A Fourth Form Friendship: A School Story

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER VII

  False Colours

  The thunderstorm that had added to the unpleasantness of the girls'adventure at Sandsend seemed to herald a complete change in the weather.The beautiful Indian summer, so warm and genial, so full of kindlysunshine, vanished suddenly, and autumn, cold and bleak, appeared in itsplace. A sharp frost in a single night worked havoc in the garden,blackening the dahlias, withering the nasturtiums, and reducing all theremaining annuals to a state of blighted ruin, so that what had one daybeen a flowery paradise was the next a scene of desolation. A strongeasterly gale, following the frost, cleared the leaves from the treesbefore they had any chance of turning to crimson or gold, and strippedthe last vestige of beauty from the hedgerows.

  After this came days of pouring rain. The lawns and the playing-fieldswere sodden, the roads were deep in sticky mud, the row of bare elmsdripped dismally on to the garden seats below, and the neglected sundialno longer told the hour of day, nor formed a centre for the throng ofgirls who generally haunted its steps.

  "Baldur the Sun God is dead!" said Aldred, looking out of the window onedamp afternoon at the cheerless prospect, and recalling Miss Drummond'slesson on Northern Mythology. "Loki has killed him with the piece ofmistletoe, and he will never return to Asgard. All the AEsir are weepingfor him, and the earth will be given up now to the frost giants and thespirits of the winds."

  "Won't he ever come back?" said Mabel, falling in with her friend'shumour.

  "Just for a little while; but he always has to go in the winter, likeProserpine, who was bound to spend half the year with Pluto in Hades. Isuppose there's no country, except the lost Atlantis, where it keepssummer all the year round."

  "Why, you sound quite melancholy!"

  "So I am."

  "But why?"

  "I don't know, except that it is so sad to see the summer gone."

  Aldred could scarcely explain her attitude of mind, though she wasconscious that the change in the world without affected her strongly.She had an extreme love of nature, an intense appreciation of beautifulthings. No ancient Greek ever joyed in the sunshine more than she, ortook greater pleasure in the scent of the flowers, or the blue of thesea and sky, or the song of the birds in springtime. Her artistic,poetical temperament was highly sensitive to all outward impressions;she was so keenly alive to the great, dramatic human tragedy and comedythat is being enacted around us, so in touch with the wonder and mysteryof life, that what would pass unnoticed by many was to her the veryessence of being.

  Few people had ever sympathized with this side of her disposition. Herfather had not realized it, Keith could not understand it, and AuntBertha had repressed it sternly. Modern schoolgirls are certainly notsentimental; they are more prone to laugh at poetic fancies than toadmire them: and Aldred knew that on this score she would probably meetwith ridicule from her form-mates. In consequence, she confined herselfin public to the practical and prosaic, and, with the exception of anoccasional private confidence to Mabel, kept her reflections locked inher own bosom.

  There was certainly nothing in the atmosphere of the Grange to fosterany tendency towards morbidness. The days were so fully occupied as toleave no time for dreaming. Though Aldred was clever, it took her wholeenergies to secure the place that she wished in the school. She wasdetermined to be head of her Form, and, holding that object in view,toiled with a vigour such as nothing else would have wrung from her, andwhich would have caused unfeigned amazement to her former governess. Itwas not all plain sailing, for Ursula Bramley and Agnes Maxwell werealso good workers; and even Mabel, though not specially bright, was veryplodding and conscientious. Aldred soon found that she had to reviseentirely her old method--that a careless German exercise couldcompletely cancel a brilliant score in history, and that she must giveequal attention to every subject if she wished to chronicle a record.The little tricks she had practised on Miss Perkins were not equallysuccessful at Birkwood: she had tried reeling off her lessons very fast,so as to gloss over mistakes, but Miss Bardsley would allow her tofinish, and then say: "Yes; now you may repeat it again, slowly. I didnot quite catch the second person plural;" and Aldred, to her disgust,would be compelled to reveal her ignorance in a more deliberate fashion,and take the bad mark that ensued. She was at first a venturesomeguesser, till her many bad shots drew scathing comments from herteachers and smiles from the rest of the Form.

  "Even Lorna Hallam knows that Sir Philip Sidney didn't write the _FaerieQueene_, and she's supposed to be our champion bungler!" observed UrsulaBramley sarcastically, on one occasion. "As for history, you muddle upThomas Cromwell with Oliver Cromwell! You'd better get an elementarybook, and learn a few simple facts."

