Three Girls from School

Chapter Seventeen

Ingratiating Secretary

But Lady Lushington, when she took a prejudice against Annie Brooke, reckoned without her host. Annie was far too clever to allow this state of things to continue long.

The next day the three girls and Lady Lushington started en route for Interlaken. There they put up at one of the most fashionable hotels, and there Annie began to find her feet and gradually to undermine Lady Lushington’s prejudice against her. Even if Mabel had not whispered the disconcerting fact to her that she had not made a good, impression on her aunt, Annie was far too sharp not to discover it for herself when Mabel said to her on that first night in the Grand Hotel in Paris, “I must tell you the truth, Annie; you are a failure so far; you have not pleased Aunt Henrietta, and Priscie has. I don’t know what I shall do if you leave me, but I know Aunt Hennie will send you back pretty sharp to England if you don’t alter your tactics, and how I am ever to meet all that lies before me if this happens is more than I can fathom.”

Annie had assured her friend that she need not be the least afraid, and, knowing the truth, or part of the truth, took her measures accordingly.

They had not been settled at the Belle Vue Hotel, Interlaken, more than two days before Lady Lushington, who was an exceedingly selfish, worldly woman, although quite kind-hearted, began to alter her mind with regard to both Annie Brooke and Priscilla Weir.

Priscilla, notwithstanding her fine and impressive eyes, her honest manner, and her earnest wish to make herself pleasant, looked undoubtedly gauche in the old-fashioned garments which were mostly made for her by poor Susan Martin. Lady Lushington found that though people remarked on Priscilla when she walked with the others in the fashionable part of the town or sat with them when they listened to the band or took her place in the salle-à-manger by their sides, yet those glances were by no means ones of admiration. The girl looked oppressed by a certain care, and dowdy beyond all words. Lady Lushington liked her, and yet she did not like her. She felt, however, bound to keep to her compact – to make the best of poor Priscilla. Accordingly, she told her friends that Priscilla Weir was a genius, and a little quaint with regard to her clothes, and that, in consequence, she had to put up with her peculiar dress.

“But she is such an honest good creature,” said Lady Lushington in conclusion, “that I am quite glad to have her as a companion for Mabel.”

Now the people to whom Lady Lushington gave this confidence were by no means interested in Priscilla’s predilection for quaint clothes. They pronounced her an oddity, and left her to the fate of all oddities – namely, to herself. Annie, on the contrary, who made the best of everything, and who looked quite ravishingly pretty in the smart frocks which Parker, by Lady Lushington’s desire, supplied her with, came in for that measure of praise which was denied to poor Priscie. Annie looked very modest, too, and had such charming, unaffected, ingenuous blue eyes, the blue eyes almost of a baby.

Lady Lushington found her first prejudices melting out of sight as she watched Annie’s grace and noticed her apparent unselfishness.

It was Annie’s cue to be unselfish during these days, and Lady Lushington began to form really golden opinions with regard to her character. She had been very nice on the journey, taking the most uncomfortable seat and thinking of every one’s comfort except her own. She had been delightful when they reached Interlaken, putting up with a very small and hot bedroom almost in the roof of the hotel. And now she began to make herself useful to Lady Lushington.

This great lady had a vast amount of voluminous correspondence. She liked writing to her friends in her own illegible hand, but she hated writing business letters. Now Annie wrote an exceedingly neat and legible hand, and when she offered herself as Lady Lushington’s amanuensis, making the request in the prettiest voice imaginable, and looking so eagerly desirous to help the good woman, Mabel’s aunt felt her last prejudice against Annie Brooke melting out of sight.

“Really, my dear,” she said, “you are good-natured. It would be a comfort to dictate my letters to you, but I am stupid about business letters. You do not mind if I dictate them very slowly?”

“Oh no,” said Annie, “by no means; and I should so love to write them for you. You do such a great deal for poor little me that if there is any small way in which I can help you I shall be more than glad. Dear Lady Lushington, you don’t know how I feel your kindness.”

“You are very good to say so, Miss Brooke. I have invited you here because you are Mabel’s friend.”

“Sweet Mabel!” murmured Annie; “her very greatest friend. But now, may I help you?”

“Well, bring those letters over here – that pile on the table. We may as well get through them.”

