Meade L. T.
A Bunch of Cherries: A Story of Cherry Court School
CHAPTER VIII.
THE LETTER
After dinner Mrs. Clavering called the girls of the Upper school into the oak parlor.
"My dears," she said, "I won't keep you a minute, but I have just had a letter from Sir John Wallis, and he wishes me to say that he would like the girls who are to compete for the preliminary examination for the Scholarship to write their answers to the English History questions. He has sent over the questions in this envelope, and you can all read them, and you are to write your answers in advance, and fold them up and put them into envelopes for him to open and read to-night. I believe there are ten questions, but his rule is that you are none of you to be helped by any book in the answers, and that no one girl is to assist another. That is all, my dears; you can go into the school-room and get the matter through in less than an hour if you like. And now hurry away, for there is no time to lose. I will have the question pinned up in the school-room for you all to see."
Mrs. Clavering hastened away, and all the girls of the Upper school, seven in all, presently found themselves seated by their desks, busily answering Sir John Wallis's questions on the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
When Mrs. Clavering had made her statement Florence had cast one anxious, half-despairing glance in Kitty's direction, and Kitty had slowly raised her arched eyebrows and looked at her friend with compassion and distress.
Kitty now walked quickly to her desk, glanced at the questions, and wrote the answers in a good bold, firm hand.
Her early training with her father stood her in excellent stead, and she was able to give a vivid account of the Spanish Armada and of other great events in the reign of good Queen Bess. She felt quite cheerful and hopeful as she wrote her answers, expressing them in good English, and taking great pains to be correct with regard to spelling. At last they were finished. She slipped them into her envelope, put them back in her desk, and left the room. As she did so she passed Florence, whose cheeks were flushed like peonies, and who was bending in some despair over her paper, for Florence was well known in the school to be ignorant as regarded all matters connected with history, although she was smart enough in her own line.
"Poor Florry, I am sorry for her," thought Kitty. Then she went away to her room and employed her spare time writing a long letter to her father, and did not give Florence any more thought.
Meanwhile Mabel and Alice Cunningham, Mary Bateman, Bertha Kennedy, and Edith King, one and all answered the English History questions; they slipped them into envelopes, and put them into their desks. They also left the room, and Florence was alone in the school-room.
When she found herself so she threw back her head, uttered a great yawn, and then glanced in despair at the ten very comprehensive questions set by Sir John Wallis.
"I shall never answer them," she said to herself; "it is quite impossible. I have not the faintest idea what he means by question five, for instance. She hated Mary Queen of Scots, I know that, and she got her to be imprisoned, I know that also; but what is the story in connection with the Earl of Leicester? I cannot, cannot remember it. Oh, how tiresome, how more than tiresome – this may lose me my chance with the lucky three, for Alice Cunningham is trying quite hard, and Edith King is having a regular fight over the matter; and of course, there is no doubt that Kitty Sharston will be elected to try for the Scholarship, but I – yes, I must be elected – I will; but what shall I do?"
Florence paced restlessly up and down the school-room. As she did so she suddenly perceived with a quickening of her heart's pulses that Kitty through an oversight had left the key in her desk; all the other girls had locked their desks; but Kitty, who was generally careful enough in this matter, had left the key in hers.
Nothing in all the world would be easier than for Florence to open Kitty's desk, to take out the envelope which contained her replies to the English History questions, and to glance at the momentous question which related to the Earl of Leicester. Right or wrong, Florence felt she must stoop to this mean action.
"After all, being included in the lucky three does not mean winning the Scholarship," she said to herself, "and I should so like to be one of the three. I think I will take one look; there is no one in the house at present. I saw Kitty cross the courtyard and go in the direction of the garden not half an hour ago. No one will know, and I shall have an equal chance with the others; if not, I shall fail, and to fail now would drive me mad."
Just at that moment Florence, who had approached the window in her restless pacing up and down, saw the postboy enter the courtyard. She ran out to meet him. He brought several letters, and amongst others one for Florence from her mother. She took it back with her to the schoolroom. Mrs. Aylmer's letters were never particularly cheerful, but Florence opened it now with a slight degree of eagerness.
"I have good news for you, Florence," wrote her mother; "if you succeed in being elected as one of the three who are to compete for Sir John Wallis's Scholarship, I shall certainly contrive to give you a week at Dawlish with me. Of course, if you fail it will be utterly useless, and I should not dream of wasting the money; so try your very best, my dear child, for there is more in this than meets the eye. It will make the most immense difference in your life, my dear Florence, if you gain this Scholarship, and also in the life of your affectionate mother. I may as well add here that your Aunt Susan becomes more intolerable day by day, and it is extremely probable that she will soon cease to pay your school fees at all. If that is the case, my dear, I really do not know what is to become of you, as I certainly cannot afford to meet them. Try your best for the Scholarship, dear. If you win it write to me immediately and I will send you the money to come home."
