THE GREAT CHARADE.
Mrs Macintyre was more vexed, more hurt, more annoyed than she could
possibly express. She had been willing--indeed, under the
circumstances, only too glad--to send sulky Leucha to The Garden; but
Leucha's unexpected return on the evening when the animal charade was
to be acted put her out considerably. She saw at a glance that Leucha
was unrepentant; that whereas Hollyhock was more than ready to forgive,
Leucha belonged to the unforgiving of the earth. Being herself a fine,
brave woman, Mrs Macintyre had little or no sympathy for so small and
mean a nature.
Of course, she regretted Hollyhock's practical joke; but then Hollyhock
had so abundantly made up for it by her subsequent conduct, and was
even now the soul of love and pity for the desolate, deserted,
obstinate girl.
Mrs Macintyre felt that she could not altogether side with Hollyhock,
but she had no intention of interfering with the charade because
Leucha, in her weak obstinacy, chose to return to the school on that
special day. She determined, however, to speak to the girl, and to
tell her very plainly what she thought about her and her conduct.
Leucha was in her pretty bedroom, where a bright fire was blazing, for
the weather was now intensely cold. She was alone, quite alone, all
the other girls in the school, both the actors and those who were to
look on, being far to busy to attend to her. She took up a book
languidly and pretended to read. She had already read the said book.
It was one of Sir Walter Scott's great novels. But Leucha hated Sir
Walter Scott; she hated his dialect, his long descriptions; she was not
interested even in this marvellous work of his, _Ivanhoe_, and lay back
in her easy-chair with her eyes half shut and her mind halt asleep.
There came a sharp, short knock at her door. It roused Leucha to say,
'Who's there?'
'It's me, Magsie, please, miss,' replied a voice.
Leucha muttered something which Magsie took for 'Come in.' She entered
the luxurious chamber.
'You are called, Lady Leucha, to the mistress on business immediate and
most important. You are to go to her at once. My certie! but you are
comfortable here.'
'Are you speaking of Mrs Macintyre?' inquired Leucha.
'I am--the head-mistress of the school herself.'
'Say I will come, and leave my room at once yourself,' said Leucha.
'You had best no keep _her_ waitin' long, I 'm thinkin'. It's no her
fashion to be kept waitin' when she gives forth her royal commands. In
the Palace of the Kings she 's like a royal lady, and you dare not keep
her waitin'.'
Magsie had now a most violent hatred for Leucha, having helped
Hollyhock to nurse her through her illness, and being far more
concerned for her own young lady than for that miserable thing, who had
not the courage of a mouse.
'You had best be quick,' said Magsie now; and she went out of the room
noisily, slamming the door with some violence after her. 'I don't
think I ever saw so wicked a girl,' thought Magsie to herself.
The wicked girl in question thought, however, that prudence was the
better part of valour, and went downstairs without delay to Mrs
Macintyre's beautiful private sitting-room. She looked cross; she
looked sulky; she looked, in short, all that a poor jealous nature
could look, and there was not a trace of repentance about her.
Mrs Macintyre heaved an inward sigh. Outwardly her manner was
exceedingly cold and at the same time determined.
'I have sent for you, Leucha Villiers,' she said, 'to ask you if you
now intend to restore peace and harmony to the school.'
'What do you mean, Mrs Macintyre?' said Leucha.
'My child, you know quite well what I mean. Your dear and noble young
friend'----
'I don't know of any such,' interrupted Leucha.
'Then you have a lamentably short memory, Leucha,' said Mrs Macintyre,
'or it could not have passed from your mind--the weary nights and long
days when that brave young girl devoted herself to you.'
'You mean that naughty Hollyhock, of course--the one who played on me
that wicked, wicked joke. A nice school this is, indeed.'
'Leucha, I forbid you to speak in that tone to your head-mistress. I
acknowledge that Hollyhock did wrong; but, oh, how humbly, how
thoroughly, she has repented! I fully admit that she had no right to
dress up Meg Drummond as a ghost and to frighten such a nervous, silly
girl as you are; but afterwards, when she saw the effect, who could
have been more noble than Hollyhock; who could have nursed you with
more splendid care, and--and _loved_ you, Leucha--you, who are _not_
popular in the school?'
'I don't care! I won't stay here long,' muttered Leucha. 'If you
think I am going to eat humble pie to that Hollyhock, you are mistaken,
Mrs Macintyre.'
Mrs Macintyre was silent for a moment; then she spoke.
'I am sorry. A nobler nature would have taken the thing as a joke; but
you, alas! are the reverse of noble. You have a small nature, Leucha,
and you must struggle against it with all your might if you are to do
any good in life.'
'I am not accustomed to being spoken to in that strain,' said Leucha.
