Brenda was looking eagerly forward to the evening. A great deal would
depend on the evening, for then she would see Harry Jordan again, and
find out whether he was impressed or not. She had already perceived in
that charming youth a passion for greatness--a snobbish devotion to the
great ones of this world. She had wondered within herself why he cared
so much for people with "handles," as he expressed it, to their names.
If he was as rich as he described himself, surely these things scarcely
mattered to him.
Well, she at least was gently born, and had friends in the class which
he so coveted to know. She was very, very pretty, and he had almost
told her that he loved her.
"Fanchon," said the governess to her eldest pupil that day, "we'll go
out by ourselves after supper to-night and walk on the promenade and
listen to the band. The two younger children must go to bed immediately
after supper; I must insist on that; Mrs Simpkins always helps me with
regard to that. She thinks it is good for children to put them early to
bed. But for that one redeeming trait in her character, I should detest
the woman."
"Oh, every one in the house is detestable!" said Fanchon, "except
perhaps Mademoiselle."
Brenda lowered her brows. The two younger girls were well on in front.
"I like Mademoiselle the least of all," she said.
"Do you, Brenda?" cried Fanchon. "I wonder why."
"I detest her," said Brenda.
"Oh, but she's so funny," exclaimed Fanchon.
"Do you know," said Brenda, "that she's leaving Hazlitt Chase? Penelope
mentioned the fact quite casually to me yesterday. She will not be
there when darling Penelope returns. Perhaps if the ladies knew that
little item of news, they wouldn't be quite so agreeable to her. They
think a great deal of the fact that she's French teacher at the Chase."
Fanchon yawned.
"I dare say," she answered. "But after all, what does that matter?
She's rather a pleasant woman, I think, and she does talk such funny
English; it's as good as a play to hear her."
"Well," said Brenda, "we needn't bother about her now. The great thing
is for us to slip away after supper. Your friend will be there, of
course, and you will talk to him."
"You mean Mr Burbery," said Fanchon, blushing. "Don't colour up like
that, dear--I wouldn't if I were you. He can't mean anything, of
course."
"Oh, of course not," said Fanchon; but she coloured more vividly than
ever, while a delicious thrill ran through her childish breast. "I
wonder," she said in a low tone, "if you will lend me the bangle again
to-night."
"No--I won't, Fanchon."
"But why not--why won't you?"
"You are so dreadfully silly about it--you show it to people--oh, not by
talking, but you shove out your hand and arm in such a hideously marked
fashion. If you were modest, and like a girl accustomed to get
jewellery, you would think nothing about it, and then no one would
remark it. As it is, that precious Mr Burbery spoke of it. Then Mrs
Dawson was attracted by it."
"But where's the good of wearing it, if no one is to see it?" queried
the practical Fanchon.
"Oh, I don't know," said Brenda, crossly; "but I can assure you it is
exceedingly bad form to intrude it in the way you do. You look, when
you have it on, as though you were all bangle--it's absurd!"
"Well, all the same, I do wish you would let me put it on," said
Fanchon. "I can slip it up under my sleeve, then no one will notice and
it does support me so tremendously when I am undergoing the ordeal of
talking to a man."
"No--you shan't have it to-night," said Brenda, and there was a finality
in her tone which Fanchon recognised and did not attempt to dispute.
Supper that evening was of course extra delicious. The ladies were in
raptures. The salad, made in the truly French style, was most
appetising. There were certain most "chic" little sandwiches handed
round to eat with it. Mademoiselle would not give away the secret of
how those sandwiches were made. There were iced drinks to refresh the
unfortunate inmates of Mrs Dawson's fearfully hot dining-room. There
was a fragrance about the supper which astonished and delighted these
poor ladies. Mrs Simpkins very nearly shed tears.
"After the battle I've had all the afternoon with those dear, darling,
dreadful children," she said, "it's fairly like heaven to come down
here."
