A CRISIS
The Specialities had made firm rules for themselves. Their numbers were
few, for only those who could really rise to a high ideal were permitted
to join.
The head of the Specialities was Margaret Grant. It was she who first
thought of this little scheme for bringing the girls she loved best into
closer communion each with the other. She had consulted Susie Rushworth,
Fanny Crawford, Mary and Julia Bertram, and Olive Repton. Up to the
present there were no other members of the Speciality Club. These girls
managed it their own way. They had their private meetings, their earnest
conversations, and their confessions each to make to the other. They
swore eternal friendship. They had all things in common--that is,
concealments were not permitted amongst the Specialities; and the
influence of this small and apparently unimportant club did much towards
the formation of the characters of its members.
Now, as poor Fanny sat alone in her pretty room she thought, and
thought again, over what had occurred. According to the rules of the
club to which she belonged, she ought to consult the other girls with
regard to what the Vivians had done. _The_ great rule of the
Specialities was "No secrets." Each must know all that the others knew.
Never before in the annals of the school had there been a secret of such
importance--in short, such a horrible secret--to divulge. Fanny made up
her mind that she could not do it.
There was to be a great meeting of the Specialities on the following
evening. They usually met in each other's bedrooms, taking the task of
offering hospitality turn and turn about. At these little social
gatherings they had cocoa, tempting cakes, and chocolate creams; here
they laughed and chatted, sometimes having merely a merry evening, at
others discussing gravely the larger issues of life. Fanny was the one
who was to entertain the Specialities on the following evening, and she
made preparations accordingly. Sir John had brought her a particularly
tempting cake from Buzzard's, a couple of pounds of the best chocolate
creams, a tin of delicious cocoa, and, last but not least, a beautiful
little set of charming cups and saucers and tiny plates, and real silver
spoons, also little silver knives. Notwithstanding her grief at parting
from her father, Fanny was delighted with her present. Hitherto there
had been no attempt at style in these brief meetings of the friends. But
Fanny's next entertainment was to be done properly.
There was no secret about these gatherings. Miss Symes had been told
that these special girls wanted to meet once a week between nine and ten
o'clock in their respective bedrooms. She had carried the information to
Mrs. Haddo, who had immediately given the desired permission, telling
the girls that they might hold their meeting until the great bell rang
for chapel. Prayers were always read at a quarter to ten in the
beautiful chapel belonging to Haddo Court, but only the girls of the
upper school attended in the evening. Fanny would have been in the
highest spirits to-night were it not for the Vivians, were it not for
the consciousness that she was in possession of a secret--a really
terrible secret--which she must not tell to her companions. Yes, she
must break her rule; she must not tell.
She lay down on her bed at last and fell asleep, feeling tired and very
miserable. She was horrified at Betty's conduct with regard to the
little packet, and could not feel a particle of sympathy for the other
girls in the matter.
It was soon after midnight on that same eventful night. The great clock
over the stables had struck twelve, and sweet chimes had come from the
other clock in the little tower of the chapel. The whole house was
wrapped in profound slumber. Even Mrs. Haddo had put away all cares, and
had laid her head on her pillow; even the Rev. Edmund Fairfax and his
wife had put out the lights in their special wing of the Court, and had
gone to sleep.
It was shortly after the clocks had done their midnight work that Betty
Vivian raised herself very slowly and cautiously on her elbow, and
touched Sylvia on her low, white forehead. The little girl started,
opened her eyes, and was about to utter an exclamation when Betty
whispered, "Don't make a sound, silly Sylvia! It's only me--Betty. I
want you to get very wide awake. And now you are wide awake, aren't
you?"
"Yes, oh yes," said Sylvia; "but I don't know where I am. Oh yes, of
course I remember; I am in----"
"You are in prison!" whispered Betty back to her. "Now, lie as still as
a statue while I waken Hester."
Soon the two little sisters were wide awake.
"Now, both of you creep very softly into my bed. We can all squeeze up
together if we try hard."
"Lovely, darlingest Betty!" whispered Sylvia.
"You are nice, Bet!" exclaimed Hester.
"Now I want to speak," said Betty. "You know the packet?"