'Perhaps not; it would have been good for you if you had been. Oh, my
child, if I could but move your hard heart and show you the blessed
spirit of Love pleading for you, and the Holy Spirit full to the brim
with perfect forgiveness, stretched out even to _you_.'
'You talk to me,' said Leucha, 'exactly as if _I_ were the sinner.
It's Hollyhock, mean little scamp, who is the sinner, and yet you call
her brave and noble.'
'Hollyhock has most fully repented, and therefore is noble. I intend
always to love her as she deserves to be loved.'
'Well, I don't care,' said Leucha. 'She is nothing to me in the
future. I 'll have nothing to do with her--nothing at all.'
Again Mrs Macintyre was silent.
After another long pause she said, 'Then you will not forgive the sweet
girl, who nursed you back to life?'
'Never, never,' answered Leucha. 'Why should I be tortured in this
way?'
'My dear, I must torture you for your good. You will not grant
Hollyhock forgiveness?'
'I said before that I would _never_ do so.'
'Very well. Hollyhock is the last girl in the world who needs pleading
for; but suppose, Leucha--I don't say for a moment I shall succeed--but
_suppose_ I were to go to Hollyhock, who feels that she has done her
part and has shown her sorrow for her little childish freak in every
possible way, would you, my child, accept her words of contrition, and
when I brought her to meet you, receive her as one so noble ought to be
met?'
'No; I would turn from her with scorn. I would tell the humbug what I
think of her.'
'Then, Leucha, I have nothing further to say. I doubt if I _could_ get
Hollyhock to humble herself to this degree; but certainly, after your
last words, I shall not try. Now, you have returned to the school on
an awkward day, when a charade introducing various animals is to be
acted in the great hall. Twelve girls will play different animals, and
the crisis and crux of the whole thing will be the appearance of "poor
ghostie," which part Hollyhock will undertake herself. I warn you
beforehand that, as you are so _very_ timid in the presence of false
ghosts--for, of course, I personally do not believe in real ghosts--it
would be wise for you to remain in your bedroom, and thus keep out of
the way. I believe Hollyhock is going to do the ghost very well. I
have no desire to interfere with the games of the school. The games
teacher, Miss Kent, manages these, and your unexpected and, I must add,
_unwished-for_ return cannot stop to-night's programme. You had better
promise me, therefore, to go to your room, where one of the servants
will bring you up some supper. I really advise you for your own good,
my child, for I understand that ghost will look very awful to-night,
and you, being so terribly nervous, may not be able to bear the sight.'
Don't fear for me, Mrs Macintyre,' said Leucha. 'I 'm not quite such a
fool as you think me, and I certainly will sit in the hall with the
other girls, and, if possible, put Holly to shame.'
'That I strictly forbid,' said Mrs Macintyre. 'A game is a game; a
charade is a charade. While the acting proceeds no looker-on must
interfere except under my intense displeasure. In fact, my dear
Leucha, after what I have said, I shall write to your mother asking her
to remove you from the school, unless you promise not to make any fuss
or show any fear to-night. Go back to your room now.'
'And you really tell me, Mrs Macintyre, that the Earl of Crossways'
daughter will be dismissed from the school?'
'There will be no difficulty about that,' replied Mrs Macintyre. 'I
have six fresh girls anxious to be admitted. You are not popular; your
character does not suit us. The fact of your being Earl Crossways'
daughter has no effect in a school which is the gift of the Duke of
Ardshiel; so don't fancy it. Act sensibly, as you cannot bring
yourself to forgive, and stay in your bedroom. I am not talking
nonsense when I predict that the nerves of the strongest will be tested
to-night.'
'I refuse. You can't turn me out,' said Leucha.
'Very well,' said Mrs Macintyre. 'I have put the case fully before
you, and can do no more.'
Leucha went back to her bedroom, where she really felt very troubled
and, as a matter of fact, terribly frightened. If Meg Drummond, acting
as the ghost, had nearly sent her into the other world, what effect
could not Hollyhock produce? And Hollyhock meant to produce an effect
unknown before in the great school.
Hollyhock was roused at last. Her forgiving nature had reached its
limit. She felt naughty and wilful, and with a spice, as she expressed
it, o' the de'il stirring in her breast. She was told by one of the
girls that Mrs Macintyre's intercession with Leucha had proved all in
vain, and she determined, therefore, to make poor ghostie more terrible
in appearance than he had ever been before. She rejoiced, in fact, in
her naughty little mind at the thought of Leucha insisting on being one
of the spectators, and resolved on no account whatsoever to spare her.
