The Head Girl at the Gables

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER XII

  The Sensation Bureau

  "Look here!" said Vivien one day in recreation time, "I think thisschool's a very second-rate sort of show. We're a set of blighters!"

  She was sitting on a form in the gymnasium, in a decidedly pessimisticframe of mind, eating a piece of hard oatcake.

  "It's as dry as chumping chaff!" she confided dismally. "I don't like mylunch!"

  "In these days of rations there's never even a scrap of margarine tospare, let alone butter!" groused Audrey, who was also in a mood to mopup sympathy. "I bring biscuits every morning, but they're not whatbiscuits used to be."

  "Nothing is."

  "What's wrong with the school, though?" asked Lorraine, with somewhat ofthe irritation of a nurse when her pet fledgeling is unduly criticized."It seems to be jogging along all right, as far as I can see."

  "There you've hit the nail on the head exactly. It's jogging, and Ihate things to jog. I like them to go with a swing. The Lent term'salways as dull as ditch water."

  "We have our societies----" began Lorraine, but Vivien interrupted herimpatiently.

  "Oh, yes! Those precious societies! I know! Every one was keen at first,and then they slacked. They always do! Don't talk to me! I'm blue!"

  "Are we down-hearted? No!" jodelled Patsie, throwing up her last bit ofbiscuit, and trying to catch it in her mouth like a terrier. "I say,Vivien, you silly cockchafer, why don't you buck up? If the school'sdull, then for goodness' sake do something to make it more lively,instead of sitting and looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm. Whatthe Muses do you want?"

  "Something to happen."

  "What? An elopement? A fire? A burglary? Tell me the sort of sensationyou're craving for, and we'll try to accommodate you. I'm going to starta Sensation Bureau. Excitements guaranteed. Terms cash, or monthlyinstalments. You pay your money, and you take your choice. Address: MissSullivan, The Gables. Cheques and postal orders must be crossed."

  The girls sniggered, for Patsie was at what they were wont to call her"Patsiest". At school she supplied the place of public entertainer. Herfavourite role was that of the jester, with cap and bells.

  "I really _have_ got a brain-wave, though," she rattled on. "I agreewith Viv. Things at present are just about as dull and unromantic asthey could possibly be. Girls don't have any fun as they had in theMiddle Ages, or even in Jane Austen's times. My great-grandmother ranaway from school to Gretna Green, but it's never done now. Well, thenext best thing to real adventures is making them up. That's where mySensation Bureau comes in. Here's Vivien pining for romance. Well, I'mprepared to give it to her hot and strong. I'm going to write her aletter every day from 'Jack', and post it inside the hollow tree in thegarden. She can get and post hers there too, if she likes. Will youtrade letters, Viv.? It'll be a stunt!"

  "If you'll write the first," agreed Vivien, brightening up.

  "Of course your 'Jack' will write first to his little 'Forget-me-not'!"laughed Patsie.

  Patsie was gifted with a most lively imagination, and some talent forwriting. Her tastes ran on the lines of cheap novelettes. She evolved asupposititious hero for Vivien, and began a series of epistles couchedin exceedingly ardent terms. All the most extravagant nonsense that shecould invent was scribbled in the letters, which, addressed simply to"Forget-me-not", were posted inside the hollow of an old ash-tree at thebottom of the school garden. Vivien shared the effusions with herfriends, and they had tremendous fun over them in a corner of thecloak-room. They helped her to concoct replies. The imaginary romanceafforded them extreme entertainment. It was as exciting as writing anovel. They worked it through all sorts of interesting stages--hope,despair, and lovers' quarrels--till it culminated in a suggestedelopement. Patsie really outdid herself sometimes in the brilliancy ofher composition. "Jack" had developed a floweriness of style and a knackof describing his bold adventures that raised him to the rank of acinema hero. The girls used to wait for his letters with as keen ananticipation as for the next number of a serial. Vivien, the fortunaterecipient of them, was envied. Several other enthusiasts suggestedopening a correspondence, but Patsie was adamant.

  "The Sensation Bureau's got enough in this line on its hands. I'llprovide something else for you, if you like--a shipwreck, or anair-raid, or a railway accident--but until those two are safely'eloped', I can't take on any more love affairs. Oh, yes! you can putdown your names if you like. I've a nice little matter in my mind forAudrey, later in the term--no, I shan't tell it you now, not if you begall day!"

