A Fluttered Dovecote

I suppose it comes natural to people to feel sleepy at night; for I did not mention it before, but I had terribly hard work to keep awake on that night when I had such a horrible adventure, while soon after telling that unfeeling Clara all about it I fell asleep, and they had such a task to wake me when the bell rang. But I’m sure any one might have pitied my feelings upon that terrible morning. When I was thoroughly awake it was just as if there was a weight upon my mind, and for some time I could not make out what was the matter.

Then came, with a rush, the recollection of my adventure, so that I first of all turned crimson with shame, and then as white as a dreadful marble statue. For somehow things do look so very different of a night to what they do by broad daylight, and I do believe that, after all, one of the greatest of missionary efforts would be a more general diffusion of gas and electric lights; for I’m sure if people are all made like me, we should not have been half so wicked if we had two suns instead of a sun and a moon, and that last half her time making no shine at all. I believe it’s night that makes most people wicked; for fancy me going to meet Achille under the elms in broad daylight! Why, the idea is preposterous!

But oh! how bad, and wicked, and ashamed, and repentant, and conscience-smitten I did feel. It was dreadful only to think of it, for months after. It seemed so horrible to me, how that I had rested my head against the buttons of that shockingly low wretch of a policeman’s coat and not known the difference; while what Achille would have thought had he but known, I could not – nay I dare not – think.

Then there was that Clara looking at me with such a dreadful mocking smile, that I felt as if I could have turned her into stone – for she was oozing all over with triumph; and yet all the time I was so angry with myself, for I knew that I was completely in her power, as well as in that of the constable – a low wretch! – who might say anything, and perhaps tell the servants. And, by the way, who was Ann, that he had asked me about?

“Why,” I exclaimed, trembling, “it must be Sarah Ann, the housemaid; and I shall never dare to look her in the face again. Oh, Laura Bozerne,” I said, “how you have lowered yourself!”

I had a quiet cry, and was a little better.

But I felt very guilty when I went down, and every time I was addressed I gave quite a start, and stared as if expecting that whoever spoke knew my secret; while during lessons, when a message came from Mrs Blunt that she wanted to see me in the study, I felt as if I should have gone through the floor; and on turning my eyes to Clara, expecting sympathy, there she was actually laughing at me.

“If this is being in love,” I said to myself, “I mean very soon to be out of it again;” and then I stood trembling and hesitating, afraid to stir.

“Did you hear the lady principal’s summons, Miss Bozerne?” said that starchy Miss Furness, in her most dignified style.

I turned round, and made her a most elaborate De Kittville obeisance, and I saw the old frump toss her head; for I know she always hated me because I happened to be nice-looking – mind, I don’t say I was nice-looking, for I am merely writing down now what people said who were foolish enough to think so. Achille once said I was – but there, I will not be vain.

So I crossed the hall, then to the study door, and stood with my hand raised to take hold of the white china handle; but just then I heard Mrs Blunt give one of her little short, sharp, pecking coughs, such as she gave when muttering to herself to make up a scolding for some one. No sooner did I hear that cough than I dropped my hand down to my side, and stood hesitating upon the mat, afraid to enter; for who could help feeling a coward under such circumstances, I should like to know? It was very dreadful; and though I kept telling myself that I was not a bit afraid of Mrs Blunt, yet somehow I seemed to be just then. However, I kept trying to make up my mind to bear it all, and to ask her pardon, and to promise that it should not occur again if she would not write to mamma; but my tiresome mind would not be made up, but kept running about from one thing to another, till I declare I almost felt ready to faint.

“Oh, Achille, Achille!” I murmured, “I must give you up. What I suffer for your sake! Oh, mon pauvre coeur!”

I felt better after that, for it seemed that I was to return to my old quiet state of suffering; and the determination not to run any more risks began to nerve me to bear the present suffering; almost as much as the rustle of the Fraülein’s silk dress upon the stairs. And of course I would not allow her to see me waiting at the door, and afraid to go in; so I tapped, and entered.

There sat the lady principal, writing a letter, and frowning dreadfully – though she always did that when there was a pen in her hand; and as she just looked up when I entered, she motioned me to a chair with the feather end of the bead and silk adorned quill she held.

