The Determined Bachelor (7 page)

“But you shall be expected, I am afraid, to do more than be a governess. Miss Lessington, coming as she has from so different an environment, will no doubt need guidance of a more personal kind. She shall have to be taught to be a lady, and to take up her role as Sir Basil's ward. That may prove no more difficult a task than teaching Sir Basil to take up
his
role as a guardian.”

Miss Calder raised a curious eyebrow, and Lady Cardovan explained herself:

“You see, besides being a bachelor of long standing, unused to deal with our sex save in the most superficial kind of
way, Sir Basil is the product of an entirely male family, his mother having died in his youth. From then on, Lord Hargate,—his father—ran his family much like a gentlemen's club. So long as the rules of chivalry were kept to, so long as no one interfered with anyone else, life was pleasant. The results of that upbringing, I am afraid, have been that the Ambassador thinks us all foolish, whining creatures, and cannot be bothered with some of the subtleties which make things run along smoothly, and which are generally the domain of women.”

Miss Calder pondered all this with interest, and after a moment, said, “Well, if he does not absolutely hate me, I suppose I shall not hate him.”

Lady Cardovan laughed. “I hope, on the contrary, that you shall like each other very well! Well, then, is it settled?”

“Am I engaged?”

“If you still desire the post, it is yours. As to what may happen when Sir Basil returns to France, you must decide that between yourselves. If you have no objection to the family, and do not mind going abroad for a few years, I doubt not but that you shall be invited to go.”

Miss Calder had not considered that aspect of the post, but having given it a moment's thought, replied that, on the contrary, she thought the idea delightful.

It was therefore arranged between them that as soon as the young lady could arrange to pack her things and return to London, the three should go together to meet the little girl. Miss Calder was perfectly amenable, and gathered up her reticule to go.

“Oh, and there is one other thing,” said Lady Cardovan as they were going out into the hall. “You may be required to serve sometimes as Sir Basil's hostess. If he entertains, which he must do rather frequently, I imagine, you may be expected to guide the servant's hands a little, and to do whatever else is required.”

Lady Cardovan held out her hand. “I am delighted to have made your acquaintance, my dear. I hope we shall be good friends.”

“Oh! I do hope so, Your Ladyship. And thank you—you have been wonderfully kind.”

Miss Calder hesitated a moment and then fled out the door.

A moment later, Lady Cardovan sat down at her writing table to compose a note to her friend:

My dear Basil,

I have engaged a governess at last. She is a remarkable young woman, just what is called for, though not in the usual line of governesses. I believe you shall like her as much as I do. Her father is a clergyman in Devonshire, she has eight brothers and sisters, and is a charming creature. You may open up the little bedchamber on the third floor, and pray, do not forget to have the housekeeper air out the linens! These hired houses are so poorly kept up.

D. Cardovan
                

Chapter V

Another letter was dispatched from London some days later. On the Thursday following her first interview with Lady Cardovan, Anne Calder sat down to write the following to her eldest brother:

My dearest Ben:

“I promised you I should write at the first possible moment to tell you everything that has happened since I went away. There has been barely a moment to spare, else I should certainly have written sooner. However, I am now so full of news that I hardly know where to begin. I shall tell you everything, and you must decide what is fit to repeat to my mother and father, or what you must disguise a little. I suppose Mama is still angry with me for refusing Mr. Siddons, but I trust when I have proved what a capable governess I can be, she shall not think so ill of me. As to my father—who can ever tell what he is thinking? I half thought he would laugh outright when I told him what I proposed doing, but he managed to look so stern and forbidding a moment later that I cannot tell what his opinion of me really is. When I went away on Saturday, it seemed you were my only ally—so you must be very faithful and kind to your foolish Anne, and be the best judge of what is proper to tell them.

