CHAPTER XXI
The Roll of Honour
Letters arrived at Brackenfield by an early post. They were inspectedfirst by the house mistresses, and delivered immediately after breakfastto the girls, who generally flew out into the quadrangle or the groundsto devour them. Mrs. Anderson made it a rule to write to Marjorie andDona alternately, and they would hand over their news to each other. OnTuesday morning Marjorie received the usual letter in her mother'shandwriting, but to her surprise noticed that the postmark was "London"instead of "Silverwood". With a sudden misgiving she tore it open. Itcontained bad tidings. Larry, who had lately been sent to the front, hadbeen wounded in action, and was in a military hospital in London. Hismother had hurried up to town to see him, and had found him very ill. Hewas to undergo an operation on the following day.
"I shall remain here till the operation is over," wrote Mrs. Anderson."I feel I must be near him while he is in such a dangerous condition. Iwill send you another bulletin to-morrow."
Marjorie went to find Dona, and in defiance of school etiquette walkedboldly into Ethelberta's. She knew that on such an occasion she wouldnot be reprimanded. Miss Jones, who happened to come into the room,comforted the two girls as best she could.
"While there is life there is hope," she said. "Many of our soldiers gothrough the most terrible operations and make wonderful recoveries.Surgeons nowadays are marvellously clever. My own brother wasdangerously wounded last autumn, and is back in the trenches now."
"I shall think of Larry all day," sobbed Dona.
"Are they ever out of our thoughts?" said Miss Jones. "I believe we alldo the whole of our work with the trenches always in the background ofour minds. Most of us at Brackenfield simply live for news from thefront."
There was great feeling for Marjorie in Dormitory No. 9. Betty had had abrother wounded earlier in the war, and Sylvia had lost a cousin, sothey could understand her anxiety. Chrissie also offered sympathy.
"I know how wretched you must be," she said.
"Thanks," answered Marjorie. "It certainly makes one jumpy to have one'srelations in the army."
"Isn't your brother fighting, Chrissie?" asked Betty.
"No," replied Chrissie briefly.
"But he must surely be of military age?"
"He's not very well at present."
Betty and Sylvia looked at each other. There was something mysteriousabout Chrissie's brother. She seldom alluded to him, and she had latelyremoved his photograph from her dressing-table. The girls alwayssurmised that he must be a conscientious objector. They felt that itwould be a terrible disgrace to own a relative who refused to defend hiscountry. They were sorry for Chrissie, but it did not make them disposedto be any more friendly towards her.
To Marjorie the news about Larry came as a shock. It was the firstcasualty in the family. She now realized the grim horror of the war in away that she had not done before. All that day she went about with thesense of a dark shadow haunting her. Next morning, however, the bulletinwas better. The operation had been entirely successful, and the patient,though weak, was likely to recover.
"The doctor gives me very good hopes," wrote Mrs. Anderson. "Larry ishaving the best of skilled nursing, so we feel that everything possibleis being done for him."
With a great weight off her mind, Marjorie handed the letter to Dona,and hurried off to look for Winifrede to tell her the good news. As shewas not in the quadrangle, Marjorie went into the library on the chanceof finding her there. The room was empty, though Miss Duckworth had justbeen in to put up fresh notices. Almost automatically Marjorie strolledup, and began to read them. A Roll of Honour was kept at Brackenfield,where the names of relations of past and present girls were recorded. Itwas rewritten every week, so as to keep it up to date. She knew thatLarry would be mentioned in this last list. Thank God that it was onlyamong the wounded. The "killed" came first.
ADAMS, Captain N. H., 4th Staffordshires (fiance of Dorothy Craig).
HUNT, Captain J. C., Welsh Borderers (brother of Sophy Hunt).
JACKSON, Lieut. P., 3rd Lancashires (husband of Mabel Irving).
KEARY, Private P. L., Irish Brigade (brother of Eileen Keary).
PRESTON, Private H., West Yorks (brother of Kathleen and Joyce Preston).
