The Fortunes of Philippa: A School Story

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER VIII

  A BREAKING-UP PARTY

  "What has this day deserved? What hath it done That it in golden letters should be set Among the high tides in the kalendar?"

  Cathy and I went back to school with much regret. After the freedom ofour life at Marshlands it seemed difficult to settle down again to thestrict discipline of The Hollies, with Miss Percy's manifold rules andregulations. It was exciting, nevertheless, to meet our friends oncemore, and to hear the accounts of their holiday rambles and sea-sideadventures. We made quite a little round amongst the various bedrooms,admiring Janet's new pictures, helping to arrange Olave's books,partaking of Blanche's hospitable offers of cheese-cakes and chocolate,bewailing the lengthened hours of the time-table, and all chatteringlike a flock of sparrows.

  In her quiet, undemonstrative way, Lucy was glad to see me again. Ithink she had found the holidays a little dull without me, and shelistened rather wistfully to my rapturous accounts of my visit toMarshlands. She told me all the home news--how the baby had alreadylearnt to walk, Frank had gone to school, and Cuthbert was inknickerbockers; how the old baby had been shorn of his curls, andDorothy had begun lessons. My little porcelain tea-service had, alas!been broken (Blair ought not to have allowed the children to play withit), there was a new carpet in the school-room, and Mary was learningthe violin. We talked in whispers for a long time after we were in bed,till Miss Percy, overhearing us, bounced in with such dire threats ofpenalties to be worked out on the following Saturday afternoon, that wewere obliged to defer our interesting conversation until the morning.

  I found the winter term at "The Hollies" differed in many respects fromthe summer one. We no longer drank the waters at the pretty little well,and I greatly missed the morning run over the fields. It was now toocold to study in our bedrooms, and evening preparation was held in theschool-room under the strict eyes of Miss Percy. When the weatherpermitted we played hockey, but there were many days when it wasconsidered too wet for us to go out, and we were obliged to take whatexercises we could in the play-room. A new feature of our school-lifewith which we had not hitherto been acquainted consisted of the Saturdayreceptions, which were held during the winter evenings to supply theplace of the weekly cricket matches we had enjoyed in the summer-time.It was part of Mrs. Marshall's system to form our manners and fit us forgood society, therefore these "At Homes" were very solemn affairs,conducted with all the ceremony of a genuine party, though none of theenjoyment. At half-past six o'clock, attired in white frocks and ourbest hair-ribbons, we were received in state in the drawing-room, eachgirl being duly announced in her turn by the parlour-maid. How I haveshivered with nervousness when "Miss Philippa Seaton" was called out,and I was bound to advance with becoming grace, and shake handselegantly with Mrs. Marshall, her critical eye upon my demeanour, andher censorious tongue ready with comment if my unlucky elbows protruded,or my hand did not give the exact warmth of pressure required!

  When we were all seated, Mrs. Marshall would start a generalconversation upon some topic, notice of which had been given outpreviously, and we were each supposed to come primed with someintelligent remarks upon it. It was horribly difficult to think ofanything new and original to say, especially as your best ideas wereliable to be anticipated by someone else airing them first, leaving youracking your brains for any observation to contribute, however stale andcommonplace. I remember upon one occasion the subject was botany. Mostof the girls said something pretty about flowers and gardens. Janetquoted Wordsworth, and Cathy scored by mentioning exogens and endogenswith an air of much knowledge. Mrs. Marshall at length turned to me.

  "Cannot you give a fresh direction to the conversation, Philippa?" sheasked. "We have spoken so much already of blossoms in spring-time, ofpressed wild-flowers, hot-houses, and the beauties of Kew Gardens. It issurely possible to treat the subject from a different stand-point."

  There seemed to be nothing left. The topic, to my mind, was plainlyexhausted, but I was bound to hazard some remark. In my desperation Iventured:

  "Botany Bay is a place in New South Wales where criminals used to besent. Many of the principal families of Australia are descended fromthem."