"What a chance!" thought Florence, as she finished reading the letter. She folded it up and slipped it into her pocket; the next instant she had crossed the room, had opened Kitty's desk, and taken out the envelope with its folded sheet of paper within. She unfolded the paper and glanced at its contents. One quick glance was sufficient. She put back the paper into the envelope, shut Kitty's desk, and returned to her own.
Her cheeks were redder than ever and her heart was beating wildly, but she knew what she wanted to know. Florence folded up her own sheet of paper, put it into its envelope, and laid it in her desk. She felt pretty certain now of being elected as one of the lucky three, and no one need ever know that she had peeped at Kitty's answers. After all, but for this ridiculous and sudden prohibition on the part of Sir John Wallis, Kitty would have helped her with her English History all the afternoon. Now, of course, she could not ask her, but never mind, she knew what she wanted to know.
Her heart felt a little uncomfortable, and, notwithstanding the hope that she might spend a week at Dawlish with her mother, to whom she was devotedly attached, and the further hope of taking an honorable place in the coming competition, she felt a queer sense of depression.
She was just preparing to leave the school-room when the door opened and Mademoiselle Le Brun looked in. She did not see Florence at first, then she glanced at her and spoke hurriedly.
"I thought Kitty Sharston was here; I want her," she said.
"No," said Florence; "what is it; what do you want?"
"I have to give her a shilling back out of the change."
"A shilling out of the change; what do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing, my dear; I ought not to tell you; I owe her a shilling, that's all."
"By the way, mademoiselle," said Florence, "I have not thanked you yet for getting me that lovely ribbon. How was it you managed to get it so cheaply?"
Mademoiselle looked very knowing.
"I am glad you like it," she said; "it was not particularly cheap."
She left the room, although Florence called after her to stay.
Florence walked quickly to the window. She looked out. The sun was still high in the heavens, for on this midsummer day it would take a long time before the evening arrived. Florence's heart beat harder than ever, for suddenly her eyes were opened, and she knew how she had got the cherry-colored ribbon. Kitty had given it to her, and Florence had stolen some of Kitty's knowledge and applied it to herself.
She hated herself for it, but not enough to retract what she had done. She went up to her room, threw herself on the bed, and burst out crying.
Yes, she would stick to it now, but, all the same, she hated herself. It was very unpleasant to be lowered in her own eyes, but she would go through with the matter now, whatever befell.
The chance of going to Dawlish, the chance of winning the Scholarship, meant too much to her; she must secure this good thing which had fallen in her path at any cost.
The evening drew on apace, and the whole school was in a perfect fever of excitement. The girls came up to their different dormitories to dress for the occasion.
Kitty, who was not too well provided with clothes, nevertheless did possess one very smart evening frock. It was made of lovely Indian muslin, exquisitely embroidered and beautifully made. She took it now out of her trunk, and looked at it with admiration. Her father had bought this Indian muslin for her, having sent for it straight away to India, and he had himself superintended the making of the beautiful dress.
Kitty's fingers trembled now as she slipped the soft folds over her head, and tucked in the spray of cherry-colored ribbons just above her white satin belt, and then she tied back her hair with the same shiny soft ribbon, and looked at her little pale face in the glass and wondered how soon she would see her father again.
"Oh, father! father!" she thought, "I am going to try my hardest, my very, very hardest, and all for your sake, and I'll be brave for your sake, and three years won't be very long passing if I spend every moment of the time in working my very hardest, and doing my very best for you."
When she had finished her dressing she turned to help the other girls. Mabel and Alice Cunningham were in soft pink dresses, a little paler in shade than the cherry-colored ribbons which as a matter of course they would wear, and one and all of the girls of the Upper school were becomingly and suitably dressed, with the exception of poor Florence; but Florence's muslin dress was coarse in texture and badly made, and notwithstanding the soft cherry-colored ribbons, she did not look her best. Also her head ached, and she was in low spirits.
Kitty was particularly affectionate to Florence, and she asked her now in an anxious tone how she had managed with regard to her English History.
"I am so dreadfully sorry," she said; "I meant to give you such a coaching in the reign of Queen Elizabeth all this afternoon, Florry, but there, it can't be helped. How did you manage, dear? Do you think you have answered all the questions?"
"Of course I have," answered Florence, in an almost cross voice, for she could scarcely bear Kitty's affectionate manners just then. "You take me for a great dunce, Kitty, but I am not quite so bad as you imagine."
