A Fourth Form Friendship (14 page)

"We must fix a string tight across the room," said Ursula. "We can fasten it to a picture clip on either side, and then the lanterns will hang all in a line, just above the divan."

"They'll look beautiful, because they'll shine exactly on Fatima's head," added Aldred.

"Oh, but we mustn't light them! Miss Drummond particularly said so; she's so terribly afraid of fire. We're only allowed to use them for ornaments."

"How stupid! What's the good of them, if they mayn't be lighted?" demanded Aldred impatiently. "They'd be perfectly safe!"

"I dare say they would; but Miss Drummond is nervous, and she won't let us, so that's an end of it!"

"Miss Drummond is most absurdly tiresome and fussy!" thought Aldred, when the string had been arranged, and the row of beautiful lanterns was swinging overhead. "There couldn't possibly be any danger when they're hanging so high; we wouldn't stick our heads into them!"

She was alone in the room, for the other girls had gone into the pantry to dress. She could hear from their suppressed giggles that they found the robing nearly the most amusing part of the performance. Her own costume would not take long to put on, so she was not at all in a hurry, and had lingered behind to add a few finishing touches to the scenery.

"Every one of them has a candle," she continued to herself. "I suppose Phoebe's sister made them quite ready; she evidently expected them to be lighted. It would be such a gorgeous illumination! I declare I'll try it, to see how it looks."

With the aid of a chair, she managed to set all the candles burning, and stood back against the curtain to admire the effect.

"It's perfectly lovely," she exclaimed; "like a real fairy tale palace! I never saw anything prettier--not even at the pantomime. Oh, I must leave them as they are! Perhaps Miss Drummond does not really mind, only she feels bound to give tiresome orders. What an astonishment it will be for the others, when they come back! Now I must fly!"

It was within twenty minutes of the opening of the entertainment, therefore high time for Aldred to dress. She scrambled into her long dressing-gown, and put on her turban without much enthusiasm; her part was so small that she knew she would attract little attention, and probably not receive even a clap. Mabel was already arrayed in the pretty, gauzy robes that her mother had sent, and made a charming Sister Anne, though her blue eyes, carnation cheeks, and red-gold hair were hardly of Eastern appearance.

"You might, of course, be a Circassian; they're often very fair," said Aldred. "You look far nicer than Fatima. If you're ready, let us go and take a last peep at the stage."

Aldred expected to give her friend a great surprise when she opened the door, but she was not prepared for the scene that greeted them as they entered the room. The lanterns, the beautiful Chinese lanterns, instead of hanging proudly on their string, and shedding a brilliant lustre over the scene, were lying here and there upon the floor and on the divan. By the greatest good fortune none had yet caught fire, but the danger was great, and at any moment the thin paper might be set in a blaze.

Aldred grasped the situation instantly. The flames, rising up from below, had burnt through the string, and brought the whole row crashing down. She rushed forward and began blowing out the candles as fast as she could; with Mabel's help it was only the work of a minute, and no damage was done, but it was a miracle that the flimsy scarves and the wreaths of paper flowers had escaped.

"Who can have lighted them?" exclaimed Mabel, her cheeks quite pale at the unexpected disaster. "We left all perfectly safe."

Aldred did not reply; she was busy adjusting her turban, which had tumbled off in her hurry.

"I wonder if it could be Dora?" continued Mabel. "She's such a scatter-brain, she always does silly things!"

"It does not matter so much who's done it, as how we're going to set these lanterns up again in time," replied Aldred. "Where's the ball of string? Here! you hold one end, and we'll thread it through; I'll soon climb up and fasten it. I'll pull the burnt piece off first. Raise it up a little higher, please. That's right! Now, just a thought tighter, and it will do."

"How splendid you are!" sighed Mabel admiringly. "You have such presence of mind, blowing out the candles so quickly, and getting everything right in less than five minutes; nobody could see that we've had an accident. It looks just the same. I should like to know who----"

"The audience is coming in!" interrupted Aldred. "We must scurry back and see if the others are ready. There isn't a second to be lost. Miss Drummond can't bear to be kept waiting, and we promised to begin punctually at half-past."

