order of holiday times, Penelope didnot see any one. She was glad that Mademoiselle d'Etienne was not insight. She thought she could endure her holiday now that she hadsomething to look forward to, if only Mademoiselle were not with her.But she could not stand the housemaids: they were so full of gossip andnoise. Their accustomed reverence for the young ladies was not extendedto the lonely girl who always spent vacation at Hazlitt Chase.
Penelope put on her hat, seized the first book she could find, and wentout into the open air. The grounds still bore traces of yesterday'srevels. There was the wood--dark, cool, and beautiful--which had beenused for that scene in which she took so distinguished a part.Penelope's first desire was to get within the shade of the wood; butthen she remembered how many things had happened there; how it was therethat she had made terms with the girls with regard to the conditions onwhich she would act Helen of Troy. It was there, too, that HonoraBeverley had found her when the play was over--when she was feeling sowrought up, so desolate, and, somehow, so ashamed of herself. She didnot want to go into the wood. She walked, therefore, down one of thesunny garden paths, and at last came to a grassy sward with a hugeelm-tree in the middle. There was shade under the elm. She eat down onthe grass and opened her book. But she was not inclined to read.Penelope was never a reader. She had no special nor strong tastes. Shecould have been made a very nice, all-round sort of girl; her braincould have been well developed, but she would never be a genius or aspecialist of any sort. Nevertheless, she had one thing which some ofthose girls who despised her did not possess; that was, a real,vibrating, suffering, longing, and passionate soul. She longedintensely for love, and she would rather be good than bad--that wasabout all.
She sat with her book open and her eyes fixed on the flickering sunlightand shade of the lawn just in front of her. After all she, Penelope,would have a good time--just like the other girls. She would come backto school able, like the other girls, to talk of her holidays, todescribe where she went and what companions she found and what friendsshe made; to talk as the others talked of this delightful day and thatdelightful day. Oh, yes--she would have a good time! She pressed herhand to her eyes and her eyelids smarted with tears. It had been a verylong time since Penelope had cried. Now, notwithstanding her sudden andunlooked-for bliss, there was a pain within her breast. She wasterribly--most terribly disappointed in Brenda. She had not seen Brendafor a long time, and she had always rather worshipped her sister. Whena little child, she had thoroughly revelled in Brenda's beauty. Whenthe time came that she and Brenda must part, little Penelope had sobbedhard in her elder sister's arms--had implored and implored her not toleave her, and afterwards, when the separation had taken place, had beensullen and truly miserable for a long time.
Then she had been admitted to Mrs Hazlitt's school on those specialconditions which came to a few girls and had been arranged by thosegovernors who put a certain number on the foundation terms of theschool. The foundation girls were never known to be such by any oftheir companions. They were treated exactly like the others. In fact,if anything, they had a few more indulgences. Not for worlds would MrsHazlitt have given these children of poverty so cruel a time as to maketheir estate known to their companions.
But, it so happened that Penelope was obliged always to spend herholidays at the school. That was the only difference made between herand the others. She had not seen Brenda for years. But Brenda hadwritten to her little sister and had made all use possible of thatsister's affection. She had worked up her feelings with regard to herown dreadful poverty and, in short, had got Penelope to blackmail fourgirls of the school for her sake.
"It was a dreadful thing to do," thought Penelope to herself, as she satnow under the shade of the elm-tree. "I don't think I'd have done it ifI'd known. I wonder if she really wanted the money so very badly.There's some one who loves her, and she must look nice for his sake.But all the same--I wish I hadn't done it, and I wish she were not goingto Marshlands-on-the-Sea. For she is just the sort to make itunpleasant for me, and to expect the Beverleys to ask her to BeverleyCastle; and oh--I am disappointed in her!"
Again Penelope cried, not hard or much, for this was not her nature, butsufficiently to relieve some of the load at her heart. Then, all of asudden, she started to her feet. Mademoiselle d'Etienne was coming downthe central lawn to meet her. Mademoiselle was in many respects anexcellent French governess, but had the usual faults of the proverbialFrenchwoman. She was both ugly and vain. She could not in the leastread character, but she had the knack of discovering which was the girlwhose acquaintance was most worth cultivating.
