by L. A. Meyer
“Now, Edgar, let us clean up a bit, shall we, so that we might begin some serious study. How about we start by picking up around here?”
He goes to the blackboard and commences to draw a bloodshot eyeball with a stiletto run through it. “You do it. I am busy and not in the least bit interested in doing that.”
“Very well, Majesty, I will do that,” I say, bending down to scoop up a sheaf of carelessly tossed papers—more ghastly drawings. “But first you must answer me something.”
“What?”
“Though you seem to be lacking any social graces, you are very well-spoken. How do you account for that?”
“I read books. I do not need any lousy teacher to teach me how to do that. I teach myself.”
I look around at the books strewn on the floor. I see a science book and pick it up, placing it on the bookshelf. Another book appears to be on music theory; another is on mathematics. All look like they’ve never been opened. These I also put away. He says nothing to that.
Then I notice other kinds of books, down by my feet—books that look like they have been much more read, with folded-over pages and broken spines—and I look at thetitles: Dreadful Pirates of the South Seas . . . Cutthroats of the Caribbean . . . and, good Lord, there’s Bloody Jack . . . and Under the Jolly Roger! So that’s where he’s getting all that pirate stuff!
I reach down and get a stack of those in my arms and go to one of the open back windows and toss them out.
“Hey!” he shouts. “What are you doing? Those are mine!” He drops the chalk, rushes to the window, and looks down at his pirate stash in horror.
“You treated those books as rubbish by throwing them on the floor, so I threw them out in the trash. I assumed, Captain Blood, that you would approve of my action. What needs a bold pirate of such silly books?”
“But . . . but . . . but . . .”
“If you value them, Cap’n,” I say, folding arms over chest, “then you’d best go down to get them, as it looks like it might rain.”
One last glare of pure hatred, and then he rushes out the door and down the stairs, returning with the books cradled in his arms, his face red with anger.
“Put them on the bookshelves, or they will go out again; count on it, Blood.”
“My father will hear of this,” he warns. “You can count on that.”
“I will be conferring with your parents tonight, after which you may discuss it with him,” I say. “You will notice that I did not hit you, neither did I speak harshly to you. What will you report? That you nicely cleaned up the classroom, hmmm? I’m sure he will be delighted to hear it.”
The books go on the shelf while my good Captain steams, and I beam in some satisfaction.
Chapter 10
I will not say my first afternoon with the Polk children was an absolute success, but it did have its bright spots. Cathy toiled away at her ABCs and even managed to draw an acceptable C, so we were able to get a start on her name. See, Cathy, how your name starts out with a C and then goes to an A and then to a T? All by itself, it spells CAT, just like that cat right there, but when we add an H and a Y we get CATHY, and what a fine name it is! A fine name for a fine girl!
And our skilled handyman, Mr. Olnutt, true to his word, managed to get Cathy’s private space up in no time by bringing up the partitions in sections through the back door and fixing them in place with wood screws, such that they could be removed later. Smart man, for Mr. Polk might not like his new governess changing the floor plan of his fine house. At my request, Olnutt even threw together a simple easel out of scraps of wood he had in his tool shed. Yes, a very valuable man, indeed, is our Mr. Olnutt.
I did notice that, upon completion of the alcove, the aforementioned black cat did not waste any time in quitting the greater classroom and planting herself on Cathy’s desk, a perch from which she does not move. When Master Edgar appeared at the doorway to pronounce that all this was silly stuff, she lifted an unsheathed claw-clustered paw and bared her teeth and hissed loudly in his direction. Thus, I realized that Cathy was not the only victim . . . and that maybe the cat would be a possible ally in this battle as well.
For battle it certainly is. Young Mr. Polk, having realized, correctly, that he had lost the morning’s fight, redoubled his nastiness, thrashing about outside the alcove in true piratical fury. “Die, dog! Here’s one in your filthy guts! Mercy? Never! Bow down, you scurvy knaves, bow down to Captain Blood!”
Well, us knaves will see about that, won’t we?