The two younger girls squeezed Betty's hands by way of answer.
"You know how _she_ spoke to-night?"
Another squeeze of Betty's hands, a squeeze which was almost ferocious
this time.
"Do you think," continued Betty, "that she is going to have her way, and
we are going to give it up to her?"
"Of course not," said Sylvia.
"I might," said Betty--"I _might_ have asked Mrs. Haddo to look after it
for me; but never now--never! Girls, we've got to bury it!"
"Oh Bet!" whispered Sylvia.
"We can't!" said Hester with a sort of little pant.
"We can, and we will," said Betty. "I've thought it all out. I am going
to bury it my own self this very minute."
"Betty, how--where? Betty, what do you mean?"
"You must help me," said Betty. "First of all, I am going to get up and
put on my thick skirt of black serge. I won't make a sound, for that
creature Fan sleeps next door. Lie perfectly still where you are while I
am getting ready."
The girls obeyed. It was fearfully exciting, lying like this almost in
the dark; for there was scarcely any moon, and the dim light in the
garden could hardly be called light at all. Betty moved mysteriously
about the room, and presently came up to her two sisters.
"Now, you do exactly what you are told."
"Yes, Betty, we will."
"I am going, first of all," said Betty, "to fetch the little spade."
"Oh Bet, you'll wake the house!"
"No," said Betty. She moved towards the door. She was a very observant
girl, and had noticed that no door creaked in that well-conducted
mansion, that no lock was out of order. She managed to open the door of
her bedroom without making the slightest sound. She managed to creep
upstairs and reach the Vivian attic. She found the little spade and
brought it down again. She re-entered the beautiful big bedroom and
closed the door softly.
"Here's the spade!" she whispered to her sisters. "Did you hear me
move?"
"No, Bet. Oh, you are wonderful!"
"Now," said Betty, "we must take the sheets off our three beds. The
three top sheets will do. Sylvia, begin to knot the sheets together.
Make the knots very strong, and be quick about it."
Sylvia obeyed without a word.
"Hester, come and help me," said Betty now. She took the other twin's
hand and led her to one of the French windows. The window happened to be
a little open, for the night was a very warm and balmy one. Betty pushed
it wider open, and the next minute she was standing on the balcony.
"Go back," she whispered, speaking to Hester, "and bring Sylvia out with
the sheets!"
In a very short time Sylvia appeared, dragging what looked like a
tangled white rope along with her.
"Now, then," said Betty, "you've got to let me down to the ground by
means of these sheets. I am a pretty good weight, you know, and you
mustn't drop me; for if you did I might break my leg or something, and
that would be horrid. You two have got to hold one end of these knotted
sheets as firmly as ever you can, and not let go on any account. Now,
then--here goes!"
The next instant Betty had clutched hold of one of the sheets herself,
and had climbed over the somewhat high parapet of the balcony. A minute
later, still firmly holding the white rope, she was gradually letting
herself down to the ground, hand over hand. By-and-by she reached the
bottom. When she did this she held up both hands, which the girls, as
they watched her from above, could just see. She was demanding the
little spade. Sylvia flung it on the soft grass which lay beneath. Betty
put her hand, making a sort of trumpet of it, round her lips, and
whispered up, "Stay where you are till I return."
She then marched off into the shrubbery. She was absent for about twenty
minutes, during which time both Sylvia and Hetty felt exceedingly cold.
She then came back, fastened the little spade securely into the broad
belt of her dress, and, aided by her sisters, pulled herself up and up,
and so on to the balcony once more.
The three girls re-entered the bedroom. Not a soul in that great house
had heard them, or seen them, or knew anything about their adventure.
"It is quite safe now--poor, beautiful darling!" whispered Betty.
"Girls, we must smooth out these sheets; they _do_ look rather dragged.
And now we'll get straight into bed."
"I am very cold," said Sylvia.
"You'll be warm again in a minute," replied Betty; "and what does a
little cold matter when I have saved _It_? No, I am not going to tell
you where it is; just because it's safer, dear, dearest, for you not to
know."
"Yes, it's safer," said Sylvia.