“Take a seat, Miss Bozerne,” she muttered, between her patent minerals, as we used to call them; and there I was, sitting upon thorns, metaphorically and really – for the chair I took had the seat all worked in roses and briars and cactus, while there was that tiresome old thing with the little glass dew-drop knobs at the end of the sprays in her cap, nodding and dancing about every time she came to a hard word.

“She is writing home, I know,” I said to myself, “and then she means to take me back; for it must all be found out – and, oh dear! oh dear! what shall I do?”

The scene there would be at home came up before me like a vision, and I fancied I could hear papa storming, though he is not very particular, and his rage is soon over, just like a storm, and he is all sunshine after. But mamma. Ah! how she would go on, and tell me that I had been sent down to cure me of my penchant for the curate, to descend so low as a policeman.

“Just like a common cook in an area!” I seemed to hear her say. But it was only Mrs Blunt mumbling to herself as she sat writing.

And then I half felt as if I should like to run away altogether; and next I thought that if some one had been there all ready with a fly or a post-chaise, I would have gone with him anywhere.

Directly after I gave such a jump, for there was the crunching of a step upon the gravel sweep, and I felt the blood all flush up in my face again; for it was his step – his, and it seemed that he was to be brought in, and we were to be confronted, and there would be quite a dénouement; but then I felt as brave as could be, for was not he close at hand to take my part? And I felt ready to say things that I could not have uttered, and to hear scoldings that would have killed me five minutes before.

I was just feeling ready to sink through the carpet when the old wretch raised her head.

“Ah! there’s Monsieur Achille,” she cried in a decisive tone, and now I felt as if it must be coming. But no, the tiresome old thing still kept me upon the thorns of suspense; while I heard the front door squeak and his step in the hall, the opening and closing of a door, and I felt as if I could have rushed to meet him and tell him of the horrible state of fear that I had been in; besides which, I knew that he would have a corrected exercise to return me, and I was burning to see what he would say.

“And now, Miss Bozerne,” said Mrs Blunt, laying down her pen, and crossing her hands upon the table, so as to show her rings, while she spoke in the most stately of ways – “and now Miss Bozerne, I have a crow to – er – er – I have, that is to say, a few words to speak to you concerning something that has lately, very lately, come to my ears; and you know, my dear, that I have extremely long ears for this sort of thing.”

And then she tried to draw herself up, and look august; but the vulgar old thing only made herself more common and obtrusive, while I began to tremble in the most agitated manner.

“Miss Furness tells me, Miss Bozerne – ” she continued.

“Oh, how came she to know, I wonder?” I thought to myself.

“Miss Furness tells me,” she said again, “of various little acts of insubordination, and want of attention to lessons and the instruction she endeavours to impart – to impart, Miss Bozerne; and you must understand that in my absence the lady assistants of my establishment are to have the same deference shown them as I insist upon having paid to myself.”

And then she went on for ever so long about delegated authority, and a great deal more of it, until she had worked herself into a regular knot, with her speech all tangled; when she sent me away to the French lesson. And how can I describe my feelings! I don’t remember who that was that put iron bands round his heart to keep it from breaking with sorrow, while they all went off, crack! crack! one after another afterwards, from joy; but I felt when I left Mrs Blunt’s room, precisely as that somebody must have felt at that time.

To have seen the dignified salute which was exchanged, no one could have thought it possible that a note had ever passed between Monsieur Achille and poor me. When I took my seat at the bottom of that long table, being the last arrival, not a look, not a glance – only a very sharp reprimand, which brought the tears in my eyes, because my exercise was not better; while my translation of English into French was declared to be affreux.

Oh! it did seem so hard, after what I had risked for him the night before; but I soon fired up, as I saw Miss Furness looking quite pleased and triumphant; for I’m sure the old thing was as jealous as could be, and watched me closely, and all because I would not creep to her, and flatter and fawn, like Celia Blang. So I would not show how wounded I was, nor yet look at Achille when he went away, and there was no communication at all between us that day.

