Brenda and her three pupils had arrived two or three days before at
Marshlands-on-the-Sea. It cannot be said their lodgings were exactly
"chic," for the Reverend Josiah could not rise to apartments anything
approaching to that term. He had given Brenda a certain sum which was
to cover the expenses of their month's pleasure, and had told her to
make the best of it. Brenda had expostulated and begged hard for more;
but no--for once the Reverend Josiah was firm. He said that his
suffering parishioners required all his surplus money, and that the
girls and their governess must stay at the seaside for five guineas a
week. Brenda shook her head, and declared that it was impossible; but,
seeing that no more was to be obtained, she made the best of things, and
when she arrived at Marshlands just in the height of the summer season,
she finally took up her abode at a fifth-rate boarding-house in a little
street which certainly did not face the sea.
Here she and her pupils were taken for a guinea a week each, and Brenda
had the surplus to spend on teas out and on little expeditions
generally. She was careful on these occasions to be absolutely and
thoroughly honest. She even consulted Nina on the subject. She was
exceedingly polite to Nina just now and, at the same time, intensely
sarcastic. She was fond of asking Nina, even in the middle of the
_table d'hote_ dinner, if she had her pencil and notebook handy, and if
she would then and there kindly enter the item of twopence three
farthings spent on cherries,--quarter of a pound to eat on the beach,--
or if she had absolutely forgotten the fact that she was obliged to
provide a reel of white and a reel of black cotton for necessary repairs
of the wardrobe. How Nina hated her pretty governess on these
occasions! how her little eyes would flash with indignation and her
small face looked pinched with the sense of tragedy which oppressed her,
and which she could not understand.
The commonplace ladies who lived in the commonplace boarding-house were
deeply interested in Nina's extraordinary talent for accounts. They
gently asked the exceedingly pretty and attractive Miss Carlton what it
meant.
"Simply a little mania of hers," said Brenda, with a shrug of her plump
white shoulders, for she always wore _decolletee_ dress at late dinner
and her shoulders and arms were greatly admired by the other visitors at
the boarding-house. Nina began to dread the subject of accounts. Once
she forgot her notebook and pencil on purpose, but Brenda was a match
for her. She asked her in a loud semi-whisper if she could tot up
exactly what they had expended that day, and when Nina replied that she
had left the notebook upstairs, she was desired immediately to go to
fetch it. The little girl left the room on this occasion with a sense
of almost hatred at her heart.
"Fetch that odious book! oh dear, oh dear!" She wished every
account-book in the world at the bottom of the sea. She wished she had
never interfered with Brenda. She wished she had never made that
terrible little sum on the day when Brenda went to Hazlitt Chase. She
was being severely punished for her anxiety and her sense of justice.
Brenda had determined that this should be the case, and had given her
small pupil a terrible time while she was spending that seven pounds,
sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence on extra clothes for her pupils.
She took them into a fashionable shop, for, as the money had to be
spent, she was determined that it should be done as quickly as possible.
As she could not save it for herself, she wanted to get rid of it, it
did not matter how quickly. Therefore, while Fanchon stood transfixed
with admiration of her own figure in a muslin hat before a long glass,
and eagerly demanded that it should be bought immediately, it was poor
Nina who was brought forward to decide.
"It is becoming," said Brenda, gazing at her pupil critically; "that
pale shade of blue suits you _to perfection_; and that `chic' little
mauve bow at the side is so very, very _comme il faut_. But that is not
the question in the very least, Fanchon--whether it becomes you or not.
It is this: can we afford it--or rather, can Nina afford it? Nina,
look. Can you afford to allow your sister to buy that hat?"
The serving-woman in the shop very nearly tittered when the plain,
awkward little girl--the youngest of the party--was brought forward to
make such a solemn decision. Nina herself was very sulky, and, without
glancing at the hat, said:
"Yes, take it, I don't care!"
"Very well, darling," said Brenda. "You can send that hat to Palliser
Gardens--9, Palliser Gardens," she said to the attendant. "Nina, enter
in your account-book twelve shillings and eleven-pence three farthings
for Fanchon's hat."
"I want one like it!" cried Josie.
"Oh--I'm sure Nina won't allow that!" exclaimed Brenda.
"_I_ don't care!" said Nina.
