by P. N. Elrod
Once he’d learned that Edmond had given Richard over to my care, Oliver generously opened his house to the lad and welcomed him in. Elizabeth was just as keen to have the boy in as well and managed within the space of a few days to turn a couple of the upstairs rooms into a fine bedroom and nursery for Mrs. Howard and her charge.
That lady was not herself adverse to moving out of Edmond Fonteyn’s no doubt gloomy household and into ours, but with all the row going on, I was certain she’d be having second thoughts soon enough. Past personal experience with nannies taught me that they prefer routines of the quiet, restful sort, something that would likely be lacking during those hours when I was up and around.
My time with Richard was short owing to the limits of my condition, but for the present the winter nights started early and lasted long. Even so, on this first evening the instant I was awake I anxiously bolted from my cellar sanctuary to rush upstairs and see him, taxing the patience of Jericho. His inviolable custom was to lie in wait in my room, then seize upon and subject my person to an interval of grooming and dressing so I wouldn’t shame him before polite company. As Richard and I galloped past, we surprised him emerging from my doorway, razor in one hand and cloth in the other, indication that I was in for a shaving tonight. Jericho’s mouth popped open in startled disappointment before he hastily retreated out of the way.
The rest of the servants had simply been told that Richard was our cousin and committed to our care. If anyone chose to make anything of his uncanny resemblance to me, Jericho was to report such murmurings, and I’d have a little “talk” with the person to discourage idle gossip. Like Nanny Howard, Jericho knew about the boy’s true paternity, and both could be trusted to keep it to themselves. We’d planned that Richard would be informed but only when he was old enough and when the time was right. It seemed best to curtail any possibility of him overhearing something he wasn’t ready for by making sure the other servants were just as discreet.
Richard and I made another circuit of the upper rear hall and emerged into the front again but were forced to abruptly rein in. Nanny Howard stood square in our path, hands on her hips and a stern cast to the look on her face.
“Mr. Barrett!” she said in a tone to match the look.
“Oy-oy-oy!” Richard yodeled, thumping the top of my head with one fist while the other twisted the remnants of my neckcloth around. “See me, Nanny! We’re having a race!”
“You’ll race yourself into an upset stomach with that row,” she told him, fulfilling my expectations about nannies and their preference for a quiet routine. Her gaze fell upon me like the hand of doom. “Mr. Barrett, it will be his bedtime soon and now he’ll be hours settling for it.”
Not at all contrite, I nonetheless came up with a pretty speech of apology and volunteered to help in that task. “What’s your best settling remedy, then? We’ll get him fixed right up. How about a tot of hot milk with a little honey for taste? That always worked for me.”
This mollified her somewhat, but she still showed reluctance to let go her chagrin. “You needn’t trouble yourself over such trifles, sir. I can see to things.”
“Hardly a trifle. Besides, I got him stirred up; it’s only fair I stir him down again.”
“But, sir—”
“This isn’t what you’re used to, I’m sure, but we run things differently in this house. I’m interested in the lad’s well-being, so you might as well get used to the fact that I’m going to be underfoot quite a lot. You’ve got him to yourself all through the day, but for an hour or so at night it’s my turn.”
She pursed her lips in swift thought and being every bit as intelligent as I’d estimated, decided cooperation was preferable to argument. “Very well, Mr. Barrett. But I must remind you that Richard is not yet used to such excitements. Perhaps it’s best to ease him into things a little at a time.”
It sounded reasonable to me, and I wasn’t one to cross her on anything as important as a growing lad’s bedtime. Not yet, anyway. Richard groaned a protest as we ducked into the nursery and pulled on my neck cloth again in an effort to turn his steed back to the beckoning fields of the rest of the house. The fabric came undone and slipped free, and not wasting the opportunity, he waved it like a banner, then whipped it around my eyes.
“What’s happened?” I gruffly asked, blundering about with one arm extended to feel my way. “Who blew out the candles?”
This game went over enormously well. I played it to the limit, pretending to smash face first against a wall resulting in a crash to the floor—a slow and gentle one—with much loud moaning and calls for caution. We ended up rolling and tussling like puppies until he was breathless. One advantage I had over any other adults he’d ever play with was that I didn’t get tired.
“I think you need a carpet in here, Nanny,” I said, still lying on the floor because Richard had decided to hold my legs down by sprawling over them. “A nice thick one. Don’t want the boy to get more bruises than necessary.”
“It’s sure to get dirty, sir.”
“Then let it get dirty, we can always get another. I’ll put my sister onto it tomorrow. London’s full of shops; the three of you can pick one out. Does he need anything else—clothes, furniture, that sort of thing?”
“Toys!” Richard shouted, taking off one of my shoes and measuring it against the other, sole to sole.
“He is well supplied with all that he needs, sir, with more than enough, I think.”
The furnishings from the nursery at Edmond’s home had been carted over. Moving from my childhood home to London proved to be a bad wrench for me, and I was full grown and well prepared for it. I’d hoped that the sudden change for Richard would be lessened with the presence of having his familiar things around him. It must have worked, for he seemed carefree enough.
