at St. Etheldreda's during the next few weeks, for the girls simply had no time to get into mischief, every minute of the day being fully occupied. Work, of course, came first, and the term examinations, which took place the second week in December, loomed appreciably nearer. Girls who had slacked at the beginning of the term decided that it behoved them to work harder if they did not wish to take home a poor report at Christmas. The Dramatic Society, with Glenda as its shining star--Glenda, who had set her heart on becoming a Silver Medallist that year--was busy preparing various scenes from Shakespeare which they hoped to perform on Speech Day. With the improvement in the weather, out-of-door pursuits were booming; groups of girls took long country walks, while games were in full swing.

There were no more quarrels between the netball and hockey clubs. The latter's hopes of gaining the shield were high, for should they win their next match they would be entitled to meet the victors in the other section--Fairhurst Priory, the present holders--in the Final.

On Friday morning--the day before the match--the postman was rather earlier than usual and Irene happened to be the only girl near the door to see him arrive, though usually he was accosted by an expectant crowd. She seized hold of the bundle of letters to take them into the hall, where they were spread on the table for their owners to claim. On the top of the bundle was a letter addressed to Miss M. Carr in extremely black, square handwriting, that set a chord of remembrance vibrating in Irene's mind. In a flash she recollected where she had seen it before. Here was another letter to Monica from the girl Lilian at Fairhurst Priory School.

Before Irene had finished spreading the letters on the table it was surrounded by a crowd of girls eagerly searching for their own names, while from others, who were unable to get close enough to see there came a chorus of inquiry.

One thought only was running like a flame through Irene's mind. Could she by any chance get a glimpse of the contents of Monica's letter? She waited by the table till most of the crowd had dispersed. At last she saw Monica, one of the late comers, saunter into the hall with Nat and, at a cry of "Letter for you, Monica. Aren't you going to claim it?" fetch her letter from the table. As she did so the prayer bell rang and Monica and Nat, with Irene close behind, joined the stream of girls hastening towards the assembly room.

Prayer bell rang at five to nine in order to give everyone time to be in her place for nine o'clock prayers. Then the girls filed off to their various classrooms and Irene watched Monica as, seated at her desk waiting for the entry of the mistress who was to take them for their first lesson, she tore open the envelope, hurriedly read the letter and, on Miss Moore's entry, thrust it inside her desk--the present style of frocks rarely provides anything in the way of pocket accommodation!

When the bell rang for the fifteen minutes' interval all the form left the room in groups of twos and threes, some to practise passing or shooting outside with a netball, some to stroll round the grounds chatting, many to partake of hot milk and biscuits. Irene stayed behind, under pretence of hunting for a mislaid book. Now, when the room was deserted by all except herself, was her chance. She opened Monica's desk, and after a hasty search found the letter thrust between two books. With the envelope in her hand she hesitated and glanced around guiltily, half inclined to put it back unread. Then came the insidious whisper that she owed it to the other girls, to the school, to read the letter and discover if the black sheep of St. Etheldreda's was plotting some fresh mischief against her fellow scholars. Spurred on by this thought she inserted her fingers in the envelope and drew out the letter. This time its contents were disappointing. They were brief and written very hurriedly:

"Dear Monica,

"Please excuse me for being so long in acknowledging your letter. Your idea about the telegram is really clever though quite simple. I shall be curious to see how it works. I suppose St. Etheldreda's girls are hoping to win the shield. So are our girls. Well, time will show!

"Supper bell, so I must finish. I will write a longer letter next time. The news may be more interesting then.

"With best wishes from,

"Lilian."

When she had finished reading this apparently quite harmless little letter Irene was conscious of a fervent wish that she had not meddled with it at all. She thrust it back into Monica's desk, and with cheeks that burned for some time afterward, slipped out of the classroom and rejoined her friends, who were partaking of milk and biscuits.

That evening the atmosphere in Nat's study was particularly serene. No clouds disturbed Nat's horizon, for once again her name had appeared in the team for the shield match--not, it is true, in Irene's place, but instead of the other wing, whose play Deirdre and the hockey committee now considered inferior to Nat's. As this was the second time she had been chosen to represent the school Nat now cherished the hope that her permanent place in the team was assured. She was doing her prep with prodigious pains, anxious to run no risk of getting a returned lesson or lines the next morning. So blissful was her state of mind that she even assisted Monica to hang a fresh set of recently-taught data upon the walls, and afterwards volunteered to hear her construe her Latin paragraph. Monica, too, seemed to be in a blithe and happy mood, for she made numerous jokes and witticisms as she worked, without any traces of the old sullen, defiant expression. When in a laughing, happy frame of mind, she really was quite an attractive girl, Nat thought to herself. What a pity it was she was prone to those queer moods and tempers.

