The Independence of Claire

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

  CHAPTER SIX.

  THE INVITATION.

  The next morning Claire was introduced to the scene of her new labours,and was agreeably impressed with its outside appearance. SaintCuthbert's High School was situated in a handsome thoroughfare, and hadoriginally been a large private house, to which long wings had beenadded to right and left. On each side and across the road were handsomeprivate houses standing in their own grounds, owned by tenants whoregarded the High School with lively detestation, and would have borneup with equanimity had an earthquake swallowed it root and branch.

  Viewed from inside, the building was less attractive, passages andclass-rooms alike having the air of bleak austerity which seemsinseparable from such buildings; but when nine o'clock struck, and theflood of young life went trooping up the stairways and flowed into theseparate rooms, the sense of bareness was replaced by one of tinglingvitality.

  As is usual on an opening day, every girl was at her best and brightest,decked in a new blouse, with pigtails fastened by crisp new ribbons, andgood resolutions wound up to fever point. To find a new French mistressin the shape of a pretty well-dressed girl, who was English at onemoment, and at the next even Frenchier than Mademoiselle, was anunexpected joy, and Claire found the battery of admiring young eyes anembarrassing if stimulating experience.

  Following Miss Farnborough's advice, she spent the first day's lessonsin questioning the different classes as to their past work, and soturned the hour into an impromptu conversation class. The ugly Englishaccents made her wince, and she winced a second time as she realised theunpleasant fact that just as her pupils would have to prepare for her,so would she be obliged to prepare for them! Forgotten rules of grammarmust be looked up and memorised, for French was so much her mothertongue that she would find it difficult to explain distinctions whichcame as a matter of course. That meant more work at night, moreinfringement of holiday hours.

  The girls themselves were for the most part agreeable and well-mannered.The majority were the daughters of professional men, and of gentle-folks of limited means; but there was also a sprinkling of the daughtersof better-class artisans, who paid High School fees at a cost of muchself-denial in order to train their girls for teachers' posts in thefuture. Here and there an awkward, badly-dressed child was plainly of astill lower class. These were the free "places"--clever children whohad obtained scholarships from primary schools, and were undergoing theordeal of being snubbed by their new school-mates as a consequence oftheir success.

  From the teacher's point of view these clever children were a welcomestimulus, but class feeling is still too strong in England to make themacceptable to their companions.

  At lunch-time the fifteen mistresses assembled in the Staff-Room, a dullapartment far too small for the purpose, a common fault in High Schools,where the different governing bodies are apt to spare no expense inproviding for the comfort of the scholar, but grudge the slightestexpenditure for the benefit of those who teach.

  Fifteen mistresses sat round the table eating roast lamb and boiledcabbage, followed by rhubarb pie and rice pudding, and Claire, lookingfrom one to the other, acknowledged the truth of Miss Rhodes's assertionthat they were all of a type. She herself was the only one of thenumber who had any pretensions to roundness of outline, all the restwere thin to angularity, half the number wore pince-nez or spectacles,and all had the same strained pucker round the eyes. Each one wore ablue serge skirt and a white blouse, and carried herself with an air ofdogmatic assurance, as who should say: "I know better than any one else,and when I speak let no dog bark!" The German mistress was the veteranof the party and was probably a good forty-five. Miss Bryce, theFroebel mistress, paired with Claire herself for the place of junior.Miss Blake, the Gym. mistress, was a graceful girl with an air ofdelicacy which did not seem in accord with her profession. Miss Rose,the Art mistress, was plain with a squat, awkward figure.

  Rising from the table, Claire caught a glimpse of her own reflection inthe strip of mirror over the chimney-piece, and at the sight a littlethrill, half-painful, half-pleasant, passed through her veins. The softbloom of her complexion, the dainty finish of her dress, differentiatedher almost painfully from her companions, and she felt a pang of dreadlest that difference should ever grow less. While she affected to readone of the magazines which lay on a side table, she was really occupiedmaking a number of vehement resolutions: Never to slack in her care ofher personal appearance; never to give up brushing her hair at night;never to wear a flannel blouse; never to give up manicuring her hands;never, no, never to allow herself to grow short-sighted, and be obligedto submit to specs!

