But Lady Lushington, when she took a prejudice against Annie Brooke,
reckoned without her host. Annie was far too clever to allow this state
of things to continue long.
The next day the three girls and Lady Lushington started _en route_ for
Interlaken. There they put up at one of the most fashionable hotels,
and there Annie began to find her feet and gradually to undermine Lady
Lushington's prejudice against her. Even if Mabel had not whispered the
disconcerting fact to her that she had not made a good, impression on
her aunt, Annie was far too sharp not to discover it for herself when
Mabel said to her on that first night in the Grand Hotel in Paris, "I
must tell you the truth, Annie; you are a failure so far; you have not
pleased Aunt Henrietta, and Priscie has. I don't know what I shall do
if you leave me, but I know Aunt Hennie will send you back pretty sharp
to England if you don't alter your tactics, and how I am ever to meet
all that lies before me if this happens is more than I can fathom."
Annie had assured her friend that she need not be the least afraid, and,
knowing the truth, or part of the truth, took her measures accordingly.
They had not been settled at the Belle Vue Hotel, Interlaken, more than
two days before Lady Lushington, who was an exceedingly selfish, worldly
woman, although quite kind-hearted, began to alter her mind with regard
to both Annie Brooke and Priscilla Weir.
Priscilla, notwithstanding her fine and impressive eyes, her honest
manner, and her earnest wish to make herself pleasant, looked
undoubtedly _gauche_ in the old-fashioned garments which were mostly
made for her by poor Susan Martin. Lady Lushington found that though
people remarked on Priscilla when she walked with the others in the
fashionable part of the town or sat with them when they listened to the
band or took her place in the _salle-a-manger_ by their sides, yet those
glances were by no means ones of admiration. The girl looked oppressed
by a certain care, and dowdy beyond all words. Lady Lushington liked
her, and yet she did not like her. She felt, however, bound to keep to
her compact--to make the best of poor Priscilla. Accordingly, she told
her friends that Priscilla Weir was a genius, and a little quaint with
regard to her clothes, and that, in consequence, she had to put up with
her peculiar dress.
"But she is such an honest good creature," said Lady Lushington in
conclusion, "that I am quite glad to have her as a companion for Mabel."
Now the people to whom Lady Lushington gave this confidence were by no
means interested in Priscilla's predilection for quaint clothes. They
pronounced her an oddity, and left her to the fate of all oddities--
namely, to herself. Annie, on the contrary, who made the best of
everything, and who looked quite ravishingly pretty in the smart frocks
which Parker, by Lady Lushington's desire, supplied her with, came in
for that measure of praise which was denied to poor Priscie. Annie
looked very modest, too, and had such charming, unaffected, ingenuous
blue eyes, the blue eyes almost of a baby.
Lady Lushington found her first prejudices melting out of sight as she
watched Annie's grace and noticed her apparent unselfishness.
It was Annie's cue to be unselfish during these days, and Lady
Lushington began to form really golden opinions with regard to her
character. She had been very nice on the journey, taking the most
uncomfortable seat and thinking of every one's comfort except her own.
She had been delightful when they reached Interlaken, putting up with a
very small and hot bedroom almost in the roof of the hotel. And now she
began to make herself useful to Lady Lushington.
This great lady had a vast amount of voluminous correspondence. She
liked writing to her friends in her own illegible hand, but she hated
writing business letters. Now Annie wrote an exceedingly neat and
legible hand, and when she offered herself as Lady Lushington's
amanuensis, making the request in the prettiest voice imaginable, and
looking so eagerly desirous to help the good woman, Mabel's aunt felt
her last prejudice against Annie Brooke melting out of sight.
"Really, my dear," she said, "you are good-natured. It would be a
comfort to dictate my letters to you, but I am stupid about business
letters. You do not mind if I dictate them very slowly?"
"Oh no," said Annie, "by no means; and I should so love to write them
for you. You do such a great deal for poor little me that if there is
any small way in which I can help you I shall be more than glad. Dear
Lady Lushington, you don't know how I feel your kindness."
