The Fortunes of Philippa: A School Story

by Angela Brazil

  THE FORTUNES OF PHILIPPA

  CHAPTER I

  MY SOUTHERN HOME

  "When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years."

  "Must I _really_ go?"

  "I'm afraid it has come to that, Philippa! I believe I have kept youhere too long already. You're ten years old now, growing a tall girl,and not learning half the things you ought to. I feel there's somethingwrong about you, but I don't know quite how to set it right. After all,I suppose a man can't expect to bring up a girl entirely by himself." Myfather looked me up and down with a glance of despair which would havebeen comical if it had not seemed at the same time somewhat pathetic.

  "I can do the fifth proposition in Euclid," I objected, "and the LatinGrammar as far as irregular verbs."

  My father shook his head.

  "That might help you a little if you were a boy in a public school, butit's not all that your mother would have wished. You've not been taughta note of music, you can't speak French or dance a quadrille, and if itcame to a question of fine sewing, I'm afraid you'd scarcely know whichwas the right end of your needle!"

  The list of my deficiencies was so dreadfully true that I had no excuseto bring forward, and my father continued.

  "Besides, it's absurd to attempt to educate you in this out-of-the-wayspot, where you've no opportunity of mixing with cultured people. I wishyou to see England, and learn English ways, and to have companions ofyour own age."

  "I think San Carlos is the most beautiful place in the world," I saidquickly. "And I don't want any companion but you."

  "Which shows me all the more that it's time I sent you away," answeredFather. "Though it will strain my heart-strings to part with you, I own.It's such a splendid opportunity, too, when Madame Montpellier isreturning to Paris and will take charge of you on the voyage. No,Philippa child, I've quite made up my mind. You're to go to England, andyou'll please me best by taking it bravely, and trying to learn all youcan in the years we must be apart from each other."

  We were sitting on the vine-covered terrace of our beautiful SouthAmerican home. Below us the bright flowers of our tropical garden shonea blaze of colour against the dark background of the lemon-trees; awayto the right stretched the dazzling blue sea, with here and there thedark sail of a native fishing craft; while to the left rose the whitehouses of the little Spanish town of San Carlos, with its picturesque,Moorish-looking church and campanile, set in a frame of tall palm-trees,which led the eye over the long slopes of the coffee-plantations up thehill-side to where the sharp peaks of the sierras towered like giantsagainst the cloudless sky.

  For ten years I had lived here as in paradise, and the thought that Imust leave it, and go far away over the sea to strangers and to anunknown land, filled me with dismay.

  As an only child, and a motherless one, I suppose I had been spoilt,though to be very dearly loved does not always necessarily mean to beover-indulged. I am sure my father spent many anxious hours over myupbringing, and with him I was accustomed to prompt obedience, though Ifear I ruled Juanita, my mulatto nurse, and Tasso, the black bearer,with a rod of iron. Friends of my own age and station I had none; myfather was all in all to me, and in his constant companionship I hadgrown up a somewhat old-fashioned child, learning a few desultorylessons, reading every story-book upon which I could lay my hands, andliving in a make-believe world of my own, as different from the actualrealities of life as could well be imagined.

  It was indeed time for a change, though the transplanting process mightbe hard to bear. I think many urgent letters from relations in Englandhad helped to form my father's decision, and, his mind once made up, hehurried on the preparations for my journey, in a kind of nervous anxietylest he should repent, and refuse to part with me after all.

  "I suppose your aunt will find your clothes all right," he said, as hewatched Juanita pack my cabin trunk. "I've told her to rig you outafresh if she doesn't. We don't go in for Paris modes at San Carlos, soI'm afraid you will hardly be in the latest fashion! You must be a goodgirl, and do as you're told. You'll find everything rather differentover there, but you'll soon get used to it, and be happy, I hope; thoughwhat I'm to do without you here I don't know," he added wistfully."You're all I've got now!"

  And he looked out over the blue waters of the bay to that little plotunder the shade of the campanile where my pretty mother lay sleeping soquietly.

  I understood him, and it added a fresh pang to my sorrow. Child as Iwas, I felt I had in some measure helped to fill that vacant place, andthe thought that I must leave him so lonely, so very lonely, seemedsometimes to make the parting almost harder than I could bear. I triedmy best, however, to be bright and brave for his sake, and I made up mymind that I would do my very utmost to learn all he wished, so thatperhaps I might get through the work in quicker time than he expected,and be able to return to him the sooner.