Lessons went well and smoothly next morning. Even Miss Bennett wore a beaming smile as she dismissed the Fifth, when the final bell rang, with her best wishes for their success that afternoon. Then there came a general scramble for the dormitories and a hasty change into sports' rig-out, for the team and the girls who had obtained permission to accompany them as spectators were to depart by train as soon as dinner was over.

Allison was changing in her cubicle when Pam tapped and poked her head inside. "Prinny wants you Allison," she said. "A telegram has just arrived for you."

Allison looked up, surprised. "A telegram! Who from, I wonder? I'm not expecting any important tidings."

"Not bad news, I hope," said Pam sympathetically, as Allison hurried out.

Miss Julian was in her room. "Oh, there you are, Allison," she said. "A telegram has just come for you," and she picked it up from the table. Allison took it and tore it open quickly. Miss Julian at once noticed the change in her expression. "Is it bad news, Allison?" she inquired with concern.

Allison nodded. "I'm afraid so," she replied in a low voice and she handed the telegram to the Principal, who read the brief message: "_Mother taken ill suddenly. Come at once. Will meet you at Victoria next train--Father._"

"This is very sudden, Allison," said Miss Julian gravely. "You have had no previous apprehensions concerning your mother's health, have you?"

"No," replied Allison, her voice shaking a little. "When I last heard from home, mother was perfectly well. I may go, may I not, Miss Julian?"

The Principal was already turning over the leaves of her time-table. "Yes, of course, Allison," she replied, "and we will hope that things may turn out less serious than might be imagined from this telegram. The next train for London leaves at a quarter to two. There will just be time for you to have your dinner, pack a few necessities for the night and catch the train. Do not trouble about packing much. We can soon send on anything you may require later."

"Thank you, Miss Julian," replied Allison gratefully, and still feeling stunned at the suddenness and vagueness of the news contained in the telegram, she hurried back to her cubicle to pull off her tunic, resume her ordinary frock, and throw a few things she would need into a small hand-case. She then sought out Deirdre and told her of her urgent and immediate summons to London.

"Oh, I am so sorry," said Deirdre at once. "Can't I do anything--help you pack?"

"No, thanks all the same. I'm not taking much with me. Only just got time to swallow some dinner--Prinny insists on it--then rush for my train. Sorry I have to let the team down like this," and Allison was gone, leaving the dismayed hockey captain to dash round the school, hunting out another recruit for the team. At length she ran down one of the Fourth Form players.

"Get into your tunic, Olive, will you?" she said peremptorily. "I want you to come as reserve. Lorna, who is down as reserve, will be playing after all."

Bad tidings travel quickly. In a very few minutes an excited little group of hockey players, who had gathered in the hall to await the dinner bell, were discussing the bad news in dismay.

"Oh dear!" said Glenda, as Madge gave them the details. "What hard luck for Allison! I do hope her mother's illness isn't serious! Rotten luck for us, too, though, of course, we shan't mind if things come right for Allison. I'm afraid it means losing the match to-day. Allison at centre-half is as good as half a dozen ordinary players, and we've no one to put in her place."

The girls nodded with grave faces. Allison's presence in the team did indeed make all the difference, for she was a tower of strength in the defence, her judgment in popping up just where the ball was coming being positively uncanny; her passes to her forwards were generally inspired, as Deirdre once said, and the fiercer the opposition the higher the level of play Allison seemed able to attain. Last, but by no means least, her presence in the team acted as a kind of moral support to the rest of the players. With these thoughts in their minds the girls looked at each other in dismayed silence. It was indeed hard luck--just when they had begun to believe that their dreams of seeing the shield the property of St. Etheldreda's had an excellent chance of becoming a reality.

Glenda was suddenly recalled to the present by a fierce and decidedly painful grip on her arm.

