After the meeting with Captain Fanshawe in the Park, Claire's
relationship with Mary Rhodes sensibly improved. In the first place,
her own happiness made her softer and more lenient in her judgment, for
she _was_ deeply, intensely happy, with a happiness which all her
reasonings were powerless to destroy.
"My dear, what nonsense!" she preached to herself in elderly
remonstrating fashion. "You met the man, and he was pleased to see
you--he seemed quite anxious to meet you again. Perfectly natural!
Pray don't imagine any special meaning in _that_! You looked quite an
attractive little girl in your pretty blue dress, and men like to talk
to attractive little girls. I dare say he says just the same to dozens
of girls!" So spake the inner voice, but spoke in vain. The best
things of life are beyond reasoning. As in religion reason leads us, as
it were, to the very edge of the rock of proven fact, then faith takes
wing, and soars above the things of earth into the great silence where
the soul communes with God, so in love there comes to the heart a
sweetness, a certainty, which no reasoning can shake. As Erskine's eyes
had looked into hers in those moments of farewell, Claire had realised
that between this man and herself there existed a bond which was
stronger than spoken word.
So far as she could foresee, they were hopelessly divided by the
circumstances of life, but in the first dawn of love no lover troubles
himself about what the future may bring; the sweetness of the present is
all-sufficient. Claire was happy, and longed for every one else to be
as happy as herself. Moreover, her suspicions concerning Major Carew
had been lulled to rest by Erskine's favourable pronouncement.
Personally she did not like him, but this was, after all, a matter of
taste; she could not approve his actions, but conceivably there might be
explanations of which she was unaware. Her manner to Cecil regained its
old spontaneous friendliness, and Cecil responded with almost pathetic
readiness. In her ungracious way she had grown fond of her pretty,
kindly companion, and had missed the atmosphere of home which her
presence had given to the saffron parlour. As they sat over their
simple supper, she would study Claire's face with a questioning glance,
and one night the question found vent in words.
"You look mightily pleased with yourself, young woman! Your eyes are
sparkling as if you were having a firework exhibition on your own
account. I never saw a school-mistress look so perky at the end of the
summer term! Look as if you'd come into a fortune!"
"Wish I had!" sighed Claire, thankful to switch the conversation on to a
safe topic. "It would come in most usefully at the moment. What are
you going to do for the summer hols, Cecil? Is there any possibility
of--"
"No," Cecil said shortly. "And the regiment is going into camp, so he
will be out of town. I'm not bothering my head about holidays--quite
enough to do with this wretched Matric. The Head is keen to make a good
show this year, for the Dulwich School beat us last year, and, as usual,
all the responsibility and all the blame is put on the poor mistresses.
You can't make girls work if they don't want, you can't cram their
brains when they've no brains to cram; but those wretched examiners send
a record of all the marks, so you can see exactly where they fall short.
Woe betide the mistress who is responsible for that branch! I wouldn't
mind prophesying that if the German doesn't come out better than last
year, Fraulein will be packed off. I wouldn't be too sure of myself.
I've done all right so far, but the Head is not as devoted to me as she
might be. I don't think she'd be sorry to have an excuse for getting
rid of me. That's one of the delightful aspects of our position--we are
absolutely at the mercy of a woman who, from sheer force of
circumstances, becomes more of an autocrat every year. The Committee
listen to her, and accept every word she says; the staff know better
than to dispute a single order. We'd stand on our head in rows if she
made it a rule! The pupils scuttle like rabbits when they see her
coming, and cheer themselves hoarse every time she speaks. No human
woman can live in that atmosphere for years and keep a cool head!"
"She's rather a dear, though, all the same!" Claire said loyally. She
had been hurt by the lack of personal interest which Miss Farnborough
showed in the different members of her staff, but she was unwilling to
brand her as a heartless tyrant. "Anyway," she added hastily, "you are
not satisfied here. If you were going on teaching I should have thought
you'd be glad of a change. It would be easy to get another school."
Mary Rhodes looked at her; a long eloquent glance.
"With a good testimonial--yes! Without a good testimonial--no! A
testimonial for twelve years' work depends on one woman, remember--on
her prejudice or good nature, on the mood in which she happens to be on
one particular day. It might read quite differently because she
happened to have a chill on her liver."
"My dear! there _is_ a sense of justice! There is such a thing as
honesty."
"My dear, I agree. Even so, would you dare to say that the wording of a
testimonial would be unaffected by the writer's mood?"
"Surely twelve years in one school--"
"No, it wouldn't! Not necessarily. `Miss Rhodes has been English
Mistress at Saint Cuthbert's for twelve years. Of late has been erratic
in temper. Health uncertain. Examination records less satisfactory.'
Well! If you represented another school, would _you_ engage Miss
Rhodes?"
