Chapter 2 – The First Lesson
Henry was sound asleep when he suddenly heard someone knock at the door to his room.
“What is it...?” he moaned drowsily. For a moment he felt completely disoriented.
The door was opened carefully, and the next moment Roderick peered inside, holding a candelabra.
“Your wake-up call, Mr. Abbott. It is almost seven oʼclock,” the butler said, his voice nothing but an obedient whisper. “I already knocked fifteen minutes ago, but you obviously did not hear me.”
“Thank you for reminding me. You may go now...” Henry mumbled and pulled the blanket over his head.
Roderick bowed and then withdrew quietly. The way the butler moved about the house was so considerate and careful that Henry was sure the man never whirled up the slightest grain of dust with his motions.
Henry granted himself five more minutes of sleep before he finally climbed out of bed, walked over to the window, and opened the curtains. Outside an eerie morning mist was silently creeping through the garden. It wouldnʼt be long until sunrise.
Henry took a carafe of hot water that someone had already placed in front of the door, poured the content into the washbasin, and got ready for the day. He felt dizzy and hoped that nobody would notice that he had a little hangover.
In fact, it had been pretty late when he had gone to bed the night before. Suddenly having become rather chatty, Lord Partridge had forced a hearty ʻman-to-manʼ talk on him which had lasted more than an hour. Apart from that, the lord hadnʼt stopped refilling both their glasses with delicious wine again and again until Henry had felt his head begin to spin. Even Lord Partridge himself had appeared a little bit tipsy in the end.
“I know that young people like you are full of visions and new ideas,” he had said, offering Henry one of his expensive cigars. “Of course, there is nothing that speaks against new ideas. Everyone seems to have them nowadays. So much progress is being made in terms of inventions and discoveries. Would you have thought that one day there would be a vehicle on four wheels just like a coach, but which does not need horses to move and no rails to drive on either? But what I really mean to say is that I would like you to know that at the core our family is a very traditional one—despite the fact that I am in favor of the idea of reforms in certain areas. For instance, I consider myself quite modern in terms of employing a young man like you as a tutor for our daughter. Actually, it would be the task of a governess to look after her. But as you surely know from the common village gossip, the previous governess and the one before her decided to quit. And it seems that these two ladies have made it their mission of life to inform every other governess and tutor in the universe to avoid our house. I can even understand them. Why should they put up with Sarah if they can have a more rewarding position after having undergone intensive training for years...”
Lord Partridge had cast Henry a slightly disparaging sidelong glance, something which Henry had understood as a little dig at him because of his own lack of experience in the field.
“In all seriousness, Mr. Abbott: Sarah is really difficult to handle as she is terribly obstinate and full of crazy ideas,” Lord Partridge had added gravely. “Most of the time, the way she behaves is just not proper for a girl at her age—in fact, it is not proper for any woman at any age at all. She is prone to make a fool of herself and to ultimately become an outcast. She is incredibly clever, but she has managed not to learn anything at all during all those years. She has simply never wanted to. She obviously has decided to remain stupid and uneducated forever. What she aims to achieve with that, I do not know... I am just afraid that she will never ever fit into society. And it is vital to our family that she fits in and that she marries Damian Cox. His father is a colonel in the British Army and a highly influential man. His regiment is currently based in India. Can you imagine what it would mean for Partridge & Co. to have certain connections on the Indian subcontinent? I am sure these people down there can do with some proper ploughs as well.”
Henry had become aware of a certain glow in the lordʼs eyes upon speaking about the alluring prospect of a potential new business project. After all, the lord was the owner of Partridge & Co. Agricultural Engines, a company which manufactured traction engines to run threshing machines and ploughs, based on the recently made invention of agricultural machines which were driven by steam engines, which rendered the previous use of horses unnecessary.
“Britain has almost that whole country under its control by now. And Africa will be next... We need to push this idea forward, need to make the Empire expand and strengthen our influence on other countries so that we can do even more business there. Is it not true, Mr. Abbott?”
Henry had nodded in agreement, but deep inside he had felt more and more uncomfortable hearing Lord Partridge talk so enthusiastically. The thought of Imperialism didnʼt appeal to Henry as much as to everyone else those days. He was more concerned about earning good money to finally make a proper living.
