Cherry Ames Boxed Set 9-12

by Helen Wells

  Fixative? Musk? Balsam?

  Add 500 centimetres of water, set aside, filter.

  Lisette had already arranged for their doing the job more swiftly than in seven days. She allowed for differences between commercial ingredients of her great-grandfather’s time and of her own (such as the synthetic artificial essences of bitter almond and bergamot). Houbigant, who had made perfumed gloves for Napoleon Bonaparte, had adapted ancient recipes with modern chemicals, so Lisette and Cherry, given this great precedent, dared to be hopeful.

  The two girls did some extremely exact measuring, considering that an ounce equals 28.35 grammes, and a litre equals 1.76 pint. They scaled down Pierre’s formula to the tiny amount of perfume they were making, for they had only one small bottle of the natural flower oil with which to experiment. They took the flower oil out of the refrigerator. To this flower oil they added, carefully, the other ingredients of the formula, exactly as the textbook directed. Such concentration was tiring. As they worked and the afternoon lengthened, Cherry wished Dr. Alan would look in. He had promised to try to do so. They could use a third pair of hands and some encouragement. Finally Cherry and Lisette added a little fixative which, of a retiring odor itself, would make the perfume lasting.

  “I’m almost afraid to sniff what we’ve made,” Lisette admitted. She looked tired.

  “We have to remember that a perfume needs a chance to ripen. Anyway, we’ve been smelling so many scents all day long,” Cherry said, “I suspect we have ‘odor fatigue.’ We can’t judge this new perfume now.”

  “I can’t wait!”

  “We ought to wait a week. Poor Lisette. Let’s wait three days, at least.”

  Cherry put away the bottle of finished perfume, tightly stoppered, on a high shelf to ripen.

  The following three days were the hardest Cherry could remember. Somehow, word leaked out among the girls that she and Lisette were trying to make a new perfume, and the teasing added to their unease. Sibyl said scornfully, “Why should amateurs bother, when you can go out and buy the most magnificent perfumes?” All Lisette could reply was, “Why bother ever to do anything new and original?” She tried to explain to Sibyl that there was no one true odor of rose and no perfume at all of the rare silver lace, but Sibyl flounced off without listening.

  “It’s enough to make one cry,” Lisette complained to Cherry. “I wonder what Mrs. Harrison is thinking?”

  Tuesday finally arrived. The three days were up. The two girls asked Dr. Alan to come over, but Lisette lacked the courage to invite Mrs. Harrison.

  Late Tuesday afternoon Cherry, Alan, and Lisette closed the infirmary door and took the bottle of Pierre’s perfume down from the shelf. Cherry sniffed first and could not trust her own senses. She tried to keep her face expressionless for Lisette’s sake. Then Lisette sniffed the bottle; then she applied a little of the perfume to her wrist and to a clean blotter, and sniffed again.

  “For gosh sake!” Alan blurted out. “It’s nothing in particular—I can smell that much even at a distance.”

  Lisette sank into a chair and tears ran down her face. Alan patted her shoulder. Cherry wanted to console her, but what could she say? The perfume’s ingredients just did not blend. Discounting the rawness of the chemicals, which time would improve, all they had here was a mixture of awfully sweet odors. These did not harmonize into a perfume at all.

  “I don’t believe it!” Lisette stormed. “I don’t believe Pierre’s perfume was as hopeless as this! It’s our fault, not his. We did something wrong!”

  “Let’s analyze your possible errors step by step,” Alan said calmly. Cherry, because of her training in the sciences, led off. Could they have pieced the formula together incorrectly? On checking back, they did not think so. Had they used a fixative which drowned out the flower odors? No, they could discern each separate flower scent. Had distillation ruined the essential oil of the silver lace? Should they have used a more delicate method? No, they could discern a scent resembling silver lace even in the ruined perfume.

  “Maybe we were too exact,” Lisette muttered, “and too scientific. After all, perfume making is an art as well as a science. If we try again, we’ll depend on our noses as well as the formula.”

  “You’ll try again,” Alan encouraged her. He looked uncertain, but soothed her, saying they would surely think of some solution. It was only kindness on his part, for when he said good-by to Cherry in the hall, he admitted:

  “I have no idea what to do next. Have you?”