Mrs Hazlitt had made a mistake in introducing this woman into theschool. She had not interviewed her in advance, and was altogetherdisappointed when she arrived. It was her intention to get anotherFrench governess to take her place at the beginning of next term.Mademoiselle had, in fact, received notice to this effect and wasexceedingly annoyed. She was in that state when she must vent herspleen on some one, and, as Penelope was the only girl now at HazlittChase, she went up to her crossly.
"What are you doing here, _mon enfant_?" she cried. "You leave the poorFrench mademoiselle all alone--it is sad--it is strange--it is wrong.Come this minute into the house. I have my woes to relate, and I wanteven a _petite_ like you to listen. Come at once, and sit no longerunder this shade, but make of yourself a use."
Penelope rose, looking more grim and forbidding than usual. Shefollowed Mademoiselle up the garden, past the wood, and into the house.
"Behold the desolation!" cried Mademoiselle, when they got indoors. Shespread out her two fat, short arms and looked around her. "Not a_petite_ in sight--not a sound--the whole mansion empty, and Madamegone--gone with venom! She have left me my dismissal; she say, `Youteach no more _les enfants_ in this school.' She gave no reason, butsay, `I find another and you teach no more!' Who was that spiteful andmost _mechant enfant_ who reveals secrets of poor Mademoiselle toMadame?"
"I don't know," said Penelope. "I hadn't an idea you were going. Iknow nothing about it," she continued. "Aren't we going to have anylunch? I am so hungry."
"And so am I," cried Mademoiselle, who was exceedingly greedy. "Istarve--I ache from within. _Sonnez, mon enfant_--I entreat; let ushave our _dejeuner_--my vitals can stand the strain no longer."
Penelope rang the bell, and presently a towsled-looking housemaidappeared, to whom Mademoiselle spoke in a volley of bad English andexcellent French.
"Get us something to eat," said Penelope, "that is what we want. Isn'tPatience here to wait on us as usual?"
Patience was one of the immaculate parlour maids.
"No," said the girl; "Patience has gone on her holiday."
She withdrew, however, quickly after making this remark, forMademoiselle's eyes flashed fire.
"I suffer not these tortures," she cried, "and the insolence of English_domestiques_! I return to my own adorable land and partake of the_ragouts_ so delicate and the _bouillon_ so fragrant and the _omelettes_so adorable. I turn my back on your cold England. It loves not thestranger--and the stranger loves it not!"
A meal was hastily prepared in another room, and Penelope and thegoverness went there together.
"What I dread," said Mademoiselle, "what I consider so _triste_ andexecrable--is that I should remain here in this so gloomy climate, far,far from my beloved land, with you--the most _ennuyeuse_ of all mypupils during the time of holiday. I call it shameful! I rebel!"
"Then why do you stay?" said Penelope.
Again Mademoiselle extended her fat hands and arms.
"Would I lose that little character which is to me the breath ofexistence?" she enquired. "Were Madame to know that I had left you, my_triste_ pupil, all alone during these long days and weeks, would shegive me a paper with those essential qualifications written on it whichsecure for me employment elsewhere?"
"I am going away myself next week," said Penelope, bluntly.
"Next week!" cried Mademoiselle, muc
h startled and delighted at thisnews. "But is that indeed so? for Madame say nothing of it. She say tome this morning: `You take excellent care of my pupil, Penelope Carlton,and give her of the food sufficient, and of the mental food also, thatshe will digest.'"
"I won't digest any of it," said Penelope, bluntly.
"That was my thought, but I dared not express it. I knew well thedulness of your intellect, and although last night you did soar into adifferent world--_ma foi_, you did take me by surprise!--you areyourself a very _triste_ little girl--an _enfant_ indistinguishable,with neither the gifts of beauty nor of genius."
"Well--I am going--it is arranged. Mrs Hazlitt will doubtless bewritten to."
