The Head Girl at the Gables

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER X

  A Sinister Incident

  'Twixt home and The Gables, Lorraine found her life that autumn a verybusy one. As head girl, the demands made on her time were considerable.She sometimes thought it would have been easier to be at a boardingschool, where her whole energies could have been focused upon schoolmatters; private interests, though very enthralling, were certainly ahindrance. And there were so many of them--her painting lessons anddelightful intimacy with Margaret Lindsay, and the rich art world thathad thereby opened its doors to her; an increasing friendship withMorland Castleton, whose musical genius spurred her on to fresh effortsat her violin; her affection for Claudia and for the rest of the merrycrew of the Castleton family; to say nothing of the dear home people whoclaimed her attention: Richard and Donald fighting in France, Rodneymaking his first flights in the Air Force, Rosemary hard at work in thecollege of music, and writing ecstatic weekly budgets of herexperiences, Mervyn with his fun and nonsense and gossip from theGrammar School, and Monica, who was the spoilt darling of the family.

  Whatever her faults, Lorraine possessed to the full that intense zest oflife that the French call "using up one's heart". It is a giftthat--thank God!--the war has given to most of our British girlhood. Theold, fashionable attitude of boredom, that at one time spread like ablight over certain classes of society, is happily passing away, purgedby the common need of sacrifice. It is incredible that at one time girlscould exist in this world, possessed of eyes and ears, and pass by thetouching, dramatic, joyous human comedy as though they were blind anddeaf. All the things we learn at school are of no value to us unlesswith them we learn to love life--life in all its aspects of joy andsorrow, laughter and tears, work and pleasure.

  There was so much going on at The Gables, both in lessons and games. Thehockey season had begun, and every Wednesday afternoon the school playedin a field on the cliffs which they rented; under the coaching of MissPaget, a new mistress, the teams were improving. Dorothy as captain madea much better leader than Helen Stanley had done a year ago, and Patsieand Vivien as half-backs were considered rising stars. The second team,which hitherto had been rather contemptible, raised its standard to anamazing extent, and seemed to promise great things. The girls began tolook forward to Wednesdays.

  One bright sunny afternoon in early November they were assembled on thefield. In their navy serge skirts and scarlet jerseys they made a brightpatch of colour against the green of the grass and the autumn blue ofthe sky and the grey-blue expanse of sea that spread beneath the yellowcliffs. It was a pretty scene, with a background of late-flowering gorsebushes and a foreground of corn marigold that edged the field. Thesunshine fell on the athletic figures and hatless heads of the teams. Avery pretty scene indeed, and so evidently thought a dark-faced,clean-shaven individual who was dodging about the gate, busy with acamera. He fixed a stand, put his head repeatedly under a black velvetcloth, and was apparently focusing upon the groups of players. The girlsnoticed him, and pointed him out to Miss Paget. The dragon in her was atonce roused to wrath, and she advanced in defence of her flock.

  "May I ask on what authority you're taking photographs of this school?"she asked icily.

  The stranger was all smiles and civility. He displayed an excellent setof teeth as, with a decidedly foreign bow and flourish of his hat, heoffered a plausible explanation.

  "I ask your pardon, Madam! I am an American--a journalist. I have beensent by my newspaper to England to write an article upon Girls' Schools.I have heard of yours, and wish to include it in my report, with a photoof its pupils. I crave your permission to take a snapshot of the game."

  Miss Paget stared at him with suspicion. She was a good judge ofcharacter, and had studied types of nationality; moreover, she hadherself spent six months in the United States. The man's physiognomy andaccent were anything but American. She would set them down as decidedlyTeutonic.

  "Certainly not!" she replied. "Miss Kingsley would not dream ofpermitting it."

  "But I have permission from Miss Kingsley!" he fawned. "I am to send herphotos."

  "Miss Kingsley did not mention the matter to me, and unless I have herexpress directions I cannot allow it. Will you kindly remove yourcamera?"

  "Just one little snapshot!" he begged insinuatingly.

  "You've interrupted our game. Will you please go? And I must remind youthat this is a military area, and that, unless you have a signed permitfor photography, you are liable to be arrested."

  "Oh, that is all right! I have the credentials of my newspaper, as wellas the assent of Miss Kingsley."

  Miss Paget's temper, which had been rapidly rising, now fizzed over.

  "If you don't take yourself off, I'll send some of my pupils to fetchthe coast-guard!" she thundered.

  With an apologetic shrug of the shoulders the interloper packed up hiscamera and departed, not without trying to secure a hurriedsurreptitious snapshot with a small kodak, an effort which was nipped inthe bud by Miss Paget, who stood like a sentry at the gate, speeding hisdeparture. She watched him till he was safely out of sight and thenjoined the excited girls, some of whom had overheard the conversation.

