“But you would like her to see you as Helen of Troy?”
“Like it!” said Penelope – “yes, perhaps I should. I hate the whole thing as I never hated anything in all my life before, but it might be a sort of satisfaction to have Brenda there. I’d do a good deal – yes, a good deal for Brenda; but I don’t think she will stay in the village.”
“You want to write to her to-day about it, don’t you?”
“I may as well write to-day. She is making her plans; she is going to the seaside with her pupils, but could come to me on her way. But don’t let us fuss about it, please. I don’t really – greatly care.”
“But I care that you should have pleasure,” said little Miss Duke. “You know well how much I care. Wait a second until I get the time-table.”
She flew out of the room, returning in a few minutes with a Bradshaw. By dint of careful searching, she discovered that a train could be found which would take Miss Brenda Carlton back to her rectory about midnight on the day of the break-up. Penelope condescended to seem pleased.
“Thank you,” she said, “I will let her know. She may not care to come, for I think her principal reason was to have a chat with me; but there is no saying. I will tell her the train, anyhow.”
Penelope did write to Brenda, giving her full particulars with regard to the train.
“My Dear Brenda,” she wrote: “Your sleeping with me and having – as you express it – a cosy chat, is out of the question. Cause why: headmistress doesn’t allow cosy chats between schoolgirls and their sisters. Reason for this: can’t say – excites bad motives, in my opinion. Anyhow, if you want to see Helen of Troy in all her pristine splendour, you must take the train which leaves Harroway at nine in the morning; that will get you here by noon. You will have a hearty welcome and will mingle with the other guests, and I find there is a train back to Harroway at ten o’clock, which gets there sharp at twelve. Don’t come if you don’t want to: that’s the best I can do for you.
“Your affectionate sister, —
“Penelope.”
Now this letter reached Miss Brenda Carlton on a certain morning when she was pouring out very weak coffee for the small daughters of the Reverend Josiah Amberley. There were three Misses Amberley, and they wore about as commonplace young ladies as could be found in the length and breadth of England. Their manners were atrocious; their learning very nearly nil, and their power of self-control nowhere. Why Brenda Carlton, of all people under the sun, had been deputed governess to these three romps, must remain a puzzle to any thoughtful reader. But the Reverend Josiah was always pleased to see a pretty face; was always taken with a light and agreeable manner; and, knowing nothing whatever about the bringing up of children, was glad to find a girl who would undertake the duty for the small sum of thirty pounds per annum. This money Brenda Carlton received quarterly. She also had a month’s holiday some time in the year – not in the summer, for that would be specially inconvenient to the Reverend Josiah, who wished his young people to enjoy the benefit of the sea breezes and could not possibly take them to any seaside resort himself.
He was a little sandy-haired man of over fifty years of age; devoted, after a fashion, to his work, and absolutely easy-going as regarded his establishment.
Mrs Amberley had died when Nina, the youngest of the three sisters, was five years old. Nina was now ten; Josephine, the next girl, was between eleven and twelve; and Brenda’s eldest pupil, Fanchon – as for some extraordinary reason she was called – would soon be fourteen. The three sisters resembled their father. They were short in stature, thickset, with very sandy hair and small blue eyes. They had no special capabilities, nor any gifts which took them out of the ordinary line. But they were all fond of Brenda, who could do with them exactly what she willed. She made them her confidantes, but taught them little or nothing.
On the day when she received her letter from Penelope, she continued to pour out the coffee until the whole family were supplied. Then she sat down, and deliberately read it. As she did so, three pairs of eyes were fixed on her face.
Nina, whose privilege it was always to sit near her governess, looked mysterious and full of mischief. The other girls showed by their faces that they were devoured by curiosity. But the Reverend Josiah required to be humoured. To talk nonsense or of such frivolities as dress in his presence was not to be thought of. Brenda had taught her pupils to respect his scruples in that matter. In reality, poor man, they did not exist; but she thought it well to keep her pupils in a certain awe of him – so she was fond of saying:
“As a clergyman, my dears, your father must condemn the dress that makes a woman look pretty; and if you talk about it in his presence, I shall never be able to get your nice frocks for our seaside jaunt, for he will not give me the money.”
This was a terrible thought to the three Misses Amberley, and, in consequence, they seemed as innocent with regard to the muslins and chiffons and voile as though these materials did not exist.
The Reverend Josiah believed that dresses were divided into two categories: cotton dresses for the morning, and silk dresses for the afternoon. He had not the faintest idea that any other textures could be procured. It grieved him sometimes to think that his little daughters did not wear silk on those rare occasions when his parishioners came to visit him, but as he couldn’t afford it, he did not give the matter another thought. Brenda read her letter, folded it up, and put it into her pocket. The Reverend Mr Amberley, having eaten an excellent meal, rose to leave the room. As he was doing so, Brenda raised her voice:
“I am very sorry to interrupt you, Mr Amberley, but can I see you presently in your study?”
The rector signified his assent to this proposition. He was always glad to have an interview with Miss Carlton, for he considered himself in rare luck to have such a nice stylish girl with his little orphans – as he was fond of calling them.
“I shall be in my study at eleven o’clock,” he said, “and quite at your service, Miss Carlton.”
Brenda smiled, showing her brilliant teeth and starry blue eyes, and the rector went away thinking what a dazzling creature she was, and how lucky it was for Fanchon and Josephine and Nina to have such a nice governess to instruct them.
“How my sainted wife – could she speak – would bless that girl!” was his thought. “How happy she makes my dear little ones, and how nice she always manages to look herself!”
“Now, please – please, Brenda!” said Nina, catching her governess by the sleeve the moment the door had closed behind the rector. “That letter – we want to know all about it.”
“Yes, of course we do,” said Josephine.
“Out with the news!” exclaimed Fanchon.
“There isn’t a great deal of news to relate,” replied Brenda. “I am invited to spend the eighth of July with my dear sister at that celebrated school, Hazlitt Chase. She has simply written me an itinerary of trains. I fear I shall have to leave here very early in the morning, and you – my dear petites– will be deprived of your governess for the entire day, for I shall not be home until midnight.”
“Oh dear!” cried Nina. “We thought you were going to spend the night away!”
She looked slightly disappointed and glanced at her sisters.
“Any little fun on?” asked Brenda, interpreting the glances between the three according to her own sweet will.
“No, no – nothing in particular – nothing at all in particular; only we thought you would have so much to tell us when you came back again.”
“I shall have a good deal to tell you. Do you know; that my wonderful young sister is to be Helen of Troy?”
“Whoever is she?” yawned Fanchon.
“Never heard of her, and never want to,” cried Nina.
“Is she one of the dead-and-gones?” exclaimed Josephine.