Chapter 3 A Bunch of Cherries by L. T. Meade
THE TELEGRAM
Dolly came up in her brisk way. She was holding something concealed in her little pinafore. She looked very mysterious. She had a round cherub face and two great big blue eyes, and short hair, which she wore in a curly mop all over her head. Dolly was the youngest girl in the school and a great pet with everyone. When Bertha saw her now she sprang to her feet and went forward in her somewhat clumsy way.
"Come, little Dolly," she said; "what's the mystery?"
"It's not for you, Bertha," said Dolly, "and don't you interrupt. It's for—it's for Kitty Sharston."
"For me?" cried Kitty. "Oh, what a love you are, Dolly; come and sit on my lap. Is it a box of bon-bons or is it a letter?"
"Guess again," said Dolly, clapping her hand to her little mouth, and looking intensely mysterious. Her blue eyes rolled roguishly round until they fixed themselves on Edith King's face, then she looked again at Kitty as solemn as possible.
"You guess again," she said; "I'll give you five guesses. Now, then, begin right away."
"It's the book that Annie Wallace said she would lend me—that's it, now, isn't it, Dolly? See, I'll feel in your pinafore."
"No, it's not—wrong again," said Dolly; "that's three guesses—two more."
Kitty made another guess—wrong again. Finally Dolly was induced to unfold her pinafore, and inside lay an unopened telegram.
Now, in those days telegrams were not quite as common as they are now. In the first place, they cost a shilling instead of sixpence, which made a vast difference in their number. Kitty's face turned slightly pale, she gripped the telegram, shook little Dolly off her lap, stood up, and, turning her back to the girls, proceeded to open it. Her slim, long fingers shook a little as she did so. She soon had the envelope torn asunder and had taken out the pink sheet within. She unfolded it and read the words. As she did so her face turned very white. "Is the messenger waiting for an answer?" she said, turning to Dolly.
"Yes," replied Dolly; "he is waiting up at the Court."
"Then I must run away at once and answer this," said Kitty. "Oh, I wonder if I have got money enough!"
"I'll lend you a shilling if you like," said Edith King.
"Thanks, awfully," replied Kitty. "I'll pay you back when I get my pocket-money on Saturday."
There was a queer, troubled, dazed sort of look in her eyes. Edith handed her the shilling and she disappeared under the cherry trees.
Dolly proceeded to skim after her.
"No, do stay, Dolly," cried Florence Aylmer; "stay and sit on my lap and I'll tell you a story."
Dolly looked undecided for a moment, but presently she elected to go with Kitty.
"There is something bothering her," she said; "I wonder what it can be. I'll run and see; I'll bring word afterwards."
She disappeared with little shouts under the trees. Nothing could ever make Dolly sad long. The other girls turned and looked at one another.
"What in the world can it be?" said Florence. "Poor Kitty! how very white she turned as she read it."
Meanwhile Kitty had reached the house; the messenger was waiting in the hall. Mrs. Clavering came out just as the girl appeared.
"Well, my dear Kitty," she said, "I hope it is not very bad news?"
"I will tell you presently; I must answer it now," said Kitty.
"You can go into the study, dear, and write your telegram there."
Kitty went in; she spent a little time, about ten minutes or so, filling in the form; then she folded it up, gave it to the boy with a shilling, and went and stood in the hall.
"What is the matter, Kitty?" said her governess, coming out and looking her in the face.
"My telegram was from father. He—he is going to India," said Kitty, "that is all. I won't be with him in the holidays—that's all."
She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice; her eyes, brave, bright, and fearless, were fixed on Mrs. Clavering's face.
"Come in here and let us talk, dear," said Mrs. Clavering.
"I can't," said Kitty; "it is too bad."
"What is too bad, dear?"
"The pain here." She pressed her hand against her heart.
"Poor child! you love him very much."
"Very much," answered Kitty, "and the pain is too bad, and—and I can't talk now. I'll just go back to the other girls in the cherry orchard."
