A Fluttered Dovecote Part 15

"And where's your string?"

I had not thought of that, and it was a puzzle. I had plenty of crochet cotton, and bobbin, and Berlin wool; but then, they were none of them strong enough. Time to buy any there was none; for he was coming that night loaded with his dear ladder; while if I tried to get any from the kitchen, some one would be sure to ask what it was wanted for, then what could I say? And, besides, I had told so many dreadful stories already, and prevaricated so much, that I was quite ashamed.

The first thing I determined upon was to make a long plait of my coloured wools; but I soon found that there would not be one quarter enough; then I thought of the girls' slate strings, which held the sponges, and determined to make a raid into the schoolroom and cut them all off, though I felt sure they would not be enough. If I could only have gone out and bought a ball, or sent James, it would have been all right; but that was impossible without first asking Mrs Blunt. Only the week before, a stupid boy's kite came flapping over into the garden, with no end of string, which I might have cut off with my scissors; but I never imagined then that I should want any.

However, I did what I generally do when I want to think deeply, I took some eau de Cologne and bathed my temples, and then sat down before the gla.s.s, with my hair all thrown back, and my head resting upon my hand, trying to solve the problem, and wondering what Achille could see in me to like; while just then I remember wondering what had become of poor Mr Saint Purre.

What was I to do? that was the question. I might have cut ever so many strings off my clothes, but then I was sure they would not make half enough; and, after boring my poor brains all sorts of ways, I was quite in despair--for it did seem too bad to be put off by such a beggarly little trifle as a bit of string, when two or three of those little, cheating penny b.a.l.l.s, that are made so big by winding a very little string round a very big hole would have set me up for good. I wanted Clara to smuggle the clothes line from the laundry, which would have done admirably; but the nasty thing would not, and tried to make fun of it all by declaring that it was in use; and she would not stir a peg. I could not go myself to see if what she said was true--at least, I dare not; and, there, if it was not tea-time, and we should be rung down in a few minutes. Once I thought of tearing up something into long shreds, and tying them together; and it seemed at last that that would be the plan, and I should have put it into execution, if all at once I had not had a bright thought flash through my head, and felt disposed to call out "Excelsior?" like mamma did when she saw Mrs Blunt's horrid advertis.e.m.e.nt, and meant "Eureka" all the time.

And what do you think the happy thought was? Why, the lumber-room, where the girls' school boxes were put, along with their cords; and I was just going to hurry off and collect a number, when clatter went the tea-bell, and we were obliged to go down.

I could not eat any of their odious bread and b.u.t.ter--thick and patchy-- while the tea was as weak as weak. I declare I was so nervous that I never felt the place to be so vexatious before; and for the least provocation I should have burst out crying. I couldn't help there being nothing to cry about--all I know is, that I felt in a regular crying fit; and the more of the nasty, mawkish warm tea I drank, the worse I was, for it all seemed changed into tears directly, and to be flooding my head; when, if it had been proper tea, of course my poor nerves would have been solaced.

Clara saw how put out I was, and kept treading on my foot, wanting me to look at Mrs Blunt's front, which was all put on sideways; but I declare I could not have laughed if she had put it on backwards. Then that stupid Miss Sloman must go, seeing that I did not eat anything, and tell Mrs Blunt; and, of course, when she asked me, I was obliged to say I was not quite well, when the tiresome old thing must promise to send for Dr Boole if I were not better in the morning. A stupid old thing: she did not know that a dozen yards of good stout string would have made me feel quite in ecstasy.

Bed-time at last; and, as a matter of course, because we wanted her to go to sleep soon, Patty Smith began to write a letter home for another cake and a bottle of currant wine; but Miss Furness must come prowling about and see the light, and she soon put a stop to that; when poor simple Patty did get such a scolding that she sobbed, and cried, and boo-ood, and said it was only for a cake she was writing. Then Miss Furness--a nasty, aggravating old puss--must turn round and scold Clara and me, as she said, for encouraging her, so as to get part of the cake ourselves. Couldn't I have given her a shaking, that's all! Why, it was enough to make anyone feel vicious.

