She had become a hedonist, like all the others. Her father would be ashamed of her. But she would make up for it now. She would replace Parsons till some qualified man could be found for the spot. With a smile just a hair short of smugness, she thought it would not be long till Prendergast was appointed. Especially at this time, when her presence at the Abbey was, if not absolutely necessary, at least desired. Mr. Raymond would require a replacement for Prendergast as well, but that was a position anyone could fill—a matter of copying letters and filing them. A waste of a graduate’s time to be so menially employed.
To her utter amazement, Sir Swithin awaited her in his carriage when she emerged from the schoolhouse in the afternoon. “Kate, you traitor!” was his emphatic greeting. “You were supposed to help me!”
This was shouted from the carriage window, then he opened the door and stepped out, to send the children grinning amongst themselves to see such a sight. He wore a ground-length coat with sixteen collars, each of a different shade of blue, ranging from a pale sky blue on top to navy on the bottom. The coat was navy, with nacre buttons, large and uniquely shaped, like kidneys. He wore no curled beaver hat, but a confection of his own design that fitted snugly about the ears, designed to protect these delicate vessels, which were prone to aches if exposed to winter’s blasts. It resembled a helmet, and was done in deep blue velvet. He looked so absurd Holly was hard pressed to contain her own mirth.
“Oh, Sir Swithin!” she gasped, then could contain it no longer. A throaty little gurgle erupted, to be stifled with her fingers.
“It is almost worth appearing ridiculous, to hear that golden echo,” he declaimed, handing her into the carriage, and stepping lightly in after her. “Here, dear, put this sable rug over your knees. The bricks still retain some traces of heat, I trust. I have been waiting a quarter of an hour for you. I sent my carriage to Stonecroft to collect you this morning, and heard the news. How
could
you disappoint us? I have battled all this day to complete the transparent curtain, sans luck. The dyes clouded—they
must
be transparent, you know. Then those appallingly stupid women sewed them onto the frame crooked so that the crenellations of the castle outline slope like a stable roof. Pots of dye spilled. I swear the very cream for tea curdled in the cup without you there to attend us, Kate.”
“Mr. Parsons is ill, and there was no one to take over the school,” she explained briefly.
“Let the world slide, Kate. Such good advice that Shakespeare stole it from Heywood, who doubtlessly stole it from the Greeks. Don’t take the cares of the whole world on your slim shoulders. Just the play is enough weight for them.”
“When it comes to a choice between reality and make-believe, Sir Swithin, there is no question in my mind which takes precedence.”
“Not the least in my own mind either. Make-believe must be given the right-of-way. Our imaginations are what separate us from the wild beasties. Cats and dogs tend their young and teach them what they must know. Only we humans are able to indulge our fancies. I consider it a moral duty to exercise my imaginative faculties. No, do not object. Only open your lips to say ‘Yes.’ I have already spoken to your aunt. Tomorrow you come to the Abbey and rescue us from chaos. It is arranged.”
"Then it will have to be disarranged. I return to the school tomorrow.”
“Kate, this very wide streak of stubbornness—I dislike it. I
admire
it tremendously, but I do not like it. We’ll send the prosing preacher down to knock the students’ heads together.
You
will return where you belong.”
“Mr. Johnson might have something to say about that.”
“He has already said the school must be closed, but I am not at all sure Dew would like that. He approves of education.”
“Lord Dewar will be back tomorrow evening. For one more day, I shall attend the school. If he wishes to make some other arrangement then, I will be very happy to return to the dye pots,” she told him, and was not budged an inch from her decision, despite three quotations from Shakespeare, one from the Bible, and one from Goethe, in German, that neither of them understood.
Another day of chaos ensued at the Abbey. At four in the afternoon, Lord Dewar returned from London, leaving Sir Egbert off at Stonecroft to describe the house hired to his wife, while Dewar continued home. His first act was to go along to his refectory hall to see how the dramatic arrangements had progressed in his absence.
Swithin ran up to him. “Dew—dear boy—catastrophe has struck!”
Looking at the dye-splattered scene before him, Dewar’s heart sank. “I might have known! I told Kate to watch over things. What has happened?”