Being the son of a coalminer and therefore looking back on a childhood spent in the working class, Henry was constantly afraid that he could fall right back into the life of poverty and hardship that he was used to. He was also afraid that he could possibly have to work in the mining industry just like his father or that people would label him because of his background.
And so it had become his mission to prove something; namely, that if only one tried hard enough, one could break the pattern. He wanted to prove that despite being part of a certain class by birth, one was able to alter oneʼs status and change oneʼs destiny. Ultimately, he wanted to demonstrate that one didnʼt have to put up with something that others considered as entirely unchangeable. And somehow, he even believed that he owed this proof to his father who had lived with the deep conviction that one was born a worker and remained a worker forever. Henry had been nineteen when his father died because of a black lung. His death had been devastating for Henry, because he knew his father could have had a different life and wouldnʼt have got so ill if he had not been a worker but a rich man, which would have spared him the fate of having to go after one of the most despised professions at the time.
Knowing that the only key to rise in status was a proper education, Henry had struggled hard to become what he was now: a teacher. It had not been easy to achieve this goal; after all, it wasnʼt common for a minerʼs boy to follow a career like that. But he had managed, driven by the desire to make his dead father proud and driven by the fear of falling back into working class—and because he needed to support his mother, who couldnʼt live on doing the cleaning and knitwork for other people alone. After his fatherʼs death, she had moved from their small shabby family house to an even smaller and shabbier tenement in the outskirts of London; and in order to be able to afford the rent, Henry gave her part of his salary. Not spending a lot of money on himself apart from the occasional haircut, he had saved the rest of his income and led a pretty miserly life in general. But Henry simply never wanted to lack money anymore, just in case that he or someone he loved got seriously ill and would be in need of some kind of treatment.
He would never allow poverty to knock at his door again.
Thanks to his incredible zealousness and a big amount of luck, he had managed—after only a few years of studying—to find work as a teacher at an elementary school for boys. Before that, he had been applying for a position at all the schools in London and its vicinity, but nobody had wanted him until he had met Mr. Lambert, the headmaster of St. Vincentʼs Elementary School. Mr. Lambertʼs brother, Philipp, was a supervisor at the coal mining factory where Henryʼs father had worked. One day Philipp had been unfortunate enough to be on one of his control rounds on the premises when one of the steam engines, which were used to pump water from the mines, exploded. Phillip had been lying unconscious on the ground, close to the flames of the fire which had broken out, when Henryʼs father had rushed by, courageously pulled him out of the danger zone and hence saved his life.
Henryʼs father had not been granted a promotion because of his unselfish deed, but when Philipp had happened to hear about Henryʼs desire to become a teacher, he had talked to his brother, the headmaster, and had put in a good word for Henry. In the beginning, Mr. Lambert had not been very convinced that the son of a miner would be apt for the position of a teacher, but Henryʼs grades had left no doubt that he was a hard-working, intelligent young man. And so Henry had got employed, and his popularity amongst the pupils and the success of his teaching methods had soon surprised both Mr. Lambert and everyone else who had initially doubted his abilities.
Henry had worked in elementary school for more than three years and had truly enjoyed it. Everyone had loved him, and the position had not been badly paid. He could have easily stayed there for the rest of his life. But then he had read in the newspaper that Lord Partridge was desperately looking for a tutor—the Lord Partridge, one of the biggest and most famous entrepreneurs in the region.
Reflecting on it later, Henry wasnʼt quite sure what exactly had made him apply for the position. Apart from the fact that he was always in search of a challenge, a pay rise, and something to boost his self-esteem, which wasnʼt really big, he found that there had been a rather strange urge to follow this path, as if he was drawn by some magical force. As if it had been a calling.
To his utter surprise—and only two days later after he had sent his application off—Lord Partridge had replied to his letter, offering him the position. The lord had not even wanted to see him first. He had simply told him to come and start work as soon as he would be ready to do so. A little suspicious at first, Henry had hardly been able to believe his luck. He had been certain, though, that he wouldnʼt have been granted this chance if it had not been so difficult for the Partridges to find someone else to do the work, someone with experience in this regard. It was an open secret that their daughter wasnʼt easy to handle—the black sheep of the family, so to speak. Henry had of course heard on the grapevine that allegedly nobody wanted to put up with her, and that many governesses and tutors had left again shortly after they had started. But Henry had not cared and had not wanted to believe any of it before having seen it with his own eyes.
