*CHAPTER XV*
*ABOUT A BAZAAR AND A MEETING IN THE RUINED WINDMILL*
The bazaar, for which Caroline had been sewing so perseveringly, washeld in the grounds of the Manor House on a beautiful sunny day at theend of May. Caroline spent a blissful afternoon, dressed in a Japanesekimono with chrysanthemums in her hair, surrounded by tea-cosies andcushion-covers and hand-embroidered scarves; and she had quite a brisksale at her stall, in spite of exorbitant prices.
The spacious lawn below the terraced flower-garden was a delightfulpicture; the soft, velvety grass and the cool shade under the trees thatbordered it making a pleasing background for the dainty kimonoed figuresthat tripped to and fro among the bamboo stalls with their whiteumbrella-shaped awnings. As the general public began to make itsappearance, the colours in the summer dresses that moved across the lawnbecame as variegated as the flower-garden itself.
Lady Prior stood on the terrace and looked down with a pleased smile atthe animated scene beneath her.
"The village looks forward so eagerly to this each year," she remarkedto a friend. "You see, there is absolutely nowhere for them to go as arule, poor creatures. This is quite an event for them." And she raisedher eyebrows and gave a little rippling laugh.
Meanwhile the poor creatures were spending their money as they wereable, and the local reporter, who was wandering among the stalls, wasmentally calculating how big a sum of money he would be able to announcein next week's _Observer_ as the result of Lady Prior's Annual Bazaar.Most of the village seemed out to enjoy itself at all costs; but now andagain one would come across a gloomy individual who looked like anunwilling victim of this annual institution. In some cases, as onelittle old woman grumbled to Caroline, people came because they had beenbadgered and worried into promising to attend by one of the industriousmembers of the committee.
"And there's so much questioning, and reproachful looks, an' cold staresafterward--if you don't come," she grumbled, fingering the variousarticles on Caroline's stall, "that you come for peace sake.... ThoughI'd much rather be sittin' at 'ome an' 'aving a cup of tea in peace andquietness and restin' my old bones--it's all very well for young folk tocome gallivantin' and spendin' their savings--but when you're old--! ...'Ow much is this? What is it? Eh? An egg-cosy! ... Oh, give me one ofthem six-penny 'air-tidies--it'll do for my daughter in London. I ain'tgot no 'air to speak of myself. But my daughter--her 'air comes out in'andfulls--you ought to see it! ... You've got nothing else forsix-pence, I suppose? No? ... I won't 'ave anything else then."
And the little old woman took the hair-tidy and made her way straight tothe gates, apparently making a bee-line for home, having fulfilled herduty.
Caroline was not critical--she took things very much as a matter ofcourse, and did not feel ashamed for the handsomely dressed lady from aneighbouring village who inquired in a loud voice for the stall wherethe 'pore clothes' were for sale. Caroline did not quite understand atfirst, until another stall-holder explained that Mrs Lester alwayspurchased a number of garments to distribute among the deserving poor ofher parish. The garments Mrs Lester bought looked a bit clumsy, andwere made all alike, of rather coarse material, but "she's awfully goodto the poor, you know," Caroline was told; and there the matter ended,until she recounted the incident to the others when she got home, andprovoked a stormy protest from Pamela against the _way_ in which richpeople were 'good to the poor.'
"Why can't they be more tactful," asked Pamela. "Of course I know lotsof them are--but I mean people like this Mrs Lester."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Pamela," said Isobel, laughing. "What do poorpeople want with tact? Give them a good meal or a bundle of clothes andthey'll pretend to be grateful and satisfied and all that, and directlyyour back is turned they'll grumble because you haven't given them_more_. They always want more--they don't want tact!"
Pamela stared for a moment at Isobel, who was reclining gracefully onthe sofa, amusement in every line of her face at Pamela's ideas.
"Good gracious, Isobel! I can see a perfectly horrible future in storefor you," Pamela said quietly. "You are going to be another MrsLester."
"What of it?" laughed Isobel. "As long as I am as rich as she is, thereare no horrors for me."
"Anyway, I'm sorry for you," said Pamela earnestly.
"What on earth for?" asked Isobel, slightly nettled.
"Because you'll miss some of the best things in life," replied Pamela.
"Not if I'm rich, I shan't," said Isobel.
Caroline had listened in mild surprise at all this. It had never struckher that there could be anything to object to in Mrs Lester's attitude.