I told you then of my interview with Lady Diana. But I have now, if it is possible, even greater reason to be grateful to her. She is an extraordinary lady, and as beautiful as she is kind. If this adventure comes to naught else, I shall at least be thankful for having made
her
acquaintance. I hope she will not think too ill of me when she discovers that I am not
exactly
who I pretended to be! Never mind—I believe she has enough humour to laugh a little, despite everything. I am still amazed at my good fortune that it should have been she. Only imagine how astonished I was to find that my prospective employer was Lady Cardovan's closest friend! You know I have always admired her books and have only hoped that my own little scribblings might someday improve so much as not to be utterly put to shame by hers. It is my dearest wish that she will be able to guide my hand a little. That, of course, must wait a while. I dare not confess just yet.

As to Sir Basil Ives and my new charge, I must start quite at the beginning to do the tale sufficient justice. You will laugh out loud if I do it at all well. If not, only imagine it were dramatized by Mr. Sheridan, for it has the makings of a farce, or of a comedy, at the least.

I was set down in Huxsley by the post chaise, as you will remember, and was met there by a formidable equipage bearing the arms of the Earl of Hargate, who is my employer's elder brother. There was no one to meet me save a manservant who looked as if he was inclined to gossip, but could not, alas, for he was riding outpost. The female servant who rode within said not two words during all the journey to London, but sat perfectly motionless in her seat, staring straight ahead and hardly blinking. Withall, she seemed so eloquent in her silence that it was obvious she disliked me: a thin, dour, very dry looking woman about fifty, who, as it turned out, is Lord Hargate's housekeeper. From what I have seen of His Lordship's establishment, I do not wonder but she spends the better part of her time riding about the countryside thus, for Hargate House is a perfect shambles where the children are never put to bed, the mistress never leaves her own, and the chief amusement of the butler is whist with the upstairs maid. But never mind, I shall tell you more about that family another time.

Arriving in London about seven in the evening, we came straight here. “Here” is the house—and a very grand one, too—which Sir Basil has taken for the winter so that his ward may get a little acquainted with him before she is transported out of England. It is a modern building in Regent's Terrace, which you will remember as being only half finished when we came to visit two years ago. Now it is nearly complete, and much handsomer than I supposed then it would ever be. That great expanse of marble is quite astonishing to behold, and when the trees have grown up a little
around it, I believe it will be splendid. Our own house (you see I am already become quite proprietary) is a grand place like its neighbours—so close, in fact, that the walls on the side adjoin, and there are no windows save in front and back. The frontispiece is made of onyx, the roof seems to be held up by immense columns, very like an ancient Greek temple, which in truth is the style of the whole building. Mr. Richard Nash, whom you have heard so much discussed, is the architect of this whole scheme: of all of Regent's Terrace, the new park around Carlton House, and St. James's Street. They all bear a distinct resemblance to those etchings of the Acropolis in Papa's study. I heard one wit the other day describe Mr. Nash's plan as “a scheme to get up England in fancy dress,” which may be just, but I am much more pleased with
his
ideas of ornamentation than some of the others which are evidenced in the city. But enough for the time being.
Now
I must give you the picture of my own life, as it has been since Saturday last.

I was met in very grand and very exemplary style by the Ambassador and Lady Cardovan. Sir Basil Ives struck me at once as coming from a novel (perhaps one not yet written?!): tall, exceedingly handsome, and strikingly cold. His features are finely chiseled, his mouth very finely made but rather too set for my own taste, his eyes gray and piercing. Were it not for a rare flicker of humour around his upper lip and at the most extreme corner of those eyes, I should be inclined to think him utterly devoid of humour as well as emotion. As it is, I cannot quite make him out, but am inclined to believe he is the diplomat
par excellence
. He is perfectly charming, if charm consists only in uttering the correct thing at the correct moment, all with the most keen attention to form. To all outward appearances, this must make him amiable, but he lacks any of that warmth, or spark of feeling, which is an absolute requirement of
mine
for perfect agreeableness. He greeted me very handsomely, but with a sort of stiffness which made me think, as he was inquiring about my journey, the state of my health, whether or nor I was tired, etc., that we were statues speaking to each other across a gully. At dinner, which they had put off on my account, he exhausted himself at once of speaking to me. Thereafter, he addressed himself solely to Lady Cardovan, and she, with some little smiles, replied always to me, as though she were translating for her friend. I do not know if he is more afraid of me as a governess or as a woman—but I am inclined to
think a little of both. He is one of those gentlemen who has already made up his mind before he converses two minutes with a female that she has nothing of interest to say.