Claire was silent. For the first time she realised the danger of this
single-handed power. It meant--what might it not mean? It might mean
that the mistress who was unfortunate enough to incur the dislike of her
chief, might _never_ be able to procure another post! She might be
efficient, she might be hard-working; given congenial surroundings she
might develop into a treasure untold, yet just because of a depreciating
phrase in the wording of a testimonial, no chance would be vouchsafed.
No doubt the vast majority of head mistresses were women of judgment,
possessing a keen sense of justice and responsibility, yet the fact
remained that a hasty impulse, a little access of temper in penning
those all-important lines, might mean the end of a career, might mean
poverty, might mean ruin!
Claire shivered, looked across the table at the thin, fretted face and
made a hesitating appeal--
"Cecil dear, I know you are a good teacher. I just love to hear you
talking over your lessons, but you _are_ irritable! One of my girls was
crying the other day. You had given so much homework, and she didn't
understand what was to be done, and said she daren't ask. You had been
`so cross!' I made a guess at what you wanted, and by good chance I was
right; but if I'd been wrong, the poor thing would have been in
disgrace, and honestly it wasn't her fault! She was willing enough."
"Oh, that imbecile Gladys Brown! I know what you mean. I'd explained
it a hundred times. If she'd the brains of a cow she'd have understood.
No wonder I was cross. I should have been a saint if I wasn't, and no
one can be a saint in the summer term. Did--did any one else see her
cry?"
"I think not. No, I managed to comfort her; but if Miss Farnborough had
happened to come in just at that moment--"
Cecil shrugged and turned the subject, but she took the hint, to the
benefit of her pupils during the next few weeks.
July came in, and with it a spell of unbearable heat. In country places
and by the seashore there was space and air, and clean fragrant
surroundings; but over London hung a misty pall, and not a branch of the
dusty trees quivered to the movement of a passing breeze. It was a
thunderous, unnatural heat which sapped every scrap of vitality, and
made every movement a dread.
Claire was horrified at the effect of this heat wave on Sophie Blake.
In superficial fashion she had always believed that rheumatism must be
better in hot weather; but, according to the specialist, such heat as
this was more trying than damp or cold, and Sophie's stiffness increased
with alarming suddenness.
There came a day when by no effort of will could she get through her
classes, when sheer necessity drove her to do the thing she had dreaded
most of all--inform the Head that she could not go on with her work.
Miss Farnborough was seated in her private room, and listened with grave
attention to what the Games mistress had to say. Her forehead puckered
in surprise as she noted Sophie's halting gait, and the while she
listened, her keen brain was diving back into the past, collecting
impressions. She had seen less than usual of Miss Blake during the
term; once or twice she had received the impression that Miss Blake
avoided her approach; Miss Blake had been looking pale. She waited
until Sophie had finished speaking, her hands folded on her knee, her
penetrating eye fixed on the girl's face. Then she spoke--
"I am sorry to hear this, Miss Blake. Your work has been excellent
hitherto, but rheumatism is a serious handicap. You say that this heat
is responsible for the present attack? Am I to understand that it is a
first attack--that you have had no threatening before?"
"I have been rheumatic all winter, more or less. Before the Easter
holidays it was pretty bad. I began to feel stiff."
Miss Farnborough repeated the word gravely.
"Stiff! That was bad; that was very bad! How could you take your
classes if you were feeling stiff?"
"I managed somehow!" Sophie said.
For a moment she had imagined that the Head Mistress's concern had been
on her account; she believed it no longer when she saw the flash of
indignation which lighted the grey eyes.
"Managed--_somehow_? And you went on in that fashion--you were content
to go on!"
"No. I was not content. I was very far from content. I suffered
horrible pain. I went to a specialist and paid him two guineas for his
advice. Since then I have paid twenty pounds for treatment."
On Miss Farnborough's face the disapproval grew more and more
pronounced.
"Miss Blake, I am afraid you have not been quite straightforward in this
matter. It appears that you have been ill for months, with an illness
which must necessarily have interfered with your work, and this is the
first time I hear about it. I am Head Mistress of this school; if
anything is wrong with a member of the staff, it is her first duty to
come to me. You tell me now that you have been ill for three months,
since before the last holidays, and acknowledge that you can go on no
longer."
"In ten days we break up. I ask you to allow me ten extra days. The
weather is so hot that the girls would be thankful to escape the
exercises. By the end of the holidays I hope to be quite better."
"The Easter holidays do not seem to have done you much good," Miss
Farnborough said cruelly. Then, seeing the girl flush, she added, "Of
course you shall have your ten days. I can see that you are unfit for
work, and we must manage without you till the end of the term. I am
very sorry for you, Miss Blake; very sorry, indeed. It is very trying
and upsetting and--and expensive into the bargain. Twenty pounds, did
you say? That is surely a great deal! Have you tried the shilling
bottles of gout and rheumatic pills? I have been told they are quite
excellent. But I must repeat that you have been wrong in not coming to
me sooner. As a pure matter of honesty, do you think that you were
justified in continuing to take classes for which you were unfit?"
