The Independence of Claire Part 20

When Major Carew gave that loud unrestrained laugh, the four members of this attractive party turned to see whence the sound arose; but whereas three faces remained blankly indifferent, the fourth was in the moment transformed into an expression of the liveliest surprise. He stared, narrowing his eyes as if doubting that they were really seeing aright, twisted his head to get a fuller view, and, obtaining it, twisted back into his original position, his lips twitching with laughter. Then he spoke a few words, his companions leant forward to listen, and to two faces out of the three, the laughter spread on hearing what he had to say.

Only the elder of the two ladies retained her gravity. Her sweet glance rested on Claire's face, and her brow contracted in distress. In the Major and Cecil she showed no interest, but Claire's appearance evidently aroused curiosity and pity. "What is _she_ doing in that _galere_?" The question was written on every line of the sweet high- bred face, and Claire read its significance and flinched with distaste.

"How they stare!" cried Mary Rhodes. "The man looked as if he knew you, Frank. Do you know who he is?"

"He's a member of the Club. His name is Vavasour. We know each other by sight." Major Carew's florid colour had grown a shade deeper, he was evidently disconcerted by the encounter; but he made a strong effort to regain his composure, smiled at the two girls in turn, and cried lightly, "Envies me, I suppose, seeing me with two such charmers!"

"He didn't look exactly envious!" Cecil said drily. She also had noticed that reflection in the mirror, and it had not helped to soothe her spirits. She felt an unreasoning anger against Claire for appearing more attractive than herself, but it did not occur to her that she was heightening the contrast by her own dour, ungracious manner. Altogether that tea-party was a difficult occasion, and as it proceeded, Claire's spirits sank ever lower and lower. She had spent more than she had any right to afford on those two expensive tickets, hoping thereby to give pleasure, and now Cecil was in a bad temper, and would snap for days to come.--It was not a cheerful outlook, and for the second time a feeling of restiveness overtook her, a longing for a companion who would help the gaiety of life--such a companion as pretty, lively, happy-go-lucky Sophie Blake, for example. How refres.h.i.+ng it would be to live with Sophie! Just for a moment Claire dwelt wistfully on the possibility, then banished it with a loyal "She doesn't need me, and Cecil does.

She's fond of me in her funny way. She must be, for she has confided in me already, more than in any of the others whom she's known for years, and perhaps I may be able to help..."

The Major pa.s.sed his cup for a second supply; a waitress brought a plate of hot cakes; the occupants of the corner table stood up, fastening furs and coats, and pa.s.sed out of the door. With their going Major Carew regained his vivacity, chaffed the girls on their silence, recounted the latest funny stories, and to Claire's relief addressed himself primarily to his _fiancee_, thus putting her in the place of honour.

Nevertheless Claire was conscious that from time to time keen glances were cast in her own direction. She had a feeling that no detail of her attire escaped scrutiny, that the black eyes noted one and all, wondered, and speculated, and appraised. She saw them dwell on the handsome fur stole and m.u.f.f which Mrs Judge bequeathed to her daughter on sailing for India, on the old diamond ring and brooch which had been handed over to her on her twenty-first birthday; she had an instinctive feeling that she rose in the man's estimation because of her air of prosperity. He made tentative efforts to arrange a further meeting.

"Where do _you_ go on Sundays, Miss Gifford? I say, we must arrange another tea like this. Lots of good tea places in town. We must sample them together. What do you say, Miss Gifford?"

Claire's answers were politely evasive, and presently he began to grow restless, and finally pulled out his watch, and jumped to his feet.

"How time flies! I had no idea it was so late. I must run. So sorry to leave you like this."

Mary Rhodes stared in surprise.

"Leave! Frank! But you said--I thought we were going--"

"Yes, I know, I know. I'm sorry, I thought I was free--but--a regimental engagement! Can't get out of it. I'll fix up another night.

I'll write."

There was no doubt that he was genuinely disconcerted at the lateness of the hour, and his leave-taking was of the most hasty description, though he found time to give a lingering pressure to Claire's hand; then he was gone, and the waitress came across the room and presented the bill.

Cecil flushed uncomfortably.

"I must pay this. Frank has forgotten. He rushed off in such a hurry."

She pulled out her shabby purse, and Claire made no protest. In a similar position she herself would have wished to pay, but it was inconceivable that she should ever be in such a position. However hurried a man might be-- She rubbed her hand on her knee with a little shudder of distaste. "Wretch! He would make love to me, too, if I would allow it! How can Cecil possibly care for such a man?"

And then she forgot Cecil's feelings to ponder on a more perplexing problem.

Why had the man called Vavasour looked so amused, and why had the sweet- faced woman looked so distressed?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A DOUBLE INVITATION.

Janet Willoughby sent Claire a picture postcard, all white snow and strong shadow, and dazzling blue sky, and little black figures pirouetting on one leg with the other raised perilously in the rear.

"This is me!" was written across the most agile of the number, while a scrawling line across the top ran, "Happy New Year! Returning on Tuesday. Hope to see you soon." Tuesday was the day on which school re-opened; but Janet's holiday was year long, not a short four weeks.