"Oh, I know you are anything but a dunce," replied Kitty; "I don't take you for one, I assure you, Florence, only I did hope that I might help you in English History, for that is my strong point."
"You are quite conceited about it, I do believe," said Florence. "There, don't pull my dress about any more. Thank you, I like my cherry bow here better than in my belt. Don't touch me, please."
Florence hated herself beyond words for being so cross, but the fact was her heart ached so badly she could scarcely be civil to Kitty.
She ran downstairs, and for the rest of the evening kept out of Kitty Sharston's way.
Yes; it was a glorious evening, and everything passed off without a hitch of any sort. The guests consisted of all the best people in the neighborhood. They sat round and applauded all the girls, who danced the minuet with becoming grace and looked very pretty as they glided about on the lamp-lit lawn.
And then one or two of them recited, and one or two of them sang songs, and then there was a great chorus in which all the girls joined, and then they danced Sir Roger de Coverley to the merry strains of a string band, and presently the great occasion of all came when the girls, followed by the guests, entered the great central hall of Cherry Court, and the prizes were given away.
Florence obtained two prizes, a beautiful edition of Scott's poems, and also a little portfolio full of some pretty water-color drawings, for Florence had a great taste for art, and had managed to come out at the head of the school with her own water-color sketches.
The other girls also obtained prizes, all but Kitty Sharston, who was not long enough in the school to be entitled to one.
Kitty found herself now close to Sir John Wallis, who motioned to her to come up to his side, and pointed to a chair near where she could sit.
"I heard from your father this morning," he said, "and I mean to send him a cable to Malta if you are elected as one of the fortunate three. He expects to touch Malta on Saturday, and the cable will be waiting for him with the good news, I make not the slightest doubt."
"Oh, will you? How splendid of you!" said Kitty; "but perhaps I shall not succeed."
"Oh, yes, I have no doubt you will. Now, pluck up your courage, answer your best; don't be a scrap afraid."
"But, Sir John, you must promise me one thing," said Kitty, looking earnestly into his face.
"What is that, my dear?" asked Sir John, smiling down into the eager little face.
"You won't favor me more than the other girls? You'll be quite, quite fair, and give the chance to those girls who are really in your opinion the best?"
"I will, Kitty, I will," said Sir John; "do you think I could do anything else as regards your father's daughter? And now, child, the time is up, and I am going into the oak parlor. You will all follow me in a moment."
Kitty never forgot the hour which was spent in the oak parlor with her companions of the Upper school. She did not know how she answered the questions put with great animation by Sir John. She only knew that her heart was beating wildly, and she was thinking all the time of that cablegram which would comfort her father when he reached Malta, and resolving as surely girl never resolved before not to disappoint him, to give him if she could, if it were any way within her power, that supreme pleasure. And so when the hour was over and the brief examination was made, and the names of the successful competitors called out, and Kitty Sharston's name appeared at the head of the list, she could only look at Sir John, and think of the cablegram, and not feel at all elated, although her companions clustered around her and shook her hand and wished her joy.
The two other successful competitors were Florence Aylmer and Mary Bateman.
Mrs. Clavering then read out certain rules which Sir John had made with regard to the Scholarship, and soon afterwards the proceedings of the evening broke up; the guests departed to their homes, carrying their baskets of cherries with them; and Kitty, Florence and Mary were surrounded by their companions, who wished them joy and cheered them three times three, and took them up to their dormitory in triumph.
CHAPTER IX.
THE LITTLE MUMMY
It was a week afterwards when Kitty stood at the gate of Cherry Court School to wish Florence Aylmer good-bye, for Florence had obtained the darling wish of her heart, and was on her way to Dawlish to spend a week with her mother. She was to travel third-class, and the journey was a long one, and the day happened to be specially hot, but nothing could damp Florence's delight, and Kitty, as she watched her, could not help for a moment a slight pang of envy coming over her.
"Have a good time, Florry, and tell me all about it when you return," said Kitty.
And Florence promised, thinking Kitty a very good-natured, agreeable girl as she did so, and then Kitty turned slowly back to the house and Florence found herself alone. She was driving in a hired chaise to Hilchester railway-station. She had said good-bye to Kitty and to Mrs. Clavering, and her earnest wish was that the week might spread itself into two or three, and that she could banish all thought of Kitty and Mrs. Clavering and Cherry Court School from her mind.
"For, although I mean to win the Scholarship – yes, I shall win it; I have made up my mind on that point – I cannot help more or less hating Kitty Sharston, and Mrs. Clavering, and the school itself," thought the girl. "But there, I will forget every unpleasant thing now. I have not seen the little Mummy for a whole year; it will be heavenly to kiss her again. If there is anyone in the world whom I truly, truly love it is the dear little Mummy."