In the end each girl had a similar hat, and Nina had to enter the
amounts in her horrible little book. The hats were fairly pretty, but
were really not meant for little girls with their hair worn in pigtails.
But the only thing Brenda cared about was the fact that a considerable
sum of Mr Amberley's money was got rid of.
"Now," she said, "we'll consider the dresses." And the dresses were
considered. They were quite expensive and not pretty. There were also
several other things purchased, and Nina grew quite thin with her
calculations. All these things happened during the first days of their
stay at Marshlands-on-the-Sea. But now the toilets were complete.
It was on a scorching and beautiful morning after Brenda, becomingly
dressed from head to foot in purest white, had taken her little pupils
in check dresses and paper hats down to the seashore, had bathed there
and swum most beautifully, to the delight of those who looked on, and
had returned again in time for the mid-day meal, that she found
Penelope's letter awaiting her. It was laid by her plate on the dinner
table. She opened it with her usual airy grace and then exclaimed--her
eyes sparkling with excitement and delight:
"I say, girls--here's a treat! Our dear friends, the Beverleys, have
invited us all to spend to-morrow at the Castle. We must accept, of
course, and must drive out. Mrs Dawson,"--here she turned to the lady
who kept the boarding-house--"can you tell me what a drive will be from
here to Castle Beverley?"
"Five shillings at the very least," replied Mrs Dawson.
She spoke in an awe-struck voice. There were no people so respected in
the neighbourhood as the Beverleys, and Mrs Dawson--a well-meaning and
sensible woman--did not believe it possible that any guest of hers could
know them.
"Really, Miss Carlton," she said, "I am highly flattered to think that a
young lady who stays here in my humble house--no offence, ladies, I am
sure--but in my modest and inexpensive habitation, should know the
Beverleys of Castle Beverley."
"We don't know them!" here called out Josie.
Brenda gave Josie a frown which augured ill for that young lady's
pleasure during the rest of the day. She paused for a minute, and then
said modestly:
"It so happens that my dear sister is a special friend of the eldest
Miss Beverley. They are at the same school. My sister is staying at
the Castle at present, and I have had a letter inviting me to go there
for to-morrow. It will be a very great pleasure."
"Very great, indeed,"--replied Mrs Dawson--"a most distinguished thing
to do. We shall all be interested to hear your experiences when you
return in the evening, dear Miss Carlton. Hand Miss Carlton the peas,"
continued the good woman, addressing the flushed and towsled parlour
maid.
Brenda helped herself delicately to a few of these dainties and then
continued:
"Yes, we shall enjoy it; my dear sister's friends are very select. I
naturally expected to go to Castle Beverley when I heard she was there;
but I didn't know that the Beverleys would be so good-natured as to
extend their invitations to these dear children. Even the little
accountant, Nina, is invited. Nina, you'll be sure to take your book
with you, dear, for you might make some little private notes with regard
to the possible expense of housekeeping at Castle Beverley while you are
there. You, dear, must be like the busy bee; you must improve each
shining hour--eh, Nina? eh, my little arithmetician?"
"I am _not_ your arithmetician; and I--I hate you!" said Nina.
These remarks were regarded by the other ladies present as simply those
of a naughty child in a temper.
"Oh, fie, Miss Nina!" said a certain Miss Rachael Price. "You should
not show those naughty little tempers. You should say, when you feel
your angry passions rising, `Down, down, little temper; down, down!' I
have always done that, and I assure you it is most soothing in its
effects."
"But you wouldn't if you were me," said Nina, who was past all prudence
at that instant. "If you had an odious--odious!" here she burst out
crying and fled from the room.
"Poor child! What can be the matter with her?" said a fat matron who
bore the name of Simpkins, and had several children under nine years of
age in the house. "Aren't you a little severe on her, Miss Carlton?
Strikes me she don't love 'rithmetic--as my Georgie calls it--so much as
you seem to imagine."
Brenda laughed.
"I am teaching my dear little pupil a lesson," she said. "That is all.
I have a unique way of doing it, but it will be for her good in the
end."
Soon afterwards, the young lady and her two remaining pupils left the
dinner table and went up to their shabby bedroom, which they all shared
together at the top of the house. Nina was lying on her own bed with
her face turned to the wall. The moment Brenda came in she sat up and,
taking the account-book, flung it in the face of her governess.
"There! you horrid, odious thing!" she said. "I will never put down
another account--never--as long as I live! There--I won't, I won't, and
you can't make me!"