"And where do you go, _pauvre petite_?" asked the governess.
"I am going to stay with Honora Beverley, at Castle Beverley," repliedPenelope, with even a touch of arrogance in her small voice.
Mademoiselle opened her eyes wide.
"With her!--my pupil _magnifique_, and so beautiful! She has the airdistinguished and the manner noble. She belongs to the rich and to thegreat. _She_ takes _you_ up--but _pourquoi_?"
"Kindness--I suppose," said Penelope. "I am lonely, and they have a bighouse; I am going there."
"It is wonderful," said Mademoiselle, "you of all people. Honora is onewith thoughts the most lofty, and she signifies a preference for you!It is strange--it gives me _mal a la tete_ even to think of it!"
"Why should it?" asked Penelope.
"Do I not know some of your ways, _mon enfant_--and that little, littletransaction in the wood?"
"What in the world do you mean?" said Penelope, turning ghastly white.
"Ah! I mean no wrong. I have eaten enough of your odious Englishcookery; let us rise from table. I am glad to feel that you are goingto that friend so unsuitable--to that lady so _superieure_. Would sheask you if she knew what I know?--"
"I can't tell, I am sure, what you do know," said Penelope; "but what Ifeel at present is that I want rest--you're not obliged to follow meabout all the afternoon--may I stay by myself until supper time?"
"Ungrateful!" cried Mademoiselle. "But I shall go--I need you not. Ihave myself to attend to, and my affairs so sombre to settle. I willmeet you again at the hour of supper, when I have put matters in trainfor myself."
Penelope left her. How much did Mademoiselle know? She disliked herheartily, and did not want to trouble her head too much over thecircumstance. She felt certain that the four girls who had given herthe money would not confide their secrets to any one, far less toMademoiselle, whom they distrusted. Nevertheless, the governess wasscarcely likely to speak as she had done without reason. She wasevidently jealous of Penelope's invitation to Beverley Castle, and wasvery angry at being dismissed from Hazlitt Chase.
"She can't by any possibility know the truth," thought the girl, "and Iwon't fret about it. I will just humour her as best I can until nextweek arrives, and then say good-bye to her for ever. I am heartily gladshe is leaving the school; I never liked her so little as I do now."
Now, Mademoiselle D'Etienne and Brenda Carlton would have made theirfortunes by ways that deceived. There was a great deal of affinity intheir insincere natures. With Mademoiselle, it was truly bred in thebone; but she was not altogether ill-natured, and, after consideringmatters for a short time, decided that, unless special circumstancesturned up, she would not disturb Penelope's chance of having a good timeat Castle Beverley. Her jealousy of the girl died down and she thoughtof herself and her own circumstances. Then it occurred to her that shewould perhaps make some use of her pupil's unexpected absence fromHazlitt Chase. If Penelope went to Castle Beverley for several weeks ofthe holidays, it would surely not be necessary for Mademoiselle to stayin that mansion so _triste_, so desolate. Mrs Hazlitt was the soul ofkindness. Mademoiselle was in her employ, and earning a considerablesalary until the middle of September. It might be possible that MrsHazlitt could find some amusement for the poor lonely girl who wasbanished from her native land. Where could she go? what could she do torelieve the heavy air of England, to take the oppression from her heart?It would be more than delightful if she, too, could have an invitationto Castle Beverley, and, just for a minute, it entered her head that shemight manage this by means of that little secret which she held overPenelope.
But, after all, the secret was not so intensely valuable. What she knewwas simply this. She had observed Cara Burt opening a letter on acertain morning and taking an unexpected five-pound note out of it.Mademoiselle was avaricious. The sight of the money had awakeneddesires within her. What could a girl like Cara want with anything soprecious as a five-pound note in term time? She resolved to questionher.
"How good your people are to you!" she said.
Cara had asked the governess what she meant, and the governess hadprettily replied in her broken English that she had seen the "note sovaluable" in Cara's hand when she opened the letter.
