Turquoise and Ruby by L. T. Meade
following evening.
Meanwhile, plans were being made in another quarter which were likely toupset the most astute calculations on the part of Brenda and her eldestpupil. After breakfast, Mademoiselle managed to have a word alone withNina Amberley. There and then, Nina told her that she had discoveredhow very wise Mademoiselle was--that Fanchon really had an ugly oldcheap bangle, which she knew only cost a shilling, and that beyond doubtthe said bangle would appear on Nina's wrist that very evening whenMademoiselle took Josie and herself for their surprise treat.Mademoiselle could have hugged Nina as she spoke. Little as she caredfor the plain face of that extraordinary child, she thought that sameface almost beautiful at that moment. But she had her work to do. Shemeant to be thoroughly sure of her facts; and, after parting from Ninaand cautioning her not to reveal a word but to trust absolutely to thepoor Frenchwoman for an evening of such intense fascination that shecould never forget it as long as she lived, she hurried from the child'spresence, went up to her room, and there she dressed herself in her verybest.
Mademoiselle's best was plain, but it was eminently suitable. She randownstairs, and entered Mrs Dawson's parlour.
"I should not be the least surprised," she said in a low voice, "if youand I, dear Madame, did obtain our little, our very little reward forthe eighteen carat gold bangle with the beautiful turquoise stone in theclasp. But I tell you no more; only, Madame, you will miss me to-day atmy mid-day meal; for I must repair to Castle Beverley in order to see mytwo beloved pupils--Miss Honora and Miss Penelope."
Of course Mrs Dawson was all curiosity, and of course Mademoiselle wasall mystery. Nothing would induce the French governess to reveal somuch as a pin's point of how she knew what she knew. In the endMademoiselle departed, making first the necessary proviso that MrsDawson should not repeat to any of the ladies of the _pension_ where theFrench governess had gone.
"For the sake of ourselves, it is best not to do so, I you do assure,"said Mademoiselle, and then she started to walk to Castle Beverley.
Mademoiselle had by no means a good complexion; but then she neverflushed, or looked the least hot; and when that long walk had come to anend, she had not a speck of dust on her neat black dress, for she hadtaken the precaution to bring with her a tiny clothes brush, with whichshe carefully removed what she had gathered from the dusty highroad; andher hair was as fresh as though she had just arranged it before the bestlooking-glass in the world. She drew on a pair of new gloves, which shedid not wear while she was walking, and, with her dainty parasolunfurled, and her exquisite feet perfectly shod, she appeared quite astylish-looking person when she enquired of the powdered footman if MissBeverley was within.
Yes, Miss Beverley was within. Mademoiselle produced her neat card, andbegged that it might be conveyed to the young lady. Meanwhile, theservant asked her into one of the sitting-rooms. There, a few minuteslater, Honora joined her.
Honora was not glad to see her, but that did not greatly matter. Shewas hospitable to her finger-ends, and would not allow the tiredgoverness to go away until she was thoroughly refreshed after her longwalk.
"My pupil most dear!" said Mademoiselle, when Honora entered, "I couldnot rest so near your home the most beautiful without calling upon you.Alas, yes! I walked! But what of that, when I had such a joy at theend of the weary _kilometres_!"
"You must stay now you have come," said Honora. "Will you come into thegarden? It is beautifully cool under the cedar tree, and you will findmost of us there. We shall have lunch by-and-by, and you will notreturn until the cool of the evening."
Mademoiselle murmured her thanks, and was very glad to join the othersunder the cedar. She made the usual suitable remarks and, as there wereseveral of her pupils present, they all gave her, more or less, acordial welcome.
"I see you not again," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "I returnto my land, heart-rent for the absence of those I so fondly love."
Little Pauline Hungerford had the warmest heart in the world. She didnot like Mademoiselle at all when she was at school, but she was trulysorry for her now. She ran up to her and flung her arms round her neck.
"Why must you go?" she said. "Is Mrs Hazlitt angry with you?"
