Part 38 (1/2)
Directly under her lay the front garden, and a row of white steps that grinned like teeth. It was on them that she would fall--not on the gra.s.s....
She imagined the sensation of the impact, and shuddered. But at least they would kill one outright.... One would not die groaning in rhymed couplets, like Arthur....
Clasping the shafts, she hoisted herself upwards, till she stood upon the inner sill. Instantly the fear of falling caught her by the throat.
She swayed backwards, gasping and dizzy, steadying herself against the stout curtains.
”I can't do it,” whispered Louise hoa.r.s.ely. ”I can't do it.”
Slowly the vertigo pa.s.sed. She fought with her rampant fear, wrenching away her thoughts from the terror of the death she had chosen, to the terror of the life she was leaving. She stood a s.p.a.ce, balanced between time and eternity, weighing them.
With an effort she straightened herself, and put a foot on the outer ledge. Again, inevitably, she sickened. Huddled in the safety of the window-seat, stray phrases thrummed in her head: ”My bones turn to water”--”There is no strength in me.” He knew--that Psalmist man....
She slipped back on to the floor, and walked unsteadily to the littered table. Her hands were so weak that she could hardly lift them to pour out a gla.s.s of water.
She leaned against the table and drank thirstily. What a fool she was.... What a weak fool.... An instant's courage--one little second--and peace for ever after.... Wasn't it worth while? Wasn't it?
Wasn't it? She turned again to her deliverance.
As she pulled herself on to the seat, she heard a noise of footsteps in the pa.s.sage without, and the handle of the door was rattled impatiently.
In an instant she was on the sill. This was pursuit--Miss Hartill, and all the terrors! There must be no more hesitation. Once more she crouched for the leap, only, with a supreme effort, to swing herself back to safety again. Her hands were so slippery with sweat that they could barely grip the window-shafts. There was a banging at the door and a sound of voices calling. She swayed in a double agony, as fear strove against fear.
She heard the voice of a prefect--
”Who is it in there? Open the door at once.”
They would break open the door.... They would find her.... They would stop her.... Coward that she was--fool and coward.... One instant's courage--one little movement!
She stiffened herself anew. Poised on the extreme edge of the outer sill, she pushed her two hands through the belt of her dress, lest they should save her in her own despite. She stood an instant, her eyes closed.
Then she sprang....
CHAPTER XXIII
Clare was enjoying tea and triumph. She had worked hard for both, and was virtuously fatigued. The rocking-chair was comfortable, and the little gym mistress had brought her her favourite cakes. The Common-room, tinkling its tea-cups, buzzed criticism and approval. The rehearsal had been a success.
The talk centred, while opinion divided, on the Constance and the Prince Arthur. The general standpoint seemed to be that Agatha had reached the heights. Her royal robes had been effective; she reminded nearly every one of a favourite actress. Louise was less popular. A curious performance--very clever, of course--only one had not thought of Arthur quite like that! Now the Constance----
Clare, watching and listening, purred like a sleepy cat. She wondered why Alwynne was absent ... she was missing a lot.... Louise was annoying--she had been excessively irritated with her ten minutes before--and there was the debacle of the scholars.h.i.+p papers--but to cla.s.s her with Agatha! What fools these women were!
The discussion had become argument, and was growing faintly acrimonious, when a deep voice cut across it.
Miss Hamilton, a visiting music mistress, always had a hearing when she chose to speak. She was a big woman, with a fine ma.s.sive head and shrewd eyes. She dressed tweedily and carried her hands in her pockets, slouching a little. It was her harmless vanity to have none. Teaching music was her business; her recreations, hockey, and the more law-abiding forms of suffrage agitation. She was a level-headed and convincing speaker, with a triumphant sense of humour that could, and had, carried her successfully through many a fantastic situation.
Rumours of her adventures had spread among the staff, if not through the school, and beglamoured her; she could have had a following if she had chosen. But her healthy twelve stone crashed through pedestals, and she established comrades.h.i.+p, as she helped you, laughter-shaken, to pick up the pieces.
A postponed lesson had given her time to attend the rehearsal, and she had afterwards joined the flock of mistresses at tea. Clare, who thought more of her opinion than she chose to own, had eyed her once or twice already, and at the sound of her voice she stopped her lazy rocking.
”But they are not in the same category! Any schoolgirl could have played Constance as What's-her-name played it, given the training she has had.”