  The girls were sitting near the stove in the gymnasium before afternoonschool, and munching some home-made chocolate concocted with cocoa andcondensed milk. Like most war substitutes, it was not so good as thereal thing, but it was certainly much better than nothing. The talk,with several side-issues concerning eatables, drifted back again to theall-engrossing "Jack". Vivien, as the heroine of the romance, assumed anattitude of interesting importance. She affected much knowledge of hisdoings.

  "You've never yet told us exactly what he's like," said Nellie.

  "Well, of course it's difficult to describe him. He's tall, you know,with flashing eyes and little crisp curls."

  "Has he a moustache?"

  "N--n--o, not exactly a moustache." (Vivien's imagination was not nearlyso ready as Patsie's.) "He's rather like Antonio in that piece they hadat the cinema last week. He flings money about liberally, and he'salways jumping into a motor and driving off very fast."

  "Where does he get his petrol?" asked Lorraine.

  "Oh, it's supplied by the Government. He has a simply enormous salaryand private means as well. We shall be rolling, you know. I'm lookingforward to having you all staying with me when we settle down."

  The circle beamed almost as if the prospect were real.

  "Where's the house?" enquired Audrey.

  "He has several houses," said Vivien thoughtfully, checking them off onher fingers. "A town one, of course, in the West End, a hunting-box nearWarwick, and a place in Wales. I believe there's an estate in Ireland aswell."

  "Shall you hunt? Oh, Viv.!"

  "Of course I shall. 'Jack' simply _adores_ hunting. We're going to talkover my mount to-morrow, if the dear boy's able to turn up."

  In the excitement of these prospective plans Vivien involuntarilyraised her voice. The previous conversation had been in subdued tones,but her last remark must have been audible over half the gymnasium.Nellie nudged her so violently that her piece of chocolate fell to thefloor. In turning to recover it she noticed the cause of the suddeninterruption. Miss Janet was within a few yards of them turning oversome music by the piano.

  Vivien's complexion assumed a dull beetroot shade. She wondered whetherMiss Janet had overheard. It was impossible to go up to her and explainthat they were only pretending. The mistress's face was inscrutable. Shedid not even glance in their direction, but picked out two or threesongs from the pile and walked away into the house. The little circlebroke up. Miss Janet's vicinity seemed to have put the stopper onromance. She was certainly not a sentimental person.

  On the following day there was a fog--one of those white sea-fogs whichsometimes enveloped Porthkeverne, when everything was veiled in softmist, and even the very furniture was clammy. Vivien, whose throat wasdelicate, came to school with a Shetland shawl across her mouth. She satand coughed in the gymnasium during recreation, and fingered a letter inher pocket. It was quite a fat letter, and addressed to "Jack Stanley,Esq".

  "If it weren't so damp I'd run down the garden and post this," she saidto Lorraine. "I expect there'll be one waiting for me in the tree, but Ipromised Mother I wouldn't do anything silly, and I suppose it _would_be silly to run down the wet garden in my thin shoes and without mycoat."

  "It would be absolutely cracked, with that cough. I'll go. Give me yourletter."

  It was part of the procedure of the romance that the correspondencemust be deposited inside the hollow tree, or else, on wet days, it wouldcertainly have been far simpler to hand over the not
es in school. Vivienhad once hinted this, but Patsie stuck firmly to her plans, and, as shewas the originator of the whole scheme, she had the right to make thearrangements.

  "'Jack's' letters will be found in the garden, and nowhere else," shedecreed.

  So Lorraine, who was sufficiently interested to want to hear the nextinstalment supplied by Patsie's fertile imagination, ran out into thefog and among the dripping bushes down the path that edged the lawn. Thepillar-box was moist and earwiggy; she wetted and soiled her sleeve byreaching down into it. At the bottom, in company with a fat spider andseveral woodlice, lay a letter addressed in a bold hand to "MyForget-me-not". She exchanged it for Vivien's epistle and scudded offthrough the damp mist back to the gymnasium. If any eyes were watchingas she passed the study window and came in by the side door, it was muchtoo foggy for her to see clearly. As she handed the letter to herwaiting cousin she noticed that the envelope was not gummed downsecurely.

  "Hallo, 'Jack's' been in a hurry with this," she commented. "It isn'tproperly stuck."

  "Perhaps it's the damp that's melted the gum," said Vivien, pulling outthe contents impatiently.

