by Joan Aiken
Mr. Burden told me softly, as we walked away, that my grandmother had died shortly after the birth of my father, so that he, like myself, had never known his mother. And my grandfather, grieving for his wife, had shown scant patience with the younger of his two sons, leaving him mostly to the care of tutors.
After I had cheered myself with a little music I went up to bed, for I was both weary and sad. But yet I could not sleep. I lay tossing in my great bed, in my great chamber, hearing nothing, for there was a solemn hush in and around the great house, as though all life had come to a stop there.
How shall I endure it? I thought. And to God I said: Why did You bring me here? What is to happen now? Please help me to understand all this, for I am very unhappy.
I remembered a little song that Sam would sometimes sing laughingly:
Ay, Dios de mi alma! Saqueisme de aqui! Ay! que Inglaterra Ya no es para mí!*
12. In which I am sent to School, and come to a Decision
I spent a week at Asshe, until my Trustees considered me suitably equipped to go to school. Mr. Burden escorted me into Bath several times, to buy clothes and schoolbooks, and furnishings for my room, and I was as much taken with this town at a close view as I had been by a distant one.
The streets were as lively as those of Oviedo—but very different—and there was such a variety of shops, and such remarkable things to be seen in the shop windows! In a bootmaker's window I saw a pair of boots immersed in a glass bowl of water, so as to show that the boots could not be harmed by wet; an apothecary's window had a collection of worms from human intestines, curiously bottled, testifying that patients had been relieved of these worms by the medicines sold within. There were plaster busts, painted to the life, displaying the newest forms of wigs (though most of the younger Englishmen do not wear wigs, preferring their own hair); alabaster lamps, fine jewels, beautiful books, and birds in cages, reminding me of my dear Asistenta.
Since in some parts of the town there is no carriage road, sedan chairs are used instead of carriages; these are made of leather, and are carried by two chairmen who wear large coats of dark blue. I would not wish to be carried in such a chair! For I observed that when it rained, the chairmen all come out, hoping for custom, and the chairs become wholly soaked with wet, outside and in.
Bath has many dogs, and Mr. Burden informed me that many of them are turnspit dogs; they are long-backed and short-legged; they are set in a wheel, and a hot coal with them, so the poor things cannot stand still without burning their feet; so they are kept upon the gallop until the roast is done, which may be two hours or three. This seemed very cruel to me. Mr. Burden told me that one day, when all the dogs had followed their masters to church, the preacher spoke on a text from the book of Ezekiel regarding a chariot. When he said the word "wheel," all the dogs in the church pricked up their ears in fright; at the second use of the word they uttered a doleful howl; and at the third repetition every one of them scampered out of the church with their tails between their legs.
Mr. Burden was as kind as possible to me during that week, and so was Jem, who, as he had promised, built brushwood jumps for me in the park and encouraged me to leap my grandfather's horses over them, higher and higher. My rides with Jem were the pleasantest part of my life at Asshe.
Also I explored the great empty house with its pictures and its statues and its handsome furnishings. All was so neat, orderly, and silent that I found myself longing for the shrill voices of my great-aunts, with their clicking fens and rosaries.
I told Mr. Burden the tale of my adventures on the way from Spain, and he, I suppose, told some part to the other Trustees. For on the second or third day Mr. ffanshawe, deciding, perhaps, that a boy who has survived such adventures could not be wholly stupid, began to explain to me about the workings of the estate, how the land was administered, how the tenants held their lands and paid their rents: and from what sources—tin mines, slate mines, timber, grain, and cattle—my grandfather's revenues were drawn.
Then my clothes were sent home from the tailor's—black short jackets and long trousers, not unlike those I had worn in Spain—and I was pronounced ready for school. Watchett packed my box with the new clothes and Lynton made me up a box of provisions—currant wine, almond cakes, biscuits, fruit, and a great ham. "For," said he, "we all know as how they starves young gen'lemen in them places!" And, after consulting Mr. Burden, I helped myself to a number of books from the library.