Marjorie stopped suddenly. Private Preston--the humorous dark-eyed youngsoldier whose acquaintance she had made in the train, and renewed in theRed Cross Hospital. Surely it could not be he! Alas! it was only tooplain. She knew he was the brother of Kathleen and Joyce Preston, for hehad himself mentioned that his sisters used to be at Brackenfield. Alsohe was certainly in the West Yorkshire regiment. This bright, strong,clever, capable young life sacrificed! Marjorie felt as if she hadreceived a personal blow. Oh, the war was cruel--cruel! Death waspicking England's fairest flowers indeed. A certain chapter in her life,which had seemed to promise many very sweet hopes, was now for everclosed.
"They might have put his V.C. on the list," she said to herself. "I wishI knew where he's buried. I shall never forget him--though I only sawhim twice. He was quite different from anyone else I've ever met."
Somehow Marjorie did not feel capable of mentioning Private Preston toanybody, even to Dona. She had kept the little newspaper photograph ofhim which had been cut out of the _Onlooker_, when he won his V.C. Sheenclosed it in an envelope and put it within the leaves of her Bible.That seemed the most appropriate place for it. She could not leave itamongst the portraits of her other war heroes, for fear her room-matesmight refer to it. To discuss him now with Betty or Sylvia would be adesecration. His death was a wound that would not bear handling. Forsome days afterwards she was unusually quiet. The girls thought she wasfretting about her brother, and tried to cheer her up, for Larry'sbulletins were excellent, and he seemed to be making a wonderfulrecovery.
"He is to leave the military hospital in a fortnight," wrote Mrs.Anderson, "and be transferred to a Red Cross hospital. We are using allour influence to get him sent to Whitecliffe, where Aunt Ellinor andElaine could specially look after him."
To have Larry at Whitecliffe would indeed be a cause for rejoicing.Marjorie could picture the spoiling he would receive at the Red CrossHospital. She wondered if he would have the same bed that had beenoccupied by Private Preston. It was No. 17, she remembered. "One shallbe taken, and the other left," she thought. For Larry there was the gladwelcome and the nursing back to life and health, and for that otherbrave boy a grave in a foreign land. Some lines from a little volume ofverses flashed to her memory. They had struck her attention only a weekbefore, and she had learnt them by heart.
"For us-- The parting and the sorrow; For him-- 'God speed!' One fight,-- A noble deed,-- 'Good-night!' And no to-morrow. Where he is, In Thy Peace Time is not, Nor smallest sorrow."
Marjorie was almost glad that on her next exeat at The Tamarisks Elainewas away from home. She was afraid her cousin might speak of PrivatePreston, and she did not wish to mention his name again.
"I'm afraid you'll be dull this afternoon without Elaine," said AuntEllinor; "and I'm obliged to attend a committee meeting at the FoodControl Bureau. I've arranged for Hodson to take you out. Where wouldyou like to go? To Whitecliffe, and have tea at the cafe? You mustchoose exactly what you think would be nicest."
As the girls wished to do a little shopping, they decided to visitWhitecliffe first, have an early tea at the cafe, and then take a walkon the moor, ending at Brackenfield, where Hodson would leave them.
"That's all right, then," said Mrs. Trafford. "I'm sorry I can't be withyou myself to-day. Get some sweets at the cafe and have some ices ifyou like. I must hurry away now to my committee. Hodson won't keep youwaiting long; I've told her to get ready."
Left alone, the girls grumbled a little at the necessity of taking anescort with them.
"At fourteen and sixteen we surely don't need a nursemaid," sniffedMarjorie. "It's a perfectly ridiculous rule that we mayn't
walk tenyards by ourselves, even when we're out for the afternoon. We might beinterned Germans or conscientious objectors if somebody always has tomount guard over us. What does the Empress think we're going to do, Iwonder?"
"Ask airmen for autographs, or snowball soldiers!" twinkled Dona.
"Oh, surely she's forgotten those old crimes now!"
