Rondo Allegro (62 page)

Anna finished by saying, “You may practice those in the
schoolroom. When you get them exactly right, I will teach you how to lift your
legs and arms.”

They returned to the schoolroom, where Eleanor turned away,
looking hurt.

Later that day, Anna brought Eleanor down to the drawing
room with its leaping fire, where she could hear the notes played true on the
fortepiano. Eleanor was delighted, and Anna, as teacher, found her opportunity
to sing, as she could not go on her walk.

She had trusted in the family’s habit of each departing to
separate parts of the house, but the dowager, drawn by the sound of the
fortepiano, entered in time to hear Eleanor singing the last part of “Norah,
Dear Norah.”

The dowager paused inside the door, holding her breath. At
the end, she clasped her hands, her spectacles twinkling in the reflected
firelight as she exclaimed, “I did not know we have a genius budding in our
midst!”

Eleanor flushed with pride. But she was at heart a truthful
girl, and she had forgiven her idolized preceptress for taking Justina away for
dance lessons. She exclaimed, “Oh, you must hear Lady Northcote. She sings like
an
angel
.”

“Then we have a house full of angels,” the dowager retorted
with good humor, treating the trite expression as childish enthusiasm. “For
your mother is also acclaimed for her celestial voice.”

“Mama is a beautiful singer,” the child said loyally.

“Indeed she is,” Anna said, glad to have the subject of her
own singing shifted. “Would you like to try ‘Toll for the Brave’?”

Eleanor, much shocked, whispered, “Oh, no. Is it not to be a
surprise for Mama, and Uncle Northcote? What if
he
chances to come in, before it is ready?”

Anna knew that her husband was in the library with Diggory,
wrestling with estate matters, but she would not gainsay the little girl. “You
are quite right. We should not like to spoil the surprise.” And then,
suspecting the real reason the dowager had come in, “Shall we listen to
Grandmama play instead?”

The dowager had indeed come in to sit down to the
instrument. She warmed up by playing some of Harriet’s favorite airs, knowing
that her younger daughter was restless being confined to the house. Soon
Harriet and Anna were practicing their dance steps, which Eleanor begged to
join; when Nurse appeared to check on her charge, Justina took one look and
began to grizzle at being left out of the fun.

She was pulled into the circle. They made so much noise that
Henry, finished consulting with the butler on household affairs, was drawn
hither.

Mindful of what he had told her about noise, Anna said
instantly, “We are become too loud. Perhaps a quieter game?”

“No, no,” Henry said. “Pray continue. It sounds festive, and
I would not interrupt for the world.”

They continued for a short time until Justina, unused to
being in company, became shrill and over-excited. Nurse took the little girls
upstairs. Harriet followed, promising to read to the wailing Justina, and the
dowager turned to her more serious music with an air of determination.

Henry groped with his hand, palm open, fingers slightly
cupped in what Anna had begun to recognize as his gesture of question. It was a
gesture he used only for her, and she came to him at once. “I am here,” she
said, suppressing the questions he hated.

And he said as soon as they closed the door behind them,
“I’m fine. Shall we go into the book room?”

When they reached it, he said, “Truth to tell, I am
astonished to discover that I survived Justina’s screeching without my skull
shattering. That puts me in mind of a question. Mrs. Diggory tells me that the
Rackhams have promised their Jane that her governess can go when she turns
eighteen this March. Mrs. Diggory recommends her for those girls, who ought to
have had a governess these two years. But she says that Mrs. Squire Elstead has
taken it upon herself to find out a governess on her daughter’s behalf. What do
you think?”

“I do not think my opinion is wanted by Lady Emily
Northcote,” Anna said.

“But
I
want your
opinion,” Henry said. “I am the one having to pay the salary. Have you met this
Miss Timothy?”

“Oh, I have, two or three times, when I have gone to the
Rackhams to dance. She is a good woman, liked by everyone. Her French is
excellent, I found that out when the others insisted we speak together, and
Jane is very well read. Also, she plays well. Mrs. Rackham likes to play for
these parties, but she is not always free to do so, and Miss Timothy performed
that office.”

