Читать книгу The Third Eye - Ethel Lina White - Страница 8

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THE Professor replied by return of post.

"Definitely not your post, Beloved Fool. Your suite has been re-decorated and we have reinstated the second footman, pending your arrival."

In spite of the Professor's tendency to plug a feeble joke, Caroline was touched by his ability to read between the lines. She thought of the strained income—the novelty of a new suit, which had given him such innocent peacock pleasure—and vowed, at any cost to herself, never again to swell the family at the flat.

The resolution was not the outcome of improved circumstance, for she liked the school no better. As a result of the sherry party, she found herself several degrees removed from the sphere of the Matron's attraction. Although she still remained under the glamour of her reputation, she found herself growing critical of her omnipotence.

Gradually she realised that it was inevitable that Miss Yaxley-Moore should be surrounded with toadies—weaker natures who combined to build up a superstructure of false values around her. It followed as a natural sequence that the formula "brilliantly clever," through sheer repetition, should be accepted by even those members of the staff who were not in a position to prove its inaccuracy.

Yet in spite of her slow disillusionment, Caroline remained spellbound. It was left to a pupil to debunk Yaxley-Moore in much the same manner as the child in the fairy tale, who tactlessly pointed out to the population that their monarch was a nudist.

The curious part of the affair was that Caroline had a prejudice against this special girl—Flora Baumgarten—because she was fat and slacked at games. The only daughter of a wealthy financier, she seemed typical of a too-prosperous plutocracy, that concentrated solely on food and clothes.

On the occasion of the show-up, Flora had been puffing so painfully at hockey practice, that Caroline had called her off the field. Miss Yaxley-Moore capitalised the fact to raise a laugh when she stopped for a minute to watch the game.

"Why isn't the famous mannequin, 'Flora,' displaying her celebrated figure on the field?" she yelled. "Take off that disfiguring coat, Lady Godiva, and thrill your fans."

"Flora's not up to form," explained Caroline curtly. "Headache."

"Liver," corrected the Matron scornfully. "The true headache proceeds from the trigeminal nerve, which has three main branches connecting directly with the base of the brain and the most important of the cerebral nerves. I assume you know that elementary fact...Keep her on the run."

Fortunately for Caroline's prestige, she swaggered off without waiting to see whether her advice were being carried out. In the pause, the despised Flora stepped into the limelight. Caroline was surprised by the intelligence which beamed from her little brown eyes, as she spoke diffidently.

"I'm afraid Miss Yaxley-Moore's little bit about the trigeminal nerve was rather wasted on us. Dr. Arum might have been interested. It's a mystery to me why she never talks to any one on their special subject, although she's such a brilliant conversationalist. It's always a lecture and never a discussion, for no one's in a position to argue."

The shrewdness of the thrust was doubly convincing because of Caroline's own dawning doubt. The Matron splashed her conversation with impressive medical terms and took temperature with the importance of Harley Street, but, sometimes, she had seemed to lack actual knowledge of hygiene.

Because the girl was so different from the clod of her preconception, Caroline felt a dawning interest in her.

"Is the old ticker all right?" she asked casually. "I suppose you've been sounded?"

"No," replied Flora. "According to Miss Yaxley-Moore, I'm a biological freak. I've only a liver."

"Well, all the same, you'd better not turn out to hockey in future."

"Oh, please let me come. It's my only chance of meeting you. You look like Atlanta when you run."

Touched by the entreaty, Caroline gave way. Later she found she had to pay for Flora's homage by a puncture in the detachment which—according to the Professor—was her safeguard. Although she tried not to show favouritism, she was conscious of a bond between herself and the girl.

Soon afterwards, her impersonal attitude was subjected to a more dangerous strain. It began the morning she went to the Head's study with a list of fixtures. As Mrs. Nash was scanning it, Caroline glanced at two photographs which stood on her desk.

One represented a handsome youth, who looked an engaging young scamp; but Caroline felt more drawn to the other, who was thin-faced and spectacled, with an intellectual brow and a sensitive bitter mouth.

"My sons," said Mrs. Nash, smiling proudly at the photograph of the handsome youth. "This monkey face is in the First Eleven."

"The elder one looks very clever," ventured Caroline.

"William? Yes, he's brilliant. But you're not here to discuss my family. Here's your list."

She gave Caroline the paper and then, to the girl's surprise, smiled.

"You've started quite well," she said.