"I know not, _mon enfant_. I cannot imagine why I leave the good schoolwhere my loved pupils dwell, but the decree is gone forth, and I mustsubmit. You will remember me when you conjugate your verbs, my littlePauline, will you not?"
As Mademoiselle spoke, she passed her arm round the child's waist, anddrew her close to her. The others were now talking to one another at alittle distance.
"You have your pretty bangle on," said the governess. "Have you heardof the recovery of its--so to speak--twin sister?"
"No, no," said Pauline, "we don't talk of it at all: it is quite lost,but Nellie is getting good; she doesn't cry any more; she is resigned.Mother will get her one, I know, to replace the lost one, by-and-by."
"Your sister Nellie is of the angel type; but perhaps--I say notanything to a certainty--she may be rewarded sooner than she thinks."
"Why, Mademoiselle," cried Pauline, opening her eyes in astonishment,"do you know anything?"
"Whisper it not, dear. I have at present nothing to say. At_present_--remember; but there may be news in the future. Allow me, mylittle one, to examine your bangle with its heart of the ruby--stillmore close than I have hitherto done."
Pauline allowed the bangle to be removed from her wrist Mademoisellenoticed the curious and very beautiful engraving of the delicate gold.
"And the other was an exact counterpart, was it not?" she queried.
"Precisely the same," said Pauline, "only that it held a turquoise andmine holds a ruby."
Mademoiselle took a pencil from her pocket, and also a little notebook.She made some almost invisible tracings in the notebook and thenreturned the bangle to Pauline.
"You will speak no words," she said, "but you will cultivate a _soupcon_of that precious hope which sustains the heart."
Pauline promised, and went away, feeling more uncomfortable than glad.Mademoiselle spent the rest of her day in quite an agreeable manner.She had dropped all those traits which had made her disliked at HazlittChase, and amused the young people by her witty talk and her gaydemeanour. The strange children at Castle Beverley thought heraltogether delightful: her pupils also considered her delightful, butwith a reserve in their minds which confined that delight to holidaysand differentiated it from the working days.
Mademoiselle could not be induced to stay to supper. No, she said shemust hurry home. She was staying in the same house where that sweetgirl, Brenda Carlton, with her dear little pupils, was living.
"I have a small attic there," she said humbly. "The terms are moderate,and I am filled with sweet content. But I have promised to take somedisconsolate little children for a treat to-night, and I would notdisappoint them for the world."
To Penelope, Mademoiselle hardly spoke; but before she went away, shewent up to the young lady and uttered some extravagant words of praiseof her sister.
"But you yourself are coming to see us. We look forward to your visitwith the delight supreme," said Mademoiselle.
"I am coming in to Marshlands to-morrow," said Penelope. "Brenda hasasked me to spend a part of the day there."
Mademoiselle expressed her increased pleasure at this news, andpresently took her departure, walking back again all the way toMarshlands. But on the middle of the dusty highroad she took out hernotebook, and carefully examined the little drawing she had made in it.She gave a low laugh of absolute contentment; and when she sat down tothe supper table in the boarding-house, there was no person morecheerful or who looked more absolutely fresh than Mademoiselle.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
AN EXCHANGE.
The two younger Amberleys were in a state of great agitation duringsupper. Had Brenda not been intensely preoccupied, she must havenoticed this. Little Nina was too restless to eat with her usualappetite. She was silent too, watching Mademoisell
e closely, butcasting quick, furtive glances from time to time in Brenda's direction.
Brenda had achieved her object, and Harry Jordan was going to take herto the play. She had succeeded in this by writing him a note proposingthe arrangement, and also offering to pay for his ticket. Harry Jordanhad accepted, thinking all the time how infinitely he would prefer goingto the play with Nettie Harris, the girl who was just at presentengaging his wayward fancy. Brenda meant to make the most of thisopportunity with regard to Harry. Fanchon must, of course, be hercompanion. Her hopes rose high as the hour approached.
"Girls," said Brenda, rising front the supper table, "go up immediatelyto your bedroom, it is very late."
