Chapter Fourteen.
The synopsis had disappeared! Incredible though it seemed, it was but too true. For the first few minutes Dreda was too much stunned to move from her seat, but presently with a painful effort after self-possession, she arose, and began hastily lifting the contents of the desk, and dropping them one by one on the floor. In this way it seemed impossible to overlook anything, but still no sign of the shining black cover met her sight. She scooped everything together with impatient fingers, pushed them back into the desk, and ran breathlessly into the study.
The girls were amusing themselves in various fashions after the fatigues of “prep.,” but one and all looked round with expressions of astonishment at the violent opening of the door which heralded the unexpected appearance of the sub-editor, white-cheeked, and tragic of demeanour.
“What in the world’s the matter?”
“The list! The synopsis! It’s gone! It was in my desk. Miss Drake sent me for it. She is waiting for me now, and it’s gone: I can’t find it. Has anyone moved it? Does anyone know where it’s gone?”
The girls’ faces lengthened; there was a moment’s tense silence, then everyone spoke at once.
“Dreda! How dreadful! Are you sure? In your desk? No one would take it out of your desk!”
“Dreda! You are always mislaying your things. You have put it somewhere else. Think! Remember your keys! You vowed you had put them in your glove drawer, and they were found in the box with your best hat.”
“Have you been upstairs to look in your cubicle?”
Dreda stamped with impatience.
“Of course I haven’t. My cubicle, indeed! As if I would keep a book there! It was in my desk, I tell you. I left it there last night. I saw it with my own eyes this morning. Oh! don’t ask silly questions—don’t waste time. She is waiting for me. What am I to do?”
“Come!” cried Susan quickly, and sped upstairs towards the classroom, while Dreda followed hard in her wake, leaving the other girls to discuss the situation round the fire. The universal impression was that Dreda had stowed away the book in some hiding-place, and had promptly forgotten all about it. She was always doing it; never a day arrived but she went about inquiring in melancholy accents if anyone had seen her indiarubber, her penknife, her keys, her gloves. She was always leaving things about, and, upon suddenly discovering their presence, popping them into impromptu hiding-places to save running upstairs—behind a photograph, in an empty flower-pot, beneath a mat or cushion, anywhere and everywhere, as circumstances prompted. Nothing was certain but that nine times out of ten she would forget the whole incident, and would have no better clue to help her in her search after the missing article than that she had put it “somewhere!”
“Poor old Dreda!” said Barbara sympathetically. “Hard lines, when she has worked so hard! The Duck will be down upon her like a ton of bricks. She loathes untidiness. Poor old Dreda—she’ll get a rowing instead of praise. It’s tragic when you think of that fine cover, and all the beautiful black letters!”
“She’s been an awful bore. It will do her good to be taken down a bit.”
“Poor Dreda all the same. Things that do you good are so very disagreeable. I like her enthusiasm, when it doesn’t interfere with me! And she’s a real good sort. A bore at times, but a good little meaner.”
“It’s no use meaning, if you don’t perform, where The Duck is concerned. I wouldn’t be in her shoes.”
Meanwhile Dreda had turned out the contents of her desk for a second time, while Susan stood anxiously looking on. When the last paper had fluttered to the ground, the two girls faced one another in eloquent silence.
“It isn’t there,” said Susan at last. “There must be some mistake. Think, dear! Are you quite sure that you put it here, and nowhere else? What did you do after you finished binding the papers? Where did you go? Think of everything you did.”
“But I did nothing!” cried Dreda miserably. “I only dressed and went down to supper. I never took it out of this room at all—I’m certain, positive—as certain as I’m alive!”
“But we could look. It is worth while looking. We must find it!”
But at this very moment the door of Miss Drake’s room opened, and a quick voice called out a summons.
“Dreda! I am waiting. Kindly come at once.”
