“I shall always be condemned to sit in the second parlour, whilst everyone else converses in the drawing room. Even should I be asked to go to Paris with Nicole—which is doubtful in any case—I shall see hardly any more there! Oh! A thorough acquaintance with the nurseries and kitchens I shall gain, I expect—but more than that? Foolish girl! At least, had you been a Mrs. Siddons, you should have had your own kitchens and half a dozen maids to wait upon you. And the children in your nurseries should have been your own!”
Anne bit her lip at this, and murmured an apology to the absent Nicole. She had made her own bed. Very well, then—she should lie in it. It would be months, perhaps years, before she knew enough of the “great world” to write about it, much less satirize it. And in the meantime? For the year at least, she was forced to remain as she was. If Sir Basil would not take her to France, she must find another situation. And what if she could not delude anyone else as thoroughly as she had deluded the Baronet? It was unlikely that she would find anyone else as thoroughly ignorant of the requirements of her trade as he was, much less a friend as indulgent as Lady Cardovan.
This black mood must needs have some end, but it was some time before Anne had the heart, or the desire, to look up from her unhappy musings. The fire had by then long since died out, and the clock struck three.
Starting up, Anne went out into the corridor. Not a sound was to be heard. Puzzled, she descended the stairs to go in search of the butler. But the man was not at his usual station in the upstairs pantry, and the entrance hall was deserted. What on earth could have befallen Nicole and the Ambassador?
Just then the sound of laughter reached her ears, coming, as it seemed, from beyond the door. In a moment, the crash of the great knocker came, and Anne, who had been just on the point of ascending the steps once more, went forward to answer it.
The sight which greeted her eyes upon throwing back the door was the last one in all the world she had anticipated. There were the two figures of Sir Basil and Nicole, dressed as they had been before; the gentleman in his walking cape and top hat, the child’s flushed faced barely visible between the rim of her bonnet and the fur of her collar: nothing astounding in that. The faces, however, and the expressions upon those faces were so changed from what they had been in all the time Anne had known them that she was for a moment incapable of speech. Nicole’s features, more given to merriment than her guardian’s, were lit up in an absolute spectacle of mirth and happiness. Her small cheeks were bright as apples from the cold, her large black eyes were dancing. But Sir Basil—what on earth could have happened to him? wondered Anne, drawing back a pace or two to let them in. Sir Basil had undergone as complete a transformation as the young lady had ever seen. Where his gaze had always been keen, intelligent, and critical, now it was softened by an expression of—could it be?—perfect enjoyment. Anne would not have believed it possible, had she not seen it with her own eyes, that any set of features could be so radically changed in the space of several hours. Taken aback as she was, she was yet lucid enough to perceive that the transformation was all flattering. Whatever of thinness, dryness, and sarcasm had lurked in that nose, those eyes and lips, and those cheeks, was now all gone, and in their place was as much human kindness as she had ever witnessed.
“Oh, Miss Calder!” cried the child, running into the hall and flinging back her cape, “we have had the most wonderful adventure!”
“I hope you have not been worried,” put in the Baronet, stepping into the hall himself and closing the door behind him. “We hoped you would not be. In truth, we did not mean to be away so long.”
“Uncle Basil has shown me all over London, and all the places he used to go when he was little!”
“Uncle Basil?” repeated Anne, wonderingly.
“Yes!” cried the child, skipping about the room. “Uncle Basil knows everything about London! We have been to Westminster Bridge, and the Tower, and of course St. James’s, and driven through the Prince’s Park, and up Bond Street, and past all the shops. And I saw White’s, and Boodle’s, and—and—”
“That is quite enough, Nicole,” warned the Ambassador, resuming a more natural dignity of demeanor. “You shall exhaust Miss Calder if you go on. I believe she is inclined to send us both upstairs without any dinner as it is.”
“Oh, dear!” cried the child, pausing in her progress about the hall with a most horrified look, “you shan’t do that, shall you, Miss Calder?”
Miss Calder was far too astonished to do anything of the kind. It was all she could do to muster a few words.
“Dear me. Dear me. No—no, I shan’t send you to bed! I have been worried, but, that is—”
“Perhaps,” suggested Sir Basil helpfully, “we had better adjourn to the library and have some tea. I, for one, am famished. I do not recollect being so hungry in all my life. Do you suppose you could persuade them to give us a very hearty tea, Miss Calder? If so, I shall promise to do anything you like. I believe I shall be open to any kind of punishment you have in mind, so long as I am fed.”
“I don’t think Miss Calder is really very angry,” confided Nicole to her guardian, when Anne, dumbfounded, had gone in search of a maid.
“Do you not?” Sir Basil seemed reassured. “Then she is rather different from every other governess I have known. But never mind—I shan’t let her beat you.”
“Thank you very much,” replied Nicole, grinning widely. It had taken her some time to understand her guardian’s odd sense of humour, but after an hour or two of driving about London, she had come to see that the Baronet was fond of making outrageous statements and that he was far more pleased if one laughed at them than if one did not.
“I hope she shan’t beat you,” she added, tugging at his sleeve. The Baronet was gazing into space and did not react at once.
