CHAPTER XVI
An Opportunity
Lorraine, after a delirious round of pleasure in town, returned toPorthkeverne quite tired out with festivities, but declaring that shehad had the time of her life.
"It will be your turn next," she said to Monica, who sat on the floorwhile she unpacked, and demanded a circumstantial account of every hourof the gay visit. "We shall certainly have you jaunting off to Londonsome day."
"Not till I'm seventeen, perhaps," the voice was doleful, "and that'sjust ages to wait. Daisy Phillips has been to London three times, andshe's only ten! She crows over me dreadfully."
"Poor old Cuckoo! You're a badly-used child! See what I've got for youinside this parcel."
"A Japanese pencil-box! The very thing I wanted! And such a lovely one!It's nicer than anybody else's in the whole form."
"Then you'll score over Daisy for once!"
"Rather! Lorraine, you're a trump! Oh, and the ducky little blue knifeinside, and pink pencils! I know everybody'll want to borrow them atonce, but I shan't lend them to a single soul! They're too nice even touse myself. _Do_ say I'm not to lend them, and then the girls needn'tcall me stingy."
"All right! I absolutely forbid them to be lent. Where's Rosemary? I'vea parcel here that may interest her. No, Cuckoo! You're not to peepinside. What a Paul Pry you are! Go and call her, and I'll show it toher myself."
Somehow Lorraine felt as if the little visit to London had suddenlyadded years to her age. It had enlarged her circle of experiences sogreatly that she had begun to look on life from almost a grown-upstandpoint. She had gone away, older certainly than Monica, but regardedin the family category as one of "the children", and she had returned totake her place on a level with Richard, Donald, Rodney, and Rosemary.She was allowed to read Richard's letters from Mesopotamia, instead ofonly having portions retailed to her; and she was not sent out of theroom now, when Father and Mother discussed Rodney's future for thosehalcyon times when peace should be declared, and he should leave the AirForce. She began in some measure to realize her mother's daily, hourlyanxiety about these boys at the front, and to understand how behind allthe happiness of her daily life stood a nightmare, with a spectral handraised ever ready to fall on those three best beloved.
Trouble, which mercifully spared their own family, struck neverthelessvery near. A yellow envelope arrived one day at the Barton Forresters'house, and Aunt Carrie opened it with trembling fingers and a sinkingheart.
"There's no answer!" she said briefly to the waiting telegraph girl.Then she sat down and tried to face what the short message from the WarOffice really conveyed. Only twelve words, but it meant the hope of afamily trailed in the dust. Lindon, their one treasured boy, had "gonewest". Well, other mothers had given their dearest and best! She wouldoffer him gladly, joyfully, on the altar of Britain's glory! But herface seemed to grow suddenly shrunken, and the high colour faded fromher cheeks, leaving a network of little red veins instead.
"If only she wouldn't try to be _quite_ so brave about it!" said Mrs.George Forrester. "It's such a terrific effort for her to keep up likethis! Why, the very next day she went to the Red Cross Hospital just asusual. She hasn't slacked a single thing. The strain must be tremendous.She absolutely worshipped that poor boy! The girls hadn't an innings incomparison with him. I admire the way she's taking it, but I'm afraidsome day it will be more than she can stand, and she'll just collapse.If it had been Richard, I couldn't have borne to speak of him to anybodyjust at first, yet she talks quite calmly of Lindon. It's too much forhuman nature!"
Uncle Barton, grown suddenly ten years older, went about looking smalland stooping, with a reef of wrinkles about his kind eyes. He clung toBetty, whose manner had softened under the blow. Of the three girls sheunderstood him the best, and, though she was still undemonstrative, hersilent consideration comforted him.
Lorraine, in the sanctuary of the studio by the harbour, railed atProvidence.
"Why should Lindon be taken?" she asked bitterly. "Lindon--the nicest ofall our cousins! Oh, Carina, why should a splendid hopeful young lifelike this be sacrificed, and poor Landry be left behind? I don'tunderstand! It seems so futile--such a waste!"
Margaret stroked her hand for a moment before she answered:
"It may seem so on the face of it, but then we don't see the whole--onlyone side of it. Perhaps the splendid useful life is wanted for work andgreater development in the next world, where it can spread its spiritualwings unhampered by physical disabilities. And poor Landry may be neededhere, as a discipline to purge somebody's soul, or to bring kindness toa heart that might otherwise have gone unenlarged. This world is aschool to train character, and, if some of us are sent on quickly into ahigher form, it is because there are other lessons to learn there. Don'tfor a moment call Lindon's sacrifice 'waste'! Have you ever read theselines?
'A picket frozen on duty, A mother starved for her brood, Socrates drinking the hemlock, And Jesus on the Rood; The million, who, humble and nameless, The straight, hard, pathway trod-- Some call it consecration, And others call it GOD!'"
