CHAPTER XII

SENTENCE IS DELAYED

"Now, Monica," said Nat firmly, as she closed the study door upon the outer world. "I want to know all about it. Did you send that telegram, and if so, why? I thought I had successfully managed to keep my eye upon you since the last upset," she added reproachfully.

Monica sat down in the nearest chair with a tired sigh. "Oh, what does it matter? You won, after all. I think I'm glad you did now. As for me, the girls in the train said they expected Prinny would expel me. Do you think I shall be expelled, Nat?"

"It's within the bounds of possibility," replied Nat severely, for she felt that Monica deserved a good fright. "But you don't seem to mind about that sort of thing."

"I shouldn't have minded a bit when I first came," confessed Monica, "but it's different now. I don't want to be expelled now."

She had such a forlorn look that Nat's susceptible heart was touched. She recalled how all the girls, at the match and on the return journey, had pointedly cut Monica, and she herself had been the only one who would speak to her.

"Your best chance will be to confess all you know about it," she said sensibly, "and tell Prinny you are sorry. She's not half a bad sort really. I'd rather tell her anything than--than Miss Bennett, for instance."

"I didn't send the telegram," Monica said, "that's true. But I'm responsible for having it sent. It was my idea, so I suppose I'm chiefly to blame." She looked inquiringly at Nat.

"If you mean, is the person who plans a wrong just as bad as the person who carries it out, I'd certainly say yes, she is," Nat answered. "But you still haven't told me much about it."

Before Monica could speak again there was a tap at the door and Pam looked in. "Prinny wants to see Monica in her room at once," she said briefly.

The dread summons had come. Monica moved reluctantly towards the door, then turned and came back. "I say, Nat." There was earnest appeal in the eyes she raised to Nat's face. "Truly, I'm glad the telegram plan wasn't successful and that the school won. You do believe me, don't you?" and Nat heard herself replying quite heartily: "Of course I do, if you say so."

Monica's interview with the Principal was not at all reassuring. Miss Julian looked so very stern and severe that Monica found it too difficult a matter to follow Nat's advice and confess the story in all its details, and fell back upon brief and reluctant answers to the Principal's questions.

"Are you responsible for having this telegram sent, Monica?" the Principal began, pointing to the fateful document which lay on the table.

Monica hesitated, wondering how to answer without telling a deliberate untruth. She could feel her knees shaking beneath her.

"I did not send it, Miss Julian," she answered at last. "I did not even know it had been sent till I heard the other girls talking about it."

"Do you know who sent it?"

"I--I think so."

"Who was it, then?"

Monica was silent.

"A girl in this school?"

Monica shook her head.

"Was it one of the Fairhurst Priory girls? This girl with whom you correspond?"

Again Monica was silent.

"Come, Monica," said Miss Julian. "I must know the truth. I shall be obliged to think the worst of you if you don't speak up frankly. Can you explain why this girl wrote such a letter to you?" and she picked up from the table the letter Irene had purloined. "Do you think this is a very nice kind of letter to receive from a girl in another school? Listen to this, for instance: '_Do you still hate rules and regulations and persons in authority? ... Don't you think it would be fun to put a little spoke in their wheels, I mean in St. Etheldreda's hopes of winning the shield? I know how clever you are and how full of ideas. I should love to see if you could pull it off._' That does not sound very loyal to your school, does it?"

Monica looked shamefacedly at the floor, but still remained dumb. It was harder than ever to speak up. Miss Julian continued her questions.

"Have you the other letter Irene saw?"

"No. I tore it up afterwards."

"Is it true that it said: '_Your idea about the telegram is clever, though simple. I shall be curious to see how it works?_'"

"Y--yes. Something like that," Monica replied faintly.

"Did she have the telegram sent or did you?"

"She did."

"But you planned it? It was your idea?"

"Yes."

"But why didn't you want the school to win, Monica? Besides, apart from that, didn't you realize what a cruel trick it was to play on Allison; what hours of anxiety and suspense it would cause her?"

The Principal's voice was very stern, so stern that Monica dared not lift her glance from the carpet pattern she was so desperately studying. Yet a few months before she had stood and listened with an attitude of hard defiance when told that she would not be allowed to return to her first school after the holidays.

When Miss Julian spoke again, Monica was astonished at the sudden change from severity to gentleness.