"You are very good to say so, Miss Brooke. I have invited you here
because you are Mabel's friend."
"Sweet Mabel!" murmured Annie; "her very greatest friend. But now, may
I help you?"
"Well, bring those letters over here--that pile on the table. We may as
well get through them."
Annie immediately found note-paper, blotting-paper, pens and ink, also a
supply of foreign stamps and post-cards. She laid the letters in a pile
on Lady Lushington's lap.
"Now," she said, "if you will read them aloud to me and tell me what to
say, I will write as slowly as ever you like. You can lean back in your
comfortable chair; we will get through them as quickly as possible."
This conversation took place on the first day when Annie wrote letters
to Lady Lushington's dictation. Soon the thing became a habit, and Lady
Lushington secured the services of Miss Brooke for a couple of hours
daily. She quite enjoyed it. It was so much less trouble, sitting
lazily in her chair and getting that smart, pretty little thing to do
the toilsome work for her. She felt that Annie was assuredly pretty,
and much more interesting than poor Priscilla.
At last, on a day when the ladies had been at Interlaken for over a
week, and were meaning to move on to Zermatt, Lady Lushington opened a
letter, the contents of which caused her face to flush and her eyes to
blaze with annoyance.
"Really," she said, "this is too bad; this is simply abominable!"
"What is the matter?" asked Annie.
She had guessed, however, what the matter was, and her heart beat as she
made the remark, for that morning she had seen, lying on the
breakfast-table amongst a pile of letters directed to Lady Lushington,
one in the well-known writing of Mrs Priestley; and if Annie had any
doubt on that point, the dressmaker's address was printed on the flap of
the envelope. Her innocent eyes, however, never looked more innocent as
she glanced up now from the blank sheet of paper on which she was about
to write.
"Of course you know nothing about it, child," said Lady Lushington, "but
it is beyond belief; Mabel's extravagance exceeds all bounds; I will not
permit it for a single moment."
"Mabel's extravagance?" said Annie, looking surprised. "But surely dear
Mabel is not extravagant. I have never, never noticed it; I assure you
I haven't."
"Then what do you say to this?" said Lady Lushington. "That odious
woman Priestley sends me a bill for one term's clothing; total amount
seventy pounds!"
"Seventy pounds," said Annie, "for Mabel's dress?" She pretended to
look shocked. "It is impossible," she said slowly. "There must be a
mistake."
"Of course there is a mistake. That abominable woman thinks that I am
so rich that I don't mind paying any amount. But she will learn that I
am not to be imposed upon."
"What do you think you will say to her?" asked Annie.
"I am sure I don't know. I had best speak to Mabel herself."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Annie. "May gets so confused; dear May
has no head for business; she won't have the slightest idea what dress
she did get. I know there was that lovely, expensive white satin for
the school dance, and that beautiful dress of _crepe-de-Chine_ with
pearly trimmings which she wore on the day of the break-up--the day when
she received her great honour, her prize for literature; and there was
that pale-blue evening-dress of hers, and the rose-coloured silk."
"But I don't remember those dresses at all. Where are they now?"
"I dare say she has left them at school," said Annie.
"Left them at school?"
"She would probably not think them fine enough for you."
"What absurdity! And even if she did get such uncalled-for, such
unsuitable dresses, the sum total from a country dressmaker would not
amount to seventy pounds."
"Well, I tell you what I would do if I were you," said Annie. "If you
will let me, I will write in your name for the items. Mrs Priestley has
only sent you `To account rendered,' has she not?"
"That is a good idea," said Lady Lushington. "I must speak to Mabel
about her frocks when she appears. As a matter of fact, I do not mind
what I spend on her now that she has come out, or partly come out, for
of course she won't be really introduced into society until she is
presented next year. But seventy pounds for one schoolgirl's wardrobe
for a single term is too much."
"Then I may write?" said Annie, her hand trembling a little.
"Certainly. Tell the woman to send all items at once here. Really,
this has worried me."
Lady Lushington did not notice that, notwithstanding all Annie's
apparent coolness, there were additional spots of colour on her cheeks,
and that her hand shook a little as she penned the necessary words.
