The Independence of Claire by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
A DOUBLE INVITATION.
Janet Willoughby sent Claire a picture postcard, all white snow andstrong shadow, and dazzling blue sky, and little black figurespirouetting on one leg with the other raised perilously in the rear."This is me!" was written across the most agile of the number, while ascrawling line across the top ran, "Happy New Year! Returning onTuesday. Hope to see you soon." Tuesday was the day on which schoolre-opened; but Janet's holiday was year long, not a short four weeks.
Cecil moaned loudly, but Claire was tired of aimless days, and welcomedthe return to work. She determined to throw her whole heart into hertask, and work as no junior French mistress had ever worked before; shedetermined never to lose patience, never to grow cross, never to indulgein a sarcastic word, always to be a model of tact and forbearance. Shedetermined to wield such an ennobling influence over the girls in herform-room that they should take fire from her example, and go forth intothe world perfect, high-souled women who should leaven the race. Shedetermined also to be the life and soul of the staff-room--the generalpeace-maker, confidante, and consoler, beloved by one and all. Shedetermined to seize tactfully upon every occasion of serving the Head,and acting as a buffer between her and disagreeables of every kind. Shearranged a touching scene wherein Miss Farnborough, retiring from workand being asked by the Committee to name a worthy successor, pronouncedunhesitatingly, "Claire Gifford; she is but young, but her wisdom anddiplomacy are beyond all praise." She saw herself Head of SaintCuthbert's, raised to the highest step of her scholastic ladder, butsomehow the climax was not so exhilarating as the climb itself. To behead mistress was, no doubt, a fine achievement, but it left her cold.
Inside Saint Cuthbert's all was life and bustle. Girls streaming alongthe corridors, in and out of every room; girls of all ages and sizes andshapes, but all to-day bearing an appearance of happiness and animation.Bright-coloured blouses shone forth in their first splendour; hair-ribbons stood out stiff and straight; many of the girls carried bunchesof flowers to present to the special mistress for whom they cherishedthe fashionable "G.P." (grand passion) so characteristic of schoollife.
Flora had a bunch of early daffodils for Claire. Another girl presenteda pot of Roman hyacinths for the decoration of the form-room, a third atiny bottle of scent; three separate donors supplied buttonholes ofviolets. The atmosphere was full of kindness and affection. Girlsencountering each other would fall into each other's arms withexclamations of ecstatic affection. "Oh, you precious lamb!"
"My angel child!"
"You dear, old, darling duck!" Claire heard a squat, ugly girl withspectacles and a turned-up nose addressed as "a princely pet" by anardent adorer of fourteen. The mistresses came in for their own shareof adulation--"Darling Miss Gifford, I _do_ adore you!"
"Miss Gifford, darling, you are prettier than ever!"
"Oh, Miss _Gifford_, I was _dying_ to see you!"
The morning flew past, and lunch-time brought the gathering ofmistresses in staff-room. Mademoiselle's greetings were politelydetached, Fraulein was kindly and discursive, Sophie's smile was asbright as ever, but she did not look well.
"Oh, I'm all right! It's nothing. Only this horrid old pain!" she saidcheerfully. Into her glass of water she dropped three tabloids ofaspirin. Every one had been away for a longer or shorter time, visitingrelatives and friends; they compared experiences; some had enjoyedthemselves, some had not; but they all agreed that they were refreshedby the change.
"And where have _you_ been?" asked the drawing mistress of Claire, andexclaimed in surprise at hearing that she had remained in town. "Dearme, I wish I had known! I've been back a fortnight. We might have donesomething together. Weren't you _dull_?" asked the drawing mistress,staring with curious eyes.
"Very!" answered poor Claire, and for a moment struggled with a horribleinclination to cry.
After lunch Miss Bates took her cup of coffee to Claire's side, and madean obvious attempt to be pleasant.
"I feel quite remorseful to think of your holidays. It's astonishinghow little we mistresses know of each other out of school hours. Thefirst school I was in--a much smaller one by the sea,--we were sofriendly and jolly, just like sisters, but in the big towns every oneseems detached. It's hard on the new-comers. I don't know _what_ Ishould have done if I hadn't a brother's house to go to on Sundays andholiday afternoons. Except through him, I haven't made a single friend.At the other place people used to ask us out, and we had quite a goodtime; but in town people are engrossed in their own affairs. Theyhaven't time to go outside."
"I wonder you ever left that school! What made you want to change?"
"Oh, well! London was a lure. Most people want to come to London, andI had my brother. Do tell me, another time, if you are not going away.It worries me to think of you being alone. How did you come to get thispost, if you have no connections in town?"