"I am afraid, most dear child," said Brenda, "I should not feel safe
otherwise. I might be accused of dishonesty by my clever little Nina
when I return to the dear old rectory and to the presence of your
sweetest papa. But come, now--let's be sensible; let's enjoy ourselves.
We will drive out to Castle Beverley to-morrow, of that I am
determined, even though it does cost five shillings. But we'll walk
back in the evening--that is, if they don't offer us a carriage; but I
have a kind of idea that I can even manage their extending their favour
to that amount. It is all-important, however, that we should arrive
looking fresh. Now, girls--this is a most important occasion, and how
are we to be dressed?"
Nina said that she didn't know and she didn't care. But Josie and
Fanchon were immensely interested.
"There are your muslin hats," said Brenda--"quite fresh and most
suitable; and your little blue check dresses. The check is very small,
and they really look most neat. They're not cotton, either--they're
`delaine.' Dearest papa will be delighted with them, won't he? He'll
be quite puzzled how to classify them, but I think we can teach him.
You three dressed all alike _will_ look _sweet_, and you may be thankful
to your dear Brenda for not allowing you to racket through your clothes
beforehand. Well, that is settled. You will look a very sweet little
trio, and if Nina is good, and runs up to her own Brenda now, and kisses
her, she needn't take the account-book to Castle Beverley. Just for one
day, she may resign her office as chartered accountant to this _yere_
company."
Brenda made her joke with a merry laugh and showed all her pearly teeth.
"Come, Nina," said Josie, who was in high good humour, "you must kiss
Brenda; you were horribly rude to her."
"Oh, I forgive her--poor little thing," said Brenda. "Little girls
don't like the rod, do they? but sometimes they have to bear it, haven't
they? Now then, you little thing, cheer up, and make friends. I have
found a delightful shop where we can have tea, bread and butter and
shrimps, and afterwards we'll sit on the beach--it's great fun, sitting
on the beach--and we'll see nearly all the fashionable folks."
The thought of shrimps and bread and butter for tea was too much for
Nina's greedy little soul. She did condescend to get off the hot bed
and kiss Brenda, who for her part was quite delightful, for the time
being. She even took the account-book and pencil, and said that they
should not be seen again until the day after to-morrow. Then she washed
Nina's flushed face, and made her wear the objectionable pink muslin
with the folds across the bottom in lieu of flounces, and that little
straw hat, which cost exactly one-and-sixpence, including its trimming.
Afterwards, they all went down on the beach, and presently they had tea.
Then, in good time, they came back to supper, and after that, the
delightful period of the day began for Fanchon, and the trying one for
her two sisters--for Fanchon was now regularly established as Brenda's
companion when she went out to enjoy herself after supper, and the two
younger girls, notwithstanding all their tears and protestations, were
ordered off to bed. It was odious to go to bed on these hot, long
evenings, but Brenda was most specious in her arguments, and Mrs Dawson
and Miss Price and Mrs Simpkins all agreed with the governess--that
there was nothing for young folks like early bed. Mrs Simpkins even
repeated that odious proverb for Nina's benefit, "Early to bed and early
to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." In short, Brenda had
broken in her pupils to her own satisfaction; and when she had seen them
into their "nighties"--as she called those garments,--she and Fanchon,
dressed in their very best, went out on pleasure intent.
It was a pretty sight to see the elegant-looking young governess and her
somewhat _gauche_ pupil wander down to that part of the pier where the
band played; and it was truly edifying to perceive how Fanchon anxiously
copied Brenda on these occasions. She imitated her step, her walk, her
hand-shake--which was of the truly fashionable kind, stiff, and rising
high in the air. Fanchon's heart beat with pleasure when she perceived
how very much Brenda was admired, and, as Brenda could do anything with
her pupil by means of flattery, the young lady was by no means unhappy
about herself. On this special night--the night before the visit to
Beverley Castle--Fanchon felt even more delighted than usual, for she
was allowed, at the last moment, in the close little hall of the
boarding-house, to slip the precious, the most precious bangle on her
sunburnt wrist.
"I always said you should wear it," said Brenda, "and you shall
to-night."
Fanchon fairly trembled with happiness.
"It feels delightful," she said. "It's like a tonic, which gives me
tone. I don't think I should be afraid of anything if I could always
wear this."
