Turquoise and Ruby by L. T. Meade
for a little time musing. Brenda had managedthat he should not even get a glimpse of her blue silk dress, but he hadnoticed the dainty hat with its perfect trimmings, the white serge coatwhich covered the governess' pretty person from head to foot, and theneat and lovely white gloves. He had thought how wonderful it was thatshe could wear such nice things. That coat, in particular, took hisfancy. It was of a wonderful material which he did not think that herecognised. Silk it was not; cotton it was not; linsey-woolsey it wasnot. What was it made of? It must be cheap, or poor little Brendacould not afford it. Brenda had so often and so pathetically told himhow necessary it was that she should save almost every penny of herincome. She used to say to him with those sweet blue eyes of hers, sodifferent from the eyes of his own daughters, looking into his face:
"It is my duty to prepare for the rainy day. It may come, you know, andif I have not saved money, where shall I be?"
He had smiled at her on these occasions and once had even gone thelength of patting her little white hand and had said that he wished allother girls were so wise. Yes, dear Brenda was saving up her poorlittle salary; and that nicely made white coat--of course she must havemade it herself--must be composed of a very cheap material. He wonderedif dresses of the same material could be got for his poor orphans. Healways spoke of his children to himself as his poor orphans. They hadbeen very tiresome orphans on the day that had just gone by--Nina in themorning, Fanchon later on. They had, it seemed to him, almostcomplained with regard to their clothes--those clothes which he solaboured to get them. It was annoying, very; but if they might havecoats, or frocks, or whatever the article of dress was called, of thematerial which Brenda wore, he would feel that he had done his duty bythem.
He went to bed at last, resolved to speak to the governess on thesubject by-and-by. When Brenda reached her room, she first of allproceeded to lock her door. She then carefully removed her white sergecoat, shook it, brushed it over tenderly, and folded it up, with tissuepaper between the folds. She then laid this elegant garment in thebottom drawer of her wardrobe. It must not be seen again until she wassafe at Marshlands-on-the-Sea. Having removed the coat, she stood for atime surveying her own reflection in the cracked mirror, which, afterall, was the best looking-glass the rectory could afford. She moved herhead slightly to right, slightly to left; she pushed her hat indifferent positions, and contemplated herself with great admiration.Then, putting her hand into her pocket, she took out the beautifullittle bangle and clasped it on her wrist. The bangle really gave hergreat finish. It seemed to raise her in the social scale. It was soabsolutely good--not the least bit jim-crack. That gold was at leasteighteen carat, and that exquisite turquoise must have cost a mint ofmoney; it was just the right size for her, too. She held up her arm,and contemplated the effect of the bangle in this position. She laidher hand across her knee, and looked at it from that point of view. Shearranged it and rearranged it, and loved it more and worshipped it moredeeply the longer she looked at it.
At last, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, she took it off, folded itsoftly in some tissue paper, and, opening her purse, took from it thekey of a drawer which she always kept locked. The people who surroundedthe rectory, the few domestics who worked there, were all honest as theday. Had this not been the case, Brenda's drawer in her wardrobe mighthave been found worth robbing before now. For in it were those savingswhich she had secured from the housekeeping money, and that sevenpounds, sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence which still belonged to thegirls' wardrobes and the four five-pound notes which Penelope had senther. In short, Brenda felt that she was quite a wealthy girl. She hadnot an idea of any Nemesis at hand.
She laid the stolen bracelet in a little box which had held hithertosome mock jewellery, and having locked her drawer, proceeded to take offher pale blue dress, to fold it up, put it away, to do ditto with herhat and gloves, and finally to undress and get into bed.
Brenda Carlton slept soundly that night, for she was really very tired.She was also quite hopeful and happy. But towards morning, she wasdisturbed by a dream. The dream was a curious mixture of Helen of Troyas she had appeared--silent and stately in the dusky wood--of Penelope,with her eyes red from crying, of her pupils and their clothes, and,last but not least, the Reverend Josiah.
It seemed to her in her dream that Josiah was exceedingly angry, thatall that gentleness and suavity of manner which, as a rule,characterised him, had departed; that he was looking at her--yes, ather--with little angry eyes, and that he was accusing her of somethingwhich was very terrible and, which, try as she would, she could notdisprove. She awoke from this dream trembling and with the dews ofperspiration on her forehead. She started up in bed to wipe them awayand, as she did so, she was aware of the fact that some one was thumpingat her bedroom door.
"Yes--what is it?" she called out crossly.
"It is only me," answered the voice of her eldest pupil. "I thought youwould be tired and have brought you your breakfast."
"Oh, thank you so much," said Brenda, relieved and gratified, for shereally was intensely thirsty.
She sprang out of bed, unlocked the door, then, running across the room,got into bed once more and sat up, looking exceedingly pretty with herslightly flushed cheeks and befrilled nightdress of fine lawn. Fanchonentered with the breakfast tray, which was quite common, being made ofiron that had once been japanned; but this decorative process hadgradually been removed by the fingers of time, and Brenda was far toocareful with regard to the laundry to allow extra cloths for breakfasttrays or any such little dainties.