  The different mistresses seemed to be on friendly terms, but there wasan absence of the camaraderie which comes from living under the sameroof. School was a common possession, but home hours were spent apart,except when, as in Claire's own case, two mistresses shared the samerooms, and it followed as a matter of course that personal interestswere divided. To-day the conversation was less scholastic than usual,the intervening holidays forming a topic of interest. The Art mistresshad been on a bicycle sketching tour with a friend; the German mistresshad taken a cheap trip home; Miss Blake announced that all her money hadgone on "hateful massage," and the faces of her listeners sobered asthey listened, for Sophy Blake, who led the exercises with such verveand go, had of late complained of rheumatic pains, and her companionsheard of her symptoms with dread. What would become of Sophy if thosepains increased? One after another the mistresses drifted over to whereClaire sat turning the pages of her magazine, and exchanged a fewfragments of conversation, and then the great bell clanged again, andafternoon school began.

  The first half-hour of afternoon school proved the most trying of theday. Claire was tired after the exertions of the morning, and a verypassion for sleep consumed her being. She fought against it with allher might, but the yawns would come; she fought against the yawns, andthe tears flowed. To her horror the infection spread, and the girlsbegan to yawn in their turn, with long, uncontrolled gapes. It was ajunior class, and the new mistress shrewdly suspected that the infectionwas welcomed as an agreeable interlude. It was obvious that she couldnot afford to reject that cup of coffee. Good or bad it must be drunk!Rich or poor that penny must be dedicated to the task of vitalising thatfirst hour of sleepiness.

  At the end of six weeks Claire felt as though she had been a HighSchool-mistress all her life. The regular methodical days, in whichevery hour was mapped out, had a deadening effect on one who had beenused to constant variety, and except for a difference in the arrangementof classes there seemed no distinction between one and the other. Shewas a machine wound up to work steadily from Monday morning until Fridaynight, and absurdly ready to run down when the time was over.

  Every morning after breakfast she started forth with Miss Rhodes, byfoot if the weather were fine, by Tube if wet; every mid-day she dinedin the Staff-Room with the fifteen other mistresses, and gulped down acup of chicory coffee. At four o'clock the mistresses met once more fortea, a free meal this time, supplemented by an occasional cake which oneof the fifteen provided for the general good. At five she and her tablecompanion returned to their rooms, and rested an hour before taking theevening meal.

  Claire was sufficiently French to be intolerant of badly cooked food,and instead of resigning herself to eat and grumble, after the usualhabit of lodging-house dwellers, resolutely set to work to improve thesituation. The coffee machine had now a chafing-dish as companion, andit was a delightful change of work to set the two machines to work toprovide a dainty meal.

  "High Tea" consisted as a rule of coffee and some light dish, thematerials for which were purchased on the way home. On hungry days,when work had been unusually trying, the butcher supplied cutlets, whichwere grilled with tomatoes, or an occasional quarter of a pound ofmushrooms: on economical days the humble kipper--legendary food of allspinsters in lodgings!--was transformed into quite a smart andrestaurant-ey dish, separated from its bones, pounded with butter
andflavouring, and served in neat little mounds on the top of hot butteredtoast. Moreover, Claire was a proficient in the making of omelettes,and it was astonishing how large and tempting a dish could be compoundedof two eggs, and the minutest scrap of ham left over from the morning'sbreakfast!

  "Every luxury of the season, with the smell thrown in! In _nice_cooking the smell is almost the best part. All the cedars in Lebanonwouldn't smell as good at this moment as this nice ham-ey coffee-yfrizzle," Claire declared one Friday evening as she served the meal onred-hot plates, and glowed with delight at her own sleight of hand."Don't you admire eggs for looking so small, when they possess suchpowers of expansion? All the result of beating. Might make a simileout of that, mightn't you?"

