CHAPTER II
The Villa Camellia
The Beverleys did not break their journey in Rome, but merely changedtrains and pushed on southward. Irene was sorry at the time not to seethe imperial city, but afterwards she was glad that her first impressionof an Italian town should have been of Naples. Naples! Is there anyplace like it in the whole world? Irene thought not, as she stood on herveranda next morning and gazed across the blue bay to where Vesuvius wassending a thin column of smoke into the cloudless sky. Below her lay thepublic gardens, in which spring flowers were blooming, though it wasonly the end of January, and beyond was a panorama of white houses,green shutters, palm trees, picturesque boats, and a quay thronged withtraffic. To that harbor and that blue stretch of sea she was bound thisvery day, for Father and Mother had arranged to take her straight to hernew school, and leave her there before they established themselves intheir flat.
"We haven't any time for sightseeing at present, dear," said Mrs.Beverley, when Irene begged for at least a peep at the streets ofNaples. "We must put off these jaunts until the Easter holidays. Theterm has begun at the Villa Camellia, and you ought to set to work atyour lessons at once. Don't pull such a doleful face. Be thankful you'regoing to school in such a glorious spot. We might have left you at MissGordon's."
"I'd have run away and followed you somehow, Mums darling! I don't mindbeing a few miles off, but I couldn't bear to feel the Channel and thewhole of France and Switzerland and Italy lay between us. It's too far."
"Yes, our little family quartette is rather inseparable," agreed Mother."It's certainly nice to think that we're all 'within hail.'"
The school, recommended to Mr. and Mrs. Beverley by their Americanfriend, Mr. Proctor, was situated at the small town of Fossato, not farfrom Naples. The easiest way of getting there was by sea, so Irene'sluggage was wheeled down to the quay, and the family embarked on acoasting steamer. Father and Mother were, of course, taking her, andVincent accompanied them, because they could not leave him alone in astrange city.
"It will be your last holiday though, young man," said Mr. Beverleyjokingly, "so make the most of it. To-morrow you must come with me tothe office and start your new career. I don't know whether the VillaCamellia observes convent rules, and whether you will be admitted. Ifnot, you must wait outside the gate while we see Miss Rodgers."
"Oh, surely she wouldn't be so heartless?"
"That remains to be seen. In a foreign country the regulations areprobably very strict."
The Beverleys were not the only British people on board the steamer.Parties of tourists were going for the day's excursion, and as muchEnglish as Italian or French might be heard spoken among the passengers.Two groups, who sat near them on deck, attracted Irene's attention. Thecentral figure of the one was a girl slightly taller than herself--agirl with a long, pointed nose, dark, hard, bright eyes, penciledeyebrows, beautiful teeth, and a nice color. She was talking in a loudand affected voice, and laying down the law on many topics to severalamused and smiling young naval officers who were of the party. An eldergirl, like her but with a sweeter mouth and softer eyes, seemed to betrying to restrain her, and occasionally exclaimed, "Oh, Mabel!" at somemore than ordinary sally of wit; but the younger girl talked on, posingin rather whimsical attitudes, and letting her roving glance stray overthe tourists close by, as if judging the effect she was making uponthem.
"She's showing off," decided Irene privately. "Is that 'Villa Camellia'on the label of her bag? I hope to goodness she's not going to schoolwith me. Hello! Who's that talking English on the other side? Why,Little Flaxen for all the world! What's she followed us down here for?"
The small, fair-haired girl, whom they had seen in the train to Dover,was undoubtedly claiming public notice on their right. Her high-pitched,childish voice was descanting freely about everything she saw, andpeople smiled at her quaint questions and comments. Her mother, stillvery pale and languid, made no effort to silence her, and her fatherseemed rather to encourage her, and to exploit her remarks for theentertainment of several gentlemen friends.
A little bored by the evident self-advertisement of these rival belles,Irene moved away with Vincent to a quieter corner of the deck. She wasto see more of them soon, however. They both disembarked when thesteamer reached Fossato, their luggage was piled upon the carriages, andshe watched them drive away up the steep, narrow road that led into thetown.
