The Head Girl at the Gables

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER VIII

  Vivien Makes Terms

  Mr. George Forrester and Mr. Barton Forrester were brothers, andpartners in the old-established firm of solicitors, Deane and Forrester.The Barton Forresters lived at the opposite side of Porthkeverne, on theroad to St. Cyr, in an old-fashioned red brick Queen Anne house namedThe Firs, with a Greek portico and iron balconies outside the windows.The George Forresters always decided that the house was the exactepitome of Aunt Carrie. It was stately, and stood on its dignity, makingyou feel that it had a position to keep up, and extended hospitality asin duty bound, but with no special enthusiasm. Houses are largely areflection of their owners, and five minutes in a drawing-room willoften suffice to give you the correct mental atmosphere of a family. Ifthe picturesque general disorder of Windy Howe suggested art run riot,the well-kept but tasteless precision of The Firs expressed a totallyopposite temperament. No one could accuse Aunt Carrie of being artistic:her rooms were handsome and spotlessly neat, but they gave you the senseof being furnished, not arranged, and their lack of beauty struck achill to aesthetic souls.

  Aunt Carrie herself was big, and bustling, and overbearing, withwell-cut features, a high colour, and a determined voice. She isdescribed first, because she was so decidedly the head of the family.Uncle Barton only came in second. He was a gentle, pleasant little man,with kindly wrinkles round his eyes, and a habit of whistling under hisbreath when things grew stormy at home. In early days of matrimony hemade a struggle for his own way, but abandoned it later in favour of apeace-at-any-price policy. He was a town councillor, and vicar's wardenat the parish church, as well as a special constable. In his spare timehe lived for golf. Lindon, his only son, was exactly like him, even tothe habit of whistling and the propensity for golf. With Lindon,however, shells at the present were doing the whistling, and thetrenches took the place of bunkers. His photograph in khaki stood in asilver frame on the drawing-room mantelpiece.

  The three girls--Elsie, Betty, and Vivien--were shaded varieties oftheir mother. When Lorraine counted up her blessings, she always placedRosemary and Monica as special items. She did not get on with hercousins.

  "I like Uncle Barton and Lindon," she decided. "You never hear them saya nasty thing about anybody. It's the girls who pick holes in everyoneand everything."

  The attitude of the female portion of the family at The Firs wasfiercely critical. It might be amusing to themselves, but it wasuncomfortable for other people. Lorraine, visiting there in a new dress,literally squirmed when she felt eyes of inspection directed upon it. Itwas the same with accomplishments. Both she and Rosemary dreaded to playor sing at The Firs. The chilly "Thank you!" at the end of theperformance hurt more than brickbats. The Barton Forresters were alwaysurging on the George Forresters. They started on the assumption that, asa family, they were more clever, capable, and up-to-date, and thereforein a position to give good advice. Elsie, recently engaged to a navalofficer, considered that she had scored over Rosemary, who was sixmonths older and still unappropriated. Betty rubbed in her indispensablework at the Red Cross Hospital with comments on those slackers whoshirked giving their fair share of help. Vivien's sharp tongue wasLorraine's chief thorn in the flesh at The Gables.

  The fact that Vivien was her cousin made things extremely difficult forLorraine. She could have done battle royal with a stranger, and foughtthings out in the lists at school and have finished with them. But toquarrel with Vivien was another matter. It meant also quarrelling withAunt Carrie, Elsie, and Betty, who would take affairs to the tribunal ofPendlehurst and raise a domestic sandstorm.

  Long before, when they were quite children, the two girls hadquarrelled, and Aunt Carrie had solemnly, and quite unjustifiably,complained to her brother-in-law about Lorraine's conduct. Lorraine hadnever forgiven her father for not taking her part more firmly on thatoccasion. The remembrance of the ready ear he had lent to the enemy'sside of the question had prevented any future appeal to intervention.Matters with Vivien went on in a species of guerrilla warfare.

