L. Meade - The School Queens

“And you too, sir,” said Maggie, in her soft, rich voice. “Oh! you’ll be delighted – delighted; there never was such a woman as Mrs. Ward.”

“I took a very great liking to her,” said the rector. “I think my girls fortunate to be placed under her care. She has been good, very good and kind, to me and mine.”

“I wonder what he means by that,” thought Maggie; but she made no remark aloud.

At about a quarter to four that same afternoon three girls prepared to walk over to Meredith Manor. It was for such golden opportunities that Molly and Isabel kept their best frocks; it was for just such occasions that they arrayed themselves most neatly and becomingly. Their dress, it must be owned, was limited in quantity and also in quality; but on the present occasion, in their pretty white spotted muslins, with pale-blue sashes round their waists and white muslin hats to match, they looked as charming a young pair of English girls as could be found in the length and breadth of the land. It is true their feet were not nearly as perfectly shod as Maggie’s, nor were their gloves quite so immaculate; but then they were going to play tennis, and shoes and gloves did not greatly matter in the country. Maggie thought otherwise. Her tan tennis-shoes exactly toned with her neatly fitting brown holland dress. The little hat she wore on her head was made of brown straw trimmed very simply with ribbon; it was an ugly hat, but on Maggie’s head it seemed to complete her dress, to be a part of her, so that no one noticed in the least what she wore except that she looked all right.

Two boys with worshiping eyes watched the trio as they stepped down the rectory avenue and disappeared from view. Two boys fought a little afterward, but made it up again, and then lay on the grass side by side and discussed Maggie, pulling her to pieces in one sense, but adoring her all the same.

Meanwhile the girls themselves chatted as girls will when the heart is light and there is no care anywhere. It was very hot, even hotter than it had been in the morning; but when they reached the road shaded so beautifully by the elm-trees they found a delicious breeze which fanned their faces. Somehow, Maggie never seemed to suffer from weather at all. She was never too cold; she was never too hot; she was never ill; no one had ever heard her complain of ache or pain. She was always joyous, except when she was sympathizing with somebody else’s sorrow, and then her sympathy was detached – that is, it did not make her personally sad, although it affected and helped the person who was the recipient of it to a most remarkable extent. One of Maggie’s great attractions was her absolute health, her undiminished strength, the fact that she could endure almost any exertion without showing a trace of fatigue.

Molly and Isabel were also strong, hearty, well-made girls, and the excitement of this expedition caused them to chatter more volubly than usual. Maggie had a good deal to tell them with regard to the new school, and they had a great deal to tell her with regard to the Cardews.

Just as they were entering the avenue Maggie turned and faced her two companions. “May I say something?” she asked eagerly.

“Why, of course, Mags,” said Molly.

“Well, it’s this: from what you told me of your friends, they must be the most profoundly uninteresting girls.”

“Oh no, indeed they are not!” said Isabel stanchly. “Merry has a great deal in her, and Cicely is so nice-looking! We think she will be beautiful by-and-by; but Merry undoubtedly has the most character. Then there is something dignified and aristocratic about them, and yet they are not really proud, although they might be, for they are so rich, and Meredith Manor is such a wonderful old house.”

“Didn’t you tell me,” said Maggie, “that Meredith Manor belonged to Mrs. Cardew?”

“Did I?” said Isabel, coloring in some confusion. “I am sure I don’t know; I don’t remember saying it. I don’t think Mrs. Cardew is the sort of woman who would call anything hers apart from her husband. She is devoted to him, and no wonder, for he is quite charming. He is nearly as charming as father, and that’s saying a great deal.”

“Do let’s come on. We’ll be late!” said Molly impatiently.

“No, not quite yet, please,” said Maggie. “I want to understand the position. Mrs. Cardew was a Miss Meredith?”

“Yes, dear Maggie; but what does that matter?”

“And,” continued Maggie, “she was the heiress of Meredith Manor?”

“I suppose so. Father can tell you exactly.”

“Oh, I don’t want to question him, but I want to get my bearings. On the mother’s side, the Cardew girls belong to the country. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Do come on.”

“But their father,” continued Maggie, “he is in trade, isn’t he?”

“He’s a perfect gentleman,” said Isabel stoutly; “no one looks down on trade in these days.”

“Of course not. I adore trade myself,” said Maggie. She now proceeded to walk very slowly up the avenue. She was evidently thinking hard. After a time she said, “I mean to get those girls to come to school with you, Molly, and with you, Isabel, in September.”

Both the Tristrams burst into a peal of merry laughter. “Oh Mags!” they cried, “we never did think before that you were conceited. You certainly overrate even your powers when you imagine that you will get Mr. Cardew to change his mind.”

“What do you mean by his changing his mind?”

“Why, this,” said Belle. “He has set his face from the very first against his girls leaving home. He wishes them to have a home education, and that alone.”

“Oh, that is all right,” said Maggie cheerfully. “Well, what will you bet, girls, that I have my way?”

“We don’t want you to lose, Maggie; but you certainly will not get your way in this particular.”

“Well, now, I am going to be generous. I am not rich; but I have got two gold bracelets at home, and I will give one to each of you for your very own if I succeed in bringing Cicely and Merry Cardew to Mrs. Ward’s school.”

“Oh! oh!” exclaimed both the Tristram girls.

“You’ll get your bracelets,” said Maggie in a most confident tone, “and I can assure you they are beauties; my darling father brought them from India years and years ago. He brought a lot of jewels for mother and me, and I will get the bracelets for you – one each – if I succeed; but you must allow me to manage things my own way.”

“But you won’t do anything – anything – to upset the Cardews?” said Isabel.

“Upset them!” said Maggie. “Well, yes, I do mean to upset them. I mean to alter their lives; I mean to turn things topsyturvy for them; but I’ll manage it in such a fashion that neither you, nor Molly, nor your father, nor your mother, nor anyone will suspect how I have got my way, but get it I will. I thought I’d tell you, that’s all. You’d like to have them at school with you, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes, very much indeed,” said Molly.

“I am not so sure,” said Isabel. “It’s rather fun coming back to the rectory in the holidays and telling the Cardew girls all about what we do and how we spend our time. There’ll be nothing to tell them if we all go to the same school.”

“Well,” said Maggie, “I don’t agree with you. I expect, on the contrary, you’ll find a vast lot more to talk about. But come, let’s hurry now; I want to be introduced to them, for I have no time to lose.”

Neither Isabel nor Molly could quite make out why they felt a certain depression after Maggie Howland had explained her views. The thought of the possible possession of the bracelets did not greatly elate them. Besides, there was not the most remote chance of even such a fascinating young person as Maggie succeeding in her project. She would meet her match, if not in Mrs. Cardew, then in Mr. Cardew. There was no doubt whatever on that point. But they greatly wished she would not try. They did not want her to upset the placid existence of their young friends. The girls who lived at the Castle, the girls who pursued their sheltered, happy, refined life, were in a manner mysterious and remote to the young Tristrams, and they thought that they would not love them any more if they were brought into closer contact with them.