A WOLF IN THE FOLD
MISS LUCILLA RYDER, clothed in stateliness as in a garment, was
conducting a business interview in her study.
Facing her, sat a slender young woman gowned in black. The black frock,
the black hat, the black gloves were simple, unobtrusive, altogether
suitable for an impecunious instructor of youth; but there was a subtle
something about them that would have whispered "French" to a
worldly-wise observer, even if their wearer had not been speaking the
purest of Parisian French in a voice calculated to impart melody to any
language.
Miss Lucilla bent upon this attractive applicant for the position left
vacant by the illness of Madame Plongeon--long-time French chaperon in
the Ryder school--what she fondly believed to be a keen and penetrating
scrutiny.
Mademoiselle de Courcelles met the judicial glance with a sweet and
deprecatory smile.
In Miss Lucilla's hand were several letters, each written in flowing,
graceful French upon stationery bearing an imposing crest. Madame la
duchesse de Rochechouart, Madame la comtesse de Pourtales, Madame la
comtesse de St. Narcy had in those gracious letters expressed their
enthusiastic appreciation of Mademoiselle de Courcelles's rare qualities
of mind and heart, their absolute confidence in her integrity and
ability, and their deep regret that they had been unable to persuade her
to remain in Paris and continue her supervision of the education of
certain prospective dukes and counts.
One note, less aristocratic in character, was from Mrs. Dent-Smyth, head
of the teachers' agency to which the Misses Ryder resorted in
emergencies like the present one.
This worthy lady wrote frankly that as Mademoiselle de Courcelles's
advent had been almost coincident with Miss Ryder's request for a
teacher, there had been no time to investigate the Frenchwoman's Paris
references. Mrs. Dent-Smyth was, however, of the opinion that these
references seemed most satisfactory, and she believed that a personal
interview with the applicant would convince Miss Ryder that the young
woman was a very superior person, and her French of a superfine quality.
Miss Lucilla, albeit maintaining a non-committal exterior, mentally
agreed with Mrs. Dent-Smyth. Mademoiselle de Courcelles was
distinguished in appearance, polished in manner, sweet of voice. She
spoke English haltingly, but her French was of a quality to suit the
most exacting of parents. To all of Miss Ryder's questions she made
deferential, modest, yet self-possessed answer.
She was, it seemed, but newly come to America. Financial reverses had
forced her, an orphan of good family, to earn her living. There were
wealthy and influential friends who were willing to help her, but a De
Courcelles--Mademoiselle spoke the word proudly--could not live upon
charity. She had taught in the families of several of these friends, but
the situation was impossible, and she had decided that it would be
easier to live her life among strangers, where she would be unhampered
by old traditions and associations.
Sounding titles flitted through the tale, brought in quite casually, but
proving none the less impressive to a thoroughgoing republican.
Miss Lucilla listened thoughtfully, glancing from time to time at the
crests upon the letters she held. As a freeborn American she scorned to
truckle to the effête aristocracy of Europe; but still, she admitted,
there was really something pleasing about a title. Of course she had
always been very particular about looking up references, but this was an
exceptional case. She would consult Miss Emmeline.
Now when Miss Lucilla says that she will consult Miss Emmeline, her
mind is already made up. Miss Emmeline has never, by any chance,
volunteered an opinion upon a subject without having first heard the
elder sister's opinion upon the same subject. Having heard, she echoes.
"I believe this young person will be a great addition to the staff,"
said Miss Lucilla.
"I'm sure of it," murmured Miss Emmeline.
"We might possibly mention in our next circular the names of the noble
families with which she has been associated in France."
"Certainly," echo answered.
So Mademoiselle de Courcelles was engaged.
Twenty-four hours later the new French teacher and three large trunks
were installed in a small room on the top floor of the Ryder school. The
size and number of the trunks excited comment among the servants, but
the expressman who carried Mademoiselle's impedimenta up four flights of
stairs noticed that the trunks were surprisingly light in weight.
From the first Mademoiselle was a success, and by the time she had spent
a fortnight in the school her popularity among the girls moved many of
the teachers to jealousy, and even wakened in Belinda's heart a slight
sense of injury to which she wouldn't have confessed for worlds. Miss
Barnes, herself impervious alike to adoration or disapproval, expressed
her opinion of the new comer with her usual frankness.