  “No. I mean, not yet.” Cherry jammed her hands in her uniform pockets. “I’ll think of something, though.”

  “I’ll bet you will. If I can help, let me know.”

  As if this disappointment were not enough, Lisette was in a bad state of mind about what Mrs. Harrison would say.

  “I can’t bear to tell her that we’ve failed. Here we’ve torn a gaping hole in the closet, and stripped the conservatory bare—and we’ve failed!”

  “We won’t give up too soon,” Cherry said grimly. “We’re beaten this time, but there’s always a next time. Give me a day or two to think.”

  “Mrs. Harrison will lose all respect for me. I tell you, Cherry, I wouldn’t be surprised if she canceled my scholarship and sent me home!”

  “Now, Lisette, stop talking nonsense.”

  Lisette started to cry so helplessly that Cherry heard only snatches of seemingly unreasonable things. “My own mother doesn’t believe in Pierre’s formula, so why should Mrs. Harrison? Oh, I can’t bear it!”

  The next day a rumor started among the girls that Lisette was Mrs. Harrison’s niece.

  Cherry heard the rumor and did not like its unpleasant undertone. The gossip hinted that as the headmistress’s niece, Lisette enjoyed special privileges. Cherry knew this was not true. If anything, Mrs. Harrison was rather stricter and more impersonal with Lisette than with the other girls, probably in an effort not to favor her.

  The way the rumor took hold was appalling. Sibyl’s older clique, Cora, Francie, and Susan, addressed Lisette in dripping tones as “pet.” Someone stuck a sign on the stripped conservatory: Private. Even good-natured Nancy, when she and little Mary gave a hot chocolate party in their room, left Lisette out, conspicuously.

  If the headmistress was aware of the gossip, she gave no indication of it. Lisette maintained her dignity in the dining room, but Mademoiselle and Mr. North reported in the faculty room that the girl seemed nervous in class. “When ma petite Lisette stumbles in her French lesson,” declared Mlle. Gabriel, “maybe she should consult the nurse.”

  Lisette stood the embarrassment for most of the week, then burst into the infirmary at lunch hour on Friday.

  “Cherry, do I have to face those cats again? I’d rather go hungry. Let me stay here with you.”

  Cherry was lunching upstairs in order to keep an eye on Jannie, who was trying to ward off laryngitis. She had given Jannie prescribed medication and a lunch of hot liquids, and now had made her comfortable for an afternoon nap. This done, Cherry took Lisette into her own adjoining room, leaving the door open in case her patient needed her.

  Lisette talked in whispers. Cherry recalled the incident in the infirmary when she had sensed “that something complex existed here.” The whole story spilled out.

  It was true that Lisette was Alicia Harrison’s niece. They had kept this fact in the background in order to save embarrassment. And now poor Mrs. Harrison had to endure all these unkind thoughts and remarks! Lisette was a great deal more distressed for her aunt than for herself. Cherry tried to listen with a double awareness for what connection all of this might have with the perfume project.

  Alicia Harrison was the granddaughter of Pierre Gauthier, and the daughter of Pierre’s only child, Louis. Louis had also had a son, Gilbert, who was Lisette’s late father. Alicia had grown up here in the Chateau Larose. She had married a Richard Harrison and resided with him in New York until his death left her a widow. In the meantime, Gilbert married Lisette’s mother a
nd they, too, lived for some years in New York. After Lisette’s grandfather and grandmother died, the Chateau Larose was untenanted by any members of the family, until her aunt took over the Jamestown School.

  “Aunt Alicia has never had any idea why I wanted so badly to come here. She awarded me the scholarship out of the goodness of her heart. Oh, yes, certainly, she knew about Pierre’s dabbling in perfumes. But like the rest of the family, she didn’t take it too seriously.”

  “Did she know about Pierre’s diary?” Cherry asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. Papa had taken it years ago as a kind of curiosity and buried it in a trunk. But I’m sure of this much. Aunt Alicia never guessed her own school building held a secret.”

  Now that Mrs. Harrison did finally know about Pierre’s perfume, Lisette said in despair, they had failed.

