Mrs Dawson was seated with that copy of the _Standard_ which contained
the advertisement for the gold bangle open on her knee. She had read
the advertisement not only once, but twice. There was a reward offered
for the recovery of the trinket of no less than three guineas. That
seemed a very large sum of money to honest Mrs Dawson. She thought how
acceptable it would be, and wished that the lost trinket might come in
her way.
While she was ruminating, without quite knowing whether she would take
any active steps, Jane, one of the house servants, entered and said that
a lady wanted to know if there was a vacant room in the house.
"Oh, tell her there isn't," said Mrs Dawson rather crossly. "There's
nothing whatever except the back attic--the one just behind the large
attic where Miss Carlton and the three Miss Amberleys sleep. We
couldn't put any one there, it's so choky and hot these sultry days."
Jane departed, but presently returned with the information that the lady
did not mind what the room was like in the least and would be very glad
to see the back attic.
"I don't know that I want to let it," said Mrs Dawson. "We're chock
full now and you and Mary Anne are worked off your legs."
"That we are, ma'am; but we don't mind if you should wish to fill the
room," answered the good-natured girl. "It's the season, and every one
should have their innings. She seems an easy-satisfied sort of body--a
Frenchy, I should take it, from her style of talk."
Here there came a clear, piercing voice at the very door of Mrs
Dawson's private sitting-room. This sitting-room was the smallest
apartment imaginable. It faced west too, and was hot at the present
moment with the afternoon sun.
"_Pardonnez--pardonnez_" said the voice; "I do so want that
_appartement_ that your _domestique_ did mention. I mind not the heat--
oh, not in the very least. I am from _la belle France_, where the days
are hotter than your English days, and the sun more bright, and the
world more gay."
Here Mademoiselle boldly entered the room and came up to Mrs Dawson.
"I am a poor Frenchwoman, out for a little recreation. My funds are of
the most _petits_, and I am satisfied with the very least that can
content any mortal. May I see the _appartement_ so minute, and judge
for myself if it will suffice?"
Mrs Dawson eyed the visitor with scant favour. She disliked foreigners
with all an Englishwoman's prejudice, and wondered how Miss Price, and
in particular Mrs Simpkins--who had the best rooms in the house, owing
to the needs of her large family--would like to associate with the
"Frenchy." She was, therefore, distinctly cold.
"I told my servant to tell you, Mademoiselle,"--Mrs Dawson's lips
quivered over the name; she had not pronounced it for many a long
day--"that my house was full."
"But not replete," said Mademoiselle with avidity. "She did let out,
that faithful one, that there was one _appartement triste_ in your
beautiful villa. I feel that I should be at home here. It is wonderful
when we feel that drawing of the heart towards certain of our
fellow-creatures. I should love to be a member of your little family.
I should make myself _tres-agreable_: I should converse in the broken
English which makes your folk laugh. We of the French tongue never
laugh at your mistakes when you try to copy us. But I mind not that. I
like you to laugh. May I see the chamber and decide for myself?"
"Well, if you are satisfied," said Mrs Dawson, "I of course want to
make as much money as I can. The room is at the very top of the house,
and I have stowed away one or two boxes just under the roof. I hardly
ever let it because it faces due west and the slates get so hot people
complain that they can't sleep in it of nights. It's next door, also,
to a large attic where three young ladies and their governess sleep.
You mayn't even find quiet in the little room."
"I mind not," said Mademoiselle, "I am accustomed to the vagaries of the
youthful. I am indeed a teacher from that most distinguished school,
Hazlitt Chase. My dear pupil, Penelope Carlton, and I, came to
Marshlands two nights ago, she to visit my dear and most beloved pupil,
Miss Honora Beverley, and I to search for a meagre _appartement_ in the
cheapest part of your gay and sparkling town. I find not what I want.
I roam abroad to-day to seek for fresh quarters. I see your house so
cool, so chaste, so--if I may use the word--refined. I say to myself--
here is a home, here is a rest: I mind not the hot attic, for by day, at
least, I shall be happy."
"Oh, if you know Miss Beverley, that makes all the difference," said
Mrs Dawson. Her manner changed on the spot. "It is strange," she
continued, "that you should come from the school where Miss Beverley is
being educated, and it is still stranger that the sister of one of your
pupils should be at the present moment occupying the room next to the
west attic. She is an exceedingly pretty young lady, and remarkably
well off. She's a governess to three little pupils, and they're well
supplied with not only the necessaries, but the luxuries of life. Even
jewellery of the best sort isn't denied them. But there--what a
chatterbox I am! Jane, take this lady up to the western attic, and let
her decide whether she will be satisfied to sleep there." Jane and the
voluble Mademoiselle climbed the weary stairs up to the attic which, at
the present moment, must have registered ninety degrees in the shade.