"Miss Farnborough came to stay in Brussels, in the _pension_ which mymother and I had made headquarters for some time. She offered me thepost."
Miss Bates stared with distended eyes. "How long had she known you?"
"About a fortnight, I think. I don't remember exactly."
"And you had never seen her before? She knew nothing about you?"
"She had never seen me before, but she _did_ know something about me.Professionally speaking, she knew all there was to know."
"That accounts for it," said Miss Bates enigmatically. "I wondered--You are not a bit the usual type."
"I hope that doesn't mean that I can't teach?"
Miss Bates laughed, and shrugged her thin shoulders. "Oh, no. I shouldsay, personally, that you teach very well. That play wasextraordinarily good. It absolutely sounded like French. Can't thinkhow you knocked the accent into them! English girls are so self-conscious; they are ashamed of letting themselves go. Mademoisellethinks that your classes are too like play; but it doesn't matter whatshe thinks, so long as--" she paused a moment, lowered her voice, andadded impressively, "Keep on the right side of Miss Farnborough. Youare all right so long as you are in her good books. Better be careful."
"What do you mean?" Claire stared, puzzled and discomposed, decidedlyon the offensive; but Miss Bates refused a definite answer.
"Nothing!" she said tersely. "Only--people who take sudden fancies, cantake sudden dislikes, too. Ask no more questions, but don't say Ididn't warn you, that's all!"
She lifted her coffee-cup, and strolled away, leaving Claire to reflectimpatiently, "_More_ poison! It's too bad. They won't _let_ one behappy!"
Before the end of the week school work settled into its old routine, andthe days passed by with little to mark their progress. The Englishclimate was at its worst, and three times out of four the journey toschool was accomplished in rain or sleet. The motor-'buses were crammedwith passengers, and manifested an unpleasant tendency to skid; pale-faced strap-holders crowded the carriages of the Tube; for days togetherthe sky remained a leaden grey. It takes a Mark Tapley himself to keepsmiling under such conditions. As Claire recalled the days when she andher mother had sat luxuriously under the trees in the gardens of Rivierahotels, listening to exhilarating bands, and admiring the outline of theEsterels against the cloudless blue of the sky, the drab London streetsassumed a dreariness which was almost insupportable. Also, though shewould not acknowledge it to herself, she was achingly disappointed,because something which she had sub-consciously been expecting did notcome to pass. She had expected something to happen, but nothinghappened; all through February the weeks dragged on, unrelieved by anyepisode except the weekly mail from India.
The little brown bird still industriously piped the hour; but hisappearance no longer brought the same warm thrill of happiness. Andthen one morning came a note from Janet Willoughby.
"Dear Miss Gifford,--
"I should really like to call you `Claire,' but I must wait to be asked!I have been meaning to write ever since we returned from Saint Moritz
"Let me know which of these propositions suits you best. Lookingforward to seeing you,--
"Your friend, (if you will have me!)
"Janet Willoughby."
Claire had opened the letter, aglow with expectation; she laid it downfeeling dazed and blank. For the moment only one fact stood out to theexclusion of every other, and that was that Janet did not wish her to bepresent at the "At Home." Mrs Willoughby had sent the invitation, butJanet had supplemented it by another, which could not be refused. "Iwould rather have you to myself." How was it possible to refuse aninvitation couched in such terms? How could one answer with any show ofcivility, "I should prefer to come with the crowd?"
Claire carried the letter up to her cold bedroom, and sat down to do alittle honest thinking.
"It's very difficult to understand what one really wants! We deceiveourselves as much as we do other people... Why am I so hideouslydepressed? I liked going to the `At Home,' I liked dressing up, anddriving through the streets, and seeing the flowers and the dresses, andhaving the good supper; but, if that were all, I believe I'd prefer thewhole day with Janet. I suppose, really, it's Captain Fanshawe that'sat the bottom of it. I want to meet him, I thought I should meet him,and now it's over. I shan't be asked again when there's a chance of hiscoming. Janet doesn't want me. She's not jealous, of course--that'sabsurd--but she wants to keep him to herself, and she imagines somehowthat I should interfere--"
Imagination pictured Janet staring with puzzled, uneasy eyes across thetables in the dining-room, of Janet drearily examining the piled-uppresents in the boudoir, and then, like a flash of light, showed thepicture of another face, now eager, animated, admiring, again grave andwistful. "Is your address still the Grand Hotel?--_My_ address is stillthe Carlton Club."
