Jane Ashford (10 page)

“But this seems so cold. She is hardly more than a child.”

Miss Hendricks fastened her pale eyes on Thalia’s face. “That may be true of others here, but not Lady Agnes. She has never been a child. She was an overbearing arrogant girl when she arrived here, and she remains so. We have barely managed to force a few facts into her mind and make her understand that certain polite forms must be observed in public. There will be a general sigh of relief when she goes.”

Unsatisfied, Thalia thanked the other woman and turned away. It seemed wrong, somehow, to dismiss a young girl as intractable. But she did not know how one would go about changing a pupil who had defied the efforts of a whole school of more experienced teachers.

In the days that followed, she thought further on this subject, but found no answers. She also explored the gardens, which were very pleasant, and wrote her sisters amusing, anecdotal letters describing her new life.

In these pastimes, several weeks went by, and Thalia felt generally content with her lot.

Thursdays were half-holidays at the Chadbourne School, though some of the teachers were usually required to oversee outings for the girls. When her fourth such holiday came around, Thalia felt a great urge to get away by herself, and she determined to take a long solitary walk through the countryside near the school.

Accordingly, she set off directly after luncheon, taking only a book and Juvenal, who seemed nearly as pleased as she to get away.

They moved quickly across the school gardens, greeting several girls on the way, and out the great gate at the front. A road here ran into Bath on the left and into country the other way, soon degenerating into a mere lane. Thalia went right, stepping briskly along. She wore a walking dress and stout shoes, for she intended to leave the road as soon as possible. Juvenal paced beside her with his usual gravity.

They soon left the school wall behind, coming to cultivated fields on either side of the road. Several prosperous-looking farms were visible, as was a sizable copse, and Thalia headed for the latter.

It was a fine spring day. The sun was bright but not hot, and a breeze stirred the air, carrying the scent of sun-warmed grass and budding leaves. Thalia took deep breaths and walked with increasing pleasure. She had not tramped in the country since before her aunt died, and she realized now how she had missed it.

At the first opportunity, she left the road for a footpath which wandered in the general direction of the trees. Here Juvenal showed more liveliness, bounding ahead to attack grass hummocks and then returning, proud of himself, for Thalia’s approval. He even flushed a rabbit, though this startled him quite as much as it did his prey, and he fell back on his haunches dumbfounded instead of chasing it.

They reached the edge of the trees well before midafternoon. The footpath continued through the copse, and Thalia enjoyed the sudden quiet that came when they walked under the first trees. She sighed with happiness. “Where shall we go, Juvenal?” she said. “Shall we stay on this path and see where it leads? Or shall we strike off into the forest? I want to find a lovely comfortable place and read for a while, out here where everything smells so fresh and wonderful.”

Juvenal, a patch of black against the green shoots, looked up at her for a moment, then, as if in answer to her questions, bounded off to the left, away from the path.

Thalia smiled. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” she called. But she followed him, pushing aside branches and stepping over an occasional fallen log.

These obstacles made the going slower, and Thalia twice lost sight of the kitten as he ran ahead. But when she called him, he immediately reappeared, staring inquiringly from his golden eyes, as if to ask why she did not go faster.

At last Thalia heard the sound of water ahead, and saw brighter sunlight through gaps in the trees. “Is it a stream?” she asked Juvenal, but he ignored her.

The sound indeed came from a stream, she found a moment later, stepping from the trees into a wide clear area. But the tiny brook ran into a pond, overhung with willow and moss, in the midst of the copse. Thalia was delighted. “Juvenal, you splendid animal. Did you know this was here?” she exclaimed. “This is a perfect spot. I shall settle under that willow right there and idle away the afternoon.” As she spoke, she walked around the edge of the pond toward the tree. She sank down on the moss under it, after spreading an old shawl she had brought for just this purpose, and looked happily about. The pond was small and closely shrouded by trees and underbrush, giving it the feeling of a secret place. Thalia could easily imagine that fairies gathered here on moonlit nights, or that Pan might visit on his northern journeys. She smiled at her own silliness. But at that very moment, a strange sound came to her ears. She cocked her head, listening, and her eyes gradually widened. It couldn’t be, but it was; yes, it was unmistakably ancient Greek. Someone was declaiming here in this secret spot. Astonished, she looked around.