The colour ebbed still further from Dreda’s cheeks, her eyes grew wide and tragic, she extended her hands towards Susan, as if mutely appealing for help, and felt them clasped with a strong protecting pressure.
“You must go, but I’ll search. I’m a good looker, you know. Poor darling! It is hard, but I’ll help—I will help.”
Then Etheldreda the Ready threw her arms round her friend’s neck and cried brokenly:
“Susan, dear Susan, you are good, and I love you! I was horrid about the editorship... You would have been far better than I. This is my punishment—I have brought it on my own head.”
Her voice was so sweet, her eyes so liquid and loving, she drew herself up and marched to her doom with so gallant an air, that her faithful admirer thought instinctively of the martyrs of old. She turned and ran hurriedly upstairs.
Meantime Miss Drake sat looking towards the door with an impatient frown. The frown deepened at sight of Dreda’s empty hands, and she tapped on the table with the end of her pencil. Dreda’s heart sank still further at the sound which Miss Drake’s pupils had learnt to associate with their blackest hours.
“You have kept me waiting for ten minutes, Dreda. Where is your manuscript? I have no time to waste.”
“I—I—can’t—I can’t find it, Miss Drake.”
Miss Drake leant back in her chair and became in a moment a monument of outraged dignity. Looking at her, it was impossible to believe that one had even ventured on the liberty of calling her by so familiar an epithet as “The Duck.” She turned her long neck from side to side, elevated her eyebrows, and cleared her throat in an ominous manner.
“I am afraid I don’t understand. You told me a few minutes ago that everything was ready.”
“So it was. In my desk. I left it there last night—I went to find it just now, and—it’s gone! Disappeared. I can’t think what has happened. It was bound like a book. It looked beautiful. It’s not my fault!”
“Nonsense, Etheldreda!” cried Miss Drake sharply. “If you had put it in your desk, it would be there still. This is just another example of your careless, unmethodical habits. You have put the book in some unlikely, out-of-the-way corner, and have forgotten all about it. I feared some contretemps of the kind, and was much relieved when you told me that all was ready. I am very much disappointed and annoyed!”
“Miss Drake, it was there! I’m absolutely positive. I never was surer of anything in my life than that I left it there last night, and saw it again this morning.”
Miss Drake shrugged her shoulders expressively.
“Extravagant assertions do not prove anything, Etheldreda. In a case of this sort I judge by previous experience. I have repeatedly warned you about your careless habits, but apparently without success. In this case you had a responsibility to fulfil for others as well as yourself, which should have made you doubly careful. You had better continue your search in the other rooms.”
“It is no good, Miss Drake. The book was in the desk.”
Dreda kept her place stolidly, and there was a settled conviction upon her face which Miss Drake was quick to note. She watched the girl in silence for several moments, her brow knitted in thought, then suddenly her expression softened and her voice regained its habitual kindly tone.
“If you put it there, my dear child, it must be there still. Perhaps it is! I know your sketchy fashion of looking. See! I will come and help you to look again. Perhaps we shall find the book hidden away in a corner where you have never thought of looking!”
Dreda thought ruefully of the scattering of her treasures which had twice over left the desk bare and empty, but it seemed easier to allow Miss Drake to see for herself than to protest any further; so she meekly opened the door and followed the governess down the passage. From above could be heard the voices of the girls ascending to dress for the evening; doors opened and shut, and echoes of suppressed laughter floated to the ear. Everybody, Dreda reflected darkly—everybody was happy but herself! She led the way to her desk and opened the lid, revealing the confused mass of books and papers. She was miserably resigned to receiving yet another lecture on untidiness, but The Duck smiled in a forbearing fashion, and said:
“You have been making hay of your possessions! No wonder you could not find what you wanted. Now what was this book like? You said that the papers were bound.”
“A shiny black cover with a paper label on the back.”