"I should dearly like it," said Mr. Burden, "if you would allow me to borrow your father's book, for I long to read it again—I will preserve it for you most carefully."
Of course I said yes, and he recommended to me several novels, which, he said, he knew my father would have enjoyed and he thought I might also:The Monk, and The Black Veil, and The Mysteries of Udolpho, and Northanger Abbey.
Thus equipped, and with the horse that had been purchased for me led behind the chaise, I was driven into Bath on a dark rainy evening, and delivered to, the master of the Pulteney Academy for the Sons of Gentlemen and the Nobility, which establishment occupied a large blackened mansion at the foot of Queen Square,* which is one of the handsomest squares in Bath, and full of houses as large as palaces.
The master, a Mr. Alleyn, a lean, gray, gloomy man like a melted candle, received me civilly enough. I said a sad good-bye to Jem, who brought in my box, and then led my horse away to be stabled in a mews nearby. Then Mr. Alleyn, having shown me my chamber, which was very tiny and right under the leads, since all the best ones had already been allotted (but it had a pleasant view of the square), undertook to introduce me to the rest of the boys, who, at this time of day, were engaged in preparation of their tasks for the morrow.
He led me downstairs again to a large, bare room on the ground floor, from which, even before the door was opened, I could hear the most amazing noise, like all the parrots in Africa.
"That is the boys reciting their lessons," said Mr. Alleyn with his thin smile.
He opened the door and called out, "Here is your new classmate, young gentlemen—Lord St. Winnow. You may be excused the last ten minutes of preparation, in order to become acquainted."
Then he left me with them.
Fifty pairs of eyes were fixed on me. Some of the boys, all seated at rows of desks, were smaller than I; most were my own size or bigger.
Addressing the boy nearest me, who had a pale spotty face, brown eyes, and a good deal of ink on his waistcoat, I said, "How do you do?"—that, Mr. Burden having informed me, being the correct English way in which to begin an acquaintance.
"Hollo!" cried a dozen voices. "'Taint for you to speak, Johnny New! New bods don't speak here until they are spoken to."
And a taller boy, who looked about fourteen, stepped up to me and roughly unbuttoned my jacket, ripping off a button in the process.
"New bods ain't allowed to go around with their jackets frogged up," he said, scrumpling my hair and giving my right ear a tweak at the same time.
I was so amazed at this treatment that without pause for reflection I shot out my fist and knocked him flying. He fell to the floor, taking a desk with him, and the ink poured all over his head. From the way he yelled, you would have thought he had been cut in half. A general clamor of horror went up from the other boys; in the middle of which, the door shot open again, and Mr. Alleyn hastened back.
"Boys, boys! Too much noise! What is going on?" said he.
"Oh, sir, the new boy has knocked down Fitz-warren!"
"What?" said Mr. Alleyn, turning on me a most grave and reproving face. "What is this, Lord St. Winnow? Not two minutes in the school, and already you are at fisticuffs? This is a bad beginning, indeed! I understand that you have just come from Spain, but I would have you understand from the start that we will not tolerate uncivilized behavior here! No fights are allowed in this school. The penalty for infringement of this rule is to miss a meal, and that, I fear, must be your fate, St. Winnow! No supper for you tonight. Now, boys, time for prayers!"
> The desks which filled the great room were pushed to one side and the boys stood in rows while Mr. Alleyn recited some prayers in such rapid gabble that I could not understand him at all.
Meanwhile I was subjected to various minor annoyances—I was pinched, tweaked, jostled, my hair was pulled, my ankles were kicked, as the boys moved past me to their places. This, it seemed, was their way of welcoming a newcomer.
After the prayers, supper was served in the same room: pieces of oatcake, broken up, and a mug of coffee for each boy. I, being debarred from this, asked if I might go to my room and unpack my belongings, but Mr. Alleyn said, "No, St. "Winnow. Boys are not allowed in their bedrooms during the daytime. You may stay here and continue to make the acquaintance of your classmates."
This process consisted of their all firing questions at me, which I answered as best I could.
"Where's your father, new bod? Where's your mamma?"
