Penny's Masquerade at the Boys' School: Chapter III

Penny might be a plucky gal but she is really up to her chestnut curls in it this time. Caught in the act of ransacking a boy’s study and curtly exposed as a girl masquerading as a schoolboy, she must explain herself to the entire Fifth Form... whatever will become of her?

CHAPTER III
THE BURNING QUESTION

“CORKS! A female! A girl – a real one!”

There came exclamations and chuckles from all sides as Penny stood there, feeling near to tears now.

She had hoped so much that she would clear Jimmy’s name, but now she had failed – hopelessly. And what would be the consequences for herself when uncle learnt of this masquerade at the Boys’ School?

Would it mean the end of her stay in Greenvale; the end of all her hopes at the agency with Uncle Mark?

And Jimmy – what would he think?

She became aware then that Stringer had fallen back now, a look of utter surprise on his thin face. Another boy, a boy with crisp brown hair and rugged complexion, stepped forward, taking command.

“Somebody close that door – and shut up, you asses! Do you want to bring Woody here? We’ve got to find out what this is all about.”

Penny faced him knowing that here was a boy she could trust.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “And what were you doing dressed up like that? If Stringer had been stupid enough to hit you, then you would have been in trouble. What were you doing in Stringer’s study?”

Penny squared her shoulders and, with a cold glance at Stringer, she turned again to the other boy.

“I’m Penny Dale – I’m helping matron out for a few days. I-I had to go to the detention room and –”

“Ah-hah! So Jimmy’s in it, is he?” breathed the other boy. “Yes; go on.”

“Well, I found Jimmy trying to get out of the window.” And now she kept her gaze fixed on the pale face of Stringer as she spoke. “He told me he was innocent of that silly trick of painting the statue and that someone had tricked him into getting blamed. He had a clue to the identity of that person – and he was going to search for something that would help him prove it.”

There was a mutter from the others, but the brown-haired boy nodded.

“Is that why you were here?” he asked slowly. “You were searching in here for that something?”

“Yes. Yes, I was,” Penny told him, and looked straight into Stringer’s pale eyes. “But it seems it’s hidden somewhere else.”

“Well, Stringer, I guess she means you, and I’m not surprised,” the other boy said, turning to Stringer, whose face now had assumed a dull flush. “We all know you and we all know your nasty ways. I must say I couldn’t believe it of old Jimmy himself. By the way, Penny, I’m Bob – Bob Danvers. What exactly was it that you were looking for?”

Again Penny met Stringer’s gaze and she saw that light of fear momentarily flash into his eyes.

“A pair of shoes,” she told him steadily. “A pair of shoes with pink paint on them, where the trickster had accidentally stepped into the paint he upset.”

And then she saw, with a quick feeling of disappointment, the relief that crossed Stringer’s face.

“You can search till Doomsday, you won’t find any shoes like that in here,” he told her. “Ford spun you a yarn, right enough. I bet he was trying to run away when you caught him.”

Penny saw Bob Danvers look curiously down at Stringer’s feet.

“Wait a minute; they’re not everyday shoes you’re wearing,” he said slowly. “That’s the pair of weekend shoes you bought recently –”

Involuntarily Stringer bent down and Penny saw the flush on his face deepen. At the same time his top pocket spilled its contents on to the floor – pen, pencil, rubber and – a box of matches.

“So what?” he returned. “I’m having the others repaired.”

Penny bent down, picking up the box of matches before Stringer could get his fingers on it. Curiously she looked at them, noticing the faint white dust on the box; and the faint aroma of –

“Wood smoke,” she murmured, and then slowly looked at Stringer. “I wonder – is it possible –” a sudden memory had flashed through her mind. “I believe I know where –” she began, and then trailed off as, meeting his frightened gaze, she knew he knew what she had guessed.

“Boys! I believe I’ve got it!” she cried suddenly.

Without further thought she was at the door; had wrenched it open. There was no time to be lost now. She could hear Stringer’s footsteps pounding after her, followed by the rest of the form.

She tore down the stairs, almost charging into the tall, stout figure of Doctor Woodstock at the bottom. With a hurried apology she raced on, ignoring his command to stop.

Now she was in the open and without waiting to see if she was being followed, made off in the direction of the kitchen garden.

The faint aroma of the bonfire she had smelt in matron’s room grew stronger till, rounding the corner of the gardener’s shed, she came upon it – a great pile of smouldering rubbish. Arising from the pile wafted that smell – of rubber.

Frantically she looked round for a stick; found one and, even as the whole of the Fifth came racing up, an angry Doctor Woodstock now in tow, she was raking the bonfire.

And then, with a feeling of joy, from the centre, she brought forth what she had been looking for – a pair of smouldering shoes – the tang of burning coming from the rubber soles, the whole of the sole and uppers of one shoe completely covered with bright pink paint!

She lifted the shoe up on the end of the stick, as Doctor Woodstock pushed his way through the staring throng.

“What is going on here?” he demanded. “You, boy – no, by ginger, it’s Miss Dale! What on earth do you think you are doing?”

“I’m trying to right a wrong,” she told him forcefully. “Look, sir – see the pink paint on the sole of this shoe? These shoes belong to the real culprit who painted your statue. He threw them on here, hoping they’d burn and never be found, that he would get away with it – while an innocent boy was unjustly suspended from the school. The real culprit’s name should be inside these shoes!”

She peered into the shoe, and there, visible though very faint was a name – printed in marking ink:

“Leslie Stringer!” she cried triumphantly. “That’s the boy who did it!”

As Penny prepared to leave the school that afternoon to return home she grinned to herself, though a little wistfully. From the direction of the tuckshop came the sounds of a bumper party to celebrate Jimmy’s freedom from the detention room.

She had not had the chance to see him herself and felt a little disappointed that she had not been able to congratulate him.

She mounted her cycle and moved off towards the gates. And there, to her surprise she found a figure waiting – a figure who stood, tall and smiling, hands behind his back, directly in her path.

She pulled up beside him, meeting his blue eyes.

“Hallo,” he greeted, and she was conscious of a sudden shyness. “I-I’ve been looking out for you. I couldn’t let you go without thanking you. If it hadn’t been for you I’d probably have been on my way home by now.”

“I’m glad I was able to – to help you, Jimmy,” Penny said softly.

There was an awkward little silence, then he smiled.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get back to the party,” he said, and then suddenly brought his hand from behind his back, and her eyes widened as she saw the big box of chocolates he was handing her. “Please take it,” he said quietly. “It – it’s just a little present – with my thanks. I-I’ll never forget.”

And while she stared at him, dumbfounded, conscious of the mistiness in her eyes, he was gone, striding back along the path towards the tuckshop.

For some moments Penny gazed after him, then, with a little warm feeling inside, she remounted and cycled out of the school gates.