I felt very much hurt and put out, for that Miss Furness spared no pains to show her dislike to me; and she must have had some suspicion of me, for during many lessons I never had an opportunity of enjoying further communication with dear Achille than a long look. Miss Sloman, as I have said before, had always hated me; but she was too much of a nobody to mind. However, I would not notice Miss Furness’s cantankerousness, for I really did not mind a bit about her having told Mrs Blunt, so delighted was I to feel that the other matter had not been found out; and I went on just the same as usual, and really worked hard with my studies.

One morning – I can’t say when, for though I have tried I really can’t recollect, and the time, names, and things are so mixed up together – however, it was a fine morning, and we were going for one of those dreary morning two-and-two walks, crawling in and out of the Allsham lanes like a horrible Adam-tempting serpent. I had taken great pains with my dress, for I thought it possible that we might pass Achille’s lodging; and, as I fancied he had been unnecessarily angry and cool with me at the last lesson, I wished him to feel a little pain in return, for I was determined not to give him a single look. Mamma had just sent me down one of the prettiest straw-coloured flowery bonnets imaginable – a perfect zephyr, nothing of it at all hardly – and it matched capitally with my new silk; while the zebra parasol seemed quite to act as a relief. So I put them on with new straw-kid gloves, took the parasol, and then – call it vanity if you like – I stopped and had one last, triumphant glance in the mirror that hangs at one end of the long passage before I went down.

Mrs Blunt was going with us that day; and, in spite of the late scolding I had received, she was quite smiling and pleasant with me, and I saw her bestow one or two satisfied glances upon my attire – for she never found fault with her pupils for dressing too well. But I did not take pains with myself so as to please her, and act as show-card for her nasty old establishment; so I would not look pleased, but pretended that I had not yet got over the scolding, and was dreadfully mortified, as I went and took my place beside Clara.

As we were the two tallest girls, we always went first, and had our orders to walk slowly, once more, on account of half-a-dozen children who came last with the teachers and Mrs Blunt herself, and so we filed out of the gates and along the winding, green lane.

No one could help feeling happy and light-hearted upon such a beautiful bright morning, especially as we turned through the fields, and went across towards the river. The trees were all green, and the grass shining with flowers, birds singing, the sky above a splendid azure, and all around looking quite lovely; while the soft, delicious air fanned one’s cheek, so that I could not help agreeing with Clara when, after a long silence, she heaved a deep sigh, and said, —

“Oh, how delightful it is to feel young and be in love.”

Though, after all, I was not so sure about the last part, for I did not feel half satisfied concerning my affaire de coeur, and was strolling somewhat listlessly along, when Clara pinched my arm.

“Here they come,” she whispered.

And sure enough, there were Achille and the Signor coming towards us; when, I could not help it, all my ill-humour seemed to dart out of my eyes in a moment, and I could do nothing but sigh, and feel that I was a hopeless captive.

As I said before, I could not help it, and was obliged to close my eyes, when a horrible jerk brought me to myself; when there, if Clara had not let me step right into the ditch beside the path – a dreadful stinging-nettley place – instead of quietly guiding me, when she might have known that my eyes were shut; while before I could extricate myself, if Achille was not at my side, helping me out and squeezing my hand, so that really, out of self-defence, I was obliged to return the pressure.

“Miss Bozerne!” exclaimed Lady Blunt, pressing up to me, “how could you?”

I did not know, so I could not reply; while there were Miss Furness and the Fraülein – fat, hook-nosed old owl – looking as spiteful as could be.

“She did it on purpose,” I heard Miss Furness whisper; while the Fraülein nodded her head ever so many times, so that she looked like a bird pecking with a hooked beak.

“Mademoiselle is not hurt, I hope?” said Achille, in his silkiest, smoothest tones; and there was so much feeling in the way he spoke, that I quite forgave him.

“Oh, no, not at all, Monsieur Achille,” said Lady Blunt.

And then, after a great deal of bowing, we all fell into our places again.

“Won’t there be a scolding for this!” whispered Clara. “We shall both have impositions.”

“I don’t care,” I said, recklessly. “I should not mind if I slipped again.”

“Slipped!” said Clara, satirically; “that was a pretty slip, certainly. I never saw so clumsy a one, but it answered capitally.”

“What do you mean?” I said, innocently.

“Oh, of course, you don’t know, dear,” said Clara, growing more and more satirical. “But there, never mind, I have both the notes.”