"But, Kitty, can you bear to be with them just now?"
"I can't be alone," said Kitty, with a little piteous smile. She ran out again into the summer sunshine. Mrs. Clavering stood and watched her.
"Poor little girl," she said to herself, "and she does not know the worst, nor half the worst, for I had a long letter from Major Sharston this morning, and he told me that not only was he obliged to go to India, but that he had lost so large a sum of money that he could not afford to keep Kitty here after this term. She is to go to Scotland to live with an old cousin; she must give up all chance of being properly educated. Poor little Kitty! I wonder if he mentioned that in the telegram, and she is so proud, too, and has so much character; it is a sad, sad pity."
Meanwhile Kitty once more returned through the orchard. She began to sing a gay song to herself. She had a very sweet voice, and was carolling wild notes now high up in the air—"Begone, dull care; you and I shall never agree."
The girls sitting under the finest of the cherry trees heard her as she sang.
"There can't be much wrong with her," said Mary Bateman, with a sigh of relief. "Hullo, Kitty, no bad news, I hope?"
"There is bad news, but I can't talk of it now," said Kitty. "Come, what shall we do? We need not stay under the trees any longer surely, need we? Let's have a right good game—blind man's buff, or shall we play hare and hounds."
"Oh, it's much too hot for hare and hounds," said Edith King.
"Well, let's do something," said Kitty; "we all ought to be very happy on a half-holiday, and I don't mean to be miserable. Now, then, start something. I'll go and hide. Now, who will begin?"
Kitty laughed merrily; she glanced from one to the other of the girls, saw that their eyes were shining with a queer mixture of curiosity and sympathy, and felt that she would do anything in the world rather than gratify them.
"After all," she said to herself, as she ran wildly across the cheery orchard, "poor old Tommy and I will have our holidays together, for at the very best, even if father has not lost that money, I will have to stay here during the holidays. Oh, father! oh, father! how am I to live without you? Oh, father, dear, this is too cruel! I know, I am certain you have lost the money, or you would not be going to India away from your own, own Kitty."
She crushed down a sob, reached a little summer-house, into which she turned, pulled down some tarpaulin to cover her, and, crouching in the corner, lay still, her heart beating wildly.
"Begone, dull care," she whispered stoutly under her breath; and then she added, with a sob in her voice, "whatever happens, I won't give in."
That evening was a time of great excitement in the school, for the programme for the Cherry Feast was to be publicly announced, and the girls felt that there was further news in the air.
Immediately after early tea, between five and six o'clock, Mrs. Clavering called Kitty into the oak parlor.
"My dear," she said, "I want to have a talk with you."
Some of the wild light had gone out of Kitty's eyes by this time, and the flush had left her cheeks, leaving them somewhat pale.
"Yes, Mrs. Clavering," she said; "what is it?"
"I want you, my dear little girl, not to keep all your troubles to yourself."
"But what am I to do?" said Kitty, standing first on one leg and then on the other.
"Hold yourself upright in the first place, dear. After all, the laws of deportment ought to be attended to, whatever one's trouble."
Kitty gave an impatient sigh.
"There you are," she exclaimed, "that's what makes you so very queer; that's what makes it almost impossible for me to bear the restraint of school. When—when your heart is almost breaking, what does it matter how you stand?"
"My dear child, you will find in the events of life that it greatly matters to learn self-control."
"I have self-control," said Kitty, with a quiver in her lips.
"Well, dear, I hope you will prove it, for I fear, I greatly fear, that you are about to have a bad time."
"Oh, I am having a bad time," said Kitty; "don't you suppose that I am not suffering. I am suffering horribly, but I won't let anybody know—that is, if I can help it. I am not going to damp the pleasure of the others; you know that father is going, and I am his only child. He is coming just once to say good-bye to me; yes, he promises me that even in the telegram. He will come in about a fortnight from now, just a week before the Cherry Feast. Oh, I am miserable, I am miserable!"
