The Sensation Bureau
"Look here!" said Vivien one day in recreation time, "I think this
school's a very second-rate sort of show. We're a set of blighters!"
She was sitting on a form in the gymnasium, in a decidedly pessimistic
frame of mind, eating a piece of hard oatcake.
"It's as dry as chumping chaff!" she confided dismally. "I don't like my
lunch!"
"In these days of rations there's never even a scrap of margarine to
spare, let alone butter!" groused Audrey, who was also in a mood to mop
up sympathy. "I bring biscuits every morning, but they're not what
biscuits used to be."
"Nothing is."
"What's wrong with the school, though?" asked Lorraine, with somewhat of
the irritation of a nurse when her pet fledgeling is unduly criticized.
"It seems to be jogging along all right, as far as I can see."
"There you've hit the nail on the head exactly. It's jogging, and I
hate things to jog. I like them to go with a swing. The Lent term's
always as dull as ditch water."
"We have our societies----" began Lorraine, but Vivien interrupted her
impatiently.
"Oh, yes! Those precious societies! I know! Every one was keen at first,
and then they slacked. They always do! Don't talk to me! I'm blue!"
"Are we down-hearted? No!" jodelled Patsie, throwing up her last bit of
biscuit, and trying to catch it in her mouth like a terrier. "I say,
Vivien, you silly cockchafer, why don't you buck up? If the school's
dull, then for goodness' sake do something to make it more lively,
instead of sitting and looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm. What
the Muses do you want?"
"Something to happen."
"What? An elopement? A fire? A burglary? Tell me the sort of sensation
you're craving for, and we'll try to accommodate you. I'm going to start
a Sensation Bureau. Excitements guaranteed. Terms cash, or monthly
instalments. You pay your money, and you take your choice. Address: Miss
Sullivan, The Gables. Cheques and postal orders must be crossed."
The girls sniggered, for Patsie was at what they were wont to call her
"Patsiest". At school she supplied the place of public entertainer. Her
favourite rôle was that of the jester, with cap and bells.
"I really _have_ got a brain-wave, though," she rattled on. "I agree
with Viv. Things at present are just about as dull and unromantic as
they could possibly be. Girls don't have any fun as they had in the
Middle Ages, or even in Jane Austen's times. My great-grandmother ran
away from school to Gretna Green, but it's never done now. Well, the
next best thing to real adventures is making them up. That's where my
Sensation Bureau comes in. Here's Vivien pining for romance. Well, I'm
prepared to give it to her hot and strong. I'm going to write her a
letter every day from 'Jack', and post it inside the hollow tree in the
garden. She can get and post hers there too, if she likes. Will you
trade letters, Viv.? It'll be a stunt!"
"If you'll write the first," agreed Vivien, brightening up.
"Of course your 'Jack' will write first to his little 'Forget-me-not'!"
laughed Patsie.
Patsie was gifted with a most lively imagination, and some talent for
writing. Her tastes ran on the lines of cheap novelettes. She evolved a
supposititious hero for Vivien, and began a series of epistles couched
in exceedingly ardent terms. All the most extravagant nonsense that she
could invent was scribbled in the letters, which, addressed simply to
"Forget-me-not", were posted inside the hollow of an old ash-tree at the
bottom of the school garden. Vivien shared the effusions with her
friends, and they had tremendous fun over them in a corner of the
cloak-room. They helped her to concoct replies. The imaginary romance
afforded them extreme entertainment. It was as exciting as writing a
novel. They worked it through all sorts of interesting stages--hope,
despair, and lovers' quarrels--till it culminated in a suggested
elopement. Patsie really outdid herself sometimes in the brilliancy of
her composition. "Jack" had developed a floweriness of style and a knack
of describing his bold adventures that raised him to the rank of a
cinema hero. The girls used to wait for his letters with as keen an
anticipation as for the next number of a serial. Vivien, the fortunate
recipient of them, was envied. Several other enthusiasts suggested
opening a correspondence, but Patsie was adamant.
"The Sensation Bureau's got enough in this line on its hands. I'll
provide something else for you, if you like--a shipwreck, or an
air-raid, or a railway accident--but until those two are safely
'eloped', I can't take on any more love affairs. Oh, yes! you can put
down your names if you like. I've a nice little matter in my mind for
Audrey, later in the term--no, I shan't tell it you now, not if you beg
all day!"