  The girls would not tolerate Aldred's conceit. She quickly discoveredthat if she wished to be popular, it was unwise to claim too much creditfor her achievements. The week after she arrived she had taken her placeamong the others at a singing lesson. Miss Wright, the mistress, beganto teach the class the old English ballad, "Should he upbraid"; it wasone with which Aldred happened to be familiar, so she at once took thelead and sang away lustily, beating time in a rather marked manner, andaccomplishing the many little runs and trills with an air as if sheconsidered herself indispensable. At the close of the lesson, as theywere filing out of the room, she could not resist remarking to UrsulaBramley:

  "It was a good thing I knew that song so well, wasn't it?"

  "Why?" asked Ursula pointedly, looking her straight in the eyes.

  Thus cornered, Aldred could hardly say that she thought the class wouldhave managed badly without her aid; her tact told her that the remarkwould be unpalatable and indiscreet, so she quickly changed her ground.

  "Oh! only that I find it difficult to learn new things," she replied, insome confusion.

  "Indeed! Well, I suppose you'll improve when you've been here a littlewhile," returned Ursula, with a meaning smile that was partly a sneer,and made Aldred decidedly red and uncomfortable.

  During the earlier part of the term, try as she might, Aldred was notable to see her name in the coveted position of heading the list for theFourth Form. One week she failed in geometry, another in French; if herGerman was correct, her arithmetic proved inaccurate, and someunexpected slip would pull her down. At the end of the sixth week,however, she at last dared to hope. She was aware that she had doneunusually well, both in the ordinary class subjects and in the Fridaymorning examination; while Ursula, her chief opponent, had had anexercise returned, and received a bad mark for botany. The lists werealways posted up on the notice-board in the corridor just beforetea-time on Saturday afternoon, and there was generally a rush to readthem. On this particular Saturday, Aldred determined to be the first tocull the news. She was too proud to allow herself to seem anxious, soshe hung about the corridor, pretending that she was searching for alost piece of india-rubber, and that she was thrillingly interested inthe view of the dripping garden through the side window. At last MissDrummond appeared, pinned the papers neatly on to the notice-board, andre-entered the library. Aldred strolled up as casually as she could;but Mabel, who had also been on the look-out, was before her.

  "You're top! You're top!" shrieked the latter. "There it is: 'No. 1,Aldred Laurence.' Oh, how lovely! You've beaten Ursula by twenty marks.It's splendid! Come and see for yourself!"

  Though inwardly she felt she had satisfied her ambition, Aldred took theannouncement with the greatest outward sang-froid.

  "Oh! am I?" she replied nonchalantly. "No, I don't want to see, thanks;I can take your word for it."

  "How calm you are! I should have been fearfully excited if it had been:'No. 1, Mabel Farrington.'"

  "What's the use of getting excited? Let us go into the dressing-room,and wash our hands for tea."

  Mabel linked her arm affectionately in that of Aldred, and accompaniedher down the passage, talking as she went.

  "I knew you would come out top, dearest!" she said. "You were certainto, as soon as you had grown used to the work here. It's alwaysdifficul
t for a new girl, when she has been accustomed to a differentteacher; but I think you have fallen into Birkwood ways marvellouslyquickly. Don't you feel proud?"

  "Not particularly."

  "Well, I do, for you! To think of being twenty marks ahead of Ursula!It's a tremendous score! How do you manage to be so clever?"

  "I'm not clever. It's sheer good luck, I expect."

  "No, it's not good luck," said Mabel, putting back Aldred's dark curlswith a caressing hand. "It's something far more, only you're too modestto acknowledge it. You're behaving just as you did at Seaforth. Oh,I've heard about that episode! We all know of it, though you may thinkit was done by stealth."

  "What episode?" gasped Aldred, suddenly red to the tips of her ears.

  "Don't blush so, darling! I won't speak about it again, if you'd rathernot; but I should like to tell you how much I admire you, not only forwhat you did, but for the way you've tried to make nothing of itafterwards. It's only one girl in a thousand who would have had thecourage to rush into that blazing house, and crawl upstairs and downagain; or the presence of mind to tie a wet handkerchief over the littleboy's mouth. I should never have thought of that, I'm certain. Do youmind my mentioning it to you just this once?"

  Now was Aldred's chance. The occasion when she might deny her identitywith the heroine of the fire had come at last! How easily the mistakecould be corrected, and the matter set right! She looked nervously atMabel, and words struggled painfully to her lips.

  "I--I'm afraid--you----" she began.

  "Yes, dearest?" There was a little thrill in Mabel's voice.

  "You're--you're thinking too--too well of me----" stammered Aldred,trying desperately to take the fatal plunge.