All during her hot journey across England to the cool and delightful watering-place of Dawlish, Florence thought more and more of her mother. She was an only child, her father having died when she was five years old, and Mrs. Aylmer had always been terribly poor, and Florence had always known what it was to stint and screw and do without those things which were as the breath of life to most girls. And Florence was naturally not at all a contented girl, and she had fought against her position, and disliked having to stint and screw, and she had hated her shabby dress and unwieldy boots and ugly hats and coarse fare.
But one portion of her lot abundantly contented her – she had no fault to find with her mother. The little Mummy was all that was perfection. For her mother she would have done almost as much in her own way as Kitty would do for her father in hers.
And now her heart beat high and her spirits rose as she approached nearer hour by hour the shabby little home where her mother lived.
It was in the cool of a hot summer's evening that the train at last drew up at Dawlish, and Mrs. Aylmer stood on the platform waiting to receive her daughter.
Mrs. Aylmer was a plain dumpling sort of little body, with a perfectly round face, and small beady black eyes. She had a high color in each of her cheeks and fluffy black hair pushed away from her high forehead. She was dressed in widow's weeds, which were somewhat rusty, and she now came forward with a beaming face to welcome Florence.
"Oh, Mummy, it is good to see you," said Florence. She had a brusque voice and a brusque manner, but nothing could keep the thrill out of her words as she addressed her mother.
"I am not going to kiss you till we get into the cottage," she said. "Here's my luggage – only one box, of course. Oh, it is good to see you, it is good!"
"Then come right off home, Florry," said Mrs. Aylmer; "I have got shrimps for tea and some brown bread and butter, and Sukey made the bread specially for you this morning; you always liked home-made bread. Come along; the porter will bring your trunk in presently. You'll see to it, Peter, won't you?" said Mrs. Aylmer.
Peter, the rough-headed outside porter, nodded in reply, and Mrs. Aylmer, leaning upon Florence, who was head and shoulders taller than her parent, walked down the little shingly beach, and a moment afterwards entered the cottage door.
"Dear Mummy," she said, "it is good to see you. Now, turn round, Mummy, and let us have a right good hearty stare. Oh, you look just as well as ever, sunburnt – so much the better. Now then, for a hug."
Florence opened her arms, and the next moment little Mrs. Aylmer was clasped to her daughter's breast.
"There, that's nice," said Florence, "that's a right hearty hug. I am so glad you are well, Mummy. I am so thankful you were able to send me the money; I hope I didn't screw you up very tight."
"Well, it did, Florence," replied Mrs. Aylmer; "I shall not be able to have any meat for a whole month after you leave, dear. That was the way I managed, just docking the butcher's bill and the greengrocer's bill. I must have butter to my bread and milk in my tea, but the greengrocer and the butcher will pay your third-class return fare to the school. There now, Flo, don't worry. Come upstairs to our room; you will share my bed, dear; I could not afford to have an extra room; you will share my bed."
Florence followed her mother upstairs without a word. The cottage was a very, very tiny one, and, tiny as it was, Mrs. Aylmer only owned one half of it. She had a little sitting room downstairs, and a wee, wee bedroom upstairs, and the use of the kitchen, and the use of Sukey's time for so many hours every day, and that was about all. But a delicious sea breeze blew into the tiny sitting-room and filled the little bed-room; and clematis and honey-suckle and climbing plants of every description clustered around the windows, and Florence thought it the dearest, sweetest, most fascinating place in the world.
"It is rather a small bed for two," she reflected, as she entered the room, stooping to get beneath the lintel of the door; "but never mind, it's Mummy's little room and Mummy's bed, and I am happy, happy as the day is long."
So she tossed off her hat and washed her face and hands, and tidied her hair, and went down to enjoy the honey and bread and fruit and shrimps and tea with cream in it which Mrs. Aylmer had provided in honor of her daughter's arrival.
"There," said Florence, "that was a hearty meal. Now let us go out on the beach, Mummy. You will have a great deal to say to me, and I shall have a great deal to say to you."
"It is exciting having you back, Flo," said Mrs. Aylmer, "and we must make the week go as far as possible."
"We will sit up very late at night," said Florence, "and we will get up very early in the morning, for we must talk, talk, talk every moment of our precious time, except just the few hours necessary for sleep. You don't want much sleep, do you, Mummy?"
"Yes, but I do, my dear; I want my seven to eight hours' sleep within the twenty-four hours, or I am just good for nothing. I get muzzy in the head unless I sleep enough. Do you ever suffer from muzziness in the head, dear?"
