Three Girls from School

“Oh, Lady Lushington! Could you bear to part with her?”

“Indeed I could, my dear, to a good husband. I mean by that a man in a high position in society.”

Annie was silent, looking prettily down. Lady Lushington glanced at her and noticed the charming contour of her face.

“If only her eyelashes were a little darker and her eyebrows more marked, she would be a sweetly pretty girl,” she thought. But the lack of distinction in her face was not apparent at that moment.

“You will have a good husband yourself some day, Miss Brooke; and if ever I can help you to bring such a desirable matter about, you may rely on me.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” said Annie. “Poor little me! But I am only an orphan with just one dear uncle and little or no money. Lady Lushington, I am so happy here, and you are so very kind to me.”

“Well, my dear, you are kind to me too. I believe we are of mutual benefit each to the other. Now, will you put on your hat and take those letters to the nearest post? You will just have time to get them in before we go downstairs to déjeuner.”

Nothing could be more welcome to Annie than this last remark, for while she was talking she was wondering much in her clever little brain if she could carry out a scheme which had darted through it. The opportunity of posting the letters gave her just the loophole she desired. Taking the pile from the table, she accordingly ran out of the room, and a few minutes later was walking down the street which led to the post-office.

On her way there she met Mabel Lushington and Priscilla. They were coming back after a long, rambling walk, and both girls were rather tired.

“Whither away, Annie?” said Mabel in her cheerful voice.

“To post some letters for your aunt, Lady Lushington.”

“But the post does not go out until the evening, and that hill is so steep and difficult to climb, and it is almost the hour for déjeuner,” objected Mabel. “Do turn back with us now, Annie; I shall so hate waiting lunch for you.”

“Oh, give me the letters if you like,” said Priscilla; “I will run down the hill in no time, and come back again as quickly. I do not mind climbing hills in the least.”

“They exhaust me frightfully,” said Mabel; “and I notice, too, that Annie gets a little out of breath when she walks up these impossible mountains too fast. That is a good idea, really. Give Priscie the letters, Annie, and come home with me; I want to talk to you.”

“No, I can’t,” said Annie. “I must post them myself; they are important.”

She darted away, pretending not to notice Mabel’s flushed, indignant face and Priscilla’s look of grave surprise. She reached the post-office and dropped all the letters she had written, except that one to Mrs Priestley, into the box. Mrs Priestley’s letter she kept safely in her pocket.

“This must be delayed for perhaps a couple of days,” thought Annie. “In the meantime I shall have to talk to May. What a mercy,” was her next reflection, “that I was given the writing of the letter, and also the posting of it! Oh dear, dear! I think I can almost manage anything. I am sure May ought to be obliged to me, and so ought that tiresome Priscie. I would do anything for dear old May; but as to Priscie, I get more sick of her each minute. If only Lady Lushington would send her back to England I should feel safer. She is just the sort of girl who would wind herself to a grand confession, never caring how she dragged the rest of us into the mire with her. She is just precisely that sort of detestable martyr being. But she sha’n’t spoil my fun, or May’s fun either, if we can help it.”

Annie appeared at lunch just a wee bit late, but looking remarkably pretty, and apologising in the most amiable tones for her unavoidable delay.

“I am not very good at hills,” she explained to Lady Lushington. “They always set my heart beating rather badly. But never mind; the letters are posted and off our minds.”

“One of those letters is by no means off my mind,” said Lady Lushington in a fierce tone, and glancing with reproachful eyes at Mabel. Annie bent towards her and said in a whisper (she could not be heard by Mabel and Priscilla as some servants came up at the moment to present dishes to the two young ladies): —

“Please say nothing before Priscilla, I beg of you.”

The voice was so earnest and so sympathetic, and the little face looked so appealing, that Lady Lushington patted the small white hand. Priscilla’s voice, however, was now heard:

“It was a great pity, Annie, that you did run so fast to the post and then toil up that steep hill, for I offered to go for you; and besides, the English post does not leave before five o’clock.”

Annie felt furious, but replied in her meekest voice:

“I felt responsible for dear Lady Lushington’s letters.”

Nothing more was said on the subject during lunch, and afterwards the ladies went off on a long expedition up into the mountains with some other friends whose acquaintance they had made in the hotel.

