Crown Phoenix: Night Watchman Express

by Alison DeLuca

Chapter 8

  Miriam’s First Lesson

  inish your rice pudding.” Mana went to the fireplace and drawing back the screen. Taking a poker, she began to jab at the coals. A small flame shot up, and she added another shovelful of coals. “There, that’s better.” She sat down and reached for the teapot.

  “But why won’t you tell me how you did it?” Miriam said for the fiftieth time. “I’ve never seen them act like that. And you must have gotten them to hire you somehow; I can’t imagine Aunt Po-faced Theodosia wanting natives in the house.”

  “That’s about as rude a statement as I ever heard,” Mana said calmly. “First, kindly discontinue the use of words like ‘Po-faced’ in my schoolroom. Second, I am not a ‘native’; I am an islander. Don’t forget it again.”

  “Sorry.” Miriam looked down at her plate. Somehow it didn’t do to cross Mana. She didn’t seem to get angry, but she could make you feel like a worm if you didn’t do as she said. “But still, won’t you tell me?”

  “Absolutely not. We have too much to do. You’ll need a good school uniform, and the state of your undergarments is ridiculous.”

  “A uniform!” Miriam was outraged. “But I’m not going to school!”

  “I disagree. You may be my only pupil, but I am indeed running a school.” Mana stared at her with her eyebrows raised, and Miriam finally dropped her eyes again.

  “Are you doing it to me?” she asked, after a bit.

  “Doing what?” Mana added a spot of milk to her cup and sipped her tea.

  “You know, what you did to my guardians.”

  Mana put down her cup and saucer on the table. She paused, and said, “You are more like your father than you think. And the answer is No.”

  “Oh.” Miriam thought for a moment. “Will you tell me what you did to my guardians? Will you teach me how to do it?”

  “We have to move your rooms first, and then I have a great many other things to teach you,” Mana replied. “We’ll see how you do in your lessons first.”

  “And if I do well, will you show me?” Miriam asked. Mana opened her mouth, and Miriam cut her off. “No, I know what your answer is. ‘We’ll see’.”

  Mana’s lips twitched. “Time for bed.”

  The girl took the governess’ hand, and they walked down the hall to her bedroom. Except it won’t be my room any more, she thought, not after tomorrow.

  Miriam jumped into bed and curled her feet up under her. “I’m really not sleepy,” she said.

   “Shall I read you a story?”

  “Oh, yes please!” Miriam said. “How about that one?” She pointed to a heavy volume that lay on the little table by her bed.

  Mana smiled. “Well, maybe one chapter. Now, lie down.” She opened the book, reached for a pair of spectacles that hung around her neck on a gold chain, and began to read. Miriam watched her for a bit, her dark eyes intent on the governess, and they began to close of their own accord. Mana read on, and stopped when the girl’s breathing grew even and her head slipped to one side. Quietly, she stood up and put the book on the table, and she turned to leave.

  “Mana,” Miriam whispered.

  “Well?”

  Miriam whispered something that was too quiet for the governess to hear. Her eyes closed, and her head turned on the pillow. Mana looked at her for a moment, smoothed back one black ringlet from the girl’s cheek, and turned back to the door.

  The next morning, lessons began. Miriam wasn’t pleased when she saw how much work was set for her. She had to keep a journal, as well as work on mathematics, Latin and history. Mana called a halt to their studies when lunch was sent up to the room. After they had eaten, she told Miriam to get her coat and hat so they could take a walk outside. Miriam flew downstairs, but when she returned, out of breath, Mana held out a sketchbook.

  “Here you are,” she said. “We’ll draw at least three botanical specimens. You can learn a poem by heart when we come back, and that should do it for today.”

  “But I thought I could play outside!” Miriam said rebelliously.

  “You may, when lessons are finished,” Mana replied. “In the meantime, do me the favor of tying your bootlace.”

  Miriam muttered something under her breath, but did as she was told.

  When they returned some time later with three rather wobbly sketches, they ran into Aunt Theodosia in the downstairs hall. She wore a green walking suit with a lace blouse and a hat trimmed with ribbons to match the suit; the ensemble was obviously new, but the color clashed unfortunately with her skin, making her look rather like an olive. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “Are your things moved to the attics yet?” She spoke to Miriam, ignoring Mana.

  “I packed everything this morning.” Mana ignored Theodosia’s lack of manners. Looking up at her governess, Miriam thought how neat and dignified she looked, next to green olive-like Aunt Theodosia. “While Miriam is learning her poetry this afternoon, I’ll arrange the move.”