  The grief of the coloured portion of our household at the news of mydeparture was both noisy and vehement. Juanita dropped copious tearsinto my boxes; Jose, the garden-boy, assured me that England wassituated in the midst of a frozen sea, where your fingers fell off withthe cold, and you chopped up your breakfast with a hatchet; Pedro, thecook, was doubtful if I should survive a course of English dishes, whichhe heard were composed chiefly of beef and plum-pudding, while saladsand sauces were unknown; and Tasso, after a vain appeal to be allowed toaccompany me, drew such appalling pictures of the perils of the seas,that I wondered how even his devotion could have induced him to think ofventuring on shipboard. Of all the many friends whom I left behind, Ithink the one I regretted the most was Tasso. My earliest recollectionis that of clinging to his stout black forefinger to toddle down theflagged pathway between the orange-trees which led to the terrace thatover-looked the sea. Carried on his broad shoulders, I had made my firstacquaintance with the streets of San Carlos. There one might see thefunny washerwomen standing like ducks in the river to beat their clothesupon the stones, the long-eared mules with their gay trappings comingdown from the mountains laden with bags of coffee-berries, the solemnIndian muleteers with their dark cloaks and fringed leggings, the littleblack children dancing and singing in the bright sunshine, the open-airrestaurants where men of all nations sat chatting, smoking cigarettes,and drinking "eau sucree" under the palm-trees, or the fashionablecarriages of the smart Spanish ladies and gentlemen who thronged theCorso in the late afternoon.

  Negro servants, having much of the child in their nature, arewonderfully patient with little children. Tasso humoured me and amusedme with untiring zeal, telling me wonderful stories of African magic,singing me long ballads in the half-Spanish half-Indian dialect of thedistrict, catching for me butterflies, green lizards, or the brilliantlittle humming-birds which flitted about our garden, or picking shellsfor me upon the beach below.

  It was on this shore, just under the windows of our house, that I wasonce the heroine of a very real adventure, which had almost cost me mylife. I think at the time I could not have been more than four yearsold, but it made such a deep impression on my mind that I can rememberevery detail as clearly as though it had happened only yesterday. I hadbeen taken by Juanita to play in the cool of the evening on the littlestrip of silver sand and shingle which lay between our high garden walland the dashing surf. I had left my doll's cape on the terrace, and Ibegged Juanita to go and fetch it. For a long time she refused, but onmy promising not to stir from the spot where I was playing, she was atlast persuaded, and hurried up the steep flight of steps on to theverandah. It had been an intensely hot day, and I was tired, so Ithought I would sit down and rest until Juanita returned. Looking roundI saw, as I imagined, a nice smooth round stone close by, upon which Isettled myself very comfortably, curling my little fat legs under me.But the stone must surely have been an enchanted rock out of one ofTasso's fairy stories, for it suddenly began to move, and, rising up, itput out four flat feet, and marched briskly down the beach towards thesea. The entire unexpectedness of it so utterl
y terrified me that Icould neither cry nor move, only hold on tight with both hands, andwonder what black magic had seized upon me. The turtle, for such inreality my stone proved to be, rapidly gained the water, and it wasabout to paddle off in a hurry with its strange burden, when Juanita,returning on to the verandah, saw my desperate plight, and by herfrantic screams brought Tasso, who dashed down the steps and into thesea, just in time to rescue me before the turtle took a dive into thedeeper water.

  I do not think Tasso ever quite forgave poor Juanita for this accident,though she beat her breast and lamented in a perfect hail-storm ofsouthern grief. And always after this he would keep an eye upon me whenI was in her charge, appearing mysteriously from behind trees, poppinghis dark head through windows, or peering between the vines of thepergola; coming so suddenly and unexpectedly upon us, that I began tothink he had the gift of some of his magic heroes, and could makehimself visible and invisible at pleasure.

  I like to recall those happy days of my early childhood; days when thesun always shone, and the air was full of the scent of orange-blossom,and my father and I lived a life apart among the flowers in the oldterraced garden, where the hum of the little town and the roll of thesurf below seemed but a distant echo of the world beyond.

