The Fortunes of
Philippa
A School Story
BY
ANGELA BRAZIL
Author of "The Luckiest Girl in the School" "The Jolliest Term on
Record" "For the Sake of the School" &c. &c.
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
[Illustration: "WE RUBBED AWAY THE MOSS AND SPELT OUT THE WORDS"]
BY ANGELA BRAZIL
"Angela Brazil has proved her undoubted talent for writing a story of
schoolgirls for other schoolgirls to read."--=Bookman.=
=The Luckiest Girl in the School.=
"A thoroughly good girls' school story."--=Truth.=
=The Jolliest Term on Record.=
"A capital story for girls."--=Record.=
=The Girls of St. Cyprian's=: A Tale of School Life.
"St. Cyprian's is a remarkably real school, and Mildred
Lancaster is a delightful girl."--=Saturday Review.=
=The Youngest Girl in the Fifth=: A School Story.
"A very brightly-written story of schoolgirl character."
--=Daily Mail.=
=The New Girl at St. Chad's=: A Story of School Life.
"The story is one to attract every lassie of good taste."
--=Globe.=
=For the Sake of the School.=
"Schoolgirls will do well to try to secure a copy of this
delightful story, with which they will be charmed."
--=Schoolmaster.=
=The School by the Sea.=
"One always looks for works of merit from the pen of Miss
Angela Brazil. This book is no exception."--=School Guardian.=
=The Leader of the Lower School=: A Tale of School Life.
"Juniors will sympathize with the Lower School at Briarcroft,
and rejoice when the new-comer wages her successful battle."
--=Times.=
=A Pair of Schoolgirls=: A Story of School-days.
"The story is so realistic that it should appeal to all girls."
--=Outlook.=
=A Fourth Form Friendship=: A School Story.
"No girl could fail to be interested in this book."
--=Educational News.=
=The Manor House School.=
"One of the best stories for girls we have seen for a long
time."--=Literary World.=
=The Nicest Girl in the School=: A Story of School Life.
=The Third Class at Miss Kaye's=: A School Story.
=The Fortunes of Philippa=: A School Story.
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. MY SOUTHERN HOME 7
II. MY COUSINS 21
III. I GO TO SCHOOL 36
IV. THE HOLLIES 54
V. THE WINSTANLEYS 66
VI. MISCHIEF 83
VII. TIT FOR TAT 102
VIII. A BREAKING-UP PARTY 122
IX. A HARD TIME 142
X. A PICNIC AND AN ADVENTURE 164
XI. AT MARSHLANDS AGAIN 182
XII. THE _IGNACIA_ 198
ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
"We rubbed away the moss and spelt out the words"
_Coloured frontispiece_
Making a Sea-side Resort for the Dolls 32
"Dick seized my hand, and dragged me down the hill" 96
"I found myself flung into the stream below" 172
THE FORTUNES OF PHILIPPA
CHAPTER I
MY SOUTHERN HOME
"When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years."
"Must I _really_ go?"
"I'm afraid it has come to that, Philippa! I believe I have kept you
here too long already. You're ten years old now, growing a tall girl,
and not learning half the things you ought to. I feel there's something
wrong about you, but I don't know quite how to set it right. After all,
I suppose a man can't expect to bring up a girl entirely by himself." My
father looked me up and down with a glance of despair which would have
been comical if it had not seemed at the same time somewhat pathetic.
"I can do the fifth proposition in Euclid," I objected, "and the Latin
Grammar as far as irregular verbs."
My father shook his head.
"That might help you a little if you were a boy in a public school, but
it's not all that your mother would have wished. You've not been taught
a note of music, you can't speak French or dance a quadrille, and if it
came to a question of fine sewing, I'm afraid you'd scarcely know which
was the right end of your needle!"
The list of my deficiencies was so dreadfully true that I had no excuse
to bring forward, and my father continued.
"Besides, it's absurd to attempt to educate you in this out-of-the-way
spot, where you've no opportunity of mixing with cultured people. I wish
you to see England, and learn English ways, and to have companions of
your own age."