Her raptures grew still greater as she partook of the savoury omelets,
and by-and-by ate some of that _souffle_ which most certainly Mary Anne
could never have compounded. But the crowning dish at that supper table
was the preparation of crab to which Mademoiselle gave some long French,
absolutely unpronounceable name, and which all the ladies consumed with
immense satisfaction. Mrs Dawson was so struck with the success of her
supper, and also with the pleasing knowledge that the ingredients which
composed it had cost hardly anything, that she began to entertain
serious thoughts of taking Mademoiselle into partnership on the spot.
With such a woman to help her with her daily _menage_, what might she
not aspire to? Another house, a higher class of boarders, double and
even treble profits. Then Mademoiselle was so nice to look at--although
ugly, yes, quite ugly--and so charmingly witty, but so modest withal,
never attempting to take the lead, listening deferentially even to the
most minute details with regard to Georgie's cold, and to Miss Price's
pain in her head, and yet guiding the conversation ever and always into
channels which caused ripples of laughter and perfect good humour.
Brenda, who hitherto had been the centre of attraction, was cast
completely into the shade. Brenda Carlton seldom looked prettier than
she did that evening, but nobody noticed her fresh young face with its
bright colour, nor the clear blue of her eyes, nor her charming figure,
when ugly Mademoiselle was keeping the table in constant roars of
laughter. Brenda felt that, if this sort of thing went on, her feeling
towards the French governess would become dangerous.
The little Simpkinses were, of course, not allowed to sit up to supper,
but the Amberleys always partook of that meal, and there was no one more
greedy on the present occasion than Nina Amberley, who enjoyed the
Frenchwoman's cooking so intensely that she forgot to do anything but
eat.
At last, however, the viands were disposed of. There was nothing for
Jane to remove from the table but the empty plates and dishes.
Mademoiselle felt that she was wearing a little secret crown--the crown
of a great success, and Mrs Dawson rose majestically from the board.
"Children," said Brenda, "you will at once go up to bed, it is
exceedingly late."
Josie looked cross, Nina defiant.
"Les _pauvres enfants_!" exclaimed Mademoiselle. "Why confine them to
their _appartement_ on this so hot evening! The air would refresh
them--there is no need for this early retirement on these long summer
days."
"Your opinion, Mrs Simpkins, coincides with mine in that subject," said
Brenda, turning hastily to the fat mother of the babies.
"Oh, I know, my dear," said Mrs Simpkins, "and I always do hold with my
favourite proverb. But it is 'ot to-night, and I fairly gasp. I
suppose an extra hour up would not be permitted, Miss Carlton?"
"No, no--you must go to bed immediately," said Brenda, turning to her
pupils. "Now off you go. Say good-night, Nina; say good-night,
Josephine."
Very sulkily did the girls obey. They were both of them consumed with
rage when they reached their hot attic.
"I _hate_ going to bed," said Nina.
"It is abominable--it is cruel to send us!" cried Josie. "I want to
know," she added, "why Fanchon, who is only a year and six months older
than me should go out and have no end of fun and why we should lie
stewing in these hot beds!"
But though the little girls grumbled, they felt in their own minds that
they were no match for Brenda; and when, a short time afterwards, that
young lady came into the room, they were both in bed and were even
pretending to be asleep. Brenda hastily put on her most becoming
picture hat, glanced at the private drawer which contained the bracelet
and her money, took Fanchon's hat and gloves from the room, and, telling
the others to go to sleep and be quick about it, took her departure. A
few minutes later, she and Fanchon had stolen softly from the house, and
ten minutes after that, there came a gentle tap at the door of the room
where Nina and Josie were lying wide awake and conversing in low tones
about their mutual grievances.
"Whoever is that?" said Joey, in a tone of some alarm. "Come in!" she
called, and Mademoiselle entered.
"Oh, _pauvres petites_!" cried the French governess. "I venture to come
to offer you my consolations. This `early to bed' is what cannot be
permitted. I also am an instructress of the young. I have had a long
experience. Why should you not be out and enjoy the summer air?"
