The Head Girl at the Gables (26 page)

It was nothing more nor less than the lost pocket-case.

Landry! They had never thought of Landry! He had been with them in the cave when they hid it inside the cupboard. Lorraine remembered now how he had made confused reference to papers and Morland going to the war, and how Claudia had soothed him, and told him to pick shells on the beach. Without doubt he must have taken the case with some dazed belief that by so doing he was hindering the authorities from sending his brother to the front. Perhaps that was the mysterious secret he was babbling about in bed to-day. The case might have lain for months in the dust, if Lorraine had not chanced to come into the gallery this afternoon. Chanced! There was no such thing as chance! Surely it was the answer to that intense, voiceless thought-wave of prayer, in which her groping spirit had for a moment soared into a higher plane and touched the fringes of the eternal world.

Morland was saved--saved from the shadow of a terrible disgrace. She must let him know at once, for by this time he must have reached the cave and ransacked it in vain. Suppose in his despair he were to carry out his threat and never return! The horror of the thought sent Lorraine tearing down the gallery steps and out into the sunshine. She must follow Morland and find him and tell him. She was rested now, and the walk would seem nothing. Besides, it was cooler, and a breeze had sprung up from the sea. When the heart is light our feet seem literally to dance along. The distance to Tangy Point to-day seemed halved. She climbed down the steep little track from the cairn on to the shore. Seated on a rock below the cave was a depressed-looking figure in khaki. Morland did not stir till she came near, then he rose with a haggard face and wild eyes.

"Lorraine, it's all U P with me!" he said breathlessly.

But for answer she waved the pocket-case.

They decided on the way home that the safest and wisest plan was to make it into a parcel, address it to Captain Blake at the Camp, and post it to him from Porthkeverne. He would receive it the next morning, and would probably be satisfied and make no more enquiries as to who had found it and forwarded it.

"So it wasn't Madame Bertier who took it after all!" commented Lorraine.

"No," said Morland thoughtfully. "But I believe she would have done it if she'd had the chance. I've had my eyes opened to-day. I've been a fool, Lorraine. I'm going to start a fresh page, and try to be worthy of my best friends. I simply can't express what I owe you. You're the sort of girl that keeps a fellow straight--some women send them on the rocks. When I think of you, I think of everything that is true and good."

"I'm not much to boast of, I'm afraid," said Lorraine humbly, "but I'm trying--trying hard, like many other people who are a great deal better, and nicer, and sweeter tempered than I am."

The Parting of the Ways

Events, most fortunately, turned out as Lorraine and Morland had hoped. Captain Blake received an anonymous parcel containing his lost dispatch-case, and, judging probably that some chance passer-by had picked it up and tardily restored it, made no further stir in the matter. So the cloud which had threatened to break in an overwhelming storm of ruin blew safely over, and left clear skies behind.

Lorraine returned to The Gables next morning to find the school in a whirl of excitement over the disappearance of Madame Bertier. She had been missing from her lodgings since the very morning when the U-boat took in its cargo of oil from Smugglers' Cove. She had departed no one knew whither, without even a portmanteau or a handbag, and had left absolutely no trace of her destination. The police came and examined her belongings, but they found nothing treasonable, though a heap of white ashes in the fire-grate showed that papers must have been burnt. The fascinating Russian adventuress vanished from the world of Porthkeverne as suddenly and mysteriously as she had appeared there. Her exit made a nine-days' wonder in the artistic and literary circles where her clever personality had won her so much favour. Wiseacres shook their heads and remembered suspicious circumstances which had not struck them at the time as incriminating.

At The Gables, Miss Kingsley hastily reorganized her teaching staff, handing the French classes over to Miss Paget and the music to Miss Turner until the end of the term. She felt the blow to be a double one, for not only did it seriously upset the arrangements of the school, but it wounded her in a tender spot. She had been very kind to Madame Bertier, and had thought that, in befriending and giving her employment, she was aiding a distressed ally to gain an honourable living. To her upright and patriotic temperament the disillusionment was painful.