"I think San Carlos is the most beautiful place in the world," I said
quickly. "And I don't want any companion but you."
"Which shows me all the more that it's time I sent you away," answered
Father. "Though it will strain my heart-strings to part with you, I own.
It's such a splendid opportunity, too, when Madame Montpellier is
returning to Paris and will take charge of you on the voyage. No,
Philippa child, I've quite made up my mind. You're to go to England, and
you'll please me best by taking it bravely, and trying to learn all you
can in the years we must be apart from each other."
We were sitting on the vine-covered terrace of our beautiful South
American home. Below us the bright flowers of our tropical garden shone
a blaze of colour against the dark background of the lemon-trees; away
to the right stretched the dazzling blue sea, with here and there the
dark sail of a native fishing craft; while to the left rose the white
houses of the little Spanish town of San Carlos, with its picturesque,
Moorish-looking church and campanile, set in a frame of tall palm-trees,
which led the eye over the long slopes of the coffee-plantations up the
hill-side to where the sharp peaks of the sierras towered like giants
against the cloudless sky.
For ten years I had lived here as in paradise, and the thought that I
must leave it, and go far away over the sea to strangers and to an
unknown land, filled me with dismay.
As an only child, and a motherless one, I suppose I had been spoilt,
though to be very dearly loved does not always necessarily mean to be
over-indulged. I am sure my father spent many anxious hours over my
upbringing, and with him I was accustomed to prompt obedience, though I
fear I ruled Juanita, my mulatto nurse, and Tasso, the black bearer,
with a rod of iron. Friends of my own age and station I had none; my
father was all in all to me, and in his constant companionship I had
grown up a somewhat old-fashioned child, learning a few desultory
lessons, reading every story-book upon which I could lay my hands, and
living in a make-believe world of my own, as different from the actual
realities of life as could well be imagined.
It was indeed time for a change, though the transplanting process might
be hard to bear. I think many urgent letters from relations in England
had helped to form my father's decision, and, his mind once made up, he
hurried on the preparations for my journey, in a kind of nervous anxiety
lest he should repent, and refuse to part with me after all.
"I suppose your aunt will find your clothes all right," he said, as he
watched Juanita pack my cabin trunk. "I've told her to rig you out
afresh if she doesn't. We don't go in for Paris modes at San Carlos, so
I'm afraid you will hardly be in the latest fashion! You must be a good
girl, and do as you're told. You'll find everything rather different
over there, but you'll soon get used to it, and be happy, I hope; though
what I'm to do without you here I don't know," he added wistfully.
"You're all I've got now!"
And he looked out over the blue waters of the bay to that little plot
under the shade of the campanile where my pretty mother lay sleeping so
quietly.
I understood him, and it added a fresh pang to my sorrow. Child as I
was, I felt I had in some measure helped to fill that vacant place, and
the thought that I must leave him so lonely, so very lonely, seemed
sometimes to make the parting almost harder than I could bear. I tried
my best, however, to be bright and brave for his sake, and I made up my
mind that I would do my very utmost to learn all he wished, so that
perhaps I might get through the work in quicker time than he expected,
and be able to return to him the sooner.
The grief of the coloured portion of our household at the news of my
departure was both noisy and vehement. Juanita dropped copious tears
into my boxes; JosÈ, the garden-boy, assured me that England was
situated in the midst of a frozen sea, where your fingers fell off with
the cold, and you chopped up your breakfast with a hatchet; Pedro, the
cook, was doubtful if I should survive a course of English dishes, which
he heard were composed chiefly of beef and plum-pudding, while salads
and sauces were unknown; and Tasso, after a vain appeal to be allowed to
accompany me, drew such appalling pictures of the perils of the seas,
that I wondered how even his devotion could have induced him to think of
venturing on shipboard. Of all the many friends whom I left behind, I
think the one I regretted the most was Tasso. My earliest recollection
is that of clinging to his stout black forefinger to toddle down the
flagged pathway between the orange-trees which led to the terrace that
over-looked the sea. Carried on his broad shoulders, I had made my first
acquaintance with the streets of San Carlos. There one might see the
funny washerwomen standing like ducks in the river to beat their clothes
upon the stones, the long-eared mules with their gay trappings coming
down from the mountains laden with bags of coffee-berries, the solemn
Indian muleteers with their dark cloaks and fringed leggings, the little
black children dancing and singing in the bright sunshine, the open-air
restaurants where men of all nations sat chatting, smoking cigarettes,
and drinking "eau sucrÈe" under the palm-trees, or the fashionable
carriages of the smart Spanish ladies and gentlemen who thronged the
Corso in the late afternoon.