“Now, Cathy, I must go out to set your brother to some more productive work than what he is now doing, but first, tell me the name of your kitty. Blackie? Of course . . . And your dolly? Amy? What a nice name. Did you know that’s the name of my very best friend? It’s true. Now, why don’t we sit Amy up here on your desk so that you might work a little more easily? There. See? She’s watching you do your letters, and she’s very proud of you. Later on, we’ll play some music and I’ll tell you a story, and maybe we’ll do some drawing. All right? Good.”
“Now, Captain,” I say, confronting the little rotter. “Why don’t you put down your mighty swift sword and sit at your desk, such that we might work on your math and science?”
“Won’t do it. Can’t make me, neither, Governess,” he pronounces firmly, point of sword on floor, hands on hilt, eyes daring me to say otherwise.
I put my hands out in gentle supplication and say, “It is true that I am but a poor, pitiable governess, but yet sweet reason says that a bold sea captain must know his math and science. For when his scalawags bring in helpless hostages for ransom, he must know what price to place on each head and how to count that ransom when it is paid. And when his men bring chests of treasure before him to divide up the spoils according to the Laws of the Pirate Brotherhood, he will have to know how to do it. Right?”
He looks dubious at that, but he does seem to brighten at the thought of helpless captives cringing before him. I go on.
“And that is math, of course. And as for science, surely that same bold sea pirate captain must know celestial navigation—the sun and the stars and the use of the sextant, so he will know where his ship is on that wild and trackless ocean. Otherwise, your fine ship might be cast away and lost on some cruel rocks.”
He thinks on that while I press on.
“What is the name of your ship, by the way, Captain?” I just know he’s picked one out.
“It is named The Raven,” he replies. “And I can’t wait till I have you tied to the mast, pleading for mercy. You shall receive none.”
Hmmm. Not bad. I had expected something gory, but that has a bit of the poetic in it as well. The lad does have an imagination, that’s for sure.
“So what do you say, Captain? Will you turn to your studies for the good of your ship and your loyal comrades, as a True Son of the Sea?”
He thinks, then shakes his head. “No. I already know enough of that stuff already.”
Hmmm . . . But will you take a bribe, then, Captain Blood?
While he stands there, obstinate, I drag out a chair and climb up on it to intone, in my best theatrical manner . . .
“I am Señor Hernando de Castro, governor of this fine port of Santa Maria de Josa. When I arose this morning, I was happy and my people were happy. But then I looked out over my ramparts and saw, lying below in the harbor, The Raven, the ship of the dread Pirate Polk. His mighty guns were trained upon us while his bloodthirsty crew were hanging over her sides, screaming bloody murder!”
From my perch, I put hand to brow and feign looking out over a rampart, great distress upon my face.
“Oh, we are lost! They will land and burn our poor town and take all our riches! Whatever shall we do?”
Then I pretend a great thought has just occurred to me.
“I know! We’ll offer him a bribe to go away!”
I lean over my imaginary battlement, cup my hands, and call down to him . . .
“Hullo, Captain Blood! Can you hear me?�
�
Edgar looks up and replies, “Hullo, yourself, and yes, I can hear you.”
“Will you accept an honorable bribe as a token of our esteem and then take yourself and your ship to some other port?”
“Huh! What have you got to bribe me with?”
“If you consent to leave my harbor, and agree to attend to your nautical studies both this afternoon and tomorrow morning, I will take you and Cathy on an excursion tomorrow afternoon.”
“An excursion?” he asks, a bit confused. “To where?”
“To Mr. Filibuster’s Fine Emporium, where we shall sit at the counter and enjoy some of his fine and flavorful fizzy water. What say you, Captain?”
I see the prospect of getting out of here for an afternoon working slowly across his face.
“You can do that?”
“Of course I can!” I say in my most managerial tone, my finger in the air. “Am I not the governess of this colony! And do you not agree to the terms?”
“Oh, very well,” he says, flinging down sword and seating himself at his desk. “But don’t expect me to learn anything, because I shan’t.”