The girls were sitting near the stove in the gymnasium before afternoon
school, and munching some home-made chocolate concocted with cocoa and
condensed milk. Like most war substitutes, it was not so good as the
real thing, but it was certainly much better than nothing. The talk,
with several side-issues concerning eatables, drifted back again to the
all-engrossing "Jack". Vivien, as the heroine of the romance, assumed an
attitude of interesting importance. She affected much knowledge of his
doings.
"You've never yet told us exactly what he's like," said Nellie.
"Well, of course it's difficult to describe him. He's tall, you know,
with flashing eyes and little crisp curls."
"Has he a moustache?"
"N--n--o, not exactly a moustache." (Vivien's imagination was not nearly
so ready as Patsie's.) "He's rather like Antonio in that piece they had
at the cinema last week. He flings money about liberally, and he's
always jumping into a motor and driving off very fast."
"Where does he get his petrol?" asked Lorraine.
"Oh, it's supplied by the Government. He has a simply enormous salary
and private means as well. We shall be rolling, you know. I'm looking
forward to having you all staying with me when we settle down."
The circle beamed almost as if the prospect were real.
"Where's the house?" enquired Audrey.
"He has several houses," said Vivien thoughtfully, checking them off on
her fingers. "A town one, of course, in the West End, a hunting-box near
Warwick, and a place in Wales. I believe there's an estate in Ireland as
well."
"Shall you hunt? Oh, Viv.!"
"Of course I shall. 'Jack' simply _adores_ hunting. We're going to talk
over my mount to-morrow, if the dear boy's able to turn up."
In the excitement of these prospective plans Vivien involuntarily
raised her voice. The previous conversation had been in subdued tones,
but her last remark must have been audible over half the gymnasium.
Nellie nudged her so violently that her piece of chocolate fell to the
floor. In turning to recover it she noticed the cause of the sudden
interruption. Miss Janet was within a few yards of them turning over
some music by the piano.
Vivien's complexion assumed a dull beetroot shade. She wondered whether
Miss Janet had overheard. It was impossible to go up to her and explain
that they were only pretending. The mistress's face was inscrutable. She
did not even glance in their direction, but picked out two or three
songs from the pile and walked away into the house. The little circle
broke up. Miss Janet's vicinity seemed to have put the stopper on
romance. She was certainly not a sentimental person.
On the following day there was a fog--one of those white sea-fogs which
sometimes enveloped Porthkeverne, when everything was veiled in soft
mist, and even the very furniture was clammy. Vivien, whose throat was
delicate, came to school with a Shetland shawl across her mouth. She sat
and coughed in the gymnasium during recreation, and fingered a letter in
her pocket. It was quite a fat letter, and addressed to "Jack Stanley,
Esq".
"If it weren't so damp I'd run down the garden and post this," she said
to Lorraine. "I expect there'll be one waiting for me in the tree, but I
promised Mother I wouldn't do anything silly, and I suppose it _would_
be silly to run down the wet garden in my thin shoes and without my
coat."
"It would be absolutely cracked, with that cough. I'll go. Give me your
letter."
It was part of the procedure of the romance that the correspondence
must be deposited inside the hollow tree, or else, on wet days, it would
certainly have been far simpler to hand over the notes in school. Vivien
had once hinted this, but Patsie stuck firmly to her plans, and, as she
was the originator of the whole scheme, she had the right to make the
arrangements.
"'Jack's' letters will be found in the garden, and nowhere else," she
decreed.
So Lorraine, who was sufficiently interested to want to hear the next
instalment supplied by Patsie's fertile imagination, ran out into the
fog and among the dripping bushes down the path that edged the lawn. The
pillar-box was moist and earwiggy; she wetted and soiled her sleeve by
reaching down into it. At the bottom, in company with a fat spider and
several woodlice, lay a letter addressed in a bold hand to "My
Forget-me-not". She exchanged it for Vivien's epistle and scudded off
through the damp mist back to the gymnasium. If any eyes were watching
as she passed the study window and came in by the side door, it was much
too foggy for her to see clearly. As she handed the letter to her
waiting cousin she noticed that the envelope was not gummed down
securely.
"Hallo, 'Jack's' been in a hurry with this," she commented. "It isn't
properly stuck."
"Perhaps it's the damp that's melted the gum," said Vivien, pulling out
the contents impatiently.