The charade was to take place immediately after light supper. The
great hall was arranged for the occasion. A stage was erected at the
farther end, in the darkest and most shadowy spot. Across the stage a
great curtain was drawn, and footlights had been secured to throw up
the antics of the different animals the twelve girls were to act. One
was the kitchen cat. Daisy was to be dressed exactly to fit the part
by Miss Kent's and Hollyhock's clever contrivance. The kitchen cat
must have a poor thin body, all dressed in shabby fur of a nondescript
sort. She was to wear over her head the mask of a real cat. A long
scraggy tail was stuck on behind, which by an ingenious device could
jerk up and down and from side to side.
Daisy Watson rejoiced in her part, and had learned the miauw, the mew,
the hiss, the dash forward, the howl of rage, and the purr to
perfection. She had stalked across the stage again and again that day
as kitchen cat, each time evoking shrieks of laughter. By her side
walked a timorous dog, who looked at the kitchen cat with awe. The dog
was purposely made to imitate Leucha, and whenever this lean and ugly
brute appeared the kitchen cat said, 'Hiss-phitz-witz!' whereupon the
lean animal retired in mortal terror, his mongrel tail tucked under his
mongrel legs.
The resemblance to Leucha was really so marvellous as to be laughable,
and all the girls had declared that they would not have allowed this
beastie to appear if Leucha had been expected to be in the school. But
Leucha had come back unexpectedly, and her conduct to Hollyhock had so
roused the ire of that generally good-natured girl that she made up her
mind that no change should now take place in the programme.
Besides the ordinary cat and dog, there was one ferocious-looking beast
managed with great skill, a lion. A very tall girl in the school took
this part. The lion's mane was magnificent, his growls such as to
terrify any one. These were produced in reality by a little toy
instrument concealed in the mouth. He growled and stalked about, and
looked so like the real thing that more girls than Leucha shrank back
in alarm as he approached the frail barrier which separated the actors
from the spectators.
Who _was_ this enormous beast? Could it possibly be a _real lion_?
Then there were the wild panther, the fierce tiger, a pony, an ox, a
sheep, a goat, a pig, a long, wriggling thing to represent a snake, and
finally a most enormous cock-a-doodle-doo, who seemed to fear none of
the awful forest beasts and reptiles, but sang out his lusty crow right
heartily with all the goodwill in the world.
But the three characters who excited most mirth or fear amongst the
spell-bound spectators were, first and foremost, the kitchen cat;
second, the timorous mongrel dog; and third, the lion with his mighty
mane and terrible roar. The mongrel dog gave faint yelps and howls of
anguish whenever he was approached by the lion or the kitchen cat. The
lion made a valiant attempt, growling savagely as he did so, to
demolish the cat; but the agile cat leaped on his back, stuck her
claws, which were really crooked pins, into his hide, and sent the king
of beasts howling to a distant part of the stage. She then proceeded
to torment the mongrel dog, and to draw out, as she well knew how,
Leucha's peculiarities in the dog.
Leucha sat in the audience, rather far back, nearly stunned with
horror. Oh, the cruelty of the whole thing! Of course she recognised
Daisy; of course she recognised the caricature of herself. Oh! it was
a wicked, wicked thing to do, and she had no sympathy, and no friend
anywhere. She sat, it is true, amongst the girls, but she was not one
of them. They were absolutely yelling with laughter over the pranks of
the cat and the terror of the dog. They had never seen so fine a piece
of acting in their lives before.
One girl was heard to say distinctly to another, 'Why, if that wee
doggie is not Leucha to the life, I 'm very much mistaken;' and Leucha
heard the words and knew that the mongrel dog was meant for her, and
yet she dared not do anything. She clung to her seat in abject misery.
Suddenly the lights on the stage were lowered. They were made
strangely, weirdly dim; a kind of blue light pervaded the scene; the
different animals crouched together; and ghostie, very tall, very
skeleton-like, very fearsome, with his jet-black eyes, walked calmly
on. Oh, but he was a gruesome thing to see! There was a look of
horror on his face, and when he spoke, his words were awful.
'I have come from the bottom of the cold lake. Dry my wet locks.
Which of you all will dry my locks? The poor beasties cannot. I must
jump over the enclosure and walk among the lassies and see which of
them will dry my dripping locks!'
The blue light now pervaded all parts of the room, and the ghost went
straight up to Leucha.
'You are brave; do this favour for poor ghostie. See how my black eyes
glitter into yours! Will not one of you come forward and dry my
sleekit locks? I thought the bravest lass in the school would do it,
so I came straight to wee Leuchy; but she has turned her head aside.
What ails the lassie? What can be coming over her, and she so brave
and so noble?'
The intense sarcasm in these words caused the entire school to shriek
with laughter, in the midst of which Leucha flew to her room, vowing
that even the Duke's locket and crest would not keep her another day in
this fearful school.