“What notes?” I ejaculated, with my heart beginning to beat – oh, so fast!

“Now, don’t be a little stupid,” said Clara, “when you know all the time. The Signor dropped them into my parasol, as I held it down half shut, and there they are – for I have not dared to take them out yet.”

And there, sure enough, were two tiny brown paper squares, looking for all the world like packets of garden seeds, so as not to catch any one’s eye when they were delivered – tied up, too, with little bits of string, so as not to be in the least like what they were. Though, really, it was too bad to try and make out that the whole thing was planned, and that I had slipped on purpose. Now, was it not?

“Why, what dear, lovable ingenuity,” I could not help exclaiming. “And is one for you then, dear?”

“And why not, pray?” exclaimed Clara; “why should not I have notes as well as somebody, who has her meetings as well?”

“I’m sure I don’t,” I exclaimed. “How can you say so? Why, you know I did not meet him.”

“Not your fault, my dear,” said Clara, sarcastically. “But there, I’m not complaining; but when I am so open and confidential, I’m sure you need not be so close.”

“Now, did you not promise to forget all that?” I said.

“Well, yes, so I did,” she replied; “and I won’t say any more about it. But this was clever, wasn’t it; and I’m sure I give you every credit for managing that slip so well.”

“Indeed – indeed – indeed – indeed!” I said, “it was an accident.”

But it was no use whatever; and the more I protested, the more the tiresome thing would not believe me; till I grew so cross I could have pinched her, only that I could not afford to quarrel just then.

By means of changing parasols, I obtained possession of my note; and then, how long the time did seem before we received our orders to turn back! But I learnt, though, from Clara, that Achille had made quite a confidante of the Signor, and that they were both planning together for us to have a long meeting.

“But how do you get to know all this?” I said.

“Do you suppose, miss, that no one else but you can manage to pass and receive notes so cleverly?” she replied.

I could not make any answer, for somehow or another Clara generally managed to get the better of me.

What would I not have given to have been alone for one five minutes beneath the deep green shady trees, for it seemed ages since I had had a letter from Achille. But it was of no use to wish; and I’m sure that it was quite three-quarters of an hour before Clara and I were up in our bedroom together, trying to get rid of Patty Smith.

She was such a stupid girl, and the more you gave her hints to go the more she would persist in stopping, for she was as obstinate as she was stupid; and I’m sure, if that’s true about the metempsychosis, Patty Smith, in time to come, will turn into a lady donkey, like those grey ones that are led round Chester Square of a morning, and are owned by one of the purveyors of asses’ milk. We tried all we could to get rid of her, but it was of no use; and at last, when we were ready to cry with vexation, and about to give it up and go down to dinner without reading our notes, some one called out —

“A letter for Miss Smith.”

And then away ran the tiresome thing, and we were quite alone.

Chapter Ten.

Memory the Tenth – The Language of Love

The first thing that Clara and I did was to tear up the brown paper wrappers into tiny little bits, all but where the directions were written, and those we chewed up quite small, to throw out of the window with the other pieces. And oh, how nasty brown paper is to chew! – all tarry and bitter, like cold sailors must be when they eat one another in those dreadful boats that have not enough provisions, and when there’s “water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.” Then I tore open the tiny note, and Clara did the same; and I had just read two lines, when I felt that I was watched, and looking up, there stood that horrid Miss Furness, just like some basilisk, or gorgon, or cockatrice, or dreadful thing of that kind.

Of course Miss Furness couldn’t have been a cockatrice, but we were so badly taught at that wretched Mrs Blunt’s, that I have not the most remote idea what is the feminine of the extinct fabulous creature, and henatrice sounds so horribly-absurd. Anyhow, she was a wretch – a nasty despicable, hateful, horrible wretch, whom it could not be a sin to hate.

“The bell has rung for dinner, young ladies,” she said, with her eyes devouring my note.

How I did tremble! but I knew that if I was not careful I should betray poor Achille; while, fortunately, Clara had been sitting so that she was not visible from the door, and had time to slip her note into her pocket, while she pretended to have one of her boots off.

