A World Apart

by Peter McAra

  ‘Why, sir. I don’t need to think further,’ Mrs Hawkins said. ‘In this very house is a child who will suit perfectly.’

  ‘In this house?’

  ‘Yes, sir. An orphan child, raised by her aunt. Young Hannah as works in the kitchen. You may remember the jugged hare, sir.’

  ‘Ah. The jugged hare. Yes. Excellent. But I do not speak of a village child, Mrs Hawkins. I seek someone of, er, someone who will be by way of a challenge to Harry and Eliza; put them on their mettle, so to speak.’

  ‘Sir, this child is special. She’s but four years old, yet she can read and cipher better than anyone I know. She sits at her books in the kitchen all the livelong day. And talk! She talks like the folks in the books she reads. But perhaps you should ask Mr Harcourt what he thinks of her, sir.’ De Havilland knew that the judgement of James Harcourt, his children’s tutor, was apt to be lacking in matters of this kind.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hawkins. Harcourt’s impressions are not, I think, appropriate in this situation. But I suppose he could consider her worth as a pacing horse for my children in their scholarly pursuits. Mmm.’ The viscount looked up at his housekeeper as she stood resolute, hands clasped in front of her.

  ‘Sir. This child is special. She has fine golden hair and a face like an angel. Folks in the village say she is indeed an angel, sir. She even walks like an angel. I can’t but think that there was something special about her bloodlines. Though her parents, God rest their souls — they’re both dead, were — ’

  ‘How can I see this child?’ Exactly as Mrs Hawkins had planned, the mention of bloodlines captured Sir John’s interest. She reached for the kitchen bellpull and tugged it. Cook appeared moments later, wiping her big red hands on her dress, panting from her swift ascent of the stairs, brushing a corner of her apron over her sweating forehead.

  ‘Cook, one of the servants has a child who stays in the kitchen and reads books, I am informed,’ the viscount said.

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. Hannah’s little orphan niece, Hannah, as makes the jugged hare, sir. You asked me for to get Hannah back to the kitchen, sir, if you remember.’ Cook dared a glance at her employer’s puzzled face. ‘The little mite don’t do no harm, sir. She’s — ’

  ‘Quite. Bring the child to me, Cook.’

  ‘Oh, sir. I — ’ Cook tried to hide her dismay.

  ‘Go on,’ De Havilland said. ‘It may be to her advantage. Quickly now!’ Cook disappeared. Mrs Hawkins stood silent, hands still clasped.

  In moments, Cook reappeared, holding Eliza’s hand.

  ‘Good morning, little maid.’ The viscount forced a smile and bent towards the child. Eliza looked up at the tall windows with their long drapes, the chandeliers, the shelves of books, and finally at the old man who sat in his chair studying her. ‘I hear you’re a clever one,’ he said as she turned to him.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I like to read a lot.’ She studied his face. He smiled, but kept his silence. ‘I liked your book on the heavens,’ she ventured. ‘Did you know that the planets all lie in the same plane, at least within four degrees of arc?’ Mrs Hawkins winced. She had smuggled the book from the library when Eliza had asked her about the stars during one of their walks round the gardens.

  ‘Why, no.’ He paused in amazement. ‘How many planets do you know, child?’ The viscount’s father had nursed an interest in the heavens, and coached his son in the subject until it was obvious that his own passion had not passed into the De Havilland bloodline. However, the son had made the effort to memorise the names of some of the planets just to please his father. Indeed, the book lent to Eliza had been his father’s. Later, he would discuss with Mrs Hawkins the route by which that book had travelled from his library to the kitchen.

  ‘Well, I’ll begin with Jupiter, sir, that being the largest,’ Eliza said. ‘And the moons of Jupiter are Io and Calista and Europa and — oh, sir. I forget the other one. Can you tell me? Or shall I continue with Saturn and Mars and Venus and — ? Oh! Now I remember. It’s Ganymede.’

  ‘No, no, child. That will be sufficient.’ Further discussion on this topic could be embarrassing. Interesting that Jupiter had moons. His father had not told him so. ‘Tell me, how old are you, child?’ he continued.

