Not Less Than Gods (3 page)

Lammas Eve passed, and on Lammastide a knock came at the front door of No. 10.

Richardson opened the door to behold a sleek dark man with an enigmatic smile. He asked whether the Bells were at home and, on being informed that they were in Geneva, gave his name as Dr. Nennys and asked to speak with Master Edward.

Richardson declined to permit him entrance to the house. Dr. Nennys then produced authorization unquestionably signed by Mr. Bell,
eleven years and two days previous, granting Dr. Nennys authorization
in loco parentis
in all matters pertaining to his ward, Edward Alton Fairfax. Dr. Nennys also produced letters of recommendation from certain gentlemen very highly placed in certain government ministries, all certifying as to his worthiness as an educator of youth. Still somewhat reluctant, Richardson allowed him into the front hall. Dr. Nennys strode boldly past him into the drawing room.

Master Edward was summoned. Richardson stood stiffly attendant.

“So this is the boy,” said Dr. Nennys, smiling as he rose to his feet. “What a splendid young man! I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last, Edward. I am Dr. William Fitzwalter Nennys, a great friend of your father.”

He extended his hand to the boy, who took it wonderingly. “I’m happy to meet you, Dr. Nennys,” said Edward. Dr. Nennys shook his hand firmly and then stepped back, regarding Edward with a pleased expression.

“Yes; a remarkably fine boy. And only eleven? I’d have said you were fifteen at least. Extraordinary. A boy marked for greatness, I believe. You have the look of a hero about you, Edward.”

“I do, sir?” Edward stood perceptibly straighter.

“You do indeed. Now then, my boy! Your parents have arranged for you to attend school at my own establishment, Overton Hall, in Suffolk. Given the high regard I have for your father, I thought it best to come down and advise you personally.”

“Overton Hall, sir?” said Richardson. “I must inform you, sir, that my master attended Harrow, and when last consulted on the matter told me that he supposed Master Edward ought to be sent there too, sir.”

“He has reconsidered. Harrow is all very well in its way for common boys, I suppose, but it won’t do for young Edward,” said Dr. Nennys, with a dismissive wave. “Edward is a unique boy, a remarkable boy, and will do very well at Overton, I have no doubt. I look forward to personally tutoring him.”

Richardson, who had long believed the worst possible thing to do to a boy was treat him as though he were the Little Lord Jesus, said: “I’m sure Master Edward has never pretended to airs or thought he was better than other boys, sir.”

“Oh, really?” drawled Dr. Nennys. “Shall we set him a few maths problems? What is seventy times seventy, Edward?”

“Four thousand nine hundred, sir,” said Edward promptly.

“And what is five thousand and thirty-two times six hundred and sixty-three?”

“Three million, three hundred and thirty-six thousand, two hundred and sixteen, sir,” said Edward, with equal speed. Richardson turned to stare at him.

“Divided by four?”

“Eight hundred thirty-four thousand and fifty-four, sir.”

“Divided by three?”

“Two hundred seventy-eight thousand and eighteen, sir.”

“His answers are correct to the last figure,” said Dr. Nennys, with a triumphant look at Richardson. “Though you may work out the sum with a pencil if you wish, I believe my point is made.”

“Well, but he’s always been good at sums,” stammered Richardson.

“How many bunches of primroses appear in the wallpaper in this room, Edward?”

Edward glanced around the room once and replied, “Two thousand four hundred and seventeen, sir.” He looked at Richardson a little shamefacedly. “It’s only a trick, Richardson; you just count how many in a foot square—”

“But common boys wouldn’t think to,” said Dr. Nennys. “Overton’s the place for you, Edward, I haven’t the slightest doubt. Now, tell me a little about yourself! What are your aspirations, my boy?”

Richardson wondered if the boy knew what
aspirations
were, but Edward said: “I should like to be a soldier one day, sir.”

Dr. Nennys’s smile widened into a grin. His teeth were extraordinarily white. Richardson found it unsettling.

“A soldier! Of course. I could see that you were a brave boy; it is written in your face. We shall mold you into a perfect servant of the Crown, shall we?—and you shall defeat His Majesty’s enemies.”

“Oh, yes, sir, please!”