  As head girl, Lorraine had, of course, the whip hand at The Gables, butin every fresh scheme she found her cousin a dead weight and animpediment. Vivien always suggested something different. At committeemeetings she invariably started an opposition to every resolution.Nothing could be carried without bickering. In her capacity of monitressVivien was not a favourite. She was far too high-handed and domineeringto win any measure of popularity among the juniors. Surging discontentsometimes broke out into rebellion. It is a delicate task for a generalwhose aide-de-camp is too officious. Lorraine, with a feeling that shewas treading on eggs, brought up the subject of discipline at the nextcommittee meeting.

  "We must see that rules are kept, naturally," she conceded, "but I thinkperhaps lately some of us have just a little exceeded our authority. Wedon't want to get snubbed by Miss Kingsley, and told to mind our ownbusiness!"

  "If you mean me," retorted Vivien, "I wish you'd say so straight out andhave done with it! I hate innuendoes. I consider that the kids wantkeeping in order, and I'm there to do it, whether they like it orwhether they don't."

  "We must, of course, keep order; but if we can do it pleasantly, itmakes a far nicer feeling in the school. Some of those babes will doanything for a monitress they like."

  "Oh, it's all very well to go about fishing for popularity, like somepeople we know!"

  "I suppose you mean _me_?" said Patsie quickly.

  "If the cap fits, put it on."

  Nellie and Claire began to giggle at the prospect of a spar betweenPatsie and Vivien. Dorothy was fiddling with her pencil and frowning.

  "I don't let the kiddies take liberties with me," she vouchsafed; "yetthey escort me home in relays every day."

  "A monitress ought surely to be _liked_!" said Audrey plaintively.

  "What I feel is, that we ought to work more in harmony," explainedLorraine. "It doesn't do for one monitress to allow a thing, and anotherto forbid it. The juniors don't know where they are."

  "Yes, we can't each run the show on our own," agreed Patsie.

  "Couldn't we draw up a sort of general list to go upon?"

  "A black-list?"

  "Well, I mean some general guiding rules."

  "It's quite unnecessary," demurred Vivien. "My advice is to keep thekids in their places, and there'll be no more bother with them. It'sthat sloppy sentimental truckling to them that's at the bottom of allthe trouble. I've got to go home now. You may make any rules you like,but I shan't promise to keep them."

  Vivien scraped back her chair and clumped noisily from the room, leavingthe majority of the committee indignant. They consulted together, and bygeneral consent drew up a short code for the use of monitresses. Theyhanded a copy of it to Vivien next morning. She glanced at it casually,and flung it into the waste-paper basket.

  "I'm a monitress as much as the rest of you," she remarked, "and I havemy authority from Miss Kingsley. I can't see that I'm answerable toanyone else."

  Among the juniors, Vivien's reputation was not pleasant. Naturally, theytalked over the monitresses among themselves. Juniors are sharp-eyedlittle mortals, and they had a very good idea of how matters stood.

  "Vivien loves to boss," said Nan Carson. "She's wild because she's nothead, and she takes it out of us in exchange."

  "I don't see why she should order us about so."

  "She's not a mistress!"

  "No, only a monitress."

  "It's not fair."

  "I shall tell her so, some day."

  "She's a mean old thing!"

  "Why should we obey her?"

  So matters jogged along till one day they reached a crisis. Vivienhappened to be passing the door of Form II at about ten minutes to nine.It was, of course, before the official school hour, and Miss Poole hadnot yet entered to take the call-over. Some of the children were gettingout books, some were making a last effort to learn lessons, and a fewwere talking, laughing, and throwing paper pellets at one another. Theywere not making very much noise, and m
ost monitresses would have justwalked past the door and taken no notice. Not so Vivien. She bustled in,and commanded order.

  "Marjorie, sit down! Connie, shut your desk! Doris, stop talking! Effie,pick up those pieces of paper at once! You ought all to be quietly inyour places."