The performance was an enormous success; of that there was not the slightest shadow of doubt. Thanks to Aldred's diligent drilling, the actresses "played up", and rendered their parts with a dramatic fervour that quite astonished the audience. Bluebeard threatened in a voice of growling thunder, and frowned fiercely in his character of tyrant. Fatima shrieked in such frantic agony when she opened the cupboard door that she made everybody start, and her swoon afterwards was particularly easy and natural; she scrubbed the incriminating stain on the key with desperate zeal, and pleaded for her life with heart-breaking sobs and an air of tragic appeal. Sister Anne looked out of the window with pitiful anxiety, and wrung her slim, white hands in melodramatic despair; while the Brothers dashed in with "neck-or-nothing" haste and slew the despot, who died with such groans and convulsive twitchings as to fully satisfy the cause of justice, and point an appropriate moral.

There was a storm of clapping at the end, as the principal "stars" formed in line to make their bows. Aldred, in her minor character, was standing at the back; but much to her amazement there was a sudden call for "Stage Manager", and Mabel dragged her forward to present her to the audience.

"Hurrah! Bravo! Well done!" cried both girls and teachers, who, knowing the previous achievements of the Fourth Form, recognized the amount of cleverness needed to have so enormously raised the standard of acting, and appreciated Aldred's exertions.

"You must have a better part yourself, next time, my dear," said Miss Drummond, as she offered her congratulations. "You can teach others so well that we should like to see you taking a leading character. Everything was beautifully managed; there were no delays, and no hesitations. The grouping and attitudes were most artistically arranged, and the dresses and scenery lovely. You have made an excellent start, and the other Forms will have to look to their laurels if they wish to beat the Fourth."

It was very gratifying to Aldred to feel that her trouble had really been rewarded with success. The other girls, who had grumbled at her coaching and criticism during the rehearsals, were pleased now that they found themselves able to perform in such a superior manner, and generous enough to acknowledge how much they owed her. For once she felt she had risen to the height of popularity, and her ambition was satisfied. It was a pleasant ending to her first term, and a favourable omen for those to follow.

There was only one little jarring note in all her happiness, and that was the accident to the lanterns. In the excitement of the play she had completely forgotten all about it, but Mabel mentioned the matter when they had gone to bed that night.

"It's so very strange who could have lighted them!" she said. "We all knew Miss Drummond had forbidden it."

"Whoever did will get into trouble, then, if any fuss is made," replied Aldred.

"Yes, if it were mentioned at head-quarters, of course; but I didn't think of telling Miss Drummond."

"What were you going to do?"

"Only ask the other girls. It surely must have been Dora!"

"If we begin to talk about it, perhaps someone may mention it outside the Form, and it would get to Miss Drummond's ears. She would be very angry."

"She certainly would, because it really was dangerous. If the string had broken through while any of us were underneath, we might have been burnt to death in our light, flimsy clothes."

"It's all ended safely now, though. Isn't it rather mean to try to ferret it out? You don't want to get someone into a scrape."

"I don't indeed!" agreed Mabel. "Perhaps, as you say, it's as well to let things be. Ursula and Dora are always quarrelling, and if Ursula turned spiteful and gave a hint to Miss Bardsley, she'd feel bound to make enquiries."

"And we should probably never be allowed to use Chinese lanterns again."

"Oh! That would be dreadful! Phoebe says her sister told her we could keep these at school, and I thought we might act 'Catskin' at Easter, and carry them in procession."

"Then, mum's the word!"

"Yes, you're right. You always do give good advice! Besides, it never struck me I might get anyone into trouble. You're such a thoroughly considerate darling, you make me quite ashamed of myself. What a glorious time we've had! I've enjoyed myself so much. Good night!"

Mabel turned over on her pillows, snuggled a little more cosily under the eider-down, and promptly went to sleep; but Aldred lay awake for a long time, thinking, and in spite of her brilliant triumph of the evening the tenor of her thoughts was far from satisfactory and agreeable.