The three sisters lay down again. By slow degrees warmth returned to the
half-frozen limbs of the poor little twins, and they dropped asleep. But
Betty lay awake--warm, excited, triumphant.
"I've managed things now," she thought; "and if every girl in the school
asks me if I have a little packet, and if every teacher does likewise,
I'll be able truthfully to say 'No.'"
Early the next morning Mrs. Haddo announced her intention to take the
Vivians to London. School-work was in full swing that day; and Susie,
Margaret, Olive, and the other members of the Specialities rather envied
the Vivians when they saw them driving away in Mrs. Haddo's most elegant
landau to the railway station.
Sibyl Ray openly expressed her sentiments on the occasion. She turned to
her companion, who was standing near. "I must say, and I may as well say
it first as last, that I do not understand your adorable Mrs. Haddo. Why
should she make such a fuss over common-looking girls like those?"
"Do you call the Vivians common-looking girls?" was Martha West's
response.
"Of course I do, and even worse. Why, judging from their dress, they
might have come out of a laborer's cottage."
"Granted," replied Martha; "but then," she added, "they have something
else, each of them, better than dress."
"Oh, if you begin to talk in enigmas I for one shall cease to be your
friend," answered Sibyl. "What have they got that is so wonderful?"
"It was born in them," replied Martha. "If you can't see it for
yourself, Sibyl, I am not able to show it to you."
Mrs. Haddo took the girls to London and gave them a very good day. It is
true they spent a time which seemed intolerably long to Betty in having
pretty white blouses and smartly made skirts and neat little jackets
fitted on. They spent a still more intolerable time at the dressmaker's
in being measured for soft, pretty evening-dresses. They went to a
hairdresser, who cut their very thick hair and tied it with broad black
ribbon. They next went to a milliner and had several hats tried on. They
went to a sort of all-round shop, where they bought gloves, boots, and
handkerchiefs innumerable, and some very soft black cashmere and even
black silk stockings. Oh, but _they_ didn't care; they thought the
whole time wasted. Nevertheless they submitted, and with a certain
grace; for was not the precious packet safe--so safe that no one could
possibly discover its whereabouts? And was not Betty feeling her queer,
sensitive heart expanding more and more under Mrs. Haddo's kind
influence?
"Now, my dears," said that good lady, "we will go back to Miss Watts the
dressmaker at three o clock; but we have still two hours to spare.
During that time we'll have a little lunch, for I am sure you must be
hungry; and afterwards I will take you to the Wallace Collection, which
I think you will enjoy."
"What's a collection?" asked Sylvia.
"There are some rooms not far from here where beautiful things are
collected--pictures and other lovely things of all sorts and
descriptions. I think that you, at least, Betty, will love to look at
them."
Betty afterwards felt, deep down in her heart, that this whole day was a
wonderful dream. She was starvingly hungry, to begin with, and enjoyed
the excellent lunch that Mrs. Haddo ordered at the confectioners. She
felt a sense of curious joy and fear as she looked at one or two of the
great pictures in the Wallace Collection, and so excited and uplifted
was she altogether that she scarcely noticed when they returned to the
shops and the coarse, ugly black serges were exchanged for pretty coats
and skirts of the finest cloth, for neat little white blouses, for
pretty shoes and fine stockings. She did not even object to the hat,
which, with its plume of feathers, gave a look of distinction to her
little face. She was not elated over her fine clothes, neither was she
annoyed about them.
"Now, Miss Watts," said Mrs. Haddo in a cheerful tone, "you will hurry
with the rest of the young ladies' things, and send them to me as soon
as ever you can. I shall want their evening-dresses, without fail, by
the beginning of next week."
They all went down into the street. Sylvia found herself casting shy
glances at Betty. It seemed to her that her sister was changed--that she
scarcely knew her. Dress did not make such a marked difference in
Hetty's appearance; but Hetty too looked a different girl.
"And now we are going to the Zoological Gardens," said Mrs. Haddo,
"where we may find some spiders like Dickie, and where you will see all
sorts of wonderful creatures."
"Oh Mrs. Haddo!" exclaimed Betty.
