“That depends on poor Mr Wavenhoe. But it is not being in Town that I dislike – quite the reverse, in fact – but the gloom of Albemarle-street and some of the people one is obliged to meet there.” She smiled at me, her outburst apparently forgotten. “I wonder – if you are at leisure, might I request the favour of your company? Then I could send my maid home – the poor girl has a mountain of sewing. I have one or two errands to run; they will not take long.”
I could hardly have refused even if I had wanted to. Miss Carswall took my arm and we threaded our way through the crowds down St James’s-street. In Pall Mall, she scanned the latest novels in Payne and Foss’s for a few minutes and spent rather more time with Messrs Harding, Howell, & Co. The people there made much of her. She bought a pair of gloves, examined some lace newly arrived from Belgium, and inquired after the progress of a hat she was having made for her. She even asked my opinion about whether a certain colour matched her eyes and prettily deferred to my verdict. She was excessively animated; and the longer we were together the more I liked her, and the more I wondered whether our meeting had been coincidental.
On the way back to Piccadilly, neither of us talked much. Once she slipped in the mud, and would have fallen if I had not been there. For a moment her grip tightened on my arm and I saw her looking up at my face. When at last we returned to Albemarle-street, she removed her hand from my arm and we walked side by side but unattached. As we drew near to Mr Wavenhoe’s house, she walked more slowly, despite the cold and despite the rain which had begun to fall.
“You have met my father?”
“Yes – as I was leaving the house just now.”
“I daresay you thought him a little brusque,” she said. “Pray do not answer. Most people do. But I hope you will not allow his manner to offend you. He is naturally choleric, and the gout makes it worse.”
“You must not distress yourself, Miss Carswall.”
“He is not always as amiable as he might be.”
“I shall bear it as best I can.”
She looked sharply at me and stopped walking altogether. “There is something I wish to tell you. No, not exactly: it is rather that I would prefer to tell you myself than have you discover it from someone else. I –”
“Sir! Cousin Flora! Wait!”
We turned to face Piccadilly. Charlie ran towards us. His cheeks were pink from the cold and the exercise. The side of his coat was covered with mud. As he came close, my nose told me that it was not mud but horse dung.
“Sir, that was the most famous fun. I rubbed down a horse. I gave the ostler sixpence and he said I was a regular out-and-outer.”
In his joy, he let out a whoop of delight. We were now standing beneath the very windows of the house where George Wavenhoe lay dying. I looked over Charlie’s head at Miss Carswall. I think each of us expected the other to reprove the lad for making so much noise. Instead we smiled.
Then Miss Carswall went briskly into the house and left me to wonder what she had been about to tell me.
In my absence, the schoolroom had filled with smoke. No one could remember the last time a fire had been lit in there. The flue of the chimney appeared to be partly blocked. The sweep was summoned for the following morning. In the meantime, Mrs Frant decided that Charlie and I should use the library on the ground floor for our lessons.
We sat at a table drawn near to the fire. I set Charlie to construe twelve lines of Ovid. He was willing enough but his mind could not stay on the task for long. I too found it hard to concentrate. Then the door opened, and the servant showed Mr Noak into the room. He wore evening dress, plain but respectable.
I sprang up, ready to withdraw with Charlie. The footman said sulkily that he had not realised that anyone was using the room.
“Pray do not disturb yourself,” Mr Noak said to me. “If I may, I shall sit here and turn the pages of a book until Mr Frant is at leisure.”
The servant withdrew. Mr Noak advanced towards the fire holding out his hands.
“Good evening, sir,” Charlie said. “We met at my father’s house a few weeks ago.”
“Master Charles, is it not?”
They shook hands. Charlie was a well-bred little boy, and he now turned to me. “May I present my – my tutor, Mr Shield, sir?”
Noak held out his hand to me too. “I believe I saw you on the same occasion, Mr Shield. We were not introduced, and I’m glad to remedy the deficiency now.”
The words were gracious but Noak had a harsh, staccato way of delivery which made them sound almost insulting. I moved aside the table so he could warm himself at the fire. He looked down at the open book.
“I do not approve of Ovid,” he said in precisely the tone of voice he had used before. “He may have been a great poet but I am told he was licentious in his mode of life.”
Charlie stared wide-eyed at Mr Noak.
I said, “We choose passages which display his genius but do not dwell on his less agreeable qualities.”
“Then again, one must ask oneself what is the utility of studying the languages of antiquity? We live in a world where commerce is king.”
“Permit me to remind you, sir, that Latin is the language of natural science. Moreover, the study of the language and the literature of great civilisations cannot be wasted effort. If nothing else it must school the mind.”
“Pagan civilisations, sir,” Noak said. “Civilisations that passed their peak two thousand years ago or more. We have come on a little since then, I fancy.”
“That we have been able to build so high is surely a tribute to the strength of the foundations.”
Mr Noak stared at me but said nothing. In my present position I could hardly afford to anger anybody. Yet he had talked such obvious nonsense that I felt it my duty to advance some counter arguments, if only for Charlie’s sake. At this moment the door opened and Henry Frant came in. The almost foppish elegance of his dress was in stark contrast to Mr Noak’s sober attire. Charlie caught his breath. I had the curious impression that he would have liked to shrink into himself.
“My dear sir,” Frant cried. “How glad I am to see you.”
As he advanced to shake hands, I gathered up our possessions and prepared to leave.
“You have been renewing your acquaintance with Charles, I see, and with Mr Shield.”
Noak nodded. “I am afraid I have disturbed them at their studies.”
“Not at all, sir,” I said.
Mr Noak continued as if I had not spoken. “Mr Shield and I have been having a most interesting conversation concerning the place of the classical languages in the modern world.”
Frant shot me a quick glance but swerved away from this subject. “I have kept you waiting – I am so sorry. It was kind of you to meet me here.”
“How does Mr Wavenhoe do?”
Frant spread out his hands. “As well as can be expected. I fear he may not be with us long.”
“Perhaps you would prefer it –” Noak began.
“I would not on any account postpone our dinner,” Frant said quickly. “Mr Wavenhoe is sleeping now, and I understand from his medical attendants that an immediate crisis is not to be expected. Nor is he expected to wake for some hours. They tell me the carriage is at the