There was one person who, Lorraine suspected, was grieving for Lindonmore than she would allow anybody to imagine. Rosemary had always beenfond of this particular cousin, and, between the day-dreams of dukes andgenerals who were to sue for her sister's hand, it had sometimesoccurred to Lorraine that a far more ordinary and commonplace romancemight be enacted under her eyes near at home. Lindon had been wont tocome to the house far more frequently than Elsie, Betty or Vivien; hehad always enjoyed Rosemary's singing, and had given her his photo in alocket before he went away. He had written to her often from the front,and though there had been no hint of such a thing as an engagement, ithad been apparent to anyone not absolutely blind that they wereinterested in each other. It is perhaps much harder for a girl, in suchcircumstances, to lose her lover, than for one who is definitelyengaged, and can claim open sympathy for her sorrow. Rosemary felt thatshe could not talk about Lindon to Elsie, Betty and Vivien. They hadalways been rather jealous of his preference for her, and had resentedhis frequent visits to Pendlehurst. They did not know about the locketor the letters. She kissed Uncle Barton, however, with extra affection,and he responded so warmly, holding her arm as they walked down thegarden, that she somehow thought he understood.
So Rosemary gulped back this trouble as she had borne herdisappointment about the College of Music, and flung herself into thatuniversal panacea for heart-breaks--work for the Red Cross. She slavedat scullery-duty three mornings a week at the hospital, and put inalternate afternoons rolling bandages at the depot. She would have givenup her whole time to either, but that her mother would not allow.
"You're all eyes, child!" she commented. "You must get out into thefresh air this lovely weather, and put some roses into your cheeks. Ishall give you a tonic. You look like a canary that's been moulting."
Privately, Rosemary felt as if her heart had been moulting, and she hadnot yet had time to grow her new spiritual feathers. The fact thatanybody was noticing, however, made her brace up. She had no wish topose as a sentimentalist. She swallowed the tonic dutifully, took theprescribed daily walk, and even, with a great effort, practised thepiano. She could not yet bring herself to touch her songs--theremembrance of Signor Arezzo's verdict was still too raw.
CLAUDIA FLUNG HER ARMS ROUND ROSEMARY'S NECK ANDHUGGED HER]
One glorious beautiful afternoon saw Rosemary wending her way up thehill to the Castletons. Lorraine had promised to send a paper pattern toClaudia, but had been at home all day with a violent headache, soRosemary had volunteered to walk to Windy Howe after tea and take it.She went by a short cut through the fields, and approached the house byway of the orchard. The apple-trees were in full blossom; the lovelypink bloom stood out against the blue of the afternoon sky in a delicatemaze of colour too subtle for even the most cunning artist hand toreproduce. Mr. Castleton's sketch, left on its easel under the hedge,and splotched with dabs of rose madder an
d Payne's grey, gave only thefaintest impression of the fairy scene. Clumps of primroses bloomedamong the grass, and a thrush, on the tip-top of a hawthorn bough,trilled in rivalry with the blackbird whose nest was in the oldpear-tree. They were not the only musicians, however. Somebody hadopened the gate from the garden and was walking leisurely down theorchard--somebody in a light cotton dress, with the sunshine gleaming onher golden hair. She came slowly, and sang as she walked, sang like theblackbird and the thrush, for sheer enjoyment of the glory of the springday. The clear high notes went thrilling through the air with all thefreshness and sweetness of the birds' tones.
Rosemary, unnoticed, stood aside to watch and listen, as Claudia, stillwarbling on high A, stopped under an apple-tree to feed a coopful ofchickens with some bread she had brought. The girl's beautiful face andfigure against the apple-blossom background and the blue sky made apicture worthy of the brush of an Academician.
"Heavens!" thought Rosemary. "What a voice! If Signor Arezzo could hear_that_, now, he'd consider it worth training. It has all the glorioustone and volume that I lack. And so pure and high! I should think shecould take C! The girl looks a singer. With that magnificent chest andthroat she ought to be able to bring out her notes. She has such asplendid physique. She's a lovely girl, too. What a sensation she'd makeon a concert platform!"
Aloud, however, Rosemary simply said, "Good afternoon!" presented thepaper pattern, explained that Lorraine had a headache, and asked ifClaudia were fond of singing. Claudia flushed crimson.
"Oh, I can't sing!" she stammered. "Not really. Only just to myself whennobody's listening. I didn't know you were there."
"You ought to take lessons," commented Rosemary.
Claudia shook her head. She was pinning back a yellow curl with a clasp.
"That's quite impossible, so it's not an atom of use thinking about it.It's Beata's turn for music, and she's to begin the violin with MadameBertier next term. Don't look distressed! I'll just squall on to pleasemyself. Nobody else cares to hear me, I'm sure."
"It's a pity to waste a talent," said Rosemary.
Claudia shrugged her shoulders.
"It isn't wasted; it comes in handy to croon the babies to sleep," sheanswered humorously. "And as I'm going to stay at home for the presentit will most probably be wanted."