The Beverleys had decided to have an early lunch at the hotel by thequay before taking Irene to school. It was their last meal together, soshe was allowed to choose the menu, and regaled the family on hithertounknown Italian dishes, winding up with coffee, ices, and chocolates.
"I'm glad you don't cater for us every day, Renie, or I should soon beruined," said Father, as the waiter brought him the bill. "Now are youready? If we don't hurry and get you up quickly to school we shall missthe boat back to Naples. Another package of chocolates! Youunconscionable child! Well, put it in your pocket and console yourselfwith it at bedtime. The concierge says our _vetturino_ is waiting--notthat any Italian coachman minds doing that! All the same, time is shortand we had better make a start."
In that first drive through the narrow, steep, stone-paved streets ofFossato Irene was too excited to take in any details except a generalimpression of rich, foreign color and high, white walls. Afterwards,when she came to know the town better, she realized its subtler points.She felt as one in a dream when the carriage turned through a greatgate, and passed along an avenue of orange trees to a large, squarehouse, color-washed pink, and approached by a flight of marble steps.What happened next she could never clearly recall. She remembered theagony of a short wait in the drawing-room until Miss Rodgers arrived,how the whole party, including Vincent, were shown some of the principalrooms of the house, an agitated moment of good-by kisses, then the soundof departing wheels, and a sudden overwhelming sensation that, for thefirst time in her life, she was alone in a foreign land. Foreign and yetfamiliar, for the Villa Camellia was a skillful combination of the bestout of several countries. Its setting was Italian, its decorations wereFrench, and its fifty-six pupils were all unmistakably and undoubtedlyAnglo-Saxon. Irene was assured on this point immediately, for MissRodgers, calling to a girl who was passing down the corridor, gave thenewcomer into her charge with instructions to take her straight to thesenior recreation room.
"Our afternoon classes begin at 2.30," she remarked, "but you will havejust ten minutes in which to be introduced to some of yourschoolfellows. Elsie Craig will show you everything."
Elsie made no remark to Irene--perhaps she was shy--but, starting off ata quick pace, led her down a long passage into a room on the groundfloor. It was a pleasant room with a French window that opened out on toa veranda, where, over a marble balustrade, there was a view of anorange garden and the sea. Round a table were collected several oldergirls, watching with deep interest a kettle, which was beginning tosing, upon a spirit-lamp. They looked up with surprise as Elsie usheredin the new pupil.
"Hello! You don't mean to tell us there's another of them!" exclaimed adark girl with a long pigtail. "We've had two already! Why are theypouring on us to-day, I should like to know? It's a perfect deluge."
"I hate folks butting in when the term has begun," said anothergrumpily.
"We shall be swamped with 'freshies' soon," grunted the owner of thespirit-lamp. "If they expect coffee I tell them beforehand they justwon't get it."
"She says her name's Irene Beverley," volunteered Elsie Craig, in aperfunctory voice, as if she were performing an obvious duty and gettingit over.
"Oh, indeed!"
"Well, now we know, so there's an end of it."
It could hardly be called a flattering reception. The general attitudeof the girls was the reverse of friendly. The kettle was suddenlyboiling, and they were concentrating their attention upon the making ofthe coffee, and rather ostentatiously leaving the stranger outside thecharmed circle. Irene, used to school life, knew, however, that she wason trial, and tha
t on her present behavior would probably depend thewhole of her future career. She did not attempt to force her unwelcomepresence upon her companions, but, withdrawing to the window, pretendedto be utterly absorbed in contemplation of the scenery. She kept thecorner of her eye, nevertheless, upon the group at the table. The girlwith the long pigtail had made the coffee and was pouring it into cups.A shorter girl nudged her and whispered something, at which she shookher head emphatically. But the short girl persisted.
"I'm superstitious," affirmed the latter aloud. "One's for sorrow, two'sfor joy, and three's for luck! She's the third to-day and she may be amascot."
"I'd rather have chocolates than mascots," said an injured voice frombehind a coffee-cup.
