Three Girls from School

Chapter Twenty Two

Contrary Influences

Annie’s high spirits continued with her during all the somewhat hot journey from Interlaken to Zermatt. She was, in truth, the life of the party, and kept every one in the best possible humour. Her charm was undoubted, and her apparent unselfishness made her invaluable. Even Parker acknowledged that there never was such an obliging young lady, or such a thoughtful one, as Miss Annie Brooke. Mabel could groan at the heat. Lady Lushington grumble and complain, even Parker herself could give way to insupportable headache, but nothing, nothing daunted the unflagging good-humour of Annie Brooke. Had she not the eau-de-Cologne handy for poor Parker’s head? Could she not chat cheerfully to Lady Lushington and make her laugh, and could she not insist on Mabel’s having the seat where she was at once protected from too much draught and yet not exposed to the full glare of the August sun?

When they reached the hotel, too, it was Annie who chose, without a moment’s hesitation, the one uncomfortable room of the little suite which was set apart for Lady Lushington’s party.

“Nothing matters for me,” said Annie. “I have got unflagging health, and I am so happy,” she said. “Every one is so kind to me.”

“You really are a dear little thing,” said Lady Lushington when Annie herself entered that lady’s room bearing a cup of tea which she had made from Lady Lushington’s own private store, and which smelt so fragrant and looked so good. “Oh, my dear Annie,” continued the good lady – “I really must call you by your Christian name – I never did find any one quite so pleasant before. Now if Mabel had not been such a goose as to get that literature prize, which I verily believe has swamped every scrap of brain the poor girl ever possessed, I could have had you as my little companion for a year. How we should have enjoyed ourselves!”

“Oh, indeed, how we should!” said Annie, a bitter sigh of regret filling her heart, for what might she not have made of such a supreme opportunity? “But,” she added quickly, “you would not have known me then, would you? You would never have known me but for Mabel.”

“It is one of the very luckiest things that could have happened to me – Mabel wishing that you might join us,” said Lady Lushington. “You are the comfort of my life; you are worth fifty Parkers and a hundred Mabels. Yes, is the exact right angle for the pillow, my dear. Thank you so much – thank you; that is delicious, and I think I will have a biscuit. What a glorious view we have of Monte Rosa from the window!”

“Oh yes,” said Annie, “isn’t it lovely?”

“By the way, Annie, you are quite sure that Mabel is taking care of those pearls of hers. We have to thank you too, you clever little thing, for discovering them. I am quite under the impression that I have come by a good bargain in that matter.”

“I am sure you have, dear Lady Lushington; and the pearls are quite, quite safe.”

“I knew you would see to it, dear; you are so thoughtful about everything. By the way, I have already seen on the visitors’ list the name of a certain Mrs Ogilvie. If she is my friend I should like to show her the necklace.”

Annie felt her heart nearly stop for a minute. “Of course you must show it,” was her gentle response; “and I will see that dear Mabel takes care of the precious things.”

“Well, you can go now, darling; you have made me feel so nice, and this room is delicious. Really, the journey was trying. It is horrible travelling in this intense heat, but we shall do beautifully here.”

Annie tripped out of the room and went straight to Mabel’s. Mabel’s room was not nearly as good as the one which Lady Lushington occupied, but still it was a very nice room, with two large windows which opened in French fashion and had deep balconies where one could stand and look into the very heart of the everlasting hills. Parker’s room was just beyond Mabel’s, and Annie’s was at the back. It was arranged that Parker should be within easy reach of her mistress and her young lady, and self-forgetful Annie therefore selected the back-room. She had no view at all; but then, what did views matter to Annie, who was blind to all their beauty? Mabel was alone. She felt very hot and dusty after her journey, and had just slipped into a cool, white dressing-gown.

“Let me take down your hair, dear May,” said Annie, “and if you sit in that deep arm-chair I will brush it for you. Isn’t it nice here, May?”