Rosemary went home with her head in a whirl. A voice like that to bedevoted to crooning children to sleep! It seemed wicked. Her experienceat the college had taught her enough to make her realize how much mightbe made of Claudia's voice with proper training. Oh! if she could onlyhave exchanged places with Claudia! For a moment a flood of wild, bitterjealousy swept over her. This girl had all the qualifications for thewant of which she herself had failed. Why had not Providence, who gaveher the keen enthusiasm for music, also gifted her with that throat andvoice?
"It's not fair!" raged Rosemary, wiping away very salt tears. "Somepeople have all the luck in life. I'd give worlds for a strong voice,instead of my wretched little drawing-room twitter."
From her sister she enquired whether Claudia could dance.
"Dance!" echoed Lorraine eloquently. "You should just see her! I wishyou'd been at the rhythmic dancing display last Christmas. Herforget-me-not dance was simply a dream. Everybody said they never sawanything quite so beautiful. Miss Leighton was tremendously proud ofher. She said that Claudia was the only girl in the whole school whotook to the poses absolutely naturally. She fell into them as easily aseasily, while all the rest of us had to practise no end."
"She's a very graceful girl, as well as immensely pretty."
There was a terrific struggle raging in Rosemary's heart. She knew thatSignor Arezzo was always on the look-out for really suitable sopranos totrain for opera. A girl who fulfilled his critical conditions would beawarded entirely free tuition, with a maintenance-scholarship inaddition at the College of Music. If Claudia could be coached a littlein Signor Arezzo's particular method of voice production, so that noglaring faults should offend him, it was highly probable that, if shewere to sing before him, he would decide to give her a training.
"After two terms with him, I know _exactly_ what he wants," reflectedRosemary. "I could teach someone else, though I could not do it myself.There are all my books of exercises and studies packed away at home; I'dmade up my mind never to look at them again. Oh, dear! It will be likeopening a wound to get them out. Shall I, or shall I not? The girl seemscontented enough as she is."
It takes some qualifications for sainthood to hold open for another thedoor of a paradise you may not enter yourself. As Rosemary's mindsee-sawed up and down, her eyes fell on a quotation printed on acalendar which hung in her room.
"Four things come not back to man or woman--the sped arrow, the spokenword, the past life, and the neglected opportunity."
"It _is_ an opportunity," she mused; "an opportunity of helping such asprobably I shall never find again in the whole of my life. RosemaryDoris Forrester, you've got to buck up and not be an envious beast.You're going to unpack that music, and teach that girl all you know. _I_say so, the real _I_--not the horrid, mean, jealous, selfish,contemptible part of me. Here goes! I'll write and propose it, and sendthe letter up at once by Lorraine, so as to burn my boats. I hope togoodness Claudia will have the sense to snatch at such a good offer. Ishan't tell anybody a word about it beforehand."
Lorraine, who always went willingly on any errand to Windy Howe, handedover her sister's impulsive letter, quite unwitting of its contents.Claudia read it, flushed, and caught her breath with a sharp little cry.She turned to her friend with eyes like two stars.
"Do you know what Rosemary proposes?" she asked.
"No."
"Why, she actually offers to teach me to sing! And oh, Lorraine! Shehints that, if I try hard, she would write to Signor Arezzo and ask himto hear me, and perhaps he would be able to give me a scholarship forthe college, and I could go and study."
It was Lorraine's turn to assimilate the surprise.
"Good old Rosemary! She's a trump card! But I thought you didn't careabout winning scholarships, Claudia. I believe you missed sending inthat application on purpose."
Claudia blushed consciously.
"That was altogether different. I hated the idea of teachingkindergarten. But to study singing! I'd _love_ it! You know how fond Iam of music--as fond as Morland is, really, only I never had his fingersfor the piano. I shouldn't be much of a player, I know; but to sing!It's my ideal! I'll go and write to Rosemary now, and say I'm ready tobe her pupil to-morrow. Oh, it _is_ good of her!"
So the exercises and studies came out of their retirement in the darkcupboard after all, and Rosemary grew so interested in "putting Claudiathrough her paces", as she described it, that her own bitterdisappointment began somehow to soften and tone down. Claudia was apattern pupil. To begin with, her voice was such excellent material towork upon; then she had a very world of young enthusiasm, and wassufficiently modest to accept her teacher's dicta without argument. Shepractised diligently, and the training soon began to tell. In quite ashort time there was marked improvement. Rosemary, listening to herdeliciously pure high notes, felt a vicarious satisfaction. They were soexactly what she had always longed to produce herself.
"I shan't write to Signor Arezzo till we're through Book II," shedecreed. "If you go on at this rate, I think he'll be satisfied when hehears you. If he accepts you, I _shall_ be proud!"
For answer, Claudia flung her arms round Rosemary's neck and hugged her.
"You're the sweetest, kindest, most unselfish darling in the whole ofthe wide world!" she blurted out.
The Head Girl at the Gables Page 17