Negro servants, having much of the child in their nature, are
wonderfully patient with little children. Tasso humoured me and amused
me with untiring zeal, telling me wonderful stories of African magic,
singing me long ballads in the half-Spanish half-Indian dialect of the
district, catching for me butterflies, green lizards, or the brilliant
little humming-birds which flitted about our garden, or picking shells
for me upon the beach below.
It was on this shore, just under the windows of our house, that I was
once the heroine of a very real adventure, which had almost cost me my
life. I think at the time I could not have been more than four years
old, but it made such a deep impression on my mind that I can remember
every detail as clearly as though it had happened only yesterday. I had
been taken by Juanita to play in the cool of the evening on the little
strip of silver sand and shingle which lay between our high garden wall
and the dashing surf. I had left my doll's cape on the terrace, and I
begged Juanita to go and fetch it. For a long time she refused, but on
my promising not to stir from the spot where I was playing, she was at
last persuaded, and hurried up the steep flight of steps on to the
verandah. It had been an intensely hot day, and I was tired, so I
thought I would sit down and rest until Juanita returned. Looking round
I saw, as I imagined, a nice smooth round stone close by, upon which I
settled myself very comfortably, curling my little fat legs under me.
But the stone must surely have been an enchanted rock out of one of
Tasso's fairy stories, for it suddenly began to move, and, rising up, it
put out four flat feet, and marched briskly down the beach towards the
sea. The entire unexpectedness of it so utterly terrified me that I
could neither cry nor move, only hold on tight with both hands, and
wonder what black magic had seized upon me. The turtle, for such in
reality my stone proved to be, rapidly gained the water, and it was
about to paddle off in a hurry with its strange burden, when Juanita,
returning on to the verandah, saw my desperate plight, and by her
frantic screams brought Tasso, who dashed down the steps and into the
sea, just in time to rescue me before the turtle took a dive into the
deeper water.
I do not think Tasso ever quite forgave poor Juanita for this accident,
though she beat her breast and lamented in a perfect hail-storm of
southern grief. And always after this he would keep an eye upon me when
I was in her charge, appearing mysteriously from behind trees, popping
his dark head through windows, or peering between the vines of the
pergola; coming so suddenly and unexpectedly upon us, that I began to
think he had the gift of some of his magic heroes, and could make
himself visible and invisible at pleasure.
I like to recall those happy days of my early childhood; days when the
sun always shone, and the air was full of the scent of orange-blossom,
and my father and I lived a life apart among the flowers in the old
terraced garden, where the hum of the little town and the roll of the
surf below seemed but a distant echo of the world beyond.
In the summer-time, when the heat at San Carlos grew unbearable, we
moved up into the hills, on the verge of the great forests. It was
cooler there, for the wind blew fresh from the snow-capped sierras, and
I could run to my heart's content along the narrow paths of our
coffee-plantations, or chase Juanita between the cinnamon-trees.
