by Three Graces
There was no one to be seen, but the voice seemed to be coming from the edge of the pond a bit farther along. The trailing branches of the willow hid the bank from her. Very slowly Thalia rose and peered through the leaves. There was nothing there. She hesitated, then began to walk along the shore. As she moved, the voice became clearer. It positively was Greek, and it was being practically shouted across the water. She had thought the speaker closer than he was because of this.
At last, rounding a bramble bush, Thalia discovered the source of the sound. Under another willow tree stood a young man; he was facing the pond and declaiming Greek poetry passionately.
Fascinated, Thalia shrank back a little to watch. The man was above middle height and rather thin, but he had a fine head, thickly covered with curling blond hair, and his hands, which were continually gesturing as he recited, were those of an artist, long and chiseled. Clearly he was aware of nothing and no one but the verse.
And as she listened, Thalia was also caught up. She had studied Greek for two years, and though she knew her knowledge was meager, she thought she recognized this as Euripides. But whatever it was, the sounds were wonderful. One of her tutors had read aloud to her from Greek poetry, and she had been enthralled then. But that had been nothing like this. The young man before her spoke with passion, his head thrown back and no sign of a book anywhere near.
She stood spellbound until he paused, and then she stepped forward, saying eagerly, “That was Euripides, was it not? Oh, how beautifully you did it!”
The man started violently and whirled about. He stared at her as if she were a phantom, and Thalia flushed a little. But she also noticed that his eyes were a clear sparkling gray.
“I beg your pardon,” she went on. “I came upon this pond quite by accident and sat down to read. I couldn’t help but hear you. I don’t mean to intrude.”
The man found his voice again with some difficulty. “N-not at all. That is… I didn’t realize there was anyone about. I wouldn’t have shouted so if I… mean…” he stopped helplessly, still staring.
“Oh, it was wonderful. I’m glad you shouted. Was it Euripides?”
Bemused, he nodded slowly.
“It was! I thought so. And now I am very pleased with myself for identifying it, for you must know that my knowledge of Greek is of the slightest.”
“Are you real?” asked the man dazedly. “Or are you some strange northern wood nymph I have called up with my poetry?”
Thalia laughed. “I am quite real, so you needn’t expect me to behave like a nymph, some of whom were quite improper.” She smiled at him.
“But where do you come from? How did you appear here? Did you really recognize the Euripides? I cannot believe you are real.”
“Well, I came from the Chadbourne School, and I appeared by thrusting my way through all sorts of thorns and brambles, which should testify to my paltry reality. And as for Euripides, I have studied Greek a little—very little—and so I managed to guess.”
With this mundane information, the man seemed to recall himself. “I see. Admirable. But in my astonishment, I forgot my manners. I am James Elguard.” He bowed.
“How do you do? And how did you appear here, Mr. Elguard? For I declare it is just as unusual for me to find a man reciting Greek in the forest as for you to meet me here. Odder!”
He laughed. “I came out from Bath in search of some solitude to indulge my penchant for reciting, as you call it. I am staying in town.”
“Ah.”
“Will you not tell me your name?”
“I am Thalia Hartington.”
“Thalia! And you say you are not a nymph?”
“Indeed not. Only the daughter of another lover of Greek poetry.”
“I see. Then you don’t have two sisters, equally lovely, who preside over all human graces?”
“Of course we don’t,” laughed Thalia.
“You do have sisters?”
She dimpled. “Oh, yes.”
“Aglaia and Euphrosyne, without doubt.”
“Well, my father began the conceit, and then was forced to go on with it, you see.”
“I see that your claim to reality was nothing but a sham. You are a goddess.”
“On the contrary, I am a schoolteacher, Mr. Elguard.”
He burst out laughing and was about to speak again when Juvenal trotted out of the bushes and sat down at Thalia’s feet, beginning at once to lick his black fur energetically.
“Your familiar?” asked James Elguard.
“Am I a witch now? For if I am a nymph, I cannot have a familiar.”
“Alas, I have mixed my conceits woefully. I give it up. He is merely a schoolteacher’s cat. What is his name?”
Thalia dimpled. “Juvenal. But I didn’t give it to him, so you needn’t be satirical.”
He gave another shout of laughter. “I am afraid to try. But do you like Juvenal’s Satires? I do, immensely.”
“I have not read enough to say, really. My studies were the simplest things only, for I started with Latin very late.”
“Ah. Who named him, then? Your teacher?”
“No, my aunt. And if she knew anything of Juvenal beyond his name, I should be greatly surprised. She named all her cats for classical persons.”
“Chiefly Romans?”
“Oh, yes. I have an idea she didn’t really approve of the Greeks.”
Mr. Elguard’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “All, you said? She had a great many cats, then?”
“Oh, yes. Twenty-six. Or perhaps twenty-four. I’m not certain.”
He laughed again. “You are the most original, delightful girl I have ever met. Why have I not come across you before this? You said your name was Hartington? Are you connected with the Hampshire Hartingtons?”
“Yes, that is my family. But my father died years ago, and we went to live with my aunt, until she too died, recently.”