A Frosty January

School broke up on December 18th, and the little community at Birkwood was soon scattered far and wide. Aldred thought that this Christmas was the most enjoyable one she had ever spent; she felt as if she had returned to Dingfield on an entirely different footing, and that now she had quite a new position at home. Her father, who had taken slight notice of her before, had missed her while she was away, and began suddenly to appreciate how much his daughter was to him, and to give her a larger share of his attention than had hitherto fallen to her lot. Aunt Bertha, whose former attitude had been one of continual criticism, stopped nagging and fault-finding, and treated her niece almost like a visitor, allowing many small indulgences which she had never been accustomed to sanction, and relaxing some of her stricter rules. It was plain that she thought Aldred much improved, and, as some of the chief causes of friction had now vanished, she was ready to forget old grievances, declare a truce, and try to make the holidays pass as smoothly as possible. She no longer ordered Aldred about as if she were a child in the nursery, and would even consult her wishes, or allow her to express an opinion of her own, realizing that the girl was rapidly growing up, and could not be expected to remain for ever in the background. This altered state of affairs was very much to Aldred's mind. She had always felt that her aunt had not treated her fairly, and it was partly the continual sense of injustice that had caused her rebellious attitude.

"I'll do anything for Aunt Bertha now she asks me nicely," she thought to herself. "It was when she used to speak so absolutely autocratically that she made me feel so angry. I'll fetch her what she likes, if she'll say 'Please', and 'Thank you'; but I can't bear to be sent trotting as if I were a baby of three."

If only Aunt Bertha had known this, and had taken poor Aldred by the "right handle" sooner, a very great deal of trouble could have been saved; but she was one of those complacently tactless people who try to impress the stamp of their own dominant personalities upon everyone alike, and who rule with an utter absence of sympathy. She had not understood Aldred's character, and had concluded, therefore, that there was nothing to understand. She was agreeably surprised now to discover the various pleasant qualities that had begun to develop under Miss Drummond's genial influence, and admitted, almost in spite of herself, that her troublesome niece was turning into quite a nice companion, and that her society could actually be an enjoyment as well as a care.

Keith also appeared to consider his sister a far more reasonable and sensible person since her return from the Grange. He was never very expansive, but he gave her more of his confidence than before, talked to her of his own school life, and seemed ready to spend the greater part of his time with her. It had always been Aldred's ambition to have Keith as her special property, but he had not been altogether willing to devote himself to her, and had often hurt her by his coolness. Now that they were both in a sense visitors at home, Aunt Bertha arranged plans that would include the pair, sending them together to visit picture galleries and museums, and other interesting places, for Keith was old enough to escort his sister, and could be trusted to take good care of her. In this way, with the addition of various parties and festivities, the four weeks passed very quickly, and the fifteenth of January brought Aldred's school trunk once more out of the box-room, and saw her started on her journey to Birkwood.

Though the holidays had been so pleasant, she was glad to return to school; she liked the life at the Grange, and the thought of seeing Mabel again was absolute rapture. The two had corresponded freely, but writing was not so good as talking, and she was longing for a delightful private chat, to hear all her friend's news and tell all her own. Mabel seemed equally delighted at their re-union.

"You darling! How I've missed you!" she exclaimed. "There are simply a hundred things I want to tell you. If there were not that tiresome silence rule, I should stop awake till twelve to-night. Leave your unpacking, and come and sit down on my bed for a minute or two; I'll help you to get straight afterwards."

"And Miss Bardsley won't be up just yet," said Aldred, accepting the invitation, regardless of the fact that the greater part of her wardrobe was still in her box.

"I told Mother all about you," continued Mabel. "You can't think how much she wants to see you. She's coming to town at the end of the month, and says she'll run down to Birkwood for an afternoon. I know she'll like you, and you can't help liking her--everybody adores Mother! I wish we were sisters, and that you lived at Grassingford, and that she was your mother too--how lovely that would be! But then, your own people at home would not spare you. It must be so dreadfully hard for them to part with you, even to go to school. When I know how I miss you for four weeks, I can sympathize with them losing you for thirteen. I don't know how they manage without you!"