"You know, of course, Monica, that you came to St. Etheldreda's with a poor character. I was told that at your last school you were naughty, stubborn and unmanageable, finally bringing disgrace upon yourself and the school by bare-faced cheating in a public exam, for which behaviour you were quite unashamed and unrepentant. The Head Mistress's statement was confirmed by your aunt. Because I knew both your parents, and knew what splendid people they were, it was hard for me to believe that their only child should be so deficient in moral stability. I wrote also to your old nurse, under whose care you lived for many years after your parents' death, and she declared that though highly strung and sometimes full of mischief you had never been a bad girl, never unmanageable, dishonest or untruthful.

"For the sake of the great friendship between your mother and myself I resolved to give you another chance here on equal terms with the rest of my girls. So far I have not been unduly disappointed. At first I received reports that you did not always settle down in class as well as you should and were sometimes troublesome to the mistresses. I asked the mistresses to take into account the fact that you were not used to school ways and school routine like the rest of our girls. On one occasion Miss Bennett had to punish you severely for neglecting your preparation, but since then reports on your work have been mainly good and Miss Andrews in particular is highly delighted with your Latin. I had hoped such progress was going to continue till the end of the term, but this trick you have tried to play on Allison is one I cannot overlook. You should have broken with this girl on leaving your last school and not have continued your friendship with her when you realized it was proving a bad influence. Cannot you tell me all about it, Monica? You have told me very little except the bare facts."

"There isn't anything else to tell," Monica murmured, still wondering miserably if the Principal was going to expel her. How gladly she would have denied her share in the matter! But she could not.

"Then I shall leave the matter where it is for a few days' consideration," the Principal replied. "Perhaps by then you will be willing to tell me why you planned this unkind trick. I shall speak to you again about it later, probably in about a week's time."

The astonished Monica was dismissed, still ignorant of her fate. A reprieve of a week! What was really in the Principal's mind? She wished she knew. This uncertainty was far worse than the actual punishment.

For a few days Monica and the sham telegram formed the chief topic of conversation at St. Etheldreda's. Whatever room you entered, at whatever time of the day--save actual lesson hours--you might be sure to hear somebody discussing the affair. For indeed, schoolgirls, like everybody else, must have something to talk about and a sensational story like this was pounced upon with avidity. Everyone wondered why the Principal delayed in pronouncing sentence, and though the Fifth and Sixth, unlike the lower forms, had never believed it to be an offence calling for the extreme punishment, they certainly did not think Monica should escape altogether.

After about three days the outburst of feeling began to die a natural death, though it was not forgotten entirely. For a while the Fifth vigorously sent Monica to Coventry, but as she had never been on friendly or intimate terms with her form companions, this was not such a great hardship as it sounds. Glenda and one or two others had tried hard to persuade Nat also to ostracize Monica, but in vain.

Nat's attitude towards her study-mate was a curious one; and in truth, Nat herself could not account for her own feelings in the matter. She was the sort of girl who scorned sentimentality of any kind and yet had a very soft spot for helpless creatures in distress, particularly dumb animals. During her first year at St. Etheldreda's, when a girl of eleven in the Second Form, she had broken the school ranks while on an afternoon's walk to rush to the rescue of a miserable, bedraggled cat some boys were teasing, attacking them with fists and feet till the mistress in charge came to the rescue. The cat was old and mangy and evil-smelling and should have been painlessly chloroformed, but Nat had begged to be allowed to take it to school and give it a saucer of milk, after which it had been placed, dirt and all, upon the best silk cushion in front of the library fire. Had Monica continued to show the same sullen, defiant front as she had done during her first week or two in the study, Nat would probably have condemned her as severely as any of the Fifth, perhaps more severely; but something in Monica's plea that Nat should believe she regretted the telegram trick, and in her shrinking fear of being expelled again, touched the soft spot in Nat's heart in the same way as the bedraggled, mangy cat had done.

Besides, Monica showed a certain courage in the way she patiently ignored the scornful looks and sneers that came from some of the girls, and Nat admired pluck. Nat wouldn't have had the least sympathy with a girl who cried and made an unnecessary fuss at receiving a blow on the hockey or cricket field, though she would have been one of the first to run to help her.

By the end of a week the girls had certainly forgotten their first bitter animosity. They had been busy with term examinations for several days, and when they met together after lesson hours now, it was to compare answers and discuss the difficulty or otherwise of the various papers. Everyone was glad when Tuesday evening arrived, for the next morning would see the last of the examination papers, and after that they would be able to take things more easily--lessons, that is, for there was still Speech Day to prepare for, a fortnight hence, and the hockey Final to be played.