I said they were both dead.
"What were you a-doing in Spain?"
But my answer to this was drowned by the jeering voice of a pasty-faced boy with jam on his collar, who called out:
"Winnie Winnow is a Dago
Pipes his eye and lives on sago!"
which verse won instant popularity and was taken up by the whole roomful of boys in a loud chorus.
"Winnie Winnow!" they shouted. "Winnie Winnow! By gob, he's a frog! He eats fried worms! He only washes once a year!" and other stupidities.
I tried to ignore their insults, as I was not allowed to fight them; stuck my hands in my pockets, and thought of the far worse' dangers which I had come through; the terrible people in the mountain village, the threats of the gente de reputación and the alcalde; the shipwreck and the Comprachicos. But the prickling annoyances of those boys were tiresome beyond belief, and hard to disregard. They shouted, "Take your hands out of your pockets, new bod! New bods ain't permitted to put their hands in their pockets! Ya, boo, Johnny Dago!" and so on, until I was nearly mad with irritation, and heartily relieved when an under-master, or usher, named Mr. Crackenthorpe, came into the room and rang a bell which meant that it was time for bed.
It was strange to lie in my narrow cot and listen to the sounds of the town outside: I was amazed at the nightlong clatter of the coaches over the cobbles, the cries of chairmen, the hourly call of the watch; not till nearly dawn did I fall asleep, having much on my mind, and then I was woken by the dustmen, with their bells and chant of "Dust-ho!" the porter-house boys and milkmen, each with different cries; so I came down to breakfast scarcely more rested than I had gone up.
Breakfast consisted of a liquid which they called coffee, but which tasted to me like brown water; thin slices of bitter bread, toasted, with a little butter—and countless more insults and jeers from the other boys, to which I did my best to turn a deaf ear, having no other recourse. I longed to set about them and knock them all flying.
One boy, more good-natured than the rest, who told me his name was Lord Fred Beauchamp, informed me that the teasing would die down in a month or so.
"They always give it thick to a new bod for his first half, you see! That's the rule. But if you take care not to do any of the things that are fango, then it'll die down quicker."
"What is 'fango'?" said I.
"Why, fango is—is anything that ain't done—like keeping your jacket buttoned, you know, or walking with your hands in your pockets, or using the front stairs; you must always use the back ones, unless you are with the Beak. And don't try to go near the fire—only the praetors may go there."
"Who are the praetors?"
"Why, the monitors—the big ones—you'll soon learn their names. You must always do what they bid you. And you must learn the lingo of the school."
"Why, what is that?"
He told me that the boys had their own words for many things, such as "dobbo" for book, "milky" for master, "prog" for food, "prad" for horse, "mallicko" for bed, and "going up Jenkins" for going to the toilet stool. New boys were supposed to learn these words and have them perfect by the end of a week. I said I thought this stupid; why should I take pains to learn such childish rubbish when there were perfectly good English words for the things? But Beauchamp told me that unless I did so I should be sent to Coventry.
"Sent to Coventry? What is that?"
"Why, no one will speak to you!"
"That would not worry me in the slightest degree, since they all talk like six-year-olds. In fact, I should prefer it."
The masters' rules were even more trivial and irritating than the boys' rules. We might not leave the building unescorted; we were forbidden to venture forth into the streets of Bath unless one of the masters accompanied us. We might not ride our horses, except two by two, at a sedate trot, once a day, for half a mile out into the country and back. We might not smoke—not that I wished to—or keep dogs, or talk, save at stated times, or sing in our bedrooms, or play musical instruments, or wear colored cravats, or read novels except after eight o'clock in the evening, or attend cockfights, or make purchases from the shops in Bath, save on a Saturday, when there was a half-holiday, and then again one of the masters had to accompany us and we might not go off alone. Never have I encountered so many senseless rules! It seemed most of them had been invented to forbid acts that I had never thought of committing.
Also there were many more things that were not done. Fred Beauchamp advised me about these, too.
"It ain't done to mention your sister, St. Winnow. So, if you have one, keep her dark!"