Annie immediately found note-paper, blotting-paper, pens and ink, also a supply of foreign stamps and post-cards. She laid the letters in a pile on Lady Lushington’s lap.

“Now,” she said, “if you will read them aloud to me and tell me what to say, I will write as slowly as ever you like. You can lean back in your comfortable chair; we will get through them as quickly as possible.”

This conversation took place on the first day when Annie wrote letters to Lady Lushington’s dictation. Soon the thing became a habit, and Lady Lushington secured the services of Miss Brooke for a couple of hours daily. She quite enjoyed it. It was so much less trouble, sitting lazily in her chair and getting that smart, pretty little thing to do the toilsome work for her. She felt that Annie was assuredly pretty, and much more interesting than poor Priscilla.

At last, on a day when the ladies had been at Interlaken for over a week, and were meaning to move on to Zermatt, Lady Lushington opened a letter, the contents of which caused her face to flush and her eyes to blaze with annoyance.

“Really,” she said, “this is too bad; this is simply abominable!”

“What is the matter?” asked Annie.

She had guessed, however, what the matter was, and her heart beat as she made the remark, for that morning she had seen, lying on the breakfast-table amongst a pile of letters directed to Lady Lushington, one in the well-known writing of Mrs Priestley; and if Annie had any doubt on that point, the dressmaker’s address was printed on the flap of the envelope. Her innocent eyes, however, never looked more innocent as she glanced up now from the blank sheet of paper on which she was about to write.

“Of course you know nothing about it, child,” said Lady Lushington, “but it is beyond belief; Mabel’s extravagance exceeds all bounds; I will not permit it for a single moment.”

“Mabel’s extravagance?” said Annie, looking surprised. “But surely dear Mabel is not extravagant. I have never, never noticed it; I assure you I haven’t.”

“Then what do you say to this?” said Lady Lushington. “That odious woman Priestley sends me a bill for one term’s clothing; total amount seventy pounds!”

“Seventy pounds,” said Annie, “for Mabel’s dress?” She pretended to look shocked. “It is impossible,” she said slowly. “There must be a mistake.”

“Of course there is a mistake. That abominable woman thinks that I am so rich that I don’t mind paying any amount. But she will learn that I am not to be imposed upon.”

“What do you think you will say to her?” asked Annie.

“I am sure I don’t know. I had best speak to Mabel herself.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” said Annie. “May gets so confused; dear May has no head for business; she won’t have the slightest idea what dress she did get. I know there was that lovely, expensive white satin for the school dance, and that beautiful dress of crêpe-de-Chine with pearly trimmings which she wore on the day of the break-up – the day when she received her great honour, her prize for literature; and there was that pale-blue evening-dress of hers, and the rose-coloured silk.”

“But I don’t remember those dresses at all. Where are they now?”

“I dare say she has left them at school,” said Annie.

“Left them at school?”

“She would probably not think them fine enough for you.”

“What absurdity! And even if she did get such uncalled-for, such unsuitable dresses, the sum total from a country dressmaker would not amount to seventy pounds.”

“Well, I tell you what I would do if I were you,” said Annie. “If you will let me, I will write in your name for the items. Mrs Priestley has only sent you ‘To account rendered,’ has she not?”

“That is a good idea,” said Lady Lushington. “I must speak to Mabel about her frocks when she appears. As a matter of fact, I do not mind what I spend on her now that she has come out, or partly come out, for of course she won’t be really introduced into society until she is presented next year. But seventy pounds for one schoolgirl’s wardrobe for a single term is too much.”

“Then I may write?” said Annie, her hand trembling a little.

“Certainly. Tell the woman to send all items at once here. Really, this has worried me.”

Lady Lushington did not notice that, notwithstanding all Annie’s apparent coolness, there were additional spots of colour on her cheeks, and that her hand shook a little as she penned the necessary words. Suppose the majestic Mrs Priestley recognised her handwriting! There was no help for it now, however, and any delay in grappling with the evil hour was welcome.

The letter was written and laid with several others on the table. Lady Lushington remarked after a minute’s pause:

“I may as well confide in you, Miss Brooke, that nothing ever astonished me more than Mabel’s success in gaining that literature prize; for you know, my dear, between you and me, she is not at all clever.”

“Oh, how you mistake her!” said Annie, with enthusiasm. “Dear Mabel does not care to talk about her deepest feelings or about those magnificent thoughts which visit her mind.”