  "It's only ten minutes to nine," grumbled the girls.

  "I don't care what time it is. If you're here at half-past eight you'llhave to behave yourselves. I shall come in again in a few minutes, andif any girl is talking I shall put her name down."

  Vivien stalked away, leaving mutiny behind her.

  "No one's ever told us before that we weren't to talk before Miss Poolecame into the room."

  "It's absurd nonsense!"

  "_Everybody_ talks before nine!"

  "You bet Vivien does herself!"

  "I'm not going to sit still," piped Effie.

  "Remember Vivien's coming back," warned Marjorie.

  "She won't come back for a few minutes!" grinned Effie, hopping betweenthe desks, "and I don't care if she does, either! I'm not afraid ofVivien! She may jaw away as much as she likes. It amuses her, and itdoesn't hurt me. So there we are. See?"

  Some of the girls sniggered, and Effie, encouraged by popularapprobation, waxed more reckless still. She danced to the blackboard,seized the chalk, and began to draw.

  "Here's Vivien's portrait," she announced. "This is her long nose, andthis is her mouth, and this is her hair."

  "Oh, it _is_ like her!" chirruped Gracie.

  "The very image!" hinnied Doris.

  "Shut up, Effie, and rub it off, you silly cockchafer," recommendedMarjorie, giggling in spite of herself.

  "No, no! I haven't finished. I must put her blouse and swanky tie. Waita sec!" cried the artist, drawing in those details and adding a largeballoon issuing from the mouth of her model, and containing the words:"No talking, girls!"

  "You'll be caught," urged Marjorie, seizing the duster to clean theblackboard. Effie snatched it out of her hand.

  "All right, Grannie. Half a sec. more! I've just time!"

  And she scrawled hastily over the top of the portrait: "This is oldVivien."

  The last half second was the undoing of Effie, for at that very sameinstant the monitress reentered the room. Effie wiped the blackboardwith frantic speed, but not before Vivien had caught a clear view of herportrait. She glared first at Effie, who had skipped back to her place,then at the nine other conscious faces. Finally she announced:

  "You'll every one of you report yourselves to me at four o'clock thisafternoon. I shall expect you in the handicraft room, and you'll eachbring a poetry book with you. I shall stay here now until Miss Poolecomes. I'm not going to have this form a bear-garden."

  The mistress, entering almost immediately, looked rather astonished tosee Vivien standing by her desk. Her enquiring glance asked anexplanation.

  "It was necessary for someone to come in here and keep order, MissPoole," vouchsafed Vivien.

  The mistress turned a reproachful eye on her flock.

  "I thought I could have trusted you, girls! I'm sorry to hear you've notbeen behaving yourselves."

  The form focused indignant glances at Vivien, but dared not utter aprotest. Their wrath, overflowed, however, at the earliest opportunityfor conversation.

  "Sneak!"

  "Tell-tale-tit!"

  "Mean thing!"

  "And we've actually got to report ourselves to her at four o'clock."

  "It's the limit!"

  Though the juniors might rage, the established tradition of The Gablescompelled them to comply with the monitress's orders. They grumbled, butobeyed. Directly afternoon school was over, ten sullen and sulky girlspresented themselves at the door of the handicraft room. This wassituated at the opposite end of the playground, and was, in fact, theold coach-house converted into a sort of joiner's shop. The school, inrelays, learned wood-carving here, and carpentry, and clay modelling,and any other crafts which made too much mess inside the form rooms orthe gymnasium.

  Vivien was busy at the bench, planing a piece of wood. She greeted thevictims grimly.

  "If you can't remember to behave yourselves in school, you'll have tohave something to remind you," she remarked. "You may all sit downthere. Have you brought your poetry books? Very well, turn to pagesixteen and learn the first three verses of Lochinvar. You'll stay heretill you know them."