Even Mademoiselle gasped a trifle as she entered the tiny room; but she
was too glad to be in the same house with Brenda Carlton not to put up
with some personal discomforts. She, accordingly, decided to engage the
apartment; told Jane that her luggage of the most modest would arrive
within an hour and went down to interview Mrs Dawson.
"You do deprecate yourself, dear Madame," she said. "Your room you so
despise is to me a haven of rest. It is doubtless what might be called
hot, but what of that? It belongs to a home, and I _shall_--I feel it--
be happy under your roof."
"My terms," said Mrs Dawson, "are--"
Mademoiselle puckered her brows with anxiety. "You would not be hard on
a poor French governess," she said. "She would make herself
_tres-agreable_: she would tell stories of the most witty at your dinner
table: she would make your visitors laugh and laugh again. She would
instruct you in that cooking of _la belle France_ which you English know
so little about. She would offer herself to market for you in the land
of these broiling July days. You will not be hard on one at once so
poor and so useful."
"I charge the ladies in the front attic a guinea a week each," said Mrs
Dawson.
"But that chamber is _magnifique_!" cried Mademoiselle. "I asked your
most delightful Jane to show it to me, and I was struck by its size and
the beautiful draught that blew through it. Indeed, it is cheap--very
cheap--to live in such a room in the very height of the season for so
small a sum. But the western attic, Madame, you will not charge the
poor lonely foreigner as much for the western attic?"
After considerable chaffering on both sides, Mrs Dawson decided that
she would give Mademoiselle the stifling western attic for eighteen and
sixpence per week. This sum, of course, was to include her board. The
French teacher considered matters carefully for a minute, then said with
a smile:
"Ah, well! I must perforce agree. It is large--it is ruinous! But
what shall I do? Where there is no choice, one must put up with the
inevitable. I will do for you, Madame, all that I would have done had
you taken this lonely one for twelve or fifteen shillings a week. I
will still entertain your visitors, and teach you the recipes of my own
land, and go errands for you and make myself, in truth, your valued
friend."
"Thank you, very much," said Mrs Dawson, "but it isn't my habit to
trouble my visitors. Of course I always value a pleasant person at
table, but otherwise I do my own housekeeping and I go my own messages."
"Ah--Madame! you know me not yet. You will yet esteem my services.
What a delicious cool _appartement_ is your own!"
The room was steaming hot, and poor Mrs Dawson's face testified to the
fact. Mademoiselle, however, was in the best of humours. She hurried
away to fetch her luggage--that small packet which she had carried in
one hand while she dragged Pauline Hungerford along the platform with
the other; and she had sat down and made herself quite one of the family
by the time supper was announced.
During supper, she caused the entire company to convulse with laughter.
She told one funny story after another, entreating them to laugh their
hearts full and not to mind her poor English, which she would speak
better if she knew how. In short, she was established as a most
agreeable addition to Number 9, Palliser Gardens by the time the
Beverleys' wagonette drew up at the door with the three little Amberleys
and Brenda Carlton ensconced within.
As the ladies had gone out to see Miss Carlton off, so did the ladies
once more reassemble to witness Miss Carlton's return. She was certain
that she would feel to her dying day that she had achieved this, at
least, with flying colours. The very look of the coachman on the box
and of the footman as he flung open the door and helped the three
awkward girls to descend, had such a paralysing effect upon the members
of Mrs Dawson's boarding-house, that they were all silent for a moment.
"That will do," said Brenda, as she shook out her white skirts on the
steps.
Then the coachman turned homewards, and after that, all tongues were
loosened. Brenda was almost carried into the house by the other
boarders.
"Come straight into the drawing-room," said Miss Price, "and tell us all
about it. Oh, by the way, may I introduce you to a most charming
addition to our circle, Mademoiselle d'Etienne. Mademoiselle arrived
to-day. Mademoiselle, this is Miss Brenda Carlton."
"I have the so great pleasure to know your sister," said Mademoiselle,
in a small, distinct voice, fixing her black eyes on Brenda's face.
"You know Penelope?" cried Brenda.
"I have the so immense honour to educate that fascinating young lady in
that elegant tongue of my beloved France. She is an obedient pupil and
does to me credit."
