“Your tears won’t do any good, Madam Cat,” said Fanchon, “and I am not a bit impertinent, and as to telling father, why, you can tell him anything you like, after you have listened to me. The girls know that I am talking to you, so we won’t be disturbed. Now then—stop crying—you’re in my power, and you’re in Joey’s power, and you’re in Nina’s power, and the sooner you realise that fact, the better for you.” Brenda uttered a deep sigh. She thought she saw a loop-hole of hope. The girls, after all, did not matter—not greatly—whatever those impertinent little creatures had discovered. It was the Reverend Josiah whom she really dreaded, and if she were in his power, he would not have given her Welsh rabbit on the previous night, nor been so very, very kind, nor have looked at her so admiringly. If Fanchon had not gone too far, there was still hope. She, therefore, wiped her eyes and sat up.
“What is it?” she said meekly. “I am a poor prisoner at your bar, Fanchon—out with the indictment—tell the prisoner of what offence she is guilty.”
“I’ll tell you first of all what we suspect, and afterwards I will tell you what we know,” said Fanchon.
“You terrible, impertinent child—how dare you suspect me of anything!”
“We three suspect that you don’t spend all the money papa gives you for housekeeping, on the housekeeping. Cause why: We are always so dreadfully hungry and the meals are so shocking poor—and—cause why: We know that you save money for yourself in other quarters—”
“Do you think I would steal a farthing—of your dear papa’s money, you dreadful, dreadful—horrible child!” said Brenda.
“I don’t think about what I know,” replied Fanchon. “Now listen. Look at that sum.” Here she thrust a carefully made out account into Brenda’s hand. Brenda read the items, tears rushing back to her eyes and her heart palpitating wildly. The grand total of one pound, three shillings, and a penny stared her in the face. “And now,” continued Fanchon, “having discovered that this was exactly what you spent on our poor little clothes, we should like to know what you propose to do with the balance.”
“The balance, child!” said Brenda. “I haven’t a penny—not a penny over. In fact, although I wouldn’t trouble your father, you are a little bit in debt to me—I mean the gloves—I couldn’t tell you, and you had to have gloves—but I paid for the gloves.”
“Oh—you wicked Brenda!” said Fanchon—“you intolerably wicked woman! Nina talked to father yesterday, and father told her that he gave you three pounds for each of us, in order to clothe us for the seaside. So you have still in your possession seven pounds, sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence of our money. It’s my belief that you have spent it on your own clothes! There—you can’t deny it—we know what the things you bought cost—the miserable—horrid—mean things you bought! and we know what poor papa gave you, for he told Nina and afterwards I went and asked him and he told me too.”
“And does he—does he know—anything else?” asked Brenda.