On Tuesday evening the Fifth were full of a suggested paper-chase for Wednesday half-day. It was the weather that was chiefly responsible for the idea. It had turned very cold, and violent exertion was necessary to keep oneself warm. The ground was quite hard, the air clear and frosty, and there was no wind: simply ideal weather for a paper-chase. Besides, it was very good training for their hockey Final and they would find it a relief to "let off steam" after the strain of the examinations.

It was decided that the paper-chase should be a really good one, not a half-and-half affair, as Glenda put it, but five or six miles over the country. Most of the Fifth, with the exception of a few of the less physically energetic whose spirits quailed at the thought of those five or six miles, agreed to join in. Many of the Fourth were eager to participate, and Pam and Deirdre of the Sixth also announced that they would like to share the fun. The Fifth had already selected Nat as hare, for two reasons. Firstly, she was one of the quickest and most tireless runners in the school, and secondly, in the summer months she was so fond of taking long walks and cycling expeditions in search of flowers or botanical specimens for the nature-study competition, that she had an extensive and detailed knowledge of the surrounding country, and could be relied upon to choose a suitable and interesting route. Following their usual custom, they left it to Nat to select a girl to accompany her as second hare.

While most of the Fourth and Fifth were busily engaged in the common room, tearing up paper into small pieces, Nat, who was nothing if not practical, declared her intention of running five or six times round the garden to see how long it would take to get her "second wind." As she slipped out of the back door she became aware that Monica had followed her.

"Hullo, what do you want?" she asked, in surprise. "Are you going to join in the paper-chase or do you consider it waste of time and energy?"

"Take me with you as the other hare," was Monica's amazing proposal. "I am sure I should make a good hare."

Nat gasped. "But--but do you really mean it?" she stuttered.

"Yes, of course I do. I can run fast, though I've never learnt any of your games. I used to run about for miles in the country where I lived, and never get tired."

Nat surveyed the slight but alert figure beside her.

"Well, you are certainly light and skinny rather than fat," she admitted, "and you look as if you could run. Come on round with me and let's see how long you can last."

Nat started off with a burst of speed, but glancing round after covering two or three hundred yards she found that Monica was only a few feet behind her. "Yes, you can run quite fast," she jerked out, then dropped into a jog-trot. When they had circled the garden several times, Nat pulled up, breathing deeply; Monica was still a few feet behind her, red in the face and panting, but showing no signs of wanting to give up yet.

"I really believe you could do it," Nat declared. "Well, I'll try to work it for you, but I don't know if the rest of the girls will be willing, particularly the Fifth."

When Nat announced that she had chosen Monica as her fellow-hare, there was a general chorus of disapproval.

"But why not?" Nat persisted. "What's your objection? She's quite a good runner or I wouldn't have chosen her."

"You know why not," replied Glenda coldly. "We object to having a girl like that sharing in our pastimes."

"But why do you object?"

"You know why, well enough. Because of what happened a week ago."

"But are you going on punishing her for that for the rest of her life at school? She's done nothing else so desperately wicked. Besides, she hasn't really been proved guilty yet. Prinny said she was going to wait a few days before making any decision. Time enough for us to follow suit when Prinny sets the example."

Some of the more peace-loving, milder-tempered girls looked at each other, obviously impressed by Nat's arguments. After all, you couldn't keep the hymn of hate going for ever.

Nat saw the impression she had made and hastened to deepen it.

"Has Allison, the one most injured, said or done anything to Monica? You know she hasn't. She's been content to leave the matter in Prinny's hands. It isn't like Allison to hit anyone who's down. Besides, Monica's sorry for it now. She told me so."

Even Glenda, who was by no means an ill-natured girl, began to waver. "Well--if Deirdre and Pam don't mind, I don't suppose it really matters very much who goes with you," she said weakly.

There was still one dissentient voice.

"I think it matters very much," Irene interjected sharply. "Personally I refuse to take part if Monica Carr does. She can't play fair."

Nat answered smartly. "I don't see that you have any right to criticize anyone for not playing fair. Do you call it playing fair to pry into and purloin another girl's private correspondence?"

Irene subsided with flaming cheeks and a look on her face that was half anger, half shame.

So Nat got her way in the end. Punctually at a quarter to two the next afternoon a large crowd of girls assembled at the school gates. Nat and Monica, the former looking like a large man o' war with a small craft in tow, and each with a couple of bags bursting with paper scent slung across her shoulder, stood by the gates in readiness for the start. They set off down the road at a brisk pace as the church clock struck the quarter. The rest of the girls skipped and jumped about impatiently till, a quarter of an hour later, Miss Cazalet gave the signal to start and they all streamed into the road after the thin trail of paper scent.

The hunt had begun.