Sometimes, as a special treat, my father would take me in front of him
on his horse, and ride into the forest. I can remember yet the thrill of
those expeditions into that tropical fairyland. The tall trees stretched
before our path in a never-ending vista, festooned by gigantic creepers
covered with flowers; funny little chattering monkeys looked down from
the branches, and scolded us as we passed; gorgeous green parrots rent
the air with their screams; while tiny humming-birds and innumerable
brilliant insects luxuriated in the wealth of plant life. Sometimes we
would see the giant spiders which spin webs so strong that they will
often knock an unwary rider's hat from his head; or sometimes a puma or
a jaguar would slink away through the dense undergrowth, and I would
cling a little closer to my father's arm, and think what would happen to
me if I ventured alone into the forest. Of San Carlos and its
inhabitants I saw little; though my father was the British Consul, he
did not move in the society of the place more than was absolutely
necessary, nor, for good reasons of his own, did he wish me to become
very friendly with the children of his Spanish neighbours. I rarely, if
ever, visited any of the white villas that dotted the hill-sides, and
the pretty little dark-eyed Juans or Margaritas who sometimes peeped
over the cactus hedges were strangers to me.
On one day only in the year did my father relax his rule. He would allow
me to accept an invitation to watch the Carnival from the verandah of
the Government House. How immensely I looked forward to those occasions!
Juanita would proudly dress me in my best, and I would drive by Father's
side down the Corso to the great white house, where we were welcomed by
the Governor himself, and shown to a place of honour upon the balcony,
where we could see everything that was passing in the street below.
It was a gay sight. First came the priests in their gorgeous vestments,
carrying high the gilded images of the Saints; and behind them bands of
sweet-faced children dressed as angels, in long white robes, with soft
plumed wings fastened on to their shoulders. Carriages followed,
garlanded with flowers, in which sat men and women who represented Greek
gods, or nymphs, or famous characters from history, attended by tiny
boys with gilt wings as Cupids. After these came a mob of masquers,
jesters, clowns, harlequins, columbines, peasants of all nations,
fishermen, hunters, Indians, or savages; shouting, gesticulating,
pushing one another about, and all seeming to try to make as much noise
as they possibly could. It was then that the fun began. Piled up in the
balcony were baskets full of flowers, confetti, bon-bons, and tiny wax
balls full of scented water. We flung these far and wide among the crowd
below, some receiving the flowers and bon-bons, and some being hit by
the wax balls, which, bursting, scented the victim rather too heavily
for his enjoyment. It was all taken, however, with the greatest
good-humour, and the merry throng passed on to parade round the town,
and end with a dance under the palm-trees in the public gardens.
And so my life in my southern home had passed like a kind of delightful
dream, and it was not until my father talked of change that I had ever
thought there could be an awakening.
The little time left to me fled all too fast, and brought the
much-dreaded day when I must leave everything that had grown so dear. I
can never forget our parting. A hurried message had been sent to us that
the steamer was to start earlier, and that I must go on board in the
evening instead of on the following morning as had been at first
arranged. The full moon shone on the waters of the bay, lighting up the
vessel which was to take me so far away, and which had steamed out a
little from the quay where the launch was waiting. Big girl as I was, my
father carried me in his arms down the garden. I held my cheek pressed
close against his, and we neither of us spoke, for there are some
heart-breaks too great for words. The fireflies were flitting about like
living jewels, every blossom looked clear-cut and perfect in the
moonlight; I can smell even now the heavy scent of the orange-blossom as
we went along the terrace walk, and hear the tremulous call of some
night-bird among the mimosa-trees. It was but a short way to the quay,
and we were soon in the launch, steaming out over the bay to where the
lights of the great ship shone red against the pale moonlight.
"So this is the small passenger I'm waiting for!" said the captain, as
my father helped me on deck. "Well, I'm sorry, but I can't allow
elaborate leave-takings. We're beyond our time already, the tide's on
the turn, and if we don't start at once we sha'n't be able to cross the
bar. We've had our steam up since sunset."
"Good-bye, my darling, my darling!" said Father, as he held me close for
one long, last kiss. "We shall meet again, God willing, before many
years have passed away. Be a good girl, and whatever you do don't forget
your poor old daddy, who will be thinking of you always, wherever you
may be."
He put me into the friendly arms of Madame Montpellier, who was crying
for sympathy, and ran down the companion-ladder as if he were afraid to
look back. The little launch drew off, the great screw began to revolve
slowly, and the ship started eastward in a train of silvery light,
leaving my happy home behind, and taking me to a new and untried world,
where my future was all before me.