“What? Oh—oh, yes. I hope not, too.”
But Nicole saw that her guardian was not attending to her. He was still gazing into space in a kind of peculiar, rapt way, and seemed lost in his own thoughts. He hardly replied to her suggestion that he remove his cape and hat, and when the butler appeared to repeat the suggestion, Sir Basil only gave him a blank stare.
Tea was soon ready, and the little party adjourned to the library, where Anne begged to be informed of the particulars of the morning’s adventure. Sir Basil had now regained most of his usual sobriety, as Anne was a little sorry to note. To her question whether they had ascertained if the bishop was still fond of plums, he replied only with a confused look.
“The bishop,” repeated she, “is he still fond of plums? You mentioned yesterday that when you were a little boy—”
“Bishops ought not to be made fun of, Miss Calder,” responded he gravely. “They are our loftiest clergymen. We had do better to heed their sermons and pay less attention to their eccentricities.”
“It is a different bishop,” interjected Nicole. “This one is quite thin and important-looking.”
Anne looked interested. “And did he have anything of great import to say?”
“He said a great deal about serving one’s country and one’s king,” reported Nicole, her mouth full of cake. “It was from Revelation, Uncle Basil says.”
“The passage was from Revelation, not the sermon,” the Baronnet corrected her. He gave Miss Calder a keen look.
“Your father is a clergyman, is he not, Miss Calder? I suppose you know a great deal about sermons and the like.”
“Only what everyone else knows,” replied Anne, bewildered by this sudden change in the Baronet, and feeling her usual urge to goad his pomposity, despite all the promises she had made to herself.
“And what is that?” Sir Basil wore a thin little smile, quite a sardonic smile, thought Anne. It was a pity she had not kept on with the sketch she had been writing.
“That sermons are never better than the man who delivers them, and often worse: for a great man may not speak so well as his inferiors in virtue, and a petty, selfish man will sometimes move you to tears with his word
s, though his actions do not correspond to his ideas.”
“An interesting theory,” was all Sir Basil gave in the way of a response, but his look, more than his words, spoke volumes. Anne saw at a glance how he despised her, and the knowledge made her wish more than ever to bait him.
“Perhaps your experience has been different from my own,” said she. “I have been acquainted with a great many clergymen besides my father, whom I believe to be an admirable man even despite my own prejudice, and not one of them has suited that idea of charity and universal love which is thought generally the nature of the profession. There are as many weak, vain, and selfish men in the clergy as in any other walk of life. Perhaps more: for some are drawn to the Church precisely for the easiness of the work.”
“Do you take so dim a view of all mankind?”
Anne regarded him a moment with a faint smile. How she would have liked to take up his challenge! But a sudden idea warned her to keep her peace. I am sure he would be delighted to be given so easy an excuse to criticize me, thought she, and aloud she said:
“No, I do not. But I have observed that there are more of us who are inclined to sloth than to hard work, to leisure and pleasure than self-sacrifice.”
“Ah! Then you include yourself?”
“Most assuredly. I am not superior to other mortals, but on the contrary, certainly more foolish and lazy than most.”
Sir Basil smiled upon hearing this, which served as further proof to Anne, had she needed any, that he could not have agreed more heartily. But he said nothing for a moment, only staring off into thin air. After a moment, he inquired if she did not sometimes resent the fate which life had dealt her?
Anne glanced uneasily at Nicole, who, though seemingly immersed in the consumption of an immense piece of cake, was obviously attending to every word. This seemed a most peculiar topic of conversation to pursue before a child.
“Resent it, no! But then, I chose it of my own free will.”
Sir Basil had seen her glance toward the child, and evidently thinking better of it himself, remarked that it was a most interesting subject, which should be pursued further in the future.
“In the meantime, Nicole,” said he, coughing, “I suppose you have consumed sufficient cake to keep you happy for an hour or two. Mind you do not give yourself a belly ache, else we shall not be able to go to Carlton House.”
This was certainly the one remonstrance capable of making the child nearly choke, and she instantly set down her plate.
“Oh, dear! I have not eaten so very much, Uncle Basil!”
Uncle Basil could not have looked, at that moment, less like a doting uncle and more like a somber Baronet. He made, however, a faint attempt to smile indulgently, an attempt which struck Anne as exceedingly strange after the natural easiness of his manner so short a time ago.
“But it is enough. Now then, ladies, I fear that I have work to do. You will excuse me?”
And rising from his chair, the Ambassador made a curt bow, and left the room.
Chapter XIII
If Anne had been twice stunned that afternoon, the first time at seeing her employer changed from his usual self into a laughing stranger, and then, as quickly, back again, she was destined to be still more amazed by the events of the next few days. Nicole could offer no explanation for her guardian’s transformation, but with a child’s acceptance, would not question it either. It seemed to her only that Sir Basil had come into his true self, had found the good nature which, before, had been hidden by some freak of nature or accident. She was, therefore, perplexed by her governess’s questions more than by the change itself.
“Why, I suppose he has not been feeling well,” she offered, with a shrug of her shoulders. “In any case, I like him much better now—and I believe he likes me a little bit, too! We did have such a lovely time, Miss Calder—if only you had been with us!”
