AT THE DANCING CLASS
It's funny to think what came of our going to that first dancing class.
If Anne hadn't run down to the pantry, the note wouldn't have been
found--perhaps not for months, if ever. And though Mrs. Liddell would
have written again the next week most likely, it wouldn't have been in
time for us to go to the first class, and everything would have come
different.
We did go--all five of us. Father was quite willing for Maud to come
too. I think he would have said yes to anything mother asked just then,
he was so sorry for her; and he was beginning himself, as the days went
on, to feel less hopeful about the diamond ornament being found. And you
see mums couldn't put it off her mind, as she kept telling Anne _she_
should do, for it was quite dreadful to her to think of grandfather's
having to hear about it. She was so really sorry for him to be vexed,
for she had thought it so kind of him to lend it to her.
There were several children we knew at the dancing class. Some, like the
little Liddells themselves, that we hadn't seen for a good long while,
as they always stayed in the country till after Christmas, and some that
we didn't know as friends, only just at the dancing, you see.
It was rather fun. We always found time for a good deal of talking and
laughing between the exercises and the dances, for they took us in
turns--the little ones, like Serena and Maud, who were just beginning,
and the older ones who could dance pretty well, and one or two dances at
the end for the biggest of all or the furthest on ones. Anne and Hebe
were among these, but Hebe danced much better than Anne. Most of the
exercises and the marching we did all together. And the mammas or
governesses sat at the other end of the room from all of us.
There were some children there called Barry that we didn't know except
meeting them there. But I was glad to see them again, because two of
them were boys, one a little older and the other a little younger than
me. And they had a sister who was a twin to the younger one. They were
nice children, and I liked talking to them, and the girl--her name was
Flossy--was nice to dance with. I could manage much better with her than
with our girls somehow.
They put me to dance the polka with Flossy. She's not at all a shy girl,
and I'm not shy either, so we talked a good deal between times, and
after the polka was done we sat down beside Anne and Hebe, and I went on
talking. I was telling Flossy about losing the diamond thing, and she
was _so_ interested. It wasn't a secret, you see. Father said the more
we told it the better; there was no saying how it might be traced
through talking about it.
Only I was sorry for Anne. I had rather forgotten about her when I begun
about it to Flossy, and I hadn't told about Anne's having meddled with
the pin; and when Flossy went on talking, I felt as if Anne would think
me unkind.
But Anne's not like that. She only sat looking very grave, and when I
had answered Flossy's questions, she just said--
[Illustration: 'I'd give anything, I'd almost give myself, to find
it.'--c. iv. p. 48.]
'Isn't it dreadful to have lost it? I'd give anything, I'd almost give
myself, to find it.'
That's the queer sort of way Anne talks sometimes when she's very
tremendously in earnest.
Flossy looked rather surprised.
'What a funny girl you are,' she said. 'I don't think your mother would
agree to give _you_, even to get back her brooch! But, do you know,
there's something running in my head about losings and findings that
I've been hearing. What can it be? Oh yes; it was some of our cousins
yesterday-- Ludo,' and she called her brother, the twin one, 'Ludo, do
you remember what the little Nearns were telling us, about something
they'd found?'
'It wasn't they that found it. It was lying on their doorstep the day of
the Drawing-room; they'd had a party, and it must have dropped off some
lady's dress. But their mother had sent to all the ladies that had been
there, and it wasn't theirs.'
Anne was listening so eagerly that her eyes almost looked as if they
were going to jump out of her head.
'What is it like--the brooch, I mean--didn't you say it was a brooch?'
she asked in a panting sort of voice.
Ludovic Barry stared at her.
'It's because they've lost one,' said Flossy quickly, 'at least their
mother has, and they would give anything to find it. It's a--I forget
the word--a family treasure, you know.'
'An heirloom,' I said. 'Yes, that's the worst of it. But, Anne, don't
look so wild about it,' I went on, laughingly. 'What is the brooch like,
that your cousins have found? Is it diamonds?' I went on to the Barrys.