  “My own mother laughs—and now I suppose Aunt Alicia will too, at my childhood dream. Mother’s always said, ‘Lisette, your imagination is running away with you.’” She sighed. “Cherry, do you know what I dread most, right now? More gossip! If the girls unearth the fact that we’ve failed—”

  “You feel that would embarrass Mrs. Harrison still more?”

  There were many more puzzling facets of the story—so many questions on the tip of Cherry’s tongue—but the warning bell rang for the first afternoon class. Lisette had to run. She hesitated in the hall doorway.

  “Did you see, Cherry, how even the old doll with its memories affected Aunt Alicia? Now all this horrid meddling talk. Of all darling people to be gossiped about!”

  The girl fled. She left Cherry feeling very much troubled. Mrs. Harrison needed help and could not herself, without loss of dignity, track down whoever had started the talk. But Cherry had a good idea who had done it.

  One girl in particular held a grudge against Mrs. Harrison. That girl, only a few days ago, again had been called into the headmistress’s office for a disciplinary talk, for one of her repeated infractions of school rules. That girl was Sibyl. Cherry knew Sibyl held a grudge against her, too, suspecting Cherry had scared away her precious Freddie.

  “Well,” Cherry decided, “sooner or later this situation with Miss Troublemaker has to come to a head.”

  She went downstairs to look for Sibyl among the girls who were leaving the dining room. Sibyl was nowhere to be seen. The open door of Mrs. Harrison’s office gave Cherry a better idea.

  The headmistress was not in her pleasant office-study, but Cherry found Mrs. Curtis there. In addition to her teaching duties, she assisted Mrs. Harrison with the administrative work. She looked up coolly as the young nurse came in.

  Cherry explained what she wanted to know.

  “That is a shrewd guess, Miss Ames,” said Mrs. Curtis. “Ordinarily neither Mrs. Harrison nor I give out such information. Can you tell me why you need to know?”

  Cherry explained this, too. She was so determined that her crisp white nurse’s cap trembled atop her black curls.

  “Very well, Miss Ames. As you are aware, Sibyl was called into this office the other evening. She had left library books lying on the porch in the rain—but that is not the point. While Sibyl was in here, both Mrs. Harrison and I were called into the library for a few minutes. Sibyl was left alone in this office. I distinctly recall that a letter from Lisette’s mother was lying open on Mrs. Harrison’s desk, and I am very much afraid that Sibyl read it.”

  “I suppose she was attracted by the name Gauthier on the envelope or letterhead,” Cherry said. And Sibyl had disliked Lisette ever since the fiasco of her “stolen” lapis lazuli bracelet.

  “The letter which Sibyl read, without any right to do so,” Mrs. Curtis said, “did reveal that Lisette is Alicia Harrison’s niece. A few of us instructors knew that, but we felt it was a private matter, and no need for the students to know of the relationship. Sibyl certainly is making capital of it!”

  Cherry thanked Mrs. Curtis and wrote a note to Sibyl asking her to stop by the infirmary and slipped it under the door. Then she went back to her work. When Sibyl did not put in an appearance by late afternoon, Cherry decided to seek her out. She met her in the upstairs corridor.

  “Didn’t you find my note that I want to see you?”

  Sibyl shrugged. She had ignored the note.

  “Sibyl, was it you who spread this talk about Lisette being the headmistress’s niece?”

  “It’s true. What if I did spill the beans?”

  “You’re a born mischief maker. Aren’t you ashamed of what you’ve stirred up?”

  “Why should I be? I’m bored to death seeing that privileged character hang around the infirmary at all hours, doing heaven knows what! A lot of the other girls resent it, too.”

  “Yes, because you’ve deliberately created resentment and ill feeling.” Cherry’s eyes snapped. “You saw your chance to hurt Mrs. Harrison and you took it, didn’t you?”

  “Do some people bore you, Miss Ames?” Sibyl said insolently, and strolled away.

  Mrs. Harrison must have learned that Cherry had unmasked Sibyl as the gossipmonger; probably Sibyl, who enjoyed attention of any sort, publicized it herself. For the next evening during dinner, Mrs. Harrison asked for silence, saying she had something to tell the assembled girls.

