The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict

by Trenton Lee Stewart

  It was possible, he supposed, that he had been trying to make these nighttime meetings at Giant’s Head seem as important and special as he could, because he had wanted to make sure that Violet felt exactly as he did. He wanted all of them to feel that way, all three of them, and talking about the positive effect these secret meetings had on John had been one way to heighten that feeling. He had wanted to feel even more intensely the thrill of their unique, secret friendship—but he had been too persuasive, had focused too much on John’s misery and too little on these brief, happy respites. And so Violet, who was already in a sensitive emotional state, could take no pleasure in his words at all but had plunged into a profound sadness.

  Nicholas was disappointed. He felt sorry for making Violet so sad, and even sorrier that she seemed unable to recover. She eventually stopped crying, but the mood of their meeting had been significantly dampened. They spoke matter-of-factly rather than excitedly about their plans, and Nicholas’s few attempts at humor were met with faint, polite smiles. It was not long before Violet said she was exhausted and should go to bed.

  Can you make it back all right on your own? she signed as they parted. What if you fall asleep? Do you need me to walk with you?

  “Oh, of course not!” Nicholas replied carelessly, though the truth was that a new feeling of loneliness in his belly made him wish very much for her company, for someone to walk back with him in the dark. “You’re tired, Violet. You go to bed. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Violet nodded, and they clasped hands and said goodbye. Nicholas watched her walk across the clearing and into the trees, making no use of the candle and matches she always carried with her. She knew the trail, and these woods, as well as she knew her own room, and she seemed to be afraid of nothing. Perhaps she still felt as though she had nothing to lose, and so had nothing to fear.

  “But you do,” Nicholas whispered. “We all do.”

  And though he was not entirely sure what he meant by that, he found that he did not wish to think about it.

  The next day, John did not make an appearance at breakfast. Nicholas, straining his ears, heard some of the boys talking about Miss Candace and her infamous medicines, and he felt a rush of alarm. Scarfing down his food, he slipped out of the dining hall and sneaked down the long east passageway to the boys’ dormitory. It was a risk, but one he felt he had to take.

  The dormitory was empty, and Nicholas was about to go searching for John elsewhere, when he heard a groan from behind a closed door at the other end of the room. The bathroom. Running down the long row of cots, Nicholas came to the door and cried, “John! Is that you in there? Are you all right?”

  There was a long pause, and then: “Nick?” The voice was feeble, strained.

  “Yes, it’s me! Open up!”

  The door opened to reveal John, pale and trembling, in his pajamas. Against the pasty whiteness of his face, his chicken pox scars stood out even more pronouncedly than usual. His eyelids seemed to be tinged with blue, and they drooped horribly.

  “John! What’s the matter? You look terrible!”

  “Thanks,” John muttered. He smacked his dry lips. “You shouldn’t be in here, Nick. The Spiders—”

  “Forget the Spiders!” Nicholas cried. “Tell me what’s wrong with you!”

  John leaned against the doorframe. His legs were wobbly. “Miss Candace made me drink some hideous thing. I don’t know. Something called ‘distillation of chuck-root.’ ”

  “Chuck-root? But that’s an emetic—a very powerful one. Why would she want to make you throw up?”

  John shook his head, then groaned. “I need to remember not to shake my head. I have to keep still or it’s worse. Anyway, I don’t know why it’s supposed to help. Miss Candace thought it would, so she forced me to take it. She said she thought I was suffering from a severe case of melancholy and some other things, maybe some kind of worm. I forget what she called it.”

  Nicholas put his hands to his head. “But that’s outrageous! Did she not notice that you were forced to wear a dunce cap all day yesterday? And work extra chores? Of course you were feeling down in the dumps! Who wouldn’t be?”

  “Beats me,” John said. “Now, listen, Nick, thanks for checking on me, but you need to get out of here. I’ll be fine eventually, right?”

  “What about the Spiders?” Nicholas asked. “What if they come in here?”