At last, we lay there, listening to the different noises dying out in the house; and I could do nothing but cry for poor Achille's disappointment--for the way to the lumber-room was through the one in which the cook slept, and of course it was impossible to get any cord; and I dare not throw a note out of the window to Achille, for fear that he might not find it in the dark, and if it fell into wrong hands all would have been made known. So there I lay, crying for some time, till the noises in the house one by one died out, and all was still, when I pictured poor Achille watching and waiting, and accusing me of perfidy and cruelty, for making him come and then disappointing him--for he never would imagine that I had been stopped for want of a piece of string. Then came the sound of an owl, hooting and screeching as if in contempt of me for going to bed; and I declare, at last, I was about to creep away to the empty room, and add to the poor fellow's disappointment by opening the window and whispering to him--though I'm sure he could not have heard; when a strong feeling of stupor seemed to creep over me--a feeling that I could not fight against--while soon all was, as it were, a blank.

The next morning when I talked about it to Clara, she said it showed how much I cared for him to fall asleep. Just as if it was sleep, and I did not know the difference. But there, she always was so absurd! And poor Achille was disappointed, and we had to make another a.s.signation.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

MEMORY THE FIFTEENTH--'TWIXT CUP AND LIP.

Night again; and Achille--poor faithful, charitable, patient Achille--to be there once more watching in the dark that one blank window, that he hoped to see open. I could a.n.a.lyse his feelings as well, perhaps, as he could mine; and how I did pity him for his many disappointments! For nights and nights had pa.s.sed without the rope ladder having been made available. Still, though, we were hopeful, and thought of others who had been long and patient sufferers for the same cause; while now, in the hope of a meeting, we waited once more. All was still within doors, and everything seemed propitious, for the night was excessively dark.

The last door had shut some time before, and within the house the only thing stirring must have been a mouse or else, with our strained ears, as Clara and I lay waiting, dressed in bed, we must have heard it. But though all was so still in the house, it was not so out of doors. First of all there was a horrible cat "tuning its lay," as Clara called it; and then she said its lay was terribly out of tune to want so much s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up. Then the dog in the next yard must hear it, and begin to resent the disturbance, and bark at the cat, till I felt sure that pauvre Achille would not come, for the noise was dreadful--rest cat, bark dog; rest dog, howl cat, and so on. There was the chain rattling in and out of the kennel at a most terrible rate, while the creature barked furiously till it was tired, without having the slightest effect upon the cat, or cats, which kept on with the hideous howling, till the dog, evidently worn out, went to sleep.

Oh, it was uncomfortable lying there, so hot and tired with the exertion of dressing under the bed-clothes while lying down, so that Patty Smith should have no suspicion of what was going on and because we thought her awake; when, just as we had finished, she must begin to snore in the most vulgar, horrible way imaginable.

"That nasty cat is just under our window," I whispered to Clara. "He'll never come if there's this noise."

"I'll serve it out," whispered Clara; "only be quiet."

"What are you going to do?" I said, but she would not answer; and I heard her get out of bed and go to the washstand, and pour ever so much water into the basin.

"Oh, pray don't make any noise, dear. What are you going to do with that water?"

"Wait a bit, and you'll see," she whispered, t.i.ttering; and then she went and gently opened the window, when the noise of the nasty cat came up worse than ever.

"You had better not throw out that water, dear," I whispered; but she only giggled, and then I heard the water go down splash on to the gravel walk, and directly after--

"Oh!" exclaimed Clara. As she spoke up came the sounds of the falling basin, as it struck upon the gravel walk, and was s.h.i.+vered to atoms.

Then came the sound of a hurried step upon the path, the rush of a heavy body through the shrubbery, all as plain as could be in the still night, and I knew that Clara had very nearly thrown the basin on poor Achille's head, and it might have killed him. When as if that was not enough to frighten him away, there were two windows thrown open on the first floor, and at one was Miss Furness, ringing a bell and Miss Sloman screaming, and at the other my Lady Blunt, springing a watchman's rattle, and making the most horrible din imaginable.

