The Head Girl at the Gables (17 page)

"Signor Arezzo doesn't care to bother with amateurs. His time is so valuable that he gives it all to promising students only. No, I've quite made up my mind never to sing again! Don't argue with me! It's no use, and only makes me feel irritable. I tell you I'm heart-broken!"

It was terrible to have Rosemary in such a disconsolate mood. It seemed to throw a blight over the whole family. Lorraine was immensely concerned. In her trouble she turned instinctively to the studio by the harbour. Margaret Lindsay, who herself had weathered many troubles, was an expert in the art of comfort.

"Rosemary's heart is broken!" said Lorraine tragically, sitting on the window-seat in the sunshine, and squeezing her friend's arm.

"Poor child! Tell her that some of the best things in the world have been done on broken hearts! She's very young yet, and I'm sure she's wanted at home."

"That's what Mother says."

"And perhaps she mightn't have liked public singing. It isn't all applause and bouquets. I know several professionals, and they talk of long, weary railway journeys, and uncomfortable hotels, and many disagreeables that show a very shady lining to the life. Somehow I can far more easily fancy little Rosemary happily married and settled down in a home of her own, than touring about to concerts. You mustn't let her give up her singing! She'll make a most delightful amateur."

"She scorns the word 'amateur'."

"She's feeling sore at present, but she'll get over that stage, I hope. I'm not sure if an amateur hasn't infinitely the best of it. I often wish I were an amateur artist. You skim the cream in the matter of enjoyment, without any of the responsibility. In six months I hope Rosemary will think differently, and will be the star of the musical parties at Porthkeverne, if she can't shine on the stage."

"It's a come-down for her, all the same," groaned Lorraine. "I wish she could marry a duke! But no dukes ever come to Porthkeverne. Perhaps she won't marry at all. Some of the nicest people I know haven't married."

Margaret Lindsay looked out far away over the dancing, gleaming water before she answered; Lorraine could not see the shadow in her eyes.

"Sometimes it's the person whom you
don't
marry whom you love the most: the beautiful ideal is never shattered by the actual--it stays up in the clouds always, instead of trailing down to earth."

Lorraine was lost in contemplation of her sister's future prospects.

"If she doesn't marry, she'll have to brace up and go in for some other vocation," she decided. "Miss Kingsley says one ought to look years ahead, but somehow I can't imagine Rosemary ever being middle-aged."

"It's an art to grow grey gracefully," smiled Margaret Lindsay.

What Happened at Easter

In spite of her real concern for Rosemary's disappointment, Lorraine enjoyed the Easter holidays. There was much to be done in them. Morland and Claudia were anxious to revisit the Sea-Nymph's Grotto, which had been neglected during the winter, so with Landry in attendance they chose a fine day, and had another delightful picnic there. Fortunately the tides had not reached as high as the mouth of the cave, and their "furniture" was undisturbed; even the shell patterns remained as formerly, though the sea-weed was brown and shrivelled. That was a matter easily remedied, however, for the rock pools below were full of pink and green algæ, and corallines beautiful enough for a mermaid's bouquet.

"It would be a ripping place for a hermit," said Morland. "I expect it beats a dug-out hollow. I shall often think of it when I'm called up!"

"Me go to the war too!" said Landry suddenly.

He spoke so seldom that Claudia turned in surprise.

"No, Landry, dear, I couldn't spare you."

"But Morland's going!"

"All the more reason why you should stay at home and take care of me."

"Me want to be with you
both
," said Landry fretfully.

"But that can't be. The Government will send papers, and then Morland will have to go."

There was trouble in the boy's blue eyes; his poor dull brain seemed to be making a supreme effort to understand. He spoke again, still in the language of a little child.

"Landry will take the nasty papers and hide them, and then Morland stay at home."

"No, no, dear! Landry couldn't do that," laughed Claudia, fondling his hand. "You must be my good boy and look after me when he's gone."

