The Manor House School Part 10

"Does she know the secret?" ventured Cicely.

"Either she knows, or she's trying to find out. Perhaps she's stalking Mrs. Wilson too!"

This was a new idea, and required consideration.

"Then that would perhaps be what 'The Griffin' was warning Scott about,"

said Cicely reflectively. "Ought we to tell Monica?"

"Not yet--not till we've something more definite to go upon. We've only suspicions at present, and one can hardly speak about those. She might be offended, and think us meddlesome, especially as she doesn't like to talk of her affairs."

"I'm afraid she'll think us sneaky and underhand, in any case. I'm so sorry she saw us spying like that."

"Well, we couldn't help it, and we can't explain."

"Mightn't we just say why----?"

"It's no use," interrupted Lindsay decidedly. "We'd better not breathe a word."

And Cicely, as usual, gave way.

It was gratifying to feel that they were Monica's champions, though she might not yet be aware of what she owed them. They must be content to be misunderstood for a little while; afterwards she would appreciate what they had been doing for her, and would thank them accordingly. They often looked at her in school with the satisfactory sensation that they knew something of which everyone else, even Miss Russell, was ignorant.

I fear the lessons suffered sometimes while they indulged in day-dreams, for it was hard to recall such mundane matters as the capital of Mexico, or the date of Magna Charta, when their thoughts were far away in the lantern room, busy with concealed prisoners or supposed plots.

"You're the two most inattentive girls in the cla.s.s!" cried Miss Frazer indignantly one day, after a specially bad lapse of memory. "You both did far better at Winterburn Lodge. I cannot understand why your work should have fallen off so much lately. This is the third time this week you have had bad marks. If it occurs again, I shall be obliged to report you to Miss Russell."

Apart from their interest in her as the owner of the hidden treasure, Lindsay and Cicely regarded Monica with the wors.h.i.+p which schoolgirls are sometimes fond of bestowing upon a companion who happens specially to attract them. They admired the shape of her nose and her long chestnut hair, and considered her dignified manner absolute perfection.

They used to follow her about at a respectful distance, longing to improve the acquaintance; but they received so many snubs from the elder girls, who also wished to monopolize her, that matters did not advance much further than an occasional "Good morning" or "Good afternoon".

"The big ones are so jealous, they like to keep her all to themselves,"

grumbled Cicely. "Eleanor Wright was quite rude when I offered to lend Monica a pencil yesterday. She said I was 'officious'."

"They're horribly mean," agreed Lindsay.

Monica had certainly become a great favourite at the Manor with both teachers and pupils, and, had she been of a less steady disposition, might have run considerable danger of being spoilt. She took her sudden popularity, however, very serenely, and scarcely seemed to notice that her schoolfellows were quarrelling over who should sit next her in cla.s.s, or take part with her in a game of tennis.

"She always seems so calm and superior, like a nightingale among sparrows," remarked Irene Spencer sentimentally.

"Or a swan among a flock of geese," laughed Mildred Roper. "You've all grown really quite silly over Monica. I admire her very much myself, but I don't go and kiss her jacket when it's hanging in the vestibule, or beg her old torn exercises for keepsakes."

"Oh, well, you're a monitress!"

"I've got a little common sense left, I'm thankful to say."

The pretty rose-covered cottage where Monica and her mother had established themselves for the summer was only a few minutes' walk away from the Manor. One afternoon Miss Russell, happening to meet Lindsay and Cicely in the hall, gave them a note, and told them to take it at once to Mrs. Courtenay, and bring back an answer.

The two girls ran off in high glee, delighted to have this opportunity of seeing their idol in private. They found Monica preparing her French lesson in the small strip of front garden, but she put her books aside as they opened the gate.

"Come to Mother," she said, when they had explained their errand, leading the way through a French window into a low, old-fas.h.i.+oned sitting-room.

Mrs. Courtenay was a sweet, delicate-looking lady, with a gentle, refined face, and hair slightly streaked with grey. She did not rise from her sofa when they entered, but held out her hand instead, and asked them to come and speak to her.

