"If there ever was an extraordinary thing--" began Mary.
"Preposterous!" echoed Cara.
"Impossible!" said Annie.
"Five pounds, indeed, from me because she gets the very best part in the
tableaux!" exclaimed Susanna. "Well, girls: this ought to settle us.
We had best give up `A Dream of Fair Women' on the spot."
Each girl looked at the other. Then, arm in arm, they began slowly to
pace the wood.
Give it up? That meant a good deal. For had not Cara written home
about it and told her father and mother what a delightful and original
part she was taking? And had not Mary L'Estrange delighted her mother
with the story? that she was to be--she--Mary--Jephtha's daughter? that
noblest maid of ancient story. And had not Cara's brothers and sisters
and father and mother and grandfather and grandmother and
great-grandfather and great-grandmother all been interested at the
thought of the girl appearing as Iphigenia in the play? For the thing
had been settled, and nobody for a single moment had supposed that the
ideal Helen of Troy would refuse to take her part.
Now, with great difficulty, they had found a possible Helen; but, lo--
and behold! the little cat that she was--she meant to blackmail them!
They must pay her for it. They must do it secretly; then she would act.
All the rest of her life she would be a sort of little reptile, not
worth touching. But, if they wanted her to help them on that crucial
evening, they must each hand her a five-pound note. Oh, well--they
could get it. Susanna's mother had never yet refused her darling
anything in the way of money; and Cara's great-grandfather was rather
pleased than otherwise when his favourite great-grandchild approached
him on the subject of gold. And Mary L'Estrange was rich, too, and so
was Annie Leicester. It was but to write a note each to that member of
the family who was most easily gulled, and the money would be in
Penelope's possession.
But then it was such a horrid thing to do! and they had to keep it a
secret from Mrs Hazlitt; for Mrs Hazlitt would be furious, if she
thought any girl in her school could act like Penelope, or could have
confederates like Mary and Cara and Annie and Susanna.
"I, for one, will have nothing to do with it," repeated Cara, many
times.
At first, as she uttered these words, her companions agreed with her,
and considered that they, too, could not and would not speak on the
subject to any of their relations. But, strange as it may seem, as the
swift minutes of recess rolled by, they became silent--for each girl
was, in her heart, composing the letter she would write to parent or
guardian or great-grandfather, in order to secure the money.
"There is no doubt," said Susanna, at last, "that she is awfully clever
and can throw herself into it, if she pleases. For Nora Beverley might
look somewhat like a stick, but no one could ever accuse Penelope of
looking like that. She is so awfully wicked, you know--that is the way
I should describe her face--so wicked and so untamed, and--oh, there! if
we gave her the money, she would do it, but I never did hear of a girl
trying to blackmail her companions before."
The upshot of all this whispering and consultation, of all these pros
and cons, was, that that evening, immediately after tea, a note was
flung into Penelope Carlton's lap. It was written in the cipher
employed by the school, and was to the effect that, if she chose to
present herself as Helen of Troy, and if Mrs Hazlitt was willing to
accept her as a substitute for Honora Beverley, she would receive four
five-pound notes within a week from the present day.
"Dear old Brenda!" whispered Penelope to herself.
She crushed up the note and tore it into a thousand fragments and wrote
a reply to it--also in cipher--in which she employed the one word:
"Agreed." This note found its way to Mary L'Estrange in the course of
afternoon school.
In the evening Mrs Hazlitt again entered the arbour in the Elizabethan
garden. She had quite given up the idea of Tennyson's "Dream of Fair
Women," and had thought out two or three insignificant tableaux for her
girls to represent. She was surprised, therefore, when the girls who
had been already selected for the principal parts in the piece, namely:
Mary, Cara, Annie, and Susanna, entered the arbour. They were
accompanied by the fifth girl, who was no other than Penelope Carlton.
"Penelope, my dear--what are you doing here?" said Mrs Hazlitt, when
she saw her pupil.
She did not like this pupil, although she tried to. But she was
systematically just in all she did, and said, and thought; and would not
for the world be unkind to the girl.
"But do listen, please, Mrs Hazlitt," said Mary. "We have found Helen
of Troy! Penelope will take the part."
"Excuse me," said Mrs Hazlitt. There was a tone of astonishment in her
voice. She looked critically at the girl; then, taking her hand, drew
her into the light. "You know quite well," she said, after a pause,
"that you are not suited to the part, Penelope Carlton, or, failing
Honora, I should have asked you to undertake it."
Penelope's eyes had been lowered, but now she raised them and gave Mrs
Hazlitt a quick glance. There was something beseeching and quite new in
the expression of her light eyes. They seemed, just for the minute, to
grow almost dark, and there was a passionate longing in them. Mrs
Hazlitt had to confess to herself that she never saw Penelope with that
expression before. The other girls stood around in an anxious group.
"We know she is not quite tall enough," said Mary, then.
"Nor--nor quite beautiful enough," said Susanna. "But there is rouge,
and powder, and--oh, surely, it can be managed!"
"Can you feel within you, even for a minute or two, the true spirit of
Helen of Troy?" said Mrs Hazlitt, then--"that divine woman who turned
all men's hearts?"
Penelope fidgeted and sighed. Mrs Hazlitt returned to the bower. She
sat down; she was still holding Penelope's hand, but was unconscious
that she was doing so.
"I will speak quite freely to you, girls," she said. "I should
particularly like to present `A Dream of Fair Women' to our audience on
the eighth. There is nothing else that would please me quite so well.
But I would rather it were not presented at all than that it were
presented unworthily. The principal figure, and the most important, is
that of Helen of Troy. The candidate who presents herself for the part
has neither sufficient height nor beauty to undertake it. But what you
say, Susanna, is quite true--that a great deal can be done by external
aids, and, although I dislike artificial aids to beauty, yet on the
stage they are necessary. We shall have our stage and our audience.
Perhaps, Penelope, if you will come to me to-morrow, and will allow me
to experiment a little on your face and figure, and put you into a
suitable dress, I may be able to decide whether it will be worth while
to go on with these tableaux. More I cannot say. I had intended to
propose other tableaux, but, as you have appeared on the scene and
offered yourself most unexpectedly, I will give you a chance. Girls,
what do you say?"
"We can only say that we are delighted!" replied all four in a breath.
Mrs Hazlitt immediately afterwards left the arbour. Mary went up, and
whispered in Penelope's ears: "You mustn't expect us to write for the
money until it is decided whether you are to be Helen of Troy or not;
but when once that is settled we will write immediately and get it for
you."
"And," said Penelope, trembling a little--"you will let me feel assured
that this transaction never transpires--never gets beyond ourselves. I
am a poor girl, and I should be ruined, if it did."
"We do it for ourselves as much as you. It would disgrace us as much as
you," said Mary. "Yes; I think you may rest quite assured."