Loss and Gain
Owing to the strenuous efforts of the Brigade, the fire at the Grange
was at last got under control; and though the main staircase was gone,
and the west wing a wreck, all the eastern portion of the building was
saved.
The new day showed a scene of great desolation--blackened walls, and
staring, empty windows; garden and lawn trodden into a waste by
trampling feet, and littered with broken glass, pieces of timber, and
the remains of charred furniture; the greenhouse smashed to atoms; the
sundial knocked over; and both pergola and rosery in ruins. The
lecture-hall, one classroom, and the bedrooms that lay over them were
untouched--a most fortunate circumstance, as they provided a shelter for
the girls, who were all clad in dressing-gowns and bedroom slippers. As
soon as they were assured of the safety of that part of the house, the
teachers marshalled the school there, access being easily gained through
a French window. This wing, a later addition to the Grange, possessed a
separate staircase, and had only communicated with the main building by
means of a long passage and a door. At present, therefore, it proved a
general asylum of refuge. The firemen collected and carried round any
articles they could find which would be of use, and, since both larder
and pantry had escaped, provisions, cups and saucers, and kettles soon
made their appearance.
The classroom was turned into a temporary kitchen, and the servants,
with the aid of the gardener, set to work to prepare breakfast. The
girls who occupied the bedrooms over the lecture-hall lent various
garments to the rest, so that by eight o'clock everybody was at least
clothed and fed, though very much upset and agitated by the terrible
occurrence.
A telegram was dispatched at the earliest opportunity to Miss Drummond,
but it would not be possible for her to arrive until the evening. In the
meantime, what was to become of her pupils? They could manage for the
day, but it would be impossible to put the whole thirty-nine into three
bedrooms. The Rector of the parish came to the rescue by at once
assuming the direction of affairs, and making arrangements to send all
home by the morning trains, himself advancing the money for their
railway tickets. Most of the girls were travelling as far as London,
where Miss Forster and the prefects undertook to see each safely started
for her destination. In the circumstances, it seemed much the wisest
thing to be done; the girls could not recommence lessons that term, and
the sooner they were out of the way the better.
And where was Aldred? Speeding by express like the others, to tell her
astonishing tale at home? No: in the midst of all the general excitement
and confusion, she lay utterly unconscious of her surroundings. She had
been carried into the bedroom over the classroom, and the Rector had
sent for the nearest medical man, and for a nurse from the infirmary at
Chetbourne.
"Can we save her, Doctor?" asked Miss Bardsley, who had applied first
aid, and done everything in her power, considering the limited means at
her command.
"She is badly scorched, and is suffering from a severe shock to the
system," replied the doctor gravely. "Still, with careful nursing I
think we may pull her through. You have telegraphed for her people? That
is well. Absolute quiet is essential. I am thankful the other girls are
leaving this morning."
"It is a blessing her good looks are spared," said the nurse, bending
down to admire the pretty, pale face, mercifully unscathed by the fire.
"I have not needed even to cut her beautiful hair."
"By some strange chance, or rather Providence, the tongue of flame that
shot out so suddenly only caught her below the waist," explained Miss
Bardsley. "The fireman had just seized her in his arms, and her head was
thrown forward over his shoulder. One second later, she might have been
burnt to death."
"How did the fire originate?" asked the doctor.
"Through carelessness in the kitchen, I am afraid; but it is difficult
to tell until we can make proper enquiries. We are leaving everything
for Miss Drummond to investigate herself."
"And this child? How was it she was left in the burning house?"
"She went to warn Mabel Farrington, a companion, who, without my
knowledge, had been sleeping in the hospital, a room on the top story.
In the darkness and confusion it was almost impossible to count all the
girls. I had not specially missed Mabel. I had already been to her
bedroom to rouse her with the others, and had not realized that she was
not there. The teacher who had ordered her removal to the hospital
fainted when the fire broke out, so of course could offer no
information. Only Aldred knew of Mabel's whereabouts, and she, without
consulting anybody, must have made her way up the tottering staircase to
save her friend. The first knowledge I had of the matter was when I
heard the crowd shout, and saw the two girls screaming at the window. We
were frantic, but powerless to help. There was no long ladder on the
premises, and all we could do was to wait for the arrival of the
Brigade. Aldred made a rope of sheets and let Mabel down in safety; but
the flames had taken such a hold of the room that there was no time for
her to follow."
"Then she has saved a life!" said the doctor. "She'll be a little
heroine among you, when she gets well."
"Ah, yes--when she gets well!" replied Miss Bardsley anxiously.
Poor Miss Drummond, called from her mother's sick-room, arrived that
evening to find the Grange half-wrecked. Fortunately, she was well
insured, and would suffer no pecuniary loss, but apart from that it was
quite a sufficient catastrophe. Her school could not reassemble until
the house was repaired and redecorated; and many treasures had been
destroyed which it would be impossible to replace.
