Lilac Grange
So far Gwethyn's impression of Aireyholme had been largely tinged by the
prevailing presence of Laura Browne. Laura took her up the very evening
she arrived, and had since gushed over her without intermission,
monopolizing her almost entirely. It was Laura who explained the school
rules, and offered advice on the subject of preparation or practising;
Laura who walked with her round the garden, introduced her to the
library, and showed her the Senior museum. The temperature of the
friendship might be described--on Laura's side at any rate--as
white-hot. She took complete possession of Gwethyn, driving off the
other girls gently but firmly.
"I'll tell her all about the lessons!" she would declare, waving Rose or
Susie away. "Come with me, dearest! Of course I know our work's nothing
to you, after your other school, but any help that I can give you,
you're more than welcome to. It's so refreshing to have a girl like you
here, after these others. Oh, anyone could see the difference! I fell in
love with you at first sight. Look at Rose Randall, now; it would be
impossible to be friends with her. I couldn't do it. And Beatrix and
Marian are unspeakable. No, darling, until you came, I hadn't a chum in
the whole school."
As the rest of the form held slightly aloof, Gwethyn found herself flung
into the arms of Laura Browne. She had not Katrine's reserve, and would
rather be friends with anybody than nobody. She did not altogether care
for Laura's fawning manners, but as the intimacy was forced upon her,
she accepted it. For ten days they had been dubbed "the lovers", and
were constantly in each other's company.
"I hear you've brought your violin, sweetest," said Laura at recreation
one morning, as the pair stood watching a set of tennis. "How is it you
didn't tell me? I'm dying to hear you play it."
"Oh, I'm only a beginner! I brought it just in case I found time to
practise a little. I'm not taking lessons on it here."
"But you will play for me?"
"If you like; but it won't be a treat. I break about a dozen strings
every time I tune it."
"A violin has four strings, so you must snip them with a pair of
scissors, I should think, if you break twelve each time you tune up,"
remarked a sarcastic voice from behind.
Gwethyn turned round, and met the scornful eyes of Githa Hamilton.
"That horrid child! Why can't she let me alone?" she whispered to Laura.
"She's the image of a toadstool, with her khaki complexion and lank
hair."
But Githa's sharp ears overheard.
"Thanks for the compliment! Khaki's a nice patriotic colour. I like my
hair straight--I haven't the least desire to friz it out or curl it. If
you're going to break a dozen strings tuning your fiddle to-day, perhaps
you'll save me the pieces; they make splendid lashes for whips."
"To drive geese with?" retorted Gwethyn.
"Exactly. How clever of you to guess! There are a great many geese in
this neighbourhood. I come in contact with them every day."
"Don't mind the snarly little thing!" said Laura, walking Gwethyn away.
"Now tell me when I'm to hear your violin. Shall we say a quarter-past
two this afternoon in the practising-room? I'll play your piano
accompaniment."
"And I'll be there for the surplus strings!" piped Githa, following
behind.
"Githa Hamilton, take yourself off!" commanded Laura, routing the enemy
at last.
Gwethyn had not opened her violin-case since coming to Aireyholme. She
had taken lessons for about a year, and her mother had urged her to try
and find time to practise, so that she should not forget all she had
learned; but so far there had been so many other things to occupy her,
that the violin had been entirely thrust on one side. True to her
promise to Laura, she brought it out of its retirement this afternoon,
and going to the music-room began to tune it by the piano. Not a string
snapped in the process, and the instrument was soon in order. Gwethyn
laid it down on the table, and waited. Surely Laura could not be long.
She had made the appointment for 2.15, and had expressed herself at
dinner as impatient for the time to arrive. The minutes rolled by,
however, and no Laura appeared. Presently a smooth dark head peeped
round the door.
"Any strings on hand?" inquired Githa, with an elfish grin. "I've come
for that odd dozen you've got to spare!"
"I didn't break any," returned Gwethyn shortly.
"Bad news for me! Well, now, I suppose you're at the trysting-place,
waiting for the beloved?"
"Laura'll be turning up soon," grunted Gwethyn.
"Sorry to break your heart instead of your strings! I'm afraid she won't
turn up. It's a case of 'he cometh not, she said'. The fair one is false
and fickle, and loves another! If you're going to have hysterics, or
faint, please give me warning. Poor lone heart!"
"What nonsense you're talking! What do you mean?" asked Gwethyn,
laughing in spite of herself.