"Cat!" she said calmly. "Graceful, sleek, purring, ingratiatory, but cat
all the same."
"She's very attractive," murmured Belinda.
"Bad eyes," Miss Barnes commented curtly.
"Handsome eyes."
"All the worse for that. Mark my words, that woman isn't to be trusted."
But Miss Barnes was alone in her verdict. Mademoiselle taught
preparatory French so cleverly yet so modestly that Professor Marceau
himself expressed his approval; and Professor Marceau, the distinguished
and expensive French instructor-in-chief of the school, had never before
unbent to a subordinate.
Under Mademoiselle's stimulus the twenty perfunctory French phrases
demanded of each pupil during the progress of dinner expanded into
something approaching French conversation. Amelia Bowers and Laura May
Lee, who had memorized a small section of dialogue from a Labiche play,
and were in the habit of reciting it to each other every evening with
much expression, thereby impressing distant teachers with the idea of
fluent French chat, abandoned their brilliant scheme to talk chaotic
French with Mademoiselle. In the drawing-room during evening recreation
hour girls who had regarded conversation with Madame Plongeon as
punishment dire, crowded around Mademoiselle de Courcelles, listening
breathlessly to her vivacious stories, her reminiscences of life among
the French nobility. The tide of flowers, fruit, candy, etc., that had
flowed Belinda's way set heavily toward the new teacher. A French
chaperon--once a calamity to be avoided at all costs--became the heart's
desire of all shopping, theatre-going and holiday-making pupils.
"She's perfectly lovely, Miss Carewe," gushed Amelia Bowers, "and she's
had the most interesting experiences. I should think you and she would
be bosom friends. You couldn't help loving her if you'd just get to
knowing her well. Why, every single one of our crowd has got the most
dreadful crush on her. Laura May says she's just like a heroine out of a
book; and you needn't think because she's so gay and jolly that she's
always been happy. That's just the French way. She says the French even
go to death jesting. Isn't that splendid? But she's had awful sorrows.
It would make you cry to hear her talk about them--that is, she doesn't
exactly tell you about them, you know, but you can tell from the way she
talks that she's had them, and that's what makes her so sympathetic and
lovely about other people's troubles. Why, I could just tell her
ANYTHING."
Amelia heaved a cyclonic sigh, and assumed the expression of one who
could reveal much to a properly sympathetic soul.
Finding no encouragement in Belinda's face, she plunged again into
praise of Mademoiselle.
"All the girls feel that way. They tell her every blessed thing that
ever happened to them. Laura May says she never saw anybody before that
she could reveal her most sacred feelings to. She told Mademoiselle all
about Jim Benton the very first night she met her. Mademoiselle says she
had almost the same sort of a time--she called it '_une affaire_'--with
Comte Raoul de Cretigny, when they were both very young, but that one
does get over such things. She encouraged Laura May a lot; but she said
such beautiful things about first love and about how no love that came
afterward could have just the same exquisite flavour--at least it wasn't
exactly 'flavour' she used, and it wasn't 'bloom' either, but it was
something like that. Anyway, Laura May cried bucketfuls, and yet she
said she felt encouraged to hope she might forget and love again. That's
like Mademoiselle. Now some people would have encouraged Laura May too
much, and wouldn't have understood how sad the whole thing was, and that
would have spoiled everything."
The breathless Amelia came of necessity to a full stop, and Belinda went
on her way to her room with a queer little smile hovering around her
lips.
Not only the emotional contingent of the school, but the sensible girls
as well, appeared to come under the siren's spell.
"She's awfully clever and amusing, Miss Carewe," said Katherine Holland,
Belinda's staunch and faithful satellite. "Of course I'm not dotty over
her like Amelia's crowd, but she really is great fun, and I like being
with her when those girls aren't around. She does talk such sentimental
trash to them."
"If you want to criticise any of the teachers you may find another room
and another listener, my dear." Belinda's dignified reproof was most
impressive and Katherine subsided, with a murmured, "Oh, but I do like
her, you know."
As the weeks passed by the general enthusiasm gradually crystallised
into particular adoration.