Suppose the majestic Mrs Priestley recognised her handwriting! There
was no help for it now, however, and any delay in grappling with the
evil hour was welcome.
The letter was written and laid with several others on the table. Lady
Lushington remarked after a minute's pause:
"I may as well confide in you, Miss Brooke, that nothing ever astonished
me more than Mabel's success in gaining that literature prize; for you
know, my dear, between you and me, she is not at all clever."
"Oh, how you mistake her!" said Annie, with enthusiasm. "Dear Mabel
does not care to talk about her deepest feelings or about those
magnificent thoughts which visit her mind."
"She has no thoughts, my dear, except the silliest," said Mabel's aunt,
with a laugh.
"Oh, how you wrong her! Why, she is a poetess."
"A what?" said Lady Lushington.
"She writes poems."
"Nonsense! I don't believe you."
"I can show them to you."
"Pray do not; I would not read them for the world. I class all rhymes
as jingles. I detest them. Even Will Shakespeare could never gain my
attention for more than half-a-minute."
"Nevertheless, Mabel is clever, and her prize essay on `Idealism' was
undoubtedly the best in the school."
"Yes? Wonders will never cease," remarked Lady Lushington; "but, to
tell you the truth, I was more annoyed than pleased when she got the
prize. I did not want her to leave school for a year, and I only made
that rash promise believing it to be quite impossible for me to fulfil.
However, now I must make the best of it; and as, thank goodness! she
does not pose as a genius, and is a fine, handsome girl, I have no doubt
I shall get her married before long."
"Oh, Lady Lushington! Could you bear to part with her?"
"Indeed I could, my dear, to a good husband. I mean by that a man in a
high position in society."
Annie was silent, looking prettily down. Lady Lushington glanced at her
and noticed the charming contour of her face.
"If only her eyelashes were a little darker and her eyebrows more
marked, she would be a sweetly pretty girl," she thought. But the lack
of distinction in her face was not apparent at that moment.
"You will have a good husband yourself some day, Miss Brooke; and if
ever I can help you to bring such a desirable matter about, you may rely
on me."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" said Annie. "Poor little me! But I am only
an orphan with just one dear uncle and little or no money. Lady
Lushington, I am so happy here, and you are so very kind to me."
"Well, my dear, you are kind to me too. I believe we are of mutual
benefit each to the other. Now, will you put on your hat and take those
letters to the nearest post? You will just have time to get them in
before we go downstairs to _dejeuner_."
Nothing could be more welcome to Annie than this last remark, for while
she was talking she was wondering much in her clever little brain if she
could carry out a scheme which had darted through it. The opportunity
of posting the letters gave her just the loophole she desired. Taking
the pile from the table, she accordingly ran out of the room, and a few
minutes later was walking down the street which led to the post-office.
On her way there she met Mabel Lushington and Priscilla. They were
coming back after a long, rambling walk, and both girls were rather
tired.
"Whither away, Annie?" said Mabel in her cheerful voice.
"To post some letters for your aunt, Lady Lushington."
"But the post does not go out until the evening, and that hill is so
steep and difficult to climb, and it is almost the hour for _dejeuner_,"
objected Mabel. "Do turn back with us now, Annie; I shall so hate
waiting lunch for you."
"Oh, give me the letters if you like," said Priscilla; "I will run down
the hill in no time, and come back again as quickly. I do not mind
climbing hills in the least."
"They exhaust me frightfully," said Mabel; "and I notice, too, that
Annie gets a little out of breath when she walks up these impossible
mountains too fast. That is a good idea, really. Give Priscie the
letters, Annie, and come home with me; I want to talk to you."
"No, I can't," said Annie. "I must post them myself; they are
important."
She darted away, pretending not to notice Mabel's flushed, indignant
face and Priscilla's look of grave surprise. She reached the
post-office and dropped all the letters she had written, except that one
to Mrs Priestley, into the box. Mrs Priestley's letter she kept safely
in her pocket.