All of a sudden the poor child's composure gave way, she covered her face with her trembling hands, and burst into a great flood of weeping.
A look of relief crossed Mrs. Clavering's face.
"Now she will be better," she said to herself; "she will understand what I have to say to her better. Shall I say it to her now or shall I wait until the morning? It is very hard; perhaps she had better know all at once."
So Mrs. Clavering led the weeping girl to the nearest sofa, and presently she stole her arm round her waist, and coaxed her to lay her head on her shoulder, and by and by she kissed the tired, flushed little face.
Kitty, who had the most loving heart in the world, returned her embrace, and nestled close to her, and felt in spite of herself a little better than she had done before.
"I know it is very bad, dear," said Mrs. Clavering, "but we can talk about it now if you like."
"I don't know that there is anything to say," said Kitty; "he would not have gone but for——"
"But for what, my child!"
"But for that dreadful money. He was very anxious when he sent me here. Oh, perhaps, I ought not to say anything about it."
"I think you may, Kitty, for I know, dear. I had a long letter from your father this morning. He told me then news which I considered very sad. You know, my love, that this is an expensive school. All the girls who come here pay well; most of the girls who are here have rich fathers and mothers."
"Oh, I know that," interrupted Kitty; "and how I hate rich fathers and mothers! Why should only rich people have nice things?"
"Then you do like this school, don't you, my love?"
"As much as I could like any place away from father; but what did he say this morning, Mrs. Clavering?" Kitty started restlessly and faced her governess as she spoke.
"He said, dear, that he must go to India because he had lost a very large sum of money. He said he would send you a telegram as soon as he had made arrangements, as there was no good troubling you before. He thought it best you should know by telegram, as the sight of the telegram itself would slightly prepare you for the bad news. But, my dear little Kitty, in some ways there is worse to follow, for your father cannot afford to pay my fees, and you must leave Cherry Court School at the end of this term."
Kitty sat silent. This last news, very bad in itself, scarcely affected her at first. It seemed a mere nothing compared to the parting from her beloved father.
"Yes," she said at last, in a listless voice, "I must leave here."
"I will keep you with me, darling, until the end of the vacation." Kitty gave a perceptible shudder. "I am going to the seaside with Florence Aylmer, and you shall come with us. I will try and give you as good a time, dear little Kitty, as ever I can, but it would not be fair to the other girls to keep you here for nothing."
"No, of course it would not be fair," said Kitty. "And where am I to go," she added, after a very long pause, "when the vacation is over, when the girls come back here again at the end of August?"
"Then, my dear child, I greatly fear you will have to go and stay with your father's cousin, Miss Dartmoor, in Argyleshire."
"Helen Dartmoor!" said Kitty, suddenly springing to her feet, "father's cousin, Helen Dartmoor! She came to stay with us for a month after mother died, and if there is a person in the whole world whom I loathed it was her. No, I won't go to her; I'll write and tell father I can't—I won't; it shan't be. Nothing would induce me to live with her. Oh, Mrs. Clavering, you don't know what she is, and she—why, she doesn't speak decent English, and she knows scarcely anything. How am I to be educated, Mrs. Clavering? I could not do it."
"There is a school not far from Miss Dartmoor's; of course, not a school like this, but a school where you can be taught some things, my poor child."
"I won't go to Helen Dartmoor—I won't!" said Kitty, in a passionate voice.
"I fear there is no help for it, my love; but when you see your father he will tell you all about it. I wish with all my heart, I could keep you here, but I greatly fear there is no help for it."
"And is that all you have to say?" said Kitty, rising slowly as she spoke.
"Yes, dear, all for the present."
"Then I am a very miserable girl. I'll go away to my room for a little. I may, may I not?"
"On this occasion you may, although you know it is the rule that none of the girls go to their dormitories during the daytime."