Mademoiselle was still universally popular, but with a certain clique
she was a mania. All of the moneyed pupils belonged to this set, and
their devotion was such that they were one and all unwilling to go for
an outing save under convoy of the French chaperon. Even Evangeline
Marie Jenkins was stirred to her depths by Mademoiselle's charm and,
rising above the handicap of avoirdupois and temperament, became almost
energetic in her shopping and theatre-going, in order to enjoy the
privilege of the charmer's society.
At first Miss Lucilla Ryder was inclined to interfere in the interest
of humanity, and save Mademoiselle de Courcelles from being imposed
upon; but the little Frenchwoman met the kindly interference with
good-natured protest.
"Ah, Miss Ryder, you are so good, so thoughtful," she said in her
delicious French. "You have the kind heart; but I must earn my salary,
and if it is in this way that I am most useful to you, let me show my
goodwill, my devotion to your school, by going where the young ladies
will. They amuse me--those dear children. I love being with them, and I
am strong and well. I do not tire.
"But there is one thing, chère Mademoiselle Ryder. I know that the other
teachers--my associates--dislike the shopping. They object to
chaperoning the young ladies upon the little expeditions to the shops.
Me, I do not mind. I am glad to go if it will save the others from a
duty that is disagreeable. It has come to me that perhaps the theatre is
more popular than the shopping, that it may give pleasure to chaperon to
the theatre, the opera, the concert. That is so, is it not?"
Miss Ryder admitted that there might be reason in the theory.
Mademoiselle smiled, a sweet, swift smile. "Ah, it is so. Then you will
do me a favour? Yes? It would be better that for the theatre other
chaperons should be chosen. Me, I will take for myself all the
shopping. It will give me pleasure to have it so. I will feel that it
is for the happiness of my fellow-teachers, and that will give _me_
happiness. You will arrange it so, is it not?"
Miss Lucilla demurred. The arrangement was unfair. Shopping was the
teachers' _bête noire_. It would not do to load all of the unpleasant
duty upon one pair of shoulders.
Mademoiselle refused to be spared. She appreciated her superior's
consideration, but she was bent upon being noble, and begged for
martyrdom.
"After all it is not as if I, too, disliked the thing. Me, I am French.
I love the shops. Fatiguing? Yes, the young ladies are slow in making up
their minds, but it is all one to me."
In the end Miss Lucilla yielded, and in due course the announcement was
made in faculty meeting that Mademoiselle de Courcelles would chaperon
all shopping expeditions, but would do no evening chaperoning. Miss
Lucilla accompanied the announcement by a few remarks concerning the
cheerful spirit in which Mademoiselle de Courcelles accepted the
undesirable duty. Mademoiselle looked modestly deprecatory. The teachers
were surprised and pleased. Only Miss Barnes, unmoved, eyed the willing
martyr with a coolly speculative glance.
Shopping was always a vital issue with a certain set of the Ryder
pupils. The girls were extravagant and amply provided with pocket-money
by parents foolishly indulgent. Moreover, shopping commissions from home
were many; and, though one of the school rules carefully embalmed in the
circulars was to the effect that no pupil could be allowed more than one
shopping expedition in any one week, this rule, like many another, was
more honored in the breach than in the observance.
So Mademoiselle de Courcelles found her hands full with her self-elected
task, and not a day went by without her leading forth from one to
fifteen girls bent upon storming the shops.
As Christmas holidays approached, the shopping fever waxed more violent,
and there was no afternoon of rest for the shopping chaperon. Not only
had each of the girls a long Christmas list of purchases she must make
for herself, but the lists of commissions from home grew and multiplied.
Through all the strain and stress Mademoiselle de Courcelles maintained
her cheerful serenity. Her amiability never wavered, her gay volatility
never flagged. The girls chorused her praises. She was the most helpful
of advisers, the most wise of shoppers, the most unwearying of
chaperons.
Sometimes she came home to dinner with dark circles under her eyes and
lines of fatigue about her mouth, but her spirits were always intact,
and even Miss Barnes admitted that the Frenchwoman was good-natured and
that her amiable self-sacrifice had been a boon to the rest of the
resident teachers.
