The Manor School

by L. T. Meade

CHAPTER XXV THE LETTER

Susan Marsh was thoroughly upset. She was not repentant. It is not the nature of a girl like Susan easily to repent. She was not at all sorry for what she had done, but she was terribly afraid of the consequences. She also feared that she had gone too far. At the school at Margate she had lived through an ugly time. There had been a theft, and she had been concerned in it. She had, in fact, been expelled from the school. Her wrong-doing at the time had by no means terrified her, but she disliked the ceremony which had meant her expulsion from Mrs. Anderson's school. She had to pass through a group of her schoolfellows, and the eyes of the girls seemed to burn her. They were by no means extraordinary girls in any sense of the word; they were girls quite moderately good, and with heaps of faults, but they all gazed with the utmost contempt at Susan as she shuffled down the long line which they formed, and so got out of the school.

Now, Miss Peacock would certainly not expel any girl, however wicked, in so cruel a manner; but Susan did not know that. She was certain that if Miss Peacock sent her back to her father at Easter with such a report as she threatened to give, and with announcement that she would not be received in the school again, something fearful would happen. Mr. Marsh was a merchant, a very rich man, and Susan was his only child. He was a big, red-headed, stout man, with a harsh voice and a harsh laugh; but he was quite upright. He had strong ideas with regard to honor and rectitude; and if Susan came back to him so disgraced, she did not know all he would do. He would send her away; he would banish her from all other girls. He would put her under the care of the very strictest disciplinarian he could possibly find. She must not run such a risk. Beyond doubt she had got herself into a scrape. It was not only that silly affair with regard to Christian Mitford. Christian had been fairly useful to Susan as long as she could obtain her money and press her into her service, but she had no time to give a thought to her now. She had got all Christian's money; there was nothing of it left, and Susan made up her mind to leave her alone, to announce to her friends that she thought Christian Mitford a fairly good girl, and, in short, if she could manage it with a few clever words, to undo the mischief she had hitherto done. Christian would recover and take her place in the school; Star Lestrange would be her friend, and her brief time of friendship with Susan and her set would be forgotten.

But there were other things. There was the great feast in the front attic which was to take place next Wednesday, and there were the girls who were to be invited to attend it. Susan felt terribly anxious when she thought of those girls. One of them was Florence Dixie, who was the daughter of a lawyer who lived in the town of Tregellick. Florence was a bold, wild girl, with quantities of black hair which curled all over her head. She had black eyes to match the hair, a turned-up nose, and a loud laugh. It had been Florence's wildest ambition to become an inmate of Penwerne Manor, but Miss Peacock did not approve of the young lady, and had declined the honor of becoming her instructress.

There were also Ethel and Emma Manners. They were the daughters of a rich greengrocer in the town. Ethel and Emma had more pocket-money than they knew what to do with, and once having met Susan when she had no right to be out, and lent her some money. They were pleased to strike up any sort of acquaintance with a Penwerne Manor girl, and Susan had taken advantage of their friendship to get several good things for herself. Ethel and Emma had told Susan that if she could smuggle them into the house, and make them acquainted with some of the other girls of the Manor, they would each give her a very beautiful present at Easter.

"We will manage," said Ethel, "so that Miss Peacock shall never know. You'll do it, won't you?"

Susan had said of course she would, and she had planned the whole thing.

Florence Dixie, who thought herself considerably above the Manners girls, was still quite willing to accompany them on this occasion. They would climb up the elm-tree at the back of the house; they would tap at the window, and Susan herself, aided by the other girls, who of course must be let into the secret, would admit them. Then there would be high-jinks; then there would be a glorious time. Oh, how they would eat, how they would drink, how they would laugh! How they would enjoy themselves!

Florence Dixie had promised not to come empty-handed to the feast. She would bring such plumcake as had not been eaten for years by those girls.