Jack's correspondence, though addressed to her, was common property.
Several heads bent over the closely-written sheet, eager for what might
be termed "the next episode" of the romance. The letter was dated "The
Grand Hotel" and began:
"MY OWN DARLINGEST FORGET-ME-NOT,
"It is twenty-four hours since I last wrote to you, and the time
has seemed an eternity. How I manage to live without your
presence I cannot imagine. Life apart from you is a blank
wilderness. I wander by the sad sea waves, and were it not for
the fond hope of meeting you again I should cast myself into
them and perish. Forget-me-not, my ownest own, I can stand this
misery no longer. Surely the clouds that have separated us may
now be blown apart, and again I can bask in the sunshine of your
smile? If you can forgive me, meet me alone at twilight in the
old familiar spot on the beach, that hallowed place where we
first gazed into each other's eyes and vowed fidelity. I have a
plan to propose, but I dare not write it: I must tell it to you
in words and beg for your favour on my knees. I shall be there,
awaiting your approach with burning anxiety, and longing to
clasp you in these fond arms.
"With all the love in the wide world,
"Your most devoted slave,
"JACK."
The girls giggled.
"He's worse than ever this time," said Audrey.
"Got it badly," agreed Nellie.
"I wonder what his plan is," grinned Claire. "I say, Patsie, what's
'Jack' going to do next?"
"Wait and see," remarked Patsie calmly. "I'm not going to give away his
secrets beforehand. It will all unfold itself in due time."
"History essays, please!" said Claudia, who was working monitress for
the week, and whose duty it was to collect the exercise-books and give
them to Miss Kingsley. "Don't be all day about it, I'm in a hurry!"
"Here's mine," answered Lorraine. "And do you mind giving this note to
Morland? It's a list of pieces by that new Russian composer,
Vladi--something--ski. Rosemary sent it for him."
"Right you are!" said Claudia. "He's mad on Russian music just at
present."
The bell rang at that moment and the girls trooped upstairs to their
class-room. They had taken their seats, and Miss Turner was just in the
act of opening her Latin book when Miss Janet came bustling in. Miss
Janet's moods varied. This morning the corners of her mouth were tucked
in and her eyes were inscrutable. The form instantly set her mental
register at "stormy".
"Stand up, girls!" she commanded briskly. "Move from your desks and form
into line over there, facing me!"
Exceedingly astonished, the form obeyed.
"Now each of you turn up your feet so as to show me the soles of your
shoes, right first, then left. Thank you! Lorraine, whose shoes are
damp, will go downstairs and change into her gymnasium shoes: the rest
may take their seats."
Very much mystified the girls returned to their desks. Miss Janet
departed, and Lorraine ran down to effect the required change. She could
not understand Miss Janet's fussy solicitude for her health. She did not
remember that the form had ever been examined thus for damp feet. She
could only conclude that Miss Janet, who was apt to take sudden whims,
had been studying a treatise on hygiene. At eleven o'clock she had a
further surprise. Miss Paget brought her a message telling her to report
herself to Miss Kingsley in the study. Wondering what was the matter,
she answered the summons at once. She found Miss Kingsley and Miss Janet
sitting together at the table with trouble writ large on their faces.
The mental atmosphere of the room cut her like a knife, it was so
unmistakably hostile.
"Lorraine," began Miss Kingsley sternly, "I've sent for you to ask you a
straight question, and I expect a straight answer. Did you to-day bring
to school a letter addressed to--er--a member of the opposite sex?"
Utterly amazed, Lorraine hesitated, then, remembering her note to
Morland, replied;
"Yes, Miss Kingsley."
She wondered how the head mistress had got to know about it. Had Claudia
been so careless as to leave it inside her exercise-book?
Miss Kingsley's glance was hypnotic in its intensity. The corners of
Miss Janet's mouth twitched nervously.
"I'm glad you are candid enough to confess it, though I have ample
proof against you. _You_, Lorraine! You, whom I chose as head girl, and
leader for the rest of the school! I've never been so bitterly
disappointed in anybody!"
Miss Kingsley's voice trembled as she spoke.
"You might at least have the grace to look ashamed of yourself!" added
Miss Janet.
Lorraine was staggered, but not ashamed. She could not see that the
occasion warranted such sweeping condemnation.