“Yes,” replied Mabel, “I suppose it is; only you have a horrid small room, Annie.”

“I don’t care a bit about that,” said Annie. “I am not going to be much in it except to sleep, and when one is asleep any room suffices. But, May, I want to talk to you.”

“What about?” said May. “Anything fresh?” Annie carefully shut the door which communicated between Mabel’s room and Parker’s.

“It is this,” said Annie; “Your aunt Henrietta has been talking to me about the pearl necklace, and says she hopes you have it safe.”

“Well, yes,” said Mabel, with a yawn; “it is quite absolutely safe, isn’t it, Annie?”

“Yes; but this is the crux: I thought she would have forgotten all about it, but she evidently hasn’t, and she says she thinks a friend of hers – a Mrs Ogilvie – is staying in the hotel, and if so, she would like to show it to her.”

“Oh, good gracious!” said Mabel, springing to her feet, and knocking the brush out of Annie’s hand in her excitement; “and if such a thing happens – and it is more than likely – what is to become of us?”

“If such a thing happens,” said Annie with extreme coolness, “there is only one thing to be done.”

“Oh Annie, what – what?”

“We must pretend that we have lost it. So many people are robbed nowadays; we must be robbed also: that is all Parker is supposed to have charge of it; you must confess that you never gave it to Parker, but put it into the lid of your trunk. You must lose one or two other things as well. You must have your story ready in case Mrs Ogilvie is in the hotel.”

“Oh! I don’t think I can stand any more of this,” said poor Mabel. “You seem to lead me on, Annie, from one wickedness to another. I don’t know where it is to end.”

“You must obey me in this,” said Annie with great determination.

“Oh, we are both lost!”

“We are nearly out of the wood; we are not going to lose our courage at the supreme moment. Come now, Mabel, don’t be absolutely silly; nothing may happen. But if anything happens, you must be prepared to do what I tell you.”

“You have an extraordinary power over me,” said Mabel. “I often and often wish that I had not yielded to you at that time when Aunt Henrietta wrote me that letter and I was so cross and disappointed. I think now that if you had not been present I should be a happier girl on the whole. I should be going back to the horrid school, of course, and Priscie would have left; but still – ”

“Come, come,” said Annie, sitting down determinedly on a low chair by her friend’s side. “What is the matter with you? I really have to go over old ground until things are quite disagreeable. What have you not won through me? A whole year’s emancipation, a jolly, delightful winter, a pleasant autumn at the Italian lakes and in Rome and Florence. I think, from what she tells me, Lady Lushington means to go to Cairo for the cold weather. Of course you will go with her. Think of the dresses unlimited, and the balls and the fun, and the expeditions up the Nile. Oh, you lucky, you more than lucky Mabel! And then home again in the early spring, and preparations for your great début taking place, your presentation dress being ordered, and all the rest. Imagine this state of things instead of pursuing the life which your poor faithful little Annie will lead at Mrs Lyttelton’s school! And yet you blame me because you have to pay a certain price for these enjoyments.”

“I do blame you, Annie; I can’t help it. I know it all sounds most fascinating; but if you are not happy deep down in your heart, where’s the use?”

When Mabel said this Annie looked really alarmed.

“But you are quite happy,” she said. “You are not going to follow that idiotic Priscie. You are not going to get a horrible, troublesome conscience to wake itself up and torment you over this most innocent little affair.”

“I will go through it, of course,” said Mabel. “It seemed very bad at the beginning, but the amount of badness it has risen to now shocks even me. Still, I will go through that, for I cannot go back. As to Priscie, I am convinced she would rather be apprenticed as a dressmaker than live as she is doing with that load on her conscience.”

“Oh, bother Priscie!” cried Annie. “She is one of those intolerable, conscientious girls whom one cannot abide. All the same,” she added a little bitterly, “she took advantage of my talent as much as you did, Mabel.”