Oh, yes, you shall, young Edgar, I’m thinking as I pull the math book from the shelf and place it in front of him. For I know exactly what a young boy should know in the way of math and science, for did I not go to school with five of the rascals on HMS Dolphin? And they were a helluva lot tougher than you, Master Polk.
And so the afternoon at Maison Polk rolls on. Edgar grumbles, but he works on his long division—which I just knew he did not know—and Cathy is busy on her alphabet, humming away, seemingly happy.
To give them a break in the afternoon, I pull out my flageolet and give them a few tunes. Cathy claps her hands delightedly, while Edgar just grumbles about the noise.
At last there is the bell for dinner and we all go down.
We have a nice dinner, Midge, Nellie, Cathy, Edgar, and me. It’s pork chops with stuffing and potatoes and gravy, with sweet cider on the side, and I tuck it away with piggish abandon. Edgar, of course, makes a great show of hating everything, but I notice, when I make another grab at his plate in order to dump it again, he lunges forward to prevent me doing that and then settles in to eating. Our eyes meet. We are beginning to understand each other.
After all have finished—and both Midge and Nellie turned out to be excellent company—the women turn to cleanup, while I take the children upstairs to get them ready for bed . . . and Presentation to the Parents.
Cathy, of course, is easy. She quickly doffs her clothes, does her business in the pot, lets me wash her in the warm, soapy water Nellie has provided, dries off with a fluffy towel, and then it’s on with her white nightdress. She waits in the hall, Amy in hand, while I go to tackle Edgar.
“You will not enter this room when I am in here!” he shouts out to me.
Boys, I swear . . . Haven’t I seen at least several hundred completely naked males?
“All right,” I call back at him, “but you better come out clean! Believe me, I will check!”
Eventually, he comes out, dressed in his nightshirt and looking surly. I give a quick visual inspection, take a quick sniff of his hair—he will need a bath soon—and pronounce him presentable enough, for now. Then I take Cathy by the hand and lead them down the stairs.
Mr. and Mrs. Polk are seated at the grand table in the dining room, one at either end, when I bring in the children. I think both are surprised to see me still here. The missus is looking wan but a little better than when I saw her in the morning. It is plain that they have finished the main course and Mr. Polk is lingering over coffee. He lifts an eyebrow in question.
“Good evening, Mr. Polk, Mrs. Polk. I hope you had a pleasant day. I have worked with the children today and am generally pleased with the results. Cathy here has embarked upon her ABCs, and she is doing fine. See, she has drawn a C, the first letter in her name. Hold it up, dear.”
Cathy holds up her paper to her father’s gaze.
“That’s fine,” he says dismissively. “But what about the boy?”
Cathy drops the paper, and the thumb goes back in her mouth.
“Well, Sir, I can report that young Edgar is quite proficient in both history and English. However, he does need some work on math to bring him up to snuff, and we are on it. I am sure that you, as a banker, would approve of that?”
“Harrumph,” says Mr. Polk, trapped into agreeing with his new governess. “That is so, I’d say. Were you happy with what went on today, Edgar?”
Here’s your chance, Captain, to blow me away.
He does not take it. Instead he fixes a look of pure malice upon me and says, “Yes, Father, all went well. I hope you had a good day at the bank.”
I notice that Edgar is much more polite in the presence of his father. He does not fear his mother, but he definitely is afraid of a stern word from his dad.
“That is good. Now off to bed with you,” says Mr. Polk. “Miss Leigh, a word with you after you tuck in the children.”
“Yessir,” I say. “Come, children. Say good night, now.”
They do and we trudge up the stairs.
“You don’t have to tuck me in, Governess,” sneers Edgar, going into his bedroom. “I can do it myself!” He slams the door shut behind him.
I take Cathy into her room, get her into bed, and tuck her in with Amy beside her. Planting a kiss upon her brow—such a good little girl—I pull the covers to her chin and wish her sweet dreams. She smiles and closes her eyes, and I go down to rejoin Mr. and Mrs. Polk.