His fellow teachers and his mother had called him completely out of his mind, when he decided to quit the rather profitable and secure position at the boysʼ school. Not even the fact that he would go and work for the estimable Lord Partridge could convince them that it was a the right thing to do.
“It is a new challenge,” Henry had tried to explain his motives to his mother.
“Life is not only about challenges, my boy,” his mother had replied. “Especially our life as workers, which doesnʼt provide us with too many options. There simply is no place for risks. We can be glad if we find any work at all and have something to eat...”
Of course, Henry had been able to understand his motherʼs point of view. Deep inside, he had been quite aware that what he was about to do was risky indeed. Things could go wrong. He could fail. Still, he had wanted to try and had made his way to Oxford, filled with eager anticipation and the certainty that he had made the right decision.
The last night, though, when Henry and Lord Partridge had met in the parlor and smoked cigars on rather comradely grounds, Henry had suddenly not been so certain anymore. He had been glad when the conversation between them had finally come to an end. He had been afraid that his tongue could get all too loose under the spell of the wine and that he would blurt out opinions that he didnʼt want to reveal in front of a man whom he was growing less fond of with every minute that they spent together.
Henry found that the lord and he were simply poles apart in their way of thinking. Furthermore, Lord Partridge was stern, hard, and obviously unable to accept any opinion that was different from his own. Whatever Henry had said, no matter what subject they had talked about, Lord Partridge had made a dismissive gesture and had begun to list the reasons why Henryʼs point of view was entirely irrational and wrong and his own point of view the better one. Henry wondered if he would have any free will at all to arrange lessons the way he thought, or if everything would be under the control and influence of Lord Partridge and his ideas on how things should be done. Ultimately, the lord had even suggested that Henry should fall back on ʻthe good old hazelnut rodʼ if he should fail to keep Sarah in check with words. Henry had been highly appalled by this suggestion. So far, he had never abused his status as a teacher and had never exercised corporal punishment on anyone. He would definitely not exercise it on a girl.
After having patiently listened to Lord Partridgeʼs smug waffling, suppressing a yawn every now and then, Henry had fallen into bed, feeling so tired that he hadnʼt even wasted a single thought about the next morning; something which, as he found, was a good thing, because his tiredness had made him forget how nervous he was about his first day at his new work. But now, at a quarter past seven, shortly before the prayer service and breakfast, he felt the fidgets gradually returning.
Apart from the evenings when Henry was allowed to join the Partridges for dinner, he had to eat breakfast with the staff in the basement. But he didnʼt mind. He found that he had already endured enough time with the lord the night before, so he wasnʼt keen now on seeing him yet again. Apart from that, he was interested in getting to know the other people who worked for the Partridges.
A simple wooden staircase led down to the kitchen. Like all other rooms and corridors in the house, the kitchen was lit by candles and oil lamps. Despite the fact that more and more rich people had begun to use gas as a source of light in their houses and factories, the Partridges kept sticking to the rather old-fashioned and much less convenient ways of lighting. The reason for this was that Lady Partridge was highly worried about her belongings; books, pictures, furniture, and ceilings were in high danger to suffer if exposed to the dirty fumes which gas tended to create. Apart from that, gas lighting was generally regarded as a threat to the health.
Although the kitchen and all its adjacent chambers were by far less noble than any of the other rooms which lay on the upper floors, Henry immediately felt much more comfortable down here than upstairs. He found that upstairs one was immediately intimidated by the massive wooden furniture and the countless paintings of the Partridgesʼ ancestors, whose grim-looking faces were smugly staring down at the beholder. Apart from that, the long dark corridors and the heavy drapes, which half-covered every window, made Henry feel depressed and confined.
Downstairs the only reason to feel intimidated was Thelma, whose regiment was rough and strict most of the time. But then again, it had to be as the full responsibility for the whole house appeared to lie solely on her shoulders. The whole staff was under her command: From kitchen maid to butler to coachman to stable boy—they all had to do as she said. And if she wasnʼt a little rude and pushy at times, the whole system was bound to fall apart.