"It's the sad and solemn truth. Laura Browne, regardless of her
appointment with you, is now walking round the kitchen-garden arm-in-arm
with another love, and gazing admiringly into her eyes. Your image is
wiped from her memory; you are a broken idol, a faded flower, a past
episode, a thing of yesterday!"
"For goodness' sake, stop ragging!"
"Well, if you prefer it in plain prose, you're superseded by Phyllis
Lowman. She's Mrs. Franklin's niece, and comes occasionally to spend a
few days here. She arrived just after dinner. We're not keen on her in
the school, but Laura truckles to her to curry favour with Mother
Franklin. During her visit the pair will be inseparable, and your poor
plaintive nose will be absolutely out of joint."
"I don't believe you!" flared Gwethyn.
"Oh, all right! Go and see for yourself! It isn't I who exaggerate!" and
with a malicious little laugh the Toadstool beat a retreat.
There were a few minutes left before afternoon school, so Gwethyn, tired
of waiting, took a run round the garden. Alas! Githa had spoken the
truth. Wandering amongst the gooseberry bushes she met her missing
friend, in company with a stranger. They were linked arm-in-arm, and
their heads were pressed closely together. As they passed Gwethyn,
Laura's eyes showed not a trace even of recognition, much less apology
or regret.
"I've been simply vegetating till you came here again, Phyllis darling!
I'm living to-day! You sweetest!"
The words, in Laura's most honied tones, were wafted back as the pair
walked towards the house. Gwethyn looked after them and stamped.
"So that's Laura Browne and her fine friendship! Well, I've done with
her from to-day. She won't catch me having anything more to say to her.
I really think this is the limit! I couldn't have believed it of her if
I hadn't seen it. The utter sneak!"
Phyllis Lowman spent three days at Aireyholme, during which period Laura
was her slave and bond-servant. When she returned home, the latter
turned her attention again to her first love. But Gwethyn would have
none of her, and received her advances in so cavalier a fashion that she
gave up the futile attempt at reconciliation. The other members of the
Fifth enjoyed the little comedy. It was what they had expected.
"Gwethyn was bound to be 'Laura-ridden' at first," laughed Susie Parker.
"It's the inevitable. Laura's new friendships have to run their course
like measles. This has only been a short business, and now we may
consider Gwethyn disinfected!"
No longer monopolized by Laura, Gwethyn began to make friends with other
girls, and was soon a favourite in the Fifth. Her love of fun, and
readiness to give and take, commended her to the form, and on her side
she much preferred to be ordinary chums with her comrades, than to be
offered a slavish and rather ridiculous worship, such as Laura had
tendered.
* * * * *
Since their very trying experiences in the High Street, the Marsdens had
begged Miss Aubrey to allow them to abandon that particular subject, and
begin another sketch in some more retired place, where spectators would
not come to look over their shoulders. Miss Aubrey herself disliked
working in the midst of a crowd, so she readily agreed, and at their
next painting lesson announced that she had found the very spot to suit
them. Nan Bethell, Gladwin Riley, and Coralie Nelson were to join the
class that afternoon. Viola, Dorrie, and Diana were also extremely
anxious to go, but Mrs. Franklin would not spare her best matriculation
students, and sternly set them to work at mathematics instead, much to
their disgust. Tita Gray, Hilda Smart, and Ellaline Dickens, the
remaining members of the Sixth, were detained by music lessons with a
master who came over weekly from Carford. Only five fortunate ones
sallied forth, therefore, with Miss Aubrey. The subject which their
teacher had chosen was not far off, though rather out of the way.
Standing back from the village, at the end of a long lane, was a
rambling old house known as "The Grange". It lay low, in a somewhat damp
spot close to the river, faced north, and had no particular view. Owing,
no doubt, to these drawbacks, and to its inconvenient situation, it had
been unlet for several years, and as the owner did not seem inclined to
spend money on repairs, its dilapidated condition held out little
promise of a new tenant. To anyone anxious for seclusion no more
suitable retreat could be found: the long leafy lane which led to its
rusty iron gate, the thickness of its surrounding plantation, the tall
shrubs in the garden, which almost touched the windows, all seemed so
many barriers to discourage the public, and to keep the lonely dwelling
apart from the outside world. To the girls it looked mysterious, and it
was with almost a creepy feeling that they opened the creaking gate, and
made their way through the tangled garden. Everything seemed as
overgrown and as quiet as in the palace of the Sleeping Beauty; not a
face to be seen at the windows, nor a footstep to be heard in the
grounds; the flower-beds were a mass of rank weeds, the paths were
covered with grass, and the lawn was a hayfield. In the prime of their
beauty, however, were the lilac bushes; they had thriven with neglect,
and were covered with masses of exquisite blossom, scenting the whole
air, and making the garden a purple Paradise.