"Oh, that is for a purpose--an important one," answered Cara. Then shebit her lips, for she was sorry she had said so much. But other girlshad received their money on the very same day and Mademoiselle, alertand auspicious, had crept to the _rendezvous_ where they all met. PoorPenelope! When Penelope received the five-pound Bank of England notes,Mademoiselle's dark, wicked face was peering from behind the shade of amagnificent oak tree. The girls themselves did not perceive her. Shewas much elated with her discovery and resolved to enfold it, as shesaid, within her breast for future use.
Now, it occurred to her that she might simply relate to Penelope whatshe had done, or rather tell her pupil enough to show her that she wasin the secret. That very evening, when the two had finished theirsupper she began her confidence. She told the girl that she had notwished to injure her, but at the same time that she knew for a fact thatshe had received four five-pound notes from four different girls of theschool.
"To me it is extraordinary," she said, "why they should give to you theprecious money, but that they have done so is beyond doubt. I go by theevidence of these eyes at once piercing and true! Do you deny it, _monenfant_? Do you dare to be so _mechante_?"
"I admit nothing and deny nothing," said Penelope, as calmly as shecould speak.
Mademoiselle laughed. After a long pause, she said:
"I am a nature the most generous, and I would not hurt a hair of thehead of my pupil. You will go and enjoy the festival and the time sogay and the friends so kind at Castle Beverley, and that _enfant_ so_magnifique_, Honora Beverley, will be your companion. I could preventit, for she is, with all her nobleness, fanatical in her views, and ofprinciples the most severe."
"I will never ask you to keep anything back," said Penelope. "You canwrite to Honora if you wish: I don't know how you can say anything aboutme without maligning yourself."
"Ah--mademoiselle I do you think I could so injure you?" said thegoverness. "That would indeed be far from my thoughts. But if I havethe consideration the very deepest for you, will you not assist me tohave a less _triste_ time than in this lonely house with even you away?"
"What can I do?" asked Penelope, in surprise. "I am a rather friendlessgirl, how can I possibly assist you to have a gay time? I never yet hada gay time myself, this is the first occasion."
"And it fills you with so great delight?"
"I am very glad," said Penelope.
"I write this evening," said Mademoiselle, "to Madame, and I mention toher the fact that my one pupil departs on the quest of pleasure, and Iask her to liberate me from my _solitaire_ position here and to perhapsdo me a little kindness by assisting me to spend the holiday by the gay,bright, and charming sea. A little word thrown in from you, too,mademoiselle, might do much to influence Madame to think of the poorgoverness. Will you not write that word?"
Penelope hesitated for a minute. Then she said, bluntly:
"I will mention the fact that you will be quite alone, and I will writemyself to Mrs Hazlitt to-night."
As she spoke, she got up, and left
the room. Penelope hated herself forhaving to write the letter. She longed more than ever for the momentwhen she would be free to go to Castle Beverley. She was not reallyafraid of Mademoiselle. She would rather all the girls in the schoolknew what she had done than be, in any respect, in Mademoiselle's power.In fact, such a strange revulsion of feeling had come over her, thatshe would have told the truth but for Brenda. But, although she wasdeeply disappointed in Brenda, it was the last wish in her heart to doanything to injure or to provoke her.
Accordingly, she wrote a careful and really nice letter to herheadmistress, telling her what Honora had said, and begging of her toallow her to accept the invitation, when it arrived. She also said thatMademoiselle d'Etienne would be quite alone, and seemed put out at thefact of her going. At the same time, she begged that the thought ofMademoiselle would not prevent Mrs Hazlitt's allowing her to accept theinvitation.
Penelope's letter was duly put into the post, accompanied by one of muchpersuasiveness from the French governess. The result of these twoletters was, that as soon as the post could bring replies, replies came.Mrs Hazlitt said that she would be delighted to allow Penelope to goto Castle Beverley, and that as she knew the house would be full of gayyoung people, she enclosed her a five-pound note out of a fund which shespecially possessed for the purpose, to allow the girl to get a few nicethings.
"Mademoiselle will