Miss Drake lifted up the loose papers with her pretty white hands, laid them daintily on one side, and proceeded to examine the exercise books one by one, while Dreda stood by in hopeless silence. One might search all day and all night, but it was impossible to find what was not there. Her eyes looked listlessly on the map book, the arithmetic book, the French exercise book; even the big untidy note book roused no flicker of animation, though if it chanced to fall open it would reveal caricature drawings of school authorities which must needs draw confusion upon her head. She would never have the heart to draw caricatures again! The thick book with the mottled cover contained the compositions which had won praise and distinction. She had felt so proud of the “Excellent” written in pencilled letters at the end of the final sentences. Never again would she know what it was to be happy and gay! The big drawing-book must have suffered from its fall—for the leaves appeared to be bent and doubled back. Dreda felt the calm indifference of despair, but Miss Drake frowned and made a clicking sound of disapproval.
“My dear! Your drawing-book! You are really incorri—”
She stopped short in the middle of the word, for the moment that the drawing-book was opened her quick eye had caught sight of a shiny black cover behind the crumpled papers. She lifted it rapidly, saw the printed label on the back, and held it out towards her pupil with a mingling of triumph and impatience.
“My dear Dreda! What did I tell you? All this fuss for nothing. You are really too trying. Why didn’t you look properly before coming to me?”
Dreda’s exclamation of bewilderment was echoed by another, as Susan entered the room on her return from her unsuccessful search upstairs. She added her own quiet testimony to Dreda’s excited protestations that the synopsis was not, could not conceivably have been in the desk when she had turned it out ten minutes before, but Miss Drake refused to listen. Her temper was ruffled, she enforced silence with an imperative gesture, bade Dreda follow her to the study, and seated herself at her desk with her most severe and school-mistressy expression.
As for Dreda, she feebly dropped into a chair and sat staring blankly before her, the image of limp dejection. The very stars in their courses seemed conspiring to fight against her, for no ordinary, every-day reason could explain the extraordinary happenings of this afternoon! She was so stunned and bewildered that she forgot to watch the effect of the great synopsis on the Editor-in-chief, and so missed a delightful study in expressions, as The Duck’s irritation gave place to smiles and dimpling spasms of amusement. It was only after she had finished the reading (after all the labour of production what a short time it took to read), and had asked a word of explanation, that Dreda seemed suddenly galvanised into fresh life, but as usual with her, when the awakening came, it came with a vengeance. She leapt to her feet, and disregarding the question, launched her thunderbolt with dramatic vehemence.
“Miss Drake, I wish to resign being editor.”
“Do you, Etheldreda? Why?”
The voice was so calm, Miss Drake’s whole manner so devoid of surprise or chagrin, that Dreda felt as if a douche of cold water had been suddenly poured down her back. No kindly protests, no encouragement, no sympathy. Nothing but that cool, level “Why?” She stood gaping and hesitating, for in truth it was hard to answer. To say that she was sick of the whole thing because she had encountered a few initial difficulties and worries seemed mean and poor-spirited, and Dreda could not think so lightly of herself. In the minute of hesitation she had lightly brushed aside difficulties, and felt a swelling of righteous renunciation.
“Because—I want Susan to take it. She would do better than I.”
“Have you only just discovered that, Dreda?”
The question was put in a tone which Dreda had never heard before from Miss Drake’s lips—a tone so tender, so gentle and conciliatory, that it startled as much as the words themselves. Dreda stared, the colour paling on her cheeks, her hands clenched at the back of her chair. What did it mean? Susan had volunteered her services, and Miss Drake had deliberately rejected them in favour of herself, and now she said, she implied— The girl’s lips quivered as she spoke again:
“You chose me!”
“Why?” asked Miss Drake once more, in the same gentle voice. “Why, Dreda? Think a moment! Does it not occur to you, dear, that I might have chosen you, not because the work needed you, but because you needed the work? Your duties called for patience, and perseverance, and method, and punctuality, and neatness, and tact—all qualities which needed development in your case; while in Susan’s—”
“You would rather have had Susan! You didn’t really want me at all!”