Furthermore, Thelma had to report to Lord and Lady Partridge, who would never lower themselves to come downstairs into the area where the staff worked and lived. But if one of them rang the little bell which was attached to the kitchen door and connected with the upper floors, Thelma would be on the spot and take the lordshipʼs orders. Henry was soon to find out that the bell constantly rang; even during the night. But Thelma never complained and simply went after her tasks without moaning even if she was called at three in the morning because the lady of the house wished a glass of warm milk.
Sometimes Thelma worked sixteen hours per day; and so did her staff. Ada and Heather helped Thelma prepare the food and do the washing up or the laundry, amongst other things. They never really left the kitchen except for the time when they went to bed or outside to a pump in the garden in order to get fresh water, with which—after having boiled it—they filled the carafes for the twelve private rooms of the Partridges.
Finding that the life of Thelma and the girls in the kitchen was rather hard, there was only one more person whom Henry felt even more sympathy for; and that was Jeremy, the stable boy. He actually wasnʼt exclusively a stable boy but rather some kind of servant of all work who generally did the chores that nobody else was in charge of—mainly the most unpleasant ones. Apart from helping the coachman feed and harness the horses, or apart from chopping wood for the innumerable stoves in the house, he was responsible for the restroom—a highly unmerciful task, because he did not only have to clean it but also had to empty the tank underneath the syphon. It was not a rare sight to see Jeremy wandering through the house, carrying two buckets of excrements on his way to a hole in the ground somewhere on the verge of the vast garden where nobody could be disturbed by the dirtʼs sight or smell.
Needless to say that the servant maids and the stable boy got the worst pay. And all of the servants slept in small chambers in the basement where the air was constantly damp and the mice played hide and seek. Still, when Henry sat down with them at the breakfast table, they were happy and cheerful and welcomed him warmly. Then they said grace and thanked God for the little that they had got.
* * *
At half past eight, shortly after breakfast, Henry walked back up the stairs to the classroom. There was a blackboard on the wall, a chair and a desk for Sarah, and a chair and a desk for himself. Nervously, he began to rummage through the drawers of the desk in search of some chalk as he was waiting for Sarah to come to her first lesson.
Seven minutes later the girl in question arrived. She entered the room without knocking at the door, without looking at him, without greeting him. Then she sat down and froze, sitting at her desk like a statue, a sullen look on her face.
Henry couldnʼt help but feel stunned at the beauty that she already represented in the early morning hours. Again he found that if she hadnʼt looked so grumpy, she would indeed have been the sweetest sight with her brown long hair neatly pinned up and her little hands slightly nervously playing with some ribbons which were attached to the white dress that she was wearing. There was an air of innocence and chastity about her.
Momentarily confused by her presence, Henry quickly recalled what he was here for.
“Good morning, Miss Sarah,” Henry said. “I would appreciate it if you would be so kind to knock at the door the next time you enter. And by the way, lesson starts at half past eight. It is now almost a quarter to nine.”
He tried to sound as polite as possible when he reprimanded the girl and even smiled, because he didnʼt want to offend her or make her lose face; after all, she was a lady and the daughter of Lord Partridge.
Sarah didnʼt answer. Not that she had appeared like the wild beast everybody had warned him of, but she seemed tense and highly inaccessible. Henry knew that he probably would have to grant her some time to get used to him.
“How are you today?” he said, trying to ease the situation by sounding cheerful and enthusiastic. He opened the window in order to let in some fresh air, hoping that it would help loosen her tongue. Outside he saw Heather on her way to the water pump.
As there was still no reply from Sarahʼs side, he soon ran out of ideas what else to say to her. Her somber looks didnʼt encourage him to venture into more small talk. So he decided not to waste time anymore and to simply start with the lesson.
He put his book on the desk, flipping open the page that he had marked the day before. He had spent a considerable amount of time wondering which subject would be the best to begin with. He wasnʼt quite sure what role he really played in the house. Obviously, he was meant to be a substitute governess and a tutor at the same time and supposed to miraculously make Sarah catch up on everything she had missed in school within the past years due to her unwillingness and stubbornness. On the other hand, however, he wasnʼt supposed to really educate her. After all, education was—at least according to Lord Partridge—something that was exclusively meant for the male species.