"I have not got one, but what a piece of imbecility is this?" I said, thinking of Nieves. "If I had one, why should not I mention her?"
"Oh, it ain't fango to talk about girls. Girls are totty-headed things!"
When it came to the lessons, I was surprised to find that I was tolerably well up with the rest of the boys, and even ahead in some respects. Father Tomás had taught me well, it appeared; I had something to thank him for. Only, the boys all laughed at me, because I pronounced the Latin and Greek words in a different way from theirs; they were highly entertained by my "false quantities," as they called them.
I said, what did it signify how the words were spoken, so they were the right words? And who knew, anyway, how the ancient Greeks or Romans had spoken them? But Mr. Alleyn, who taught these languages, told me I must learn the English way to pronounce them, or I would never be allowed into Oxford. Remembering that my father had been expelled from that place, I was not at all certain that I wished to go there. Certainly I did not wish to go if it was anything like the Pulteney Academy for the Sons of Gentlemen!
Oh, how can I express the tedium of that month! I felt I had sooner be in the jail at Oviedo—I had sooner be aboard the Guipuzcoa with the gale blowing up—I had far, far sooner be back at Villaverde, ducking the blows of Father Tomás and riding my bad-tempered mule over the stony prado. Although the boys' teasing did presently abate somewhat, I could not make friends with them.
They were too childish! Their whole lives seemed concerned with petty friendships, petty quarrels: "linko," they called these, and "bello": "Say, have you heard, Townshend is linko with Bellingham now, and he's gone bello with Desborough; they aren't speaking since Des borrowed his Latin crib and spilt ink on it!" "Hey! Fotheringay is linko with De Vere—Fothers had a box of prog from home and the two of them ate it all up together!"
Their talk was all of this idiotic kind, until I could have died with boredom.
Even more ridiculous was the way they went on about some of the masters. These were decent men enough, Mr. Crackenthorpe, Mr. Dingley, and Mr. Wells, though I do not think any of them would have been much use aboard the Guipuzcoa—but to hear the boys talk about them you would think they were descended from Phoebus Apollo, the God of the Sun! They had another word, "socco," for their feelings about the masters.
"Did you see how Mr. Dingley smiled at me when I was giving my recitation? I am quite socco about him! I shall die if I don't sit next him at dinner."
So
the long dull days wore on, until the boys began to talk of how they would go home for Christmas.
And what shall I do? thought I. Return to Asshe, to hear tales of my father from Jem, and of the Carisbroke family from Mr. Burden, and watch my grandfather playing with his shoe buckles?
One Friday morning I had risen early, before the rest of the boys, and stood idly in the big dining room, looking out at the black trees and blackened houses in Queen Square, where a thin snow was commencing to fall. I watched the postman in his royal livery of scarlet and gold, hurrying from house to house, announcing his arrival with his loud double knock. At last he approached the Pulteney Academy, and, as he did so, I suddenly had a strong feeling—I knew—that he carried a letter for me.
Rap-tap! went the knocker, and, as the manservant was still upstairs, taking hot water to all the boys, I quietly went into the front hall and collected the letters myself, though I knew that it was considered disgracefully fango to do such a thing.
Sure enough, not one letter for me, but two!—both sent on from Asshe—the first I had received since I had, been at the school.
Laying the other letters on a small table, I ran quietly up the front stairs—another very fango proceeding but it meant that I was less likely to encounter anybody—and managed to get to my room unobserved.
There I read my letters.
The first was from Sam, in a round, sprawling handwriting that seemed exactly like him.
"My dear old Mess-Mate! Forgive your Pal for not having Writ before, I am a proper wretch but have been so busy with legal Doings as you can't imagine. I shall be grateful For Ever for your kindness in sending the money. When I am back in Spain, shall be able to repay Same & will lose no Time in doing so for Señor Colomas! promised me a good wage. I set Sail for Spain tomorrow & tho Grieved not to see you agen, hope that, now you have found your Great Folk in England, will not forget them in Spain & loving Friends also, of whom your fellow-singer Sam is the foremost.