"Some day you shall, if you remain faithful to your own Brenda."
"You know, Brenda, I would do anything for you."
"Well, it seems like it at present," said Brenda, "but of course I have
to think of the past. You were not so absolutely perfect on a certain
occasion not very long ago, were you, dearie?"
Fanchon coloured.
"Don't let's think of that now," she said. "If ever any one was
unjustly suspected, you were that person, Brenda. Oh, how Nina hates
herself for what she did! But aren't you rather over-punishing the poor
little thing?"
"I shall cease to punish her in a few days, but she must learn a lesson.
Now then--I should not be the least surprised if Harry Jordan was at
the band to-night. You know we saw him to-day, but we couldn't take
much notice with the other girls about. I have begged of him never to
speak to me when Josie and Nina are present, for I can't tell what a
child like Nina may be up to. But I rather fancy he'll be here on the
promenade this evening, and I asked him to bring a friend for you to
talk to, Fanchon; you don't mind, do you?"
"A friend!" cried Fanchon. "Oh--I hope you don't mean a man! I'd be
terrified out of my seven senses even to address a word to a man."
"Dear Fanchon," said Brenda, "you'll soon get over that. Well, here we
are--and I do declare if that isn't Harry himself coming to meet us,
and--yes--he's brought a very nice youth with him. Now, Fanchon, you
will have a pleasant time too. Not a word, _ever_, to your sisters, or
to dearest papa!"
"Oh, trust me," said Fanchon, holding her head high, and feeling that
she must survive the dreadful ordeal of talking to a man, whatever her
sensations.
Now Harry Jordan happened to be a sleek, fat youth of about twenty years
of age. He was well off, in fact he was doing a thriving trade in the
draper's business, but in a distant town. Brenda had not the least idea
what his business was. He told her vaguely that he was in business, and
she pictured him to herself as a merchant prince, and who in all the
world could be more honourable than one of the merchant princes of
England? But, be that as it may, she enjoyed Harry Jordan's admiration,
and if he were to like her well enough to ask her to marry him, why--she
would probably say yes, for it would be infinitely better than remaining
as governess at thirty pounds a year to Mr Amberley's little daughters.
Now, Harry was a youth who enjoyed a flirtation as much as anybody, and
as Brenda had hinted that they could not be perfectly free and happy if
Fanchon was listening, he brought a friend of his along--a certain Joe
Burbery--to engage the attentions of that young lady. Accordingly, the
four met, and Joe Burbery, a most sickly youth of seventeen, was
introduced to both ladies, and after Brenda had said one or two words to
him, quite enough to turn his head, he was deputed to his rightful place
by Fanchon's side, who racked her brains in her vain endeavour to say a
word to him at all, and would have figuratively stuck in the mud
altogether, but for his loud exclamation of delight when he saw her
bracelet.
"I _say_!" exclaimed the youth, "what an elegant article--is it real?"
"Real!" said Fanchon, facing him with her little eyes flashing. "It's
eighteen carat."
"Oh, is it?" said Joe. "I see. I never touched eighteen carat in my
life--more likely to be nine carat."
He winked hard at Fanchon as he spoke. Fanchon, in her rage, took the
bracelet off and asked him to examine the hall-mark under the next
lamp-post, which he accordingly proceeded to do. He discovered that she
was right and handed it back to her with great respect. "How did you
come by it?" was his next enquiry. "It is a present--I mustn't say how
I came by it."
"Eighteen carat gold,"--murmured Joe Burbery. "Eighteen carat, and a
very large and specially fine turquoise. Why, there's a thing
advertised for exactly like that. I remember it quite well; I saw it in
the _Standard_ and the _Morning Post_ and even in some of the local
papers here--a bangle just like this which was lost--supposed to be lost
in a railway carriage. How funny that you should have one which so
exactly answers to the description!"
"It is, isn't it?" said Fanchon, laughing with the utmost unsuspicion.
"Well," she continued, "I am glad mine isn't lost; I am frightfully
proud of it; I shall love it all my days; I don't mean ever to part from
it. Even if I get a very rich husband some day, and he gives me lots of
jewellery, I will always keep my beautiful bangle. Brenda says that it
is the sort you need never be ashamed of."
"It is that," admitted Joe. "So _she_ admires it--_she_ knows a good
thing when she sees it, doesn't she?"