  ‘Four, sir, but I’ll be five in just one month, three weeks, five days and…’ she looked at the grandfather clock at the end of the room, ‘eight hours.’ De Havilland sighed. His own son, aged seven, could not even tell the time. He paused, thinking. The child must enjoy his children’s acceptance. He would put the matter to the test.

  ‘Come with me, child. We will go to the schoolroom.’ He took her hand, and they walked together along the dark-panelled corridor, hung with ancestral portraits. Neither of them gave a backward glance to the two women who stood mute in the library. He opened the schoolroom door without knocking and strode inside. The larger-than-usual windows revealed a panoramic view of the sweeping classical gardens for which the Great House had a reputation. Dwarfed by the size of the room, a small man in his thirties, with thinning hair, dressed in waistcoat and trousers, his cuffs frayed, stood at a blackboard. The two children turned to stare at the intruder, wordless. The boy was dressed in a black skeleton suit, its braid anchored by large white buttons, the girl in a white muslin frock with a pale blue sash set high on the waist. Suddenly the boy beamed at Eliza.

  ‘Hello, Angel! You’ve come to visit us? How wonderful!’ He jumped from his seat, ran to Eliza’s side, and took her hand. ‘I can count to a hundred now,’ he said. As Harry led Eliza to the window, De Havilland turned to study his daughter. She had sat open-mouthed throughout the entire intrusion. It would be good for her to see that one of her own sex actually relished learning. She had always hated lessons. But the viscount knew that for a woman too much learning was a disadvantage, calculated to drive suitors away. Louisa could not afford the luxury of scaring off any likely young man who chanced her way. She had begun to develop her mother’s corpulence, and the sides of her mouth drooped in a perpetual scowl, exactly like her mother’s.

  The servants soon became used to Eliza’s daily journey to the schoolroom. The tutor taught the three children literature, mathematics, geography, science, and classics. When lessons were over the trio played in the garden, took their midday meal together, and created pastimes for themselves with the wealth of materials at hand. They dressed up for plays, with Eliza prodding the other two to join her in taking parts in the plays of Shakespeare, Marlow, and Goldsmith. Their tutor taught them chess and backgammon and whist.

  It was to be expected that Eliza would become a mean chess player. Harry took his thrashings at chess and cards in good part, but Louisa did not. She was three years older than Eliza, and she could see for herself in the looking glass what the maids whispered to each other — that she was much less pretty than the little village child with the golden hair.

  As Eliza blended with the fabric of the Great House, her horizons broadened in other ways. Visitors who asked to see the viscount’s children at their studies might visit the schoolroom. Eliza would sometimes be introduced to a great aunt or a young cousin as she sat with her classmates. She learned to curtsey and to make small talk if the visitors signalled an interest in it. One day, a man in a tall hat entered the schoolroom and sat on a stool in a corner. Eliza could not help but notice his angular body, the way his skin stretched over his cheekbones and his recessed eyes, giving his face a hollow look that reminded her of a skull.

  ‘Ignore me, Harcourt,’ the visitor said, crossing his legs. ‘I merely want to spend a few minutes collecting my thoughts.’ Eliza saw that his gaze never moved from her. After a few minutes, he left without speaking.

  ‘Who was that strange man?’ she asked Harry as they lunched together.

  ‘Oh, that was Mr Obadiah Shaw. He’s Father’s lawyer. He visits often, gets involved in his affairs. Like as not, he wanted to see you. Father must have told him about you.’ Eliza puzzled over Harry’s remark for a while, then dismissed it.

&nb
sp; One winter morning, as the fire smoking in the grate made no real impression on the chill of the high-ceilinged room, Mr Harcourt asked the trio to find the answer to a mathematical problem he had written on the blackboard.

  ‘So, Miss Louisa. Can you tell us the length of the line AB?’ he said after the trio had busied themselves with their slates for a few minutes. She looked back at him sullenly, but said nothing. ‘And you, Master Harry?’

  ‘Forty seven feet, seven inches.’

  ‘Well, interesting, but not correct. Very well, then. Eliza, please enlighten us.’