  A shudder ran through the room. Though I did not know it at the time,Mrs. Marshall had been born in Australia, and I could not have uttered amore deliberate insult. She flushed a little, and glanced at me keenly.I think she either realized my complete ignorance, or thought it wiserto ignore the allusion.

  "Not quite to the point, my dear," she replied with dignity. "It is wellto keep strictly to our subject. I had thought you would have been readywith some remark upon the orchids of your South American forests, or theorange plantations which I have heard you mention. But here comes thecoffee. Doris, it is your turn to pour out to-night!"

  To hand and receive the cups prettily, and to sit drinking them ingraceful attitudes, was part of our evening discipline; and to us a verysevere one, for Mrs. Marshall was hard to satisfy, and to clink yourtea-spoon or to flop into a chair was a desperate offence. She herselfwas a tall, elegant woman, erect and stately, with a habit of swimminginto the room, and a measured way of speaking, as if each word had beenprepared beforehand. The abrupt school-girl type of conversation shewould not tolerate, and our sentences must be as carefully chosen as herown. A girl who had spoken slang in her presence would, I believe,almost have been threatened with expulsion. I sometimes think hertraining made our manners too studied and artificial, but her system wasa reaction against the free-and-easy and often ungracious style whichwas current in many other large schools of the day. After coffee, Mrs.Marshall would ask for a little music, and we were obliged to take it inturns to play, the lot falling to each girl about once a month. How Ihated the pieces which I solemnly practised for these weekly evenings,and in what an agony of nervousness my trembling fingers stumbledthrough the performance! If I could have bidden the company leave theroom, I think I might have acquitted myself better, but to discoursesweet strains with Mrs. Marshall's eye upon me, my music-mistresssitting close by, and an audience of critical school-mates listening,was an ordeal from which many a girl might shrink. The programme wasvaried by a few songs and recitations, and at half past-eight we allfiled out, each in her turn saying good-bye, and thanking Mrs. Marshallfor a pleasant evening, a courtesy which I always felt to be mostinsincere, since I was sure that neither she nor ourselves had enjoyedit in the least.

  At the end of the term a large conversazione was held, to which manyfriends interested in the school were invited, and when we were expectedto put into practice those lessons in manners and deportment which weredrilled into us during the Saturday evening "At Homes". We tried ourhonest best to be pleasant little hostesses, and the visitors wereindulgent, but I often think we must have afforded them much amusementby our "improving conversation".

  "It always makes me feel so bad, I want to scream, or do somethingoutlandishly improper," said Janet. "Mrs. Marshall set me to talk to oldCanon Wavertree, and I simply longed to ask him if his waistcoatbuttoned at the back, and whether he could fasten the middle buttonhimself, and how he managed to shave into the creases of such a verydouble chin. Instead of that, I had to look polite and proper while hetalked about butter-making. It was such an absurd subject for him tochoose, and the worst of it was I thought he said 'batter', instead of'butter', and so we got completely at cross purposes. I declared wealways put eggs in it at home, and he seemed to think I was half anidiot!"

  "I got on much better," said Lucy. "I had to talk to Mrs. Graveson, andby sheer good luck she began on church work. You remember it was the'topic' we had three weeks ago, so I was well primed, and brought outall Miss Percy's best remarks. I heard her tell Mrs. Marshall afterwardsthat she had rarely met a more intelligent girl, and she thought Ishould make an ideal clergyman's wife!"

  "I had the doctor," I said; "and he's so jolly, he just made fun all thetime, and I enjoyed myself immensely. He asked me a riddle he said he'dmade up himself: 'Why are school-girls like bottle
s of medicine? Becausethey are meant to be shaken.' It's not very good, but of course I had tosmile."