"You must try to look on the bright side of things," said the Rector,
who was present to receive her. "The damage might have been much worse.
Mr. Southey, your architect, came this morning to make an inspection,
and told me he would be able to have all in order for you to re-open in
September. And the garden will soon recover itself; you will be
astonished how quickly everything will grow up again. As for the little
patient, she is much better this evening, and the nurse considers her
out of serious danger. When we think of the tragedy that might have
occurred, we must feel only too grateful that all your flock escaped
with their lives."
"It is indeed a cause for thankfulness," said Miss Drummond. "I cannot
tell you what anxiety I have suffered during to-day's journey. The
telegram only gave the briefest message, and did not assure me of
everyone's safety. I was left to imagine the worst, and the long hours
in the train were agony. Fortunately, I left my mother on the high road
to recovery, so that is another subject for gratitude. I shall be able
to remain here now without feeling that my presence is absolutely
necessary in the North. How very good it was of you to pack off the
whole school so promptly this morning!"
"It was really an easier task than I anticipated. They all seemed
accustomed to travelling. One of the girls, however, utterly declined to
depart with the others, and I was obliged to permit her to remain. I
thought you could reason with her better than I."
It was Mabel who had refused point-blank to leave the Grange, and who,
now that Miss Drummond had returned, begged most earnestly not to be
sent away.
"Let me stay near Aldred!" she implored. "I won't be the least trouble.
I'll sleep anywhere--on a sofa, or a camp bed, or anything. No, I know
I shouldn't be allowed in her room, but I should hear the doctor's
report every morning and evening, and know how she was. And perhaps I
might be of some help. I could carry trays upstairs, and wait on the
nurse. I'd do anything in the world for Aldred! I like to feel I'm in
the same house with her, and if I have to go it will simply break my
heart. I'll write to Mother to-night, and if she agrees will you say
'Yes'?"
Neither Lady Muriel nor Miss Drummond could resist Mabel's piteous
appeal. She was always rather a privileged pupil at the Grange, so for
this once she was accorded her own way. The doctor grew accustomed to
find her wistful face waiting in the passage at the conclusion of his
visits, and liked to see the look of relief spread over it as he gave
her a hopeful bulletin in passing. He would not consent to any visits,
for he feared Mabel's presence would recall Aldred's memory of the fire,
and he particularly wished to keep her from all excitement.
"Her friend is the last person whom it would be advisable to allow in
the room," he declared. "She must not even peep round the door without
my express permission."
It was hard for Mabel to be thus excluded, but she was sensible enough
to understand the reason for her banishment, and did not attempt to
transgress the doctor's orders.
So far Aldred, though she had quite regained consciousness, had never
made the least reference to that terrible night. She recognized those
around her bed--Miss Drummond, Aunt Bertha, who had come over
immediately, and remained in close attendance on her; her father, who
paid flying visits to see her; the nurse, and the doctor--but she made
no enquiries for others, and did not even ask if Mabel were safe. Her
burns were after all not very severe, and she seemed to be suffering
more from general collapse. As day after day passed, and she still
continued in the same state, her case began to puzzle the doctor.
"She ought to be making more improvement," he said. "She is no better
now than she was a week ago. Her mental attitude does not satisfy me at
all. Please watch her closely, and see if you can ascertain the reason
for this set-back."
"I will do so," answered the nurse, who had had great experience with
convalescent patients, and knew how often an apparently trifling cause
can hinder recovery.
The result of her observation she communicated to Miss Drummond.
"I am certain the poor child has something on her mind," she declared.
"It is this that makes her so restless and uneasy. I've several times
found her crying, though she evidently didn't want me to notice it. She
lies awake for hours during the night, and I'm sure it is not merely the
pain of her burns that troubles her. Her eyes follow you round the room
with the most pathetic gaze. I believe she's longing to confide in you,
if she could only get you to herself, and that it would be the greatest
comfort to her."
"Then I will stay alone with her this evening, when her aunt has gone to
bed," replied Miss Drummond. "If it is really as you say, that will give
her the opportunity she wants."
The nurse always went on duty at nine o'clock, at which hour Miss
Laurence retired to her own room. Miss Drummond had so far acted as an
extra assistant to both, so she was able, without making her motive too
apparent, to say that she was taking the nurse's place for the night.
She did not wish to excite Aldred unnecessarily, only to afford her a
chance of a private talk if she wished for it. She thought there was a
look of gratitude in the dark eyes at this arrangement, but she could
not be quite sure; so, having made her patient as comfortable as
possible, she shaded the lamp, and left her to go to sleep.