The chance remark gave Irene the very opportunity she needed. Shesuddenly remembered the chocolates her father had handed her before sheleft the hotel, and, producing the package, she offered its contents.After a visible moment of hesitation the girl with the long pigtailaccepted her hospitality, and passed the delicacies round. Instantly allwere chumping almonds, and the icy atmosphere thawed into summer.Everybody began to talk at once.
"There's a spare cup here if you'd like some coffee. Yes, Rachel, I_shall_ offer it!"
"I suppose you're over fourteen?"
"We may make coffee after lunch if we're seniors, but the kids aren'tallowed any."
"You've just one minute to drink it in before the bell rings."
"Hustle up if you want to finish it."
"I'll bet a cookie you're a real sport."
"There's the bell! Don't choke or you'll blight your young career."
"We've got to scoot quick!"
"Come along with me and I'll show you where."
Irene, taken in tow by a girl with a freckled nose, was hurried alongthe corridor and up the stairs to the classrooms. Although she hadscarcely spoken a word she had undoubtedly gained a victory, and hadestablished her welcome among at least a section of her schoolfellows.She did not yet know their names, but names are a detail compared withpersonalities, and with some members of the coffee-party she felt thatshe might ultimately become chums.
"Don't I bless Dad for those chocs!" she thought as she took her seatat a desk. "They worked the trick. If I'd had nothing to offer that crewI might have sat out in the cold forevermore. The dark pigtail is decentenough, but if it comes to a matter of chumming give me 'Freckles' forchoice."
The Villa Camellia was a high-class boarding-school forEnglish-speaking girls whose parents were residents, permanently ortemporarily, in the neighborhood of Naples. It was generally describedas an Anglo-American college, for the arrangements were accommodated tosuit the customs of both sides of the Atlantic. Miss Rodgers and herpartner, Miss Morley, the two principals, came respectively from Londonand New York; one teacher had been trained in Boston, and another atOxford, while the British section of the community included girls fromSouth Africa, Australia, and New Zealand. Pupils belonging to otherEuropean races were not received, the object of the college being topreserve the nationality of girls who must of necessity be educated in aforeign land, and whose parents did not wish them to attend Italianschools. The arrangements were of course modified by the climate and bythe customs of the country. Outwardly the Villa Camellia resembled aconvent. Its garden was surrounded by immensely high walls edged withbroken glass, and the only entrance was by the great gate, which wassolemnly unlocked by old Antonio, the porter, who inspected all comersthrough a grille before granting them admittance. Small parties incharge of a teacher were taken at stated times for walks or excursionsin the neighborhood, but no girl might ever go out unless escorted by amistress or by her parents. The Villa Camellia was a little world initself, and as much retired from the town of Fossato as the great, graymonastery that crowned the summit of the neighboring mountain.
Fortunately the grounds were very large, so there was room for most ofthe activities in which the girls cared to indulge. Tennis and netballwere the principal games. There were several courts, and there was agymnasium, where the school assembled for exercise on wet days. From twoflagstaffs on the roof floated the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripesrespectively. It was an understood fact that here Britannia and Columbiamarched hand in hand with an _entente cordiale_ that recognized nodistinctions whatsoever.
Miss Rodgers and Miss Morley, who respectively represented theinterests of Britain and America, were tremendous friends. Miss Rodgerswas fair and rather plump and rosy-faced and calm, with a manner thatparents described as "motherly," and a leaning towards mathematics asthe basis of a sound education. Miss Morley, on the contrary, was thinand dark and excitable, and taught the English literature and thegeneral knowledge classes, and was rumored--though this no doubt waslibel--to dislike mathematics to the extent of not even adequatelykeeping her own private accounts. The pair were such opposites that theyworked in absolute harmony, Miss Rodgers being mainly responsible forthe discipline of the establishment, and acting judge and court ofappeal in her study, while Miss Morley supplied the initiative, and keptthe girls interested in a large number of pursuits and hobbies whichcould be carried on within the walls of the house and garden.
As regards the fifty-six British and American maidens who made up thisbrisk little community we will leave some of them to speak forthemselves in the next chapter.