"The place ought to be called 'Lilac Grange'!" said Katrine admiringly.
"It's a perfect show at present. Are we to paint them?"
"I'm afraid they would prove rather difficult. I have an easier subject
for you round at the back," said Miss Aubrey, leading the way to the
rear of the house, where a timbered dovecote stood in the old paved
courtyard. With its black beams and carved doorway, it seemed of much
greater antiquity than the Grange itself, which had probably been
rebuilt on the site of an older structure. Miss Aubrey found a
favourable view where the afternoon sunshine cast warm shadows upon the
lichen-stained plaster, and she at once set her pupils to work, to catch
the effect before the light changed.
"What a harbour of refuge this is!" declared Gwethyn, haunted by
memories of the High Street. "There isn't a single child to come and
disturb us. I call this absolute bliss."
"And a ripping subject!" agreed Katrine.
For a long time the girls worked away quietly, passing an occasional
remark, but too busy to talk. At last the Marsdens, who drew more
quickly than their comrades, had reached a stage at which it was
impossible to continue without advice. Miss Aubrey was sketching the
lilac round the corner, so leaving their easels they went in search of
her. Not sorry to stretch their limbs for a few minutes, they decided
first to take a run round the garden. It would be fun to explore, and
Katrine would get rid of the pins and needles in her foot. Under the
lanky laurel bushes and overgrown rose arches, along a swampy little
path by the river, through a broken green-house, and back across a
nettle-covered terrace. Not a soul to be seen about the whole place. It
was peaceful as a palace of dreams.
Stop! What was that rustling among the leaves? There was a movement
under the lilac bushes, and a slight figure stepped out into the
sunshine.
"Githa Hamilton! Whatever are you doing here?" exclaimed the girls.
The pale little Toadstool looked more surprised than pleased at the
meeting.
"I may return the compliment, and ask what you are doing here?" she
parried.
"We're sketching with Miss Aubrey."
"And I'm--amusing myself! My time's my own after school is over."
She spoke aggressively, almost belligerently. To judge from her
appearance, no one would have imagined that she had been amusing
herself. The redness of her eyes suggested crying.
"I'm going home now for tea," she snapped. "I left my bicycle by the
gate."
When Katrine's and Gwethyn's drawings had been duly corrected by their
teacher, and they had settled down again for the final half-hour's work,
they mentioned this meeting with Githa to Coralie, who was sitting close
by.
"What was the queer child doing?" asked Katrine. "I thought she seemed
rather caught. She glared at us as if she wished us at Timbuctoo."
"Oh! was Githa here? Well, you see, it used to be her old home. Her
grandfather owned the Grange. She and her brother were orphans, and
lived with him; then, when he died, they had to go to an uncle, and the
house was to let. Everybody thinks they were treated very hardly. Old
Mr. Ledbury had promised to provide for them (they were his daughter's
children), but when the will was read there was no mention of them. No
one could understand how it was that he had left them without a penny.
He had always seemed so fond of them. Their uncle, Mr. Wilfred Ledbury,
who inherited everything, took them to live with him, rather on
sufferance. The boy is at a boarding-school, but I don't think Githa has
a particularly nice time at The Gables."
"What an atrocious shame!" exploded Gwethyn.
"Oh! don't misunderstand me. They're not exactly unkind to her. She's
sent to school at Aireyholme, and she's always quite nicely dressed; she
has her bicycle, and she may keep her pets in the stable. Only her uncle
just ignores her, and her aunt isn't sympathetic, or interested in her.
With being a day-girl she's out of all the fun we boarders get. I fancy
she's most fearfully lonely."
"Oh! the poor little Toadstool! If I'd only known that, I wouldn't have
been so rude to her. I was a brute!" (Gwethyn's self-reproach was really
genuine.) "I'll be nice to her now. I will indeed!"
"Don't start pitying her, for goodness' sake! It's the one thing Githa
can't stand. She's as proud as Lucifer, and if she suspects you're the
least atom sorry for her, it makes her as hard as nails. She never lets
us know she's not happy; she always makes out she's better off than we
are, going home every day. But I'm sure she's miserable."
"Yes, you can see that in her face," agreed Katrine.