Fanchon placed the tray on a table close to Brenda's bed; then having,as she considered, performed her duty, she jumped up on the side of thebed and sat gazing at her governess. Fanchon had made all herpreparations. Brenda should have food before the thunder clap fell onher devoted head. Accordingly, Fanchon Amberley began by makingfriendly enquiries with regard to the governess' success on the previousday.
"Drink your tea and eat your toast," she said. "There's no butter inthe house--you didn't leave us money to buy any, and that egg is, I amafraid, stale. But it is the last one left from your purchases of lastweek. You must make the best of it, I am afraid. But never mind,"continued the young lady, swinging her foot backwards and forwards, "youmust have gorged so on the good things of life yesterday, that I don'tsuppose you are overpowered with an appetite."
"I didn't gorge," said Brenda gently. "I never gorge, as you know,Fanchon. But I am thirsty, and it is very thoughtful and kind of you,dear, to bring me up my breakfast."
Fanchon made no reply to this. Brenda poured herself out a cup of tea.She drank it off thirstily and then looked at her pupil.
"How untidy you are, my dear child."
"Am I? That doesn't matter," said Fanchon. "Tell me, Brenda, how youenjoyed yourself. Was it quite as wonderful as you expected?"
"Oh, quite, quite," said Brenda, who had no idea but of making the verybest of things to her pupil.
"It was really worth your pale blue silk dress and your serge coat, andyour hat, and your gloves, and your new parasol?" pursued Fanchon.
"I wish, Fanchon," said the governess, "that you would not give me aninventory of my clothes whenever you speak to me. I suppose I must bedressed like other people, mustn't I?"
"Of course," said Fanchon. "Well, let us leave the dress alone. Howdid you get on with your sister? was she as nice as that dead-and-gonebody--whatever her name is?"
"Oh, she was wonderful!" said Brenda, with real enthusiasm. "She has areal gift for acting, there's no doubt of that."
"I suppose you'll tell us about it sometime, won't you?"
"I am telling you now--what do you mean by sometime?"
"I mean," said Fanchon, "that Nina and Joey and I want all theparticulars, not just a few bare facts, but every little tiny incidentmade as full as possible; and in especial, we are anxious to know if youmet any _he's_, and if you did meet one special _he_; and in that case,what _he_ said to you, and what
you said to him--a sort of `consequence'game, you understand. And in particular, we want to learn thecompliments he paid you; for some day, when we three are dressed likeyou in pale blue silk, etc, we may have similar compliments ourselves.That is what we want to know."
"What _is_ the matter with you, Fanchon?" said her governess.
"Do you like your breakfast, Brenda?" was Fanchon's response.
"Not much," answered Brenda crossly. "The bread is stale; there is nobutter, and the egg is uneatable. I must jump up at once in order toattend to the housekeeping."
"You needn't, really, Brenda. Joey went round to the shops this morningand ordered things in. We're going to have a couple of ducks
"It is my duty to prepare for the rainy day. It may come, you know, andif I have not saved money, where shall I be?"
He had smiled at her on these occasions and once had even gone thelength of patting her little white hand and had said that he wished allother girls were so wise. Yes, dear Brenda was saving up her poorlittle salary; and that nicely made white coat--of course she must havemade it herself--must be composed of a very cheap material. He wonderedif dresses of the same material could be got for his poor orphans. Healways spoke of his children to himself as his poor orphans. They hadbeen very tiresome orphans on the day that had just gone by--Nina in themorning, Fanchon later on. They had, it seemed to him, almostcomplained with regard to their clothes--those clothes which he solaboured to get them. It was annoying, very; but if they might havecoats, or frocks, or whatever the article of dress was called, of thematerial which Brenda wore, he would feel that he had done his duty bythem.
He went to bed at last, resolved to speak to the governess on thesubject by-and-by. When Brenda reached her room, she first of allproceeded to lock her door. She then carefully removed her white sergecoat, shook it, brushed it over tenderly, and folded it up, with tissuepaper between the folds. She then laid this elegant garment in thebottom drawer of her wardrobe. It must not be seen again until she wassafe at Marshlands-on-the-Sea. Having removed the coat, she stood for atime surveying her own reflection in the cracked mirror, which, afterall, was the best looking-glass the rectory could afford. She moved herhead slightly to right, slightly to left; she pushed her hat indifferent positions, and contemplated herself with great admiration.Then, putting her hand into her pocket, she took out the beautifullittle bangle and clasped it on her wrist. The bangle really gave hergreat finish. It seemed to raise her in the social scale. It was soabsolutely good--not the least bit jim-crack. That gold was at leasteighteen carat, and that exquisite turquoise must have cost a mint ofmoney; it was just the right size for her, too. She held up her arm,and contemplated the effect of the bangle in this position. She laidher hand across her knee, and looked at it from that point of view. Shearranged it and rearranged it, and loved it more and worshipped it moredeeply the longer she looked at it.