During the last week of the term several annoying incidents disturbed
the serenity of the Misses Ryder, and caused more or less excitement
among the girls. First and most distressing was the loss of Laura May
Lee's pocket-book. Under ordinary circumstances this would not have been
a calamity, for Laura May's pocket-money melted away as if by magic, and
her pocket-book was chronically flat. But, as it happened, Mr. Lee, a
wealthy Southern widower, had been confiding enough to send Laura May a
check for $500, and commission her to select two rings as Christmas
presents for herself and her younger sister. The rings were chosen after
several expeditions to famous jewellery shops, and at last one afternoon
Laura May and a group of chosen friends, chaperoned by Mademoiselle de
Courcelles, set forth to bring home the spoils.
Miss Ryder had cashed the check, the $500 in cash reposed snugly in
Laura May's purse; but when, at the jeweller's, Laura May opened her
shopping-bag, lo! the purse had vanished and the $500 with it--gone,
evidently, to swell some pickpocket's holiday harvest.
Only a few days later Mademoiselle de Courcelles, in an interview
behind closed doors, reported to Miss Ryder that a small sum of money
had been stolen from her trunk, and that circumstantial evidence pointed
to Ellen, one of the chamber-maids, as the thief. Mademoiselle explained
that she did not mind the personal loss, but as the pupils had been
complaining of the disappearance of money, jewellery, silver toilet
articles, etc., she felt it her duty to report her suspicions.
Miss Lucilla promptly ordered Ellen's trunks and bureau drawers searched
and, a gold hatpin belonging to Evangeline Marie Jenkins having
materialized in one of the bureau drawers, Ellen, weeping and to the
last protesting her innocence, was summarily turned out of the house.
After this excitement, school life flowed on smoothly until the last
Saturday before the holiday vacation.
"The whole school's going shopping to-day," Amelia Bowers announced at
the breakfast table on this particular Saturday morning. "Everybody's
got a Christmas list a mile long, and it's going to be something awful.
The stores will be simply jammed and it'll take an hour to buy a paper
of pins."
Miss Lucilla Ryder smiled tolerantly and omitted her usual criticism of
Amelia's extravagant speech.
"You will need assistance to-day, Mademoiselle de Courcelles. I will
send some of the young ladies out with other teachers."
She did; but Mademoiselle's ardent admirers were faithful, and she
started out at half-past nine in charge of twelve of the richest girls
in the school.
From shop to shop the flock fluttered, chattering, giggling, elbowing
their way through the crowds, buying many things, inspecting more,
meeting smiles and good nature on every hand. There's something about
the effervescent exuberance of a boarding-school crowd that thaws even
the icy hauteur of the average saleswoman, and stirs any salesman to
spectacular affability.
It was after a hasty and simple luncheon, beginning with lobster salad
and ending with tutti-frutti ice cream and chocolate éclairs, that the
Ryder expedition drifted into a well-known jewellery shop.
Belinda, helping Katherine Holland to choose a stickpin for her brother,
saw the familiar faces and idly watched the girls as they bore down upon
a counter where a bland salesman greeted them with welcoming smiles. She
knew that Laura May was once more in quest of rings--her long-suffering
father having dutifully forwarded a second cheque when told, in a
tear-blotted letter, of the fate that had met the first gift--and she
smiled when Laura May triumphantly fished a chamois-skin bag out of her
blouse front and extracted a roll of bills which she clutched firmly in
her hand, while her glance, roaming suspiciously over the surrounding
crowd, glared defiance at all pickpockets.
Suddenly Belinda's smile faded. Her eyes opened wide in amazement.
She had seen a swift, deft movement of Mademoiselle's hand--but no, it
was impossible. She had imagined it. Yet she stood staring in a
bewildered fashion at the Frenchwoman until Katherine touched her arm.
"What's the matter, Miss Carewe? I'm ready to go."
Belinda smiled vaguely, and moved toward the door in the wake of
Mademoiselle and her charges, who were also leaving. She lost sight of
them in the crowd; but, as she neared the door, there was a sudden
swirling eddy in the incoming and outgoing tides. Something was
happening outside. The sound of excited girlish voices floated into the
shop. A crowd was forming on the sidewalk.
Belinda's cheeks flamed scarlet. A look of startled comprehension
gleamed in her eyes.
"Hurry," she urged curtly; and, with her hand on Katherine's arm, forged
ahead through the door, unceremoniously pushing aside everyone who
interfered with her rapid exit.