In his confusion, Henry thought it best to organize lesson in a way that would fulfil the Partridgesʼ desire to prepare Sarah for society circles—which involved teaching her manners and some kind of knowledge of the world. And as Lord Partridge was obviously so fond of imperialism, Henry had found it best to start by teaching Sarah the names of all the British colonies. He guessed that in society circles she would surely be confronted with one or the other conversation circling around that topic; especially in the society circles of someone called Damian Cox, her husband-to-be—if she didnʼt kill him beforehand. Her reaction last night during dinner had not given Henry the impression that she was all too keen on marrying the man.
“Do you happen to know which country Queen Victoria became empress of nine years ago?” Henry asked. But Sarah didnʼt answer. She was just sitting motionless, doing nothing but playing with the pencil in her hand.
At least she does that, Henry thought. Proof that she is alive.
“Let me give you some clues,” he continued. “Big hot continent, elephants, maharajas, people wearing saris and turbans...”
Henry caught himself talking to Sarah like to a three-year-old. But still, she didnʼt say a word. By now he was certain that her unwillingness to reply did not have anything to do with a possible ignorance about the matter. He knew that even the most stupid tramp in the gutters of London was aware that the country which Queen Victoria had become empress of was India. And Sarah didnʼt appear stupid. She was just stubborn. That was it.
“Look, Miss Sarah,” Henry said with a certain sarcasm in his voice. “I am just trying to do the work that I am assigned to do. I do not intend to tease or harm you. So would you care to give me a chance, please?”
He knew he should have appeared more authoritative, but he simply couldnʼt bring himself to be that kind of a teacher. He found he was too young to act like all those seniors who scared everyone off the very second they entered the classroom, pulling a hard face, cane in hand. It had never been his way of solving the problem of inattentive pupils. But he soon realized that his current approach obviously didnʼt seem to do the trick either.
“Would you like me to tell you a little bit about myself?” he asked. “Maybe that will make it easier for the two of us—if you know something about me, I mean...”
She thought for a moment, then she shook her head, signalling a clear ʻno.ʼ She didnʼt want to hear his stories. And somehow he was glad as he was sure she wouldnʼt have been interested in hearing about his childhood in the working class area of London, which represented a world entirely beyond her perception. It was something that she might have heard of once or twice, something that she might have got a little taste of upon entering the basement and seeing the staffsʼ workplace and accommodation. But he guessed that this insight didnʼt help very much, as the staffsʼ place was still more comfortable than the environment where he had grown up. And working in a kitchen and carrying buckets of excrements was still more fun than inhaling coal dust deep down in an underground tunnel, eighteen hours a day. He guessed that Sarahʼs mind surely wasnʼt imaginative enough to envisage what it really meant to lead a working class life.
Before Henry could start to wonder what else he could do to finally get the girlʼs attention, she suddenly took one of her books and opened it. He sighed with relief at the fact that she made an effort at last.
Suddenly, a little dried flower with white and slightly woolly petals fell out of her book and onto the ground. Hesitating at first, Henry bent down, picked up the flower and held it up into the air.
“Leontopodium, Edelweiss…” he said admiringly, examining the flower from all sides. “Interesting. This flower does not really grow around these parts, though. May I ask where you got it from, Miss Sarah?”
Sarah eagerly stuck her hand out in an attempt to get the flower back, as if it was the most precious thing she possessed. Henry gave her the flower and watched her stick it quickly back into the book. She obviously didnʼt want to tell him where she had got it from, but he supposed that she once had spent some time somewhere in the German or Austrian mountains; or maybe she knew someone who lived there and who had sent her the flower. He couldnʼt come up with any other explanation because he knew that those flowers normally were nowhere to be found in England.
After the incident with the flower, Sarah remained quiet but looked at Henry expectantly, holding her pencil in a way that indicated that she was ready to write something if he wanted her to.
“Queen Victoria became the empress of India.” Henry took the chalk and wrote the word ʻcoloniesʼ on the board.
“I suppose that there isnʼt any point in asking you if you know the names of all the other countries that are colonies of Britain—or is there?”
Henry stopped in between writing, risking a glance at Sarah. But she just sat motionless, her mouth sealed.