"Ow!" she gasped. "Who's pinching me?" and turned round to behold Irene standing at her elbow and wearing such a transformed expression--her face white with emotion, her eyes blazing with excitement--that she exclaimed in astonishment: "What's the matter, Irene? Have you just seen a ghost, or what?"

"The t--telegram!" stuttered Irene, speaking with a visible effort. "I've just remembered that the l--letter m--mentioned a telegram."

"What telegram? What letter? You're speaking in riddles."

Irene still seemed in the grip of some great emotion. "Wait here, all of you," she cried. "Don't move till I come back. I'll explain then," and with that she dashed off like a mad creature into the Annexe and along to her study, seized her writing-case and recklessly tossed out its contents till her fingers closed on the object of her search, the letter she had taken from Monica's study on the memorable afternoon when she had been locked in her own room. With the letter firmly clutched in her hand, she tore back to her mystified audience.

"It's one of Monica's letters," she explained, jerkily. "I--I found it weeks ago and--I read it by mistake, and because I thought it sounded so suspicious and because we all know what sort of a girl she is, I--I thought I was justified in keeping it. Listen, and I'll read it out," and while the girls were still trying to grasp what she had just said, she read the letter in a voice that shook both with emotion and lack of breath.

"But--surely----" Madge, who had joined the group with Deirdre, began doubtfully, as Irene stopped reading.

"Wait till I've finished," Irene interrupted. "That isn't all. Yesterday, I saw another letter of Monica's in the same handwriting lying about, and--oh, I don't care what you think of me for doing it!--but I read that one too. I can only say I thought it might be for the best. I was ashamed then, now I am glad I did. As nearly as I can remember, it said this," and Irene, who was gifted with a good memory, repeated the gist of the contents of the second letter.

"Don't you see--they were plotting to knock St. Etheldreda's out of the running for the shield! Monica Carr would love to spite the school like that. She hates us all, and she doesn't know what it means to be sporting. She was clever enough to realize that our chance of winning would be a poor one without Allison and so she planned to entice her away by a bogus telegram; the telegram referred to in the second letter is the telegram Allison has just received."

Madge looked incredulous. "But it can't be! It sounds like an old-fashioned melodrama. Besides--where was that telegram handed in?"

Deirdre shook her head. "Somewhere in London, I believe. But you don't really think Irene's idea is true, Madge?"

Madge glanced again at the letter Irene had handed her. "I don't know what to think," she confessed vexedly. "If it does happen to be a bogus telegram then we shall be made fools of--and Allison will have suffered all this anxiety for nothing. On the other hand, Allison must go if there's a chance of it's being genuine. She daren't risk it. The fact that her mother may be seriously ill means more to her than all the hockey in the world. Oh, bother! There's the dinner bell. What shall we do?"

"I think it's a case for Miss Julian," said Deirdre decidedly, and there were murmurs of relieved acquiescence from the other girls.

"You're right," cried Madge. "Come along with me, Irene, and Miss Julian will advise us what to do. Dinner must wait for once."

Irene followed her willingly, for to do her justice, she was ready enough to own up to the ignominy of prying into another girl's correspondence if by doing so she might prevent them all from walking into a trap carefully laid for them. Nat and Glenda, too anxious to trouble about breaking the rules of punctuality at meals, followed them instead of making for the dining-hall, and waited in the passage while they entered the Principal's sanctum.

Miss Julian listened patiently as Irene repeated her story, and though she was doubtless very much amazed at hearing such an extraordinary tale she showed few signs of it in her quiet face, and quickly grasped the essential points of the case from Irene's sketchy and incoherent narrative.

"Allison must go unless we can verify beyond any doubt the falsity of the summons," she said with decision, as soon as Irene had finished. "However, I expect I can learn the truth from Monica herself. Will you fetch her, Madge? But no, wait one moment. Do you know if Allison's people are on the 'phone?"

Madge started forward, her eyes lighting up. "Why, yes, Miss Julian, I am sure they are. I never thought of the 'phone."

Miss Julian smiled as she lifted down her telephone directory, and her fingers swiftly turned over the pages. "It is the most obvious and the simplest expedients that usually are overlooked, Madge," she remarked, "especially by highly intellectual people. Yes, I have the number." She turned to the telephone by the wall. "Irene, find Allison and bring her here, please. Should the telegram prove genuine, there will still be time for her to catch her train, if the telephone exchange do not keep us waiting too long."