Anna thought about how Miss Timothy had with a quiet look
quelled Harriet and Cicely Elstead’s romping when it threatened to become
shrill, then said slowly, “She also seems to have a good way with discipline.”

“That is what I wanted to hear,” Henry said, well pleased.
He loathed the idea of anyone chosen by Mrs. Squire Elstead coming into his
house; he would tell Mrs. Diggory to cut out Mrs. Squire Elstead before she
could land her spy in their midst. “I will put it to Emily on her return, and
if she agrees, that will settle the matter. There is a deal else to be done, no
thanks to my brother. But death, we are told, forgives a multitude of sins, so
the least said the better. If you are at liberty?”

“I am.”

“The post was got in finally, and there’s a significant pile
of letters. Will you read them to me?”

She went to the desk, and began slitting seals as Diggory
saw to it they were brought warm sandwiches and tea.

The top letters held little interest for Anna: a long screed
from the solicitor listing creditors’ bills outstanding; a begging letter from
a fellow captain Henry had not seen for a dozen years, seeking a place for a
young son should Henry return to sea; another naval friend writing from the
North American station, wanting details of Nelson’s last battle; a third sea
captain who wished for his old friend, a hero of Nelson’s Glorious Last Action,
to speak to the Admiralty on behalf of his son, a new-made lieutenant, who
longed for a place aboard a frigate where there might be hope of prize-money.

The fourth was from Lt. McGowan, who had been sent to London
with dispatches.

Sir: I trust you will forgive me, not knowing how you ought to
be addressed. That is, I know you are now Lord Northcotte, but is it Captain
Lord Northcotte, now you are between commands? At any road, Captain Sayers, on
learning that I was to be Sent, bade me write a Letter if I was in time to
witness the Admiral’s funeral. We having had a topgallant breeze into the Bay
of Bis-Quay, we not only set t’gans’ls but—

“Anna, you can skip over the details of the wind and matters
of sailing, if you like. I expect it is long and detailed.”

Anna ran her eyes down the closely written page. “It is,”
she said, and turned over the paper. “Here is where he reaches
Portsmouth . . .

…everything decked in black, flags a-flying from Grennitch all
the way to St. Paul’s. A mate of mine from Orion, 74, saved out space for me at
Temple Barr, and there we were squeezed. It was altogether a sad Crush, but they
were for the most Part sillent, so you could hear the tattoo of the muffled
drums over the clop of horse hooves in the train of Carriages. In the distance
the boom of cannon salute.

Before the Admiral’s body was in approach there was a great
deal of shoving, and trying to see, but when it drew near the Sillence was
profound, and when it was nigh, it was as if some angel cried “Hats off,”
because there was no Order spoken, but we all doffed our Scrapers . . .”

Anna turned the page, glanced up, and saw Henry with his
hand shading the bandaged eyes. She had seen that tension in the line of his shoulders,
down to his long hands, on the first day. “Shall I cease?”

“No. Please. Do go on.”

“There is very little more.”

And after that, the great press kept us from getting anywhere
near the Church, so I cannot report on anything better than the newspapers. But
I promised to write what I did see, and though we did not accompany him all the
way, there was a sense of shared grief on us all as we moved away.

There is little more to tell: Mr. Leuven has decided to retire,
and Jorgensen is now surgeon. He said to thank you again for the Music you sent
along of Capt. Sayers, and that they still play Bach. I carry everyone’s
Respects, and best wishes for you to regain your Health.

Your obedient servant, Lt. James McGowan.

“I wanted to be there,” Henry said, lowering his hand. “I
would give anything to have been a part of that. I suspect that does not sound
rational. The rational being would assure me that one more or less would not be
missed.” His voice ended on a bitter note.

Anna was certain she had heard those words before, but could
not recollect when. She said, “It might be rational to one who has not
witnessed how a ship’s company, how a fleet, becomes more than a united body of
men. They share for that time one spirit.”