"Oh--but we dare not disobey Brenda!" exclaimed Nina.
"It is very kind of you, Mademoiselle, to come and see us," said Josie;
"but Brenda always sends us to bed when she and Fanchon go out for their
fun."
"Do they have great fun at this hour?" asked Mademoiselle.
"Oh, I don't know--I expect so," exclaimed Josie, and she giggled a
little.
Mademoiselle uttered a sigh. She opened the window a little wider and
left the door ajar.
"Now there is a consoling draught," she said, "you will not suffer so
much from the hot, hot air. Tell me your little stories, _petites_, so
that I may you comfort while you lie awake."
The children did not know at first what they had especially to tell to
Mademoiselle; but that clever woman was not ten minutes in their society
before she had obtained a vast lot of useful information from them--
information which she meant to turn to good account. She had her way to
make in the world, and could only make it by more or less dishonest
means. In short, before she left the little girls on this occasion, she
knew that little secret with regard to Nina's account-book, and why Nina
was learning this salutary lesson. She pretended to be rather shocked
by the little girl's disclosure.
"Oh, _mais fi donc! mon enfant_," she exclaimed. "You to have had that
very great mistrust! and your beautiful instructress has the anxiety
written all over her face. She punishes you, and it is well. Doubtless
it is also for that very reason that she confines you and your sister in
this so _triste appartement_, while she and Fanchon go abroad in order
to amuse themselves. But, my dear _petites_, I have not come to this
house for nothing. I would aid you. I see not why you two poor little
ones should not also have your so great pleasure. What would you say to
coming out with me for a little pastime to-morrow evening?"
"We would love it beyond anything!" said Joey. "But," said Nina, "we
would not dare!"
"And why not, _petites_, if no person did know it?"
"Surely you could not manage that?"
"Ah--but yes; I think I know a way. I would you advise to slip into bed
to-morrow evening with a willing grace; but put on your night things
over your pretty day garments, so that you can slip them off quickly
when I appear. I will then take you abroad for a delicious hour. We
will go out and see the wonders of the night, and you will be in bed
again and, _peut-etre_, asleep, before Mademoiselle Brenda and
Mademoiselle Fanchon appear."
This sounded delicious, daring, extremely naughty, and altogether quite
impossible to resist, to the little girls.
"You are quite a darling," said Nina. "I only wish you were our
governess instead of horrid Brenda!"
"Ah, _mechante_--but Brenda, whom you like not, is of the best. She has
the principles the most high, and the desires the most perfect for your
real advancement."
"I don't think so for a single minute," said Nina.
"I'm certain that she's a--"
"Oh--don't say anything against her now!" said Josephine.
Mademoiselle looked anxiously round the room. "You will wear your very
prettiest dresses when you come abroad with me to-morrow night," she
said. "I take you not to the promenade _ordinaire_, but to the most
select one where the admission is one shilling each, and where we sit
with the ladies and gentlemen of the highest quality. Have you no
so-called trinkets or ornament! that you could wear?"
"Oh dear, no!" said Nina, "nothing of the sort!"
"But then you might borrow from your sister Function."
Nina gave a childish laugh.
"Fanchon has only one little silver brooch, and the pin is broken. Poor
Fanchon! what would she--"
"_Mais, ma chere_," said Mademoiselle, as she laid a shapely French hand
on the little girl's arm, "I think you are under a misapprehension. Ask
your sister to lend you her bangle."
"Her bangle?" said Nina.
"Breathe it not, dear one, to your adorable governess, but ask your
sister to lend it to you, and I will give you the most delightful
surprise when you come out with me."
"But she's not got one!" said Josie. "I don't know what you are
dreaming about, Mademoiselle. Poor Fanchon--I only wish she had!"
"Well, dears, examine her belongings, and I think you will see that this
clever mademoiselle is right, and that you, _mes enfants_, are wrong.
Find it, and wear it, one or other of you, and you shall have a surprise
which shall delight your young hearts. Now then, I must go. I am about
to take a little walk abroad to refresh myself after the sultry airs of
the house. _Bonsoir, mes enfants. Dormez bien_."