“And now you are a schoolteacher? You weren’t bamming me?”
“No. I am at the Chadbourne School. It is nearby.”
“Yes. I’ve heard of it.”
“In fact,” continued Thalia, looking up at the sun, which was now lowering in the west, “I must be starting back there now. It is a two-mile walk, and I must be in for tea.”
“Let me drive you,’ said Elguard quickly. “I have a gig tied at the edge of the trees. Please.”
Thalia hesitated.
“Please. I do so want to talk a bit more.”
The girl, realizing that she too would find this very pleasant, gave in.
“Splendid. And now we needn’t start immediately, need we? The journey will be much quicker in a gig.”
Thalia laughed. “I really should go.”
“Oh, very well. But I shall drive slowly. And you will tell me everything about yourself as we go.”
“Shall I?”
“I hope so.”
“And what of you?”
“Oh, I mean to tell you everything as well. I shall begin at once, in fact.” And as they walked through the trees to his carriage, he did. Thalia discovered that he was the second son of Sir George Elguard and destined for the church. He was in his last year at Oxford and very much enjoying his studies there. Next year, he would be ordained, and a modest living being held for him would be his. “It is in the country near York,” he told her. “The stipend isn’t large, but it will do. And I hope, of course, to move on to greater things someday. There are several books I would like to write, and I hope to be of some help to my parish as well.”
“I’m sure you will be,” responded Thalia. “What sort of books?”
He laughed. “No, no, I mustn’t begin on that. You mean to get me started on my pet theories, I see, to avoid telling me about yourself. But I shall merely finish by saying that I am in Bath for a few days to prepare the way for my mother. She comes next week to drink the waters. Or so she says. I think she comes to gossip and play whist all the day long, out of my father’s sight.” He grinned to show that t
his was a joke. “I get frightfully bored, so I come out here and recite poetry, as you discovered. There. Now you know all my secrets. It is your turn.”
They had by this time mounted the gig and were, with Juvenal between them, driving slowly back along the road. Thalia looked sidelong at him, smiling slightly. “Secrets?”
“Every one!”
She laughed. “Well, I haven’t any. And I have told you most of it already. My parents died when I was very young and my sisters and I were reared by our aunt. She died recently, and we found positions to support ourselves.”
“Too bad!”
“Not at all.” Thalia’s tone was not encouraging. She liked this man very much, but she was not inclined to tell him the whole story of her aunt’s will on such short acquaintance.
“You like being a teacher, then?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Oh, no, not at all. I have always thought I should like it myself. I mean to have some pupils when I am settled in Yorkshire. For languages; preparing them for university, you know. But I had thought that girls’ schools were beastly places; that is the impression my sisters gave me, at least.”
“Sisters? Aha! And you claimed you had told all about yourself. You never mentioned sisters.”
He laughed. “I must have forgotten. I have three older sisters, two married now. I scarcely ever see them.”
“And so of course, you forget them,” finished Thalia agreeably. “One can quite easily see how it might happen.”
“Only for a moment,” he laughed. “But I refuse to talk about my family any longer. I am finding out about you. Your school is not beastly?”
“Oh, no. There are all sorts of people there, naturally, and some are more pleasant than others, but I have not found it beastly.” She thought suddenly of Lady Agnes Crewe and her veiled impudence. “At least, not any more beastly than any other profession,” she added.
“But it is a pity you must work.”
“I don’t agree. I think it is a pity my sisters must do so, for they are not at all suited for it. But I am glad to have something worthwhile to do with my time. I always loved my studies, and now I have the chance to help other girls, a few at least, feel that love as well.”
James Elguard looked down at her admiringly. “I think that’s splendid!” he exclaimed. “And I’m sure you are a splendid teacher, too.”
Thalia smiled and shrugged.
They had by this time come to the high wall of the Chadbourne School and were driving along it, approaching the gate. Thalia abruptly realized that it might cause a good deal of comment if she drove up to the door in the company of a handsome young man. “I’ll get down here,” she said, as they reached the gateposts.
“Nonsense. I mean to drive you to your threshold.”
“Please don’t. I mean, I wish you wouldn’t.”
“But I could not be so discourteous.” He frowned at her; then a thought seemed to strike him. “You think it might look odd?”
A bit embarrassed, Thalia nodded.
“Yes, I see. I am unknown here. Very well.” He pulled up before the gates. “But I warn you I mean to bring about a proper introduction, and to take you to call on my mother and sister when they arrive. Will you come?”
Thalia, climbing down from the gig, looked up at him. His gray eyes smiled in response, and he looked altogether charming. “I should like that.”
“Good. And in the meantime, do you always go walking on your holidays?”
She cocked her head, dimpling. “Invariably.”
“Splendid. That pond is a fine place to spend one’s leisure hours.”
“So peaceful,” agreed Thalia.
He laughed. “Indeed. I shall hope to see you soon, then, Miss Hartington.”
Thalia nodded and went to open the gates and slip through; she stood on the other side, looking back at him and smiling.
“You look shut away from the world.” He laughed. “I am still not altogether convinced that you are not a wood nymph who will disappear when I turn my back and never be found again.”