Henry raised his head. “That is it exactly. And we mourn
together, one spirit. You have said that well. Shall we answer him?”

Anna reached for the ink well and a tray of neatly trimmed
pens. She adjusted the branch of candles so that her hand would not form a
shadow on her paper. “I am ready.”

Henry dictated answers to them all, saving out the
description of the battle for last. “Will this be too disagreeable?” he asked.
“It seems absurd to mouth out some toplofty proverb about war is no business
for ladies. As we were agreed before, we share these memories. But however, you
might not wish to revisit them.”

“The memories,” she said, “are there, whether I write a
letter or not. How should it begin?”

Henry paused many times, and she was even put to the trouble
of throwing a ruined sheet into the fire and starting anew because he did not
like the words he used. But once he reached the last conference with Nelson,
the words came more rapidly, if not easier.

Nothing about those memories was easy, except in the fact
that they shared them. He could not shock her, because she had seen the results
of the violence, and once or twice she could even put him right, especially
about the prisoners and the hurricane.

When the letter was done, she laid aside the pen and wrung
her aching fingers. She did not speak, but something in her movement caught his
ears, because he said suddenly, “I have worked you too long. I am used to a
captain’s clerk who spends his entire day writing. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she said, her heart
constricting at the note of real remorse in his voice, the unconscious plea in
his open hands. “We have finished them all. It remains only to seal them up and
write the direction—”

A knock at the door proved to be Perkins, to announce that
it was time to get ready for dinner.

Anna got up and moved to the opposite door, where she saw
Parrette waiting.

After another lively evening, at which everyone felt Emily’s
absence as an advantage, Anna walked Henry upstairs. He was silent, and she
feared he had once again succumbed to the headache. When they reached their
sitting room, he said in French, “Are we alone?”

“Yes.”

“Will you sit by me?” He felt his way to the satin couch.

Anna did, and when he reached for her hand, he slid his
fingers through hers. “I had not noticed until this evening, how very well we
all are without my sister-in-law.”

Though Anna had also noticed, she had thought she was alone
in that—that her ambivalence about Emily was her private struggle.

Henry tugged her fingers gently, and she tugged back, a
pulse of warmth thrilling through her at the latent strength in his hands. “Did
you not notice? I don’t think this is mere evidence of my spleen; you were very
careful when I brought up the matter of the governess earlier. One would think
women would talk about this, but I gather Emily does not talk to you?”

“She is a very quiet person,” Anna murmured, choosing her
words with care. “And unfailingly polite. And yet there is a difference. I do
not know why. I hesitate to lay blame at anyone’s door.”

“She is the one who told me that one more or less would not
be missed at Nelson’s memorial. It might have been kindly meant, and it was
certainly rational. But it brought home to me how vast is the gulf between us.
And always has been.”

He sighed. “You probably have heard that she and I once had
an understanding,” he said bluntly. “It was a boy and girl affair. Everyone
said so at the time. But when you
are
a boy, you know nothing outside your experience. The short version is, she
threw me over for my brother. I am certain her family united in wishing her to
marry John, who would inherit, whereas at the time I had no prospects beyond
what I might gain at sea. The thing I could not forgive was this, I was the
last to learn the truth.”

“Perhaps that is a mistake made by a girl without
experience,” Anna began, aware of a confusion of emotions, above all relief and
apprehension to hear at last what she had previously only guessed at.

His voice dropped a note, his expressive mouth tight at the
corners. “
She
knew what she was
doing. She took great care to keep me dangling, and her mother abetted her in
it. The entire countryside knew. I did not find out until she showed me John’s
ring, and he was there in the next room, laughing himself sick at the
expression on my face. Ah, to cut it short, I left home, spouting a lot of
nonsense best left to Drury Lane. I promised I would never look at another
woman, and I was angry enough to keep my promise until the war overtook me, and
I had other things to think about.” He tugged her fingers again. “Say
something?”

“I know not what is right to say, except that I am sorry you
were grieved.”

“Oh, the grief was gone off within the first year. It was
pride and anger that stuck the longest, until they had become habit.”