“She has no thoughts, my dear, except the silliest,” said Mabel’s aunt, with a laugh.

“Oh, how you wrong her! Why, she is a poetess.”

“A what?” said Lady Lushington.

“She writes poems.”

“Nonsense! I don’t believe you.”

“I can show them to you.”

“Pray do not; I would not read them for the world. I class all rhymes as jingles. I detest them. Even Will Shakespeare could never gain my attention for more than half-a-minute.”

“Nevertheless, Mabel is clever, and her prize essay on ‘Idealism’ was undoubtedly the best in the school.”

“Yes? Wonders will never cease,” remarked Lady Lushington; “but, to tell you the truth, I was more annoyed than pleased when she got the prize. I did not want her to leave school for a year, and I only made that rash promise believing it to be quite impossible for me to fulfil. However, now I must make the best of it; and as, thank goodness! she does not pose as a genius, and is a fine, handsome girl, I have no doubt I shall get her married before long.”

“Oh, Lady Lushington! Could you bear to part with her?”

“Indeed I could, my dear, to a good husband. I mean by that a man in a high position in society.”

Annie was silent, looking prettily down. Lady Lushington glanced at her and noticed the charming contour of her face.

“If only her eyelashes were a little darker and her eyebrows more marked, she would be a sweetly pretty girl,” she thought. But the lack of distinction in her face was not apparent at that moment.

“You will have a good husband yourself some day, Miss Brooke; and if ever I can help you to bring such a desirable matter about, you may rely on me.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” said Annie. “Poor little me! But I am only an orphan with just one dear uncle and little or no money. Lady Lushington, I am so happy here, and you are so very kind to me.”

“Well, my dear, you are kind to me too. I believe we are of mutual benefit each to the other. Now, will you put on your hat and take those letters to the nearest post? You will just have time to get them in before we go downstairs to déjeuner.”

Nothing could be more welcome to Annie than this last remark, for while she was talking she was wondering much in her clever little brain if she could carry out a scheme which had darted through it. The opportunity of posting the letters gave her just the loophole she desired. Taking the pile from the table, she accordingly ran out of the room, and a few minutes later was walking down the street which led to the post-office.

On her way there she met Mabel Lushington and Priscilla. They were coming back after a long, rambling walk, and both girls were rather tired.

“Whither away, Annie?” said Mabel in her cheerful voice.

“To post some letters for your aunt, Lady Lushington.”

“But the post does not go out until the evening, and that hill is so steep and difficult to climb, and it is almost the hour for déjeuner,” objected Mabel. “Do turn back with us now, Annie; I shall so hate waiting lunch for you.”

“Oh, give me the letters if you like,” said Priscilla; “I will run down the hill in no time, and come back again as quickly. I do not mind climbing hills in the least.”

“They exhaust me frightfully,” said Mabel; “and I notice, too, that Annie gets a little out of breath when she walks up these impossible mountains too fast. That is a good idea, really. Give Priscie the letters, Annie, and come home with me; I want to talk to you.”

“No, I can’t,” said Annie. “I must post them myself; they are important.”

She darted away, pretending not to notice Mabel’s flushed, indignant face and Priscilla’s look of grave surprise. She reached the post-office and dropped all the letters she had written, except that one to Mrs Priestley, into the box. Mrs Priestley’s letter she kept safely in her pocket.

“This must be delayed for perhaps a couple of days,” thought Annie. “In the meantime I shall have to talk to May. What a mercy,” was her next reflection, “that I was given the writing of the letter, and also the posting of it! Oh dear, dear! I think I can almost manage anything. I am sure May ought to be obliged to me, and so ought that tiresome Priscie. I would do anything for dear old May; but as to Priscie, I get more sick of her each minute. If only Lady Lushington would send her back to England I should feel safer. She is just the sort of girl who would wind herself to a grand confession, never caring how she dragged the rest of us into the mire with her. She is just precisely that sort of detestable martyr being. But she sha’n’t spoil my fun, or May’s fun either, if we can help it.”

Annie appeared at lunch just a wee bit late, but looking remarkably pretty, and apologising in the most amiable tones for her unavoidable delay.

“I am not very good at hills,” she explained to Lady Lushington. “They always set my heart beating rather badly. But never mind; the letters are posted and off our minds.”