  “They want nothing to do with me. They don’t know that it’s the medicine making me throw up. They think I might be contagious. Don’t worry. Now go. If I’m better at all, I’ll see you tonight.” He started to close the door, then opened it again. “And it had better be worth it, Nick. Tell me it’s going to be worth it.”

  Nicholas grinned and threw him a salute. “It’s going to be worth it, sir!”

  John, rather pathetically, tried to smile, then closed the door.

  John still looked terrible when he showed up in the park that night, but at least he showed up. “I’m much better,” he said. “Just weak. Let’s get moving.” And so they moved, though very slowly, with John trudging along behind Nicholas and pausing often to rest.

  John’s arduous climb was rewarded with a shower of concerned attention from Violet, who made quite a fuss about his sufferings of the day before, even before she’d learned of his sufferings from that same day. She patted his shoulder and asked him questions and in general made a great show of appreciating his sacrifices. To top it all off, she had brought the boys thick slices of chocolate cake, along with plenty of milk, and John had recovered sufficiently from the effects of the chuck-root to enjoy his cake very much. By the third bite he was smiling a little, and once they had shown him the clippings and told him everything they’d discussed the night before, he was grinning from ear to ear.

  “One of the staff goes into Stonetown every month or two,” John said excitedly. “So you wouldn’t have to ask for a special chaperone, which ought to make it easier.” He snapped his fingers. “You know what? I’m pretty sure I heard Mr. Collum talking to Mr. Pileus about needing to make a trip soon. They need to find some cheap parts for the Studebaker.”

  “That’s perfect!” Nicholas cried. “I’ll just convince Mr. Collum to let me ride along with Mr. Pileus.”

  “How do you propose to do that, Nick?”

  Nicholas widened his eyes and wiggled his fingers in the air. “Mysteriously,” he said. “That’s how.”

  John snorted and rolled his eyes. He was in a fine mood now. He was still weak, though, and by the time they had thoroughly discussed their plans, he was thoroughly worn out. “I hate to say it, but we should probably go to bed soon. Tomorrow’s the first day of school,” he reminded Nicholas. “Things are about to change.”

  It was true. The headmaster, Mr. Cypher, had arrived that morning and had already taken up residence in the comfortable loft over the schoolhouse. Nicholas had seen him talking with the other staff members, laughing outrageously at everything anyone said. Each time, he would take his hat off and slap it against his leg, then put it on again. It was quite a dilapidated hat.

  Nicholas had also observed Mr. Collum offer to help Mr. Cypher “get settled” in the schoolhouse—then proceed to spend an entire hour inside the building on the pretext of knocking down cobwebs and shifting furniture while the headmaster puttered about, bemused by this “help” that seemed to accomplish nothing. Nicholas, though, was not bemused in the least. Mr. Collum had been searching for the treasure chamber, which meant he was one step closer to searching elsewhere on the property.

  Nicholas knew he had better get that trip to Stonetown soon. He had better not fail in his attempt to convince Mr. Collum. He was going to get one chance, and he had better make the most of it.

  He just needed to figure out how.

  “The headmaster can’t teach worth a flip,” John was saying, “but he’s harmless enough. He’s not severe, I mean. He was here last year, too.”

  “Why doesn’t he get a room in the Manor, like the other staff
members?”

  “He likes the schoolhouse. He says it’s nice out there at night.”

  “Is that so?” Nicholas was surprised. “During the day it’s stuffy and hot,” he explained to Violet. “Just last Sunday five kids staggered out of the chaplain’s service because they couldn’t stand the heat anymore. They knew they’d be punished—they just couldn’t help themselves.”

  Very hot, then, Violet signed. She shook her head sympathetically. Perfect for school.

  “Apparently the breeze shifts at night or something,” John said with a shrug. “It gets so pleasant out there, Mr. Cypher hates taking his turn as chaperone in the boys’ dormitory. But of course he has to. The other men insist on it. That way they get more nights in their own rooms, where they sleep better…. But, say, sorry, Violet. This can’t be very interesting for you. You don’t know any of these people.”