“Well, you be sure to tell us of your least little need, y’hear? The big needs, too. You have any problems, you come straightway to any of us so we can fix ’em.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One’s bigger than the other,” Richard observed of the shoes. He looked at me for some sort of reaction. “One’s bigger than the other.”
“So it is,” I agreed, propping up on my elbows to see. “By a fraction of an inch. I’ll have a word with my shoemaker.”
“What’s a fraction?”
“A portion of something, usually very small.”
“A portion of what?”
“Anything you like.”
He now measured my shoe against one of his own. “It’s bigger by a fraction of an inch,” he pronounced.
“So it is. I’ll teach you properly about them if you like.”
“Yes, please.”
“Nanny, have we got a measuring stick about the place?”
“I’m not sure, sir.”
“Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to ask Jericho to find one. He knows where everything is.”
“But, sir, about Richard’s bedtime—”
“Oh, bother, I suppose if we must. Tell you what, have Jericho bring a measuring stick, and you go turn up that hot milk and honey I’ll give Richard a lesson in fractions. With any luck, the combination will put him to sleep. It always worked for me.”
She tucked in her lower lip in an effort not to smile and whisked out. A moment later Jericho appeared in the doorway bearing the required stick and a pained expression when he saw the state of my clothes.
“Good evening, Jericho. Have to hold off on the nightly wash and brush up for the moment.”
“I think it is just as well, Mr. Jonathan. Had you taken the time earlier, it would have all been for nothing.”
Richard giggled. “Jericho.”
“And what about it?” I asked. “That’s his name.” I got another giggle for a reply.
“I believe Master Richard refers to the unfortunate habit Londoners have of calling the back garden
privy a ‘jericho,’ sir,” my excellent friend said with unsuppressed distaste.
Another giggle from below.
Well, I had to put a stop to that. “Richard,” I said, fully sitting up and addressing the boy in a serious tone. It took a repetition or two before he calmed down sufficiently to give me the solemn sort of attention the occasion required. “Making fun of a person’s name, no matter what it is, is impolite and not at all becoming of a true gentleman. You understand that?”
He pouted and nodded.
“Very good. Now I want you to promise not to make fun of anyone’s name ever again, particularly Jericho’s.”
I’d had to deal with this subject before with the servants. Jericho was the true head of this household when it came to all practical matters, and it wouldn’t do to have anyone finding amusement in his name and thus undermining his authority. His was an excellent name, after all, and certainly not his fault that it had been corrupted by the locals into something that might be thought basely amusing.
“I promise.”
“What an excellent lad you are! Now can you tell us where Nanny keeps your little nightgown? If you’re dressed and ready for bed when she comes back, then she might not be cross with me for keeping you up so late.”
Put this way, he had no objection to getting ready and helped me avoid Nanny’s wrath, pointing at a chest with drawers. We searched through its contents and discovered a suitable garment.
“I can take over from here, sir,” said Jericho. “Perhaps if you would use this time to put yourself into order as well. . . .”
I obediently set to work on myself as he turned to take care of Richard.
“Won’t that come off?” Richard said, pointing to Jericho’s dark skin.
“I assure you it will not, Master Richard. See for yourself.” He held his hand out for the child’s close inspection. Said hand was peered at, rubbed and pinched. “See, just like yours but with more color—and a good deal cleaner. A trip to the washbasin is in order, I think. Come along.”
He gently guided Richard away, and from that so subtle action smoothly assumed the same position of command he held over me when it came to proper grooming. Jericho could be quite formidable when he chose, but in this instance he was careful not to bowl the lad over by a full display of his imperious manner. A soft word here, a delicate recommendation there and he had Richard painlessly scrubbed and dressed for bed before the boy knew what had happened.
“I’ll take my turn as soon as I’m done here,” I told Jericho.
“One would hope so, sir,” he replied, raising an eyebrow at my lackluster turnout. Since I’d only replaced the shoe on my foot and straightened my waistcoat, he was entitled to all the eyebrow-raising he wanted. He plucked my discarded neck cloth from the floor and stalked out just as Nanny Howard returned with a small cup of hot milk in hand.
“All ready,” Richard announced to her, showing off his clean hands, face and change of clothing. “Don’t be cross with Cousin Jon’th’n.”
The woman was adept at adjusting to changing circumstances, and her look went from questioning to acceptance. “Very well, I won’t. Have you had your lesson in fractions yet?”
“We were just about to get down to it,” I answered for him.
“How nice,” she said, and put the cup of milk on a low table next to a miniature stool. Richard plopped himself onto the latter and gave the cup and its contents a suspicious eye.
“It’s too hot,” he said decisively.
“No doubt,” I said. “But it will cool off in a moment. Now where’s that measuring stick?” I found it and sat cross-legged on the floor next to him to more easily explain the basic principals of fractions.