“One of those letters is by no means off my mind,” said Lady Lushington in a fierce tone, and glancing with reproachful eyes at Mabel. Annie bent towards her and said in a whisper (she could not be heard by Mabel and Priscilla as some servants came up at the moment to present dishes to the two young ladies): —

“Please say nothing before Priscilla, I beg of you.”

The voice was so earnest and so sympathetic, and the little face looked so appealing, that Lady Lushington patted the small white hand. Priscilla’s voice, however, was now heard:

“It was a great pity, Annie, that you did run so fast to the post and then toil up that steep hill, for I offered to go for you; and besides, the English post does not leave before five o’clock.”

Annie felt furious, but replied in her meekest voice:

“I felt responsible for dear Lady Lushington’s letters.”

Nothing more was said on the subject during lunch, and afterwards the ladies went off on a long expedition up into the mountains with some other friends whose acquaintance they had made in the hotel.

It was not until that evening, when they were going to bed, that Mabel heard a light tap at her door, and the next moment Annie, in her pretty blue dressing-gown, with her fair hair falling about her shoulders and a brush in her hand, entered.

“Have you time for a talk with poor little me, and has Priscie gone to bed?”

“Dear me! yes,” said Mabel. “Priscilla has been in bed and asleep an hour ago. Come in, Annie, of course. I am dead with sleep myself, and if Aunt Hennie knew she might be annoyed. Now, what is it you want?”

Annie took the letter addressed to Mrs Priestley out of her pocket.

“To talk to you about this,” she said, and she sat calmly down on a chair and faced her tall companion. Mabel was also in the act of brushing out her luxuriant hair, and looked as handsome a creature as could be found anywhere, in her long, flowing, white dressing-gown. When she read the address on the letter her eyes darkened and some of the colour left her cheeks.

“Are you writing to Mrs Priestley?” she said. “What about?”

“I wrote that letter to-day,” said Annie, “to Lady Lushington’s dictation. The account has come in; total amount seventy pounds. Lady Lushington is furious. I told her all the lies I could, dear Mabel, about the dresses you had never got, and in the end I managed to avert the evil day by asking Mrs Priestley to send the items. That satisfied Lady Lushington for the time. You will understand now why I could not accept Priscilla’s offer to post the letters, because I happened to have this one in my hand and did not wish it to go. It must not go for a day or two. In the meantime we must do something.”

“What – what?” said Mabel. “Oh Annie, I am so frightened! I knew quite well that you would get me into an awful scrape about this. What is to be done? Nothing will ever make Aunt Hennie believe that I spent seventy pounds on my dress during my last term at school. I know she is very generous about money, but she is also careful and particular. You will see; I know her so well, Annie; and she will just get into a real passion about this and write to Mrs Lyttelton, and Mrs Lyttelton will go to see Mrs Priestley, and – ”

“Oh, I know,” said Annie, trembling a good deal. “But that must never be allowed.”

“How are we to manage?” said Mabel. “Annie, we must do something;” and she dropped on her knees by her companion’s side and took one of her hands. “You came out here on purpose to help me,” she said. “You knew that I should get into trouble, and you said you would find a way out.”

“Am not I trying to with all my might and main?” said Annie.

“Well, but are you succeeding? I cannot see that keeping back that letter means much. Aunt Hennie will expect an answer, and – and – wire for it; she will really, if it does not come within a specified time; and she will give me such a talking to. Why, Annie, if the thing is discovered I shall be sent back to school – I know I shall – at the end of the holidays, and poor Priscie’s prospects will be ruined, and – and – you will be disgraced – ”

“We all three will be disgraced for ever and ever,” said Annie; “there is no doubt on that point. That is what makes the thing so terribly important. Something must be done, and at once – at once!”

“But, Annie, what?”

“I have a little scheme in my head; if you will keep up your courage and help me I believe we shall be successful.”

“But what is it? Oh, do tell me! Oh, I am so terrified!”

“The first thing we must be positive about is this,” said Annie: “Priscilla is to know nothing.”

“Of course not,” said Mabel. “Mabel, I do wish we could get her back to England; she is so tiresome and in the way, and I have a great fear in my head about her.”

“What is that? She is harmless enough, poor thing! Only, of course, she does look such a dowd. But, then, Aunt Henrietta has taken such a fancy to her.”