  Don’t be silly, Violet signed, though it was obvious her mind was elsewhere. After a pause she signed, It is strange for me to think of school, though, and another year starting without me.

  Suddenly Nicholas remembered that Violet had been planning to tell her parents that she no longer wished to go to art school. It must have been a difficult thing to do; her evening must have been very trying, and here he was going on about a stuffy schoolhouse. “How… er, how did it go with your parents, Violet?” He quickly explained to John what Violet had intended to do.

  Violet, though she seemed subdued, told them that it had gone well. She said that she’d made the chocolate cake that evening on the pretense of “celebrating a new beginning”—these were the words she had used with her parents. She had insisted that art school may have been the dream of her childhood but that now she intended to find a new dream.

  They were confused, Violet signed, but I could see the relief in their faces. I was very convincing, if I say so myself. I didn’t appear the least bit disappointed or sad. She smiled. It helped that I have a secret hope.

  “I think it helps all of us, doesn’t it?” John said after a silence. “It makes a lot of the bad stuff bearable.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Nicholas, looking blank. “What is this secret hope that you two are talking about?”

  The others, startled, were both about to reply when they noticed the corners of Nicholas’s lips twitching.

  You’re impossible, Violet signed. Absolutely impossible.

  “That’s it,” John said, climbing to his feet. He grabbed Nicholas’s arm and hauled him up. “It’s back to the loony bin for you.”

  Nicholas clapped his hands to his cheeks. “Oh! That secret hope!”

  Too late, Violet signed. Off you go.

  Violet’s secret hope was indeed one they all shared, a hope Nicholas carried with him that Saturday when he stepped into Mr. Collum’s office during afternoon free time. Mr. Collum was on library duty—supervising by means of the entranceway mirror, as usual—and so he was aware of Nicholas’s approach. Through the mirror Nicholas had watched Mr. Collum’s face grow annoyed and had seen him close the ledger (the all-important ledger) and remove his jeweler’s loupe.

  Nicholas took a deep breath. He wasn’t off to the best start.

  “Yes, what is it, Nicholas?” Mr. Collum demanded. The impression of the loupe had left a ring of pink skin around his eye. “I’m very busy.”

  Nicholas ducked his head humbly. “Oh! I know you are, Mr. Collum, and I hate to interrupt you, but I have a very important request. As you know, sir, school started this week—”

  “I am perfectly aware of that, Nicholas. I am the director of this orphanage.”

  “Yes, sir! Which is exactly why you’re the person I have to speak with about my project. I need your permission, you see. Mr. Cypher—I know you’re aware of this, of course—Mr. Cypher has announced that everyone my age and older will complete a research project this year, and I have something in mind, but it’s rather ambitious.”

  Mr. Collum sighed heavily and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Get to the point, Nicholas.”

  “Yes, sir. Well, Mr. Collum, since I arrived here some weeks ago, I’ve heard all sorts of interesting rumors about the missing inheritance of Mrs. Rothschild—of the Rothschilds for whom the Manor is named, as I’m sure you know—and I’m just fascinated by it. I thought it would be really interesting to learn all I could about the case and make a thorough report about it.”

  Nicholas could not have missed the change in Mr. Collum’s expression, even if he had not been looking for it. From deep impatience to sharp interest—interest tinged with anxiety—in the space of a heartbeat.

  “It’s such a mystery!” Nicholas hurried on. “Of course, I could never hope to solve it, not when so many others have failed to do so. But wouldn’t it be keen to have all the pertinent information about the case gathered together? Like a list of clues, I mean.”

  “And where,” Mr. Collum said slowly, adopting an air of professorial interest, “do you mean to find all this ‘pertinent information’?”

  “Well,” Nicholas said eagerly, “it occurred to me that Stonetown Library keeps all sorts of old newspapers on file. They go back years and years. I thought I might dig around and find every little thing I could….” Nicholas cocked his head to the side. “Have you ever read gossip columns, sir? Or the society pages in general?”