“...Obviously there isnʼt; just as I guessed,” Henry mumbled slightly irritated before he raised his voice again. “So maybe you would at least be so kind to write the names of the colonies down in your book after I have written them on the board and then learn them by heart until Friday.”
Sarah didnʼt appear too happy about the fact that Henry had given her some homework, judging by the face she pulled. But Henry called himself lucky that at least she had stopped making his life harder than it already was.
Apart from that, she wrote everything down what he said. Her writing wasnʼt exactly neat and tidy as Henry noticed when he stepped behind her and risked a glance over her shoulder. But he found that as long as it was legible, he better be content with it. At least she was writing. Still, he clearly saw that she did it all without any emotion and without any interest in what he had said whatsoever. He was almost certain that by the time they met again, she would have memorized none of the names, and he would have to start all over again. Other than that, she still didnʼt say a word, which complicated everything. He guessed that beginning the lesson with the topic of imperialism had probably been the wrong choice. After all, it was Lord Partridgeʼs most cherished topic, and if Sarah wanted to rebel against everything anyway, this surely was her favorite subject to sabotage.
The hours wore away with unbearable slowness, with Henry doing the talking and Sarah taking the part of the mute and absent-minded listener. It was frustrating. He was glad, though, that she didnʼt throw a tantrum, and at least made an effort of some sort.
On the stroke of twelve, Sarah grabbed her things and hastened out of the room.
“Please learn the names of the colonies, Miss Sarah!” Henry called after her.
But she was already gone.
* * *
Henry spent the sunny afternoon strolling aimlessly through the garden. Before that, he had visited Thelma in the kitchen. It actually wasnʼt really seen as appropriate that a man of his ranking, which was way above the staff, spent more time with the servants than necessary. But he had taken a real liking to Thelma and her Irish accent—and to her sandwiches. And she seemed to enjoy having him around as well. She still held a grudge against Sarah, however, because the girl had thrown dung on top of her head—and not just once, as it seemed.
“Miss Sarah has been quite nice to us, though. Isnʼt that right, Heather?” Ada said as she was doing the washing-up.
Heather nodded in agreement and took the cleaned plates and cups which Ada handed her in order to dry them with a dishcloth.
“When she got gifts from her admirers, such as chocolates, she would come down and give them to us,” she said, her eyes sparkling at the thought of the delicacies. “Unfortunately, there arenʼt any admirers anymore…”
“No, not since Damian turned up...” Heather moaned. “And he doesnʼt bring any chocolates, just jewelry—necklaces, bracelets and the likes.”
“Not that I couldnʼt do with some of that as well!” Ada blurted out. And they all laughed merrily, despite the fact that—unless something truly miraculous happened—they would probably never wear jewelry as long as they lived.
Henry was watching them for a while as they were going after their tasks, then he left and decided to go for a walk. On his way he ran into Jeremy, who was busy chopping wood with an axe. The stable boy cast him a quick and indifferent glance that didnʼt really appear like an invitation for a conversation and then concentrated on his work again.
The garden was full of birches and willow trees and much bigger than Henry had imagined. It took him quite a while until he had reached the cast-iron fence that surrounded it and one of the many gates leading out of it. When he had left the garden and had walked for few minutes, he arrived at a vast cornfield, larded with bright red poppies, the panicles gently swaying in the breeze. From here Henry could see the forest that bordered the mansion and, in the distance, the rooftops of the houses of some nearby hamlet. He kept walking, following a trail next to the cornfield, letting his gaze wander over the vast meadows which seemed to stretch on infinitely.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of hooves. He spun round and saw a beautiful white stallion galloping across the fields at breakneck pace.
Henry had always liked horses, their grandeur, their kindness, and their grace as they moved. The white stallion was particulary beautiful and, as Henry guessed, of a special breed. In this moment, however, he was more taken with the sight of the person sitting on it.
It was Sarah. And although she appeared incredibly tiny and fragile in comparison to the big animal, she was riding it with amazing force. She didnʼt ride side-saddle as it was common for ladies. Instead, she was wearing trousers and rode the horse effortlessly and spread-legged like a man.
