It was indeed terrible. In a day the big house was empty of scholars.
Madame Fournier adjourned to Bayeux. Miss Foster went to her mother. The
masters, the other teachers disappeared, all except Mademoiselle
Adelaide, who was to stay in charge of the two girls for a fortnight,
and then to resign her office for the same period to Miss Foster. There
was a month of this heartless solitude before Bessie and Janey.
Mademoiselle Adelaide bemoaned herself as their jailer, as much in
prison as they. They had good grounds of complaint. A deserted school at
Christmas-time is not a cheerful place.
But there was compensation preparing for Bessie.
* * * * *
"And when does Bessie Fairfax come?" was almost the first question of
Harry Musgrave when he arrived from Oxford.
"Bessie is not to come at all," was the answer.
What was that for? He proceeded to an investigation. There was a streak
of lively, strong perversity in Harry Musgrave. Remarks had been passed
on his accompanying Mr. Carnegie when he conveyed Bessie to
school--quite uncalled-for remarks, which had originated at Fairfield
and the rectory. The impertinence of them roused Harry's temper, and,
boy-like, he instantly resolved that if his dear little Bessie was kept
away from home and punished on his account, he would give her meddlesome
friends something to talk about by going to Caen again and seeing her in
spite of them. He made out with clearness enough to satisfy his
conscience that Lady Latimer and Mrs. Wiley gave themselves unnecessary
anxiety about Mr. Fairfax's granddaughter, and that he was perfectly
justified in circumventing their cautious tactics. He did not speak of
his intention to the Carnegies, lest he should meet with a remonstrance
that he would be forced to yield to; but he told his sympathizing mother
that he was going to spend five pounds of his pocket-money in a run
across to Normandy to see Bessie Fairfax. Mrs. Musgrave asked if it was
quite wise, quite kind, for Bessie's sake. He was sure that Bessie would
be glad, and he did not care who was vexed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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