Landry relapsed once more into his habitual silence, but it was evident that a new and unusual access of thought was stirring in his feeble mind. He kept looking at Morland with awakened interest. Lorraine, watching, wondered what was the result of his cogitations. His own sister and brother, accustomed to his moods, took no more notice of an occurrence that seemed trivial at the moment, but afterwards bore unexpected fruit.

"When we've made the cave so nice, it seems almost a pity to keep it
quite
to ourselves," suggested Morland after a pause.

"Why, but we all pledged ourselves to absolute secrecy!"

"I know we did."

"Whom do you want to bring here?" enquired Claudia suspiciously.

"Oh, nobody in particular. Only Madame Bertier was asking me one day if there were any caves along the coast. I thought she'd like to see this one."

"You're not to bring that Russian woman here! I don't like her. I hope you did not tell her about it?"

"Of course not!"

"Honest Injun?"

"Crystal clear I didn't!"

"It's
our
secret, and
nobody
is to know," said Claudia, still ruffled. "Let us all take a sort of oath!"

"Right oh!
I
shan't break it!" agreed Lorraine emphatically.

"Will you swear, Morland?" urged Claudia.

"Who's going to tell?" asked Morland huffily. "What a fuss you girls make about nothing. The cave might be full of diamonds instead of only shells!"

"Only shells, indeed!" Claudia's tone was belligerent.

"I wish you'd both help me to collect some shells," put in Lorraine, trying to patch up peace. "I want some more desperately badly for the museum."

A duty which Lorraine had undertaken during the holidays was the arrangement of the school museum. She was the curator, but during term time she was so fully occupied that she had never been able to sort and label the specimens which the girls had brought to her. The whole collection had been so far stored away in boxes. Now, however, Miss Kingsley had set apart special premises for the museum. There was an unused room at The Gables that in the days of former tenants had been occupied by the coachman. It adjoined the house, but was approached by an outside staircase from the yard. It had been filled with lumber, but Miss Kingsley had had this cleared away, the floor had been scrubbed, and some old desks moved in to serve as cases for the specimens.

Miss Kingsley and Miss Janet had gone away for Easter, and the servants were also taking a much-needed rest. The Gables therefore was shut up for the holidays, though the charwoman, who lived in a cottage close by, went in to scrub and clean. Before leaving, Miss Kingsley had given Lorraine the key of the museum, so that she might enter it when she wished, quite independently of going to the house.

Lorraine spent very happy mornings there--sometimes alone, sometimes with Claudia to help her. With the aid of natural history books from the school library, she identified and labelled the specimens to the best of her ability. It was a quiet kind of work that appealed to her. She felt that the room was going to be a tremendous acquisition to the school. All sorts of treasures could find a home on the walls, secure from the meddlesome fingers of juniors. She intended to keep it as a sort of sanctum for the monitresses, and had visions of holding committee meetings there, and bringing tea in thermos flasks.

One morning she had arranged to spend a little time at the museum and to meet Claudia, who had promised to come and help her. The trysting-place was the old windmill, and Lorraine stood there waiting. Claudia was late--the Castleton family were always late for everything--and Lorraine walked impatiently up and down the road. Footsteps coming round the corner made her turn expectantly. To her surprise, the new-comer was not her friend, but her uncle, Mr. Barton Forrester.

"Why, Uncle!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing up here? I thought you were so busy at the office?"

"So I am; and I ought to be at work now. This is what comes of being a special constable! There's a pretty to-do to-day! The telephone wires have been cut, and the job is to discover
where
!"

"The telephone wires cut!" echoed Lorraine. "But who has cut them?"

"Some spy, I suppose. One has constantly to be on the lookout for treachery, especially in a place like this. If we could only find out where the leakage is! There, Lorraine, I can't stay. I've got to see Mr. Jermyn immediately."

Uncle Barton--busy, energetic little man that he was--waved his hand to his niece and hurried away up the road, just as Claudia, also in a hurry, turned the corner. Lorraine cut short her apologies with the news about the telephone wires.

"It means," she explained, "that, until they find the place and can mend it, Porthkeverne's cut off by telephone from all other places. You may depend upon it, as Uncle says, there's some treachery at the bottom of this. Isn't it horrible to think that there may be spies in the town, ready to betray one's country?"