"I wouldn't be sure. The Empress has a long memory. Besides, the rule'sfor everybody, not only for us."
"I know. Patricia was horribly savage last week. An officer cousin wasover in Whitecliffe, and she wasn't allowed to go and meet him, becauseno one could be spared to act chaperon."
"Some friends asked Mona to tea to-day, and the Empress wouldn't let heraccept. We only go to Auntie's every fortnight because Mother speciallystipulated that we should."
"I'm jolly glad she did. It makes such a change."
"I wish Hodson would hurry up!"
Hodson, the housemaid, took a considerable time to don her outdoorgarments, but she proclaimed herself ready at last. She was a tall,middle-aged woman in spectacles, with large teeth, and showed her gumswhen she talked. She spoke in a slow, melancholy voice, and, to judgefrom her depressed expression, evidently considered herself a martyr forthe afternoon. She was hardly the companion the girls would haveselected, but they had to make the best of her. It would be amusing, atany rate, to go in to Whitecliffe. Marjorie had her camera, and wishedto take some photographs.
"I've just two films left," she said, "so I'll use those on the waydown, and then get a fresh dozen put in at the Stores. Let us go by thehigh road, so that we can pass the kiosk and ask about Eric."
The attendant at the lemonade stall smiled brightly at mention of thelittle fellow.
"I saw his pram go by an hour ago, and ran out and gave him your lastparcel," she informed them. "You'll very likely see him down inWhitecliffe. He left his love for you."
"I hope we shan't miss him," said Dona.
Round the very next turn of the road, however, the girls met the invalidcarriage coming up from the town. It was loaded as usual with manypackages, over the top of which Eric's small white face peered out. Hewaved a gleeful welcome at the sight of his fairy ladies.
"I've read all the stories you sent me," he began, "and I've nearlyfinished chalking the painting-book. I like those post cards of fairies.I've put them all in the post-card album."
"He thinks such a lot of the things you send him," volunteered Lizzie."His ma says she doesn't know how to thank you. It keeps him amused forhours to have those chalks and puzzles. He sings away to himself overthem, as happy as a king."
"I'd like to take his photo while I've got the camera with me," saidMarjorie. "Can you turn the pram round a little--so? That's better. Idon't want the sun right in his face, it makes him screw up his eyes.Now, Eric, look at me, and put on your best smile. I'm just going----"
"Wait a moment," interrupted Dona. "Look what's coming up the road.You've only two films, remember!"
A contingent of German prisoners were being marched from the station tothe camp on the moors. They were tramping along under an escort ofsoldiers.
"Oh, I must snap them!" exclaimed Marjorie. "But I'll have Eric in thephoto too. I can just get them all in."
She moved her position slightly, and pressed her button, then, rapidlywinding on the films to the next number, took a second snapshot.
"The light was excellent, and they ought to come out," she triumphed."How jolly to have got a photo of the prisoners! Eric, you were lookingjust fine."
"We must be getting on home," said Lizzie. "I've a lot of cleaning to dothis afternoon when I get back. Say good-bye to the ladies, Eric."
The little fellow held up his face to be kissed, and Marjorie and Donahugged him, regardless of spectators on the road.
"You dear wee thing, take care of yourself," said Dona. "Call at thekiosk next time you pass, and perhaps another parcel will have arrivedfrom fairyland."
"I know who the fairies are!" laughed Eric, as his perambulator movedaway.
Escorted by the melancholy Hodson, the girls passed a pleasant enoughafternoon in Whitecliffe. They visited several shops, and had as good atea at the cafe as the rationing order allowed, supplementing the ratherscanty supply with ices and sweets. It was much too early yet to returnto Brackenfield, so they suggested making a detour round the moors, andending up at school. Hodson acquiesced in her usual lack-lustre manner.
"I'm a good walker, miss," she volunteered. "I don't mind where you go.It's all the same to me, as long as I see you back into school by sixo'clock. Mrs. Trafford said I wasn't to let you be late. I've brought mywatch with me."