They spent an hour or two in that place so fascinating for children, and
arrived back at Haddo Court just in time for supper.
"We have had a happy day, have we not?" said Mrs. Haddo, looking into
Betty's face and observing the brightness of her eyes.
"Very happy, and it was you who gave it to us," answered the girl.
"And to-morrow," continued Mrs. Haddo, "must be just as happy--just as
happy--because lessons will begin; and to an intelligent and clever girl
there is nothing in the world so delightful as a difficulty conquered
and knowledge acquired."
That evening, when the Vivian girls entered the room where supper was
served, every girl in the upper school turned to look at them. The
change in their appearance was at once complete and arresting. They
walked well by nature. They were finely made girls, and had not a scrap
of self-consciousness.
"Oh, I say, Fan," whispered Susie in her dear friend's ear, "your
cousins will boss the whole school if this sort of thing goes on. To be
frank with you, Fan, I have fallen in love with that magnificent Betty
myself. There is nothing I wouldn't do for her."
"You ought not to whisper in English, ought you?" was Fanny's very
significant response, uttered in the German tongue.
Susie shrugged her shoulders. The Specialities generally sat close to
each other; and she looked down the table now, and saw that Margaret,
and the Bertrams, and Olive Repton were equally absorbed in watching the
Vivian girls. Nothing more was said about them, however; and when the
meal came to an end Miss Symes took them away with her, to give them
brief directions with regard to their work for the morrow. She also
supplied them with a number of new books, which Betty received with
rapture, for she adored reading, and hitherto had hardly been able to
indulge in it. Miss Symes tried to explain to the girls something of the
school routine; and she showed each girl her own special desk in the
great schoolroom, where she could keep her school-books, and her
different papers, pens, pencils, ink, etc.
"I cannot tell until to-morrow what forms you will be in, my dears; but
I think Betty will probably have a good deal to do with me in her daily
tuition; whereas you, Sylvia, and you, Hester, will be under the charge
of Miss Oxley. I must introduce you to Miss Oxley to-morrow morning. And
now you would like, I am sure, to go to bed. Mrs. Haddo says that you
needn't attend prayers to-night, for you have had a long and tiring day;
so you may go at once to your room."
The girls thanked Miss Symes, and went. They heard voices busily
conversing in Fanny's room--eager voices, joined to occasional peals of
merry laughter. But they were too tired, too sleepy, and, it may be
added, too happy, to worry themselves much over these matters. They were
very quickly in bed and sound asleep.
Meanwhile Fanny was much enjoying the unstinted praise which her friends
were bestowing on the beautiful tea-set which her father had given her.
"Oh, but it is perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Olive. "Why, Fan, you are in
luck; it's real old Crown Derby!"
"Yes," said Fanny; "I thought it was. Whenever father does a thing he
does it well."
"We'll be almost afraid to drink out of it, Fanny!" exclaimed Julia
Bertram. "Fancy, if I were to drop one of those little jewels of cups!
Don't the colors just sparkle on them! Oh, if I were to drop it, and it
got broken, I don't think I'd ever hold up my head again!"
"Well, dear Julia, don't drop it," said Fanny, "and then you will feel
all right."
Cocoa was already prepared; the rich cake graced the center of the
board; the chocolate creams were certainly in evidence; and the girls
clustered round, laughing and talking. Fanny was determined to choke
back that feeling of uneasiness which had worried her during the whole
of that day. She could not tell the Specialities what her cousins had
done; she could not--she would not. There must be a secret between them.
She who belonged to a society of whom each member had to vow not to have
a secret from any other member, was about to break her vow.
The girls were in high spirits to-night, and in no mood to talk
"sobersides," as Mary Bertram sometimes called their graver discussions.
But when the little meal of cocoa and cake had come to an end, Margaret
said, "I want to make a proposal."
"Hush! hush! Let the oracle speak!" cried Olive, her pretty face beaming
with mirth.
"Oh Olive, don't be so ridiculous!" said Margaret. "You know perfectly
well I am no oracle; but I have a notion in my head. It is this: why
should not those splendid-looking girls, the Vivians, join the
Specialities? They did look rather funny, I will admit, yesterday; but
even then one could see that clothes matter little or nothing to them.