Master Edward, eyes very bright, was then dismissed, but Dr. Nennys lingered for short words with Richardson. Richardson was informed that Overton Hall had been the choice of Edward’s natural father, a gentleman of some importance, and Dr. Nennys trusted no further justification was necessary to a hired servant. The date on which the next term commenced was named, and a list of school supplies was presented, to which Richardson was expected to attend. Dr. Nennys took his leave.

On the appointed day, a coach bearing Richardson and Edward drew up before the Pinford Arms. Richardson caught Edward’s trunk as it was thrown down. Other boys could be seen milling around a van with the name OVERTON HALL prominently painted on its side. Richardson shook hands with Edward, told him to recollect his duty to God and the King, and pressed a half-crown of his own money on the boy. He was profoundly grateful no passengers got on for the return trip to London, and sat alone in the coach blinking away tears as far as Ipswich before he was able to master his emotions.

The boy wrote often from school, advising the household staff of his progress. He was happy and well, getting excellent marks, especially in maths; it was true, however, that he had twice been caned for fighting. He thought perhaps he might like to enter the Church, though he hastened to assure Richardson that this would not preclude his going into the Army because he could serve as a chaplain. Edward’s dutiful letters to Mr. and Mrs. Bell accumulated on the dining room table, unread, for his guardians were not expected to return from Geneva until Christmas.

In the event, they never did. Mr. Bell wrote to Richardson to inform him that they had changed their plans and were going on to Italy. A
fortnight later Richardson received word that their boat had capsized during a sail on the Bay of Naples. Both husband and wife were missing, presumed drowned.

Dr. Nennys himself brought Edward, red eyed and miserable, home for the funeral. He sat beside Edward for the reading of the last will and testament of Septimus Bell, which, in the event of his death and that of his beloved wife, Dorothea, left all their worldly goods to one Sibley Bell, Mr. Bell’s cousin. This gentleman gladly took possession of No. 10 with all its furniture, retaining the services of the staff, but—feeling compunction, perhaps, that Edward had been left without a penny—assured the boy that he was welcome to return to No. 10 during the intervals between terms. His charity did not extend to paying Edward’s continued tuition, however.

Dr. Nennys merely smiled and said he thought it might be possible to make other arrangements.

Term followed term. Edward’s letters home to the servants improved in grammar and spelling, but grew briefer. Dr. Nennys was keeping him very busy with special tutoring; he was learning fencing, riding, and marksmanship. He had been told he had an extraordinary talent for calculus. Best of all, Edward had learned that his
real
father, a person of some consequence it seemed, was still alive! He was henceforth to be known as Edward Bell-
Fairfax
! Circumstances prevented Edward being acknowledged, but it was Edward’s intention to make his distant parent proud with a life of heroism.

And Dr. Nennys—who was, Edward explained, a font of wisdom, a nearly godlike mentor—had intimated on many occasions that Edward was destined for greatness. It didn’t matter that he was a bastard, after all. Shakespeare had written a play in which there was a character called Philip the Bastard, and he was a glorious hero and won a battle. Edward had had no messages from his august parent yet, but dared to
hope that the great man might somehow contrive a discreet meeting with him.

Richardson read this aloud, smiling, and he and Cook exchanged relieved glances. The secret was out at last, and had done the boy no harm.

And then—

Edward came home for the summer holidays just after his fourteenth birthday, taller now than Richardson. He went on an outing with Richardson and Cook, spending a happy day at Gravesend. They returned to find Dr. Nennys waiting in the drawing room, his dark face impassive but his eyes glinting with suppressed anger.

Edward’s father had taken an active interest in the boy at last, it seemed. He had communicated his express wish that Edward be withdrawn from Overton and enlisted in the Navy as a midshipman.

Appalled silence followed this pronouncement. At last Edward asked whether he mightn’t go into the Army instead. On being informed that the arrangements had already been made and were irrevocable, Edward turned to Richardson and said that he was very sorry.

“Be so good as to leave us, Richardson, and close the doors,” Dr. Nennys snapped.