'I think so,' said Ludo. 'It's some kind of jewels. But the Nearns are
quite small children; they wouldn't know, and I don't suppose they've
seen it. They'd only heard their mother and the servants talking about
it. We can easily find out, though. I'll run round there--they live in
our Square--when we go home.'
'No, Ludo, I'm afraid you can't, for mamma heard this morning that----'
At that very moment we were interrupted by another dance beginning. And
when it was over it was time for us all to go. Flossy Barry didn't
finish her sentence. I saw her saying something to her brother, and then
she came up to us.
'I'll find out about the found brooch,' she said. 'I won't forget. And
if it's the least likely to be yours, I'll ask mamma to write to your
mamma. That'll be the best.'
'Thank you,' I said. She was a nice, kind little girl, and I was sure
she wouldn't forget. But Anne looked disappointed.
'I don't see why she tried to stop her brother going about it at once,'
she said.
'Perhaps there was some reason,' I said. 'And Anne, if I were you, I
wouldn't say anything about it to mums. Raising her hopes, you know,
very likely for nothing, for it's such a _chance_ that it's our
brooch--ours has been advertised so, these people would have seen the
notices.'
Anne did not answer.
Flossy had a reason, and a good one, for what she said to her brother.
But she had been told not to speak of what her mother had heard, as Mrs.
Barry said it was not certain. The 'it' was that these little cousins of
theirs had got the whooping-cough, or rather Lady Nearn, their mother,
was afraid they had, and so she had told the Barrys they mustn't come to
the house.
Of course we only heard all that afterwards.
We walked home from the dancing with Miss Stirling. She came with us
sometimes, and sometimes mother, and now and then only nurse. For as the
class was on Saturday afternoon, it wouldn't have done for Miss Stirling
always to take us, as it was giving up part of her holiday. That first
day mother was busy or engaged, otherwise she would have come herself.
It was getting dusk already as we went home; it was a dull afternoon,
looking as if it was going to rain.
'I do hope it's not going to be wet to-morrow,' said Hebe. 'I like it to
be fine on Sunday.'
Anne started at this. She had been walking very silently, scarcely
talking at all.
'Is to-morrow Sunday?' she said. 'I'd quite forgotten. Oh, I do wish it
wasn't. There's no post on Sunday, you know, Jack.'
She was next me, and I don't think any one else heard what she said.
'What do you mean?' I said. 'There's never any post on Sunday in London.
What does it matter?'
'About the brooch, of course,' she answered. 'You see, if Flossy tells
her mother what we said, and they send to find out, _perhaps_ Mrs. Barry
would write to mums to-night; and if it wasn't Sunday, the letter would
come to-morrow morning.'
I felt quite provoked with her.
'Anne,' I said, and I daresay I spoke rather crossly, 'you're really
silly. It's just as unlikely as it can be that it's mums' thing, and
you'd much better put out of your head that it could be. You'll get
yourself into a fidget, and then mums will think there's something new
the matter, and----'
'I'm not going to tell her anything about it, I've said so already,'
interrupted Anne, rather crossly too. 'I'm always being told to put
things out of my head now; it would have been better if they hadn't been
so much put _in_ my head. I wouldn't have been half so miserable all
this time if you hadn't all gone on so about it's being my fault that
the horrid thing was lost,' and she gave a little sob, half of anger,
half of unhappiness.
I was very sorry for her, and I was vexed with myself for having begun
about it at the dancing class just when Anne might have forgotten it a
little.
'If--just _supposing_ Mrs. Barry thought it was it, she'd very likely
send a note round to say; Rodney Square is quite near us,' said Hebe,
who always thought of something cheering to say.
'Rodney Square,' Anne repeated, 'yes, that's close to here.'
For by this time we were almost at our own house.
Miss Stirling said good-bye to us as soon as the door was opened, and we
all five went in together.
Mother was out; we knew she was, but yet it seemed rather dull to be
told she hadn't come in. I always think it's dreadfully dull to come
home and find one's mother out.