"Ah, well, well!" acknowledged Claire to her heart, "we _did_ like eachother. We did love being together, and he remembered me; he sent me theclock when he was away. But it's all over now. That was our lastchance, and it's gone. He'll go to the At Home, and Mrs Willoughbywill tell him I was asked, but preferred to come when they were alone,and he'll think it was because I wanted to avoid him, and--and, oh,goodness, goodness, goodness! how _miserable_ I shall feel sitting hereall Thursday evening, imagining all that is going on! Oh, mother,mother, your poor little girl is _so_ lonesome! Why did you go so faraway?"
Claire put her head down on the dressing-table, and shed a few tears, aweakness bitterly regretted, for like all weaknesses the consequenceswrought fresh trouble. Now her eyelids were red, and she was obliged tohang shivering out of the window, until they had regained their naturalcolour, before she could face Cecil's sharp eyes.
Janet arrived soon after eleven o'clock on Saturday morning, and wasshown into the saffron parlour where Claire sat over her week's mending.She wore a spring suit purchased in Paris, and a hat which was probablysmart, but very certainly was unbecoming, slanting as it did at aviolent angle over her plump, good-humoured face, and almost entirelyblinding one eye. She caught sight of her own reflection in theovermantel and exclaimed, "What a fright I look!" as she seated herselfby the table, and threw off her furs. "Don't hurry, please. Let mestay and watch. What are you doing? Mending a blouse? How clever ofyou to be able to use your fingers as well as your brains! I never sew,except stupid fancy-work for bazaars. So this is your room! You toldme about the walls. Can you imagine any one in cold blood choosing sucha paper? But it looks cosy all the same. I _do_ like little rooms witheverything carefully in reach. They are ever so much nicer than bigones, aren't they?"
"No."
Janet pealed with laughter.
"That's right, snub me! I deserve to be snubbed. Of course, I meantwhen you have big ones as well! Who is the pretty girl in the carvedframe? Your mother! Do you mean it, really? What a ridiculous mamma!I'm afraid, Claire, I'm afraid she is even prettier than you!"
"Oh, she is; I know it. But I have more charm," returned Clairedemurely, whereat they laughed again--a peal of happy girlish laughter,which reached Lizzie's ears as she polished the oilcloth in the hall,and roused an envious sigh.
"It's well to be some folks!" thought poor Lizzie. "Motor-cars, andfine dresses, and nothing to do of a Saturday morning but sit still andlaugh. I could laugh myself if I was in her shoes!"
Claire folded away her blouse, and took up a bundle of gloves.
"These are your gloves. They have been such a comfort to me. There's abutton missing somewhere. Tell me all about your holiday! Did you havea good time? Was it as nice as you expected?"
"Yes. No. It _was_ a good time, but--do you think anything ever_quite_ comes up to one's expectation? I had looked forward to thatmonth for the whole year, and had built so many fairy castles. You havestayed in Switzerland? You know how the scene changes when the sunsinks, how those beautiful alluring rose-coloured peaks become in aminute awesome and gloomy. Well, it was rather like that with me. Idon't mean that it was gloomy; that's exaggerating, but it was prose,and I had pictured it poetry. Heigho! It's a weary world."
Claire's glance was not entirely sympathetic.
"There are different kinds of prose. You will forgive my saying thatyour especial sort is an _Edition de luxe_."
"I know! I know! You can't be harder on me than I am on myself. Mydear, I have a most sensible head. I'm about as practical and long-headed as any woman of forty. It's my silly old heart which handicapsme. It _won't_ fall into line... Have you finished your mending? MayI come upstairs and see your room while you dress?"
For just the fraction of a moment Claire hesitated. Janet saw thedoubt, and attributed it to disinclination to exhibit a shabby room; butin reality Claire was proud of her attic, which a little ingenuity hadmade into a very charming abode. Turkey red curtains draped the window,a low basket-chair was covered in the same material, a red silkeiderdown covered the little bed. On the white walls were a profusionof photographs and prints, framed with a simple binding of leatheraround the glass. The toilet table showed an array of well-polishedsilver, while a second table was arranged for writing, and held a numberof pretty accessories. A wide board had been placed over the narrowmantel, on which stood a few good pieces of china and antique silver.There was nothing gimcrack to be seen, no one-and-elevenpenny ornaments,no imitations of any kind; despite its sloping roof and its whitewashedwalls, it was self-evidently a lady's room, and Janet's admiration wasunfeigned.
