by Sara Seale
“Clodagh used to spend all her summer holidays here when she was at school,” Brian said. “She was the same age as Conn and we, of course, were much younger, but I don’t think she ever liked Conn much, and she used to tease Clancy about him and make her cry with rage. Aunt Bea says Clodagh was as wild as Clancy in those days, which always gives her hope.”
Mark smiled.
“Hope of another transformation?” he said dryly.
“Oh, Clancy will never be like Clodagh,” said Brian, with brotherly scorn. “She never has any nice clothes and she isn’t half as pretty.”
Clancy did not come home for lunch, and Mark spent a leisurely afternoon unpacking and disposing his belongings in the tower room, attended at frequent intervals by Brian, who seemed to have taken a liking to his tutor. Away from his father he was not at all shy, and chattered away to Mark, asking innumerable questions and volunteering much random information about the household and the numerous governesses.
“There were lots of them,” Brian said vaguely, “but they never stayed long. Most of them couldn’t stick Agnes.”
“And what,” asked Mark mildly, “are you planning for me?”
Brian sat on the bed and tried the springs with a speculative bounce.
“Oh, we never planned anything for the governesses,” he replied cheerfully. “They just went. Kilmallin doesn’t like women.”
“So I’m frequently told.” Mark opened and shut a drawer. “Well, for your information, you won’t find me so easy to get rid of as the governesses.”
Brian, finding the springs responsive, bounced with more abandon.
“Oh, I don’t want to get rid of you,” he said. “I think you’ll be much better than the governesses. It’s Clancy who’s the trouble. She’s taken a mislike to you because you’re English.”
“H’m ... I think I can deal satisfactorily with Clancy’s politics. Don’t make a complete shambles of my bed, my dear child. I’m hoping for a good night’s sleep.”
Mark walked to the window and stood looking out across the loch. A boat was putting out from the far shore, and he watched it lazily, recognizing in a little while Clancy’s scarlet sweater.
“When your sister comes in,” he remarked, “tell her I want to talk to you both in the schoolroom after tea.”
After tea, Mark found Brian dutifully awaiting him in the schoolroom, but there was no sign of Clancy.
“She’s not coming,” the boy said in answer to his inquiry. “She was here writing to Clodagh, but when I gave her your message she said she’d finish her letter in the library and leave us undisturbed.”
“Very thoughtful of her,” Mark remarked, and left the room.
Aunt Bea looked up from her knitting as he entered the library, but Clancy, sitting at a table in the window, only hunched her shoulders higher and went on writing.
“Brian gave you my message, I think,” Mark said pleasantly.
“M’m,” grunted Clancy, without looking up.
“Very well, then. Come along.”
“I’m busy,” she replied.
“Your letter can wait for half an hour,” he said, with expressionless courtesy. “I won’t keep you long.”
She gave him an appraising glance over her shoulder, then continued writing.
“I’ll come when I’ve finished,” she said.
He took the pen gently from her fingers and closed the blotter.
“I think you’ll come when I tell you to,” he said quietly.
She made a grab at the pen which he removed out of reach, then sat staring up at him, her elbows on the table and her chin propped in her clenched hands.
“Would you like to know what I’ve just written to my cousin, Clodagh, about you?” she demanded furiously.
His heavy-lidded eyes merely looked lazy.
“Not in the least,” he replied. “Come along.”
“I’ll come when I’m ready,” she retorted childishly.
He sighed.
“On the contrary, you’ll come when I’m ready,” he said, and added mildly: “You don’t want me to have to carry you, I suppose?”
Without a word she banged the top on the bottle of ink and ran out of the room. Mark followed, smiling at Aunt Bea as he passed her. She did not stop knitting or pass any remark, but he thought he detected an answering twinkle in her rather vacant eyes.
Upstairs, Mark shut the schoolroom door and stood in silence surveying them both. They were standing by the window, and Brian turned, looking at him with new respect. Clancy’s back remained presented to the room.