Brenda felt confused, interested, and on the whole pleased. They all
entered the drawing-room, the three girls dead tired with their day and,
consequently, very cross; Brenda was more or less cross also, but
gratified to find there was such a fuss being made about her.
Mademoiselle was cool, ugly, but nevertheless charming looking. What
was there about her French dress and French manner which lifted her
altogether into a different world from her dowdy English neighbours?
She was in black too--black from head to foot; but her black dress
fitted her like a glove and her hair was most becomingly arranged. In
short, she looked finished. Mrs Simpkins looked the reverse of
finished, for she had just had a scuffle with her eldest baby in which
the baby had been distinctly victorious; and Miss Price was hot and
untidy, cross with the weather, but, nevertheless, ready to welcome the
gossip that Brenda might treat them to.
"Oh, you poor childrens!" said Mademoiselle. "Miss Carlton will you not
send these _petites_ to their rest--they look so _fatiguees_. They want
the repose so essential to the youth. What sweet childrens! I know I
shall adore them all. But go, my little ones. Mademoiselle, you
permit? Yes--go at once to your needed rest."
"Yes, children; do run upstairs," said Brenda. "Fanchon, you must go
with the rest; we're not going out this evening."
"Oh, you've said that already!" remarked Fanchon in a rude voice, "and
you've let the cat out of the bag too!" she continued, a venomous
expression coming into her face; for the younger girls were not supposed
to know anything of the existence of Harry Jordan.
"_What_ cat out of _what_ bag?" asked Mademoiselle. "I do so _adore_
cats in bags--what mean you, _mon enfant_--your words thrill me--what
cat out of what bag?"
"Hold your tongue, Fanchon, and go to bed!" said Brenda.
"Obey your governess, my dear," said Mrs Simpkins. "You're dead tired:
creep upstairs, all three of you, and don't, for the life of you, wake
my Georgie, for he's that fractious--enough to madden a body."
The girls had to depart, and then Miss Price went up to Mrs Dawson and
whispered something in her ear, the result of which was that Mrs Dawson
went to the door and called Jane. She gave her hurried directions and,
by-and-by, what should appear in the little drawing-room but delicious
ices which had hastily been fetched from a neighbouring confectioner's,
and which Miss Price meant to pay for. Mademoiselle declared that she
fairly gloated on the ices made in Angleterre; even Brenda was soothed
by a really good strawberry ice, and, as there was one apiece, all the
ladies congregated round and ate their dainties with deliberation.
"Now tell me about the Castle, do," said Miss Price. "Is it as grand as
they make out, or do they exaggerate?"
"Of course they exaggerate," said Mrs Simpkins. "Folks of that kind
always do."
"But no," cried Mademoiselle, "that is _imposseeble_ to exaggerate the
so great glories of Castle Beverley! It cannot be done. I have heard
it described, and I was ravished with what I was told."
"I have been there," said Brenda. "I have spent the day; my sister is a
special friend of Miss Beverley."
"Not so very special," whispered Mademoiselle, something like a little
snake at that moment, in Brenda's ear. Brenda turned and looked full at
her. Their eyes met. It seemed at that instant that these two--the
young girl and the experienced woman--crossed swords, and that Brenda
got the worst of the encounter. There was a pause for a minute. Then
she said, quietly:
"I don't know with regard to the depth of the friendship, but I only
know that my sweet sister Penelope is staying at the Castle, and that it
is--oh, well--a very nice sort of place. I _could_ imagine more
beautiful places."
"Windsor Castle, perhaps," whispered Mademoiselle, at which remark Miss
Price tittered audibly.
"But tell us, dear," said Mrs Simpkins. "I have been thinking all day
about it. I assure you that the thought of your return has kept me up
although the heat is fearful, and Georgie is so cross, and little Peter
cutting another tooth--oh dear! Of course I love my children, but
sometimes they seem to do things just to spite you; for the doctor told
me flat that Peter's eye-teeth would not be due for another two months,
and I made certain that we'd have our seaside holiday over before he
began on it. The aggravation of eye-teeth is almost past bearing. I
often say if a woman can live through the eye-teeth of her children,
she'll live through anything. But there--I am digressing. Go on, Miss
Carlton, do."
"What did you have to eat?" said Mrs Dawson. "Was there anything that
specially took your fancy?"
"Ah, yes--tell us that!" cried Mademoiselle, "for I could copy it for
these dear, most select and amiable ladies. I should so love to give
them the benefit of my French experience."
"I don't know what we had to eat," said Brenda. "Perhaps Nina could
tell you to-morrow--she is our greedy one."