  In the summer-time, when the heat at San Carlos grew unbearable, wemoved up into the hills, on the verge of the great forests. It wascooler there, for the wind blew fresh from the snow-capped sierras, andI could run to my heart's content along the narrow paths of ourcoffee-plantations, or chase Juanita between the cinnamon-trees.Sometimes, as a special treat, my father would take me in front of himon his horse, and ride into the forest. I can remember yet the thrill ofthose expeditions into that tropical fairyland. The tall trees stretchedbefore our path in a never-ending vista, festooned by gigantic creeperscovered with flowers; funny little chattering monkeys looked down fromthe branches, and scolded us as we passed; gorgeous green parrots rentthe air with their screams; while tiny humming-birds and innumerablebrilliant insects luxuriated in the wealth of plant life. Sometimes wewould see the giant spiders which spin webs so strong that they willoften knock an unwary rider's hat from his head; or sometimes a puma ora jaguar would slink away through the dense undergrowth, and I wouldcling a little closer to my father's arm, and think what would happen tome if I ventured alone into the forest. Of San Carlos and itsinhabitants I saw little; though my father was the British Consul, hedid not move in the society of the place more than was absolutelynecessary, nor, for good reasons of his own, did he wish me to becomevery friendly with the children of his Spanish neighbours. I rarely, ifever, visited any of the white villas that dotted the hill-sides, andthe pretty little dark-eyed Juans or Margaritas who sometimes peepedover the cactus hedges were strangers to me.

  On one day only in the year did my father relax his rule. He would allowme to accept an invitation to watch the Carnival from the verandah ofthe Government House. How immensely I looked forward to those occasions!Juanita would proudly dress me in my best, and I would drive by Father'sside down the Corso to the great white house, where we were welcomed bythe Governor himself, and shown to a place of honour upon the balcony,where we could see everything that was passing in the street below.

  It was a gay sight. First came the priests in their gorgeous vestments,carrying high the gilded images of the Saints; and behind them bands ofsweet-faced children dressed as angels, in long white robes, with softplumed wings fastened on to their shoulders. Carriages followed,garlanded with flowers, in which sat men and women who represented Greekgods, or nymphs, or famous characters from history, attended by tinyboys with gilt wings as Cupids. After these came a mob of masquers,jesters, clowns, harlequins, columbines, peasants of all nations,fishermen, hunters, Indians, or savages; shouting, gesticulating,pushing one another about, and all seeming to try to make as much noiseas they possibly could. It was then that the fun began. Piled up in thebalcony were baskets full of flowers, confetti, bon-bons, and tiny waxballs full of scented water. We flung these far and wide among the crowdbelow, some receiving the flowers and bon-bons, and some being hit bythe wax balls, which, bursting, scented the victim rather too heavilyfor his enjoyment. It was all taken, however, with the greatestgood-humour, and the merry throng passed on to parade round the town,and end with a dance under the palm-trees in the public gardens.

  And so my life in my southern home had passed like a kind of delightfuldream, and it was not until my father talked of change that I had everthought there could be an awakening.

  The little time left to me fled all too fast, and brought themuch-dreaded day when I must leave everything that had grown so dear. Ican never forget our parting. A hurried message had been sent to us thatthe steamer was to start earlier, and that I must go on board in theevening instead of on the following morning as had been at firstarranged. The full moon shone on the waters of the bay, lighting up thevessel which was to take me so far away, and which had steamed out alittle from the quay where the launch was waiting. Big girl as I was, myfather carried me in his arms down the garden. I held my cheek pressedclose against his, and we neither of us spoke, for there are someheart-breaks too great for words. The fireflies were flitting about likeliving jewels, every blossom looked clear-cut and perfect in themoonlight; I can smell even now the heavy scent of the orange-blossom aswe went along the terrace walk, and hear the tremulous call of somenight-bird among the mimosa-trees. It was but a short way to the quay,and we were soon in the launch, steaming out over the bay to where thelights of the great ship shone red against the pale moonlight.

  "So this is the small passenger I'm waiting for!" said the captain, asmy father helped me on deck. "Well, I'm sorry, but I can't allowelaborate leave-takings. We're beyond our time already, the tide's onthe turn, and if we don't start at once we sha'n't be able to cross thebar. We've had our steam up since sunset."

  "Good-bye, my darling, my darling!" said Father, as he held me close forone long, last kiss. "We shall meet again, God willing, before manyyears have passed away. Be a good girl, and whatever you do don't forgetyour poor old daddy, who will be thinking of you always, wherever youmay be."

  He put me into the friendly arms of Madame Montpellier, who was cryingfor sympathy, and ran down the companion-ladder as if he were afraid tolook back. The little launch drew off, the great screw began to revolveslowly, and the ship started eastward in a train of silvery light,leaving my happy home behind, and taking me to a new and untried world,where my future was all before me.