“I want to have a talk with you about our future work together,” Mark said, moving over to the fireplace and leaning against the mantel. “Sit down. I won’t keep you long.”
Brian obeyed, but Clancy still remained standing as if she had not heard.
Mark waited a moment then he said:
“Sit down, please, Clancy.”
She turned then, and slumped on to the window-seat beside her brother. Mark began to explain to them in his clipped English voice; hours for study, hours for leisure, hours for homework.
“We never had set hours with the governesses,” said Clancy, goaded at last into speech. “Their time-tables altered according to what was going on.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll be expected to stick to timetables while I’m in charge,” he said.
“Then the sooner you pack up for England, the better it will be for all of us,” said Clancy rudely.
Brian looked nervous, but Mark only said: “That’s a different story.”
His manner altered imperceptibly and he looked directly at them.
“Now listen to me, you two. You seem to have got away with a great deal with your unfortunate governesses, who must all have been exceedingly inefficient, to say the least of it. But you might as well know that schoolmastering is my trade. There’s not much I don’t know about the ways of small boys, and I don’t suppose girls are so very different. I do assure you both, I’m very well capable of keeping order and seeing that I’m obeyed. I don’t make many rules, but those I do make, I expect to be kept, and if they’re not, there will be consequences, so you’ve been warned—yes, Clancy?”
“Nothing,” said Clancy, and shut her mouth firmly.
“I hope we’ll all three work together in reasonable harmony,” Mark went on. “You won’t find me hard or exacting as long as you behave yourselves, but don’t think for a moment that I’m like the other governesses. I’m not at all susceptible to practical jokes or stories of insanity, so save your ingenuity for your studies. There are two things I will always insist on, one is reasonable discipline, and the other is reasonable politeness. Please remember this, and we will all get on.”
They sat there side by side on the window-seat, staring at him, their great smoky eyes solemn and unwinking. At that moment it was difficult to see much difference in their ages. They were simply a pair of surprised children who had never listened to the Riot Act before.
Mark smiled at them.
“That’s all,” he said, and lit a cigarette. “On Monday, I’ll set you a general knowledge paper to find out what you both know, and in the meanwhile, your time’s your own.” There was a silence, then Brian asked:
“Please, what do we call you?”
“Well,” replied Mark, “I’ve no doubt it will be Oliver or Old Ironsides, which is traditional, you know, but for conventional purposes, you’ll address me by my name or ‘sir’, which is usual.”
“I’ve never,” exploded Clancy, “called any man ‘sir’ in my life.”
Mark glanced at her.
“In your case, of course, it’s a little different,” he said blandly. “You’ll simply call me Mr. Cromwell.”
She sprang up in one uncontrolled movement.
“I won’t call you by that name! I tell you I won’t!” she cried.
He raised his fair eyebrows.
“It’s the only one I’ve got,” he told her with humour. “I’m af
raid you’ll have to bring yourself to use it unless you revert to the time-honoured ‘Hi—you!’ which is both confusing and scarcely respectful.”
She stood there, tugging savagely at a strand of her hair. “You’ve no right to laugh,” she said, with an anger which almost amounted to tearfulness, and he remembered that she had told him that she only cried with rage.
“It’s better for me to laugh than to treat you like the very rude little girl that you are,” he said, and saw the tears start to her eyes.
“First of all,” she cried with a slight choke, “I dislike you for your nationality which I suppose you couldn’t help, but now I dislike you for yourself, and you can help that!”
He looked down at her in silence for a moment, then said, shaking his head:
“You’re really very childish, aren’t you; Clancy? No wonder your father didn’t think you too old for a tutor.”
Her eyes fell before his, and she edged to the door. “May I go and finish my letter now, please—sir?” she said.
His face was grave, but there was a faint gleam in his eyes.
“Certainly,” he replied, and she went out of the room, banging the door behind her.
“Cripes!” said Brian with awe, “I’ve never known her like that before—not even with the governesses. She must hate you badly, Mr. Cromwell.”