  Jack's correspondence, though addressed to her, was common property.Several heads bent over the closely-written sheet, eager for what mightbe termed "the next episode" of the romance. The letter was dated "TheGrand Hotel" and began:

  "MY OWN DARLINGEST FORGET-ME-NOT,

  "It is twenty-four hours since I last wrote to you, and the time has seemed an eternity. How I manage to live without your presence I cannot imagine. Life apart from you is a blank wilderness. I wander by the sad sea waves, and were it not for the fond hope of meeting you again I should cast myself into them and perish. Forget-me-not, my ownest own, I can stand this misery no longer. Surely the clouds that have separated us may now be blown apart, and again I can bask in the sunshine of your smile? If you can forgive me, meet me alone at twilight in the old familiar spot on the beach, that hallowed place where we first gazed into each other's eyes and vowed fidelity. I have a plan to propose, but I dare not write it: I must tell it to you in words and beg for your favour on my knees. I shall be there, awaiting your approach with burning anxiety, and longing to clasp you in these fond arms.

  "With all the love in the wide world, "Your most devoted slave, "JACK."

  The girls giggled.

  "He's worse than ever this time," said Audrey.

  "Got it badly," agreed Nellie.

  "I wonder what his plan is," grinned Claire. "I say, Patsie, what's'Jack' going to do next?"

  "Wait and see," remarked Patsie calmly. "I'm not going to give away hissecrets beforehand. It will all unfold itself in due time."

  "History essays, please!" said Claudia, who was working monitress forthe week, and whose duty it was to collect the exercise-books and givethem to Miss Kingsley. "Don't be all day about it, I'm in a hurry!"

  "Here's mine," answered Lorraine. "And do you mind giving this note toMorland? It's a list of pieces by that new Russian composer,Vladi--something--ski. Rosemary sent it for him."

  "Right you are!" said Claudia. "He's mad on Russian music just atpresent."

  The bell rang at that moment and the girls trooped upstairs to theirclass-room. They had taken their seats, and Miss Turner was just in theact of opening her Latin book when Miss Janet came bustling in. MissJanet's moods varied. This morning the corners of her mouth were tuckedin and her eyes were inscrutable. The form instantly set her mentalregister at "stormy".

  "Stand up, girls!" she commanded briskly. "Move from your desks and forminto line over there, facing me!"

  Exceedingly astonished, the form obeyed.

  "Now each of you turn up your feet so as to show me the soles of yourshoes, right first, then left. Thank you! Lorraine, whose shoes aredamp, will go downstairs and change into her gymnasium shoes: the restmay take their seats."

  Very much mystified the girls returned to their desks. Miss Janetdeparted, and Lorraine ran down to effect the required change. She couldnot understand Miss Janet's fussy solicitude for her health. She did notremember that the form had ever been examined thus for damp feet. Shecould only conclude that Miss Janet, who was apt to take sudden whims,had been studying a treatise on hygiene. At eleven o'clock she had afurther surprise. Miss Paget brought her a message telling her to reportherself to Miss Kingsley in the study. Wondering what was the matter,she answered the summons at once. She found Miss Kingsley and Miss Janetsitting together at the table with trouble writ large on their faces.The mental atmosphere of the room cut her like a knife, it was sounmistakably hostile.

  "Lorraine," began Miss Kingsley sternly, "I've sent for you to ask you astraight question, and I expect a straight answer. Did you to-day bringto school a letter addressed to--er--a member of the opposite sex?"

  Utterly amazed, Lorraine hesitated, then, remembering her note toMorland, replied;

  "Yes, Miss Kingsley."

  She wondered how the head mistress had got to know about it. Had Claudiabeen so careless as to leave it inside her exercise-book?

  Miss Kingsley's glance was hypnotic in its intensity. The corners ofMiss Janet's mouth twitched nervously.

  "I'm glad you are candid enough to confess it, though I have ampleproof against you. _You_, Lorraine! You, whom I chose as head girl, andleader for the rest of the school! I've never been so bitterlydisappointed in anybody!"

  Miss Kingsley's voice trembled as she spoke.

  "You might at least have the grace to look ashamed of yourself!" addedMiss Janet.

  Lorraine was staggered, but not ashamed. She could not see that theoccasion warranted such sweeping condemnation.

  "It was a very harmless letter----" she began in self-justification.