"Do you know," she said, changing the conversation, "I had to pay forthe hire of my kimono. I hadn't expected to have to pay after giving myservices free, and making so many things for the bazaar. But it allgoes to a good cause, I suppose."
Caroline had rather regretted that none of the other three girls hadbeen present at the bazaar in the afternoon, to see how rapidly hertea-cosies had sold; but each of the three had had a different excusefor not coming. Isobel's absence, of course, was a foregoneconclusion--she would have loved to go, but could not on account of MissCrabingway's instructions.
Pamela, as we know, hated bazaars. "Don't ask me to come, Caroline,"she had said kindly. "But will you take this donation for 'the cause'and put it in one of the boxes or whatever they have to collect themoney in."
Caroline had had hopes that Beryl, at any rate, would not like to refuseto come. But lack of money to spend made Beryl desperate, and, althoughshe was quite resolved in her own mind not to go, she half promisedCaroline she would go, if she felt up to it. She even made a feint ofpreparing to go. Then a sudden imaginary attack of neuralgia made itimpossible, and she sent word by Pamela to tell Caroline not to wait,and went and lay down in her bedroom and pulled down the blind. Therein her cool and darkened room she listened to Caroline departing, andfelt very much ashamed of herself for the story she had made up aboutneuralgia.
"But I couldn't explain that I had no money--and why," she made excusesto herself. "Oh, it isn't fair!"
About a week after the bazaar Isobel went over to Inchmoor alone one dayto Madame Clarence's, a bad toothache compelling Caroline to miss alesson for the first time. When her dancing-lesson was over Isobel dida little shopping, and then went and had tea in a smart and popularconfectioner's, where she could watch all the fashion of the town go byfrom her seat near the window. Finding that she had missed her usualtrain back to Barrowfield and that there was a long wait before the nexttrain, she finished her tea leisurely and then started out to walk backhome.
She had got about half-way back when a thunderstorm broke suddenly. Andthere was Isobel in a light cotton dress, and a hat that would be'absolutely ruined' if it got wet, in the middle of a country lane--acouple of miles from anywhere. She had not paid much attention to thewarning clouds overhead, and when the first growl of thunder was heardshe looked up startled and hastened her footsteps.
A few minutes later the rain started--great slow thunder-spots at first,and then it came down in torrents. Isobel, casting her eyes hastilyaround for some place of shelter, saw on the hill-top the ruinedwindmill. She made for this, and dashed in wet and gasping, and foundthat although the wind and rain lashed in through the many holes in theruin, yet it afforded a considerable amount of protection if she chosethe right corner to stand in. It was fortunate that she did notremember how Caroline, in spite of her toothache, had come out to thefront door to advise her to take an umbrella with her, or she would havefelt even more out of temper with the world than she did.
The corner she was crouching in was partly hidden from the doorway by acouple of thick beams of wood which were leaning, like props, from thewalls to the ground. The beams and a pile of dust and bricks formed apartial screen, but not sufficient to hide her white frock, if anyonehad been present in that deserted spot.
Isobel had been there
about five minutes, and the storm showed no signsof abating, when she heard voices and hurrying feet, and the nextinstant two people dashed in at the doorway.
"Here you are, mother, stand this side--and hold the rug round you thisway--it'll protect us a bit," said a deep voice.
"It really _is_ most annoying--the car breaking down like that," said awoman's voice. "Don't go outside, Harry.... Oh, mind!" She gave alittle shriek at a flash of lightning.
It was not the lightning nor the crash of thunder that followed thatmade Isobel's heart thump so madly. The two new-comers--who had notcaught sight of her yet, as they were standing with their backs toher--were no others than Lady Prior and her son!
Whatever should she do, thought poor Isobel. She was caught in a trap.If they turned and saw her, as they undoubtedly would do sooner orlater, they would probably speak--and then what was she to do? Ofcourse they wouldn't know who she was. Surely Miss Crabingway wouldn'tmean her not to speak, under the circumstances. It was so perfectlysilly! ... But old ladies were queer creatures sometimes. And only afew weeks more--and then the fifty pounds was hers, and she could dowhat she liked. Isobel did not want to lose the money just by makingsome stupid little mistake a week or so before it was due. She thoughtof her Wishing Well wish.... Of course, she could explain just how thismeeting came about, to Miss Crabingway--but would Miss Crabingwayunderstand?--or was she hoping that most of the girls would break one orother of the rules, and so lose the money?