"This must be delayed for perhaps a couple of days," thought Annie. "In
the meantime I shall have to talk to May. What a mercy," was her next
reflection, "that I was given the writing of the letter, and also the
posting of it! Oh dear, dear! I think I can almost manage anything. I
am sure May ought to be obliged to me, and so ought that tiresome
Priscie. I would do anything for dear old May; but as to Priscie, I get
more sick of her each minute. If only Lady Lushington would send her
back to England I should feel safer. She is just the sort of girl who
would wind herself to a grand confession, never caring how she dragged
the rest of us into the mire with her. She is just precisely that sort
of detestable martyr being. But she sha'n't spoil my fun, or May's fun
either, if we can help it."
Annie appeared at lunch just a wee bit late, but looking remarkably
pretty, and apologising in the most amiable tones for her unavoidable
delay.
"I am not very good at hills," she explained to Lady Lushington. "They
always set my heart beating rather badly. But never mind; the letters
are posted and off our minds."
"One of those letters is by no means off my mind," said Lady Lushington
in a fierce tone, and glancing with reproachful eyes at Mabel. Annie
bent towards her and said in a whisper (she could not be heard by Mabel
and Priscilla as some servants came up at the moment to present dishes
to the two young ladies):--
"Please say _nothing_ before Priscilla, I beg of you."
The voice was so earnest and so sympathetic, and the little face looked
so appealing, that Lady Lushington patted the small white hand.
Priscilla's voice, however, was now heard:
"It was a great pity, Annie, that you did run so fast to the post and
then toil up that steep hill, for I offered to go for you; and besides,
the English post does not leave before five o'clock."
Annie felt furious, but replied in her meekest voice:
"I felt responsible for dear Lady Lushington's letters."
Nothing more was said on the subject during lunch, and afterwards the
ladies went off on a long expedition up into the mountains with some
other friends whose acquaintance they had made in the hotel.
It was not until that evening, when they were going to bed, that Mabel
heard a light tap at her door, and the next moment Annie, in her pretty
blue dressing-gown, with her fair hair falling about her shoulders and a
brush in her hand, entered.
"Have you time for a talk with poor little me, and has Priscie gone to
bed?"
"Dear me! yes," said Mabel. "Priscilla has been in bed and asleep an
hour ago. Come in, Annie, of course. I am dead with sleep myself, and
if Aunt Hennie knew she might be annoyed. Now, what is it you want?"
Annie took the letter addressed to Mrs Priestley out of her pocket.
"To talk to you about this," she said, and she sat calmly down on a
chair and faced her tall companion. Mabel was also in the act of
brushing out her luxuriant hair, and looked as handsome a creature as
could be found anywhere, in her long, flowing, white dressing-gown.
When she read the address on the letter her eyes darkened and some of
the colour left her cheeks.
"Are you writing to Mrs Priestley?" she said. "What about?"
"I wrote that letter to-day," said Annie, "to Lady Lushington's
dictation. The account has come in; total amount seventy pounds. Lady
Lushington is furious. I told her all the lies I could, dear Mabel,
about the dresses you had _never_ got, and in the end I managed to avert
the evil day by asking Mrs Priestley to send the items. That satisfied
Lady Lushington for the time. You will understand now why I could not
accept Priscilla's offer to post the letters, because I happened to have
this one in my hand and did not wish it to _go_. It must not go for a
day or two. In the meantime we must do something."
"What--what?" said Mabel. "Oh Annie, I am so frightened! I knew quite
well that you would get me into an awful scrape about this. What is to
be done? Nothing will ever make Aunt Hennie believe that I spent
seventy pounds on my dress during my last term at school. I know she is
very generous about money, but she is also careful and particular. You
will see; I know her so well, Annie; and she will just get into a real
passion about this and write to Mrs Lyttelton, and Mrs Lyttelton will go
to see Mrs Priestley, and--"
"Oh, I know," said Annie, trembling a good deal. "But that must never
be allowed."
"How are we to manage?" said Mabel. "Annie, we must do something;" and
she dropped on her knees by her companion's side and took one of her
hands. "You came out here on purpose to help me," she said. "You knew
that I should get into trouble, and you said you would find a way out."
