The Little School-Mothers

by L. T. Meade

At these words, all the other school-mothers went out of the room, Jane still completely surrounded by a phalanx of her companions. When the door was shut behind them and Mr Durrant and Harriet were alone, he turned to her.

“Some day, you will understand what you have done,” he said.

“I understand now,” said Harriet. “It is all up,” she added. “I wouldn’t have been such a bad school-mother as you think. There was nothing heroic or noble about me; but I wanted the post very badly; you should not have tempted me, Mr Durrant, by offering it. You began by offering a pony, which we all wanted very badly; and I did wrong to try to secure that. I failed, and I was sorry; and Robina won it. Then you offered something much more important than a pony. My feelings of jealousy towards Robina returned, and I thought I would try hard to become school-mother to Ralph; for we are poor at home, and I am not very happy, and you offered things which would have made my success in life—”

“You don’t suppose for a single moment that the path you choose to walk in could have conduced to success—real success in life, Harriet Lane?” said Mr Durrant. “Did ever deceit really prosper? I tell you what it is, Harriet,” he said, changing his tone now and going up to the girl and taking her hand, “that you ought to be down on your knees thanking Providence that at that terrible moment which you so cleverly and wickedly planned in order to show off your own bravery, little Ralph was not drowned. Had that sailor not unexpectedly come to the rescue, Ralph could certainly never have reached the shore, and it is even doubtful whether you could have done so yourself. You played with edged tools, my child, and you may be thankful you were not more severely punished.”

There was no answer from Harriet, whose eyes were fixed on the ground.

“You may be thankful, too,” continued Mr Durrant, “for the painful events of this day. Had things not turned out as they have, you might have got the post you so coveted, and where it would have ended—God only knows! Do not interrupt me by speaking: I have always known your character, although I did not dare, even to myself, say what I feared about it. You would not have been, even in the most ordinary sense, a good school-mother to Ralph: you would not even have been kind to him, for you never really loved him. You would both have been miserable; you, who only saw your own aggrandisement, would not have taken any trouble for my little son, and as you have no idea at present of truth and honour, you would but have stepped deeper into the mire. Be thankful that you have not gone further, and that you have been pulled up in your wicked ways in time. It is not my place to say anything to Mrs Burton, or you would be expelled from the school. With regard to your school life, I have nothing to say, and you will in all probability return to Abbeyfield at the end of the holidays. Make the best of your chance, and pray to God to soften your heart.

“As to poor little Jane, your victim, I myself shall take steps to have her removed to another school. She must not be subject to the chance of your cruelty after her confession of to-day. You can leave me, now, Harriet. I commit you to God’s mercy, and trust that you may repent of your evil ways. The carriage which was to convey Robina Starling to the railway station will take you there, and the escort which was to conduct her home will take you instead to your home. Good-bye. I cannot shake hands with you: nevertheless, I earnestly pray and hope that you will repent in the best sense of the word.”

Harriet left the room with her head bowed down. Mr Durrant waited until she had gone. Then he rang the bell. A servant appeared.

“Tell Mrs Martin that she is to take Miss Harriet Lane instead of Miss Robina Starling,” was his order. “Tell her to see that a comfortable luncheon basket is packed and on no account to lose the next train.” Accordingly, a few minutes later it was Harriet Lane and not Robina Starling who left Sunshine Lodge. The three Amberley girls and the two Chetwolds watched her as she departed. They were standing in a cluster in a bay window and holding each other’s hands tightly and feeling—not at all triumphant, but very, very sad; and Jane Bush was crying in a corner with her head buried in a cushion.

Just then, Mr Durrant entered the room.