Once outside, she turned unhesitatingly toward a group blocking the
sidewalk. A policeman's helmet loomed large above the heads of the
crowd; and, as Belinda approached, the policeman's sturdy form forced a
way through the circle. Following came Mademoiselle de Courcelles
escorted by two men whose faces wore smiles of quiet satisfaction.
Behind was a bewildered, hysterical group of girls, weeping, lamenting,
protesting, entreating.
Belinda stopped the procession.
"There must be some mistake," she said falteringly. "What is wrong?"
One of the keen-eyed men took off his hat respectfully.
"Sorry, Miss; but it's French Liz, all right. We got the tip from Paris
that she was working New York again, but we couldn't spot her till
to-day."
"B-b-but what has she done?" stammered Belinda, to whom twelve
anguish-stricken girls were attempting to cling, while a mixed audience
looked on appreciatively.
"Cleverest shop-lifter in the graft," explained the detective. "She's
got plenty of the goods on her right now; but I say"--and his glance
wandered to the girls--"who'd a-thought of this lay except Liz? She's a
bird, she is!"
He turned to Mademoiselle de Courcelles with honest admiration in his
eyes, and she smiled at him recklessly, with white lips.
"You'd have been too late to-morrow. I was expecting a telegram calling
me away to-night."
All the hesitation was gone from her English. She spoke fluently, and a
hard metallic ring had crept into the velvety voice.
The detective looked at Belinda.
"This other fellow is the shop-detective. We'll have to take her in here
and see what swag she has beside the diamonds we saw her lift. I don't
know as there's any use keeping the young ladies----"
Evangeline Marie gave a smothered wail at the suggestion, and Laura May
showed signs of fainting in Belinda's arms.
"Boarding-school crowd, I see. Now, Miss, if you'll just give me the
name of the school and the address, you can take the bunch along home.
It isn't likely that any of those babes are in the game with Liz. She's
just used them for a blind. Holy smoke! but that was a good idea. Turn a
crowd of boarding-school girls loose at a counter, and their teacher
could steal the clerks blind without their suspecting her. Lost anything
in the school?"
Belinda had a sudden vision of the disgraced Ellen's tearful face, and a
thought of Laura May's pocket-book smote her, but she merely wrote the
address on a card and handed it to the detective.
"If you could keep the name of the school out of the scandal it would be
worth your while," she said in a low voice.
The detective nodded.
"I'll try; but I guess the papers will get it one way or another. Don't
let anyone touch Liz's trunks. I'll be up to go through them just as
soon as I've finished here."
For the first time, Mademoiselle faced Belinda and the wide-eyed girls.
"_Ces chères demoiselles! Cette superbe_ Mees Ryder! Bah! It was too
easy. I mention a duchess, a countess. The lofty Mees Ryder falls upon
my neck. I tell stories of the French noblemen who have adored me,
persecuted me with their devotion until I fled from France; poor but
honest. The little schoolgirls gulp it all down and beg for more. Oh,
but they are stupid--these respectable people. You have my sympathy,
Mademoiselle Carewe. You must live among them. For me--give me _les gens
d'esprit_, give me a society interesting. _Adieu, mes chères._ It was
amusing, that boarding-school experience, but to endure it long--_mon
dieu_, I prefer even this!"
She waved her hand airily toward the policeman and the grinning
detectives, and, with a shrug, moved toward the shop door, then paused
for a parting message.
"My regards to the venerable spinsters. It pains me that I shall never
be able to arrange for them a meeting with the Duchesse de Rochechouart
and Madame la Comtesse de Pourtales. The maid of the duchess collected
stationery for me at one time. It is often of use, the stationery that
carries a good crest. Adieu!"
Belinda convoyed a subdued group of girls back to the school; but, by
the time they reached the door, their spirits had soared. It is sad to
be disillusioned, but after all it is something to have been intimately
associated with a famous criminal, and to have been an eye-witness of
her capture.
Only Laura May Lee mourned and refused to be comforted.
"I will never again open my soul to anyone," she vowed hysterically.
"I said the woman was a cat," commented Miss Barnes when the news
reached her ears.
What Miss Lucilla Ryder said in the first fervor of her surprise no one
save Belinda knew, for their interview was behind closed doors, but when
she came from her room to meet the detective Miss Lucilla's calm dignity
was without a ripple.
The investigation of teachers' credentials is now her pet hobby, and she
freezes at the mention of the French nobility.