  All around the candlelit tables, and at the headmistress’s long table, students and faculty members stopped talking. All faces turned toward the beautiful woman. Cherry noticed that Lisette, seated with the younger girls, looked pale but confident.

  “There is something I would like all of you to know,” Mrs. Harrison said pleasantly. “Word has been circulating that Lisette Gauthier is my niece, and of course that is quite true. Lisette is my late brother’s daughter. I cannot imagine why any of you should really care whether we are aunt and niece or not. If it is a matter of Lisette’s scholarship, you might like to know that two other girls—who are not related to me—have scholarships, too. My entire effort has been not to favor any girl, nor”—the headmistress glanced at Sibyl—“to show disfavor to any girl even when there is the provocation. It was this desire to be fair and impartial to all you girls, you see, which was the reason for my not announcing that Lisette is my niece. I’ve tried very hard, and I think you can see for yourselves that I haven’t favored Lisette or anyone else.”

  A murmur went around the dining room. It was sympathetic. Sibyl’s face had turned nearly as red as her hair, but she sat staring boldly at the headmistress.

  “The interesting part of the story,” Mrs. Harrison continued serenely, “has to do with this house, which as you know is the Chateau Larose.”

  Across the room Cherry and Lisette exchanged startled glances. Was Mrs. Harrison going to give away their secret? The perfume experiment still was unfinished—

  “My grandfather built this house after a French design of his era and planted the garden with rare seeds from France. He built it for his wife, although she did not live many years after their son, Louis, my father, was born. The Chateau Larose was occupied by our family until several years ago, when my parents—Lisette’s grandparents—died. The chateau was left to me, as the elder child. I leased it, with all its original furniture, to some people who founded the Jamestown School here. That is why, incidentally, Lisette never saw the chateau until she came to the school this fall. Then, five years ago, I decided to take over the school. I thought you girls would like to know that the house has a long and romantic history.”

  She turned aside and asked the waitress for more coffee. Her announcement was over.

  She had not said a word about the chateau’s secret! Cherry and Lisette smiled at each other in relief. Nor had Mrs. Harrison spoken out against the girl who had manufactured the trouble.

  In the sitting room after dinner, the other girls drifted away from Sibyl, even Francie, Cora, and Susan, but she aggressively strolled after them.

  “Why, chicks, you were the first to listen when I told you the tidbit,” Sibyl wheedled.

  “You made us liste
n but we didn’t enjoy it,” Francie retorted. The other two members of her one time clique looked at Sibyl with dwindling respect. She floundered.

  “Ho-hum. Stuffy, aren’t you? Oh, I forgot to tell you I expect to hear from my darling Freddie any moment now.” This remark was met with tight lipped disbelief.

  “I saw Freddie in the village with that local Blair girl,” Cora said very clearly.

  “Oh, all right!” Sibyl burst out. “You know, anyway, that Freddie hasn’t called me for weeks and weeks. As if I cared! As if I cared either, about this tiresome old school!”

  She banged out of the room, making a loud if not very grand exit.

  A few days later it became generally known that Sibyl had prevailed upon her parents to send her to another school. The reason was obvious: the girls at the James-town School no longer took her seriously, and some of them were snubbing her. Mrs. Harrison handled the unfortunate situation tactfully. She remarked to several groups of girls:

  “Sibyl’s parents and I have talked the matter over, and we agree that a change of school is in order.”

  That was all the headmistress said, but Sibyl’s defeat was complete, and no one was too sorry that she was leaving.

  On the day she left she came into the infirmary looking for Lisette and Cherry. In her hand she carried, gingerly, the lapis lazuli bracelet.

  “Miss Ames, I—I just want to say I hope you haven’t any hard feelings toward me.”

  “Of course not, Sibyl. I hope you’ll be happy at the new school and make lots of friends there.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will. Lisette? Would you—ah—like to have this bracelet?” It was the closest Sibyl could come to offering an apology. She held out the trinket.

  Lisette accepted it without much enthusiasm, but with good grace. Smiling, she said, “It’s very nice of you, Sibyl. I shall enjoy wearing it.”

  Five minutes later Sibyl was driving away in the station wagon. The school would go on without her.

  CHAPTER XII

  What Molly Recalled