"That's just like one of your dear old-fashioned words," said Florence; "if I did feel it I shouldn't be allowed to express it in that way at school. By the way, mother, what do you think of me? Haven't I grown a good lot?"
"Yes, you're a fine hearty girl, but you are not exactly beautiful, Florry."
Florence's eyes fell and a discontented look crossed her face. "How can I look decent in these clothes?" she said; "but there, never mind, you can't give me better, can you?"
"I, darling! How could I? I have not fifty pounds a year when all is told, and I cannot do more with my money. It's your Aunt Susan who is to blame, Florence, and she is worse than ever. I'll tell you all about her to-morrow; we won't worry to-night, will we?"
"No; let us think of only pleasant things to-night," said Florence.
"Well, come down on the beach, Flo. I am all agog to hear your news. What is this about the Scholarship?"
"Oh, Mummy, need we talk of this either to-night?" said Florence, frowning.
"Well, yes, I should like it," said Mrs. Aylmer; "you see, you know all about it, and I don't. You told me so little in your letter. You don't write half as long letters as you used to, Flo. I wish you would, for I have nothing else to divert me. I have turned and re-turned my best dress – I turned it upside down last year, and downside up this year, and back to front and front to back, and I am trimming it now with frills which I have cut another old skirt up to make, and I really cannot do anything more with it. It won't by stylish, try as I will, and your Aunt Susan hasn't sent me a cast-off of hers for the last two years. It's very stingy of her, very stingy indeed. She sells her clothes now to a dealer in London who buys up all sorts of wardrobes. Before she found out this wardrobe-dealer I used to get her cast-offs and managed quite nicely. It's horrid of her. She is a very unamiable character. Don't you ever take after her, Florry, be sure you don't."
"I hate her quite as cordially as you do, mother; but now come along by the shore and I'll tell you about the Scholarship, if you really wish to know."
Which Florence did, with one arm clasped tightly round her mother's waist, and Mrs. Aylmer almost danced by her daughter's side as she listened, and tried to fancy herself nearly as young as Florence, and was certainly quite as eager with regard to the winning of the great Scholarship.
"You must get it," she said at last, after a pause; "it would make the most tremendous, tremendous difference."
"Well, I mean to try," said Florence.
"And if you try, dear, you will succeed. You're a very clever girl, ain't you?"
"Don't say 'ain't,' mother; it is not quite – "
"Oh, don't you go to correct me, my love. I can't help having the rather rough ways of people with small means; but you are clever, aren't you?"
"I believe I am in some things. There are some things again which I never can get into my head, try as I will. I am a queer mixture."
"You are a darling old thing," said the mother, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze.
"And you are the sweetest pet in the world," said Florence, glancing down at her parent. "Oh, it is good to be with you, Mummy, again."
"Well, darling, you'll get the prize, there's nothing to prevent it."
"There are several things to prevent it," said Florence, in a gloomy voice.
"What, my dear, darling pet – what?"
"Well, for instance, there are two other girls."
"Oh, girls," said Mrs. Aylmer, in a contemptuous voice. "I am not going to be frightened by girls. My Florence is equal to the best girl that ever breathed."
"Yes, but mother, you cannot quite understand. There's Kitty Sharston, for instance."
"Kitty Sharston," said Mrs. Aylmer; "what about her?"
"Well, she is really clever, and everyone seems to wish her to win."
"I call that shocking unfair," said Mrs. Aylmer.
"It is, mother, but we cannot get over the fact. She is a favorite with the school, and I must own she is a jolly girl. Now, what do you think she did for me?"
"What, my darling?"
"You know the Cherry Feast?"
"Of course I do – have not you described it to me so often? You would make a wonderful writer, I believe, you would make a lot of money writing stories, Florence."
"No, I wouldn't, Mummy, not really. It takes a good deal to be a good story-writer."
"Well, go on, pet, I am all agog to hear."
So Florence related also the story of the cherry ribbons.
"Wasn't it like Aunt Susan?" she said.
"Just," exclaimed the mother; "the stingiest old cat in existence."
"And wasn't it nice of Kitty, and didn't she do it well?" said Florence. "Oh, she is a splendid girl, and I ought not to hate her."
"But you do hate her?"
"I am afraid I do sometimes."
"And I'm not a bit surprised, dear, coming between you and this great chance. But, oh, Florry, you must win, it is all-important; I'll tell you why to-morrow. There is a letter from your Aunt Susan which will take some of the pleasure out of this little visit, but it makes the Scholarship absolutely essential. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow."
