If Anne had been twice stunned that afternoon, the first time at seeing her employer changed from his usual self into a laughing stranger, and then, as quickly, back again, she was destined to be still more amazed by the events of the next few days. Nicole could offer no explanation for her guardian’s transformation, but with a child’s acceptance, would not question it either. It seemed to her only that Sir Basil had come into his true self, had found the good nature which, before, had been hidden by some freak of nature or accident. She was, therefore, perplexed by her governess’s questions more than by the change itself.
“Why, I suppose he has not been feeling well,” she offered, with a shrug of her shoulders. “In any case, I like him much better now—and I believe he likes me a little bit, too! We did have such a lovely time, Miss Calder—if only you had been with us!”
Anne wished she had been there even more than her pupil, if only to see what had set off his good humour, for she would not believe it had happened of itself. As to the succeeding transformation, she was perfectly sure that she knew what had caused that—the sight of her had obviously affected him very badly. What else could explain his instantaneous change of mood, the moment he had seen her? If this was too unlikely an explanation, considering that she could not mean anything to him, she nevertheless managed to explain it to herself: “It is perfectly clear: Sir Basil detests women, and even I, a lowly governess, must represent to him the idiocy of my sex.”
The explanation would not satisfy her completely, however. Anne was too keen to judge of human nature, for so she had always believed, to think that so profound a metamorphosis could have been set off only by the sight of her. She would not give it any further thought, however: what had been once of great interest as the subject of a novel, could offer no further amusement now that she had given up the project. And well out of it I am, too, thought she. Sir Basil is beyond everything for changefulness and obscurity. Had I the time and the energy, I might devote myself to a lifetime study of his character and still remain as puzzled as I am now.
Indeed, Sir Basil was so unlike any gentleman that Anne had ever seen that he defied every preconception she had ever entertained about manhood. Even excepting his difference in station, wealth, sophistication, and education, she could not reconcile his strange ways with any idea she had ever had of human nature. When he ought to have been warm, he was cold, when another man might have been angry, perverse, or passionate, Sir Basil remained aloof and cool. Never mind: She would do her work, and have done. Only let some other theme present itself to her, and she would take up her pen again. The Determined Bachelor (for so she had already entitled the proposed novel) would never be written, at least by her. Let some more philosophical, some wiser and older writer undertake the chore, if there was such a creature upon the earth.
Thus Ann perceived her employer on that Sunday afternoon, and, had she been allowed the time or interest to think upon it again on Monday, she would certainly have felt the same. But Monday was taken up with so many preparations for the impending visit to Carlton House, which was to be on Tuesday, that she had not a moment for any other thought. Nicole must be clad and tutored, drilled in table etiquette, and etiquette before the Prince. She must be taught which fork to use, when and how to lift her cup, and what she might offer in response to His Highness’s questions, should he address her directly. Lady Cardovan was of vast usefulness in all of this, and seemed so delighted by the whole process, taking such infinite pleasure in watching the little girl progress from ignorance to expertise, that she might have been going herself on a first visit to the Prince.
“Have you discovered who shall go to chaperone Nicole?” asked she of Anne whilst they were waiting for a servant to fetch a ribbon from the Countess’s own dressing room.
“I can only assume that Sir Basil will go,” replied Anne. “Nothing has been said to me to make me think otherwise.”
“Lord! I wish I could be an invisible observer to see it!” laughed Her Ladyship, and Anne joined in her mirth.
“Why do not you go, Lady Cardovan? You have known the Prince longer than Sir Basil, and are certainly better fit to undertake the task than he.”
“Oh, do come, Your Ladyship!” exclaimed Nicole, tugging at the lady’s hand. “I should be so happy if you would—f or I am sure I shall do something wrong, or say something amiss.”
“Hush, child—there is nothing to be afraid of. I shall not go. I do not go about much any more. When someone wishes very much to see me, they come here.”
“Even the Prince?” demanded Nicole, her eyes very wide.
“Even the Prince,” responded Lady Cardovan with a nod. “He has not come very often, but he has come. I believe he likes to get away from his perpetual train of pomp from time to time, and pretend he is no different from the rest of us.”
Anne smiled at hearing this. Yes, it must be true—how cumbersome it must be, sometimes, to be a monarch! And yet, she could not imagine a better chaperone for Nicole than Lady Cardovan. She dearly wished Her Ladyship could be persuaded to go, but no amount of coaxing or argument would make her change her mind. No: it was the place of Sir Basil, or Sir Basil’s governess to go. Lady Cardovan must be only a friend, and however dearly she loved the little girl, she would not usurp the proper duties of her guardian.