"Well, I really did not mean to do it, dear," said Clara, as coolly as could be; "you see, the basin was soapy, and slipped."

"What did you do it at all for, when you were asked not?" I gasped angrily; for it was really enough to drive any one out of her senses to be disappointed like this, time after time. All I hoped was, that poor Achille had escaped safely, and did not know from which window the missile came; for, only fancy, he might have thought that I had thrown it, and never forgiven me.

You never could have imagined such a disturbance to have proceeded from so small a cause. There were doors opening and shutting, girls screaming, bells ringing; and there we all were, at last, trembling and shaking upon the staircase and landings--all but Patty Smith, who would not get out of bed.

"Dere's de police!" exclaimed the Fraulein, all at once; and directly after we could hear Mrs Blunt and Miss Furness talking to some one out of their windows; while now there was a profound silence fallen upon the s.h.i.+vering group, and I shuddered as I recognised the deep-toned voice out of doors, and knew it to be that of one familiar with the interior of the grounds.

"Search the garden thoroughly, policeman," cried Mrs Blunt, from one window.

"Who's there?" squealed Miss Furness, loudly.

"Why, it's me, mum," said the policeman.

"Oh, yes--I know, my good man," said Miss Furness; "but I mean who was out there?"

"I'm going to look, aint I?" growled the man. "But there aint n.o.body out here now, even if there was at all. I aint seen anybody in the road."

I did feel so glad to hear what he said, for I was all in a s.h.i.+ver lest my poor boy should be caught.

"He's gone, mum," said the low fellow, after he had been away about five minutes. "Aint not a soul 'cept me in the garding. What had he been up to, mum?"

"Oh, it was a dreadful noise out there," cried Mrs Blunt, from behind the curtains. "It sounded like some one smas.h.i.+ng in the dining-room windows. Pray look, policeman."

All this conversation sounded quite plain to us on the stairs, for Mrs Blunt's door and window were both open; and then I could hear the policeman's heavy step on the gravel, crunching and crackling as he trod on and began kicking about the pieces of Clara's broken basin.

"Why, here's some one been shying the chayney outer window," said the policeman. "Here's most half a wash-hand basin and a whole stodge of bits squandered all over the gravel walk. That's what you heerd, mum.

The window is right enough."

"It did sound like that," squeaked Miss Furness.

"And that's what it was, mum, if there was none of this here out afore."

"Oh, no, my good man," cries Mrs Blunt, getting less fearful and more dignified every moment--"the paths were quite clear this evening."

"Then it's some of your young ladies been a havin' a lark," said the low fellow.

I turned round to whisper to Clara, but she was gone. Directly after, though, she slipped back to my side, and I whispered to her, laying my hand upon her arm--

"Had you not better tell? Say that it was an accident."

"Hold your tongue," she whispered, pinching me.

Then we shrank into the background, for I was afraid some one would notice how bulky our dressing-gowns looked; for, of course, we had not had time to undress again.

We heard the policeman promise to keep an eye on the place, and to call in the morning. Then we heard his footsteps on the gravel, and the pieces of china cracking, windows shut down, and orders for us to go back to our rooms, as there was nothing to fear; when, as we were ascending the stairs, Mrs Blunt's nightcapped head was thrust out of the door, and we heard her exclaim--

"I'll investigate this disgraceful trick in the morning, young ladies."

I trembled for poor Clara--almost as much as I did for Achille; for it seemed as though the poor girl was always to act as scapegoat; though, certainly, she really deserved to be in disgrace this time, for I begged her most earnestly not to throw out the water.

I would have given Clara half my basin with pleasure, if I could; but then, that would have been of no service. Judge, then, of my surprise when, after looking at Patty, fast asleep as if nothing had been the matter, I turned to Clara's washstand, there was her basin, safe and sound, and the jug was standing in it!