Henry was watching her for a while when, all of a sudden, he saw her spinning her head and looking over to him. He began to feel slightly uncomfortable, worrying that he would come across as someone who was secretly watching her, just like on the day before when she had caught him peering out of the window after the dung incident. But there was also something else he worried about; namely, that he wouldnʼt know what to say to her in case she approached him. After all, he found it quite silly to do all the talking, whereas the conversation partner didnʼt utter a single word.
Sarah slowed down her horse, made it turn, and rode right into his direction. For a moment, Henry considered walking back to the mansion in order to avoid any awkward silences, or even a possible verbal confrontation, just in case Sarah came up with the idea to finally talk to him and maybe vent some of her irrational anger that she might have felt towards him. But then he decided to bravely wait for her to arrive. He wouldnʼt let a little girl intimidate him; and whatever she had to say, he would face it like a man.
The closer Sarah came, however, the less Henry believed that she wanted to talk. And judging by her piercing gaze and the speed with which she was coming closer, Henry gathered that she had no intention to stop either. Instead, she was galloping directly towards him, quickly approaching the very spot where he was standing.
Becoming slightly nervous, Henry hoped that she would finally change her course, but right now it looked as if she would simply run him over.
Henry held his breath.
Sarah was only a few yards away from him now, smirking at him boldly. Henry ever so quickly jumped aside, almost tumbling and ending up in a blackberry bush, when all of a sudden Sarah pulled the horse around and by doing so made it ride past him.
Henry felt his heart racing in his chest.
This woman is completely insane, he thought, staring after Sarah as she disappeared in the distance, her gloating laughter filling the air.
Henry shook his head in disbelief and confusion. Then he made his way back to the mansion.
* * *
When Sarah arrived at the mansion, she dismounted the horse and let Jeremy lead it over to the stable.
Riding always left her feeling pleasantly thrilled. It helped her get rid of all the tension that had built up inside of her during the day, allowing her to forget her sadness and misery, and if it was only for a couple of hours.
She went inside and hastened up to her room where she washed herself at the basin in the corner and changed into other clothes. Then she sat down on the bed and began to write in her diary.
Went for my usual ride and ran into my new tutor as he was going for a walk out in the fields. It was hilarious to see the bewilderment on his face when I was galloping towards him. I just wanted to give him a little fright. Nothing more.
But now I almost feel sorry for having done so. For some reason, teasing him does not really give me satisfaction. I do not think he has deserved that kind of treatment as he was actually rather nice to me today.
He seems so incredibly different from his predecessors. I still have vivid memories of that governess Sophie, who would hit my hands with the cane whenever I gave a wrong answer during lesson. And then there was old Mr. Witherby, whose eyes had been glued to my bosom all the time. Horatio would not believe me when I told him. He said I was imagining things and that Mr. Witherby would never do anything as outrageous as that because he was a highly honorable man with a university degree. Apart from that, Horatio said that it would serve me right to be hit with the cane.
Compared to the other tutors and governesses, Mr. Abbott does not come across as very strict. And he smells nice. I noticed it when he stood behind me today, peering over my shoulder and watching me write.
Still, lessons were boring—as they usually are...
Have I mentioned that he has blue eyes? I just happened to notice it. Not that I cared.
When Sarah went to bed that night, she had long forgotten about the riding incident. She closed her eyes, not thinking about anything in particular, and fell asleep.
Soon, she found herself in a dream. And in that dream she was standing in the middle of a lavishly decorated ballroom, surrounded by many elegantly dressed people—barons, lords, counts, officers, their wives, daughters, and sons—all busy dancing and conversing with each other.
Sarah immediately knew where she was: at the stiff birthday celebration of a certain Baron Copperwood where she and her family had been invited to a couple of weeks ago.
But in her dream she wasnʼt dancing with Baron Copperwoodʼs pimply son Wilbour as she had been doing back then. And she wasnʼt having a shallow conversation with Wilbourʼs arrogant and silly cousins Elizabeth and Alicia, who had been boasting all evening about the numerous wealthy men they had already exchanged words with, hoping that one or the other would marry them.
In Sarahʼs dream she was alone, standing in the center of the merry crowd, feeling terribly lost. It was in moments like these that she longed for her mother to be with her. She would have soothed her, would have smiled at her and told her that she looked pretty and that everything was fine.