  "That's no American!" she proclaimed. "And I don't for a moment believethat he had permission from Miss Kingsley to photograph the school."

  "She'd have said so, surely," commented Vivien.

  "Probably he didn't even know her name till you mentioned it, MissPaget," said Lorraine.

  "He's a foreigner in my opinion--possibly a spy," continued themistress. "This field would make a most excellent landing-place forenemy aircraft. One can't be too careful in these matters--living as wedo near the coast, in a military zone. The cheek of the man, too! Calmlyto set up his camera and begin to take us without asking leave! Even intimes of peace it would be unpardonable. I must say I have the verystrongest suspicions of his intentions."

  "It seems rather the wrong time for an American magazine to be wantingan article on English Girls' Schools," said Patsie.

  "It's the most flimsy excuse."

  The affair made quite a sensation in the school. Miss Kingsley, whenthe matter was reported to her, disclaimed all knowledge of thephotographer or any commission to him to take the hockey teams. She wasjustly indignant, and almost thought of mentioning the incident to thepolice. The girls talked the affair threadbare. They were quite surethey had had an encounter with a spy. Their suspicions were furtherjustified in the course of a few days by an experience of Lorraine's.

  She was going by train on Saturday morning to Ranock, a little place afew miles from Porthkeverne, whither her mother had sent her to returnsome books to a friend who lived near the station. There were severalother people in the compartment; and sitting in the corner on the sidenext to the sea was a man whom Lorraine was nearly sure she recognizedas the pertinacious stranger of the hockey field. She watched him nowkeenly. He was gazing out of the window at the sand-hills and stretchesof marshy shore. Presently they passed the golf links, and, quick asthought, he whisked a little kodak from his pocket and began to takeinstantaneous photographs through the carriage window. Lorraine utteredan exclamation and nudged the gentleman who sat next to her. Promptly heinterfered.

  "Look here! Snapshots aren't allowed without a permit," he remonstrated.

  The photographer slipped the kodak back into his pocket and smiled hisformer plausible smile.

  "I am an American," he began, "a journalist. I have been sent by mynewspaper to England, to write an article upon golf links. I wish toinclude those of Porthkeverne, with illustrations."

  "Have you a permit?" persisted his fellow-passenger. "You'll getyourself into trouble if you haven't. The authorities are uncommonlystrict about it."

  "It's a queer dodge to photograph the golf links from a railwaycarriage," commented someone else.

  "Not at all! I take hundreds of photos for my magazine in this way,"explained the self-styled journalist.

  "Well, you'll just not take any now," returned the other. "If you do, Ishall infor
m the guard."

  Lorraine listened excitedly. She was quite loath to leave thecompartment at Ranock. She wondered to what destination the man wastravelling, and hoped that the other passengers would keep an eye onhim. She went that afternoon to see her uncle, Barton Forrester, who wasa special constable, and told him about both incidents. He lookedthoughtful.

  "I'll report the matter to Wakelin," he commented. "One can't be toocareful in a place like this. Of course the fellow might have a permit,but it had better be inquired into. Give me as accurate a description ofhim as you can."

  Lorraine shut her eyes, visualized, and gave her impressions of thestranger. Uncle Barton rapidly jotted down a few notes. He communicatedthe result to the chief constable, who issued an order that the nexttime anyone answering to that description was sighted his photographicpermit was to be demanded and inspected. There is such a thing, however,as shutting the stable door after the steed is stolen; and, in spite ofthe vigilance of the local police, nothing further was seen or heard ofthe enterprising photographer. He had evidently betaken himself and hiscamera to other scenes of adventure.

  The school talked about the episode for a while with bated breath, thenforgot it in the whirl of other interests. It was getting near Christmastime, and there was ever so much to be done in preparation. Theexcitement of the moment was the rhythmic dancing display. All the terma teacher had been coming weekly from St. Cyr, and those luckyindividuals who were members of the dancing class had had the time oftheir lives. Of course the musical ones, and those with some idea of thepoetry of motion, scored the most, but even those who were not naturallygraceful enjoyed the movements.

  Miss Kingsley had decided that her pupils should give a display of whatthey had learnt, and invited an audience of parents and friends to thegymnasium on breaking-up day. The performance was to begin at threeo'clock, and long before that hour the proud band of selected artistes,arrayed in their costumes, were assembled ready in the small studiowhich served as a dressing-room. There were a good many of them, and thespace was limited, so it was a decided cram.