Impulsive Gwethyn, having learnt Githa's story, was anxious to atone for
several lively passages of arms, and to make friends. But the conquest
of the Toadstool was harder than she expected. Githa's proud little
heart resented anything savouring of patronage, and she repelled all
advances. No hedgehog could have been more prickly. She refused to play
tennis, declined the loan of books, and even said "No, thank you," to
proffered chocolates. Instead of appearing grateful for the notice of a
girl in a higher form, she seemed to stiffen herself into an attitude of
haughty reserve. Finding all attempts at kindness useless, Gwethyn
simply let her alone, taking no notice whatever of her, and just
ignoring pointed remarks and sarcasms, instead of returning them with
compound interest as formerly. Baffled by this new attitude, the
Toadstool, after trying her most aggravating sallies, and failing to
draw any sparks, relapsed into neutrality. Her dark eyes often followed
Gwethyn with an inscrutable gaze, but she steadfastly avoided speaking
to her.
Gwethyn did not greatly concern herself, for she had found three most
congenial chums. Rose Randall, Beatrix Bates, and Dona Matthews were
kindred spirits where fun was concerned, and in their society she spent
all her spare time. As for Katrine, she was not likely to trouble about
a Fourth Form girl. She just realized Githa as a plain and very
objectionable junior, but never gave a thought to her or her affairs. At
present Katrine's mind was devoted to art, and had no corner to spare
for minor interests. Under Miss Aubrey's tuition she was making strides,
and was beginning to put on her colours in a far more professional
manner. She really had a decided talent for painting, as well as a love
for it, and she had come prepared to work. Her teacher, glad to find
such enthusiasm, gave her every encouragement. She took her out
sketching daily, allowed her to watch while she herself painted, and
took infinite trouble to set her in the way of real art progress.
Katrine's easel had never before had so much exercise. She planted it in
a variety of situations, at the instance of Miss Aubrey, whose trained
eye could at once pick out suitable subjects for the brush. Heathwell
was a very Paradise for artists, with its deep lanes, its hedges a
tangle of honeysuckle, wild rose, and white briony, its quiet timbered
farmsteads set in the midst of lush meadows, its flowery gardens, and
its slow-flowing river with reedy, willowy banks. Those were halcyon
days to Katrine, whether she sat in the sunshine among the pinks and
pansies of a cottage garden, sketching the subtle varied stones of a
weather-worn gable against the rich brown of a thatched roof, the bees
humming in and out of the flowers, and the pigeons cooing gently in the
dovecote close by; or whether Miss Aubrey took her to the shelter of
thick woods, where the warm light, shimmering through the leaves, cast
flickering shadows on the soft grass below. There were glorious mornings
when Nature seemed to have washed her children's faces, and turned the
world out in clean clothes; golden noons when all was a-quiver in a haze
of heat, and the sky a blue dome from horizon to zenith; and still,
quiet evenings, when the elms were a blot of purple-grey against a pale
yellow afterglow, and the uncut hayfield such a soft, delicate, blurred
mass of indefinite colour that she gave up the vain effort to depict it,
and simply sat to gaze and wonder and enjoy. Down by the river the calm
pools would catch the carmine of the sky, till one could fancy that one
of the ten plagues had returned to earth, and that the waters were
turned into blood. Each leaf of the willows seemed to reflect a shade of
warmer hue, till all was bathed in a glow of ruddy light, and looking
over the gently quivering reed tops to the splendour across the horizon,
one could almost see angels between the cloud bars.
Miss Aubrey, who had lived many years at Heathwell, had a score of
rustic acquaintances. The cottage folk often sat to her as models. Their
quaint ways and ingenuous remarks opened out a new phase of the world to
Katrine. She became immensely interested in the villagers, from Abel
Barnes, who still urged the claims of his bow-windowed red-brick villa
as a subject for her brush, to bonny little Hugh Gartley, whose cherubic
beauty she vainly tried to transfer to canvas.
She found the Gartleys a fascinating family. There were so many of them,
and they were all so fair and flaxen-haired, with such ready smiles and
winning manners. How they contrived to fit into their very small cottage
Katrine could never imagine. She had spoken once or twice to the mother,
a good-natured, untidy, slatternly young woman, whose income never
seemed to run to soap; but she avoided the father, an idle ne'er-do-weel
with a reputation for poaching.
"It is very difficult to help the Gartleys," said Miss Aubrey. "The
children are most attractive, but it is simply encouraging pauperism to
give to them while Bob Gartley stays at home drinking and refusing to
work. I hope you haven't given them any money?"
"Only a few pennies to Hugh and Mary--they looked so pretty," admitted
Katrine guiltily.