Kitty left the room, walking very slowly. She had scarcely done so before a loud ring, followed by a rat-tat on the knocker of the front door, was heard through the house.
A moment later the door of Mrs. Clavering's oak parlor was flung open, and Sir John Wallis entered the room.
Sir John Wallis was the great man in the neighborhood.
He was the owner of Cherry Court School, renting the house and beautiful grounds to Mrs. Clavering year by year. He was an unmarried man, and took a great interest in the school. He was a very benevolent, kindly person, and Mrs. Clavering and he were the closest friends.
"Ah, my dear madam," he said, bowing now in his somewhat old-fashioned way, and then extending his hand to the good lady, "I am so glad to see you at home. How are you and how are the girls?"
"Oh, very well, Sir John."
"But you look a little bit worried; what is wrong?"
"Well, the fact is, one of my girls, Kitty Sharston——"
"That pretty, queer-looking half-wild girl whom I saw in church on Sunday?"
"The same; she is the daughter of Major Sharston, a very estimable man."
"Sharston, Sharston, I should think he is. Why, he is an old brother officer of mine; we served together in the time of the Crimea. Anything wrong with Sharston! What's up, my dear madam, what is up!"
"Well, it's just this," said Mrs. Clavering. "Major Sharston has lost a lot of money, and is obliged to take an appointment in India, and he cannot afford to leave poor Kitty at the school longer than till the end of term. I intend to have her as my guest during the holidays, but afterwards she must go to an old cousin in Scotland, and the poor child has little chance of ever being very well educated. She is very much shaken by the blow."
"But this is fearful," said Sir John, "fearful! What can we do?"
"Nothing, I am afraid," said Mrs. Clavering. "Nothing would offend Major Sharston more than for his daughter to accept charity in any form. He is a very proud man, and Kitty, when all is said and done, although very wild and needing a lot of training, has got a spirit of her own. She will be a fine girl by and by."
"And a beautiful one to boot," interrupted Sir John. "Well, this is terrible; what can we do?"
"Nothing," repeated Mrs. Clavering again.
Sir John looked very thoughtful.
"Is it to-night," he said, "you announce your programme for the Cherry Feast?"
"Yes," answered the good lady.
"Then I have a crow to pluck with you; you never sent me notice to attend."
"I did not, for I thought you would be away, but will you come in this evening, Sir John, we shall all be delighted to see you?"
Sir John considered for a moment.
"I will," he said, "and you know I always offer a prize of my own, which is to be given at the Cherry Feast. Now, why should not we on this occasion offer a prize which Kitty Sharston runs a chance of winning, and which would save her from leaving Cherry Court School?"
Mrs. Clavering shook her head.
Sir John bent forward and began to speak eagerly.
"Now, come," he said, "I think I can manage it. Could it not be done in this way?" He spoke in a low tone, and Mrs. Clavering bent her head to listen.
"But, even if you did offer such a prize," she said, "which in itself would be very valuable, what chance has Kitty of winning it? She is not particularly forward in any of her studies, and then the girls who did not want it would get it."
"I am persuaded that Kitty has plenty of ability," said Sir John.
"I quite agree with you, and to work for such a prize would be an immense stimulus; but then, you know, the feast comes on so soon, and there are only three weeks in which to prepare."
"We can manage it by means of a sort of preliminary canter," said the baronet, in a musing tone; "I am sure we can work the thing up. Now, let us put our heads together and get some idea into shape before to-night. That child must be saved; her father's feelings must be respected. She must stay here and be under your wing, and I will go and have a chat with Sharston and see if I cannot make life endurable to the poor little girl, even though he is away in India."
"Well, it is very nice your being a friend of Major Sharston's. If you will stay here for about half an hour while I am attending to something else, I will come back and we will see what scheme we can draw up."
"Good," said Sir John, "and don't hurry back, for I am going to put on my considering-cap. This thing must be managed by hook or by crook."