  ‘Forty four feet exactly. And so also is line EF, because it shows symmetry about an axis through CD and JK. And — ’

  ‘Thank you. Very observant of you, Eliza. Now, Miss Louisa. Why didn’t you at least make an attempt? We will not judge you if you are not perfectly correct. Come now. Let us see if — ’

  ‘I won’t! I won’t! If I did, Miss Clever Britches would only tell me I’d gone about it wrongly. I hate her! Cook says her father was a layabout drunkard who — ’

  ‘Enough, Miss Louisa. Now — ’ But Louisa was not to be reasoned with. The incident had ground salt into the repeatedly opened wound which festered the more as Eliza outdistanced Louisa more spectacularly each day.

  ‘I hate you! I hate you! You horrible little village whelp. Get back to your mother. Your pigs and potatoes,’ she screamed at Eliza. ‘Get yourself down to the dairy! Go and milk our cows! Get covered in cowshit. Learn to curtsey when I come by. Go! Go!’ She picked up a cup and hurled it at Eliza with such force that it cracked as it hit her shoulder. The two males stood, shocked into silence. A trickle of blood showed through Eliza’s dress. Mr Harcourt excused himself from the two De Havilland children and hurried Eliza down to the kitchen.

  ‘Miss Louisa has a temper,’ Cook said as she washed the blood from Eliza’s shoulder. ‘There. I’ve taken out a splinter of china, child. She must have thrown that cup with the strength of the Devil. But you should heal good as new in no time.’

  The wound healed quicker than Eliza’s sense of confusion and shame. It left a star-shaped scar which was to provide her with a memento of that day for the rest of her life. When she returned to the schoolroom, Harry held her hand.

  ‘I think Louisa is beastly. If I were bigger, I’d beat her till she said she was sorry. But then she’d tell Father, and he wouldn’t understand. Best we be friends and stay away from her.’ He put an arm round Eliza’s shoulders. She was surprised how the touch of his fingers on the nape of her neck made her feel strangely happy inside. The incident signalled a new order to their days. Harry and Eliza began to spend more and more time together away from their sullen classmate. They took long walks through the estate, bonding more as each day passed. Mrs Hawkins, who observed this from afar, privately wondered where the friendship might end.

  CHAPTER 6

  One summer afternoon Harry led Eliza into the Great Park.

  ‘Come to the lake. It’s shady there. Louisa won’t find us. I like it when we hide from her.’ Eliza smiled at him expectantly. ‘She’s mean-tempered to you,’ he continued. ‘She hates you because you’re clever.’ He took her hand.

  ‘It’s not my fault she can’t do vulgar fractions.’

  ‘I know, but she’s hateful.’ Harry had learned to dislike his sister as any younger child dislikes the older, stronger sibling with whom he has competed at a disadvantage since the day he was born.

  ‘Never mind. We like each other, don’t we?’ Eliza said, and squeezed Harry’s hand.

  ‘It’s so hot,’ Eliza said after they had walked for a few minutes. ‘Can’t we rest?’

  ‘No. Let’s wait till we’re at the lake.’

  ‘Very well, but why?’

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ Harry said, his lips set in a grin.

  ‘What surprise?’

  ‘Just wait till we reach the lake.’ She could see he was bursting to tell her, but had resolved against it. Soon they arrived at a shady patch of grass overlooking an expanse of water. Its sinuous shoreline led the eye along tree-lined banks to a point where it opened out to a sizeable lake. Near the shore, man-made islets had been artistically arranged to draw the eye onwards to the classic tableau of the large body of water fringed with stately trees. A pair of water birds flew low across the lake, wings clacking, as Eliza gazed, spellbound.

  ‘This is the surprise,’ Harry said. They sat on a grassy bank which sloped into the water. Tadpoles could be seen darting across the lake’s sandy bottom a few inches below the surface.

  ‘Water?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we’re going to swim in it.’

  ‘Oh. Isn’t that wicked?’

  ‘Not if no one sees us.’

  ‘But — ’

  ‘That’s why I brought you here. It’s a secret place.’

  ‘But — ’

  ‘No one can see us. I promise.’ Harry sat on the bank and began to untie his shoes.