Richardson glared at him but said only, “Very good, sir.” He left the drawing room and drew the doors shut with a crash, after which he stood motionless on the other side, endeavoring to hear the following conversation:

“But how could he do this?” Edward’s voice broke in a wail. “After all you told me about him—I thought he wanted—”

“Bell-Fairfax, I trust you will not blub like a child at the first adversity you encounter?”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I should think so. Now, listen to me. Your father has his own reasons for this decision, which neither I nor you may question. It may be that my reports of your extraordinary progress have persuaded him that you are ready
now
to begin the great work for which we have been preparing you. Your grasp of useful modern languages is excellent—we
will pass over your abysmal Latin, which is unnecessary nowadays in any case—and you have begun to master your temper. What more can you learn at Overton?”

“It isn’t that,” said Edward, clearly struggling to speak calmly. “But I thought I might have displeased him, and I should be very sorry to.”

“Bell-Fairfax, I’m quite certain that is not the case; and even if it were . . . do you remember when you thrashed that vile bully Scargill?”

“Yes, sir.” Edward spoke in a small voice. “Is that it? Did he die after all?”

“No, no, my boy, and small loss if he had! Scargill will undoubtedly grow into the sort of vermin you will spend your life fighting. No. I spoke to you then of certain men, powerful men, who would have intervened to save you even if the young wretch
had
died of his injuries. Those men are watching you still. I may not tell you more at this time, but they are aware of your remarkable qualities, and they are determined you shall live to fulfill your noble destiny.

“Consider this temporary adversity a test of your resolve, a trial wherein you may prove yourself to those good men. You shall go forth into the greater school of the world!”

“I shall not disappoint them, sir,” said Edward.

“I know you will not,” said Dr. Nennys, and then in quite a different voice said, “Richardson! You needn’t lurk out there. Come in.”

Richardson opened the doors once more and stepped through into the drawing room. He beheld Edward, looking somewhat downcast, and Dr. Nennys, who still looked to be in a nasty temper.

Dr. Nennys informed Richardson that Edward was to repair to Portsmouth by the first of September, and go aboard HMS
Repulsion
. Richardson was presented with a sum of money with which to buy a sea-chest and suitable clothing for a midshipman. Dr. Nennys shook Edward’s hand and took his leave, promising that they would meet again.

The money provided by Edward’s remote parent was by no means generous. Coach fare to Portsmouth bit deeply into it; a night’s room at the
Cock and Bottle ate up more. Edward’s measurements were taken at a tailor’s. The tailor then informed Richardson of the usual cost of fitting out a young gentleman in uniform.

Richardson blanched. Edward looked from one to the other uneasily. The tailor added that he did have some stock of ready-mades at a reduced price, since he was in the habit of purchasing the contents of sea-chests from the families of deceased officers. Given that the young gentleman was so unusually tall, it was entirely likely he would find something that fit him, which would save time as well as money.

They were shown the stock, a great deal of which was moth-eaten and antiquated. The tailor proudly held up a pair of knee-breeches Nelson himself might have worn. Edward looked piteously at Richardson. Richardson scowled and dug into his own purse to have two pairs of trousers new made, at least, with new linen. The cheapest of the hats was produced, an old cocked bicorn devoid of gold lace or any other distinction, and set on Edward’s head; a midshipman’s dirk was retrieved from a dusty boxful of them and pressed into Edward’s hand.

A man’s jacket was found, not too out-of-date, with a few hanging threads where its epaulets had been cut away. The sleeves were too short, but the tailor assured them he could let the cuffs out and the jacket would serve admirably, assuming the young gentleman had left off growing and the one or two moth-holes were patched.

Richardson brought the young scarecrow and his sea-chest to the
Repulsion
’s berth, where he once again shook hands and reminded Edward of his duty to his God and his Queen. He slipped most of his remaining money into Edward’s pocket and turned away from his forlorn charge, hoping to catch the late coach so as to avoid paying for another night’s lodging. As it was, Richardson had to do without breakfast and leave the coach at Esher, limping the rest of the way into London. Cook opened the kitchen door to him when he reached No. 10 at last, and thought he looked as though he had aged twenty years.

“I wondered if you’d turn up!”

Dr. Nennys turned at the hoarse greeting, and found himself face-to-face with the old man, staring at him across the short stretch of pavement that separated them. The other’s eyes were red, his cheeks sunken in; he had shaved in haste and carelessly, leaving white chin-stubble glinting in the morning light. He stood straight, though, his spine stiffened by rage. He took a lurching step toward Dr. Nennys.