The interior of the old Grange was quaint as its exterior. The large rooms lent themselves admirably to school uses. The big hall, with its oak-panelled walls, stained-glass windows, and huge fireplace, made an excellent lecture-room, or, when the forms were moved to one end, provided plenty of space for drilling or dancing. It seemed strange certainly to turn an Elizabethan bedroom into a twentieth-century class-room, and standard desks looked decidedly at variance with the carved chimney-pieces or the stags’ antlers that still ornamented the walls; but the modern element only seemed to enhance the old, and the girls agreed that nothing could be more suitable than to learn history in such a setting.
“It’ll give us a loophole for lots of our lessons,” remarked Raymonde hopefully, as she personally conducted a party of new arrivals over the establishment. “For instance, if I get muddled over circulating decimals, I’ll explain that my brains fall naturally into a mediæval groove in these surroundings, and decimals weren’t invented then, so that of course it’s impossible for me to grasp them; and the same with geography—the map of Africa then had about three names on it, so it’s quite superfluous to try to remember any more. I’m going to cultivate the mental atmosphere of the place and focus my mind accordingly. I’ll concentrate on the Elizabethan period of history, and the rest I’ll just ignore.” 16
“Don’t know how you’ll convince Gibbie!” chuckled Muriel Fuller.
“You leave Gibbie to me! My mind’s seething with ideas. It’s absolutely chock full. I see possibilities that I never even dreamt of at the old school. I believe this term’s going to be the time of my life. Bless the dear old Bumble Bee! She’s buzzed to some purpose in bringing us here!”
Perhaps what struck the girls most of all was the large dormitory. In the days of the French Revolution Marlowe Grange had been the refuge of an order of nuns, who had escaped from Limoges and founded a temporary convent in the old house. It was owing to the excellence of their arrangements, and the structural improvements which they had left behind them, that the Grange had been so eminently suitable for a school. Seven little bedrooms placed side by side served exactly to accommodate the members of the Sixth Form, while the great chamber, running from end to end of the house, with its nineteen snow-white beds, provided quarters for the rank and file. Just for a moment the girls had stared rather aghast at their vast dormitory, contrasting it with the numerous small rooms of their former school; but the possibilities of fun presented by this congregation of beds outweighed the disadvantages, and they had decided that the arrangement was “topping.” It had, however, one serious drawback. At the far end was a small extra chamber, intended originally for the use of the Mother Superior of the convent, and here, to the girls’ infinite dismay, Miss Gibbs had taken up her abode. There was no mistake about it. Her box blocked the doorway; her bag, labelled 17 “M. Gibbs. Passenger to Great Marlowe via Littleton Junction,” reposed upon a chair, her hat and coat lay on the bed, and a neat time-table of classes was already pinned upon the wall.
“We didn’t bargain to have the Wasp at such close quarters!” whispered Ardiune Coleman-Smith ruefully. “She’ll sleep with both ears open, and if we stir a finger or breathe a word she’ll hear!”
“Cheero! There are ways of making people deaf,” remarked Raymonde sanguinely. “How? Ah, my child, that’s a surprise for the future! D’you suppose” (with a cryptic shake of the head) “I’m going to give away my professional secrets? I’ve told you already it’s my mission to enliven this school, and if you don’t have a jinky term I’ll consider myself a failure. Haven’t I started well? I arrived half an hour before everyone else, and booked up all the beds on the far side for our set. Here you are! A label’s pinned to each pillow!”
The six kindred spirits who revolved as satellites in Raymonde’s orbit turned to her with a gush of admiration. It was a brilliant thought to have labelled the beds, and so secured the most eligible portion of the dormitory for themselves.
“You’re the limit, Ray!” gurgled Aveline.
Aveline was generally regarded as Raymonde’s under-study. She was not so clever, so daring, or so altogether reckless, but she came in a very good second-best in most of the harum-scarum escapades. She could always be relied upon for support, could keep a secret, and had a peculiarly convenient knack of baffling awkward questions by putting 18 on an attitude of utter stolidity. When her eyes were half-closed under their heavy lids, and her mouth wore what the girls called its “John Bull” expression, not even Miss Beasley herself could drag information out of Aveline. The Sphinx, as she was sometimes nicknamed, prided herself on her accomplishment, and took particular care to maintain her character. Raymonde had apportioned the bed on her right to Aveline, and that on her left to Fauvette Robinson, who occupied about an equal place in her affections.