Anne saw the wisdom of this at last, and ceased to argue. Nicole, however, was determined, and much dismayed when Lady Cardovan gave her a final, and very firm, response. She had only recently commenced to feel at ease with Sir Basil, and may be excused for desiring a more trustworthy companion on her first visit to Carlton House. What if she should make some terrible blunder? Sir Basil, she was sure, would not excuse her so easily as Lady Cardovan or Miss Calder.
The matter was arranged in the end very differently from what anyone had envisioned. Nicole and her governess took their supper alone that evening in the schoolroom, as was their habit when Sir Basil dined away from home. With a great deal of coaxing, Nicole was persuaded at length to lie down in her bed, although she swore that she would not be able to sleep one wink all night from excitement. Anne, hoping to use her free time that evening to write a letter to Ben, went directly to her own bedchamber as soon as Nicole had been tucked in. She had only just commenced to write, however, when a knock came at the door. Thinking it was Nicole, incapable of sleep and desiring to be kept company, she rose from her chair to answer, arranging her features into a stern look. But the figure at the door belonged to a footman, who inquired very civilly if Miss Calder was too busy to speak to the Ambassador for a moment?
Amazed, Anne shook her head. A glance at the clock told her it was not yet ten o’clock—much earlier than Sir Basil was accustomed to return from an evening party.
“Sir Basil wished to say that he would not disturb you if you were occupied,” declared the footman.
“No, I am perfectly at liberty to come,” responded Anne, wondering what the matter could be. Seizing her shawl, she descended the stairs behind the footman, who, opening the door to the library, bowed and withdrew.
Sir Basil, still in his evening clothes, was standing before a wall of shelves filled with volumes. He did not turn around when Anne came in, but a slight movement of his head made her believe that he knew she was there. Uncertain what to do, she stood in the doorway and waited for him to notice her presence.
After a moment, Sir Basil spoke. His voice was meditative, as if he were only continuing a conversation he had been holding with himself silently.
“I have often thought,” he murmured, “that if I had my life to live over again, I should have chosen to live among books rather than people.”
Anne, at a loss for how to respond, said nothing. She knew not what was expected by the Ambassador, nor if he really desired a response. For a moment, she actually thought he had been speaking to himself, and feeling the embarrassment that one does experience upon stumbling upon a private conversation, had a sudden urge to turn and go, as quietly as she had come. But just then the Baronet spoke again.
“What do you think, Miss Calder? But, no: you do not have my difficulty. I suppose you cannot even comprehend what it is like to feel so much easier among ideas than human beings.”
Now the Baronet turned and, with a quizzical smile, seemed for several moments to examine her countenance. Not knowing whether to smile or speak, and feeling uncertain of what she could say, even if she had any desire to do so, Anne remained silent, only growing increasingly nervous beneath his gaze.
What did he mean? Was this the preamble to a dismissal? Had she angered him in some way which she could neither remember nor guess at? Sir Basil had already proved himself beyond her comprehension: and with every passing moment, Anne became less sure than ever of her convictions.
But if Sir Basil had some motive for this interview, he evidently did not mean to reveal it at once. Bidding her to take a chair, he remained himself upon his feet, first walking to the hearth, where he toyed for a moment with some little artifacts upon the mantel, and exclaimed:
“How I loathe rented houses! Everything in them is strange, yet oddly complete, as if some retinue of decorators and a model housekeeper had come in, simply in order to anticipate one’s needs. Everything is in its place, down to the last gew-gaw. Yet nothing has any personal significance. What a mockery it makes of one!”
Hardly more sure of herself than she had been before, but sensing that she must say something, Anne murmured:
“You must be restless to be in Paris again, Sir. I can well imagine how you must miss the Embassy.”
“Bah!” grunted the Baronet, setting down the miniature he had been examining with a thud. “I don’t miss the Embassy one bit. It is only another temporary address, one of a long line I have occupied, Miss Calder. “I miss my work—it is abominable to be away. I am completely at a loss when I have nothing to occupy me.”
“But surely you have a great deal to attend to here, Sir!” exclaimed Anne. I know that you are every morning with the Prince, and every afternoon at the Foreign Office.”
“Where the entire scene consists of several fat old men, gossiping behind each other’s backs. Don’t look so shocked, my dear Miss Calder. Governments are very little different from other branches of human endeavour; they are no better than the men who make them up, and I have not found in the whole length of my life, above one or two men whom I should trust with the destiny of a village, much less of a nation.”
“But the Prince, Sir—does not he regulate England’s destiny?”
Now Sir Basil, who had wandered over to the bookshelves again and had been staring abstractedly at them, swung around with a brilliant, if sardonic smile:
“What innocence! The Prince! Miss Calder, do you know who has governed our destiny since the King succumbed to his—ah—malaise? A vain, fat, infantile peacock, who cares more for his cravats than for the whole human race put together. Excuse me. Try, if you will, to erase that from your memory.”