The bitter disappointment in the girl’s voice went to the hearer’s heart. It was one of the hardest tasks which she had ever had to perform to answer truthfully, and so give another pang to the sensitive young heart. The colour rose on her cheeks and her brows twitched nervously, but she would not allow herself to prevaricate.
“Yes, Dreda, dear. For the sake of the work I should have preferred Susan, but I wanted to help you to get the better of your failings. I wanted it so much that I was prepared to undertake the extra work which your carelessness might involve, for the magazine could not be allowed to suffer. I am afraid it is painful to you, dear, to hear this, but if your vanity is wounded, you can comfort yourself with the remembrance that I was so much interested in you, so anxious for your improvement, that I rejected a most capable helper on your account.”
“Thank you!” sighed Dreda faintly. There was not a sign of irritation or resentment in her manner, and her thanks were evidently genuine. She might have posed as an image of humility and abasement as she stood with bowed head and downcast eyes before the desk. The swing of the pendulum had brought her into the valley of humiliation, and in characteristic fashion she felt a melancholy pleasure in playing her part as thoroughly as possible. “Thank you. You are very good. I am very grateful. We have to learn our lessons in life, I suppose, but it’s hard at the time. It’s been a great shock, but it’s good for me, I suppose. I can never be careless again. I’ve read in books about something happening and finishing the girl’s youth. I feel like that now! You meant me to learn, and I have learnt, so there’s no need to go on. You can have Susan, and no more bother—”
Miss Drake’s lips twitched in a smile which fortunately Dreda did not see.
“I think not, Dreda. I should prefer to keep to present arrangements. If you have really learnt your lessons so quickly there will be no ‘bother’ to fear. You may go now, dear. We will discuss the synopsis later on. I dare say you will like to have a little quiet time before dinner. Come to me to-morrow at the same hour.”
Dreda backed silently from the room a picture of tragic despair, and slowly mounted to the dormitory where the faithful Susan awaited her coming. The two girls faced one another in silence for several moments before Dreda spoke.
“Susan! on your word of honour will you answer me a question truthfully?”
“Yes, Dreda, of course I will.”
“Why did you offer to be sub-editor after I had asked?”
Poor Susan! The freckles disappeared in a crimson blush which mounted to her temples, and tinged her very neck beneath the stiff brown band. She twisted her fingers together, and stammered incoherent nothings.
“Go on! You promised. The truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“Dreda, dear—”
“Go on! I’m prepared. I’ve suffered so much humiliation already that a little more or less doesn’t matter. Well?”
“I thought—I was afraid—I didn’t want you to get into trouble, dear. You are so clever, and original, and sparkling, it is natural that you should get tired. I am just a dull, plodding old machine.”
Dreda bent her tall young head and kissed her friend with an air of humble adoration.
“You are good and true, and I wronged you. I thought you were as despicable as myself. All my life long I shall try to be worthy of your forgiveness. My heart’s broken, Susan! Everyone despises me in this school, and I’ve an enemy, a secret enemy, who is hiding like a snake in the grass. You know perfectly well that that book was not in the desk when we looked!”
Susan was silent. She was as sure of the fact as it was possible to be, but her cautious nature reminded her of the possibility of mistake, and she would not venture on a definite assertion.
“I thought it was not; I thought we turned out everything.”
“I know we did! It was the work of mine enemy. Some day I’ll discover her, and then—”
Susan looked sharply upwards.
“What then?”
“I’ll heap coals of fire on her head! I’ll forgive her, and try to lead her into better ways. That’s all that’s left to me now—to be a beacon to others!” Dreda’s voice shook, her composure breaking down before the force of her own eloquence. She sank down on her bed, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh! Oh! My heart will break. If it wasn’t for the exeat next week I should lie down and die. I’m going home! They love me there. I never, never valued it before. I’m going home to mother and the girls!”