  "Everybody seems to take up so much more room than usual to-day,"declared Patsie, flinging out a long arm with a floral garland, andhitting Effie Swan by accident in the eye.

  "Of course they do, when they're as clumsy as you are," retorted thatdistressed damsel, with her handkerchief to the injured orb. "I call youthe absolute limit, Patsie--you're fit for nothing but a barn dance!Clogs would suit you better than sandals."

  "Gently, child, gently! Sorry if I've hurt your eye, but don't let thatwarp your judgment. The Flower Quadrille's going to be rather choice,though I say it as shouldn't."

  "The others' part of it, perhaps, but not yours."

  "There, don't get excited! I forgive you!"

  "It's for me to forgive, not for you, I think!" grumbled Effie. "A niceobject I shall look dancing with my eye all red and inflamed!"

  "I wish the gym. were a larger room!" groused Theresa. "The dances wouldhave a much better effect if there were more space for them, and Ishould like a parquet floor."

  "What else would you like?" snapped Lorraine. "Some people would grumblein Paradise. The old gym.'s not such a bad place for a performance, andthe floor has been chalked. I think myself it's a very decent sort ofroom. Would you like to dance on the lawn?"

  "Not in December, thanks!"

  "Are you ready, girls?" asked Miss Paget, opening the door. "MissLeighton has just come, and we're going to begin."

  There was no doubt that the dances were extremely pretty. Miss Leightonwas an excellent teacher, and her pupils did her credit. The audiencewas charmed, and clapped with the utmost enthusiasm at the end of eachperformance. There was a Daisy Dance, in which twelve little girls,dressed to represent daisies, went through a series of very gracefulmovements; and a Rose Gavotte that was equally pretty and tasteful. AButterflies' Ball, in which the dancers waved gorgeous wings of paintedmuslin, was highly effective; and so was the Russian Mazurka, given byVivien and Dorothy, attired in fur-trimmed costumes and high scarletleather boots. The babies looked sweet in a Doll Dance, and littleBeatrice Perry made a sensation by her _pas seul_ as "Cupid", dressed ina classic toga with the orthodox bow and arrows. She was a beautifullymade child of six, and danced barefooted, so she looked the partadmirably, and quite carried the audience by storm.

  Monica, with floating fair hair, a figured muslin dress and a basket offlowers, capered as a "Spring Wind" and dropped blossoms in the path of"April"; even Patsie, the overgrown, looked quite pretty in her FlowerQuadrille. But everybody decided that the star of the afternoon wasClaudia. She was beautiful to begin with, and her forget-me-not costumesuited her exactly. Perhaps her long experience in posing as a model forher father's pictures made it easier for her to learn the rightpostures. She had dropped into the rhythmic dancing as into abirthright; her movements seemed the very embodiment of natural grace,and to watch her was like surprising the fairies at dawn, or the dryadsand oreads in a classic forest. The best of Claudia was that she wasquite without self-consciousness. She danced because she enjoyed it, notto command admiration. She received the storm of clapping quite as amatter of course, just as she took the exhibition of her many portraitsin the Academy.

  "I'd give anything to have your face," said Patsie enviously to herafterwards. "Some folks are luckers! Why wasn't _I_ born pretty? Itgives people such a tremendous pull!"

  "I don't know," answered Claudia, rather taken aback at the question.

  "Look here!" said Lorraine; "we've got to take the faces our mothersgave us. Haven't you heard of a beautiful _plain_ person? I know severalwho haven't a single decent feature, and yet somehow they're lovely inspite of it all. Some of the most fascinating women in the world havebeen plain--George Sand hadn't an atom of beauty, and yet she enthralledtwo such geniuses as Chopin and Alfred de Musset."

  "I'll go in for fascination, then," rattled on Patsie. "We can't all bein the same style. Claudia shall do the Venus business, and I'll be awhat-do-you-call-it? Siren?"

  "Oh, no! Sirens were wretches!"

  "Why, I thought they were only a sort of mermaid! Well, I'll be verymodern--chic, and _spirituelle_, and witty, and _fin-de-siecle_ and allthe rest of it; and I'll have a salon like those French women used tohave, and everybody'll want to come to it, and talk about the charmingMiss Sullivan, only perhaps I'll be Mrs. Somebody by that time! I hopeso, at any rate. I don't mean to be left in the lurch, if I can helpit!"

  "What shall you do if you are?" laughed Lorraine.

  "Go in for a career, my dear!" said Patsie airily. "Farming, orParliament, or doctoring. Everything's open to us women now!"

  "Well, I wouldn't try Rhythmic Dancing, at any rate! You're certainlynot cut out for that!" scoffed Effie, whose injured eye was stillsmarting.