Mark ruffled the boy’s dark head.
“Oh, no, she doesn’t, Brian,” he said lazily. “She just hasn’t met someone who’s her match before.”
At dinner Clancy seemed to be on her best behaviour although she was apt to glower at Mark when he spoke to her, and addressed him with pointed exaggeration as ‘sir’ whenever the opportunity arose, until Brian was reduced to giggles and Kevin said with exasperation:
“Your respect does your tutor credit at such an early stage, Clancy, but is it necessary to call him ‘sir’ with every breath? Brian, stop that girlish sniggering at once. I hope, Mr. Cromwell, these two ruffians have shown you round and made you feel at home. It was a pity I had to be away to Duneen again today.”
“I did,” said Brian anxiously. “I took Mr. Cromwell round the outside, and talked to him nearly all the afternoon, didn’t I, Mr. Cromwell?”
“And where, pray, were you?” demanded Kevin, rounding on Clancy at once.
“At Slievaun,” she replied briefly.
Her father frowned and reached irritably for the whisky decanter.
“Then you had no business to be. Didn’t I tell you to show some civility to your tutor and he new to the country?”
Clancy said nothing, and Mark watched her curiously across the table, but made no attempts to intervene.
“You will make amends for your discourtesy tomorrow,” Kevin said.
Clancy looked across at Mark a little defiantly.
“Conn’s asked me to lunch,” she said. “The black mare is due to foal any day.”
Kevin brought his fist down on the table with a crash that jarred the glasses.
“You’ll do as you’re told for once!” he shouted, and turned to Mark. “I hope, Cromwell, you’ll take this girl in hand right away. There’s too much of this trapesing over to Slievaun and hanging round Conn Driscoll’s neck till he must be sick of the sight of her. I’ll not have it.”
Mark said presently:
“I told the children that until we start work on Monday, their time is their own, Mr. O’Shane. There’s no need for Clancy to keep me company if she doesn’t wish to. After tomorrow, of course, things will have to be different.”
For a moment Kevin looked as if he might argue, and Mark reflected that in some respects father and daughter were very alike, then he nodded and returned with zest to his food.
“You hear that, Clancy?” he laughed, his ill-humour vanishing. “Perhaps we’ll have some peace in this house at last.”
“Yes, Kilmallin,” Clancy said meekly, but her eyes, as they met Mark’s were not meek at all, and she had no gratitude for his intervention.
Mark announced that he expected Clancy and Brian in the schoolroom at nine sharp on Monday morning to write their general knowledge papers. The afternoon, he said, could be their own, since he would be unable to set a proper syllabus at once, and on Sunday evening Kevin, in one of his jovial moods, promised to take them all to some hunter trials the following afternoon.
Clancy was radiant, and even the knowledge that the Englishman would be included in the party could not completely spoil the prospect of a rare outing with her father.
They were to start directly after an early lunch, leaving Aunt Bea, who did not care for such things, at home.
Clancy went early to bed for once, pausing to say good night to Brian on the way.
“You won’t mind coming if you have your precious Lord Protector to sit in the back of the car with, will you?” she said, thinking that after all Mark might have his uses where Brian was concerned.
“No, I like him, and you can sit next to Kilmallin and he won’t roar at me,” Brian agreed sleepily. “I wonder what questions Mr. Cromwell’s given us for our paper tomorrow.”
Clancy bent to kiss him.
“You can tell me in the afternoon,” she said jauntily. “I won’t be there.”
Brian’s eyes flew wide open.
“You mean you’re going to cut the paper?”
“I mean I’m going to cut the paper. Why should I stuff it all the morning when Conn’s shorthanded? I can do it any time.”
Brian drew the sheet up to his chin.
“I don’t think Mr. Cromwell will like that,” he observed doubtfully.
“Then he’ll have to lump it,” said Clancy. “I’ll do it in the evening when you’ve gone to bed. Good night.”