There was little of the term left now; in a few weeks the holidays would be here, and the group of girls who were working together in the Sixth Form would be dispersed. Lorraine could hardly realize that her school days were so nearly ended. She had been happy at The Gables, and she was sorry to leave. Yet life stretched before her very bright and fair, with such pleasant prospects that she thrilled when she thought of the future. Her father had decided that her artistic talent was quite sufficient to justify him in sending her to London to study art, and had consulted Margaret Lindsay as to the best master under whom to place her. Lorraine, in her Saturday mornings' lessons, had dabbled in a variety of arts and crafts, and had tried her 'prentice hand at water colours, oil painting, illustrating, gesso, metal work, wood engraving, and enamelling. Each, she knew, was a separate career in itself that would take many years in which to gain even a mediocre proficiency. On the whole her inclination led her to take up sculpture. She had been most successful with clay modelling, and several Porthkeverne artists who had seen some of her work had praised it and advised her to go on. Down at the dear studio by the harbour, where her first artistic inspirations had been received, she talked the matter over with her friend. Margaret was packing to go away, and the room was strewn with canvases, water-colour boards, paints, and other impedimenta. Lorraine, sitting on the table, flourishing a mahl-stick, aired her views.

"It's so glorious to take up something that you feel perhaps some day you may--if you work hard--be able to make something of. Carina, if I ever get anything into an exhibition, I shall just want to turn head over heels with joy. Art suits me far better than music. If you go in for playing or singing, you have to perform before an audience, and the feeling that anybody is listening to me simply
withers
me! You don't know what agonies I go through when I'm asked to play my violin before visitors--I'm so nervous that my fingers absolutely dither. Now, painting or sculpture you can do when you're quite alone, and when it's finished people can look at it, and you needn't even be there to show it off. Don't you sympathise?"

"Indeed I do. For anybody afflicted with shyness, a studio is certainly preferable to a platform; and works of art, if they are worth anything, live on. You ought to do well, Lorraine, if you work. You've the sculptor's thumb--broad and thin and turned back. I'm glad you're to study under Mr. Davidson; he's an inspiring teacher and very thorough."

"I shall leave the music to Monica," decided Lorraine. "She's a monkey sometimes, but she's a clever little mortal--much cleverer than I am. I sometimes think she'll be the success of the family."

All of the Sixth Form at The Gables were going their several ways. Patsie contemplated work on the land, Vivien meant to devote herself to the Red Cross, Dorothy was destined for college, Nellie to study kindergarten training. For Claudia the future was still nebulous. Under Rosemary's instruction she had practised her singing with an immense enthusiasm. Her voice was developing wonderfully. Rosemary listened to it with somewhat the feeling of an artist who has created a most beautiful thing. She had taught Claudia to accomplish what she could never compass herself. Her own talent, passed on to another, had gained ten talents more. At the end of July, before the College of Music closed its summer session, Rosemary wrote to Signor Arezzo concerning her pupil, and received a reply making an appointment for her to bring Claudia to have her voice tested. This was tremendous news. She went up to Windy Howe with the letter. Mr. Castleton, absorbed in a classic painting of Beata and Romola as wood nymphs, detached his mind with difficulty from Greek draperies and focused it upon his eldest daughter.

"I did not know Claudia could sing!" he remarked with surprise.

"Why, my dear, she's always singing about the house, and has a very good voice too. It would be splendid if she could make something of it," put in his wife, who in this case proved her step-daughter's firm ally. "Be generous now, and let the girl run up to town with Miss Forrester. Who knows what may come of it?"

Mr. Castleton was mixing a subtle shade of grey for the folds beneath Romola's girdle. At the moment he would have consented to anything to get rid of visitors and go on with his painting.

"Let her go if she likes," he agreed.

So the appointment was accepted; and one day in the next week an anxious little Rosemary, living in a whirl of hopes, piloted a nervous, blushing, but quite too lovely Claudia into the solemn precincts of the College of Music. Signor Arezzo had in his time trained hundreds of musical students. Most of them possessed moderate talents, some were clever, and an elect few passed on to the concert platform. It was only once or twice in his teaching career that he had discovered a voice worthy of grand opera. His experienced eye measured Claudia with satisfaction. Her beautiful throat was certainly that of a singer. On the operatic stage that face and figure would be worth a fortune. He did not commit himself, however, but, asking her to come nearer to the piano, played a few chords and began to test her voice. At first Claudia was nervous, but after she had sung some exercises the feeling passed, and she poured out her notes as naturally as she had done in the orchard at home. The professor made her try various scales, arpeggios, studies, and a song.

