Turquoise and Ruby by L. T. Meade
little stories, which they listened to when they werenot too restless, and when Brenda herself was not too charminglyattired. On the whole, the girls were ripe for a fall, and Brenda hadno compunction in saving herself at their expense. These three girlshad, however, a considerable amount of character, and, strange as it mayseem, the one the governess most dreaded was the youngest. For Nina wasexceedingly fearless, and also rather cunning, and Brenda was not quitecertain that if she gave her word she would keep it. The governess feltpretty sure that she could manage Fanchon and Josephine, but Nina wasdifferent. All things considered, however, she had to make the best ofa bad job, and if she could only get through that happy time atMarshlands-on-the-Sea, she felt convinced that all would be well withher in the future. She, accordingly, welcomed Fanchon now with a smile,and immediately took the lead.
"Just for all the world," repeated Fanchon afterwards when she gave hersisters a partial account of this interview, "as if _she_ were in theright and I was her little culprit at the bar!"
"Sit down, dear Fanchon," said Brenda. "Take this cosy seat by the openwindow--isn't the night very warm?"
"Yes--very," said Fanchon.
She took the proffered seat and the governess placed herself on thewindow ledge near by.
"We shall enjoy our time at the sea," said Brenda, "shall we not?"
Fanchon did not answer. She was gazing in surprise at Brenda, who,prettily dressed in soft white muslin, looked more charming even thanusual.
"The cool sea breezes will be so refreshing," continued thegoverness--"I am picturing the whole scene. I am going to be, ofcourse, very particular with regard to Josie and Nina; but you, Fanchon,who are so tall for your age, can come out with me in the evening andlisten to the band and--and--partake of any sort of fun that is goingon."
"Can I really?" said Fanchon, her eyes sparkling, and, for a minute, sheforgot that she was really the judge and Brenda the criminal.
"Of course you can, dear; I mean you to have a good time."
"But can't we settle that afterwards?" said Fanchon. "The other thinghas to be arranged first, hasn't it?"
"What other thing, my dear?"
"Oh, Brenda--you know--don't pretend that you forget. I gave you afright--a big fright--this morning, and you--you cried. What are yougoing to do about the money? you have it--you know, and it isn't yours,it's ours."
"I have it, of course," said Brenda, "I have not denied it. I told youthat I thought of spending it at Marshlands; there'll be sure to be niceshops there, and we can see the things that'll be suitable. You don'tsuppose, you poor children, that you can manage with only those pinkmuslin dresses--that would never, never do--I had no such thought, Iassure you."
"But," persisted Fanchon, "you said this morning that you had spent allthe money on us, and that we owed you for the gloves. Oh, how knowingyou are, Brenda, but you have overstepped the mark this time, and poorpapa, if he knew--"
Brenda lowered her eyes. She had very thick and very curling jet-blacklashes, and they looked sweet as they rested against her bloomingcheeks. Fanchon could not help noticing them and, further, she couldnot help observing the gentle smile that played round her lips.
"Now, listen," said Brenda. "I want to confide in you. You can believein me or not--just as you please. I cannot possibly force your belief,nor can I force you to do anything but what you wish. I am, to acertain extent, in your power, and in the power of the other two girls.You can tell your father, and he will dismiss me, and--I shall beruined--"
"Oh, I don't suppose papa will be so very hard with you. He's quitefond of you, you know," said Fanchon.
"He would be terribly severe," said Brenda. "He is a dear good man, buthe would be terrible, fearful, if you told him--you three--what you havefound out. I tell you, Fanchon, why he would be so fearful. Because Ihave done what I have done entirely for the sake of deceiving him."
"Oh dear! dear! Then you are even more wicked than I thought," saidFanchon.
"Listen--the position is a very strange one. I seem to forget, as I amtalking to you, that I am your governess, and that you and your sistersare my little pupils, but the facts are those: I look upon you, Fanchon,as very much older than your years. You have, in many ways, the mind ofa grown-up woman. Of course you are very young, quite unformed, but youwill be grown up sooner than most girls; and you have an understandingway, and I think you will follow me now if I try hard to explainmyself."
"I wish you would begin," said Fanchon then, restlessly, "you do so beatabout the bush. You said this morning that you hadn't a penny over, andthat we owed you for the gloves; and then, afterwards, you confessedthat you had something over--an awful lot over--and that you meant tospend it at Marshlands. You told one lie, anyway."
"Yes, I told one lie, anyway," responded Brenda, intense sadness in hertone. "I told one dreadful, wicked lie, and I am very, _very_ sorry--"
"Oh, I wonder if you are!"
"Yes, I am--I am; that was why I cried that time."
"It wasn't--you cried because you were in a funk."
"Fanchon, my dear child, your blunt words hurt me exceedingly."