Mademoiselle waved her hand to the children, and gently closed the door
behind her. She left them both in a state of great excitement and
wonder. What a fascinating woman she was! How delightfully she
sympathised! and wouldn't it be fun to go out with her on the following
evening, to have a very superior treat to that one which Fanchon enjoyed
and made such a fuss about? Oh, the mystery of the whole thing, and the
spice of danger in it, and the awful dread of discovery, and the
maddening joy of getting away without anybody knowing, and the charming
surprise which would await them!
"But Mademoiselle must be mad on one point," said Nina, "for she talks
of Fanchon's bangle. Fanchon hasn't got a bangle."
"There's no saying what she has or hasn't," said Josie. "She's so
abominably mysterious lately; she's so stuck up, and has such airs and
graces, I shouldn't be a bit surprised if she had got Brenda to buy her
one of those cheap shilling things you see in the shop windows."
"Brenda never got me to put that expense down in the account-book," said
Nina.
"Oh, she wouldn't!" exclaimed Josie. "She's too sly."
"It seems a great pity," said Nina, after another restless twiddle in
her little hot bed, "that we can't find out."
"We could look through the drawers, of course," said Joey, "and discover
for ourselves."
"Brenda keeps the top drawer locked and has taken the key." Nina gave a
little jump. "I tell you what!" she said. "Why shouldn't we try if the
key of the wardrobe would open the top drawer of the chest of drawers?
It looks exactly the same: I noticed that myself when first we came."
"But there isn't any key to the wardrobe!" exclaimed Joey.
"Oh--isn't there? I know better. It was always lying on the floor, and
I picked it up and put it behind that ornament on the mantelpiece so as
to get it out of the way."
"Well--we can look at once," said Josie.
"What fun it will be if Fanchon really has a shilling bangle, and Brenda
forgot to have it entered in the accounts!"
The two girls sprang out of bed. They were trembling with excitement.
They longed beyond anything to discover if Mademoiselle was right.
"But if she has it," suddenly exclaimed Nina, "she may be wearing it--
it's just the sort of thing she would do--she'd be so desperately proud
of it!"
"Yes," said Josie, "and by the evening light people would think it was
real. Oh, I say, Nina, what fun--this key does open the drawers! Yes,
and locks them too. I say now, shall we have a search?"
The girls ransacked the precious locked drawer, and of course, in less
than a minute, came upon the gold bangle with the turquoise ornament.
They brought it to the window and examined it carefully by the light of
the moon. While Josie held it, Nina kept the little box, in which it
was generally concealed, in her hand. She now read the writing on it.
"Why--it _is_ Fanchon's!" she cried, "here's her name on the box saying
that the bangle is hers. Oh, what a wicked, wicked Fanchon, not to tell
us! Won't we tease her about this!"
"No, we mustn't," said Josie. "But I tell you what we'll do. We'll
just carefully--most carefully--put that key away, and then to-morrow
night before we go out, we'll unlock the drawer and take the bangle, and
either you or I can wear it. What _awful_ fun that'll be! We'll have
our surprise too--how clever of Mademoiselle to know!"
"Perhaps after our delicious time out is over, and our surprise is come
to an end, we may talk to Fanchon about her horrid meanness in keeping
the bangle a secret."
"Of course it isn't real gold--it's only one of those shilling things;
but she might have told--that she might."
"That she might," exclaimed the other sister.
Then they put the bangle carefully back into its box, and readjusted the
drawer so as not to allow suspicious eyes to guess that anything had
been disarranged. They took the precious key which could unlock the
drawer and display this marvellous fairyland of delight, and hid it
under a portion of the carpet which went straight under the bed in which
they slept.
"No one will find it here," said Nina, "for this room is never cleaned.
I asked Jane about it, and she said she never cleans the bedrooms except
when new visitors come. We _shall_ have fun to-morrow night--I can
hardly sleep for thinking about it!"