"Am not I trying to with all my might and main?" said Annie.
"Well, but are you succeeding? I cannot see that keeping back that
letter means much. Aunt Hennie will expect an answer, and--and--wire
for it; she will really, if it does not come within a specified time;
and she will give me such a talking to. Why, Annie, if the thing is
discovered I shall be sent back to school--I know I shall--at the end of
the holidays, and poor Priscie's prospects will be ruined, and--and--you
will be disgraced--"
"We all three will be disgraced for ever and ever," said Annie; "there
is no doubt on that point. That is what makes the thing so terribly
important. Something must be done, and at once--at once!"
"But, Annie, what?"
"I have a little scheme in my head; if you will keep up your courage and
help me I believe we shall be successful."
"But what is it? Oh, do tell me! Oh, I am so terrified!"
"The first thing we must be positive about is this," said Annie:
"Priscilla is to know nothing."
"Of course not," said Mabel. "Mabel, I do wish we could get her back to
England; she is so tiresome and in the way, and I have a great fear in
my head about her."
"What is that? She is harmless enough, poor thing! Only, of course,
she does look such a dowd. But, then, Aunt Henrietta has taken such a
fancy to her."
"Oh, you are absolutely quite mistaken about that. Your aunt took a
fancy to her on the first night because she spoke in rather an original
way and, I suppose, looked handsome, which she does occasionally; and
your aunt is very easily impressed by anything that she considers rather
fine. But I assure you that it is my private opinion that she is sick
of Priscilla by this time, and also rather ashamed of her appearance.
Priscilla has no tact whatever--simply none. When does she help your
aunt? When does she do anything to oblige others? She just flops about
and looks so _gauche_ and awkward."
"Well, poor thing! she can't help that. With Susan Martin as her
dressmaker what chance has she?"
"She is just an oddity," said Annie; "and it is my impression that your
aunt is tired of oddities. I can make her a little more tired, and I
will."
"Oh Annie! Poor Priscie! and she does enjoy the mountain air so, and is
such a splendid climber. You might as well let her have her holiday
out. You are so frightfully clever, Annie; you can always achieve your
purpose. But I think, if I were you, I would let poor old Priscie
alone."
"I would if there were no danger," said Annie.
"Danger--in her direction? What _do_ you mean?"
"There is very grave danger," said Annie--"very grave indeed. I am more
afraid about Priscie than about anything else in the whole of this most
unfortunate affair."
"Annie, what _do_ you mean?"
"She is troubled with a conscience, bless you! and that conscience is
talking to her every day and every night. Why, my dear Mabel, you can
see the gnawings of self-reproach in her eyes and in her horrid
melancholy manner. She is always in a dream, too, and starting up and
having to shake herself when one talks to her suddenly. I know well
what it means; she is on the verge of a confession."
"What?" said Mabel.
"Yes, that is the danger we have to apprehend; at least it is one of the
dangers. One day, for the sake of relieving her own miserable
conscience, she will go to your aunt and tell her everything. Then
where shall we be?"
"But she could not be so frightfully mean; I never, never would believe
it of her."
"Mark my words," said Annie--"people with consciences, who believe they
have committed a crime or a sin, never think of anybody but themselves.
The thought of relieving their own miserable natures is the only thought
that occurs to them. Now, we must get hold of that conscience of
Priscie's, and if it is going to be a stumbling-block we must cart her
back to England."
"We must indeed," said Mabel. "For all that I say I don't believe that
she could be so mean."
"Oh, nonsense," said Annie; "I know better." Mabel crouched on the
floor by Annie's side, her hand lying on Annie's lap.
"You are wonderful," she said after a pause, "quite wonderful. I can't
imagine how you think of all these things, and of course you are never
wrong. Still--poor Priscie! you won't make things very hard for her,
Annie, will you?"
"I know exactly what I mean to do," said Annie. "First of all I have to
get you out of your present scrape, and then I shall go boldly to
Priscie and find out her pent-up thoughts, and if they are in the
direction I am fearing, I shall soon find means to protect ourselves
from her and her conscience. But perhaps that is enough about her. On
the present occasion we have got to think of you and Mrs Priestley."