"Late?" cried Mrs Simpkins, "it is more than half an hour earlier
Meanwhile, plans were being made in another quarter which were likely toupset the most astute calculations on the part of Brenda and her eldestpupil. After breakfast, Mademoiselle managed to have a word alone withNina Amberley. There and then, Nina told her that she had discoveredhow very wise Mademoiselle was--that Fanchon really had an ugly oldcheap bangle, which she knew only cost a shilling, and that beyond doubtthe said bangle would appear on Nina's wrist that very evening whenMademoiselle took Josie and herself for their surprise treat.Mademoiselle could have hugged Nina as she spoke. Little as she caredfor the plain face of that extraordinary child, she thought that sameface almost beautiful at that moment. But she had her work to do. Shemeant to be thoroughly sure of her facts; and, after parting from Ninaand cautioning her not to reveal a word but to trust absolutely to thepoor Frenchwoman for an evening of such intense fascination that shecould never forget it as long as she lived, she hurried from the child'spresence, went up to her room, and there she dressed herself in her verybest.
Mademoiselle's best was plain, but it was eminently suitable. She randownstairs, and entered Mrs Dawson's parlour.
"I should not be the least surprised," she said in a low voice, "if youand I, dear Madame, did obtain our little, our very little reward forthe eighteen carat gold bangle with the beautiful turquoise stone in theclasp. But I tell you no more; only, Madame, you will miss me to-day atmy mid-day meal; for I must repair to Castle Beverley in order to see mytwo beloved pupils--Miss Honora and Miss Penelope."
Of course Mrs Dawson was all curiosity, and of course Mademoiselle wasall mystery. Nothing would induce the French governess to reveal somuch as a pin's point of how she knew what she knew. In the endMademoiselle departed, making first the necessary proviso that MrsDawson should not repeat to any of the ladies of the _pension_ where theFrench governess had gone.
"For the sake of ourselves, it is best not to do so, I you do assure,"said Mademoiselle, and then she started to walk to Castle Beverley.
Mademoiselle had by no means a good complexion; but then she neverflushed, or looked the least hot; and when that long walk had come to anend, she had not a speck of dust on her neat black dress, for she hadtaken the precaution to bring with her a tiny clothes brush, with whichshe carefully removed what she had gathered from the dusty highroad; andher hair was as fresh as though she had just arranged it before the bestlooking-glass in the world. She drew on a pair of new gloves, which shedid not wear while she was walking, and, with her dainty parasolunfurled, and her exquisite feet perfectly shod, she appeared quite astylish-looking person when she enquired of the powdered footman if MissBeverley was within.
Yes, Miss Beverley was within. Mademoiselle produced her neat card, andbegged that it might be conveyed to the young lady. Meanwhile, theservant asked her into one of the sitting-rooms. There, a few minuteslater, Honora joined her.
Honora was not glad to see her, but that did not greatly matter. Shewas hospitable to her finger-ends, and would not allow the tiredgoverness to go away until she was thoroughly refreshed after her longwalk.
"My pupil most dear!" said Mademoiselle, when Honora entered, "I couldnot rest so near your home the most beautiful without calling upon you.Alas, yes! I walked! But what of that, when I had such a joy at theend of the weary _kilometres_!"
"You must stay now you have come," said Honora. "Will you come into thegarden? It is beautifully cool under the cedar tree, and you will findmost of us there. We shall have lunch by-and-by, and you will notreturn until the cool of the evening."
Mademoiselle murmured her thanks, and was very glad to join the othersunder the cedar. She made the usual suitable remarks and, as there wereseveral of her pupils present, they all gave her, more or less, acordial welcome.
"I see you not again," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "I returnto my land, heart-rent for the absence of those I so fondly love."
Little Pauline Hungerford had the warmest heart in the world. She didnot like Mademoiselle at all when she was at school, but she was trulysorry for her now. She ran up to her and flung her arms round her neck.
"Why must you go?" she said. "Is Mrs Hazlitt angry with you?"