For all the fatherly pride that was fast burgeoning in my swelled bosom over his many talents, I couldn’t say that he took well to this first lesson. To be fair, he was still lively from his hard riding and full of questions for everything except the subject at hand. It didn’t take me long to twig to this, so I obligingly did not force him around. Instead, I did my best to answer why I preferred not to wear a wig, where I’d come from, the general location of America in relation to England, and conjectured just how wide and deep the “ ‘Lantic Ocean” might be. By then his milk was of a suitable drinking temperature, and I managed to coax most of it into him.
“Doesn’t taste like real milk,” he said.
“That must be the honey in it.”
“He’s used to fresh cow’s milk, sir,” Nanny Howard put in. “All the kitchen had was ass’s milk.”
“Yes, Oliver is particularly fond of it, says it’s more wholesome than what comes from a cow.”
“Indeed it is, sir, for I shouldn’t care to trust any cow’s milk bought in the city. Too many things can make it go bad.”
“Perhaps if we got our own cow—”
“Oh, no, sir, for it would still be in the city. Better to have ass’s milk or none at all.”
“You don’t care much for the city, then?”
“It’s not my place to say, sir.”
“Certainly it is if I ask you.”
“Well, then, it’s fine enough for me, but in truth, I don’t think raising a child in the city is at all wise.”
“What have you against it, then?”
“The bad air for one thing, the bad water for another.”
I could offer no argument on those points and motioned for her to continue.
“That’s more than enough to stunt growth and turn them sickly There’s also soot everywhere you step, rotten food sold by people you don’t know, disease, low women, wicked men and too much noise. How can a child get any sleep?”
“There’s low women and wicked men in the country—or so I’ve heard,” I said, dodging the question.
“Perhaps that is so, Mr. Barrett, but I’ve yet to see any and I’ve lived in the country considerably longer than you’ve been alive. But that aside, I’ve seen more country children reach their majority than city ones. Raising children is not unlike farming, sir. You need a bit of room to grow, sunshine, and sweet water. Take any one of those away and you’ll end up with a failed crop.”
Damnation, but she was making perfect sense. “Then you see nothing favorable about the city at all?”
“I’ll allow that it has passable distractions and entertainments, but the nature of such things holds little interest to a boy of four years.” Her observations were entirely sensible, but I didn’t know what to do about them. The first idea that came to me—and the first one to be discarded—was for Richard to return to Edmond’s country home. As for the second idea. . . .
“I could possibly look around for a place of my own,” I said, without much enthusiasm. I rather liked the city and its wicked, if not utterly evil distractions.
She picked up on that and offered an alternative. “What about Fonteyn House? It’s not far away and has more than enough room.”
That was my third idea, and I wasn’t too keen on it. “I don’t think it would prove practical. You see, my father and mother may be on their way to England at any time, and I rather expect Mother will want to live in Fonteyn House.”
“That’s only natural, it being her late sister’s home.”
“Natural, yes, but to have her sharing it with a young and rowdy child would not be the best for either of ’em.”
“But there’s more than room enough—”
“Room is not the point, Mrs. Howard. It’s best that you know about my mother.”
“Indeed?” She assumed a carefully neutral face, having also picked up on a darkening in my tone of voice.
“She’s just as horrible in her way as Aunt Fonteyn was.” I paused to allow her to take in that bit of blatant honesty, giving her a suitably somber look. “I think we know what might have happened had Aunt Fonteyn lived to learn about, let us say, certain irregular circu
mstances in the family progeny. Now multiply that by several times and you’ll have an idea of how my mother might react should she learn of it.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Sadly, her hold on reason is altogether infirm, and when her grasp slips she is capable of the most violent fits imaginable. I would be loath to expose an unprepared innocent to such an irregular temper.”
Mrs. Howard nodded. “Yes, old judge Fonteyn suffered the same sort of malady. Many’s the time I had to keep Oliver out of his way when the spell was on him.”
Oliver and I had had a lengthy talk about what disgusting sickness the old judge suffered from, an entirely horrifying topic. Though she gave me the impression she knew something about it, I wasn’t going to pursue it with Mrs. Howard at the present and certainly not while the boy was listening.
“Having my own home might be the best for all concerned, then,” I said instead. “But I shouldn’t like to be too far from London.”
“I’m sure there are any number of suitable places, sir.”
I had my doubts, but only because I was reluctant to move from Oliver’s comfortable house and assume the responsibility of looking after my own. On the other hand, there was a decided appeal to being one’s own master. “You know, if Oliver hadn’t invited me and Elizabeth to live with him, I’d have had to find one for us, anyway It probably would have been in the city, though, and I’d still have the same problem to face now. “
Then perhaps it was past time I gave serious thought to finding a separate accommodation for myself, or rather for the Barrett branch of the Fonteyn kindred. And I hadn’t exactly come to England empty-handed, being still in the possession of a half dozen cattle that had survived the ocean crossing. They’d originally been put aboard ship to provide me with a fresh source of blood for the long journey, but my condition had changed that plan by causing me to fall into an unnatural sleep for the whole trip. My unnerving hibernation provided no end of worry for Elizabeth and Jericho at the time. The only favorable thing that might be said of the phenomenon was that it spared me from two months of constant and exhausting mal de mer.