"My dear, it's a lamb! I love your touches of scarlet. Dear me, you'vequite a view! I shall have sloping walls when I change my room. Theyare _ever_ so picturesque. It's a perfect duck, and everything looks sobright. They _do_ keep it well!"
"_I_ keep it well!" Claire corrected. "Lizzie `does' it every morning,but it's not a doing which satisfies me, so I put in a little manuallabour every afternoon as a change from using my brain. I do all thepolishing. You can't expect lodging-house servants to clean silver andbrass."
"Can't you? No; I suppose you can't." Janet's voice of a suddensounded flat and absent. There was a moment's pause, then she addedtentatively, "You have a cuckoo clock?"
Claire was thankful that her face was screened from view as she was inthe process of tying on her veil. A muffled, "Yes," was her only reply.
Janet stood in front of the clock, staring at it with curious eyes.
"It's--it's like--there were some just like this in a shop at SaintMoritz."
"They are all much alike, don't you think?"
"I suppose they are. Yes--in a way. Some are much
"Yes, it is. It keeps beautiful time. I had it in the sitting-room,but Miss Rhodes objected to the noise."
"Was it in Saint Moritz that you bought it?"
"I didn't buy it. It was a present."
That finished the cross-questioning, since politeness forbade that Janetshould go a step further and ask the name of the friend, which was whatshe was obviously longing to do. She stood a moment longer, staringblankly at the clock, then gave a little sigh, and moved on to examinethe ornaments on the mantelpiece. Five minutes later the two girlsdescended the staircase, and drove away from the door.
The next few hours passed pleasantly enough, but Claire wondered if itwere her own imagination which made her think that Janet's manner wasnot quite so frank and bright as it had been before she had caught sightof the cuckoo clock. She never again said, "Claire"; but her brown eyesstudied Claire's face with a wistful scrutiny, and from time to time asharp little sigh punctuated her sentences.
"But what could I tell her?" Claire asked unhappily of her sub-conscience. "I don't _know_--I only think; and even if he _did_ sendit, it doesn't necessarily affect his feelings towards her. He wasgoing to see her in a few days; and she is rich and has everything shewants, while I am poor and alone. It was just kindness, nothing more."But though her head was satisfied with such reasoning, her heart, likeJanet's, refused to fall into line.
At tea-time several callers arrived, foremost among them a tall man whomClaire at once recognised as the original of a portrait which stoodopposite to that of Captain Fanshawe on the mantelpiece of Janet'sboudoir. This was "the kind man, the thoughtful man," the man whoremembered "little things," and in truth he bore the mark of it in everyline of his good-humoured face. Apart from his expression, hisappearance was ordinary enough; but he was self-evidently a man totrust, and Claire found something pathetic in the wistful admirationwhich shone in his eyes as they followed Janet Willoughby about theroom. To ordinary observers she was just a pleasant girl with nopretensions to beauty; to him she was obviously the most lovely of hersex. He had no attention to spare for Claire or the other ladiespresent; he was absorbed in watching Janet, waiting for opportunities toserve Janet, listening eagerly to Janet's words. It is not often thatan unengaged lover is so transparent in his devotion, but Malcolm Hewardwas supremely indifferent to the fact that he betrayed his feelings.
At ten o'clock Claire rose to take leave, and Mrs Willoughby made arequest.
"I am going to ask you to do me a favour, dear. A friend is having aSale of Work at her house for a charity in which we are both interested,and she has asked me to help. It is on a Saturday afternoon andevening, and I wondered if I might ask you to take part in the littleconcerts. Whistling is always popular, and you do it so charmingly. Iwould send the car for you, and take you home, of course, and be so verymuch indebted. You don't mind my asking?"
"No, indeed; I should be delighted. Please let me help you whenever youcan."
In the bedroom upstairs Janet deliberately introduced Malcolm Heward'sname.
"That was the man I told you about at Christmas. He was one of theparty at Saint Moritz. What did you think of him?"
"I liked him immensely. He looks all that you said he was. He has afine face."
"He wants to marry me."
Claire laughed softly.
"That's obvious! I never saw a man give himself away so openly."
"Do you think I ought to accept him?"
"Oh, how can I say? It's not for me to advise. I hope, whoever youmarry, you'll be very, very happy!"
Suddenly Janet came forward and laid her hands on Claire's arm.
"Oh, Claire, I do like you! I do want to be friends, but sometimes Ihave the strangest thoughts." Before Claire had time to answer, she haddrawn back again, and was saying with a little apologetic laugh, "I amsilly! Take no notice of what I say. Here's your fur; here's yourmuff. Are you quite sure you have all your possessions?"