"Poor little thing!" said Mrs Simpkins. "You've let her off her
accounts, I see, and that's a blessing. Now, Miss Carlton, you won't
take it amiss, but if you will allow a motherly body like myself to
speak, you won't be too harsh with that poor child. She's a good child,
and means well; and why in the name of goodness she should be pestered
with that account-book and pencil at all hours of the day beats me."
"Is this what would be so called a secret?" asked Mademoiselle, "for, if
so, I will--to speak in the figurative way--stop up my ears."
"Oh, no," said Brenda, "it is nothing: I am teaching my youngest pupil a
lesson, and these ladies--even dear Mrs Simpkins--fail to understand."
"Ah--how I you do admire!" said Mademoiselle. "I also have my methods.
We, dear Miss Carlton, will have much in common. We will talk together
of our pupils and our wrongs."
"For my part, I am getting sleepy," said Miss Price, "and the
conversation is not nearly so interesting as I hoped it would have
been."
She looked regretfully at the empty ice plates and thought of the bill
she would have to pay at Jones' on the morrow.
"But what did you suppose I would have to talk about?" asked Brenda,
putting the last morsel of delicious strawberry ice into her mouth as
she spoke.
"Oh, I'm sure I can't tell. I had a sort of vision of a delightful
time--I thought you'd begin at the very beginning, as they pay in the
story books, and tell us of everything--what he said to her, you know,
and what she said to him, and how they were all dressed--"
"And a good lot about the food," interrupted Mrs Simpkins. "I'm great
on nice food myself, and it's delightful to think that a good-natured
French body has come to stay here--"
"I will make you," interrupted Mademoiselle, "of the _salade_ the most
enjoyable with a taste of mayonnaise, that cannot be compounded except
by a person born in _la belle France_."
"You mustn't let Georgie see it, then," said Mrs Simpkins, "for if he
swallows even a morsel of anything Frenchy, he'll be done for!"
"I could fancy it myself," said Miss Price. "I am very much obliged
indeed to Mademoiselle for thinking of making us a proper French salad."
"And so am I, although you oughtn't to trouble yourself," said Mrs
Dawson, who began to perceive that Mademoiselle might be exceedingly
useful to her.
"Well, ladies," said Brenda, rising, "I think I will go to bed. I am a
little tired to-night, for we have been out so much. It was sweet of
you, Miss Price, to give us those delicious ices. I have never enjoyed
anything better. Doubtless, to-morrow, when I am refreshed, I shall
have numerous little anecdotes to tell each of you in turn, but not
before the children. It is so bad for children, too, to hear their
friends gossiped about."
"I agree with them sentiments," said Mrs Simpkins. "I wouldn't have
Georgie listen to the tell-tales between me and Maria--that's my maid at
home--for all the world. Why, he'd have it out to his pa at his next
meal for certain."
"I'll tell you each in confidence," said Brenda, "and," she added, "I
daresay there'll be plenty of fresh news for the future, for I expect to
go constantly to Castle Beverley, and my sister is coming to spend the
day with me soon."
"Not Penelope, my most adored one!" cried Mademoiselle. "Do you say,
dear Miss Carlton, that I am to see my sweetest pupil so soon?"
"I don't know the exact day," said Brenda, "but you will see her if you
happen to stay here."
"Stay here?" said Miss Price. "Of course we trust Mademoiselle will
stay! It is delightful to have a real Frenchwoman in the house."
"I said this place was home," said Mademoiselle, raising her eyes
ceilingward.
Brenda went up to her room. There she found all the girls already
disposed of in their separate beds. To her relief, they were all, even
Fanchon, sound asleep. She sat down for a short time by the open window
and thought over matters. She did not altogether like the turn of
events. Try as she would, she felt that she would never be anything but
a nobody at Castle Beverley. More anxious than ever was she to secure
Harry Jordan as her affianced husband. She had a shrewd guess as to his
sort of character, and wondered what impression she would make on him
when they met the following evening. Poor Brenda went to sleep fairly
happy, on the whole, that night, little guessing what a very active
disturber to her peace Mademoiselle d'Etienne would prove herself to be.
The next day broke, as usual, with cloudless splendour. The different
ladies went out Brenda strolled abroad with her pupils. She found a
shady place under a cliff, and sat there to rest, and looked around her.