Caroline left the study, captive to this successful business woman, who combined maternity with a hundred percent efficiency. It made her feel responsive to Miss Melody, who was lingering in the hall waiting for a chance to enter her Shrine.

"I've just met William's photograph," she said. "I'd like to meet William."

"You shall," declared Miss Melody eagerly. "He'll be over for the half-term, and he always has tea with me, so as not to meet people."

Miss Melody redeemed her promise on the occasion of the Old Girls' Match, when William was a spectator. Caroline, who was helping the school, felt the stimulus of his presence and played above her form, to the delight of Flora Baumgarten, who plodded along the touchline, frantically turning the handle of her ciné- camera, in the hope of securing an exclusive shot of her idol.

During the interval she had the proud distinction of delivering a message to Caroline, together with her slice of lemon.

"Miss Melody says—and it's darned cheek—don't stop to change, but come to her room for tea."

Directly the match was over, Caroline raced back to the school and burst into the housekeeper's dingy little sitting-room. As she had hoped, William was there, crouching over the fire. He looked both thin and jaded, while the wind had nipped his features; but his smile was both eager and attractive. Unfortunately, he could not match it with appropriate words, for after a few remarks he became inarticulate.

Caroline thought she knew the type. He could sit beside her at a restaurant for six months and pass her the salt in silence. But at the start of the twenty-sixth week, still unintroduced, he would reveal the most startling intimate secrets of his life.

"Impulsive—but takes his time about it," she decided.

Even as she despaired, Miss Melody broke the ice and dropped them both into deep waters.

"I'm furious with William—and so is his mother. After all her work and hopes and ambition for him, he's come down just to tell her he is leaving Oxford."

As William bit his lip and remained silent, Caroline found herself explaining the situation.

"It's a heart-break," she declared, "just marking time when one wants to earn money. I know all about it."

William looked up, furious at her intervention, met her sympathetic eyes and grew suddenly expansive.

"My mother wants me to become a barrister," he said. "It's not exactly a speedy profession. And the trouble is, I've no sense of humour. My brother, John, jokes about being a kept man...Besides, soon there'll be no source of income, so it will be up to me to keep us all."

"That's a wicked exaggeration," cried Miss Melody, wrinkling up her face as though she were about to cry. "The school is full to capacity. There are only the usual notices—girls who are going abroad to finish."

"But not a single new application for a vacancy. That tells its tale."

A heavy silence fell upon the three as they sat in the red flickering firelight. Then William spoke in a hard, strained voice.

"An old friend of my father has advised me strongly to clear out Yaxley-Moore. He said he knew positively that people are fighting shy of the school because—because of the adverse rumours."

"But can't you persuade your mother to discharge her?" asked Caroline eagerly. "She's such a keen business woman that I'm sure she'd put the interests of the school before anything personal. I can't tell you how I admire your mother. I hate sloppiness."

"I have no influence." The muscles of William's thin face twitched as he pointedly changed the subject. "How is Zillah Auriol? I used to cherish a hopeless passion for her, because she was older than myself and suggested a Continental consumptive cocotte."

The young people were talking eagerly—one against the other—when Miss Melody hustled from the room on one of her futile missions, and their confidences lasted until a few minutes of William's departure. Regardless of appearances, Caroline rushed up to the staircase window to watch him get into the car. She felt flat and dejected when she walked slowly down the broad shallow steps into the hall, where the Matron and Miss Auriol stood under a lamp.

"Apparently you've fascinated the animated William," jeered Miss Yaxley-Moore. "I thought he was Auriol's property."

"I cherished him as my last bit of box-office draw," declared Auriol. "It's time for my Final Curtain."

As she laughed widely, the unshaded light beat down directly upon the strained skin over her cheek-bones, revealing the flash of too many teeth, so that for a moment she seemed to be fleshless.

"You've grown thinner," cried Caroline, who was startled by the illusion. "Are you ill?"

"No, I'm dying—that's all. I used to die—singing—eight times a week in my last engagement. I sang myself to death, for my voice cracked. That was my real death. The next one will be a mere detail, for I've passed through the sting and the victory."

As usual, Auriol was dramatising herself, to her own enjoyment and Caroline's discomfort. Glancing at the Matron, she was chilled by her altered expression. There was a smear of smile on her thick lips, while she watched the music mistress from slitted eyes.

It seemed to the girl that she was looking at something which was not there—something which could be seen with only a third eye.