"Oh, yes--she is very clever--"
"And a stunner herself, ain't she now?" said Joe Burbery.
"I suppose so," replied Fanchon, who did not feel interested in praises
of Brenda from the first young man who had come into her life. He ought
to be too much devoted to her and her most elegant bangle.
The walk came to an end presently. It was necessary in Mrs Dawson's
establishment for the young ladies to come in not later than half-past
ten, and at that hour the two girls appeared in the hall. Mrs Dawson
herself was waiting for them. As she proceeded to lock and chain the
front door, she also saw the flash of the bangle on Fanchon's wrist.
She immediately exclaimed at its beauty, and asked to have a nearer view
of it.
"Why, I say," she cried, "what a truly elegant thing! Does it belong to
you, Miss Amberley?"
"Yes," replied Fanchon. "It was given to me by a great friend."
Here she looked meaningly at Brenda.
"Come up to bed, Fanchon, do!" said Brenda. "You look dead tired and
won't appear at your best to-morrow at the Castle. Good-night, Mrs
Dawson." Mrs Dawson said nothing further, but she thought for a minute
or two and then went into her private sitting-room and opened a
_Standard_ of a few days old and read a certain advertisement in it
without any comment. After a time, she put the _Standard_ carefully
away and went up to her own room, for she had doubtless earned her
night's repose.
As they were going upstairs, Brenda said in a somewhat fretful voice:
"Fanchon--I do wish you would not let people think that _I_ gave you
that bangle."
"But why should you not let them think it?" asked the astonished girl.
"Well--of course people couldn't expect a governess like me to give you
such really expensive things."
"Oh--but they don't know what a darling you are," said Fanchon,
springing suddenly on Brenda with the sort of affection of a bear's cub,
and crushing that young lady's immaculate evening toilet.
Now, Brenda was decidedly cross because Harry Jordan had not been as
pointed as usual in his remarks, and she disliked--she could scarcely
tell why--the expression in Mrs Dawson's eyes when they had rested on
the bangle. She was, therefore, not at all prepared for Fanchon's rough
caress, nor for Fanchon's next words.
"I do wonder if you would be such a duck of a thing as to let me wear
the bangle at Castle Beverley to-morrow."
"Wear it there!" cried Brenda, real terror for a minute seizing her.
"Of course not--could anything be more unsuitable! You must appear at
Castle Beverley as the innocent little girl you are. You must not think
of jewellery. You mustn't allude to it, nor to your evening walks, nor
to anything we do when you and I are enjoying ourselves together. Come,
Fanchon, give me the bangle; I allowed you to wear it to-night as a
great treat; but I want to put it away."
Fanchon looked decidedly cross.
"I should _so_ like to wear it to-morrow," she said, "and I can't make
out why you won't let me. If it is my bangle, mayn't I wear it when I
like?"
"But it _isn't_ your bangle--at least at present, and it won't be yours
ever if you make a fuss. Come, Fanchon, do you want to quarrel with me?
and oh--I am so tired! My dear child, give it here--I will take it."
Brenda snatched the bangle from her pupil's wrist. "It would be such a
pity," she said, "if anything destroyed our fun--and any one could see
with half an eye that Mr Burbery was greatly struck with you. Harry
told me as much. Mr Burbery is going to be exceedingly rich some day;
he also is in the mercantile world: there's no other world worth
considering, I can tell you that, Fanchon."
"He knows a lot about bangles, anyhow," said Fanchon, "for he was
greatly struck with mine; indeed, I was thankful he was, for I couldn't
utter a word, and didn't know from Adam what to say until he began to
talk of it. And he said--oh, Brenda! that there is one advertised for
in all the papers just like mine. I told him I wasn't a bit surprised,
for mine was so very beautiful."
Brenda's heart sank down to her very boots. Her rosy, radiant face
turned white.
"There!" she exclaimed, "I see you are nothing whatever but a gossip. I
don't know when I will be able to let you have the bangle again. But
now let's come to bed, and let's tread softly--we can manage without a
light of course; it wouldn't do to wake Josephine and Nina."
So the girls slipped into the darkened, hot bedroom and presently got
into bed, Fanchon to sleep and dream of Joe Burbery and the lovely
bangle, and the sad pity it was that she could not display its charms
to-morrow--but Brenda to lie awake; fear--dull dreadful fear tapping at
her heart.