The tears started to Sophie's eyes; she lowered her lids to hide them
from sight.
"The girls did not suffer," she said deeply. "I did the suffering!"
Miss Farnborough moved impatiently. She was intensely practical and
matter-of-fact, and with all her heart hated any approach to sentiment.
"You suffered _because_ you were unfit," she repeated coldly, "and your
obvious duty was to come to me. You must have known that under the
circumstances I should not have wished you to continue the classes!"
Sophie was silent for a moment, then she said very quietly, very
deliberately--
"Yes, I did know; but I also knew that if I could nerve myself to bear
the pain and the fatigue, I _could_ train the girls as well as ever, and
I knew, too, that if you sent me away in the middle of term you would be
less likely to take me back. It means everything to me, you see. What
would happen to me if I were permanently invalided--without a pension--
at thirty-one?"
"You have been paid a good salary, Miss Blake--an exceptionally good
salary--because it is realised that your work is especially wearing.
You ought to have saved--"
"If I had had no home claims I might have been able to save one or two
hundred pounds--not a very big life provision! As it happens, however,
I have given thirty pounds a year towards the education of a young
sister, and it has been impossible to save at all."
"But now, of course, your sister will help _you_," Miss Farnborough
said, and turned briskly to another topic. "You said that you have been
to a specialist? Will you give me his address? I should like to
communicate with him direct. You understand, Miss Blake, that if this
stiffness continues, it will be impossible for you to continue your
duties here?"
"Quite impossible," faltered Sophie, in low tones.
Miss Farnborough pushed back her chair, and rose to her feet.
"But one hopes, of course, that all may go well. I have never had any
complaint to make with respect to your work. You have been very
successful, very popular with the girls. I should be sorry to lose you.
Be sure to let me know how you go on. Perhaps I had better be guided
by Dr Blank. I should try the pills, I think; they are worth trying.
And avoid the sea; sea air is bad for rheumatism. Try some high inland
place. We had better say good-bye, now, I suppose, as you will not come
back after to-night. Good-bye, my dear. Let me hear soon. All good
wishes for your recovery."
Sophie left the room, and made her way upstairs to the Staff-Room. She
moved very slowly, partly because every movement was an effort, partly
because the familiar objects on which her eyes rested became suddenly
instinct with new interest. For ten long working years she had passed
them daily with indifference, but this afternoon it was borne in upon
her that she would never see them again, and the conviction brought with
it a bitter pang. After all, they had been happy years, spent in a
bustle of youthful life and energy, in an atmosphere of affection, too,
for the girls were warm-hearted, and the "Gym. mistress" had been
universally popular. Even as the thought passed through Sophie's mind,
one of her special adorers appeared suddenly at the far end of the
corridor and hurried forward to meet her.
"Miss Blake! Darling! You look so white. Are you faint? Take my arm;
lean on me. Were you going to lie down?"
"I'm going to the Staff-Room. I can manage myself; but, Gladys, find
Miss Gifford, and ask her to come to me as soon as she is free. Tell
her I'm not well. You're a dear girl, Gladys. Thank you for being so
kind to me all these years."
Gladys rolled adoring blue eyes, and sped on her mission. The next
morning she realised that those thanks had been darling Miss Blake's
farewell, and shed bitter tears; but for the moment she was filled with
complaisance.
Claire appeared in due time, heard what had happened, and helped Sophie
to collect her various small belongings. The other teachers had already
dispersed, so the ordeal of leave-taking was avoided.
"You can explain when you meet them next term!" said Claire.
"I can write my good-byes," corrected Sophie. She blinked away a few
tears and said piteously, "Not much chance for me if she consults Dr
Blank! He's as much discouraged as I am myself. What do you suppose he
will advise now? I suppose I'll have to see him to-morrow."
"And lie awake all to-night, wondering what he will say! We'll do
better than that--we'll call this very afternoon. If he is in, I'm sure
he will see us, and a day saved is a day gained. I'll get a taxi."
"Another taxi! I'm ruining you, Claire. How I do hate sponging on
other people!"
"Wouldn't you do it for me, if things were reversed?"
"Of course I should, but it's so much more agreeable to help than to be
helped. It's ignoble, I suppose, but I do hate to feel grateful!"
"Well! No one could by any possibility call you _gracious_, my dear.
Is that any consolation?" cried Claire mischievously, and Sophie was
surprised into the travesty of a smile.
Dr Blank was at home, and listened to what Sophie had to tell him with
grave attention. He expressed satisfaction to hear that her holidays
had begun, but when questioned as to his probable report to Miss
Farnborough, had no consolation to offer.
"I am afraid I must tell you honestly that you are not fit for the work.
Of course, it is quite possible that there may be a great improvement
by September, but, even so, you would be retarding your recovery by
going on with such exhausting work. You must try to find something
lighter."
Sophie laughed, and her laugh was not good to hear.