All this flashed through Isobel's mind during the few minutes she waitedfor the two by the doorway to turn round and discover her. How shewished--wished most fervently--that they would _not_ turn round. For,besides the chief reason, Isobel felt she did not wish them to see herbecause she must look such 'a sight'--dripping wet, and crumpled, andblown about, and her hat flopping limply.
She gathered from the disjointed conversation that was going on thatLady Prior and her son had been driving home in the motor when the carhad broken down in one of the by-lanes about a hundred yards from themill. The storm had come on while the son was trying to mend matters,and Lady Prior being rather nervous of lightning had been unwilling tostay in the car covered with rugs, and had insisted on getting under aroof of some sort where she felt more protected. She had also insistedon Harry coming with her, and so, covering the motor over, they hadbrought a rug and taken shelter inside the windmill. Although Harry hadthought that they would be just as safe if they had remained in the car,Lady Prior thought otherwise. And so here they were.
Isobel glanced round about to see if there were any possible way ofescape; but there appeared to be none. "Now what shall I do when theyturn round?" she kept asking herself. Had Beryl been in the samepredicament as Isobel all sorts of wild ideas would have been rushingthrough her brain. Beryl would have thought of things like this: Shouldshe pretend she was a foreigner, and could not understand English? Or,better still, should she pretend she was deaf and dumb? Should shepretend to have fainted--and so escape from having to speak; but thismight have had awkward consequences if they insisted on taking her homeor to a doctor. Should she pretend to go mad, and tear past them andout of the door?
But these sorts of ideas did not occur to Isobel, who was not used topractising deceptions as Beryl was. What Isobel did do was, after all,the most natural thing. When Lady Prior and Harry turned and caughtsight of her, and Lady Prior gave a little shriek (because the lightninghad unnerved her), and then broke into exclamations and questions,Isobel, quite unable to control herself, began to cry, her face buriedin her hands. ("And now, I simply can't let them see my face," shethought to herself. "My nose always goes so red when I cry.... I mustlook such an awful fright.... I must keep my face hidden somehow.")
She became aware that Lady Prior was speaking to her in a slightlycondescending voice, forbidding her to cry, and telling her not bealarmed at the lightning.
"These country creatures are sometimes so frightfully hysterical duringthunderstorms," Isobel heard Lady Prior remark in an undertone to herson. "I suppose she's a girl from one of the villages around here....There, there, my good girl, don't cry like that--the storm's almost overnow."
Lady Prior asked her a few more questions--Where did she come from? Hadshe far to go home? But receiving no reply she turned to her son,smiled faintly, and shrugged her shoulders.
Isobel sobbed on. Her feelings beggar description. To be talked to insuch a tone by Lady Prior! To be mistaken for a dowdy, hystericalvillage girl by Lady Prior! (But, of course, her wet clothes andflopping hat and streaky hair must look so positively awful that nowonder Lady Prior could not tell what she was nor what she looked like.)Nevertheless, it was the last drop in Isobel's cup of humiliation. Notfor anything on earth would she let them see her face now!
Stealthily she watched for her opportunity. Lady Prior and her son hadmoved away from the door because the rain was lashing in too furiously,and their backs were turned to her again. She edged quietly round thewall, climbed swiftly over the pile of bricks and dust, and made asudden dash for the door.
Lady Prior gave another little shriek and clutched hold of Harry's arm.
Isobel's action had been so sudden and unexpected that before anyonecould stop her she had gained the door and was rushing blindly down thehill in the pouring rain.
Whether Harry was sent after her she did not know. Probably not, as itwas still raining, and Lady Prior would think the girl was hystericalbeyond control and that it was the best thing to let her run home asquickly as possible.
Isobel reached home just as the storm was over. Do what she would toavoid seeing the other girls she could not escape them. They all threecame out into the hall to exclaim over her drenched state and offertheir help, but she kept her head down as much as possible so that theyshould not see she had been crying, and hurried off to her room tochange her clothes at once.
She would not look in the glass until she was warm and dry again. Shefelt she could not stand this last blow to her self-respect. When shedid see her reflection she was almost her old self again, and thefeeling of humiliation was considerably lightened. She began to feelsomewhat virtuous for not breaking Miss Crabingway's rule, and pleasedwith herself for having got out of the predicament without Lady Priorand Harry suspecting her identity.