There was no one to be seen, but the voice seemed to be coming from the edge of the pond a bit farther along. The trailing branches of the willow hid the bank from her. Very slowly Thalia rose and peered through the leaves. There was nothing there. She hesitated, then began to walk along the shore. As she moved, the voice became clearer. It positively was Greek, and it was being practically shouted across the water. She had thought the speaker closer than he was because of this.

At last, rounding a bramble bush, Thalia discovered the source of the sound. Under another willow tree stood a young man; he was facing the pond and declaiming Greek poetry passionately.

Fascinated, Thalia shrank back a little to watch. The man was above middle height and rather thin, but he had a fine head, thickly covered with curling blond hair, and his hands, which were continually gesturing as he recited, were those of an artist, long and chiseled. Clearly he was aware of nothing and no one but the verse.

And as she listened, Thalia was also caught up. She had studied Greek for two years, and though she knew her knowledge was meager, she thought she recognized this as Euripides. But whatever it was, the sounds were wonderful. One of her tutors had read aloud to her from Greek poetry, and she had been enthralled then. But that had been nothing like
this
. The young man before her spoke with passion, his head thrown back and no sign of a book anywhere near.

She stood spellbound until he paused, and then she stepped forward, saying eagerly, “That was Euripides, was it not? Oh, how beautifully you did it!”

The man started violently and whirled about. He stared at her as if she were a phantom, and Thalia flushed a little. But she also noticed that his eyes were a clear sparkling gray.

“I beg your pardon,” she went on. “I came upon this pond quite by accident and sat down to read. I couldn’t help but hear you. I don’t mean to intrude.”

The man found his voice again with some difficulty. “N-not at all. That is… I didn’t realize there was anyone about. I wouldn’t have shouted so if I… mean…” he stopped helplessly, still staring.

“Oh, it was wonderful. I’m glad you shouted.
Was
it Euripides?”

Bemused, he nodded slowly.

“It was! I thought so. And now I am very pleased with myself for identifying it, for you must know that my knowledge of Greek is of the slightest.”

“Are you real?” asked the man dazedly. “Or are you some strange northern wood nymph I have called up with my poetry?”

Thalia laughed. “I am quite real, so you needn’t expect me to behave like a nymph, some of whom were
quite
improper.” She smiled at him.

“But where do you come from? How did you appear here? Did you really recognize the Euripides? I cannot believe you are real.”

“Well, I came from the Chadbourne School, and I appeared by thrusting my way through all sorts of thorns and brambles, which should testify to my paltry reality. And as for Euripides, I have studied Greek a little—very little—and so I managed to guess.”

With this mundane information, the man seemed to recall himself. “I see. Admirable. But in my astonishment, I forgot my manners. I am James Elguard.” He bowed.

“How do you do? And how did you appear here, Mr. Elguard? For I declare it is just as unusual for me to find a man reciting Greek in the forest as for you to meet me here. Odder!”

He laughed. “I came out from Bath in search of some solitude to indulge my penchant for reciting, as you call it. I am staying in town.”

“Ah.”

“Will you not tell me your name?”

“I am Thalia Hartington.”

“Thalia! And you say you are not a nymph?”

“Indeed not. Only the daughter of another lover of Greek poetry.”

“I see. Then you don’t have two sisters, equally lovely, who preside over all human graces?”

“Of course we don’t,” laughed Thalia.

“You
do
have sisters?”

She dimpled. “Oh, yes.”

“Aglaia and Euphrosyne, without doubt.”

“Well, my father began the conceit, and then was forced to go on with it, you see.”

“I see that your claim to reality was nothing but a sham. You are a goddess.”

“On the contrary, I am a schoolteacher, Mr. Elguard.”

He burst out laughing and was about to speak again when Juvenal trotted out of the bushes and sat down at Thalia’s feet, beginning at once to lick his black fur energetically.

“Your familiar?” asked James Elguard.

“Am I a witch now? For if I am a nymph, I cannot have a familiar.”

“Alas, I have mixed my conceits woefully. I give it up. He is merely a schoolteacher’s cat. What is his name?”

Thalia dimpled. “Juvenal. But I didn’t give it to him, so you needn’t be
satirical
.”

He gave another shout of laughter. “I am afraid to try. But do you like Juvenal’s
Satires
? I do, immensely.”

“I have not read enough to say, really. My studies were the simplest things only, for I started with Latin very late.”

“Ah. Who named him, then? Your teacher?”