But now that they're dressed like the rest of us, they give distinction
to the whole school. I don't think I ever saw a face like Betty's. Fan,
you, of course, will second my proposal that Betty Vivian, even if her
sisters are too young, should be asked to become a Speciality?"
Fanny felt that she was turning very pale. Susie Rushworth gazed at her
in some wonder.
"I propose," exclaimed Margaret Grant, "that Miss Betty Vivian shall be
invited to join our society and to become a Speciality. I further
propose that we ask her to join our next meeting, which takes place this
day week, and is, by the way, held in my room. Now, who will second my
suggestion?"
"You will, of course, Fan," said Susie. "Betty is your cousin, so you
are the right person to second Margaret's wish."
Fanny's face grew yet paler. After a minute she said, "Just because
Betty is my cousin I would rather some one else seconded Margaret
Grant's proposal."
All the girls looked at her in astonishment.
"Very well; I second it," responded Susie.
"Girls," said Margaret, "will you all agree? Those who do _not_ agree,
please keep their hands down. Those who _do_ agree, please hold up
hands. Now, then, is Betty Vivian to be invited to join the
Specialities? Which has it--the 'ayes' or the 'noes'?"
All the girls' hands, with one exception, were eagerly raised in favor
of Betty Vivian. Fanny sat very still, her hands locked one inside the
other in her lap. Something in her attitude and in the expression of her
face caused each of her companions to gaze at her in extreme wonder.
"Why, Fanny, what is the meaning of this?" asked Margaret.
"I cannot explain myself," said Fanny.
"Cannot--and you a Speciality! Don't you know that we have no secrets
from one another?"
"That is true," said Fanny, speaking with a great effort. "Well, then,
I will explain myself. I would rather Betty Vivian did not join our
club."
"But why, dear--why?"
"Yes, Fanny, why?" echoed Susie.
"What ridiculous nonsense you are talking!" cried Olive Repton.
"The most striking-looking girl I ever saw!" said Julia Bertram. "Why,
Fan, what is your reason for this?"
"Call it jealousy if you like," said Fanny; "call it any name under the
sun, only don't worry me about it."
As she spoke she rose deliberately and left the room, her companions
looking after her in amazement.
"What does this mean?" said Julia.
"I can't understand it a bit," said Margaret. Then she added after a
pause, "I suppose, girls, you fully recognize that the Speciality Club
is supposed to be a club without prejudice or favor, and that, as the
'ayes' have carried the day, Miss Betty Vivian is to be invited to
join?"
"Of course she must be invited to join," replied Susie; "but it is very
unpleasant all the same. I cannot make out what can ail Fanny Crawford.
She hasn't been a bit herself since those girls arrived."
The Specialities chatted a little longer together, but the meeting was
not convivial. Fanny's absence prevented its being so; and very soon the
girls broke up, leaving the pretty cups and saucers and the remains of
the feast behind them. The chapel bell rang for prayers, and they all
trooped in. But Fanny Crawford was not present. This, in itself, was
almost without precedent, for girls were not allowed to miss prayers
without leave.
As each Speciality laid her head on her pillow that night she could not
but reflect on Fanny's strange behavior, and wondered much what it
meant. As to Fanny herself, she lay awake for hours. Some of the girls
and some of the mistresses thought that she was grieving for her father;
but, as a matter of fact, she was not even thinking of him. Every
thought of her mind was concentrated on what she called her present
dilemma. It was almost morning before the tired girl fell asleep.
At half-past six on the following day the great gong sounded through the
entire upper school. Betty started up in some amazement, her sisters in
some alarm.
By-and-by a kind-looking woman, dressed as a sort of housekeeper or
upper servant, entered the room. "Can I help you to dress, young
ladies?" she said.
The girls replied in the negative. They had always dressed themselves.
"Very well," replied the woman. "Then I will come to fetch you in
half-an-hour's time, so that you will be ready for prayers in chapel."