But instead, she had to put up with Priscilla, her aunt, who was standing in a corner of the banquet hall, her soulless eyes watching Sarahʼs every move, as if she was afraid that Sarah could commit a terrible faux pas. Sarah could sense Priscillaʼs nervousness and hardly dared to breathe for fear to make a mistake; and she had made many mistakes in the past, inadvertently and not on purpose, just because she had not known it any better. She guessed that the safest thing to do was to not do anything at all and just to be as rigid and stiff and strained as everyone else around.
No one could claim that Sarah had not attempted hard to fit in. But no matter how much she had strived to achieve this goal, she always had horribly failed for the simple reason that she was a merry, energetic, adventurous, loud and passionate girl; in other words, not normal in the eyes of all the people she saw herself surrounded with day by day. After all, women—particularly the ones moving in society circles—were generally humble and reserved. They spoke softly or in hushed voices and knew how to make a good impression; they didnʼt act disrespectful towards their spouses, and generally said ʻyesʼ to everything; they didnʼt sing or laugh loudly when they were truly happy; they didnʼt run up and down the stairs when they felt an energy rush running through their bodies which needed to be released; and they most definitely didnʼt climb on trees in order to find out if one could see Italy from up there.
The air was getting scruffy and thin in the ballroom. Sarah felt in desperate need of leaving, felt like going outside in order to find a quiet place where she could loosen her bodice a little as she could hardly breathe. But as she was looking around the room in search of a way out, she noticed to her surprise that there werenʼt any doors at all.
She approached two gentlemen, who were talking animatedly to each other, and asked them where the doors were, but the two men just stared at her as if she was downright insane. So Sarah quickly ran over to the Baronʼs wife and asked her where she could find a way out.
“What would you need a way out for?” the woman asked, a blank look on her face. “Nobody else but you wants to get out. Pull yourself together, girl. This is your life. And that is it.”
The Baronʼs wife turned away from Sarah again, leaving her devastated.
Suddenly Sarah remembered the windows.
She was a good climber, and although she was wearing a dress, she was certain that she would manage to escape through the window!
Just that there werenʼt any windows either.
Sarah panicked. Her heart was racing in her chest and she started to sweat. The air in the room seemed to get even thinner and very hot. She tugged at her bodice, but it seemed to her as if it was wrapping itself ever so tightly around her waist, like a snake trying to gradually strangle her. Everything began to spin around her, and the music suddenly sounded awfully loud and wrong, as if the musicians of the orchestra were all drunk and unable to play a proper tone.
Sarah began to weep.
It was then that she suddenly she felt someoneʼs fingers gently touching her arm. She whirled around and saw to her surprise that it was her new tutor.
“Mr. Abbott, what are you doing here...?” she asked, puzzled by his unexpected appearance.
“You forgot your books when you rushed out of the classroom today. I have come to return them to you so that you can do your homework,” he said calmly, a soft smile playing over his lips.
Slightly puzzled, Sarah took the books which he handed her, not knowing where to put them right now; after all, they were at a birthday celebration, and apart from that, she had completely other things on her mind: She wanted to get out in order not to suffocate in the heat that was gradually building up around her as if the room had gone up in flames.
“There arenʼt any doors. How did you get in?” she asked Henry Abbott.
“You let me in,” her teacher explained. “You have opened the door to your heart.”
Sarah frowned.
“I have no recollection of this at all...”
“It is because you have not noticed it yet yourself,” Henry Abbott whispered. “I will make you notice...”
Then he placed his hand on her cheek, bent down and kissed her.
Sarah gasped with surprise. Her first thought was that she should be outraged and that she should give that man, who dared to get so close to her without asking, a slap round the face. But his lips were so soft and his kiss so tender that she neither managed to be seriously outraged nor to physically hurt him. Quite to the contrary, she gave in to him, and gradually her emotions began to overwhelm her when Henry Abbott put his arms around her and let his hands slowly run up and down her back, making her feel tingly all over.
Suddenly, Sarah woke to the sound of the wind playing with the shutters. Confused, she looked about the room in an attempt to figure out where she was. When she realized that she was at home in her bed, she let out a sigh and nestled her head back into the pillow, trying to find some sleep again.
But sleep just wouldnʼt come, because her heart was still racing with excitement, and her cheeks were still glowing at the memory of Henry Abbottʼs lips on hers.