"Dreadful!" shuddered Claudia. "They ought to intern everyone who's the least bit under suspicion."

The two girls walked rapidly to The Gables, and went into the school-yard and up the outside staircase. Lorraine had the key in her pocket, and unlocked the museum. Directly she entered, she noticed that the room was not as she had left it. Some of the desks and boxes had certainly been moved. She remembered exactly how she had placed them yesterday. Her first thought was that Mrs. Jones, the charwoman, must have been in to clean; but that was clearly impossible, for she herself had the key. Who could have intruded into the sanctum, and for what reason? She discussed it with Claudia. It gave them both a most uncanny feeling to think that someone had been able to enter. The Gables was practically shut up. Had a burglar been picking the locks during Miss Kingsley's absence? There seemed to be nothing in the museum likely to excite the cupidity of even an amateur thief; the specimens, though interesting to the school, were of no monetary value. Lorraine's glance went slowly round the room, and took in the desks and boxes, the walls, on which she had pinned natural history prints, and finally wandered up to the ceiling. Ah, here was a clue at last! The trap-door in the corner had certainly been moved--it did not now quite fit down. There was about an inch of light to be seen round its edge. A horrible idea suggested itself to the girls.
Suppose somebody was in hiding up there!

The bare notion blanched their cheeks. With one accord they fled from the room, locked the door on the outside, and scurried down the steps. In the yard they paused. What was to be done next? They did not feel capable of tackling a possible burglar unaided, yet it seemed rather weak to run away.

"Let's fetch Morland!" said Claudia.

The suggestion seemed a good one. Lorraine was only too content to throw herself upon masculine aid. They walked at double speed to Windy Howe, and hauled Morland from the piano. He stopped in the middle of a Brahms sonata, and offered at once to go back with them to the school.

"You see, Miss Kingsley and everybody's away, and there's only the charwoman about," explained Lorraine. "I know she'd be worse scared than ourselves if we told her."

"Right-o! I'll go and investigate," agreed Morland, rather pleased to show his courage before the girls.

So they all three went back to the museum, and here Morland placed desks and boxes together, and mounted on them so as to reach the trap-door, through which he wriggled. The girls held the pile steady, and watched his long legs disappear through the opening.

"It leads on to the roof!" he shouted. "I'll climb up and explore. I'm in a sort of garret with a ladder in the corner."

To the waiting girls it seemed a very long time before Morland returned. At last, however, they heard his footsteps overhead, and he called to them to hold the erection while he came down. It was with a sense of relief that they saw his boots issue through the trap-door. They had had an idea that he might have disappeared for ever.

"Well?"

"Did you see anybody?"

Morland shook his head. He was dusting his sleeves, and trying to rub the dirt off his hands.

"I didn't catch a burglar, but I've made a discovery," he said slowly.

"What?"

The girls were half-frightened, half-thrilled.

"I've been on the roof. Did you know the telephone wires run over the school?"

"I never noticed."

"Well, they do. And what's more, they've been cut!"

"Great Scott!"

"Whoever did it has been very clever. It was a unique spot to get at them, and impossible to be seen from the road."

"I must tell Uncle Barton
at once
!" gasped Lorraine breathlessly. "It's exactly what he was wanting to find out!"

"We'd better ask Mrs. Jones if anybody has been hanging about the place," suggested Claudia.

The charwoman, on being interviewed, assured them that nobody had been to the school. There was only one key to the museum, so it could not have been entered in their absence.

"Did you leave the window open?" asked Morland of Lorraine.

"I believe I did, just a little at the top."

"Well, don't you notice that the leads below the window communicate with one of the bedroom windows of the school? Any one inside The Gables could step out and get into the museum that way."

"But Mrs. Jones says nobody has been in the school, didn't you, Mrs. Jones?"

"Yes, miss, no one but myself--except--yes, I do remember, one of the teachers came and asked if she might fetch a book she'd forgotten, and I let her go in."

"Which teacher was it?"

"That foreign lady."

"Madame Bertier?"