  As a matter of fact, Vivien was entirely exceeding her authority. MissKingsley had never given the monitresses leave to keep girls in, or givethem punishment lessons. Such privileges belonged to mistresses only.The form, however, was not aware of this, and supposed that she hadreceived instructions from head-quarters. They took their places likemartyrs, and opened their poetry books, outwardly submissive, but withblack rebellion raging in their hearts.

  Vivien, going on with her carpentering, kept a strict eye upon them, andsaid "Hush!" if any one attempted to con her task even in a whisper. Sheheard each child recite her verses separately, and would not let any ofthem go till all had said their portions perfectly. By the time they hadcompletely finished it was a quarter to five.

  "You may trot home now if you like," allowed the monitress. "And justlet this be a lesson to you for the future. Go in order and close thedoor after you."

  The martyrs made a decent exit, but once outside they stood and pulledfaces at the closed door.

  "She's an absolute beast!"

  "It's abominable!"

  "To keep us all this time!"

  "And learning hateful poetry!"

  "And we hadn't done anything to deserve it, either!"

  "What can we do to pay her out?"

  "I know," said Effie. "Hush!"

  She held up a warning hand and ran back to the coach-house door. The keywas on the outside, in the lock. She stood and listened for a moment,then turned it and fled across the playground, followed by the rest ofthe form. Instead of going home, however, they stayed in the cloak-room,giggling over their achievement.

  "If she's so fond of the handicraft room, she may stay there!"

  "She shall just be kept in herself, to see what it feels like."

  "_Won't_ she just be savage!"

  "Serve her right!"

  Vivien, having finished to her satisfaction the particular little bitof carpentering upon which she had been engaged, put away her tools atlast, and turned to leave. She was very much surprised to find that shecould not open the door. She rattled the handle, thinking it had stuck.Then she suddenly realized that it was locked, and that she was aprisoner. She hammered till her knuckles were sore, and shouted, butnobody came. It struck her that she was in an exceedingly awkwardposition. The handicraft room was some little distance from the house.It was improbable that Miss Kingsley, Miss Janet or the maids would hearher. The window was nailed up, and would not open, so escape that waywas impossible. Had those wretched juniors locked her in on purpose, andscooted off home? She stamped with wrath at the idea. Yet it seemed onlytoo probable. If so, would she have to spend the night here? Theprospect was appalling. She made a last despairing assault on the door.To her immense relief a voice on the other side responded. It was adeep, gruff, evidently feigned voice, and it said:

  "Hullo, there!"

  "Hullo! Let me out!" shouted Vivien.

  "No, thanks! You're better where you are!"

  "Let me out, I tell you!"

  "Gently! Gently! Don't show temper!"

  Vivien seized the handle again, and rattled lustily, but with no effect.She thought she heard a noise like suppressed chuckling.

  "_Will_ you unlock this door and let me out?"

  "If we do, will you promise not to boss so hard again?"

  "I shan't promise anything of the sort!"

  "Right oh! Ta-ta!"

  The little wretches surely were not going?

  "Here! Come back!" Vivien shouted.

  She was allowed a moment or two for reflection, then the gruff voiceagain began to parley.

  "Will you promise?"

&n
bsp; "I shall do my duty as a monitress."

  "But you won't _exceed_ it?"

  "All right!" rather sulkily.

  "Honour bright, and no bunkum?"

  "I've told you so."

  The bottom of the door did not fit closely to the step, and presentlythrough this small aperture the key was pushed. There was a sound ofpelting footsteps. By the time Vivien had managed to unlock the door,nobody was in sight. She had the wisdom not to report the matter athead-quarters. She knew that she had exceeded her authority in keepingthe children in, and doubted whether Miss Kingsley would back her up. Itwas too humiliating an experience to relate to her fellow-monitresses,so she kept it to herself. She utterly ignored it when she met themembers of Form II next morning. Several of them blushed so consciouslythat she easily guessed who had been the ringleaders, but she judged itdiscreet to take no more notice. The sinners, giggling over the jokeamong themselves, decided that they were now quits with Vivien.