For a long while Aldred lay fairly still, though by occasional restless
movements the head mistress knew that she was wideawake. A pitiful
little sigh at last brought Miss Drummond to her side.
"Can I do anything for you, dear? Are you in pain?"
"No, thank you--it isn't that."
"Something is worrying you, all the same?"
There was no reply.
"Is it anything you would like to tell me?"
"How did you guess?"
"Never mind how I guessed. Just remember that I'm your friend, and that
I'm anxious to give you all the help I can. Don't be afraid! Let me know
the trouble, and perhaps between us we can manage to set it straight."
Miss Drummond had the rare quality of absolute tact and sympathy. She
said no more, only took her pupil's hot hand, and waited patiently for
her to begin.
It was a great effort for Aldred to utter her confession, but when once
she had made a start she poured out the whole story of her false career
at school from its very commencement, keeping nothing back, and
mentioning even the affairs of the Chinese lanterns, Miss Webb's chalked
chair, and the feigned illness at Grassingford.
"I couldn't bear to meet Mabel again, after what happened at the fire,
and allow her to go on thinking me so much better than I am," she
concluded. "I'd like her to know all--yes, every single horrid thing
that I've done! She can never love me the same, but I'd rather make a
clean breast of it, and lose her friendship, than feel so unutterably
mean. Will you tell her, please? I haven't the courage to do it myself."
"To be sorry for our faults is the first step on the right road," said
Miss Drummond. "It is a sad story, Aldred, and I don't condone anything,
though it is a little comfort that you have at least done the very deed
for which you took false credit at the beginning. Whether Mabel's
friendship will stand the test or not, I cannot say; your plain and only
course is to acknowledge the deception, and leave it for her to decide,
and to set to work yourself to redeem the past. Now, I can allow no more
talking. Remember, I am deputy nurse, and it is my business to see that
you shut your eyes and go to sleep."
Aldred seemed so much calmer and easier next morning that the doctor was
surprised at the change.
"If she only continues to improve at this rate, we shall soon have her
well," he reported. "Keep her as cheerful as you can, and--yes--if she
is asking so particularly for her friend, it will be advisable not to
thwart her."
Aldred's one feverish anxiety was to see Mabel, though she did not know
whether she more longed for or dreaded the visit. The nurse, to whom
Miss Drummond briefly confided an outline of the circumstances, decided,
though she feared the effect of so much excitement, that it was better
to get the meeting over than to allow her patient to remain in a state
of such great suspense.
"I want Mabel with me alone," said Aldred, and she pleaded so hard that
even Aunt Bertha was judicious enough to consent.
Propped up on pillows, Aldred gazed with nervous eyes as her friend
entered the room. Mabel had evidently been crying bitterly, and had not
entirely regained her self-control as she came and stood beside the bed.
"Miss Drummond has told you?" queried Aldred eagerly.
"Yes, she has told me everything. I can't deny that it has been a most
terrible shock. I had believed in you and trusted you so utterly. I
thought you hadn't a single fault. But oh, Aldred! Miss Drummond has
been talking to me; she says we were both wrong, and that I was partly
to blame for expecting too much. She told me I had set up an idol, and
it was right that it should be broken down; that no human being is
faultless, and that we must look for our example to the one perfect
Pattern, Who can never disappoint us. Shall we start quite afresh now,
with Him for our ideal, and try to help each other?"
Aldred's face was buried in the pillow; she was sobbing too much to
reply.
"I haven't thanked you yet for saving me," continued Mabel. "It was a
braver thing by far even than what I supposed you had done, because you
risked so much more."
"I'd have given my life for you gladly!" gulped Aldred.
"I know, and I feel almost unworthy of such love."
"Will you kiss me, to show you can forget what's past?"
Mabel bent her head. It was a kiss of complete reconciliation and
forgiveness, and Aldred, with a glad leap of her heart, felt that the
friendship that she had striven to build upon the shifting sand of a
false reputation was founded at last upon the rock of self-sacrifice and
mutual endeavour.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
_By Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow_
Transcriber's Note:
Punctuation has been standardised.
The spelling of d'oyleys, caste and wideawake, and the alternative
spelling for sundial/sun-dial have been retained as they appear in
the original publication.
The oe ligature in Phoebe, manoeuvring and pharmacopoeia has been
replaced with oe.
Changes have been made as follows:
Page 25 forming herself on the-prim pattern _changed to_
forming herself on the prim pattern
Page 39 The newpapers wanted to print her _changed to_
The newspapers wanted to print her
Page 49 "I" appears to have been missed in the printing process so
helped her, too. remember exactly has been _changed to_
helped her, too. I remember exactly
Page 132 but we musn't light them _changed to_
but we mustn't light them
End of Project Gutenberg's A Fourth Form Friendship, by Angela Brazil