Anne, her eyes as wide as her ears were stunned, mumbled, “I shall forget it, Sir Basil. Pray do not speak to me any more, for I am afraid I shall not be able to listen if you do.”
Sir Basil’s whole face had been frozen when he spoke, but now, watching the governess sitting in her chair, her hands pressed tightly together in her lap, her usually candid eyes large with shock and uncertainty, his own features relaxed into a smile.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Calder: I ought not to have put you in such an awkward position. You must realize that His Highness, is, to me, more than a mere sovereign—he is my employer, to whom I must justify myself every day, and upon whom I must depend to be infallible. When he is not, as most employers are not—” this with a rueful smile—“it affects not only my disposition, but in some cases, the whole population of England.”
Anne, grateful for the intended, if not spoken, apology, smiled down at her hands.
“We are all of us fallible, Sir.”
“Yes: but some of us ought not to be so. And when we are, we ought to be capable of accepting our errors. You yourself very justly criticized my shortcomings not long ago, and I have struggled to improve. But princes may not be so easily berated, nor are they inclined to accept advice so humbly.”
Anne’s smile broadened: She did not know whether this conversation was about Sir Basil or the Prince, but in either case, the word humble did not seem very appropriate. Sir Basil was watching her keenly.
“You think me disloyal? Or perhaps only arrogant? My effort was real, you know, even if it was not as effective as you might have wished.”
“Neither, Sir—I think you neither arrogant nor disloyal. As to the Prince, I cannot say, nor could have any way of understanding your feelings. As to you, Sir——”
“Ah!”
“As to you, sir,” continued Anne, firmly, “I would have spoken of my own accord, had I not supposed you would think I was rude in doing so. It is not my place to criticize you, Sir. I only meant to speak on my pupil’s behalf. And you have done much more than I asked.”
Sir Basil looked pleased, almost threatened to break into a smile, but seeming to remember himself, replied formally:
“Thank you, Miss Calder. It is not such a frightening task as I thought it might be.”
Now it was Anne’s turn to wish to grin, and to suppress the urge.
“Children can be rather frightening, Sir. They always speak their minds, which is an addiction grown-ups seem to be rid of.”
“Some grown-ups, Miss Calder.”
“If you mean that I spoke out of turn, Sir Basil, I am heartily sorry for it, and should be more sorry still if it had been to no avail. But Nicole has improved so much since you have taken the trouble to be affectionate with her, that I can only be glad I spoke out of turn, no matter how angry it made you.”
Sir Basil’s expression, observed carefully by Anne, gave no indication of his feelings. He said nothing for a moment, and then, taking a chair and very deliberately turning it a little toward the young woman’s, sat down.
“It did not make me angry, Miss Calder. “I very seldom lose my temper.”
The Baronet’s fingers drummed upon the arm of his chair. Here is the infallible ambassador again, thought Anne, rather sorry that the moment of honesty had passed.
“I apologize, Sir. I did not mean to imply that you did.”
“You may imply what you like.”
Did a trace of a smile appear at the corners of his mouth? Anne thought for an instant that one had.
“I may imply nothing, Sir: I am a governess.”
“Yes, that is true. You ought to say nothing, unless you are spoken to. Certainly not as regards anything save your pupil.’
Anne bowed her head. She felt a flush creep up her cheeks, whether of mortification or anger, or a combination of both, it was impossible to tell.
“I hope you will forgive me, Sir. In the future I shall confine myself to that subject. I hope I have learned my lesson.”
“I hope, indeed, that you have not!”
Anne looked up, astonished. Sir Basil looked grave.
“Sir?”
He did not meet her eyes when he spoke, but stared off into the air.
“I hope you have not learned your lesson. However unbecoming such lectures may be in a governess, I find them quite refreshing. I am not used to governesses, Miss Calder—and have no prejudice in favour of silent ones. I do, however, have a strong prejudice against dishonesty. I see it about me everywhere—particularly, if you will excuse me, in members of your sex. But even men are not exempt from that great weakness.”
“Even men, Sir?”
Sir Basil did not appear to notice the slight inflection of sarcasm.
“Yes: it is a huge disappointment to me, to find that so many of my colleagues are more bent upon being thought well of than they are upon speaking the truth. Do you think me foolish? I ought to have grown used, after all these years, to the vanity of mankind.”
Anne could not help smiling. Here was a view of the Baronet she had never glimpsed, or perhaps she had only failed to observe. The man who sat before her now, staring pensively off into space with a wry smile, was another being altogether from the one she had been growing used to.
“No, Sir,” she declared earnestly, “I do not think you foolish at all. Some people may think it is wise to be untruthful. I do not, nor could I condemn anyone for feeling as you do.”
Sir Basil turned toward her slowly, with the first really ingenuous smile he had ever bestowed upon her. There was nothing of irony in it, nor of formality. It was the smile, interested and a little eager, of a friend.