Mabel sighed, groaned, struggled, but eventually yielded absolutely to Annie’s stronger will, and it was definitely arranged between the two girls that Mabel was to be fully prepared to declare the loss of her necklace if Mrs Ogilvie was proved to be in the hotel.

“If she is not it will be all right,” said Annie; “for I know your aunt Henrietta pretty well by this time, and she will have other things to occupy her mind. We can soon find out if the good woman is there through Parker.”

“I don’t think I would consult Parker if I were you,” said Mabel. “She talks a great deal to Aunt Henrietta, and of late, somehow, I have rather imagined that she is a little suspicious.” Annie soon afterwards retired to her own room, but not like Mabel and Lady Lushington, to rest. Those who follow crooked ways have seldom time for rest, and Annie Brooke was finding this out to her cost. She was really exceedingly tired; even her strength could scarcely stand the strain of the last few weeks. Priscilla’s misery, Mabel’s recklessness, Lady Lushington’s anger with regard to Mrs Priestley’s bill, the terrible possibility of being found out – all these things visited the girl, making her not sorry for her sin, but afraid of the consequences. Then, too, in spite of herself, she was a little anxious with regard to Uncle Maurice. There was always a possibility – just a possibility – that Uncle Maurice might be as bad as that tiresome John Saxon had declared him to be; and if so, was she (Annie) kind about it all? A great many things had happened, and Annie had sinned very deeply. Oh, well, she was not going to get her conscience into speaking order; that mentor within must be kept silent at any cost.

Still, she was too restless to lie down on her bed, which, indeed, was not specially inviting, for the room was a most minute one, and looked out on a wall of the hotel, which, as with most great foreign hotels, surrounded a court. Not a peep of any glorious view could be seen from Annie’s window, and the hot western sun poured into the little room, making it stiflingly hot; and she could even smell the making of many dishes from the kitchens, which lay just beneath her windows.

So she changed her dress, made herself look as neat and fresh as possible, and ran downstairs into the great, cool hall.

It was delicious in the hall. The doors were wide-open, the windows also stood apart, and in every direction were to be seen peeps of snow-clad mountains soaring up far into the clouds. Even Annie was touched for a minute by the glorious view. She went and stood in the cool doorway, and was glad of the refreshing breeze which fanned her hot cheeks.

Business, however, must ever be foremost. She was pining for a cup of tea, but it was one of Lady Lushington’s economies never to allow extra things to be ordered at the hotel. She had tea made for herself and her party in her room every day, and therefore kept strictly to the pension terms. Annie, however, suddenly remembered that she herself was the proud possessor of eighty pounds. Surely so wealthy a young lady need not suffer from thirst. She accordingly called a waiter and desired him to bring her thé complet. This he proceeded to do, suggesting at the same time that the young lady should have her tea on the terrace.

The broad terrace was covered by an enormous veranda, and Annie found it even more enjoyable outside than in. She liked the importance of taking her tea alone, and was particularly gratified when several nice-looking people turned to look at her. She was certainly an attractive girl, and when her cheeks became flushed she was almost pretty. The waiter came up and asked her for the number of her room. She gave it; and he immediately remarked:

“I beg your pardon, madam; I did not remember that you belonged to Lady Lushington’s party.”

“Yes; but I wish to pay for this tea myself,” said Annie, and she produced, with considerable pride, a five-pound note.

The man withdrew at once to fetch the necessary change. As he did this a party of travellers who had evidently only just arrived turned to look at Annie. There was nothing very special about her action; nevertheless the little incident remained fixed in their memories. They had heard the waiter say, “You belong to Lady Lushington’s party.” The note of wonder was struck in their minds that a girl of Annie’s age and in the care of other people should pay for her own tea. Annie, however, collected her change with great care, counting it shrewdly over and putting it into her purse.

She then re-entered the lounge. When she did so the lady who was seated near her turned to her husband and said:

“Is it possible that Lady Lushington is here?”