“No, my aunt. And if she knew anything of Juvenal beyond his name, I should be greatly surprised. She named all her cats for classical persons.”

“Chiefly Romans?”

“Oh, yes. I have an idea she didn’t
really
approve of the Greeks.”

Mr. Elguard’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “All, you said? She had a great many cats, then?”

“Oh, yes. Twenty-six. Or perhaps twenty-four. I’m not certain.”

He laughed again. “You are the most original, delightful girl I have ever met. Why have I not come across you before this? You said your name was Hartington? Are you connected with the Hampshire Hartingtons?”

“Yes, that is my family. But my father died years ago, and we went to live with my aunt, until she too died, recently.”

“And now you are a schoolteacher? You weren’t bamming me?”

“No. I am at the Chadbourne School. It is nearby.”

“Yes. I’ve heard of it.”

“In fact,” continued Thalia, looking up at the sun, which was now lowering in the west, “I must be starting back there now. It is a two-mile walk, and I must be in for tea.”

“Let me drive you,’ said Elguard quickly. “I have a gig tied at the edge of the trees. Please.”

Thalia hesitated.

“Please. I do so want to talk a bit more.”

The girl, realizing that she too would find this very pleasant, gave in.

“Splendid. And now we needn’t start immediately, need we? The journey will be much quicker in a gig.”

Thalia laughed. “I really should go.”

“Oh, very well. But I shall drive slowly. And you will tell me everything about yourself as we go.”

“Shall I?”

“I hope so.”

“And what of you?”

“Oh, I mean to tell you everything as well. I shall begin at once, in fact.” And as they walked through the trees to his carriage, he did. Thalia discovered that he was the second son of Sir George Elguard and destined for the church. He was in his last year at Oxford and very much enjoying his studies there. Next year, he would be ordained, and a modest living being held for him would be his. “It is in the country near York,” he told her. “The stipend isn’t large, but it will do. And I hope, of course, to move on to greater things someday. There are several books I would like to write, and I hope to be of some help to my parish as well.”

“I’m sure you will be,” responded Thalia. “What sort of books?”

He laughed. “No, no, I mustn’t begin on that. You mean to get me started on my pet theories, I see, to avoid telling me about yourself. But I shall merely finish by saying that I am in Bath for a few days to prepare the way for my mother. She comes next week to drink the waters. Or so she says. I think she comes to gossip and play whist all the day long, out of my father’s sight.” He grinned to show that this was a joke. “I get frightfully bored, so I come out here and recite poetry, as you discovered. There. Now you know all my secrets. It is your turn.”

They had by this time mounted the gig and were, with Juvenal between them, driving slowly back along the road. Thalia looked sidelong at him, smiling slightly. “Secrets?”

“Every one!”

She laughed. “Well, I haven’t any. And I have told you most of it already. My parents died when I was very young and my sisters and I were reared by our aunt. She died recently, and we found positions to support ourselves.”

“Too bad!”

“Not at all.” Thalia’s tone was not encouraging. She liked this man very much, but she was not inclined to tell him the whole story of her aunt’s will on such short acquaintance.

“You like being a teacher, then?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I have always thought I should like it myself. I mean to have some pupils when I am settled in Yorkshire. For languages; preparing them for university, you know. But I had thought that girls’ schools were beastly places; that is the impression my sisters gave me, at least.”

“Sisters? Aha! And you claimed you had told all about yourself. You never mentioned sisters.”

He laughed. “I must have forgotten. I have three older sisters, two married now. I scarcely ever see them.”

“And so of course, you forget them,” finished Thalia agreeably. “One can quite easily see how it might happen.”

“Only for a moment,” he laughed. “But I refuse to talk about my family any longer. I am finding out about you. Your school is not beastly?”

“Oh, no. There are all sorts of people there, naturally, and some are more pleasant than others, but I have not found it beastly.” She thought suddenly of Lady Agnes Crewe and her veiled impudence. “At least, not any more beastly than any other profession,” she added.

“But it is a pity you must work.”

“I don’t agree. I think it is a pity my sisters must do so, for they are not at all suited for it. But I am glad to have something worthwhile to do with my time. I always loved my studies, and now I have the chance to help other girls, a few at least, feel that love as well.”

James Elguard looked down at her admiringly. “I think that’s splendid!” he exclaimed. “And I’m sure you are a splendid teacher, too.”