It was not until that evening, when they were going to bed, that Mabel heard a light tap at her door, and the next moment Annie, in her pretty blue dressing-gown, with her fair hair falling about her shoulders and a brush in her hand, entered.

“Have you time for a talk with poor little me, and has Priscie gone to bed?”

“Dear me! yes,” said Mabel. “Priscilla has been in bed and asleep an hour ago. Come in, Annie, of course. I am dead with sleep myself, and if Aunt Hennie knew she might be annoyed. Now, what is it you want?”

Annie took the letter addressed to Mrs Priestley out of her pocket.

“To talk to you about this,” she said, and she sat calmly down on a chair and faced her tall companion. Mabel was also in the act of brushing out her luxuriant hair, and looked as handsome a creature as could be found anywhere, in her long, flowing, white dressing-gown. When she read the address on the letter her eyes darkened and some of the colour left her cheeks.

“Are you writing to Mrs Priestley?” she said. “What about?”

“I wrote that letter to-day,” said Annie, “to Lady Lushington’s dictation. The account has come in; total amount seventy pounds. Lady Lushington is furious. I told her all the lies I could, dear Mabel, about the dresses you had never got, and in the end I managed to avert the evil day by asking Mrs Priestley to send the items. That satisfied Lady Lushington for the time. You will understand now why I could not accept Priscilla’s offer to post the letters, because I happened to have this one in my hand and did not wish it to go. It must not go for a day or two. In the meantime we must do something.”

“What – what?” said Mabel. “Oh Annie, I am so frightened! I knew quite well that you would get me into an awful scrape about this. What is to be done? Nothing will ever make Aunt Hennie believe that I spent seventy pounds on my dress during my last term at school. I know she is very generous about money, but she is also careful and particular. You will see; I know her so well, Annie; and she will just get into a real passion about this and write to Mrs Lyttelton, and Mrs Lyttelton will go to see Mrs Priestley, and – ”

“Oh, I know,” said Annie, trembling a good deal. “But that must never be allowed.”

“How are we to manage?” said Mabel. “Annie, we must do something;” and she dropped on her knees by her companion’s side and took one of her hands. “You came out here on purpose to help me,” she said. “You knew that I should get into trouble, and you said you would find a way out.”

“Am not I trying to with all my might and main?” said Annie.

“Well, but are you succeeding? I cannot see that keeping back that letter means much. Aunt Hennie will expect an answer, and – and – wire for it; she will really, if it does not come within a specified time; and she will give me such a talking to. Why, Annie, if the thing is discovered I shall be sent back to school – I know I shall – at the end of the holidays, and poor Priscie’s prospects will be ruined, and – and – you will be disgraced – ”

“We all three will be disgraced for ever and ever,” said Annie; “there is no doubt on that point. That is what makes the thing so terribly important. Something must be done, and at once – at once!”

“But, Annie, what?”

“I have a little scheme in my head; if you will keep up your courage and help me I believe we shall be successful.”

“But what is it? Oh, do tell me! Oh, I am so terrified!”

“The first thing we must be positive about is this,” said Annie: “Priscilla is to know nothing.”

“Of course not,” said Mabel. “Mabel, I do wish we could get her back to England; she is so tiresome and in the way, and I have a great fear in my head about her.”

“What is that? She is harmless enough, poor thing! Only, of course, she does look such a dowd. But, then, Aunt Henrietta has taken such a fancy to her.”

“Oh, you are absolutely quite mistaken about that. Your aunt took a fancy to her on the first night because she spoke in rather an original way and, I suppose, looked handsome, which she does occasionally; and your aunt is very easily impressed by anything that she considers rather fine. But I assure you that it is my private opinion that she is sick of Priscilla by this time, and also rather ashamed of her appearance. Priscilla has no tact whatever – simply none. When does she help your aunt? When does she do anything to oblige others? She just flops about and looks so gauche and awkward.”

“Well, poor thing! she can’t help that. With Susan Martin as her dressmaker what chance has she?”

“She is just an oddity,” said Annie; “and it is my impression that your aunt is tired of oddities. I can make her a little more tired, and I will.”

“Oh Annie! Poor Priscie! and she does enjoy the mountain air so, and is such a splendid climber. You might as well let her have her holiday out. You are so frightfully clever, Annie; you can always achieve your purpose. But I think, if I were you, I would let poor old Priscie alone.”

“I would if there were no danger,” said Annie.