I didn't go upstairs. I had some lessons to finish, though it was
Saturday afternoon, and so had Hebe, because you see we'd been longer at
the dancing than if we'd just gone a walk. So we two went straight into
the schoolroom, and Hebe took off her hat and jacket and put them down
on a chair. The other three went on upstairs, and we didn't think any
more about them.
What happened when they got up to the nursery we heard afterwards. Nurse
was not there, and the room was rather dark.
'Why isn't the gas lighted?' said Maud. 'It looks so dull,' and she ran
out of the room and down the passage to nurse's own room, calling out,
'Nurse, nurse, where are you? We've come in.'
Maud was very fond of nurse, and of course being the youngest she was
nurse's pet. She's married now--our old nurse, I mean. She left us last
Christmas, and we've got a schoolroom-maid instead, who doesn't pet Maud
at all of course, but I don't think Maud minds.
'Nurse, where are you?' she called out.
Nurse was in her room; she had a fire, and she was ironing some things.
'Come in here, dearie,' she answered. 'I didn't think it was so late.
I'll have done in a moment, and then I'll light the gas and see about
tea.'
So Maud went in to nurse's room and began telling her about the dancing.
And thus Anne and Serena were left by themselves in the half-dark
nursery.
Anne stood staring in the fire for a minute without speaking. All this,
you understand, they told us afterwards.
'Won't you come and take your things off, Anne?' said Serry.
But, instead of answering, Anne asked her another question.
'Do you know the number of the Barrys' house in Rodney Square?' it was.
'No,' said Serena. 'But I know the house. It is a corner one, and it has
blue and white flower-boxes. What do you want to know about it for?'
Anne looked round--no, there was no sign of nurse; she and Serena were
alone.
'Serry,' she said in a whisper, 'I've thought of something,' and then
she went on to tell Serry what it was.
That's all I'll tell just now; the rest will come soon. Till you try,
you've no idea how difficult it is to tell a story--or even not a
regular story, just an account of simple things that really happened--at
all properly. The bits of it get so mixed. It's like a tangle of
thread--the ends you don't want keep coming up the wrong way, and
putting themselves in front of the others. I must just go on as well as
I can, and put down the things as straight as they'll come.
Well, Hebe and I had about finished the lessons we wanted to get done.
It was partly that Monday was going to be mother's birthday, and we
wanted to have a clear evening. Hebe and I always agree about things
like that; we like to look forward and arrange comfortably. Well, we had
just about finished, and I was getting up to begin putting away the
books, when the door opened and nurse came in looking just the least
little bit vexed. For she is good-natured.
She glanced round the room before she spoke, as if she was looking for
some one not there.
'The child's right,' she said, as if speaking to herself. 'I must say
she generally is. Master Jack,' she went on, 'and Miss Hebe, my dears,
tea's ready. But where are Miss Warwick and Miss Serry?'
We stared.
'Anne and Serry,' I said. 'I'm sure I don't know. Upstairs, I suppose.
They went straight up with Maudie when we came in, ever so long ago.'
'But indeed they're not upstairs,' said nurse, her face growing very
uneasy. 'That's what Miss Maud said too. She saw them go into the
nursery when she ran along to my room. But they are not there, nor in
any of the bedrooms; I've looked everywhere, and called too.'
'They may be reading in the little drawing-room,' I said, and both Hebe
and I jumped up to go and help nurse in her search. She had not thought
of the drawing-room, knowing mother had not come in.
'Have they taken off their hats and jackets?' asked Hebe.
Nurse shook her head.
'I've not seen them anywhere about, and Miss Anne and Miss Serry are not
young ladies that ever think of putting away their out-door things as
you do sometimes, Miss Hebe.'
Hebe hung back a little. We were following nurse upstairs.
'Jack,' she whispered,'do you know, while you and I were busy in the
schoolroom, I am sure I heard the front door shut. I hadn't heard the
bell ring, and I wondered for a moment why Alfred was opening when no
one had rung. But, you see, it may have been some one going out. Jack,
_do_ you think Anne and Serry can have gone out by themselves?'
'They'd never do such a thing,' I said. 'Why, it's almost quite dark,
and they know mother would be really very angry if they did!'