"Oh, indeed, yes! Oh, I am terrified!"
"Listen to me. But for my management at lunch to-day, Lady Lushington
was so indignant that she would have blurted out the whole thing and
asked you what you meant by running up such an outrageous bill. You
would have given yourself away on the spot, for you have no presence of
mind in an emergency. Now I am preparing you. Lady Lushington will
speak to you to-morrow, and you are faithfully to describe the dresses
that I have, told her you possess. Oh, I know you have not got them at
all, but that does not matter; I will give you a list of them in the
morning, and you are to hold to that list. But now, listen. This is
the main point. At the same time you are to assure your aunt that Mrs
Priestley has made a mistake and put down some one else's dresses to
you, for you are positive your bill is nearer forty pounds than
seventy."
"Then how in the world am I to pay the thirty pounds to Mrs Priestley?"
"I am coming to that. There is a lovely, lovely necklace in one of
those shops full of articles of _vertu_ in the town. It is worth, I
know for a fact from fifty to sixty pounds; but I think your aunt could
get it for forty. Now I want you to coax her to give it to you."
"Oh Annie, what _is_ the use? Is it likely that Aunt Henrietta, when
she is so furious with me about a bill at my dressmaker's, would spend
forty pounds on one necklace just for me?"
"She is absolutely certain to do it if you manage her rightly; and I
will help you. The necklace is a great bargain even at forty pounds.
It is of real old pearls in a wonderful silver setting. Now a beautiful
old necklace, once the property of a French marquise, which can be
bought for forty pounds is a bargain. Lady Lushington loves making
bargains. You must secure it."
"Well, Annie, even if I do get it--and I am sure I do not care a bit for
the old thing at the present moment--what am I to do with it?"
"You are a stupid, May; you really are. Your aunt, Lady Lushington,
will go with you, and probably with me, to the shop. We must take her
there early for fear that some one else snaps up the bargain. She will
buy the necklace and give it to you. She will tell you to be careful of
it, and then, according to her way, she will forget all about it."
"Yes, perhaps so; but still, I do not see daylight."
"Well, I do," said Annie. "We will sell the necklace at another shop
for thirty pounds, and send the money immediately to Mrs Priestley. At
the same time I will write her a long letter and tell her that she must
take thirty pounds off her bill, and apologise for having, owing to a
press of customers, put some one else's account to yours. Thus all will
be right. Your aunt Hennie will not object to paying forty pounds for
your school dresses, so that will be settled; and we may be able to get
a little more than thirty pounds for the pearl necklace, and thus have
some funds in hand towards Mrs Lyttelton's Christmas school bill."
"Oh," said Mabel, "it is awful--awful! Really, I sometimes think my
head will give way under the strain. Of course it may succeed; but
there are so many `ifs.' Suppose the man to whom we are selling the
necklace shows it in his window the next day; what will Aunt Henrietta
say then?"
"You goose!" replied Annie. "We shall be in Zermatt by then; and I will
make an arrangement with the shopman to keep the necklace out of the
window until we are off. Now I have everything as clear as daylight.
You must coax and coax as you know how for the beautiful necklace, and
you must get your aunt Henrietta, if possible, to pay forty pounds for
it. That is the only thing to be done, but it just needs tact and
resource. I shall be present with my tact and resource. I will allow
you to be alone with your aunt to-morrow morning, and then, when I think
she has scolded you long enough, I will come innocently into the room,
and you must start the subject of the necklace; then trust to me for the
rest. Mrs Priestley is asked in this letter, which will never go--for
the one with the thirty pounds will take its place--to send the full
items of her account to Zermatt. She will do so; and your aunt will be
so much in love with you for your economy, and so full of remorse at
having accused you of extravagance, that she will probably give you
another necklace when there, which one you can keep. The main thing,
however, is to get through this little business to-morrow. Now go to
bed and to sleep, May Flower, and never say again that your Annie does
not help you out of scrapes."