  "I had Judge Saunders," said Cathy. "He started upon the weather, but Ididn't think that was classical enough, so I tried to bring theconversation round to poetry and Shakespeare. But he shook his head andlaughed. 'It's no use, my dear,' he said, 'I used to be thrashed atschool for my defective Latin verses, and I have preferred plain proseever since. Now you have done your duty, and you will please me betterby telling me how you are going to spend your holidays.' So I beganabout home and the boys, and I'm afraid I didn't remember to 'choose mysentences' or 'keep to the subject', but he patted my shoulder, and saidhe would tell me a secret, and then he whispered: 'Just forget all yourconversation lessons, and be your natural little self; it's ever so muchnicer. Only don't let Mrs. Marshall know I said so!'"

  If we regarded the conversazione as somewhat of an ordeal, we allthoroughly enjoyed the breaking-up party which took place on the lastday before the holidays. It was quite an informal affair, to which novisitors were invited, and we were not expected to keep up such a severestandard of ceremonious behaviour. Indeed, on that day all rules wererelaxed--we talked in our bedrooms, we sang in the passages, we sat onthe school-room desks, and lolled about in easy attitudes under MissPercy's very nose. During half the term the members of the dramaticsociety had held secret rehearsals in the small class-room, from whichoutsiders were rigidly excluded, for they were to contribute part of theevening's entertainment, and were busily preparing for the event. It hadbeen a great disappointment to me that I was not permitted to join thesociety. I had been so successful in the elocution class, that many ofthe girls would have been willing to include me, but Ernestine Salt, whoseemed no more friendly towards me than before, had always exerted herinfluence very strongly against it, and as she was an older girl thanmyself, and had also been longer in the school, she was able to carryher point. They had arranged to act the casket scene from the "Merchantof Venice", and Cathy, who was one of their brightest members, had beenchosen for the role of Portia. As she had no secrets from me, I helpedher every day to study her part, and we went over it so often and soconstantly, that in the end I knew it as well as she did herself. Shewas to wear a dress of rose-coloured sateen, with a crimson sash andlace collar, and gold ornaments in her hair, and to carry a large fan ofpeacocks' feathers in her hand. Mrs. Winstanley had sent the costumefrom Marshlands, and we unpacked the large cardboard box in muchcuriosity and excitement.

  "Let me see it on you, Philippa dear," said Cathy, as, after a privaterehearsal in her bedroom to try the effect, I helped her to remove thegorgeous gown. "I can tell much better what it looks like on someoneelse. Ah! it fits you exactly! I knew it would! And the sequins twist soprettily in your hair! Will you go through the scene just as you are?and I'll take Bassanio's speeches. Real actresses always have anunder-study, I believe, so I'm going to pretend that you're mine."

  The acting, however, was only a part of the excitement of thebreaking-up day. The results of the examinations were to be read out,and, as a special encouragement to the literature classes, Mrs. Marshallhad offered a prize for the best original poem contributed by any girlin the school. We had written essays on various subjects, and even shortstories, but verses made quite a new departure, and to most of ourcompanions it seemed an almost impossible competition.

  "It's not the slightest use my trying," said Janet. "I'm a plain, prosy,matter-of-fact kind of a person. I couldn't even compose a nursery rhymeif my life depended upon it. You and Cathy are the poetical geniuses ofthe school, and we shall expect to hear something very inspired."

  I was fond of scribbling, and had always had rather a turn forversifying, so I thought I should like to compete for the prize. It didnot seem very easy to choose a suitable subject, and I covered sheets ofexercise-paper with my effusions, varying from sentimental to humorous,according to my frame of mind. I tried to keep my secret, but the othergirls suspected my efforts, and I came in for a good deal of chaff.

  "Is Pegasus pretty strong on the wing, Philippa?"

  "Of course he is! Can't you see her eye with fervid fancy rolling?"

  "She's burning the midnight oil. That's why her cheeks are so pale!"

  "Look here, Phil, a poetess shouldn't eat so much bread-and-butter. Youought to live on odes and sonnets!"

  Though I did not exactly burn the midnight oil, I certainly composed mypoem in bed. I suppose the darkness and the quiet were inspiring, forall my best ideas came to me when the lights had been turned out, andonly the sound of Lucy's regular breathing broke the silence.