"I know not, _mon enfant_. I cannot imagine why I leave the good schoolwhere my loved pupils dwell, but the decree is gone forth, and I mustsubmit. You will remember me when you conjugate your verbs, my littlePauline, will you not?"
As Mademoiselle spoke, she passed her arm round the child's waist, anddrew her close to her. The others were now talking to one another at alittle distance.
"You have your pretty bangle on," said the governess. "Have you heardof the recovery of its--so to speak--twin sister?"
"No, no," said Pauline, "we don't talk of it at all: it is quite lost,but Nellie is getting good; she doesn't cry any more; she is resigned.Mother will get her one, I know, to replace the lost one, by-and-by."
"Your sister Nellie is of the angel type; but perhaps--I say notanything to a certainty--she may be rewarded sooner than she thinks."
"Why, Mademoiselle," cried Pauline, opening her eyes in astonishment,"do you know anything?"
"Whisper it not, dear. I have at present nothing to say. At_present_--remember; but there may be news in the future. Allow me, mylittle one, to examine your bangle with its heart of the ruby--stillmore close than I have hitherto done."
Pauline allowed the bangle to be removed from her wrist Mademoisellenoticed the curious and very beautiful engraving of the delicate gold.
"And the other was an exact counterpart, was it not?" she queried.
"Precisely the same," said Pauline, "only that it held a turquoise andmine holds a ruby."
Mademoiselle took a pencil from her pocket, and also a little notebook.She made some almost invisible tracings in the notebook and thenreturned the bangle to Pauline.
"You will speak no words," she said, "but you will cultivate a _soupcon_of that precious hope which sustains the heart."
Pauline promised, and went away, feeling more uncomfortable than glad.Mademoiselle spent the rest of her day in quite an agreeable manner.She had dropped all those traits which had made her disliked at HazlittChase, and amused the young people by her witty talk and her gaydemeanour. The strange children at Castle Beverley thought heraltogether delightful: her pupils also considered her delightful, butwith a reserve in their minds which confined that delight to holidaysand differentiated it from the working days.
Mademoiselle could not be induced to stay to supper. No, she said shemust hurry home. She was staying in the same house where that sweetgirl, Brenda Carlton, with her dear little pupils, was living.
"I have a small attic there," she said humbly. "The terms are moderate,and I am filled with sweet content. But I have promised to take somedisconsolate little children for a treat to-night, and I would notdisappoint them for the world."
To Penelope, Mademoiselle hardly spoke; but before she went away, shewent up to the young lady and uttered some extravagant words of praiseof her sister.
"But you yourself are coming to see us. We look forward to your visitwith the delight supreme," said Mademoiselle.
"I am coming in to Marshlands to-morrow," said Penelope. "Brenda hasasked me to spend a part of the day there."
Mademoiselle expressed her increased pleasure at this news, andpresently took her departure, walking back again all the way toMarshlands. But on the middle of the dusty highroad she took out hernotebook, and carefully examined the little drawing she had made in it.She gave a low laugh of absolute contentment; and when she sat down tothe supper table in the boarding-house, there was no person morecheerful or who looked more absolutely fresh than Mademoiselle.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
AN EXCHANGE.
The two younger Amberleys were in a state of great agitation duringsupper. Had Brenda not been intensely preoccupied, she must havenoticed this. Little Nina was too restless to eat with her usualappetite. She was silent too, watching Mademoisell
Brenda had achieved her object, and Harry Jordan was going to take herto the play. She had succeeded in this by writing him a note proposingthe arrangement, and also offering to pay for his ticket. Harry Jordanhad accepted, thinking all the time how infinitely he would prefer goingto the play with Nettie Harris, the girl who was just at presentengaging his wayward fancy. Brenda meant to make the most of thisopportunity with regard to Harry. Fanchon must, of course, be hercompanion. Her hopes rose high as the hour approached.
"Girls," said Brenda, rising front the supper table, "go up immediatelyto your bedroom, it is very late."
"Late?" cried Mrs Simpkins, "it is more than half an hour earlier