  Mr. Collum looked almost stricken at these words, and Nicholas knew at once that Mr. Collum had wondered about those hidden clippings mentioned in Mr. Rothschild’s diary—had wondered and yet had never considered their potential significance. “No,” Mr. Collum replied coldly, though with a strong hint of uncertainty. “Gossip columns are not the sort of thing to which a man of my position devotes his attention.”

  “I should say not,” Nicholas agreed. “As for myself, though, whenever I come across a newspaper, I always read everything, front to back. The gossip columns are full of interesting details, very particular details, about the comings and goings of important people. I should think any detective worth his salt could find enough information in those pages to solve a dozen mysteries every day, if he cared to.”

  Nicholas had chosen his words carefully, and they had produced the exact effect intended. Mr. Collum had been listening with marked attention. And now that Nicholas had lapsed into a waiting silence, the director drew back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a long time before saying, more to himself than to Nicholas, “Very interesting indeed. Not a boy’s work, however. No, I think not.” He lowered his eyes until they rested on Nicholas’s hopeful face.

  “It seems a worthy topic for research, Nicholas, I grant you. But I do not see that it merits a half day’s journey into the largest city in the region. You’d have to be accompanied by a chaperone, for one thing, and as you know, we cannot spare the staff.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t need to make a special trip, Mr. Collum! Couldn’t I just go along with one of the staff on the next essential trip?”

  Mr. Collum shook his head. A frown was beginning to form. “It makes little sense for me to take you with me, Nicholas. Train fare is costly, even for children.”

  “So you’re planning a trip yourself, Mr. Collum?” Nicholas asked.

  The director’s frown now took full shape. “My travel plans are none of your business, Nicholas—but yes, I may accompany Mr. Pileus on a forthcoming trip. To attend to matters…”

  It was uncharacteristic of Mr. Collum to answer such a question directly, and Nicholas knew that he was torn between competing obligations and newfound hopes. No doubt he had not intended to go to Stonetown on the next trip, but Nicholas’s idea had prompted him to consider it.

  The critical moment had arrived. It was now or never. Nicholas secretly crossed his fingers and moved into the second phase of his plan.

  “I’d be happy to attend to any errands for you, Mr. Collum,” he said quickly. “Train fare is less expensive for children, you know. It would save money if I went in your place. And meanwhile I could go to the library—�
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  Mr. Collum thumped his desk. The prospect of saving money had powerful appeal, and resisting it irked him extremely. “You could scarcely begin your work before you would need to return, Nicholas! It would be a waste of time and money. Now let us drop the subject once and for all!”

  Nicholas braced himself. “Yes, sir. If you’ll forgive me, I have just one last thing to tell you. Some important information of which you’ve not yet been made aware.”

  Mr. Collum had been about to jab his finger at the doorway and order Nicholas to leave. His hand was already up, his finger extended, his mouth open to speak. He hesitated. Then he lowered his hand. “Very well, Nicholas. What is it? Make it snappy.”

  Nicholas set a large book on the desk. “I just read that book yesterday, Mr. Collum.”

  Mr. Collum snatched up the book. “A collection of mysteries? What of it?”

  “The book itself isn’t important, sir. The important thing is that I read it in ten minutes and remember every word. Open the book to any page, Mr. Collum, and I’ll prove it to you.”

  Mr. Collum dropped the book in disgust. “I haven’t time for your parlor tricks, Nicholas! How do I know you haven’t been studying this book from the moment you arrived at the Manor? For that matter, how do I know you hadn’t already memorized this book before you came here? How do I know you aren’t up to some sort of mischief? What do you hope to gain by convincing me of such a thing?”

  “I only wish to make myself useful,” Nicholas said meekly, “just as you encouraged me to do on my first night here. I haven’t made many friends—only John Cole, on your recommendation—and would like to spend my time in some meaningful way. It doesn’t have to be that book of mysteries, Mr. Collum. Choose any book you like. I’ll read it and memorize it right away.”