  Mabel simply smiled. Her blue eyes were gazing into her friend's withadoring affection; her face showed how deeply her feelings were stirred,and how earnestly she meant all she had said.

  "I was at Seaforth----" continued Aldred.

  "I know that."

  "But--but----"

  Oh, how hard it was to utter her confession! In the act, Aldred'sresolution failed her; she stopped again, and was silent. Herembarrassment was most apparent.

  "Would you really rather not speak of it, dear?" said Mabel gently.

  Why did Aldred hesitate? Opportunity, like an angel of light, stilltarried, and held open the door of honour. If she could only screw upher courage to the sticking-point!

  "All right! If you don't like me to mention it, I'll say nothing more.I'm satisfied now I've let you know that your deed isn't absolutelyhidden under a bushel. You're famous, in spite of yourself. You darling!I only wish I were worthier to be your friend."

  Aldred shrank back at the words, and, disengaging Mabel's clinging arms,made an excuse to hurry away. She had the grace to be thoroughly ashamedof herself, and to feel that she could not bear any more praise atpresent.

  "Why didn't I tell?" she moaned, in an agony of remorse. "I know I'mmean, and dishonest, and horrid, and the exact opposite of what shesupposes. What would Keith say, if he knew? He'd never forgive me. Hescolded me for not explaining that Mr. Bowden had painted part of mypicture, and this is twice as bad. Keith is so absolutely honourable! Isuppose I ought to go to Mabel now, and put things right. No, I can't! Isimply can't! It would be worse than ever. I couldn't force myself tosay it--the words would choke me!"

  A letter from Keith had arrived only that morning, a particularly nice,jolly letter, full of chatty news and of such affectionate enquiriesabout her own doings at school that it seemed to bring her into closertouch than usual with her brother. She wanted so much to stand well inKeith's opinion; and she recalled with a groan what he had said to herin the cornfield about her sketch: "Of all the sneaks, you're thebiggest!" and, "Be a little straighter in future, if you want to keepchums with me." Yes, she was a sneak; it was not a pretty epithet, butit was a true one. In Keith's eyes this affair would be serious; hewould never tolerate such conduct for one single moment. If she wishedto act up to his principles, she must undeceive Mabel immediately, herown self-respect told her that. Yet she could not bring herself to doit, and for a whole week she wavered, her conscience reproaching herbitterly, and her pride pleading and ever pleading to put off the evilmoment.

  "It's impossible to tell her straight out," she decided at last. "I'llwrite a letter and give it to her; that will be much easier, because Ineedn't stay to watch her read it. I know Keith would have gone andowned up; but then, I'm not Keith--I always mind things so much morethan he does."

  Having resolved to make an explanation through the medium of pen, ink,and paper, she retired, when tea was over, to the empty classroom, andset herself to the unwelcome task. How difficult it was! She scribbledsheet after sheet, and tore up one after another. Her confession lookedso bald and paltry when she saw it in black and white! It seemed soawkward to explain adequately how the mistake had arisen. After fivefruitless attempts, she at last managed to arrive at a result which, ifit did not satisfy her, at least contained the truth. She placed it inan envelope, and addressed it to Mabel Farrington, then stood turning itover and over in her hand. Was this letter to break theirfriendship?--so small a thing to have such a fateful result? Well, if itmust be, she had better let it be done as quickly as possible; it was nouse delaying any longer. Bracing up her nerves, therefore, she went downto look for Mabel.

  It being Saturday evening, there was no preparation. Relays of girlswere having their hair washed in the bathroom, and others were finishingstocking darning, or various pieces of mending; tidying their drawers,putting out their clean clothes, and performing the many small dutiesthat seemed to accumulate at the end of the week.

  The Lower School recreation room happened to be temporarily deserted byits usual rollicking crew, and Mabel was there alone, standing warmingher hands at the fire. She looked up brightly as Aldred entered.

  "Come along!" she said. "Isn't this a glorious blaze? We've got the roomall to ourselves for once, and we'll have such a cosy chat! Why! what'sthis you're giving me? A letter? From whom?"

  "From me. It's something I want you to know," replied Aldred shortly;and she would have turned to leave the room had not Mabel caught her bythe arm and forced her back to the fire.

  "Don't run away!" she exclaimed. "You're the most absurd girl! What areyou writing to me about?"

  "You'll find out when you've read it," gulped Aldred.

  "But why couldn't you tell me? What's the matter? You're actuallycrying! Dearest, have I done anything to offend you?"

  "No, no! Do let me go, and then open the letter!"

  "I shan't. You must stay here till I know why you are crying. Hasanybody been nasty to you?"