  “Well,” Aunt Theodosia flicked one of her quick glances at the governess and hurriedly looked away. “That should be acceptable, as long as you both keep out of Simon’s room.”

  “Who’s Simon?” Miriam demanded.

  Aunt Theodosia opened her mouth to reply acidly, but Mana smoothly intercepted her. “I should imagine he’s the Marchpanes’ son; isn’t that so, Mrs. Marchpane?”

  “That is correct.” Aunt Theodosia turned away, but turned back to deliver one more comment. “And you’ll be on your best behavior if you do encounter him, miss!”

  “Of course she will.” Mana put one hand between Miriam’s shoulder blades and gently propelling her up the stairs. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Marchpane.”

  In the schoolroom, Mana ignored Miriam’s protests and opened a book of poetry in front of her. “Start with this,” she said. “I must go and make arrangements.”

  Miriam scowled as Mana left the room. “I hate poetry!” she said to herself. Drearily, she looked at the page and read the poem. To her surprise, she was able to learn the lines quite easily, since it was about horsemen galloping from one city to another with an important message. The rhythm seemed to gallop as well, and after a bit, Miriam found that her feet were tapping out the words. “Da-da-da, da-da-da, da-da-da-da-dum.” She imagined herself on horseback, riding as fast as she could with vital information.

  “Have you learned your lines?” Mana opened the door and coming in with some garments draped over one arm.

  Miriam opened her eyes, surprised. “Oh! Yes, I think so.”

  “Let’s hear them.” Mana sat opened a wooden box. Miriam had never seen it before, and it looked like some of the things her father used to bring back with him from Lampala.

  As it was carved on the outside with exciting pictures of exotic trees and flowers, Miriam was disappointed to find that it only contained needles and wool. Mana picked up a darning egg and looked at Miriam over the rim of her glasses. “You may begin now,” she said.

  Miriam recited the poem, finding that the lines rolled easily off her tongue. At the end, she stopped and looked at Mana for praise.

  “Not bad,” Mana said, biting off a thread. “However, must you tap your feet while you’re reciting?”

  “Oh,” Miriam said, looking down. “I didn’t realize I was tapping. I suppose it was just the way I learned it.”

  “Ah.” Mana’s lips twitched. “Well, that’s not so bad in that case, although it might not go over in the royal drawing room. Maybe you can learn the next one by blinking your eyes.”

  “Or snapping my fingers,’ Miriam said. “Mana, do I really have to move to another room?”

  “Already moved,” Mana said. “Everything is upstairs. I must say, it will be much more convenient, as my room will be across the hall.”

  Miriam slumped back into her chair. “But I can hear the train whistle from there –”

  Mana looked up sharply and put down her sewing. “Come here,” she said, holding out one hand. Miriam walked over, and Mana put her hand on t
he girl’s arm. “Now, what’s all this?”

  “Nothing,” Miriam replied. “Just that I hear the whistle of the train that comes at night, and I don’t like it, that’s all.”

  “Now, look.” Mana stood up, and pointed to a door in the corner of the room. “Your bedroom is right up those steps, so we won’t have to traipse up and down the main hall anymore.”

  “Very convenient,” Miriam responded sarcastically. “But that was my bedroom – that I have always slept in – since my father was here.”

  “All right, come on.” Mana rose. “Come up and have a look.” She walked to the door and opened it to reveal a small staircase.

  Rather grudgingly, Miriam admitted, “I never knew that was there.”

  “No, why should you? It is the way to the servants’ quarters, and now – to our rooms as well. Follow me.” Mana started up the stairs, and Miriam followed unwillingly. The stairs were painted white and carpeted with a faded runner, and a rail went up one side. At the top there was a narrow hall that divided the top story into two sides, lined with doors. “This is your room,” Mana said. She opened the door that was closest to the top of the stairs, and Miriam walked inside.

  She had expected the attic room to be dreary, but it was painted white inside. The ceiling sloped close to the floor, and the late afternoon sun shone in through two dormer windows with window seats. The floor was made of wooden boards, rather weathered, but a cream rug with poppies on it lay in front of the windows.

  There was a long, low bookshelf on one side that Mana had filled with Miriam’s favorite books. Near the window stood a chest of drawers with a china bowl and jug; as well, cheerful postcards of flowers and ferns were propped on the mantelpiece over the fireplace between the two windows. The room was extremely clean, and it smelled of fresh wax, lavender, and clean sheets.

  “This is – not bad,” Miriam said, looking around. “Oh – oh no!”