"Thank you," he said at last. "That will do. I can safely promise you a scholarship at the College next September. If you're ready to work I think we may make something of you. Now, will you go into the ante-room and wait while I speak to Miss Forrester? I want to have a word with her."

When Claudia, with shining eyes, had gone out of the room, Signor Arezzo turned to Rosemary and shook her warmly by the hand.

"I congratulate you!" he said. "Unless I'm much mistaken you've discovered an operatic star. The girl has a most marvellous voice. She'll be a credit to the College some day! And she has every element for a successful
prima donna
--graceful movement, enthusiasm and dramatic fire. You say you have only been training her since last May? Why, it's marvellous! You must be a born teacher. I couldn't have done more with her in the time myself. If you would care to help me with some of my pupils, you could take a good deal of work off my hands. I have never found anyone before who so absolutely realised my methods. I should be very glad to give you charge of the beginners under my supervision."

It was Rosemary's turn now to be surprised.

"Oh, if I only might!" she gasped.

Two very delighted and happy girls returned to Porthkeverne next day; Claudia with the sure prospect of a scholarship, and Rosemary almost dazed at the offer of so splendid a post as assistant to Signor Arezzo.

"Isn't it wonderful, Muvvie?" she confided. "Just when I was wailing that my life was spoilt, I've found my true career. I see now that I should never have been a success on a platform, and I'm glad Signor Arezzo had the honesty to tell me so. But teaching is quite different. I can feel how things ought to be, and I can make other people do them. It's like working on their instruments instead of mine. Think of going back to the dear old College, and actually having an established place there! I do hope I shall really be as useful to the Professor as he seems to expect! With Lorraine studying sculpture, and Claudia and myself at the College, what a gorgeous time we shall all have at the hostel together!"

The final day of the term at The Gables had arrived, and the girls, in their best dresses, were ready to assemble in the gymnasium for the speech-giving which always celebrated the close of the school year. The monitresses met in the Sixth Form room for the last time. They took their parting differently, according to temperament. Audrey was sentimental, Nellie a trifle tearful. Each was ready to expatiate on her plans for the future.

"In three weeks I hope to be on the land, and driving a milk-cart with a piebald pony," said Patsie cheerfully.

"But why a piebald pony?" asked Dorothy, in a puzzled tone.

"Why? Because people are so superstitious about them, and it would be such sport to come careering down the street and see folks suddenly bending to touch their shoes, and know they were all having wishes. I'd feel like a fairy godmother, or Father Christmas. I've got my land costume, and it's no end! I wanted to turn up in it to-day to show you all, only Mother wouldn't let me."

"Violet's sewing very hard, making clothes for me to take to London," vouchsafed Claudia. "She's been a perfect trump lately! Beata and Romola are to start school here in September. They're fearfully excited."

"And little Monica will be in the Fourth Form," said Lorraine. "I wonder who will be monitresses in our place, and whom Miss Kingsley will choose for head girl?"

"Whoever your successor may be, she won't make a better head girl than you, Lorraine," said Patsie heartily. "We haven't said much, but we've appreciated you all the year. You've been a sport!"

"I? Why? I've done nothing for the school, I'm afraid--not nearly as much as I wanted to do."

"We didn't want a paragon," returned Patsie. "You've been yourself, and that was quite good enough. On the whole it's been a ripping year."

There is very little more to tell. How Rosemary and Lorraine and Claudia prospered at their work in London; how Margaret Lindsay took a studio in town for the winter, and joined them at their hostel; how Morland went to the front, did a splendid unselfish deed, and won the D.C.M., are all beyond the limits of a school story, and in the borderland of the bigger world of grown-up life. But, when Lorraine in days to come looks back upon the old fun at Porthkeverne, I think she will emphatically decide that whatever happiness or success she may win afterwards, she never spent a jollier, livelier, more light-hearted, and altogether satisfactory time than the year she was Head Girl at The Gables.