A Fluttered Dovecote Part 9

And then again she wrote, "What does he say, dear?"

"I have not had a chance to see yet," I dolefully replied. "There's the raging Furnace watching me, so pray don't look up. She suspects something, and I can't move without being spied."

"Poor old darling!" wrote Clara on her slate.

"I'm going to trust you, my dear," I said. "When I push my Nugent's Dictionary over to you, take it quietly, for my note will be inside.

And I want you to take it, and go away somewhere and read it, and then come and tell me what he says; for the old thing is so suspicious, and keeps looking in my direction--and I dare not attempt it myself."

So I managed to pa.s.s the note to Clara, who left the room; and then I wrote down the aliquot parts of a pound, and folded it ready so as to pull out next time. I saw Miss Furness watching me; and there I sat, with my cheeks burning, and wondering what was in my note, and whether, after all, I had done foolishly. For was Clara to be trusted?

"But she is so mixed up with it herself," I thought, "she dare not play me false."

So there I sat on and on, pretending to be studious, and wondering what kept Clara so long, would have gone after her, only I knew that Miss Furness was keeping an eye upon me; and sometimes I half thought that she must know something about the night when I went down to the elms; but directly after I felt that she did not, or she would have told my Lady Blunt directly. But the fact of the matter was, she felt suspicious about the note, and all because I was so clumsy in trying to throw dust in her eyes.

Five minutes--ten minutes--a quarter of an hour had pa.s.sed, and still no Clara. Then another quarter of an hour, and still she did not come.

"Whatever shall I do?" I thought to myself--"surely she is not deceiving me?" And then, just as my spirits were regularly boiling over, heated as they were by impatience and vexation, in she came, with the note in her hand; and I saw her laugh maliciously, and cross over to Patty Smith.

"Oh," I said to myself, "I shall die of shame."

And I'm sure no one can tell what agony I suffered while the creature was reading something to Patty, when they both had a hearty laugh; after which Clara began to double the note up, as, with eyes flashing fire, I sat watching that deceitful creature, not daring to move from my seat.

"Miss Fitzacre, bring me that piece of paper you have in your hand,"

squeaked Miss Furness, who had been watching her like a cat does a mouse.

Oh, if I could but have screamed out, or fainted, or seized the paper, and fled away! But I could not move, only sit suffering--suffering horribly, while Clara gave me another of her malicious smiles, as she crossed sulkily over to Miss Griffin's table, drew the paper from her pocket, laid it down, and then our _chere_ inst.i.tutrice laid a paper-weight upon it, for she had a soul far above curiosity, while Clara came and sat down by me--poor me, who trembled so with fear and rage that my teeth almost chattered; for I could think of nothing else but Mrs Blunt and the Furness reading poor Achille's note.

I did not know how to be angry enough with myself, for being so simple as to trust Clara; and I'm sure I should not, only I fancied her truthful and worthy; but now, I could have killed her--I could, I was so enraged.

"You horribly treacherous, deceitful thing!" I whispered; "when, too, I trusted you so fully."

"Why, what is the matter?" she said, quite innocently.

"Don't look at me like that," I whispered. "How could you be so false?"

"Oh, that's what you mean, is it?" she said. "Serve you right for not trusting me fully from the first, as I did you."

"Worthy of trust, are you not?" I said angrily.

"Will you be quite open with me for the future, then?" she said.

"Open!" I hissed back. "I'll go to Mrs Blunt, and tell everything, I will--everything; and won't spare myself a bit, so that you may be punished, you wicked, good-for-nothing, bad-behaved, deceitful and treacherous thing, you!"

"Take breath now, my darling," she said, tauntingly.

"Breath," I said--"I wish I had none. I wish I was dead, I do." And I could not help a bit of a sob coming.

"Poor Achille!" she whispered. "What would he do then?"

"Oh, don't talk to me--don't," I said, bending down my burning face over a book, not a word in which could I see.

"It did tease you, then, did it?" said Clara, laughing.

"Tease me, you heartless thing you," I said. "Hold your tongue, do!

I'll never forgive you--never, Clara!"

"Less talking there," said Miss Furness--the Griffin.

"Ugh! you nasty old claw-puss," said Clara, in an undertone.

After a few minutes' silence, I began again. "I did not give you credit for it, Clara," I said. "Thought you were not going to speak to me any more," she said.

"Oh, it's too bad," I whispered; "but you will be sorry for it some day."

"No, I sha'n't, you little goose you. It was not your note at all," she said. "I only did it to tease you, and serve you out for trying to deceive me, who have always tried to be a friend to you from the very first."

"Oh, my own, dear, darling Clara," I cried, in a whisper, "is this true?

Then I'll never, never do anything without you again, and tell you everything; and am not cross a bit."

"But I am," she cried; "see what names you have been calling me."

"Ah, but see how agonising it was, dear," I whispered. "Only think of what you made me suffer. I declare I shall burst out into a fit of hysterical crying directly."

"No, no, don't do that," said Clara. "Then make haste, and tell me what he said, so as to change my thoughts."

"Guess," said Clara, sliding my own dear little note into my hand once again.

"Oh, pray, pray tell me," I whispered. "Don't, whatever you do, don't tease me any more. I shall die if you do."

"No, don't," she said, mockingly, "for poor Achille's sake."

"I would not serve you so, Clara," I said, humbly, the tears the while gathering in my eyes.

And then she began to tell me that the note was very long, and stated how he had been interrupted by the policeman, and had not ventured since; but that he and the Signor had arranged to come that night, and they would be under the end of the conservatory at eleven, if we could contrive to meet them there.

"And of course we can," said Clara. "How they must have been plotting together!"

"But we never can manage it," I whispered, with a strange fluttering coming over my heart.

"I can, I can," whispered Clara, squeezing my hand; "but be careful, for here comes the Griffin, and she's as suspicious as can be."

We were supposed to be busy preparing lessons all this time; for this was one of the afternoons devoted to private study, two of which we had every week, instead of what Mrs Blunt called the vulgar inst.i.tution of half-holidays.

"If I have to speak again about this incessant talking, Miss Fitzacre, your conduct will be reported to the lady princ.i.p.al," said Miss Furness.

"And as for you, Miss Bozerne, be kind enough to take a seat in another part of the room. There is a chair vacant by Miss Blang."

Miss Furness did not hear what Clara said in an undertone, or she would have hurried off posthaste to make her report. But as she did not, she returned to her seat, and soon after we were summoned to our tea--I mean anti-nervous infusion.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.