Mr. Polk gestures to a place where a cup of tea has been placed, so I go and sit there.
“Well, Miss Leigh, we must say, we are most pleased with your performance so far”—even Mrs. Polk manages a wan smile at that—“and we hope that—”
All of a sudden, there is a loud rumpus from up above, in the direction of Edgar’s room, of course. It sounds very much like he is pounding his feet on the floor.
Mrs. Polk’s smile disappears and her hand goes to her mouth. “Oh, Lord, he is doing it again, and I so wished—”
Mr. Polk rises, as do I, my tea untasted. “Yes,” he says. “It is a shame that our Edgar is so high-strung . . . so sensitive . . . but I imagine it goes with his fine breeding. Patience, I am sure you will go up and calm him down?”
Breeding, my Cockney ass! Why don’t you just go up and kick the tar out of the little monster!
Mrs. Polk, the well-named Patience, nods in defeat as Mr. Polk takes his hat from the rack and announces, “I am off to my club to meet with some important business associates. Until later, then.”
And I’ll bet you go off every night when Edgar starts playing this tune, you coward, you.
As Mrs. Polk rises to go do her weary duty, I place a restraining hand on her arm and bid her to stay. “Nay, Mistress, let me have a word with the lad. I believe I might be able to soothe his mind with a gentle bedtime story.”
Putting on the full Lawson Peabody Look, I then turn to the departing Mr. Polk to say, “I believe, Mr. Polk, that you will not be disturbed in such a way ever again. Do have a pleasant evening.”
With that, I turn and go to the stairs.
Although I made him promise to be good in class, I did not, however, tell him to lay off any other disturbance, and so we have this. He is a wily little bastard, I’ll give him that . . . But I am wily, too . . . for I know that if there is one class of people more superstitious than sailors, it is little boys. So stand by, Eddie, for some heavy weather.
As it is growing dark, I grab a lamp from the hall, and then I burst into Edgar’s room.
“Get out of here,” he shouts, jumping back into bed. “You are not allowed in—”
I hold the lamp up to my face, revealing it to be a mask of pure terror. “Oh, Master Edgar, I am so sorry, but I fear for your very life! And it is all my fault!”
He begins to look concerned and pulls his sheet to his chin. “Why, what do you mean?”
“The B
ed Monsters is what I mean! I heard them from below! They must have followed me here from the Cabots’! Oh, woe! How I hope they did not devour those poor, poor boys!”
“Nonsense,” says Edgar stoutly. “There’s no such thing as Bed Monsters.”
“Get back there, you!” I cry, making a great show of stamping my foot on the floor. “Back!”
“What was that?” he asks, a trifle less stoutly.
“Nothing. Just a tentacle,” I say, breathing hard. I kneel down and shout under the bed, “Now, you leave our Eddie alone! He’s a good boy!”
I straighten up and say, “He . . . and the others . . . will stay back now . . . at least for a while. They’ll mind me . . . up to a point. Now, let me tell you about Bed Monsters, for I know the buggers well.”
“Still don’t believe you,” he says, his eyes wide now.
I crouch next to the bed, the lamp to my face, making me look right hideous, I know. Then I whisper . . .
“First of all, never let any of your bedclothes trail on the floor, ’cause they can crawl right up ’em and get you lyin’ there all scared and helpless.”
With that, I pick up the edge of a sheet and tuck it under the mattress.
“Second of all, they are blind, which is to our advantage,” I continue. “How so? Why, that means that they can only find you if you make a noise. Watch this . . .”
Making a fist, I rap my knuckles on the floor, then quickly jerk my hand back to my chest, exclaiming, “Did you see that claw try to grab me when I made that sound?”
He tried to look, but I was too quick.
“Brrrr . . . that was close! You may be sure I won’t try that again, and I advise you not to do it, either.”
It is not likely he will try, for his covers are now up to his eyes. I stand to take my leave.
“So, Edgar, I am sorry I brought them here, but what is done is done. You know the rule: Make no noise and they will not be able to follow the sound of your voice and so find their prey.”