  "Might, but won't," the English teacher replied, sipping luxuriously ather coffee. "I'm not a teacher any more at this moment. I'm agourmand, pure and simple, and I'll stay a gourmand straight on tillthis omelette is finished. When all trades fail, you might go out as amissioner to women living in diggings, and teach them how to preparetheir meals, and sell chafing-dishes by instalment payments at the door,as the touts sell sewing machines to the maids. It would be a noblevocation!"

  Claire smirked complacently. "I flatter myself I _have_ made adifference to your material comfort! Poor we may be, but we do havenice, dainty little meals, and there's no reason why every able-bodiedwoman shouldn't have them at the same cost. I've just rememberedanother nice dish. We'll have it to-morrow night." She paused, and awistful look came into her eyes, for the next day was Saturday, and itwas on holiday afternoons that the feeling of loneliness grew mostacute. School life was monotonous, but it was never lonely; frommorning to night one lived in a crowd, and already each class hadfurnished youthful adorers eager to sit at the feet of the pretty newmistress, and bring her offerings of chocolates and flowers; for fivelong days there was always a crowd, always a hum and babble of voices,but at the end of the week came a dead calm.

  On the first Saturday of the term Miss Farnborough had invited the newFrench mistress to tea, and had been all that was friendly andencouraging; but since that time no word had passed between them thatwas not strictly concerned with the work in hand, and Claire realisedthat as one out of sixteen mistresses she could not hope for frequentinvitations.

  On one Sunday the Gym. mistress had offered her company for a walk, andthere the list of hospitalities ceased. No invitations came from thatfriend of Mrs Fanshawe's who was so fond of girls who were working forthemselves. Claire had hardly expected it, but she was disappointed allthe same. A longing was growing within her to sit again in a pretty,daintily-appointed room, and talk about something else than time-tables,and irregular verbs, and the Association of Assistant Mistresses which,amalgamated with the Association of Assistant Masters and the Teachers'Guild, were labouring to obtain a settled scale of salaries, and thatgreat safeguard, desired above all others, a pension on retirement!

  On this particular Friday evening the longing was so strong that she haddeliberately gone out of her way to try to gain an invitation by walkinghome with a certain Flora Ross in the sixth form, who was the mostardent of her admirers. Flora lived in a cheerful-looking house about aquarter of a mile from the school, and every morning hung over the gatewaiting for the chance occasions when her beloved Miss Giffordapproached alone, and she could have the felicity of accompanying herfor the rest of the way. On these occasions she invariably turned towave her hand to a plump, smiling mother who stood at a bay windowwaving in return. An upper window was barred with brass rods, againstwhich two little flaxen heads bobbed up and down. Both the house andits inmates had a cheerful wholesome air, which made a strong appeal tothe heart of the lonely girl, and this Friday afternoon, meeting Florawaiting in the corridor, she had accepted her companionship on the wayhome with a lurking hope that when the green gate was reached, she wouldbe invited to come inside.

  Alas! no such thought seemed to enter Flora's brain. She gazedadoringly into Claire's face and hung breathlessly on her words, but forall her adoration there was a gulf between. Claire was the sweetest andduckiest of mistresses, but she _was_ a mistress, a being shut off fromthe ordinary interests of life. When Flora said, "Isn't it jolly, weare going to have a musical party to-morrow! We have such lovelyparties, and mother always lets me sit up!" she might have been speakingto a creature without ears, for all the consciousness she exhibited thatClaire might possibly wish to take part in the fray. When the greengate was reached, the plump mamma was seen standing outside the drawing-room window and recognising the identity of her daughter's companion,she bent her head in a courteous bow, but she made no attempt toapproach the gate.

  "See you on Monday!" cried Flora fondly, then the gate clicked, andClaire walked along the road with her head held high, and two red spotsburning on either cheek. That evening for the first time she felt adisinclination to change into the pretty summer frock which she hadchosen as a compromise for evening dress; that evening for the firsttime the inner voice whispered to her as it had done to so many beforeher: "What's the good? Nobody sees you! Nobody cares."