But Hebe did not seem satisfied.
'The door was shut _very_ softly,' she said.
We were at the drawing-room by this time. There was no light in the two
big rooms, but there were two lamps in the little one where mums sits
when she's alone. No sign of Anne or Serena, however. And no sign of
them in the other rooms either. Alfred brought up a candle, and we
called to them to come out if they were hiding, and said we were really
frightened; but there was no answer.
'They can't be there,' said nurse; 'Miss Anne has far too kind a heart
not to come out, even if they had begun by playing a trick on me. Come
up to the nursery, my dears, and have your tea. I'll go down and speak
to Mr. Barstow. Maybe he can throw some light on it.'
'They must have gone out, nurse,' I said boldly. There was no use not
telling her all we knew.
She turned upon me quite sharply.
'_Gone out_, Master Jack? Nonsense, Miss Anne is far too good and
obedient to do such a wild thing, knowing how it would displease your
dear mamma too.'
But Maud, whom we met on the staircase, suddenly thought of an
explanation of the mystery.
'Come in here,' she said, pulling us all three into the nursery and
closing the door. 'Listen, I do believe I know where they've gone. It's
about the diamond brooch. I believe Anne's gone to those children's
house where they've found a brooch that might be it.'
Hebe and I jumped.
'I believe you're right, Maud,' I said.
'How stupid of us not to have thought of it!' exclaimed Hebe.
But nurse, of course, only stared.
Then we explained to her what Maud meant. Even then she could scarcely
believe Anne had really done such a thing.
'It would have been so much better to wait till your mamma came in,' she
said. 'Alfred could have been sent with a note in a minute.'
'Anne didn't want mother to know about it. At least, I said to her it
would be a pity to raise mother's hopes, and it was all nicely settled
that Flossy Barry was to find out and ask her mother to write if it
seemed possible it _was_ our diamond thing,' I said. 'It is all Anne's
impatience, and you see, nurse, she knew she shouldn't have gone alone
with Serry, or she wouldn't have crept out that way without telling any
one.'
'I don't know how they can have gone to those people's house,' said
Hebe. 'I'm not even sure of the name, though I heard it, and I've a
better memory than Anne. I only know it's in Rodney Square.'
'They'll have gone to Flossy Barry's to ask for the redress,' said Maud.
We couldn't help smiling; it is so funny when Maud says words wrong, for
she is so wonderfully clever and sensible.
'Yes,' exclaimed Hebe. 'I'm sure they'll have done that. Maud always
thinks of the right thing.'
But what were _we_ to do?
Every moment we hoped to hear the front-door bell ring, followed by our
sisters' pattering steps running upstairs. We didn't seem to care much
about the diamond brooch. Even if I had heard Anne's voice calling out,
'It _is_ it. We've got it!' I think my first words would have been, 'Oh,
Anne, how _could_ you go out and frighten us so?'
And of course, even if it had been the brooch, they would never have
given it to two children to bring back. Mums would have had to vow it
was hers, and all sorts of fuss, I daresay.
Nurse poured out our three cups of tea. She was very sensible; I think
she wanted to stop us getting too excited, though she told me afterwards
she had been as frightened as frightened: it had been all she could do
to keep quiet and not go off just as she was to look for them.
'I'll just go down and have a word with Mr. Barstow,' she said. 'I
daresay he'll send round to Mrs. Barry's to see if the young ladies have
been there, as Miss Maudie says, dear child. We'll find Mrs. Barry's
number in the red book. And you don't know the other family's name?'
'It's a Lady something,' said Hebe. 'Not Mrs., and not Lady Mary or Lady
Catharine, but Lady ---- the name straight off.'
'That won't help so very much, I'm afraid,' said nurse. 'Not in Rodney
Square. But they'll be sure to know the name at Mrs. Barry's. I
shouldn't wonder if Mr. Barstow steps round himself. Now go on with your
tea, my dears, while I go downstairs for a minute. Of course there's
nothing at all to be really frightened about.'
We pretended to go on with our tea, but we were very unhappy.