  I had tried at first to model my style on Spenser, with very indifferentsuccess; I fared no better with the heroic couplets of Dryden or Pope;so, abandoning these ambitious efforts, I finally contented myself witha humble imitation of the cavalier poets, a period which we had justbeen studying in our literature class. I copied it out clearly, and withmany qualms I dropped my contribution into Mrs. Marshall's letter-box.It was to be a point of honour not to let anyone read the poemsbeforehand, so even Cathy did not see my manuscript, nor did she show mehers, though I divined from her abstracted manner that she, too, hadbeen engaged in all the agonies of composition.

  The much-longed-for day arrived at last. At six o'clock we all assembledin the large school-room, Mrs. Marshall and the teachers taking theirplaces on the platform. First came the examination lists. To my delightI was head of my class in French; Cathy carried all before her in bothancient and modern history; while Blanche and Janet divided the honoursin geography and mathematics. It was now the turn of the poems, and Ifelt little cold shivers of nervousness running down my back as Mrs.Marshall rose to read out the result of the competition. Would she thinkmine very bad, I wondered, and perhaps even cite it as an example offaulty composition? For one wild moment I devoutly wished I hadconsigned it to the flames with the rest of my efforts.

  "On the whole," began Mrs. Marshall, "I have had some extremelysatisfactory results from our literary contest, a very fair number ofpoems having been received. I regret that some of the contributors donot seem to have mastered even the elementary rules of metre, and theirverses cannot be made to scan, but the average standard is higher than Ihad expected; and I have two here which I think are certainly deservingof praise, and of such equal merit that I have decided to divide theprize between them. They are 'The Ballad of Fair Fiona', by CatherineWinstanley, and 'When Celia Passes', by Philippa Seaton. As I am sureyou will all wish to hear them, I shall read them aloud:

  "THE BALLAD OF FAIR FIONA

  "When the daylight gilds the sky, Fair Fiona sits and weeps; When the evening star is high, Lonely still her vigil keeps.

  "'Rise, Fiona sweet, arise! Don your robe of brightest hue. Tears are but for aged eyes, Love and pleasure wait for you!'

  "'Love for me has long been dead, Pleasure followed in his train; Bring the willow wreath instead, Leave me to my tears again.'

  "Knight and squire and dame are there Priests beside the altar wait, Frets and fumes the bridegroom fair. Wherefore is the bride so late?

  "Sought they far and sought they wide Where the river seeks the west; Floating on its flowing tide, Fair Fiona is at rest."

  "WHEN CELIA PASSES

  "When Celia passes through the grove And down the verdant alleys, The lily droops her envious head, The rose for jealous anger's red As in the shade she dallies. And when her dainty footsteps rove Over the meadow grasses, The flowers all weep in sheer despair To think they are not half so fair When Celia passes.

  "When Celia passes through the grove, Under the bay and laurel, The nightingale forgets to sing, And silent sits with quivering wing To hear her artless carol. When cherry blooms their treasure-trove Rain down in fragrant masses, My heart leaps high to think perchance I yet may catch one kindly glance When Celia passes."

  Cathy g
ripped my hand, and I gripped hers. We had each secretly hopedthat the other would win the prize, so to share it between us was asatisfaction to us both. The girls clapped vigorously, and Janet starteda cheer.

  "That will do!" said Mrs. Marshall. "Catherine and Philippa have donewell, but we must not turn their heads by overpraising them. They arenot Mrs. Brownings yet, by any means! It is encouraging, however, tofind that the literature classes have been of some help in teaching youthe rules of poetical composition, and you will appreciate real poetryall the more after your attempts to frame verses for yourselves. I havemuch pleasure in presenting Catherine Winstanley with a copy of _Moore'sIrish Melodies_, and Philippa Seaton with a volume of _Extracts fromByron_."