  “What on earth is it?” Mana said.

  “My chest,” Miriam replied. “It’s still in my room!”

  “No, it’s not,” Mana replied. She walked over the side wall of the room. Miriam saw that there was an iron handle set into the wall, which pulled out. Mana pulled on the handle, and the wall opened, revealing a long, low cupboard. Inside it was the chest from Miriam’s old room.

  “Well, that’s handy,” Miriam said.

  “The chest? Or the cupboard?”

  “Both,” Miriam said. “Did you open the chest?”

  “As it is yours, not mine, I did not,” Mana answered.

  “Wouldn’t you like to see what’s inside?”

  “Not now, Miriam. Keep it closed. And, I would use a copybook instead,” she added.

  Miriam looked up at her in astonishment. “You mean, for writing my stories?” she said.

  “Well, of course. Trust me. Keep that chest closed for now, and use a pencil instead.”

  Miriam nodded, her eyebrows furrowing. “But, how did you know what was in my trunk?”

  Mana didn’t answer. “Well, what do you think?”

  “Oh, the room. It’s not so bad,” Miriam said. “But down there –” She pointed at the window.

  Mana leaned over beside her and peered out of the window. Far below, beyond the house gardens, a deep, wide furrow plowed through the thick woods.

  “What is it?” Mana asked seriously. “Is that the railway?”

  “It’s the Night Watchman Express,” Miriam replied.

  “Listen to me, Miriam.” Mana put her hands on Miriam’s shoulders. “What time does that train go past the house?”

  Puzzled, Miriam replied, “At midnight, every night. Why?”

  “I’ll come in every night and sit in here as it goes by,” Mana said, turning Miriam to face her. “Will that help?”

  Bluntly, Miriam asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  Mana sighed. “Because you’re in my charge,” she said. “And –”

  “Well?”

  Mana stood up and moved to the door. “Come on now, close those closet doors. It’s time for your bath.”

  That night, Miriam lay in her new room, sleepily thinking to herself about the quick glimpse she had of Simon. I bet he’s a real wart, she said to herself; has to be, with those parents. That friend he was walking around with outside is probably a scab too.

  Mana sat in front of the fireplace. The governess read a book and sang something softly in an unknown language. Miriam could just make out some of the words: angule something, tanalapaka, lampala ife la something… Maybe she’ll teach me the words, she thought, after lessons tomorrow. Maybe she’ll teach me the language of her island…

  A faraway whistle sounded and rose to a thin wail. Mana turned to look at Miriam, but the girl slept peacefully.

  A few hours earlier, Mrs. Williams and Nelly were engaged in making fruitcake. George came into the kitchen with a pair of bottles, one tucked under each arm. “Here you are, the sherry that you wanted, and Mr. Furnace will be along directly with the port and the champagne. Any chance of a taste?” he added hopefully, looking at the cakes.

  “Get out of here!” Mrs. Williams threatened him with a rolling pin before she weakened. “Very well, have a mince pie,; it’ll put some flesh on your bones. May I tempt you, Mr. Furnace?”

  “You may indeed.” Furnace came through the door with a heavy wooden box.

  “What do we know about this governess?” Nelly carefully measured a square of greased paper against a pan and cut it to fit the bottom.

  “All I know is that I had to move all the furniture in Miss Miriam’s room,” George said.

  “Miss Miriam’s room no longer,” Furnace reminded him.

  The cook shook her head. “Such doings,” she murmured. “Master would never have stood for it. Cut that string a bit longer, Nelly; it’ll never fit twice around those pudding basins like that.”

  “Mr. Pearson would have wanted us to look after Miss Miriam,” Furnace replied. “We all need to do our jobs as well as possible so the Marchpanes have no complaints.”

  “Right you are,” George agreed, “otherwise we’ll be let go. And who knows who they’d get in our places?”

  “Oh, yes,” Nelly said. “It would be her doing the hiring, that thin woman; she’s always popping her long nose into everything.”

  “Haven’t heard a squeak out of the girl today,” George said. “Do you think its right, having a lady from the island as her governess?”

  “She could come from the bottom of the ocean, for all I care,” Mrs. Williams vigorously scraped the bottom of a bowl. “Miss Miriam is eating like a Christian again, and she had roses in her cheeks when she came in today from drawing plants.”

  “Drawing plants?”

  “Her botany lesson, Nelly,” Furnace explained. “And I quite agree with you, Mrs. Williams.”

  “Still, I wonder what that son of theirs will make of Miss Miriam when they do finally run into each other,” George retorted.