"And we've got ours. It's all right, Hodson, we'll keep an eye on thetime."
It was a relief to know that Hodson was a good walker. They feltjustified in giving her a little exercise. They were quite freshthemselves, and ready for a country tramp. They left the town by a shortcut, and climbed up the cliff side on to the moors. Though they knewEric would not be there that afternoon, they nevertheless determined tovisit their favourite cove. It was an excellent place for flowers, andDona hoped that she might find a few fresh specimens there.
The girls had reached their old trysting-place, and were gathering somecranesbill geraniums, when a figure suddenly climbed the wall opposite,and dropped down into the road. To their immense amazement it was MissNorton. She stopped at the sight of her pupils and looked profoundlyembarrassed, whether at being caught in the undignified act ofscrambling over a wall, or for some other reason, they could not judge.
"Oh! I was just taking a little ramble over the moors," she explained."The air's very pleasant this afternoon, isn't it?"
"Yes," replied Marjorie briefly. She could think of nothing else to say.
Miss Norton nodded, and passed on without further remark. The girlsstood watching her as she walked down the road.
"What's Norty doing up here?" queried Marjorie. "She's not fond ofnatural history, and she doesn't much like walks."
"She's going towards the village."
"I vote we go too."
They had never yet been to the village, and though Elaine had describedit as not worth visiting, they felt curious to see it. It turned out tobe a straggling row of rather slummy-looking cottages, with a postoffice, a general shop, and a public-house. Miss Norton must havealready passed through it, for she was nowhere to be seen. Dona stoodfor a moment gazing into the window of the shop, where a variety ofmiscellaneous articles were displayed.
"They've actually got Paradise drops!" she murmured. "I haven't boughtany for months. I'm going to get some for Ailsa."
Followed by the faithful Hodson, the girls entered the shop. While Donamade her purchase, Marjorie stood by the counter, staring idly out intothe road. She saw the door of the post office open, and Miss Nortonappeared. The mistress looked carefully up and down the village, thenwalked hurriedly across the road, and bolted into "The Royal George"opposite. Marjorie gasped. That the august house mistress of St.Elgiva's should visit an obscure and second-rate public-house was surelya most unusual circumstance. She could not understand it at all. Shediscussed it with Dona on the way back.
"Wanted some ginger pop, perhaps," suggested Dona.
"She could have got that at the shop. They had a whole case of bottles.No, Dona, there's something funny about it. The fact is, I'm afraid MissNorton is a pro-German. She was sympathizing ever so much with thoseprisoners who were being marched into camp. She may have come here toleave some message for them. You know it was never found out who putthat lamp in the Observatory window; it was certainly a signal, and Ihad seen Norty up there. I've had my eye on her ever since, in caseshe's a spy."
"She can talk German jolly well," observed Dona.
"I know she can. She's spent two years in Germany, and said it was thehappiest time of her life. She can't be patriotic at heart to say that.Do you know, Winifrede told me that a few days ago she and Jean hadnoticed such a queer light dancing about on the hills near the camp. Itwas j
ust as if somebody was heliographing."
"What's heliographing?"
"Dona, you little stupid, you know that! Why, it's signalling byflashing lights. There's a regular code. It's done with a mirror. Well,Brackenfield is right opposite the camp, and it would be quite possiblefor Norty to be helioing to the prisoners. They're always on thelook-out for somebody to communicate with them and help them to escape.I suppose there are hundreds of spies going about in England, and no oneknows who they are. They just pass for ordinary innocent kind of people,but they ask all kinds of questions, and pick up scraps of informationthat will be useful to the enemy. How is it that most of our secretsappear in the Berlin papers? There must be treachery going on somewhere.It's generally in very unsuspected places. One of the teachers in aschool might just as well as not be a spy."
"How dreadful!" shuddered Dona.
"Well, you never know. Of course, they don't go about labelled 'In thepay of the Kaiser', but there must be a great many people--English too,all shame to them!--who are receiving money from Germany to betray theircountry."