At last, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, she took it off, folded itsoftly in some tissue paper, and, opening her purse, took from it thekey of a drawer which she always kept locked. The people who surroundedthe rectory, the few domestics who worked there, were all honest as theday. Had this not been the case, Brenda's drawer in her wardrobe mighthave been found worth robbing before now. For in it were those savingswhich she had secured from the housekeeping money, and that sevenpounds, sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence which still belonged to thegirls' wardrobes and the four five-pound notes which Penelope had senther. In short, Brenda felt that she was quite a wealthy girl. She hadnot an idea of any Nemesis at hand.
She laid the stolen bracelet in a little box which had held hithertosome mock jewellery, and having locked her drawer, proceeded to take offher pale blue dress, to fold it up, put it away, to do ditto with herhat and gloves, and finally to undress and get into bed.
Brenda Carlton slept soundly that night, for she was really very tired.She was also quite hopeful and happy. But towards morning, she wasdisturbed by a dream. The dream was a curious mixture of Helen of Troyas she had appeared--silent and stately in the dusky wood--of Penelope,with her eyes red from crying, of her pupils and their clothes, and,last but not least, the Reverend Josiah.
It seemed to her in her dream that Josiah was exceedingly angry, thatall that gentleness and suavity of manner which, as a rule,characterised him, had departed; that he was looking at her--yes, ather--with little angry eyes, and that he was accusing her of somethingwhich was very terrible and, which, try as she would, she could notdisprove. She awoke from this dream trembling and with the dews ofperspiration on her forehead. She started up in bed to wipe them awayand, as she did so, she was aware of the fact that some one was thumpingat her bedroom door.
"Yes--what is it?" she called out crossly.
"It is only me," answered the voice of her eldest pupil. "I thought youwould be tired and have brought you your breakfast."
"Oh, thank you so much," said Brenda, relieved and gratified, for shereally was intensely thirsty.
She sprang out of bed, unlocked the door, then, running across the room,got into bed once more and sat up, looking exceedingly pretty with herslightly flushed cheeks and befrilled nightdress of fine lawn. Fanchonentered with the breakfast tray, which was quite common, being made ofiron that had once been japanned; but this decorative process hadgradually been removed by the fingers of time, and Brenda was far toocareful with regard to the laundry to allow extra cloths for breakfasttrays or any such little dainties.
Fanchon placed the tray on a table close to Brenda's bed; then having,as she considered, performed her duty, she jumped up on the side of thebed and sat gazing at her governess. Fanchon had made all herpreparations. Brenda should have food before the thunder clap fell onher devoted head. Accordingly, Fanchon Amberley began by makingfriendly enquiries with regard to the governess' success on the previousday.
"Drink your tea and eat your toast," she said. "There's no butter inthe house--you didn't leave us money to buy any, and that egg is, I amafraid, stale. But it is the last one left from your purchases of lastweek. You must make the best of it, I am afraid. But never mind,"continued the young lady, swinging her foot backwards and forwards, "youmust have gorged so on the good things of life yesterday, that I don'tsuppose you are overpowered with an appetite."
"I didn't gorge," said Brenda gently. "I never gorge, as you know,Fanchon. But I am thirsty, and it is very thoughtful and kind of you,dear, to bring me up my breakfast."
Fanchon made no reply to this. Brenda poured herself out a cup of tea.She drank it off thirstily and then looked at her pupil.
"How untidy you are, my dear child."
"Am I? That doesn't matter," said Fanchon. "Tell me, Brenda, how youenjoyed yourself. Was it quite as wonderful as you expected?"
"Oh, quite, quite," said Brenda, who had no idea but of making the verybest of things to her pupil.
"It was really worth your pale blue silk dress and your serge coat, andyour hat, and your gloves, and your new parasol?" pursued Fanchon.
"I wish, Fanchon," said the governess, "that you would not give me aninventory of my clothes whenever you speak to me. I suppose I must bedressed like other people, mustn't I?"
"Of course," said Fanchon. "Well, let us leave the dress alone. Howdid you get on with your sister? was she as nice as that dead-and-gonebody--whatever her name is?"
"Oh, she was wonderful!" said Brenda, with real enthusiasm. "She has areal gift for acting, there's no doubt of that."
"I suppose you'll tell us about it sometime, won't you?"
"I am telling you now--what do you mean by sometime?"
"I mean," said Fanchon, "that Nina and Joey and I want all theparticulars, not just a few bare facts, but every little tiny incidentmade as full as possible; and in especial, we are anxious to know if youmet any _he's_, and if you did meet one special _he_; and in that case,what _he_ said to you, and what
"What _is_ the matter with you, Fanchon?" said her governess.
"Do you like your breakfast, Brenda?" was Fanchon's response.
"Not much," answered Brenda crossly. "The bread is stale; there is nobutter, and the egg is uneatable. I must jump up at once in order toattend to the housekeeping."
"You needn't, really, Brenda. Joey went round to the shops this morningand ordered things in. We're going to have a couple of ducks