Read Ebook: The Independence of Claire by Vaizey George De Horne Mrs

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Ebook has 769 lines and 53246 words, and 16 pages

"How they stare!" cried Mary Rhodes. "The man looked as if he knew you, Frank. Do you know who he is?"

"He's a member of the Club. His name is Vavasour. We know each other by sight." Major Carew's florid colour had grown a shade deeper, he was evidently disconcerted by the encounter; but he made a strong effort to regain his composure, smiled at the two girls in turn, and cried lightly, "Envies me, I suppose, seeing me with two such charmers!"

"He didn't look exactly envious!" Cecil said drily. She also had noticed that reflection in the mirror, and it had not helped to soothe her spirits. She felt an unreasoning anger against Claire for appearing more attractive than herself, but it did not occur to her that she was heightening the contrast by her own dour, ungracious manner. Altogether that tea-party was a difficult occasion, and as it proceeded, Claire's spirits sank ever lower and lower. She had spent more than she had any right to afford on those two expensive tickets, hoping thereby to give pleasure, and now Cecil was in a bad temper, and would snap for days to come.--It was not a cheerful outlook, and for the second time a feeling of restiveness overtook her, a longing for a companion who would help the gaiety of life--such a companion as pretty, lively, happy-go-lucky Sophie Blake, for example. How refreshing it would be to live with Sophie! Just for a moment Claire dwelt wistfully on the possibility, then banished it with a loyal "She doesn't need me, and Cecil does. She's fond of me in her funny way. She must be, for she has confided in me already, more than in any of the others whom she's known for years, and perhaps I may be able to help..."

Claire's answers were politely evasive, and presently he began to grow restless, and finally pulled out his watch, and jumped to his feet.

"How time flies! I had no idea it was so late. I must run. So sorry to leave you like this."

Mary Rhodes stared in surprise.

"Leave! Frank! But you said--I thought we were going--"

"Yes, I know, I know. I'm sorry, I thought I was free--but--a regimental engagement! Can't get out of it. I'll fix up another night. I'll write."

There was no doubt that he was genuinely disconcerted at the lateness of the hour, and his leave-taking was of the most hasty description, though he found time to give a lingering pressure to Claire's hand; then he was gone, and the waitress came across the room and presented the bill.

Cecil flushed uncomfortably.

"I must pay this. Frank has forgotten. He rushed off in such a hurry."

She pulled out her shabby purse, and Claire made no protest. In a similar position she herself would have wished to pay, but it was inconceivable that she should ever be in such a position. However hurried a man might be-- She rubbed her hand on her knee with a little shudder of distaste. "Wretch! He would make love to me, too, if I would allow it! How can Cecil possibly care for such a man?"

And then she forgot Cecil's feelings to ponder on a more perplexing problem.

Why had the man called Vavasour looked so amused, and why had the sweet- faced woman looked so distressed?

A DOUBLE INVITATION.

Janet Willoughby sent Claire a picture postcard, all white snow and strong shadow, and dazzling blue sky, and little black figures pirouetting on one leg with the other raised perilously in the rear. "This is me!" was written across the most agile of the number, while a scrawling line across the top ran, "Happy New Year! Returning on Tuesday. Hope to see you soon." Tuesday was the day on which school re-opened; but Janet's holiday was year long, not a short four weeks.

Cecil moaned loudly, but Claire was tired of aimless days, and welcomed the return to work. She determined to throw her whole heart into her task, and work as no junior French mistress had ever worked before; she determined never to lose patience, never to grow cross, never to indulge in a sarcastic word, always to be a model of tact and forbearance. She determined to wield such an ennobling influence over the girls in her form-room that they should take fire from her example, and go forth into the world perfect, high-souled women who should leaven the race. She determined also to be the life and soul of the staff-room--the general peace-maker, confidante, and consoler, beloved by one and all. She determined to seize tactfully upon every occasion of serving the Head, and acting as a buffer between her and disagreeables of every kind. She arranged a touching scene wherein Miss Farnborough, retiring from work and being asked by the Committee to name a worthy successor, pronounced unhesitatingly, "Claire Gifford; she is but young, but her wisdom and diplomacy are beyond all praise." She saw herself Head of Saint Cuthbert's, raised to the highest step of her scholastic ladder, but somehow the climax was not so exhilarating as the climb itself. To be head mistress was, no doubt, a fine achievement, but it left her cold.

Inside Saint Cuthbert's all was life and bustle. Girls streaming along the corridors, in and out of every room; girls of all ages and sizes and shapes, but all to-day bearing an appearance of happiness and animation. Bright-coloured blouses shone forth in their first splendour; hair- ribbons stood out stiff and straight; many of the girls carried bunches of flowers to present to the special mistress for whom they cherished the fashionable "G.P." so characteristic of school life.

Flora had a bunch of early daffodils for Claire. Another girl presented a pot of Roman hyacinths for the decoration of the form-room, a third a tiny bottle of scent; three separate donors supplied buttonholes of violets. The atmosphere was full of kindness and affection. Girls encountering each other would fall into each other's arms with exclamations of ecstatic affection. "Oh, you precious lamb!"

"My angel child!"

"Miss Gifford, darling, you are prettier than ever!"

The morning flew past, and lunch-time brought the gathering of mistresses in staff-room. Mademoiselle's greetings were politely detached, Fraulein was kindly and discursive, Sophie's smile was as bright as ever, but she did not look well.