“I hoped you would say so!”
Now Anne smiled, and looked down into her lap. Something prevented her from meeting those eyes after that first, brief contact. She coughed, and there followed an awkward silence. Anne continued staring into her lap, and after a moment, Sir Basil took his eyes away from her and the old formality came back into his voice.
“I suppose you think it very odd that I should speak to you like this, Miss Calder.”
Anne did not know what to say, and said nothing. Evidently interpreting her silence as a reproof, Sir Basil went on:
“I am aware of how odd you must think me.”
“I do not think you odd, Sir Basil.”
It was evident, however, from the Baronet’s expression, that he regretted having spoken so openly. In truth, he did not know what had made him do so. He had been irritable and impatient since coming back to London, and his own behaviour in the last days had amazed himself more than anyone. Lady Cardovan had remarked it upon two separate occasions, and he had dismissed the charge. But what in the name of heaven had come over him? This evening, for instance, he had gone straight from the Foreign Office to the Duchess of Lisleford’s, where a party of pompous fools had been gathered together. He had been instantly attacked for interfering with the good of the nation by endeavouring to stop the French slave trade, an action which had been introduced by the English some years before. Sir Basil was too seasoned a diplomat to mind the ranting of boors, and on any other evening, he would have smiled calmly and ignored them. But this evening he had done what he prided himself upon never doing: He had lost his temper, and, rising in the midst of dinner, had made his excuses and left the party. And now, here he was baring his breast to a young woman he had known for scarcely a fortnight, and a governess besides. What could Miss Calder know or care about his troubles? What on earth had possessed him to send for her in the first place? He remembered having some vague idea of inquiring into his ward’s progress. He was aware that even that had been simply an excuse to seek Miss Calder’s approval of his conduct with the child. Bah! What an idiot he must seem to her! And she was a most appealing young woman—irritatingly argumentative, to be sure, but refreshingly devoid of any ulterior motives, a thing with which every other female upon earth seemed heavily encumbered. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed her company. In truth, it was not nearly so bad as he had envisioned to have a female in the house. He had come rather to look forward to his evenings with Miss Calder and the child. The afternoon, when he and Nicole had come from church and gone off on that spontaneous tour of the city, he had been more light-hearted than he remembered feeling since his own youth. It had even crossed his mind that fatherhood was not such an awful state as it had always struck him, but rather a reincarnation of sorts. A great many things were beginning to make sense to him which had always been mysteries before. Perhaps Diana had been right: clever woman! And he supposed she was delighted at seeing him so knocked about now, after teasing him so cruelly about his self-complacency. Miss Calder, however, need not be burdened with any of this. He might at least spare her the embarrassment of his own uncertainties.
Rising from his chair abruptly, the Baronet walked to the fireplace again—he was devilish restless.
“You need not say so, Miss Calder. In truth, I do not know myself, of late. I suppose it is a great shock to find myself suddenly responsible for the welfare of another human being. You must forgive my behaving so strangely. And please excuse me for burdening you with my troubles.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Sir! On the contrary, I am flattered that you should wish to speak to me.”
Sir Basil grunted, and said nothing.
“All the same—it is not really fair to you. And besides, I did not call for you in order to bemoan the state of our government. In point of fact—” Sir Basil had luckily been rescued by an inspiration—“in point of fact, I sent for you to ask a favour.”
“Yes, Sir Basil?”
“I had hoped—ah—rather, I have just discovered that I shall not be at liberty to take Nicole to Carlton House tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear, sir! She shall be terribly disappointed! Still, I suppose, she will get over it. . . .”
“Oh, I had not meant to disappoint her! I only hoped that you might take my place.”
“Take your place, Sir!”
“It will not be too inconvenient?” Sir Basil glanced at her nervously.
“Heavens, no! But, Sir Basil, would that be correct? Ought not Lady Cardovan to go?”
Lady Cardovan! Why, how stupid he had been—but another second reminded him that Diana never went abroad, and detested Carlton House in any case.
“No, no—she won’t go, either. And I have an urgent matter to attend to with the French Ambassador. So Nicole’s only hope must be you, Miss Calder. It shan’t be too awful: although I have heard these affairs are enjoyed more by His Highness than anyone else. Still, Nicole shall have the benefit of a glimpse of the Prince, and even you ought to approve of that.”
“I think,” said Anne, endeavouring to hide her smile, “that I shall bear up perfectly well. And it is a sort of educational experience, is it not?”
“Absolutely! Well put, Miss Calder’. And I shall expect a detailed report from you upon the child’s conduct.”
“I think you are more likely to get a detailed report of the Prince’s conduct from the child, Sir Basil.”
The Baronet smiled.
“Then so be it, Miss Calder.”