Next morning Mark found Brian waiting for him punctually in the schoolroom, and he handed him a sheaf of foolscap, telling him to set it out with pens and blotting-paper, while he arranged his own books and papers at the other end of the table.
“Clancy’s late,” he remarked, glancing at his watch. “I didn’t see her at breakfast. Did she oversleep?”
“She’s not coming,” Brian said, and shuffled uncomfortably at the polite chill in Mark’s eyes.
“Not coming?”
“She says she can do the paper any time.”
“Oh, does she?” said Mark, and straightened his long back. “I think not, somehow. Go and find her, Brian, and don’t be long.”
“I can’t,” the boy said simply. “She’s gone to Slievaun. She said she’d be back in time for the hunter trials.”
“I see.” Mark sat down. “Well, here are your questions. Get on with them now, and just answer them as best you can. We’ll have a break at eleven.”
But at a quarter to eleven, Agnes appeared with a glass of milk and some biscuits which she set down before Brian, and, ignoring Mark, bade the boy stop working at once and drink his milk.
“Thank you, Agnes,” Mark said pleasantly. “Just leave it there. It isn’t eleven o’clock yet.”
Agnes folded her arms across her chest and looked at him resentfully.
“I’ll not be leaving it till I see every drop taken,” she said. “Come along now, my doty, put down that pen and do as I bid you.”
Obediently Brian laid down his pen and reached for the glass. Mark’s long arm removed the tray quietly to the other side of the table.
“That’s all right, Agnes. At eleven o’clock I’ll see that he takes it. We have a break of twenty minutes then,” he said, and went on with the rough time-table he was compiling.
Two bright little spots of colour burned in the old woman’s cheeks.
“Twenty minutes, is it?” she exclaimed. “Let me tell you this. I’ll not have you working this poor child till he’s fit to drop. Those governesses knew their place. They would not be dreaming of interfering in my department.”
Mark looked up and his lazy eyes were cold.
“But you, I’m afraid, are interfering in mine,” he said quite quietly. “Would you be good enough t
o leave us now? I cannot have interruptions during working hours.”
“I’ll see the master about this,” cried Agnes, outraged and nonplussed. She had ruled the governesses too long to recognize defeat now. “I’ll have Kilmallin himself tell you who’s in charge up here.”
He regarded her calmly.
“In the schoolroom, Agnes, you’ll find I’m in charge,” he said. “Now will you kindly let the boy get on with his work. He shall have his milk at eleven o’clock.”
He nodded a quiet dismissal and went on with his writing. For a moment Agnes hesitated, then she whirled around and stumped out of the room.
“Cripes!” said Brian. “You certainly know how to handle women, Mr. Cromwell.”
Mark smiled faintly.
“Get on with your paper,” he said.
Brian sighed.
“I’m all in a muddle now. Isn’t it time for my milk?”
“Another five minutes. Do the best you can and take your time. There’s no hurry.”
The morning wore away. Brian sighed and chewed his pen and made several blots on the foolscap, but by half-past twelve he had finished, and Mark told him he could go out into the garden until lunch-time.
At two o’clock they were ready to start for the hunter trials, and Kevin had just brought the car round to the door when Clancy came tearing round the side of the house shouting to them to wait.
“I won’t be a minute, Kilmallin,” she cried. “I’ve only got to change my shoes.”
She started to run into the house, but Mark stopped her. “I’m afraid Clancy won’t be going, Mr. O’Shane,” he said.
She tried to pull her wrist out of his firm grasp. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “Of course I’m going.”
“Clancy was supposed to write her paper this morning, but she decided to be absent,” Mark explained. “So I’m afraid she’ll have to stay behind and do it this afternoon. Brian’s done his.”
Kevin laughed.
“Playing hooky, was she? That’s how she used to treat her governesses.”
“Really?” said Mark. “Well, it’s not how she’s going to treat me. I’m sorry, Clancy, but it’s your own fault.”