  We went up together to receive our prizes, which Mrs. Marshall handed tous with a kind word of approval and encouragement, and then the girlswere allowed to disperse, as the platform was required next by thedramatic society, and the actors withdrew to dress themselves asrapidly as possible for their parts.

  I was sitting among the audience, waiting for the play to begin, whenDoris, who was stage-manager, entered quietly, and drew me aside, with atroubled face.

  "I wish you would come upstairs to Cathy's bedroom," she said. "Sheseems quite ill and is asking for you. We can't think what is the matterwith her."

  I flew upstairs in a panic. Cathy was lying on her bed, covered with adown quilt, and a group of anxious girls, half-dressed in variouscostumes, hovered around her with bottles of eau de Cologne andsmelling-salts.

  She raised her head languidly when I entered.

  "I feel so queer, Phil," she whispered. "I don't believe I can act inthe play, after all."

  "Let me fetch Mrs. Marshall," I gasped.

  "No! No! Not on any account! I shall be all right. I only need quiet.Phil, I want you to take Portia! You know the part as well as I domyself, and the dress fits you. Will you do it to please me?"

  "But I cannot leave you if you are ill, Cathy! I can't indeed!"

  "You must, you must! I don't want anyone here. I would rather be leftquite alone. Millicent has promised to dress you. Oh, go all of you,please! It's getting so late, and the audience will be waiting."

  "Someone must take Portia," said Doris. "We certainly can't leave herout. Philippa, you will have to try."

  "I don't believe she can do it," said Ernestine, who was to act the partof Lorenzo. "It's a shame to spoil the play. Put it off for half anhour, and perhaps Cathy will be better. I declare I won't act withanyone who has not rehearsed with us beforehand."

  "Don't be nasty, Ernestine! Of course you'll be obliged to act with her.How can we put it off? They've been waiting twenty minutes or morealready. Come along, girls, we're terribly late! I'm so sorry, Cathy!We'll turn the light low, and you must try to go to sleep;" and Dorisdrove us from the room into the studio where we were to dress, andhurriedly helped the others to arrange their finishing touches.

  Millicent hustled me into the pink costume, and twisted the goldornaments into my hair with nervous fingers.

  "Do you know the cues?" she asked anxiously. "Oh, I hope you'll be ableto remember the part! The prompter is to stand behind the right wing, soback that way if you feel in any danger of forgetting."

  The girls were waxing impatient, to judge from the clapping, which wecould hear as we hurried down to the school-room.

  "Is she ready?" said Doris. "Then draw up the curtain, and begin."

  My head was in a whirl. It had all happened so quickly, that I hadscarcely time to realize what I was doing. One little thought came to meas I walked on to the stage: "Perhaps Portia herself was equally anxiousand nervous as she watched her lover making the choice upon which allher happiness depended", and I began "I pray you tarry, pause a day ortwo", with an eagerness that fitted in well with the part. I needed noprompting, the words seemed to come without any effort of memory. Mydelight at Bassanio's success, my grief at Antonio's letter, and myanxiety that they should go at once to his relief, were at the time onlythe expression of my natural feelings. I was living in the part, and theheroine's joys and sorrows were my own.

  We were called before the curtain at the end of the performance, andthe audience broke into ringing cheers for Portia. I stood upon theplatform like one in a dream; my success and the shouting girls werenothing to me, I saw only one face in the room, for there, by thedoorway, clapping and cheering louder than anyone else, her dear cheeksflushed and her dark eyes shining with generous triumph was--Cathy!

  "You did it on purpose!" I declared afterwards. "Cathy, I don't believeyou were ill at all!"

  "Of course I wasn't!" she replied, laughing. "I wanted to give you achance to show them what you could do, and it seemed the only waypossible. I thought of it from the first, and that was why I went overmy part so often with you, and made you rehearse it with me. It wassplendid, Philippa, simply splendid! I couldn't have done it half sowell myself. Now the whole school knows that you can act, and evenErnestine Salt can't deny you the right to become a member of theDramatic Society."