"Oh, I'm all right! It's nothing. Only this horrid old pain!" she said cheerfully. Into her glass of water she dropped three tabloids of aspirin. Every one had been away for a longer or shorter time, visiting relatives and friends; they compared experiences; some had enjoyed themselves, some had not; but they all agreed that they were refreshed by the change.

"Very!" answered poor Claire, and for a moment struggled with a horrible inclination to cry.

After lunch Miss Bates took her cup of coffee to Claire's side, and made an obvious attempt to be pleasant.

"I wonder you ever left that school! What made you want to change?"

"Oh, well! London was a lure. Most people want to come to London, and I had my brother. Do tell me, another time, if you are not going away. It worries me to think of you being alone. How did you come to get this post, if you have no connections in town?"

Miss Bates stared with distended eyes. "How long had she known you?"

"About a fortnight, I think. I don't remember exactly."

"And you had never seen her before? She knew nothing about you?"

"That accounts for it," said Miss Bates enigmatically. "I wondered-- You are not a bit the usual type."

"I hope that doesn't mean that I can't teach?"

Miss Bates laughed, and shrugged her thin shoulders. "Oh, no. I should say, personally, that you teach very well. That play was extraordinarily good. It absolutely sounded like French. Can't think how you knocked the accent into them! English girls are so self- conscious; they are ashamed of letting themselves go. Mademoiselle thinks that your classes are too like play; but it doesn't matter what she thinks, so long as--" she paused a moment, lowered her voice, and added impressively, "Keep on the right side of Miss Farnborough. You are all right so long as you are in her good books. Better be careful."

"What do you mean?" Claire stared, puzzled and discomposed, decidedly on the offensive; but Miss Bates refused a definite answer.

"Nothing!" she said tersely. "Only--people who take sudden fancies, can take sudden dislikes, too. Ask no more questions, but don't say I didn't warn you, that's all!"

Before the end of the week school work settled into its old routine, and the days passed by with little to mark their progress. The English climate was at its worst, and three times out of four the journey to school was accomplished in rain or sleet. The motor-'buses were crammed with passengers, and manifested an unpleasant tendency to skid; pale- faced strap-holders crowded the carriages of the Tube; for days together the sky remained a leaden grey. It takes a Mark Tapley himself to keep smiling under such conditions. As Claire recalled the days when she and her mother had sat luxuriously under the trees in the gardens of Riviera hotels, listening to exhilarating bands, and admiring the outline of the Esterels against the cloudless blue of the sky, the drab London streets assumed a dreariness which was almost insupportable. Also, though she would not acknowledge it to herself, she was achingly disappointed, because something which she had sub-consciously been expecting did not come to pass. She had expected something to happen, but nothing happened; all through February the weeks dragged on, unrelieved by any episode except the weekly mail from India.

The little brown bird still industriously piped the hour; but his appearance no longer brought the same warm thrill of happiness. And then one morning came a note from Janet Willoughby.

"Dear Miss Gifford,--

"Let me know which of these propositions suits you best. Looking forward to seeing you,--

"Your friend,

"Janet Willoughby."

Claire had opened the letter, aglow with expectation; she laid it down feeling dazed and blank. For the moment only one fact stood out to the exclusion of every other, and that was that Janet did not wish her to be present at the "At Home." Mrs Willoughby had sent the invitation, but Janet had supplemented it by another, which could not be refused. "I would rather have you to myself." How was it possible to refuse an invitation couched in such terms? How could one answer with any show of civility, "I should prefer to come with the crowd?"

Claire carried the letter up to her cold bedroom, and sat down to do a little honest thinking.

"It's very difficult to understand what one really wants! We deceive ourselves as much as we do other people... Why am I so hideously depressed? I liked going to the `At Home,' I liked dressing up, and driving through the streets, and seeing the flowers and the dresses, and having the good supper; but, if that were all, I believe I'd prefer the whole day with Janet. I suppose, really, it's Captain Fanshawe that's at the bottom of it. I want to meet him, I thought I should meet him, and now it's over. I shan't be asked again when there's a chance of his coming. Janet doesn't want me. She's not jealous, of course--that's absurd--but she wants to keep him to herself, and she imagines somehow that I should interfere--"

Claire put her head down on the dressing-table, and shed a few tears, a weakness bitterly regretted, for like all weaknesses the consequences wrought fresh trouble. Now her eyelids were red, and she was obliged to hang shivering out of the window, until they had regained their natural colour, before she could face Cecil's sharp eyes.

"No."

Janet pealed with laughter.

"That's right, snub me! I deserve to be snubbed. Of course, I meant when you have big ones as well! Who is the pretty girl in the carved frame? Your mother! Do you mean it, really? What a ridiculous mamma! I'm afraid, Claire, I'm afraid she is even prettier than you!"

"Oh, she is; I know it. But I have more charm," returned Claire demurely, whereat they laughed again--a peal of happy girlish laughter, which reached Lizzie's ears as she polished the oilcloth in the hall, and roused an envious sigh.

"It's well to be some folks!" thought poor Lizzie. "Motor-cars, and fine dresses, and nothing to do of a Saturday morning but sit still and laugh. I could laugh myself if I was in her shoes!"

Claire folded away her blouse, and took up a bundle of gloves.

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