Cecil moaned loudly, but Claire was tired of aimless days, and welcomed the return to work. She determined to throw her whole heart into her task, and work as no junior French mistress had ever worked before; she determined never to lose patience, never to grow cross, never to indulge in a sarcastic word, always to be a model of tact and forbearance. She determined to wield such an enn.o.bling influence over the girls in her form-room that they should take fire from her example, and go forth into the world perfect, high-souled women who should leaven the race. She determined also to be the life and soul of the staff-room--the general peace-maker, confidante, and consoler, beloved by one and all. She determined to seize tactfully upon every occasion of serving the Head, and acting as a buffer between her and disagreeables of every kind. She arranged a touching scene wherein Miss Farnborough, retiring from work and being asked by the Committee to name a worthy successor, p.r.o.nounced unhesitatingly, "Claire Gifford; she is but young, but her wisdom and diplomacy are beyond all praise." She saw herself Head of Saint Cuthbert's, raised to the highest step of her scholastic ladder, but somehow the climax was not so exhilarating as the climb itself. To be head mistress was, no doubt, a fine achievement, but it left her cold.

Inside Saint Cuthbert's all was life and bustle. Girls streaming along the corridors, in and out of every room; girls of all ages and sizes and shapes, but all to-day bearing an appearance of happiness and animation.

Bright-coloured blouses shone forth in their first splendour; hair- ribbons stood out stiff and straight; many of the girls carried bunches of flowers to present to the special mistress for whom they cherished the fas.h.i.+onable "G.P." (grand pa.s.sion) so characteristic of school life.

Flora had a bunch of early daffodils for Claire. Another girl presented a pot of Roman hyacinths for the decoration of the form-room, a third a tiny bottle of scent; three separate donors supplied b.u.t.tonholes of violets. The atmosphere was full of kindness and affection. Girls encountering each other would fall into each other's arms with exclamations of ecstatic affection. "Oh, you precious lamb!"

"My angel child!"

"You dear, old, darling duck!" Claire heard a squat, ugly girl with spectacles and a turned-up nose addressed as "a princely pet" by an ardent adorer of fourteen. The mistresses came in for their own share of adulation--"Darling Miss Gifford, I _do_ adore you!"

"Miss Gifford, darling, you are prettier than ever!"

"Oh, Miss _Gifford_, I was _dying_ to see you!"

The morning flew past, and lunch-time brought the gathering of mistresses in staff-room. Mademoiselle's greetings were politely detached, Fraulein was kindly and discursive, Sophie's smile was as bright as ever, but she did not look well.

"Oh, I'm all right! It's nothing. Only this horrid old pain!" she said cheerfully. Into her gla.s.s of water she dropped three tabloids of aspirin. Every one had been away for a longer or shorter time, visiting relatives and friends; they compared experiences; some had enjoyed themselves, some had not; but they all agreed that they were refreshed by the change.

"And where have _you_ been?" asked the drawing mistress of Claire, and exclaimed in surprise at hearing that she had remained in town. "Dear me, I wish I had known! I've been back a fortnight. We might have done something together. Weren't you _dull_?" asked the drawing mistress, staring with curious eyes.

"Very!" answered poor Claire, and for a moment struggled with a horrible inclination to cry.

After lunch Miss Bates took her cup of coffee to Claire's side, and made an obvious attempt to be pleasant.

"I feel quite remorseful to think of your holidays. It's astonis.h.i.+ng how little we mistresses know of each other out of school hours. The first school I was in--a much smaller one by the sea,--we were so friendly and jolly, just like sisters, but in the big towns every one seems detached. It's hard on the new-comers. I don't know _what_ I should have done if I hadn't a brother's house to go to on Sundays and holiday afternoons. Except through him, I haven't made a single friend.

At the other place people used to ask us out, and we had quite a good time; but in town people are engrossed in their own affairs. They haven't time to go outside."

"I wonder you ever left that school! What made you want to change?"

"Oh, well! London was a lure. Most people want to come to London, and I had my brother. Do tell me, another time, if you are not going away.

It worries me to think of you being alone. How did you come to get this post, if you have no connections in town?"

"Miss Farnborough came to stay in Brussels, in the _pension_ which my mother and I had made headquarters for some time. She offered me the post."

Miss Bates stared with distended eyes. "How long had she known you?"

"About a fortnight, I think. I don't remember exactly."

"And you had never seen her before? She knew nothing about you?"

"She had never seen me before, but she _did_ know something about me.

Professionally speaking, she knew all there was to know."

"That accounts for it," said Miss Bates enigmatically. "I wondered-- You are not a bit the usual type."

"I hope that doesn't mean that I can't teach?"

Miss Bates laughed, and shrugged her thin shoulders. "Oh, no. I should say, personally, that you teach very well. That play was extraordinarily good. It absolutely sounded like French. Can't think how you knocked the accent into them! English girls are so self- conscious; they are ashamed of letting themselves go. Mademoiselle thinks that your cla.s.ses are too like play; but it doesn't matter what she thinks, so long as--" she paused a moment, lowered her voice, and added impressively, "Keep on the right side of Miss Farnborough. You are all right so long as you are in her good books. Better be careful."

"What do you mean?" Claire stared, puzzled and discomposed, decidedly on the offensive; but Miss Bates refused a definite answer.