  ‘I can’t go in the water.’ Eliza’s face wrinkled nervously.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My clothes will get wet, then Cook will know when I go downstairs to the kitchen. And Mother will know.’

  ‘Our clothes won’t get wet.’

  ‘How can that be?’

  ‘Because we’ll take them off.’ He proceeded to unbutton his shirt and britches. In no time he stood before her, naked and laughing. Naked boys were no novelty to Eliza. Many a time she had seen her cousins bathed when her mother took her to visit her relatives in the village. But there was something special, conspiratorial, about seeing Harry’s nakedness. She liked it. Harry jumped into the water and gasped.

  ‘Hurry. You said you were hot. The water’s a mite cold, but it’s lovely.’

  ‘But I — ’

  ‘Come on in. Don’t be frightened. Come in, or I’ll come and push you in.’

  ‘Very well, then, but turn your back.’ Eliza was indeed tempted by the cool dark water. The day was hot, but she was uncomfortable with the wickedness of the idea. They were defying their elders, and there would be certain punishment if they were caught. She unbuttoned her clothes, and as Harry turned, he saw her.

  ‘You’re pretty,’ he said. ‘I never see Louisa naked. She’s very private about it. She always shuts her door when she undresses. Sometimes I see a bit of her. But not…everything.’ He continued to stare at Eliza. She found herself enjoying his attention. She wriggled her belly and watched his round eyes follow the movement.

  ‘Louisa’s not beautiful like you. Girls really are different, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. They have to be.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They have to have a place for babies to come out. And breasts to give the babies milk.’

  ‘I suppose so. I’ve seen some of the servants’ breasts. In the kitchen when they didn’t know I was there. When they change their dirty clothes to go back to their quarters. They have huge breasts. Why don’t you?’

  ‘Because I’m only seven. I’m not ready to have babies yet.’

  ‘How do you know all this about babies and such?’

  ‘Everyone knows.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Well, when you’ve seen a cow dropping a calf out of its bottom, or a dog pushing out puppies, you begin to wonder about how people do it. Lots of books discuss it. Your father has a book about anatomy. With pictures.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You must show me.’

  ‘Very well. I suppose I could ask Mrs Hawkins for it. But how is it that you don’t know, Harry?’

  ‘Because nobody told me,’ Harry said. His cloistered education had taught him nothing about the basics of life. ‘I’m not allowed to talk with the farm labourers, nor come close to the animals. Nanny would never allow it. She can’t abide mud and dirt. And Mr Harcourt wouldn’t tell me. I wonder if he even knows himself.’ They both laughed.

  ‘And Father, we
ll.’ Harry shrugged. ‘You’re the only girl I’ve ever really talked to. Or seen — like that.’ He looked suddenly shy. ‘Come into the water.’

  ‘Very well.’ She stepped cautiously into the lake, felt the delicious chill of the water round her feet. It lapped to her knees, thighs, waist, intensifying her gasping delight at each step. She watched Harry’s splashing and copied him. Soon she gathered her courage and put her head under the water. She pulled it out quickly, spluttering. But after gentle coaching from Harry, and holding onto his shoulders as he ducked, she learned to enjoy it.

  As the afternoon lengthened, they decided to return to the Great House.

  ‘I can’t put my clothes on. They’ll get wet,’ Eliza said.

  ‘We’ll sit here till the sun dries us, then,’ Harry said. She agreed. The sun disappeared behind a cloud, and a breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Eliza shivered. Harry put his arm round her.

  ‘Poor Eliza. You’re cold. I’m warm. I’ll warm you.’ She smiled up at him.

  ‘This is nice. I like it when your skin touches mine. You are warm.’

  ‘I like it too.’ He pulled her closer, and she nestled beside him. After a while, he looked down at her.

  ‘I’m going to marry you,’ he said. She giggled.

  ‘Thank you. I hoped you would.’

  ‘I love you.’ He smiled, shy but intense.

  ‘And I love you.’ She basked against his warmth.

  ‘I’m going to carve your name on every tree in the park, like Orlando did for Rosalind. Remember As You Like It? And when we’re grown up, we’ll get married.’

  ‘Is this a declaration of your intentions?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Harry had no inhibitions about questioning his junior classmate on any subject.