Irene ran off. Five slow minutes ticked by while the two in the room waited, Miss Julian in undisturbed calm--outwardly, at any rate--Madge in a fever of impatience which she could hardly control. At last the telephone bell rang sharply and Miss Julian picked up the receiver with a murmured: "We are fortunate, after all." Just then Irene burst with scant ceremony into the room, to halt and stand in silence as the Principal began to speak into the mouthpiece.

"This is the Principal of St. Etheldreda's. Who am I addressing? No, you need not disturb him. I only wish to know how Mrs. Ravenel is... Ah, yes... You see, Allison has received a telegram summoning her at once to London, on account of her mother's sudden illness... Yes, this morning, handed in at Victoria... Yes, we had reason to believe it a bogus telegram... No, but I think it will be easy to find out... Then there is no need for Allison to come?... Ah, thank you, that is all I wanted to know. Perhaps Allison can ring you up for herself later on. Good morning."

As she finished she wheeled round sharply. "You were right, Irene. Allison's people have no knowledge of the telegram. Where is Allison? Has she gone?"

"Yes, Miss Julian," Irene hastened to say. "She had just left the dining-room when I got there. I hurried to her study and her cubicle, but she wasn't there. Then one of the maids told me she had already set off for the station."

"We must stop her from going if possible," said Miss Julian. "It will save her a useless journey, as well as unnecessary anxiety."

"Glenda and Nat are outside," interposed Irene eagerly. "They both have bicycles in use. Shall I tell them to cycle to the station and stop Allison?"

Miss Julian nodded approval without inquiring what Nat and Glenda were doing outside in the passage when they should have been at dinner, and two minutes later both girls, hatless and gloveless, having stopped only to snatch their coats, were wheeling their machines out of the bicycle shed. In another two minutes they were pedalling furiously down the road that led to the station.

The school was perhaps a mile and a half from the station and fortunately the road, even when it passed through the town, was not much frequented by traffic; for Nat and Glenda paused for nothing their headlong career and did not slacken speed for a second till they jammed on their brakes and flung themselves off before the station entry.

"It's all right," gasped Nat, pointing to the station clock. "Five minutes yet before the train is due. My, didn't we scorch! I bet we could have given Jehu himself a start and then beaten him."

Allison was standing at the ticket office in the act of asking for her ticket when both her arms were seized from behind and she was violently dragged away, to the astonishment of the booking-clerk.

Jerking herself round, she beheld the crimson but familiar faces of the two St. Etheldreda's girls.

"No need to take a ticket, Allison!" cried Glenda. "That telegram was a fake. Prinny 'phoned through to your home. There's nothing whatever the matter with your mother."

The worried, anxious look vanished from Allison's face and was replaced by a dawning expression of joy and relief. "Are you _sure_?" she demanded.

"Absolutely sure," replied Nat. "Prinny sent us after you post-haste to stop you from starting. You're coming the other way with us--to the hockey match."

"The team will be here before long," added Glenda. "No sense in going back. We may as well wait at the station."

The three girls paced up and down the platform, talking eagerly.

"I was in such an awful hurry and so worried, I didn't think of anything but the fact that mother was ill and I must catch this next train at all costs," Allison confessed. "But as I was trying to swallow a mouthful of food and nearly choking in the attempt, it did cross my mind to wonder why dad didn't 'phone. I put it down to the 'phone being out of order. It was, the last time I was home. Fortunately Prinny thought of it."

"Yes, but not until we put it into her head to suspect the genuineness of the telegram," said Glenda.

"What do you mean? What made you suspect it wasn't genuine? I can't think who on earth played such a mean trick. It gave me a pretty bad half-hour, I can tell you."

"Wasn't it a beastly, low-down thing to do!" cried Glenda vehemently. "It was Irene who found it out. I don't quite know how--something about a letter she saw, a letter written to Monica Carr by one of the Fairhurst Priory girls. It's that girl Monica Carr who is at the bottom of this, of course. There'll always be trouble in the school as long as she's allowed to stay here."

Allison looked greatly disturbed. "I hope we are mistaken in thinking so. I should hate to think one of our own girls was responsible for this."

"Not much room for a mistake. And we can't call Monica Carr one of our own girls exactly. She's never fitted in with the rest of us."

"What do you think, Nat?" asked Allison, for Nat had not yet spoken. "I thought you and Monica were getting on pretty well together lately."