  "No; it's I who have done something wrong--I wanted to let you know--I'mafraid you'll never care for me afterwards--I daren't tell you--soplease read it, and don't keep me now!"

  Mabel looked puzzled, then suddenly enlightened; but instead ofloosening her hold on her friend, she pulled her down on to thehearth-rug, before the fire.

  "I understand!" she said. "Oh, Aldred, dear, I know all about that, youknow!"

  Aldred's face was a study.

  "Yes, Agnes Maxwell told me before tea."

  "What has Agnes to do with it?"

  "Why, she heard you! She said all the others who had spoken English hadreported themselves to Miss Bardsley, but she was sure you hadn't."

  Aldred drew a long breath. It was quite a different crime that Mabelimagined she was confessing, a little slip that she scarcelyrecollected, and certainly had not intended to rake up. She had beenguilty of expressing herself in her own language during the time setapart for French conversation that morning, but, having no desire tolose a mark, she had discreetly allowed her memory to fail her when themistress asked if any girl had "communicated in English".

  "I must say I was very astonished," continued Mabel, "and verydisappointed that you, of all people, should not have told; it seemed soentirely different from what you are. I couldn't believe that you wouldgo a whole afternoon let
ting 'perfect' be down in the register, when youought to have had a bad mark. Of course, I knew you would tell beforeMonday--luckily, Saturday's marks count for next week."

  Aldred said nothing. She sat on the fender, poking the little, softvolcanoes that oozed out of the coal, squeezing them down, and watchingthe jets of gas that followed.

  "It was a funny idea to write it in a letter!" said Mabel. "You alwaysdo quaint things; I suppose it's because you're such an original girl."

  "Aren't you going to read it?" asked Aldred, in a strained voice.

  "Why should I? I know what's in it. No, it shall go down into thathollow in the fire. Give me the poker. There! What a blaze it makes!"

  Aldred watched her confession flare up and sink into ashes in the heartof the hot coals; there was a strange look on her face, a look that herfriend could not fathom.

  "Suppose I had said nothing at all about it next week, and had kept the'perfect', would you still have cared for me?"

  "Oh, but you couldn't!" cried Mabel. "It's impossible! Why, it wouldn'tbe you to do such a thing!"

  "But if----"

  "There are no 'ifs'. I could never believe any wrong of you, darling;and yet----"

  "What are you two crouching over the fire in the dark for?" exclaimedDora Maxwell, bursting suddenly into the room. "We are going to act dumbcharades in the hall, and Miss Drummond and the teachers are all thereto watch. Come along! We've thought of some most lovely words, which I'msure they'll never think of guessing."

  So another opportunity was lost, and Aldred's secret was still untold.She dared not run the risk of breaking the friendship. If she was blamedfor such a small fault, could she ever be forgiven for so much greater adeception? It was so sweet to be the very centre of Mabel's adoration,to be placed on a pinnacle, and loved with such rapturous devotion.Could she bear to see all this fade utterly, or even partially, away?No! She was glad and thankful that the letter had been burnt; she feltas if she had escaped from a great danger. She told Miss Bardsley abouther "English communication", and took her bad mark with resignation; itwas a small evil, compared with what she had avoided. There seemed noretreat now from the course she had taken; she could not in future pleadthe excuse that she was ignorant of her identification with the heroineof the fire. The affair had been mentioned so plainly that it wasimpossible for the most dense and obtuse person not to have understoodthe allusion. Had Mabel on the first occasion questioned herpoint-blank, I think she would probably have owned up immediately; butevery wrongdoing bears its own ill harvest, and the second slip from thestraight path is always easier than the first. Aldred persuaded herselfthat she had not told any deliberate lies, though she was fully awarethat her silence made her equally guilty of falsehood. Finally, shetried to dismiss the whole thing from her thoughts. Mabel had promisednot to speak of it again; surely it was finished with, and there was noneed to trouble further? Yet it was a trouble. Deep down in her heartlay always the consciousness that she was sailing under false colours;every now and then Mabel would impute to her some better motive thanreally actuated her, or some virtue that she did not possess, andAldred's inward monitor would give her an uneasy twinge, and remind herhow very far she was below that high standard. There was also constantlypresent the dread that Mabel might learn the truth from some outsidesource; perhaps the cousin who had written to her before might hear moredetails, and write again, or some other friend might have been stayingat Seaforth, and might know full particulars. The horror of the thoughtwould make Aldred shudder with apprehension; she was living, she knew,on a bubble reputation, and at one word it might collapse, and changeher pleasant Eden of appreciation and adulation into a blank desert ofdisillusion and contempt.