"It was a very harmless letter----" she began in self-justification.
"Harmless!" blazed Miss Kingsley. "If this is your idea of
correspondence, I'm disgusted with you. I call it most _unmaidenly!_"
"I don't know what modern girls are coming to!" echoed Miss Janet. "In
_my_ young days they held very different standards."
"It will be my duty," continued Miss Kingsley grimly, "to inform your
mother of this disgraceful correspondence."
"But Mother knows!" gasped Lorraine.
"She knows?"
"Yes, she saw me write the letter."
"Did she read it?"
"No, she didn't ask to."
"Is she aware what you wrote in it?"
"I expect so."
"Lorraine, I can't believe you! I know Mrs. Forrester too well to
imagine that she would allow you to carry on such a clandestine
correspondence as this."
"But Mother _likes_ Morland," persisted Lorraine, "and I _had_ to write
to him, to send him Rosemary's list of pieces. She asked me to let him
have them soon."
Miss Kingsley looked frankly puzzled.
"Morland?" she said inquiringly. "The letter is addressed to an
individual named 'Jack'."
Then a great light broke across Lorraine. In her relief she almost
laughed. Her suppressed chuckle was fortunately taken for a subdued sob.
"Oh, Miss Kingsley!" she cried. "Did you get the letter out of the
hollow tree?"
The head mistress nodded gravely.
"Then it's all a mistake--it wasn't--written to anybody real. It was
only a little bit of fun we had among ourselves. Pa--I mean one of
us--made up 'Jack' and wrote his letters, and another of us answered
them. It was only nonsense!"
"Did you write this?" asked Miss Janet grimly, handing a sheet of
note-paper across the table.
It was in Vivien's handwriting, which bore a strong resemblance to
Lorraine's own, and it was couched in terms strong enough certainly to
rouse a flutter in the breast of a careful schoolmistress. It mourned
Jack's absence, referred to turtle doves, Cupid's arrows, and other
tender things, thanked him for handsome presents, and looked forward
rapturously to the next meeting with him. It ended with fondest love,
and was signed: "Your little Forget-me-not".
"No, I didn't write it," answered Lorraine.
"Then who did?"
Lorraine hesitated.
"As it was only a joke, will you please excuse my not answering? It
doesn't seem quite fair to give anybody else away. The whole form were
in it, really."
Miss Kingsley fixed her with a glance which Lorraine afterwards
described as that of a lion-tamer. Then she summed up:
"As you all seem to have been equally foolish, I'll let the matter stand
at that. But I wish to say that I've never in my life read more
perfectly idiotic, senseless, worthless _drivel_ than is contained in
these silly letters, and if that's your idea of amusement, I'm sorry for
you! I should have thought that _you_, Lorraine, would have been above
such nonsense, and would have used your influence to interest the girls
in something more sensible. These letters must be stopped at once. I
distinctly forbid anything more of the sort, and you may tell the others
so. Do you understand?"
Miss Kingsley, as she spoke, tore 'Jack's' latest effusion into shreds,
and threw the bits into the waste-paper basket.
A very dejected and indignant Sixth Form listened to Lorraine's account
of the interview.
"Miss Janet must have fished some of the letters out of that tree, and
read them and put them back!"
"What a sneaking trick of her!"
"And she thought it was you, because you'd got your feet wet."
"Sporting of her to examine our shoes! It's like Sherlock Holmes!"
"Sporting! I call it disgusting!"
"Is poor darling 'Jack' _never_ to write again to his little
'Forget-me-not'?" demanded Vivien, with a note of tragedy in her voice.
"We'd better drown him, or kill him at the front, or let him die
suddenly of pneumonia!" said Patsie sadly. "Then you can look decently
sorry for a while. It really _is_ too bad, just when I was working up so
nicely for the elopement! He was buying a new car on purpose. Never
mind! I'll write a novel some day, when I've left school, and I'll put
all the letters in--every scrap of them. And when it's published, I'll
send a copy of it to Miss Janet!"
"Oh!" thrilled the excited circle.
"She'll say _then_: 'The dear girl! I always said she was clever, and
would turn out a famous authoress!' People generally say afterwards that
they 'always said'."
"Oh, Patsie! It _will_ be so delightful! Do begin it soon!"
"Not till I leave school, and that's a whole term and a half off, with
the Easter holidays thrown in. You'll have to wait!"