“Oh, no,” replied the girl, setting Juvenal on the ground beside her feet. “I shall be here, boringly real, reading Pope to my students and trying to convince them he is admirable.”
He laughed again. “Good luck! I shall see you soon again. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Thalia started up the drive, and Elguard turned the gig toward Bath. Neither of them noticed a small group of schoolgirls among the shrubbery near the gate, but one of that group, a tall sturdy blond, quite obviously noticed them.
Ten
A week passed in the usual routines. Thalia taught her classes, met with individual pupils in the afternoons, and chatted with the other teachers at meals. But through it, she felt a new lightness and happiness which she did not attempt to define. Everything simply seemed better. Even Lady Agnes was less trouble. She stayed generally silent in the classroom, merely staring at Thalia with a faint smile on her face. This new tactic rather amused the older girl. If Lady Agnes thought to outface her so, she would be disappointed.
Toward the end of the week, she heard that Lady Agnes had been given special permission to go into Bath on Thursday, to visit some family friends. This was a rare treat, and Thalia believed this fact accounted for the girl’s silent superiority. No doubt she felt that she was somehow triumphing over Thalia by going into society. Thalia smiled to herself and went on with her work.
Thursday, the half-holiday, came round again more quickly than she had expected. Lady Agnes was absent from her class that morning, making it easier for everyone, Thalia thought. Even the girl’s particular friends were pleasanter when she was not there to urge them on.
After lunch, Thalia fetched Juvenal and a heavy shawl from her room and went outside. A chilly breeze was stirring the foliage in the garden, making the day cool despite bright sun. With Juvenal following, she went across the lawn and down the drive to the gate. There she found Lucy Anderson and the other two lower-form teachers just setting out for town.
“Hullo, Thalia,” said Lucy. “We’re going shopping. Come along.”
Thalia flushed a bit. “Thank you, but I am going the other way. I want a walk in the fields.”
Lucy grimaced. “Whatever for? You’ll only get damp feet and inflammation of the lungs. Don’t you want to see Milsom Street and all the fine Bath shops?”
“Another day.”
Lucy shrugged, and she and her friends set off at a brisk pace toward town. Thalia watched them for a moment before turning right herself. Oddly enough, she really had no desire to go with them.
She walked down the lane and off on the footpath that led to the copse. The wind pulled at her shawl and tightly pinned braids and made her long to run and take great lungfuls of air. She did skip a few steps now and then, startling Juvenal and causing him to leap ahead of her, fur bristling.
Reaching the trees, she walked surely to the little pond. It was warmer in the copse, and when she reached the water, the hush was in marked contrast to the wind outside. At first glance, the clearing appeared deserted, but then she saw James Elguard, waiting in the same place as before and looking eager. He noticed her at nearly the same instant and hurried forward. “You did come!” he exclaimed. “I am glad. I was afraid the wind might keep you at home.”
“What, this feeble breeze?” mocked Thalia. “I am not so frail.”
“I’m glad,” he said again, looking down at her with a warm smile.
All at once, Thalia felt uncertain. She had looked forward to this outing the whole week, but now that she was here, a certain awkwardness threatened to descend upon it. What would they do? What would they find to say to one another, standing here beside the quiet pond? She wondered suddenly whether she should have come.
Seeming to sense her feelings, Elguard said, “I have a scheme for the afternoon, if you like.”
“What?”
“I have the gig once again. And I brought a flask
of tea and some sandwiches. I thought we might drive over to a place near here and have tea—a sort of picnic tea—and then come back. It is a kind of ruin, an old abbey.” He shrugged sheepishly. “It has always reminded me of Greece, silly as that sounds. We used sometimes to stay near here when I was a boy, and I explored it then.”
“It sounds wonderful—a delightful plan.”
“Do you think so? It will be a little cold, I fear, but I have several lap robes.”
“Nonsense. There is bright sun. I shan’t be at all cold.”
He smiled. “A woman of spirit. Let us go, then.”
Accordingly, they made their way to the gig and climbed up. Elguard insisted that Thalia take two robes and wrap up securely, and once they were under way, she admitted to herself that he had been right. In a moving vehicle, the air was indeed cold. Juvenal was soon burrowing into the robe around her ankles and expressing his disapproval of the temperature sharply.
“Clearly a cat made for warmer climes,” laughed Elguard. “Your aunt was wise in naming him.”
“Yes, he is very lazy. He likes nothing better than to curl up before a good fire.”
“Unlike his mistress, who is impervious to cold.”
“Oh, I am fond of fires too. But I do like to get out, especially after being kept indoors all week.”
“Ah, that is too bad.”
“Well, I can walk in the garden, of course, but that is not the same.”
“No, indeed. I like walking immensely. During the last long vacation I did a walking tour of the Alps. I have never had such fun.”
“I should think so. How I envy you!”
“I mean to do the same in Greece as soon as I can, to see all the ancient sites.”
“Wouldn’t that be splendid—to come upon them just as one must have centuries ago, along the ancient roads.”
“That is what I hope to do. It won’t be just the same, of course, for they would not have been ruins then. But I think it will be wonderful.”