For a moment or two I was so scared that I did not know what to do. If I tried to hide the note, I knew that she would suspect that there was something wrong, while she would have been well aware whether there was a letter for me from home, since she always had the opening of the bag. What could I do? For a moment, I was about to crumple the paper up in my hand; but fortunately I restrained myself, and holding the paper boldly in my hand, I pretended that I had been writing out the aliquot parts of a shilling; and, as I doubled the note up slowly, I went on saying, —

“Coming directly, ma’am – one farthing is one forty-eighth; one halfpenny is one twenty-some-thingth – oh, fourth. Oh, dear! oh, dear! how hard it is, to be sure.”

“You seem to have grown very industrious, Miss Bozerne,” said Miss Furness, looking very doubtfully at the paper; and I was afraid that she would smell it, for it was quite strong of that same scent that Achille always used.

“Yes, isn’t she?” said Clara, coming to the rescue; “but I do not think it will last, ma’am.”

I could have hugged her for that; for I knew that the tiresome old thing suspected something to be wrong, and was mixing it up with the morning’s adventure. But nothing more was said, and we descended to dinner, and there I was with that note burning in my pocket, and not a chance could I get to read it; for so sure as I tried to be alone, go where I would, there was that Miss Furness’s favourite, Celia Blang, after me to see what I was doing.

At last, during the afternoon lessons, I could bear it no longer; so I went and sat down by the side of Clara.

“What does he say, dear?” I whispered.

“Wants me to meet him to-night,” she wrote on her slate, and rubbed it out directly. For we actually used common slates – noughts-and-crosses slates – just like charity-school children. But I had my revenge, for I dropped and cracked no less than ten of the nasty things, though I am afraid papa had to pay.

And then again she wrote, “What does he say, dear?”

“I have not had a chance to see yet,” I dolefully replied. “There’s the raging Furnace watching me, so pray don’t look up. She suspects something, and I can’t move without being spied.”

“Poor old darling!” wrote Clara on her slate.

“I’m going to trust you, my dear,” I said. “When I push my Nugent’s Dictionary over to you, take it quietly, for my note will be inside. And I want you to take it, and go away somewhere and read it, and then come and tell me what he says; for the old thing is so suspicious, and keeps looking in my direction – and I dare not attempt it myself.”

So I managed to pass the note to Clara, who left the room; and then I wrote down the aliquot parts of a pound, and folded it ready so as to pull out next time. I saw Miss Furness watching me; and there I sat, with my cheeks burning, and wondering what was in my note, and whether, after all, I had done foolishly. For was Clara to be trusted?

“But she is so mixed up with it herself,” I thought, “she dare not play me false.”

So there I sat on and on, pretending to be studious, and wondering what kept Clara so long, would have gone after her, only I knew that Miss Furness was keeping an eye upon me; and sometimes I half thought that she must know something about the night when I went down to the elms; but directly after I felt that she did not, or she would have told my Lady Blunt directly. But the fact of the matter was, she felt suspicious about the note, and all because I was so clumsy in trying to throw dust in her eyes.

Five minutes – ten minutes – a quarter of an hour had passed, and still no Clara. Then another quarter of an hour, and still she did not come. “Whatever shall I do?” I thought to myself – “surely she is not deceiving me?” And then, just as my spirits were regularly boiling over, heated as they were by impatience and vexation, in she came, with the note in her hand; and I saw her laugh maliciously, and cross over to Patty Smith.

“Oh,” I said to myself, “I shall die of shame.”

And I’m sure no one can tell what agony I suffered while the creature was reading something to Patty, when they both had a hearty laugh; after which Clara began to double the note up, as, with eyes flashing fire, I sat watching that deceitful creature, not daring to move from my seat.

“Miss Fitzacre, bring me that piece of paper you have in your hand,” squeaked Miss Furness, who had been watching her like a cat does a mouse.

Oh, if I could but have screamed out, or fainted, or seized the paper, and fled away! But I could not move, only sit suffering – suffering horribly, while Clara gave me another of her malicious smiles, as she crossed sulkily over to Miss Griffin’s table, drew the paper from her pocket, laid it down, and then our chère institutrice laid a paper-weight upon it, for she had a soul far above curiosity, while Clara came and sat down by me – poor me, who trembled so with fear and rage that my teeth almost chattered; for I could think of nothing else but Mrs Blunt and the Furness reading poor Achille’s note.