Anne wished she had been there even more than her pupil, if only to see what had set off his good humour, for she would not believe it had happened of itself. As to the succeeding transformation, she was perfectly sure that she knew what had caused that—the sight of her had obviously affected him very badly. What else could explain his instantaneous change of mood, the moment he had seen her? If this was too unlikely an explanation, considering that she could not mean anything to him, she nevertheless managed to explain it to herself: “It is perfectly clear: Sir Basil detests women, and even I, a lowly governess, must represent to him the idiocy of my sex.”
The explanation would not satisfy her completely, however. Anne was too keen to judge of human nature, for so she had always believed, to think that so profound a metamorphosis could have been set off only by the sight of her. She would not give it any further thought, however: what had been once of great interest as the subject of a novel, could offer no further amusement now that she had given up the project. And well out of it I am, too, thought she. Sir Basil is beyond everything for changefulness and obscurity. Had I the time and the energy, I might devote myself to a lifetime study of his character and still remain as puzzled as I am now.
Indeed, Sir Basil was so unlike any gentleman that Anne had ever seen that he defied every preconception she had ever entertained about manhood. Even excepting his difference in station, wealth, sophistication, and education, she could not reconcile his strange ways with any idea she had ever had of human nature. When he ought to have been warm, he was cold, when another man might have been angry, perverse, or passionate, Sir Basil remained aloof and cool. Never mind: She would do her work, and have done. Only let some other theme present itself to her, and she would take up her pen again. The Determined Bachelor (for so she had already entitled the proposed novel) would never be written, at least by her. Let some more philosophical, some wiser and older writer undertake the chore, if there was such a creature upon the earth.
Thus Ann perceived her employer on that Sunday afternoon, and, had she been allowed the time or interest to think upon it again on Monday, she would certainly have felt the same. But Monday was taken up with so many preparations for the impending visit to Carlton House, which was to be on Tuesday, that she had not a moment for any other thought. Nicole must be clad and tutored, drilled in table etiquette, and etiquette before the Prince. She must be taught which fork to use, when and how to lift her cup, and what she might offer in response to His Highness’s questions, should he address her directly. Lady Cardovan was of vast usefulness in all of this, and seemed so delighted by the whole process, taking such infinite pleasure in watching the little girl progress from ignorance to expertise, that she might have been going herself on a first visit to the Prince.
“Have you discovered who shall go to chaperone Nicole?” asked she of Anne whilst they were waiting for a servant to fetch a ribbon from the Countess’s own dressing room.
“I can only assume that Sir Basil will go,” replied Anne. “Nothing has been said to me to make me think otherwise.”
“Lord! I wish I could be an invisible observer to see it!” laughed Her Ladyship, and Anne joined in her mirth.
“Why do not you go, Lady Cardovan? You have known the Prince longer than Sir Basil, and are certainly better fit to undertake the task than he.”
“Oh, do come, Your Ladyship!” exclaimed Nicole, tugging at the lady’s hand. “I should be so happy if you would—f or I am sure I shall do something wrong, or say something amiss.”
“Hush, child—there is nothing to be afraid of. I shall not go. I do not go about much any more. When someone wishes very much to see me, they come here.”
“Even the Prince?” demanded Nicole, her eyes very wide.
“Even the Prince,” responded Lady Cardovan with a nod. “He has not come very often, but he has come. I believe he likes to get away from his perpetual train of pomp from time to time, and pretend he is no different from the rest of us.”
Anne smiled at hearing this. Yes, it must be true—how cumbersome it must be, sometimes, to be a monarch! And yet, she could not
imagine a better chaperone for Nicole than Lady Cardovan. She dearly wished Her Ladyship could be persuaded to go, but no amount of coaxing or argument would make her change her mind. No: it was the place of Sir Basil, or Sir Basil’s governess to go. Lady Cardovan must be only a friend, and however dearly she loved the little girl, she would not usurp the proper duties of her guardian.
Anne saw the wisdom of this at last, and ceased to argue. Nicole, however, was determined, and much dismayed when Lady Cardovan gave her a final, and very firm, response. She had only recently commenced to feel at ease with Sir Basil, and may be excused for desiring a more trustworthy companion on her first visit to Carlton House. What if she should make some terrible blunder? Sir Basil, she was sure, would not excuse her so easily as Lady Cardovan or Miss Calder.
The matter was arranged in the end very differently from what anyone had envisioned. Nicole and her governess took their supper alone that evening in the schoolroom, as was their habit when Sir Basil dined away from home. With a great deal of coaxing, Nicole was persuaded at length to lie down in her bed, although she swore that she would not be able to sleep one wink all night from excitement. Anne, hoping to use her free time that evening to write a letter to Ben, went directly to her own bedchamber as soon as Nicole had been tucked in. She had only just commenced to write, however, when a knock came at the door. Thinking it was Nicole, incapable of sleep and desiring to be kept company, she rose from her chair to answer, arranging her features into a stern look. But the figure at the door belonged to a footman, who inquired very civilly if Miss Calder was too busy to speak to the Ambassador for a moment?
The Determined Bachelor Page 13