“She has
betrayed
us. Gone off these two days school-manning, while we sink into total chaos. There was never such a mess since the scene of creation.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your schoolmaster is struck down with an ague. Why did I not think to
cure
him? My wits are gone begging. But there—I am in love. Yes, you may well stare! It struck me equally by surprise. After she left, I found a pleasing image of herself behind that wanders in my soul. Dorimant, was it not, in
The Man of Mode
who uttered the wonderful phrase? I find a pleasing image of Kate, bringing order to this—
disaster!”
He pointed a patent toe at a welter of dye pots, poles of wood, and rumpled calico. Tossing his bejewelled fingers into the air, he declared,
“C’est impossible. C’est tout a fait impossible!
This would not have occurred had my Kate been here.”
“Your
Kate?” Dewar asked, blinking. “This is a new turn.”
“Yes, I am amazed at myself, for having succumbed to the charms of a perfectly average female—
sans
looks, sans elegance,
sans argent
I fear.
Sans
everything. Who would have thought it of me? There is
character
in the woman, Dew. One would have thought that would have been enough to discourage me, but it has quite the reverse effect. I am not at all happy about it, to tell the truth. I am frightened to death of her. She is so
strong,
with the moral stamina of a Puritan. I hope she doesn’t make me go to Parliament and become a worthy. I made sure it would be Juliet—or even Lady Montague. A married lady is such a nice
safe
object of affection,
n’est-ce pas
? But I do run on. I shall let you congratulate me now, and express your amazement.”
“Does Holly know?”
“Holly who? Good gracious, is
that
her name? I think Holly is bad luck. I’m sure I heard it somewhere. She is bad luck, a very shrew. Laughed at my stunning new greatcoat with the buttons carved to my own design. She is above the fripperies of fashion herself. I dote on her very dowdiness. She is a splendid heroine, Dew, a Boadicea donning armour to do battle. Boadicea deserves a better literary fate than she got at Fletcher’s hands. Shall we write her her own tragedy?”
“Shall we put on this damned play first?” Dewar asked angrily.
“I suppose we must but, to tell the truth, my heart is not in it. I want a play where Kate is heroine. Meanwhile, you must find a tutor for your school and bring her back here. A Prendergast person, someone mentioned, is the heir apparent to the seat of your school. Get him, at once!
Tout de suite.”
Dew regarded him a long moment, then spoke. “Dear boy, if you really wish me to spike your gun.... The day I appoint Prendergast, he is in a position to wed Kate.”
“Marry
him,
a schoolmaster? A driller of children? A near-peasant who works for his daily bread? Good God—she would love it. So very worthy. What is to be done?”
“We haven’t much choice in the matter.”
“None. She will
make
us hire him.”
“When it must be done, ‘tis best done with grace.”
“Is that Shakespeare, Dew?”
“No, it is Despair, Swithin.”
“You feel for me in my dilemma. I appreciate it. We have always been close friends, true epicures. I shall go with you to see the Prendergast. I expect he is very large, and doubtlessly ugly. I may triumph over him yet. I have some—
charm,
have I not, Dew? Some evanescent quality that attracts women? Ladies do seem to like me.”
“You are different. Therein lies your charm. One never knows quite what to expect from you.”
“Yes, falling in love with Kate,
par exemple.
That surprised even me. She has coerced my passions. Colley Gibber—so underrated today—invented the phrase. Kate has gone him one better. She has mauled my heart, ravaged my brain, and I am not at all sure she won’t end up cutting my hair as well. But I shall adore being changed by her, I think. Once a fellow becomes predictable, he is a dull old dog, good for nothing but work. Prendergast will be predictable. He will wear low collars and short hair and admire Samuel Johnson. I hate him already.”
“He probably drives a gig and wears muddy boots,” Dewar added.
“Are you joking me, Dew? Too cruel.”
“I am feeling rather cruel. By all means, let us go and see Mr. Prendergast.”
The meeting was brief. Not fifteen minutes after entering his rooms, the two gentlemen exited, wearing defeated faces. “He is not so ugly as I had hoped,” Swithin said, disconsolate. “His jacket too—quite unexceptionable. Not Weston, nor even Stultz, but a creditable imitation.”