"So we were," replied Nat unhappily. "I was beginning to fancy she might perhaps be quite a jolly little soul when she forgot her queer moods and tantrums. Of course, I don't know anything about this. She's never mentioned it to me. But you can't exactly account for what she's going to do next."

"Evidently not," Alison agreed, a little dryly.

A few minutes later Miss Cazalet arrived, accompanied by Madge, Deirdre and half a dozen others, while many more were close behind. Quite a large number of girls were going to the match as spectators.

Deirdre welcomed Allison with heartfelt relief.

"Thank goodness! I've been wondering all the way how on earth I could fill your place without disorganizing the team too hopelessly, supposing Glenda and Nat had not been in time. However, it's all right now."

"And for once in my life," added Madge, "my scatterbrains have functioned properly. I've remembered to bring your stick and your pads, also your hockey kit, which I found flung in an untidy heap on your cubicle floor. Two other girls are bringing along your sticks, Glenda and Nat."

When the train steamed into the station there was a general scramble for empty carriages. Miss Cazalet, Madge, Deirdre, Pam, Allison and Nat crowded into one compartment with several other members of the team. While in the act of scrambling in, Nat recollected with dismay that the previous evening Monica had suddenly and inexplicably announced her intention of putting her name on the list of those who wished to accompany the team to the match, and she hung out of the window to see if there were any signs of her. Yes, there she was, getting into a carriage with several other girls. Nat withdrew her head hastily as the train began to move.

There were only two members of the team in the party who occupied Monica's carriage, Olive James--the girl who had come in as reserve when it was thought Allison would not be playing--and Lorna Payne, the original reserve, who played inside-right. Of course, as things had turned out, it was probable that neither would be called upon to play. Among the others were Prue and Meggie, who had forgotten their animosity against the hockey club when there was a chance of a day's outing. Prue had an extraordinary nose for scandal or a lively story of any description and seemed able to smell one a mile off, as her sister Pam was wont to say rather unkindly. Therefore no one was surprised when, the moment they were all seated, Prue turned to Lorna and Olive and demanded:

"Hey, what's this we hear about someone sending a bogus telegram to entice Allison away? I heard Madge and Deirdre say something about it."

"You would," returned Lorna sarcastically, while Olive piped in: "All I know is that, just before dinner, Deirdre grabbed me in an awful stew and told me I should be going as reserve and Lorna would be playing, as Allison had had bad news from home and wouldn't be able to come."

Lorna was one of those girls who had been present when Irene told her tale. "The story comes from Irene," she explained. "She accused Monica of plotting with one of the girls at her old school, Fairhurst Priory, to entice Allison away with a sham telegram in order to spoil our chances of winning the shield."

Monica, who occupied a corner seat and had been gazing out of the window, turned round with a start as she heard her name mentioned. "What do you mean?" she demanded. "What does Irene say about me?"

"She read one of your letters by mistake, the letter this Fairhurst girl sent you. Irene kept the letter. In fact, she showed it to us."

Great commotion amongst the listeners!

Prue pretended to fan herself vigorously, overcome with horror. "Tell it me again," she exclaimed, "my poor wits won't grasp it."

Lorna, with a glance of contempt at Monica, repeated Irene's story. Prue listened attentively and Meggie cried indignantly:

"What a mean trick! Fancy having a real, live traitor in the school."

"It seems," said Prue with equal indignation, "that we have been nourishing a viper in our bosoms. What have you to say for yourself, miss?" addressing the culprit.

Monica seemed to shrink back in her seat.

"Nothing," she replied sullenly. "I haven't anything to say. I didn't send the telegram, though."

"We don't suppose you did," retorted Lorna with sarcasm, "seeing that it was sent from London. No doubt you got someone to send it for you."

"Don't argue with her, girls," advised Olive. "She isn't worth it. Just ignore her. If this is true, there are plenty who will see the matter isn't overlooked."

"Prinny for one," stated Lorna. "Madge and Irene went to tell her all about it."

Another sensation!

"My gracious!" said Meggie solemnly. "Prinny will soon get to the bottom of it. I wouldn't be in Monica Carr's shoes for anything. This will mean expulsion for her, girls, mark my words."

Monica turned her face to the window again and continued to gaze out as if absorbed in the scenery, and for the rest of the short journey her fellow-travellers ignored her completely.