"I am somewhat of an invalid, you see," she said. "The doctor is very strict, and has told me to lie still. It's rather hard, but I am trying to obey. So you are two of Monica's little friends? Well, now you are here, you had better stay for tea. The letter? Oh, I'll send Jenny, our maid, with the answer, and she shall tell Miss Russell that I'm keeping you. We'll take care that you go back in plenty of time for preparation."

This was indeed a most unexpected treat. Both Lindsay and Cicely beamed with smiles. They were the only girls in the school who had been thus favoured, and they felt that their present enjoyment would be equalled by the envy which they would excite among the others on their return.

"I am glad to hear you are all so happy at the Manor," continued Mrs.

Courtenay. "Isn't it a dear, interesting old place? I expect Monica will have told you most of the legends. No! Why, Monica, what have you been thinking of? Do you mean to say they haven't heard yet about your ancestress and Sir Humphrey Warden in the rose avenue?"

"There really hasn't been any time for telling stories, Mother,"

declared Monica, "we've been so busy playing tennis when we were not at lessons. I'm never very good at remembering them, either--not like you are."

"I suppose I must consider myself the family chronicler," said Mrs.

Courtenay. "We certainly ought to let Lindsay and Cicely hear the tale of the picture. Ah, here comes tea! Monica, you must look after our guests."

Monica evidently loved to be her mother's nurse. She placed a small table by the side of the sofa, and busied herself in arranging cus.h.i.+ons and seeing that everything was placed for the invalid's greatest comfort. She did not neglect the visitors either, and brought out a jar of honey for their special benefit.

"I know you'll like it, because you were so interested in the bees," she said. "Do you remember the day when you went too close to the hives, and nearly got stung?"

"Yes; we had to run the whole length of the walk where the roses grow. I shan't forget it in a hurry," answered Cicely.

"That is the rose avenue where my namesake outwitted Sir Humphrey Warden. I wish you would tell them the story, Mother."

"Oh, do, please," pleaded Lindsay and Cicely; "we'd like so immensely to hear it!"

"I believe I shall just have time while we finish tea," said Mrs.

Courtenay. "I suppose you need not be back in school until half-past five? Have you been in the long gallery at the Manor, and looked at the pictures?"

"Yes, often," said Cicely.

"Then you will remember one, at the far end, of a girl in a white dress, holding a bunch of roses in her hand?"

"Yes; it's the prettiest of them all. We always say it's the exact image of Monica."

"It is the portrait of a Monica Courtenay who lived here in the time of the Civil War. Her father was killed fighting for the king at Marston Moor, and her only brother, Sir Piers, was also one of the hottest supporters of the crown. When Cromwell came into power, Sir Piers had to flee for his life. He was chased from one hiding-place to another.

Sometimes, like Prince Charles, he had to clamber up a tree until the soldiers had pa.s.sed by, and once he spent a night in a fox's hole.

"At length, one summer evening, hunted almost to desperation, he returned to his old home. He met his sister in the garden, and though she exclaimed with joy at seeing him, she immediately made a sign for silence, and motioned him to conceal himself under a large box tree which stood near.

"It was not safe, so she whispered, to go to the Manor. There were spies about, and Sir Humphrey Warden, the most zealous Roundhead in the district, had set a watch upon the house. At any moment they expected he might arrive with a troop of soldiers. Piers must stay where he was, and she would run and bring him the key of the boathouse; then, under cover of the darkness, he might creep away to the river, get out the boat, and drop with the current until he reached the sea, where possibly he might find a s.h.i.+p to take him over to France.

"She hurried indoors at once to fetch the small key that unlocked the boathouse, but as she was returning down the avenue she found she was just too late. There was a tramp of horses' hoofs, and Sir Humphrey Warden came riding up at the head of a band of men.

"'Good even, fair neighbour,' he said. 'I must needs make an inspection of your house, and with your permission I will give myself the honour of supping with you to-night. What brings you hither?'

"'I do but take the air, and pluck a few of these fragrant blossoms,'

replied Monica hastily. 'I will presently conduct you to the Manor myself, and entertain you.'