Meanwhile, Mademoiselle devoted herself to Mrs Dawson. She insisted on
going shopping, if not for her, yet with her. And Mademoiselle had an
eye for a bargain which even that astute Englishwoman, Mrs Dawson,
could never hope to possess. Why, those tomatoes which she purchased
for almost nothing would never have been observed at all by the good
lady, and then those little crabs which were going for a few pence (Mrs
Dawson, as a rule, never purchased small crabs, but Mademoiselle begged
of her, on this occasion, to do so) were soon disposed of in the worthy
woman's basket; and lettuces, with other tempting fresh vegetables, were
secured. Mademoiselle implored of Mrs Dawson to let her arrange the
supper table that night.
"You have bought but little," she said; "nevertheless, it is enough. I
will surprise the good, the dear ladies of your charming family with the
French supper which I will prepare."
"But Mary Anne will never stand it," objected Mrs Dawson.
"Is she your cook?"
"Yes, and a very good one too--I pay her a lot of wages."
"Never mind: I will counsel her, and I will talk with her: I will get
her to think that she herself has made the _souffle_ and the _omelette_
and the tomato soup and the delectable preparation of crabs. She will
know it not, except as her own handiwork, and I will be your cook."
"It is too much to expect of you," said Mrs Dawson, really won over by
her paying guest's extraordinary kindness.
"Have I found a home--and am I ungrateful?" was Mademoiselle's response.
The result of this was that the two ladies came back the most excellent
friends, and sat together until early dinner in that stifling little
parlour. In that small room Mademoiselle got a good deal of information
with regard to Brenda, whom she was interested in for more reasons than
one, and also saw the advertisement for the lost bracelet with her own
eyes. She read it over carefully and her black eyes glittered with
excitement.
"It is a reward _magnifique_!" she said.
"I wish I could find it," said Mrs Dawson.
"If we were both to find it, _chere amie_," said the Frenchwoman, "we
might divide the so great profits."
"But we never can," said Mrs Dawson. Then she added, after a minute's
pause, "All the same, I'd like to say something."
"And what is that?" asked Mademoiselle.
"You mustn't breathe it, please. You're quite a stranger to me, but
coming from Hazlitt Chase, and knowing Miss Beverley, I suppose you're
to be trusted." Mademoiselle laid her hand dramatically on her very fat
chest.
"I suppose so," she replied.
"And I must confide in some one, for the thing seems to burn a sort of
hole in me."
"My good, dear, delightful friend," said the Frenchwoman, "don't let the
secret prey on you in that fashion, for it will undermine your so
precious health. Confide it to one who is ardent to help you, who has
for you already the affection the most profound."
"It is nothing, of course," said Mrs Dawson, "and you will promise not
to tell."
"I have promised."
Again the hand was laid over the region of the heart.
"Well, then,--it is just this. I know a good jewel when I see it, for
my poor husband, the late Dawson, was in the jewellery line, and he
taught me to know at a glance the difference between poor gold and good
gold, and imitation stones and real ones; and if you will believe me,
Mademoiselle d'Etienne, that little minx of a Fanchon Amberley came into
the house the other evening with a bangle on her arm which for all the
world might have been this,"--here she pointed to the _Standard_. "That
bangle might have meant three guineas in my pocket, for it was eighteen
carat gold as I am alive, and the turquoise in it was the most beautiful
I ever saw."
Mademoiselle's dark face flushed and then paled; but she did not stir or
show any other sign of special interest. After a minute, she said
gently:
"There are so many bangles now-a-days, and they are all more or less
alike."
"Of course Miss Fanchon--"
"Ridiculous to call an English girl by one of our names--"
"Had it of her own--she said a friend gave it to her, but she was very
mysterious about it."
"I'd like to see it," said Mademoiselle.
"And so would I," said Mrs Dawson.
"I'd like to see it for a reason," said Mademoiselle. "Mademoiselle
d'Etienne, you don't mean--"
"I don't know that I mean anything, but if I saw it, I'd know once for
all."
"What would you know?"
"I tell you what, Mrs Dawson. I have examined the bracelet that little
Pauline Hungerford--one of my adorable pupils--has worn, which she got
on the day of the break-up. I took it in my hand, and she allowed me to
examine it, and I know the other was exactly the same except for the
difference in the stones. I should like to see the bracelet that the
young lady who ought not to possess bangles, wears."
"I don't believe you will: there's something about that governess which
makes me think her a deep one--I can't be certain, but I have my
suspicions--and she seemed distressed, I don't know why, when I noticed
the bangle on Miss Fanchon's arm."
"Leave the matter to me," said Mademoiselle. "This interests me; but I
must be calm. You and I, dear Madame, are true friends, are we not?"