All this makes him seem like something less than flesh and blood. I cannot make out what makes him laugh or cry, but as you know my weakness, you may be sure that I am set upon finding some trace of humour even in
him
. Only from my first impression, that must come from circumstance rather than inbred eccentricities. I do not doubt Sir Basil has plenty of those (as who amongst us does not?), only they are of the type which must be put into relief by situation. And, Ben, for circumstances, you have not long to wait: barely twelve hours after setting foot in Regent's Terrace, we were off again to meet my little charge, Miss Lessington. From only the briefest sketch of her, you shall see instantly that
here
is a challenge even to Sir Basil's equanimity and composure.

We were to collect the little girl at the office of Sir Basil's solicitor, in Harley Street. Thither we drove, in all the elegance of Lady Cardovan's carriage, Sir Basil staring straight ahead of him with a perfectly pained expression upon his face, as if he was driving to his own funeral. Her ladyship, meanwhile, attempted to enliven the journey by giving me an account of every building we passed, and now and then recounting some humorous anecdote in an attempt to bring a smile to the Ambassador's face. Nothing availed, however, and although I was perfectly amused during the whole drive, the object of her solicitations remained stonily silent, whether from fright or displeasure, I do not know. The solicitor, a Mr. Hawke-Smythe (who looks amazingly like the first part of his name), we found sitting behind his desk, well littered with documents, in an office so dark and musty that for a while I thought we had really entered a tomb and began to suppose Sir Basil's terror had not been unjustified. Mr. Hawke-Smythe, a cadaverous person with a great head waggling above his long and knotty throat, rose very gravely to meet us. His solemnity was all the more astounding as, after some few moments, I noticed a little girl sitting perfectly upright in a chair to one side of his desk. She had the brightest expression in the world upon her face, which was as shining and rosy as the lawyer's was gray. She was dressed in the most remarkable fashion; a tartan bonnet perched upon her black curls, a scarlet cape about her small shoulders, and a plum woolen frock beneath. She looked exactly like a cheerful
little elf, or perhaps more truthfully, a wandering gypsy child. She greeted us in a high bright voice, and remained as unperturbed as you please throughout the whole business. Said Mr. Hawk-Smythe (with many apologetic rumbles), “I have just been entertained this half hour by your ward's chatter, Your Excellency.” Sir Basil bowed, took the little girl's hand, and made some rather stiff comment about how pleased he was to make her acquaintance. Miss Elf smiled like a queen, made her courtsey, and replied: “Likewise, Your Excellency. I have had the happy expectation of meeting you ever since poor Papa died.” This was pronounced with a combination of such nice condescension and rapt interest that it fairly took my breath away. The child looked like a gypsy and spoke like a duchess! Sir Basil seemed equally amazed, and I saw Lady Cardovan turn away to hide her smiles.

“Child, here is your new governess, Miss Calder,” said His Excellency when he had recovered from his shock. The girl turned to me and held out her hand, saying with great cordiality that she was happy to make
my
acquaintance, too. For this I was heartily thankful, I can assure you—and said as much. It had begun to dawn upon me that I had contracted for a task quite beyond my abilities. The child was already so well-formed in her conduct, so candid in her manner, so condescending in her little murmurs and smiles, that the idea of teaching her at all seemed superfluous. It must have been, from my own small experience, something akin to teaching a kitten how to play. I had already a thousand questions for Lady Cardovan, but from one glance at her, I could see she was nearly as astounded as myself. From a later conversation with that lady, I gathered that she had no more information about the child than what she had imparted to me at our first meeting. Mr. Lessington was a solicitor, a respectable and respected man in his county, and Nicole had been his only child. That he had managed to be both mother and father to her during most of her life was astounding, especially considering the precocity of her mind and the maturity of her manner.