"Well, well," said Fanchon, kicking one leg against the wainscoting asshe spoke--"do go on, hurry up--won't you? We'll forget about the lienumber one, and remember that you have confessed to having the money.We'll even try to believe that you meant to spend it on us atMarshlands. Go on from that point, do."
"I will explain things to you," said Brenda. "You know your dear fatheris very ignorant with regard to dress. His simplicity on these mattersis most sweet, but at times it almost provokes a smile. Now, if I hadspent three pounds on each of you in the little shops at Rocheford; andif Nina, and Josephine, and you--my dear Fanchon, in your silly way--hadlost your heads over the pretty things I had bought, he would have beendreadfully startled and would have accused himself of great extravagancein giving you so much money, and when the next occasion came when mydear little pupils wanted pretty clothes, I should have had nothing likeas much to spend on you. So your Brenda was--well--cunning, if youchoose to call it so, and determined to outwit dear papa; and quiteresolved that her little pupils should be charmingly attired at a placewhere he was not likely to see them." Fanchon did not speak at all fora minute. After a pause, she said:
"And _that_ was your reason for keeping back the money?"
"Certainly--just to deceive your poor papa; for _his_ good, dear--forhis good, and for yours."
"You're awfully clever, Brenda," was Fanchon's next remark.
Brenda coloured.
"Why do you say that?" she asked.
"Because--because--I know it. You made up that story to-day when youwere by yourself, and it's wonderfully clever--it really is. I supposeyou think that we girls believe you."
"You'll believe in your pretty frocks, and nice hats, and nice shoes andcharming gloves, and also in the little treats at the different teashops which I mean to give you all out of dear papa's money--"
"That is, of course, if we don't tell," said Fanchon. "Oh, you canplease yourself about that," said Brenda. "You can tell, and everythingwill be at an end. I shall go away from here; I will give him back themoney--I have it in that drawer--and he will take my poor littlecharacter as well, and I'll wander forth into the world, a desolate andruined girl. You won't go to the sea--you'll stay at home. You'll haveyour victory. In a few weeks a horrid, elderly governess withspectacles, and perhaps with a squint, will come here. I'm sure yourfather will be afraid to get any one young and--and--pretty--again.When _she_ comes, she will give you--"
"Beans!" said Fanchon. "I know the sort--I--I don't want a horriblething like that in the house."
"No--poor Brenda is better than that, isn't she?"
"Oh, Brenda, you _are_ so clever," laughed Fanchon. When Brenda heardthat laugh, she knew that her victory was assured.
"My dear girl," she said, "believe me or not; that was my real reasonfor keeping back the money, and your terrible little Nina can
keep anaccount of all that I spend at Marshlands, and satisfy her wise,_odious_ little head with the fact that I am not holding back one pennyfor myself. She can do that, and you can all have a good time. Now--what do you say?"
"It sounds--if you had not told that first lie--it sounds almost as ifit could just be believed," said Fanchon.
"It can be acted on, whether it is believed or not," remarked Brenda.
Fanchon was silent. Brenda watched her narrowly. "I have something tosay to you,"
"Just for all the world," repeated Fanchon afterwards when she gave hersisters a partial account of this interview, "as if _she_ were in theright and I was her little culprit at the bar!"
"Sit down, dear Fanchon," said Brenda. "Take this cosy seat by the openwindow--isn't the night very warm?"
"Yes--very," said Fanchon.
She took the proffered seat and the governess placed herself on thewindow ledge near by.
"We shall enjoy our time at the sea," said Brenda, "shall we not?"
Fanchon did not answer. She was gazing in surprise at Brenda, who,prettily dressed in soft white muslin, looked more charming even thanusual.
"The cool sea breezes will be so refreshing," continued thegoverness--"I am picturing the whole scene. I am going to be, ofcourse, very particular with regard to Josie and Nina; but you, Fanchon,who are so tall for your age, can come out with me in the evening andlisten to the band and--and--partake of any sort of fun that is goingon."
"Can I really?" said Fanchon, her eyes sparkling, and, for a minute, sheforgot that she was really the judge and Brenda the criminal.
"Of course you can, dear; I mean you to have a good time."
"But can't we settle that afterwards?" said Fanchon. "The other thinghas to be arranged first, hasn't it?"
"What other thing, my dear?"
"Oh, Brenda--you know--don't pretend that you forget. I gave you afright--a big fright--this morning, and you--you cried. What are yougoing to do about the money? you have it--you know, and it isn't yours,it's ours."
"I have it, of course," said Brenda, "I have not denied it. I told youthat I thought of spending it at Marshlands; there'll be sure to be niceshops there, and we can see the things that'll be suitable. You don'tsuppose, you poor children, that you can manage with only those pinkmuslin dresses--that would never, never do--I had no such thought, Iassure you."