  "Harmless!" blazed Miss Kingsley. "If this is your idea ofcorrespondence, I'm disgusted with you. I call it most _unmaidenly!_"

  "I don't know what modern girls are coming to!" echoed Miss Janet. "In_my_ young days they held very different standards."

  "It will be my duty," continued Miss Kingsley grimly, "to inform yourmother of this disgraceful correspondence."

  "But Mother knows!" gasped Lorraine.

  "She knows?"

  "Yes, she saw me write the letter."

  "Did she read it?"

  "No, she didn't ask to."

  "Is she aware what you wrote in it?"

  "I expect so."

  "Lorraine, I can't believe you! I know Mrs. Forrester too well toimagine that she would allow you to carry on such a clandestinecorrespondence as this."

  "But Mother _likes_ Morland," persisted Lorraine, "and I _had_ to writeto him, to send him Rosemary's list of pieces. She asked me to let himhave them soon."

  Miss Kingsley looked frankly puzzled.

  "Morland?" she said inquiringly. "The letter is addressed to anindividual named 'Jack'."

  Then a great light broke across Lorraine. In her relief she almostlaughed. Her suppressed chuckle was fortunately taken for a subdued sob.

  "Oh, Miss Kingsley!" she cried. "Did you get the letter out of thehollow tree?"

  The head mistress nodded gravely.

  "Then it's all a mistake--it wasn't--written to anybody real. It wasonly a little bit of fun we had among ourselves. Pa--I mean one ofus--made up 'Jack' and wrote his letters, and another of us answeredthem. It was only nonsense!"

  "Did you write this?" asked Miss Janet grimly, handing a sheet ofnote-paper across the table.

  It was in Vivien's handwriting, which bore a strong resemblance toLorraine's own, and it was couched in terms strong enough certainly torouse a flutter in the breast of a careful schoolmistress. It mournedJack's absence, referred to turtle doves, Cupid's arrows, and othertender things, thanked him for handsome presents, and looked forwardrapturously to the next meeting with him. It ended with fondest love,and was signed: "Your little Forget-me-not".

  "No, I didn't write it," answered Lo
rraine.

  "Then who did?"

  Lorraine hesitated.

  "As it was only a joke, will you please excuse my not answering? Itdoesn't seem quite fair to give anybody else away. The whole form werein it, really."

  Miss Kingsley fixed her with a glance which Lorraine afterwardsdescribed as that of a lion-tamer. Then she summed up:

  "As you all seem to have been equally foolish, I'll let the matter standat that. But I wish to say that I've never in my life read moreperfectly idiotic, senseless, worthless _drivel_ than is contained inthese silly letters, and if that's your idea of amusement, I'm sorry foryou! I should have thought that _you_, Lorraine, would have been abovesuch nonsense, and would have used your influence to interest the girlsin something more sensible. These letters must be stopped at once. Idistinctly forbid anything more of the sort, and you may tell the othersso. Do you understand?"

  Miss Kingsley, as she spoke, tore 'Jack's' latest effusion into shreds,and threw the bits into the waste-paper basket.

  A very dejected and indignant Sixth Form listened to Lorraine's accountof the interview.

  "Miss Janet must have fished some of the letters out of that tree, andread them and put them back!"

  "What a sneaking trick of her!"

  "And she thought it was you, because you'd got your feet wet."

  "Sporting of her to examine our shoes! It's like Sherlock Holmes!"

  "Sporting! I call it disgusting!"

  "Is poor darling 'Jack' _never_ to write again to his little'Forget-me-not'?" demanded Vivien, with a note of tragedy in her voice.

  "We'd better drown him, or kill him at the front, or let him diesuddenly of pneumonia!" said Patsie sadly. "Then you can look decentlysorry for a while. It really _is_ too bad, just when I was working up sonicely for the elopement! He was buying a new car on purpose. Nevermind! I'll write a novel some day, when I've left school, and I'll putall the letters in--every scrap of them. And when it's published, I'llsend a copy of it to Miss Janet!"

  "Oh!" thrilled the excited circle.

  "She'll say _then_: 'The dear girl! I always said she was clever, andwould turn out a famous authoress!' People generally say afterwards thatthey 'always said'."

  "Oh, Patsie! It _will_ be so delightful! Do begin it soon!"

  "Not till I leave school, and that's a whole term and a half off, withthe Easter holidays thrown in. You'll have to wait!"