George Orwell - Collected Works

There were weeks of furtive chaffering before the bargain was clinched, Miss Allcock being finally beaten down from fifteen per cent to twelve and a half. Mrs. Creevy privately resolved to sack old Allcock the instant she was certain that the three children she brought with her would stay. Simultaneously, Miss Allcock was planning to begin stealing old Creevy’s pupils as soon as she had got a footing in the school.

Having decided to sack Dorothy, it was obviously most important to prevent her from finding it out. For of course, if she knew what was going to happen, she would begin stealing pupils on her own account, or at any rate wouldn’t do a stroke of work for the rest of the term. (Mrs. Creevy prided herself on knowing human nature.) Hence the marmalade, the creaky smiles and the other ruses to allay Dorothy’s suspicions. Anyone who knew the ropes would have begun thinking of another job the very moment when that dish of marmalade was pushed across the table.

Just half an hour after her sentence of dismissal, Dorothy, carrying her handbag, opened the front gate. It was the fourth of April, a bright blowy day, too cold to stand about in, with a sky as blue as a hedge-sparrow’s egg, and one of those spiteful spring winds that come tearing along the pavement in sudden gusts and blow dry, stinging dust into your face. Dorothy shut the gate behind her and began to walk very slowly in the direction of the main line station.

She had told Mrs. Creevy that she would give her an address to which her box could be sent, and Mrs. Creevy had instantly exacted five shillings for the carriage. So Dorothy had five pounds fifteen in hand, which might keep her for three weeks with careful economy. What she was going to do, except that she must start by going to London and finding a suitable lodging, she had very little idea. But her first panic had worn off, and she realised that the situation was not altogether desperate. No doubt her father would help her, at any rate for a while, and at the worst, though she hated even the thought of doing it, she could ask her cousin’s help a second time. Besides, her chances of finding a job were probably fairly good. She was young, she spoke with a genteel accent, and she was willing to drudge for a servant’s wages—qualities that are much sought after by the proprietors of fourth-rate schools. Very likely all would be well. But that there was an evil time ahead of her, a time of job-hunting, of uncertainty and possibly of hunger—that, at any rate, was certain.

CHAPTER V

§I

However, it turned out quite otherwise. For Dorothy had not gone five yards from the gate when a telegraph boy came riding up the street in the opposite direction, whistling and looking at the names of the houses. He saw the name Ringwood House, wheeled his bicycle round, propped it against the kerb and accosted Dorothy.

“Miss Mill- burrow live ’ere?” he said, jerking his head in the direction of Ringwood House.

“Yes. I am Miss Millborough.”

“Gotter wait case there’s a answer,” said the boy, taking an orange-coloured envelope from his belt.

Dorothy put down her bag. She had once more begun trembling violently. And whether this was from joy or fear she was not certain, for two conflicting thoughts had sprung almost simultaneously into her brain. One, “This is some kind of good news!” The other, “Father is seriously ill!” She managed to tear the envelope open, and found a telegram which occupied two pages, and which she had the greatest difficulty in understanding. It ran:

“Rejoice in the lord o ye righteous note of exclamation great news note of exclamation your reputation absolutely reestablished stop mrs semprill fallen into the pit that she hath digged stop action for libel stop no one believes her any longer stop your father wishes you return home immediately stop am coming up to town myself comma will pick you up if you like stop arriving shortly after this stop wait for me stop praise him with the loud cymbals note of exclamation much love stop.”

No need to look at the signature. It was from Mr. Warburton, of course. Dorothy felt weaker and more tremulous than ever. She was dimly aware that the telegraph boy was asking her something.

“Any answer?” he said for the third or fourth time.

“Not to-day, thank you,” said Dorothy vaguely.

The boy remounted his bicycle and rode off, whistling with extra loudness to show Dorothy how much he despised her for not tipping him. But Dorothy was unaware of the telegraph boy’s scorn. The only phrase of the telegram that she had fully understood was “your father wishes you return home immediately,” and the surprise of it had left her in a semi-dazed condition. For some indefinite time she stood on the pavement, in the cold wind, thinking the vaguest thoughts imaginable, until presently a taxi rolled up the street, with Mr. Warburton inside it. He saw Dorothy, stopped the taxi, jumped out and came across to meet her, beaming. He seized her by both hands.

“Hullo!” he cried, and at once threw his arm pseudo-paternally about her and drew her against him, heedless of who might be looking. “How are you? But by Jove, how thin you’ve got! I can feel all your ribs. Where is this school of yours?”

Dorothy, who had not yet managed to get free of his arm, turned partly round and cast a glance towards the dark windows of Ringwood House.

“What! That place? Good God, what a hole! What have you done with your luggage?”

“It’s inside. I’ve left them the money to send it on. I think it’ll be all right.”

“Oh, nonsense! Why pay? We’ll take it with us. It can go on top of the taxi.”

“No, no! Let them send it. I daren’t go back. Mrs. Creevy would be horribly angry.”

“Mrs. Creevy? Who’s Mrs. Creevy?”

“The headmistress—at least, she owns the school.”

“What, a dragon, is she? Leave her to me—I’ll deal with her. Perseus and the gorgon, what? You are Andromeda. Hi!” he called to the taxi-driver.

The two of them went up to the front door and Mr. Warburton knocked. Somehow, Dorothy never believed that they would succeed in getting her box from Mrs. Creevy. In fact, she half expected to see them come out flying for their lives, and Mrs. Creevy after them with her broom. However, in a couple of minutes they reappeared, the taxi-driver carrying the box on his shoulder. Mr. Warburton handed Dorothy into the taxi and, as they sat down, dropped half a crown into her hand.

“What a woman! What a woman!” he said comprehensively as the taxi bore them away. “How the devil have you put up with it all this time?”

“What is this?” said Dorothy, looking at the coin.

“Your half-crown that you left to pay for the luggage. Rather a feat getting it out of the old girl, wasn’t it?”

“But I left five shillings!” said Dorothy.

“What! The woman told me you only left half a crown. By God, what impudence! We’ll go back and have that half-crown out of her. Just to spite her!” He tapped on the glass.

“No, no!” said Dorothy, laying her hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter in the least. Let’s get away from here—right away. I couldn’t bear to go back to that place again— ever !”

It was quite true. She felt that she would sacrifice not merely half a crown, but all the money in her possession, sooner than set eyes on Ringwood House again. So they drove on, leaving Mrs. Creevy victorious. It would be interesting to know whether this was another of the occasions when Mrs. Creevy laughed.

Mr. Warburton insisted on taking the taxi the whole way into London, and talked so voluminously in the quieter patches of the traffic that Dorothy could hardly get a word in edgeways. It was not till they had reached the inner suburbs that she got from him an explanation of the sudden change in her fortunes.