"But," persisted Fanchon, "you said this morning that you had spent allthe money on us, and that we owed you for the gloves. Oh, how knowingyou are, Brenda, but you have overstepped the mark this time, and poorpapa, if he knew--"
Brenda lowered her eyes. She had very thick and very curling jet-blacklashes, and they looked sweet as they rested against her bloomingcheeks. Fanchon could not help noticing them and, further, she couldnot help observing the gentle smile that played round her lips.
"Now, listen," said Brenda. "I want to confide in you. You can believein me or not--just as you please. I cannot possibly force your belief,nor can I force you to do anything but what you wish. I am, to acertain extent, in your power, and in the power of the other two girls.You can tell your father, and he will dismiss me, and--I shall beruined--"
"Oh, I don't suppose papa will be so very hard with you. He's quitefond of you, you know," said Fanchon.
"He would be terribly severe," said Brenda. "He is a dear good man, buthe would be terrible, fearful, if you told him--you three--what you havefound out. I tell you, Fanchon, why he would be so fearful. Because Ihave done what I have done entirely for the sake of deceiving him."
"Oh dear! dear! Then you are even more wicked than I thought," saidFanchon.
"Listen--the position is a very strange one. I seem to forget, as I amtalking to you, that I am your governess, and that you and your sistersare my little pupils, but the facts are those: I look upon you, Fanchon,as very much older than your years. You have, in many ways, the mind ofa grown-up woman. Of course you are very young, quite unformed, but youwill be grown up sooner than most girls; and you have an understandingway, and I think you will follow me now if I try hard to explainmyself."
"I wish you would begin," said Fanchon then, restlessly, "you do so beatabout the bush. You said this morning that you hadn't a penny over, andthat we owed you for the gloves; and then, afterwards, you confessedthat you had something over--an awful lot over--and that you meant tospend it at Marshlands. You told one lie, anyway."
"Yes, I told one lie, anyway," responded Brenda, intense sadness in hertone. "I told one dreadful, wicked lie, and I am very, _very_ sorry--"
"Oh, I wonder if you are!"
"Yes, I am--I am; that was why I cried that time."
"It wasn't--you cried because you were in a funk."
"Fanchon, my dear child, your blunt words hurt me exceedingly."
"Well, well," said Fanchon, kicking one leg against the wainscoting asshe spoke--"do go on, hurry up--won't you? We'll forget about the lienumber one, and remember that you have confessed to having the money.We'll even try to believe that you meant to spend it on us atMarshlands. Go on from that point, do."
"I will explain things to you," said Brenda. "You know your dear fatheris very ignorant with regard to dress. His simplicity on these mattersis most sweet, but at times it almost provokes a smile. Now, if I hadspent three pounds on each of you in the little shops at Rocheford; andif Nina, and Josephine, and you--my dear Fanchon, in your silly way--hadlost your heads over the pretty things I had bought, he would have beendreadfully startled and would have accused himself of great extravagancein giving you so much money, and when the next occasion came when mydear little pupils wanted pretty clothes, I should have had nothing likeas much to spend on you. So your Brenda was--well--cunning, if youchoose to call it so, and determined to outwit dear papa; and quiteresolved that her little pupils should be charmingly attired at a placewhere he was not likely to see them." Fanchon did not speak at all fora minute. After a pause, she said:
"And _that_ was your reason for keeping back the money?"
"Certainly--just to deceive your poor papa; for _his_ good, dear--forhis good, and for yours."
"You're awfully clever, Brenda," was Fanchon's next remark.
Brenda coloured.
"Why do you say that?" she asked.
"Because--because--I know it. You made up that story to-day when youwere by yourself, and it's wonderfully clever--it really is. I supposeyou think that we girls believe you."
"You'll believe in your pretty frocks, and nice hats, and nice shoes andcharming gloves, and also in the little treats at the different teashops which I mean to give you all out of dear papa's money--"
"That is, of course, if we don't tell," said Fanchon. "Oh, you canplease yourself about that," said Brenda. "You can tell, and everythingwill be at an end. I shall go away from here; I will give him back themoney--I have it in that drawer--and he will take my poor littlecharacter as well, and I'll wander forth into the world, a desolate andruined girl. You won't go to the sea--you'll stay at home. You'll haveyour victory. In a few weeks a horrid, elderly governess withspectacles, and perhaps with a squint, will come here. I'm sure yourfather will be afraid to get any one young and--and--pretty--again.When _she_ comes, she will give you--"
"Beans!" said Fanchon. "I know the sort--I--I don't want a horriblething like that in the house."
"No--poor Brenda is better than that, isn't she?"
"Oh, Brenda, you _are_ so clever," laughed Fanchon. When Brenda heardthat laugh, she knew that her victory was assured.
"My dear girl," she said, "believe me or not; that was my real reasonfor keeping back the money, and your terrible little Nina can
"It sounds--if you had not told that first lie--it sounds almost as ifit could just be believed," said Fanchon.
"It can be acted on, whether it is believed or not," remarked Brenda.
Fanchon was silent. Brenda watched her narrowly. "I have something tosay to you,"