Perhaps Betty Vivian never, as long as she lived, forgot that first day
when she stood with her sisters in the beautiful little chapel and heard
the Reverend Edmund Fairfax read prayers. He was a delicate,
refined-looking man, with a very intellectual face and a beautiful
voice. Mrs. Haddo had begged of him to accept the post of private
chaplain to her great school for many reasons. First, because his health
was delicate; second, because she knew she could pay him well; and also,
for the greatest reason of all, because she was quite sure that Mr.
Fairfax could help her girls in moments of difficulty in their spiritual
life, should such moments arise.
Prayers came to an end; breakfast came to an end. The Vivians passed a
very brisk examination with some credit. As Miss Symes had predicted,
Betty was put into her special form, in which form Susie Rushworth and
Fanny Crawford also had their places. The younger Vivians were allowed
to remain in the upper school, but were in much lower forms. Betty took
to her work as happily (to use a well-known expression) as a duck takes
to water. Her eyes were bright with intelligence while she listened to
Miss Symes, who could teach so charmingly and could impart knowledge in
such an attractive way.
In the middle of the morning there was the usual brief period when the
girls might go out and amuse themselves for a short time. Betty wanted
to find her sisters; but before she could attempt to seek for them she
felt a hand laid on her arm, and, glancing round, saw that Fanny
Crawford was by her side.
"Betty," said Fanny, "I want to speak to you, and at once. We have only
a very few minutes; will you, please, listen?"
"Is it really important?" asked Betty. "For, if it is not, I do want to
say something to Sylvia. She forgot to give Dickie his raw meat this
morning."
"Oh, aren't you just hopeless!" exclaimed Fanny. "You think of that
terrible spider when--when----Oh, I don't know what to make of you!"
"And I don't know what to make of you, Fanny!" retorted Betty. "What are
you excited about? What is the matter?"
"Listen!--do listen!" said Fanny.
"Well, I am listening; but you really must be quick in getting out
whatever's troubling you."
"You have heard of the Specialities, haven't you?" said Fanny.
"Good gracious, no!" exclaimed Betty. "The Specialities--what are they?"
"There is nothing _what_ about them. They are people--girls; they are
not things."
"Oh, girls! What a funny name to give girls! I haven't heard of them,
Fanny."
"You won't be long at Haddo Court without hearing a great deal about
them," remarked Fanny. "I am one, and so is Susie Rushworth, and so are
the Bertrams, and so is that handsome girl Margaret Grant. You must
have noticed her; she is so dark and tall and stately. And so, also, is
dear little Olive Repton----"
"And so is--and so is--and so is--" laughed Betty, putting on her most
quizzical manner.
"You must listen to me. The Specialities--oh, they're not like any other
girls in the school, and it's the greatest honor in the world to be
asked to belong to them. Betty, it's this way. Margaret Grant is the
sort of captain of the club--I don't know how to express it exactly; but
she is our head, our chief--and she has taken a fancy to you; and last
night we had a meeting in my bedroom----"
"Oh, that was what the row was about!" exclaimed Betty. "If we hadn't
been hearty sleepers and girls straight from the Scotch moors, you would
have given us a very bad night."
"Never mind about that. Margaret Grant proposed last night that you
should be asked to join."
"_I_ asked to join?"
"Yes, you, Betty. Doesn't it sound absurd? And they all voted for
you--every one of them, with the exception of myself."
"And it's a great honor, isn't it?" said Betty, speaking very quietly.
"Oh yes--immense."
"Then, of course, you wouldn't vote--would you, dear little Fan?"
"Don't talk like that! We shall be returning to the schoolroom in a few
minutes, and Margaret is sure to talk to you after dinner. You are
elected by the majority, and you are to be invited to attend the next
meeting. But I want you to refuse--yes, I do, Betty; for you can't
join--you know you can't. With that awful, awful lie on your conscience,
you can't be a Speciality. I shall go wild with misery if you join.
Betty, you must say you won't."
Betty looked very scornfully at Fanny. "There are some people in the
world," she said, "who make me feel very wicked, and I am greatly
afraid you are one. Now, let me tell you plainly and frankly that if you
had said nothing I should probably not have wished to become that
extraordinary thing, a Speciality; but because you are in such a mortal
funk I shall join your club with the utmost pleasure. So now you know."