  Miss Rhodes finished her share of the omelette, turned on to bread andjam, and cast a glance of inquiry at her companion, who had relapsedinto unusual silence.

  "Anything wrong?"

  "Yes, I think so. Usual symptoms, I suppose. I want to wear all mybest clothes and go out to do something gay and exciting, Cecil!" TheEnglish teacher's name being Rhodes, it was obvious that she should beaddressed as Cecil, especially as her parents had been misguided enoughto give her the unsuitably gentle name of Mary. "Cecil, do none of theparents _ever_ ask us out?"

  "Why should they?"

  "Why shouldn't they? If we are good enough to teach their children, weare good enough for them. If they are interested in their children'swelfare, they ought to make a point of knowing us to see what kind ofinfluence we use."

  "Quite so."

  "Well?"

  "Well, my dear, there's only one thing to be said--they _don't_! As Itold you before, there's a prejudice against mistresses. They give uscredit for being clever, and cultivated, and hard-working; but theynever grasp the fact that we are human girls, who would very much enjoybeing frivolous for a change. I _have_ been asked out to tea at rareintervals, and the mothers have apologised for the ordinaryconversation, and laboriously switched it on to books. I didn't want totalk books. I wanted to discuss hats and dresses, and fashionableintelligence, and sing comic songs, and play puss-in-the-corner, and begenerally giddy and riotous; but my presence cast a wet blanket over thewhole party, and we discussed Science and Art. Now I'm old andresigned, but it's hard on the new hands. I think it was rather brutalof your mother to let you come to London without taking the trouble ofgetting _some_ introductions. Don't mind me saying so, do you?"

  Claire smiled feebly.

  "You have said it, anyhow! I know it must seem unkind to anyone whodoes not know mother. She's really the kindest person in the world, butshe's very easy-going, and apt to believe that everything will happenjust as she wishes. She felt quite sure that Miss Farnborough and thestaff would supply me with a whirl of gaiety. There _was_ one lady, whosaid she would write to a friend--"

  Cecil groaned deeply.

  "I know that friend. She comes from Sheffield. A dear kind friend whowould love to have you out on holidays. A friend who takes a specialinterest in school-mistresses. A friend who gives such nice inter-est-ing parties, and would certainly send you a card if she knew youraddress. Was that it, my dear--was that the kind of friend?"

  Cecil chuckled with triumph at the sight of Claire's lengthening jaw.In truth there seemed something uncanny in so accurate a reproduction ofMrs Fanshawe's description. Was there, indeed, no such person? Didshe exist purely as a dummy figure, to be dangled before the eyes ofcredulous beginners? Claire sighed, and buried her last lingering hope;and at that very moment the postman's rap sounded at the door, and asquare white envelope was handed in, addressed in fe
minine handwritingto Miss Claire Gifford.

  Claire tore it open, pulled forth a white card, gasped and flushed, andtossed it across the table with a whoop of triumph.

  "Raven, look at that! What do you think now of your melancholy croaks?"

  Cecil picked up the card, inscribed with the orthodox printed lines,beneath which a few words had been written.

  Mrs Willoughby, At Home May 26th, 9 p.m. Music.

  "Have just received your address from Mrs Fanshawe. Shall hope to seeyou to-morrow.--E.B.W."

  Cecil screwed up her face in disparagement.

  "Nine o'clock. Mayfair. That means a taxi both ways. Can't arrive ata house like that in a mackintosh, with your shoes in a bag. Much wiserto refuse. It will only unsettle you, and make you unfit for work.She's done the polite thing for once, because she was asked, but she'llnever do it again. I've been through it myself, and I know the ropes.A woman like that has hundreds of friends; why should she bother aboutyou? You'll never be asked again."

  But at that Claire laughed, and beat her hand on the table.

  "But I say I shall! I say I'll be asked _often_! I don't care ifyou've had a hundred experiences, mine shall be different. She hasasked me once; now, as the Yankees say, `it's up to me' to do the rest.I'll make up my mind to make her _want_ to ask me!"