“Hung on a very creditable pair of shoulders,” Dewar added.
“His face—quite like the Apollo Belvedere. You must have noticed the resemblance, the lapidary quality of that profile. Yet the lips sensuous, as if they were alive. Well, they
are
alive, aren’t they? He would have made an admirable Mercutio, by the by.”
“Oh no, he is Romeo. He seems a rational creature as well.”
“Downright intelligent. And, if we say one more word in his praise, I shall expire of jealousy. I
hate
Mr. Prendergast! The way his eyes lit up when you told him the salary. I swear I could sense him dividing it into parcels of household money, twenty-five pounds for the hire of a cottage, twenty-five for food. Kate will feed him mutton and potatoes and mend his jackets. Ah well,” he added, beginning to rise from his fit of the dismals, “she will likewise get the transparency dyed and hung,”
“We had better stop at Stonecroft and tell her about Prendergast.”
“You know my
chemise
—the one I wear to play the
musico ambulante,
Dew. I had it dyed a pretty saffron shade, but am beginning to think I shall revert to the violet shades of half-mourning I wore when my dog died. If Kate spurns me, that is. I shall have it dyed a windy indigo colour. I do wish I had violet-coloured eyes to match. My violet period was probably my favourite—sartorially speaking, that is, for of course my heart was broken.”
“Would you mind awfully to shut up, Swithin? You do get very silly at times.”
“Am I being a frightful bore! How dreadful. Don’t hesitate to tell me. I hate to be a bore.”
The remainder of Mr. Prendergast’s afternoon on that day was a busy one. His first item of business was to inform Mr. Raymond he wished to leave as soon as was convenient. Hard on the heels of this was the matter of getting his own younger brother installed in his place as Raymond’s clerk. As well as permitting his own immediate transfer to the school, this would provide his family some additional income.
He dashed the note off home with a happy heart, wishing to settle all details before going to his fiancée with the wonderful news. After a jubilant dinner with her family, he left early, for he wished to see Miss McCormack and thank her in person for her efforts on his behalf. He learned during the interview with Dewar that she had suggested him for the post. He was in Lady Proctor’s saloon when the group from the Abbey arrived.
Dewar was vexed to see Holly was already informed of the news. Swithin was considerably annoyed to see her sitting with the competition, both of them smiling in triumph. He must conquer her by his consummate charm. Let her see how infinitely superior he was to Prendergast, in all but appearance. He would be urbane, witty, original. He would counter Prendergast’s dull common sense with magnificent flights of fancy and poetry. He would be utterly scintillating and irresistible.
Having come courting, he was outfitted carefully with this end in mind, in garments vaguely rose in hue, with deep brown accents in waistcoat. Holly, he noticed, wore a drab shawl over a drab gown and, having been surprised by Prendergast’s early visit, had not had time to repair, her coiffure. A tail of hair hung forlornly behind her left ear.
“I have just been telling Miss McCormack of my appointment,” Prendergast said, after the gentlemen were in. He had arisen at Dewar’s entry, and towered half a head above Swithin, who advanced mincingly toward him.
“Naturellement,”
Swithin drawled, drawing out a handkerchief to fall in graceful folds from his dazzling fingers. “It is no surprise to her, I think.”
“A very pleasant surprise,” she answered, smiling to Dewar, who nodded briefly and took up a seat between Jane and her mother. Swithin perched daintily on the edge of a petit point chair and crossed his legs.
“Tell me, Prendergast,” he began, “how soon can it be arranged for you to take up your duties at the school? We require our Kate back at the play. Things fall apart without her.”
“She keeps us all running smoothly,” Prendergast answered, with a warm smile in her direction. “I expect to be free by the first of next week. As you find Miss McCormack indispensable, I daresay the students could be suborned to take a holiday on Friday. Perhaps on the week-end I could attend a rehearsal myself. I am eager to see the stage. I hear a great deal about it from the ladies.”
“Ah yes, we must hear you recite your bit at the beginning,” Swithin said.
“And my Prologue to Act II,” Prendergast reminded him. “That sonnet is one of my favourites—an eloquent plea for young love.”